Capturing the Viscount (Rakes and Roses Book 1) Page 12

  Laura's blush spread. "I know I should just take the compliment, but I'm afraid I would be lying if I claimed to be so composed at the time it happened. Gia and I were quite undignified as we dove for cover like a pair of rabbits in a field." She giggled.

  Rem chuckled outwardly at the image her words invoked, but he could feel a swelling of pure rage start to build in his chest. Whoever did this would pay, that he promised himself. The terror she must have felt... It was an unforgiveable mistake, in his eyes. Whoever the imbecile was carrying a gun today could have killed her. In one thick-witted moment, the world would have been absent of Laura Parrington. It was unthinkable.

  He forced a smile. "All the same, you seem to be taking it all rather well, I must say."

  How had this one small woman suddenly become more important to him than anything else? That was truly frightening, bullet wounds notwithstanding.

  "Well, thank you." She paused for a moment. "I wasn't expecting you to come or I would have made myself presentable. Reginald here has me slightly trapped, as you can see." She indicated the purring behemoth atop her legs.

  "It's of no matter. I shouldn't have come unannounced. But I couldn't simply let my imagination run wild with scenes of you being gunned down on the lawn, now could I? And besides, by tomorrow, your house will be filled with dozens of bouquets of flowers from gentlemen wishing you a speedy recovery. But how many of them came to see you on your deathbed? Alas, only I." He accompanied this with a flourished bow, making her laugh. He loved the sound of it, full-bodied and without artifice, yet purely feminine.

  "It's true. You are the only gentleman crazy enough to try and gain entrance to a lady's bedchamber with the express permission of her mama." She raised her voice on the last word and looked around him to her mother.

  "Hmm?" Astoria looked up from her print at the mention of herself. Remington had no doubts that Lady Parrington had been listening closely the entire time. "What did I do now?"

  Laura rolled her eyes. "Nothing, Mama. That's the point."

  Astoria had already looked back down at her fashion plate. "Yes, dear, of course."

  She was good, Rem had to admit.

  Looking at Laura now, with her dressing gown and robe on, her face flushed from conversation, he couldn't help the ache that awakened in him, an ache for seeing her like this in his own bed, perhaps waiting for him to come home or just waking up from a nap. It wasn't a sexual need; it was purely domestic, an emotional desire for simply feeling a warm body ready to embrace him, having someone to look forward to at the end of the day. He wanted to tell her, make her understand all he wanted from her, but what would he say? 'Laura, I'm insanely attracted to you, but what I really want is for you to be like this always, eager to see me, relaxed and happy and warm with contentment in our home.' No, it would sound like a schoolboy's version of what he thought his parents were like. Gads, what was wrong with him?

  Instead, he said, "Did you enjoy your first attendance of the Opera, Miss Parrington?" He smiled while she floundered for a moment, the panic in her eyes noticeable.

  "I- You- " She took a breath to calm her fluster, then said carefully, "It was very educational," Her face was a dewy pink all over.

  "Educational. How so?" he prompted, enjoying her consternation a little too much.

  She had warmed to the exchange now, her words holding her usual clipped wit. "The villain of the piece was quite entertaining. He seemed to be under the impression that women like to be pawed at in darkened corners, no matter their objections."

  Laura's mother looked up sharply, Rem saw, out of the corner of his eye. After a few seconds, she lowered her eyes slowly back to her fashion paper.

  "Did he? That's interesting. Wasn't Don Giovanni playing last night?" He asked, hands held politely behind his back.

  "Yes," She hissed, her tone connoting he knew very well that it was Don Giovanni.

  "I wonder if you happened to notice how many women went quite willingly with him throughout the course of the story." He raised a brow. Rem was very much enjoying taunting her in this manner, right in front of her mother where she wouldn't outright accuse him of anything out of embarrassment.

  "Those women were fools."

