Steven held Rose close, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He had such strength, such warmth, a pillar more solid than the columns of this summerhouse for her to lean on. Charles was like this ruined place—Rose’s past. Steven was whole and new—Rose’s life now. And her future? She couldn’t know.

Steven kissed Rose gently on the lips and wiped a tear from her face. “Whatever reason he stashed it out here, Charles wanted you to have this,” Steven said. “Let’s shift it, and get back to our cozy hotel.”

***

Rose helped Steven push the old furniture aside to release the settee. Its once bright seat cushion was a tattered mess, stuffing from nearly a hundred years ago hanging out of it in gray threads. Even the mice had abandoned it.

The dog tried to help, digging at the loose marble tiles around it. Finally Rose and Steven had cleared a path that allowed them to drag the settee to the door and out to the summerhouse’s porch.

Rain was falling steadily, coming on gusts of wind that spattered heavy droplets across the steps. Steven shoved the settee to the leeward side of the porch and dusted off his hands.

“I’ll go back to the house and tell Albert he is going to lend us transport,” he said. He looked out between the trees to the windswept garden beyond. “You can wait here, out of the rain, at least, though it’s bloody cold.”

“I’m resilient,” Rose said. “And I have a dog.”

Steven went to Rose and took her hands. It was never cold where he was—when Rose had woken this morning wrapped around him, she’d never been so happy.

“You are the most courageous woman I’ve ever had the fortune to know,” Steven said. “Thank you, Rose.”

She stared up at him. “For what?”

“For teaching me what courage means.” Steven leaned to her, his breath brushing her lips before he kissed her.

The kiss held all the heat of their loving night, and the light of new day.

Rose pulled Steven close, savoring him. If she had nothing else, she’d remember this, the two of them private in the cold, and the intimacy of waking up next to him in his bed. These were memories she’d hold to her for the rest of her life.

Steven flashed her a grin as he straightened up. “I’ll run all the way.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And then we’ll feast on hot tea and whiskey.”

His smile could change her world. Rose clung to his hands another moment, then she gave a little laugh and let him go.

Rose watched Steven dodge his way through the trees, his head down against the wind. He truly did run, moving so fast his wind-whipped greatcoat and kilt exposed his strong thighs.

Rose kept her gaze on him until the trees obscured him, then she shivered and moved back into the relative shelter of the summerhouse. The dog whined after Steven, but turned and entered the summerhouse with Rose.

Rose stood in the middle of the rotunda, looking over the wreck of the furniture, the dog warm against her legs. “If I had a match, I could built us a nice roaring fire,” she said, patting the dog’s side. He waged his tail and gazed up at her, his vitality coming through her gloved hands.

“Then I’d have the constables on you.” Albert’s voice floating in before his body blocked the open doorway. “When your paramour comes back for you, you go and stay out of my sight. I never want to see you here again, or I will have you arrested for trespass.”

Chapter Thirteen

Albert glared at her, the dim light sparkling on his blue eyes. He glared at the dog as well, who shrank into Rose’s side.

“I hadn’t intended to return after this,” Rose said, keeping her voice even. “I will take what Charles wished me to have, and go.”

Albert didn’t move. “It’s criminal you should have anything at all.”

Rose frowned at him. “It’s what your father wanted. You can dance around with your solicitors trying to tie up