  "I agree." He inclined his head. "But-" he held up a finger in her direction and looked her in the eyes. "What if Giovanni weren't the villain he was thought to be? What if he only wanted one woman, out of all the women that were available to him? And what if he sought to win her, but she denied him because she thought he was only a villain?"

  Laura frowned, her face in a thoughtful expression for some time. After a few moments of silence, she replied slowly. "I can't see how the lady could possibly know if he were other than the villain she already thinks him. What proof would he offer?"

  Rem blinked. She was right. What proof was there that he wasn't simply trifling with her affections? In fact, if she ever bothered to look into his background where women were concerned, she wouldn't find much of a gentleman. He had never seduced an innocent girl and left her at the mercy of the ton. He had never behaved inappropriately with the female servants in his employ. And he had never even kept a mistress longer than a few weeks. By most men's standards, he was positively monkish.

  But she wasn't a man. And he had nothing to offer her as evidence of his honorable intentions besides his word. And she didn't believe that. She didn't believe he could love her in such a short time, which was probably wise on her part. She had men worshipping at her feet, ready to propose if given the slightest encouragement. How was she supposed to separate the wheat from the chaff? Why was he any different than the rest, in her eyes?

  "I understand the lady's reluctance to blindly accept what so many have falsely offered," he began quietly. "It would be overwhelming for anyone to have to make such a leap of faith in the face of so little corroboration of character. However," he paused and took a step closer, lowering his voice so that only she could hear. Her eyes, luminous in the twilight shadows coming from the window, met his with a look of genuine fear. But he would not dilute or soften this truth for her. It was necessary that she understand it, for her sake as well as his own agenda where she was concerned. "No great love, no true melding of the souls, has ever been attained without first an incredible risk taken. And it is not safe. It is not comfortable. It is not without the possibility of great pain, Miss Parrington."

  Laura swallowed, a flush spreading across her chest where her robe fell open. She didn't reply, but kept her eyes on his face, searching it. For what, Rem didn't know.

  "I believe it's time to take my leave," Rem told her, his eyes moving to her bandaged arm. He gave her a small smile. "Be safe, Laura."

  Chapter 7

  If safety was in numbers, then Laura had most assuredly followed Rem's mandate the past few days. It appeared that the incident in Hyde Park had made her even more popular. She couldn't go out in public without a throng of people around her, wanting to know the details of the accident, asking if she was in pain, if she needed any assistance. After the first five minutes of this, Laura was over being flattered and heartily sick of the attention.

  And Lord Rothstone- Rem- had been right about the flowers. They arrived nonstop, in posies, bunches, and bushels, filling the house with their heavy scent. On the third day after the incident, she decided to hell with politeness, and had all of the suffocating plantlife thrown out. There had been a few exceptionally large bouquets from certain gentlemen that Laura felt a small twinge for having thrown away their well-wishes. Lords Craigerton, Arberley, and Fennimore had sent lovely arrangements of expensive hothouse blossoms. Arberley had sent candies of marzipan and chocolate as well, while Lord Fennimore had included a short, amusing poem aggrandizing her scrape with death. These she kept, as they at least didn't give her a headache whenever she was in her own home.

  But the most memorable show of concern for her well-being was still Rem's visit to her the day it had happened. Laura sat in an upholstered chair in a corner of a dress shop
that Gia had an appointment with. She perused a ream of fashion plates while Gia tried on a few evening gowns in the back, coming out every now and then to ask Laura's opinion. She had tried to not think about Lord Rothstone at all since that day, but it was nearly impossible. He hadn't needed to come; she hadn't been in any danger at that point. But he had, just to see with his own eyes that she was alright. And the conversation they'd had... His words echoed in her mind, reminiscent of her own father's words to her about love. Great love required great risk. She supposed it must be true, if two different people, one she considered very wise in these matters, told her exactly the same thing.

  Could he really be in love with her?

  No one fell in love over the course of a fortnight. At least no one that she'd believe about it, anyways. Oh yes, there were tales of love at first sight and all that, but Laura had always assumed they were hogwash. Just sensationalist claptrap found in ha'penny novels and rumors spread to excuse hasty marriages. Rem hadn't claimed to love her at first sight, but he really didn't know her all that well as it was. What if, when he truly came to know her and all her odd ways, he thought she was too much of a bother after all? He did interrupt her taking a photograph, but Laura didn't think he even knew what it was, so it probably wasn't an indication of his acceptance.

  "What do you think of this one?" Gia asked, coming out of the dressing room. She had on a mint green gown of flowing silk that gathered just under her breasts and accentuated her statuesque height and raven hair.

  "Oh, I love it!" Laura told her. "It suits you wonderfully. I wish I could pull off something like that, but I'm afraid I would just look plump. You look delightful in it though."

  "Good. I think I'll wear it to the Redding's soiree tomorrow." She executed a twirl that sent her skirts swooshing around her ankles. "I don't know what I'd do without you, you know. Hardly anyone in town will tolerate me these days. It's nice to be around someone who doesn't buy into the ton's ridiculousness."

  Laura frowned. "What do you mean?" Gia was such a lovely person, inside and out, she couldn't see any reason someone would avoid her.

  Gia paused, turning back around to look at her friend. She studied her for a moment as surprise swept over her face. "You don't know, do you?"

  "Know what?"

  Gia slumped her shoulders. "That explains your geniality. Ever since last season, when I turned down the Duke of Volmere, no one with ties to him will come near me. And he has a lot of ties, as I found out." Dryness colored her tone.

  "What? Well, he can't be all that influential. I've never even heard of him or this incident from anyone."

  "That's probably because he's dead," Gia stated bluntly.

  "Dead? What happened?"

  "Heart attack."

  "Goodness."

  "Yes, well, he was sixty-three and not in good health." She shrugged.

  "Sixty th-? Gia! Of course you turned him down. How could anyone blame you?" Laura protested loyally.

  "Oh, everyone blamed me. You see, his daughter from his first marriage is about ten years older than I, and when I turned him down, she started to spread rumors about me."

  "What sort of rumors?"

  Gia sat down in another chair across from her. "I believe she insinuated that I had compromised myself with her father in order to force him into marriage so I could become a duchess and disinherit her out of spite."

  "That's horrible! Who would believe that?"

  "Everyone, like I said. It's happened before. It was my second season, and people thought that I was getting desperate."

  "You, desperate?" Laura couldn't see how anyone would believe that Gia was desperate. Not with her looks and bearing, not to mention an impeccable lineage. Her father was an earl, for heaven's sakes.

  "I've come to discover," she said quietly looking out the window nearest them, "that most people are inclined to believe the worst of someone when it means their own chances of social success go up with another's downfall."

  "I'm so sorry." Laura studied her friend's exquisite face in profile. Gia deserved happiness, and a good man to go through life with. There was probably nothing she could do at this point to save her friend's reputation, but if her friendship would help at all, she would staunchly stand by Gia no matter what anyone said against her.

  "It's nothing," Gia turned to her, a smile firmly in place, though her eyes still carried a sad glaze over them. "My parents' set, including your own parents, never believed any of it. And who needs people who trample on others just to have something to say?" She rose gracefully and marched back into the dressing room, looking like a queen dismissing a petty courtier.

  Laura grinned. Gia was a woman to be reckoned with, and Laura could only hope she would have the same composure were she in her shoes.

  She and Gia left the dress shop a few minutes later, Gia's newly fitted dresses packaged and loaded into the outrider's box on the back of her family's carriage. From there, they trundled through the streets until they came to Bond Street, where they alighted and began to stroll down the walk to look at shops. They looked in the ribbon shop, the shoemaker's, and a milliner’s before coming to a side street, which they took out of curiosity. After walking for a bit, they hadn't seen any stores of interest and were about to turn around when Laura spotted an intriguing sign across the street. "Marion's Mechanical Marvels" it read. Gia protested, but Laura dragged her to the shopfront anyways.

  When they entered, Laura thought she might be in heaven. The place was devoid of people, but filled with all manner of wonderful gadgets, small and large, wooden and metal. An irresistible urge welled up inside her to examine them all, to find out what they did and how they worked. "Oh, Gia, look at all of this! Isn't it amazing?" She turned to her friend, who was covering a yawn.

  She quickly clapped her mouth shut and blinked. "Er, yes, of course. Amazing."

  Laura narrowed her eyes. "Humph. How can you not want to know what all of it does? It could be something that would change your life!" She made her way over to a counter in front of the store window that housed several different pieces of machinery and began to run her hands over them.

  Gia stood tapping her foot for a moment, then huffed. "Oh, all right, I give in," she announced, marching over to where Laura stood reading the card in front of a round hatbox-sized sized object with lots of buttons and letters on it. "What's this thing do?"

  "It says it's called a type writer," Laura said in wonder. "Watch. You just press the button of whichever letter you want it to write and it stamps it on the paper," she explained, depressing one of the raised buttons labeled, "G." Immediately, a metal lever smacked the paper that had been inserted beneath it on a slim tray. Laura pulled the paper out from the device and held it up. "Look! It worked!" A perfectly formed letter "G" was imprinted in black ink near the top of the page.

  "Well, of course it worked," a voice from behind them remarked.

  Both girls whipped around towards the sound to find a white-haired old man in a buttoned jacket smiling at them.

  "I wouldn't put just any piece of junk up in my-" He paused for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening. "Oh," he said, staring Laura in the face. "It's you."

  "Who?" Laura frowned.

  "You," the man repeated.

  "Me?"

  "I believe we've established he means you," Gia interjected.

  "You have a very lovely shop here," Laura told him awkwardly.

  "You're the woman from the photograph," the man said with a small smile, ignoring the compliment.

  Laura blinked. "Excuse me? What photograph?" her heartrate increased. She had been quite careful to never let anyone see her picture plates. They were all accounted for.

  Wrinkles in the old man's face became more pronounced as he chuckled. "Just the fact that you know how to pronounce the word "photograph" gives you away, my dear. I think you know exactly what I'm talking about." He rocked back and forth on his heels in a pleased sort of way.

  "I-yes, I do know what a photograph
is, but I don't see how you saw one of me."

  The shopkeeper tilted his head and studied her face. After a moment, he replied, "Perhaps you should speak to the other person who was in the picture. I think you may have quite a lot to talk about." With a crooked smile, he turned and walked back behind his counter, humming cheerfully.

  "What was that about?" Gia demanded in a whisper.

  Laura looked longingly around the shop once more, but when her eyes landed on the shop owner, she scowled and dragged Gia out onto the street.

  "Laura, really! What was he talking about?" Gia tore her arm from Laura's grip, stopping in the middle of the walkway.

  "I have no idea," Laura said darkly. "But it can't be good."

  Exactly twelve hours later, Laura sat bolt upright in her bed, realization washing through her in a tingling wave.

  Moonlight was streaming through the windows of her bedroom, bathing it in a distinct, pale glow. Her bed covers were tangled around her feet, and Laura frantically shoved them off the bed completely. She put a hand to her forehead and felt a light sheen of sweat on her skin. Sitting still for another moment to let her heartbeat calm, she eventually slid off the side of her bed and padded barefoot to the large window that faced east. The moon had risen high already, and Laura liked having its cool beams in her room on clear nights. She searched for familiar stars around its radiance out of habit as she leaned against the side of the window frame.

  But there was no consolation in the familiar layout of the sky tonight. For she knew now: Remington Rothstone was in possession of the picture she had been taking in his garden that night. How had he known what to do with it? She supposed it wasn't too hard to figure out. He had taken it to the shopkeeper of the inventions store, and he had developed the image for him. So much for her secret. He knew what she'd been doing and probably that it was illegal as well. She could only hope that his silence on the matter so far meant that he hadn't any intention of telling the authorities about it.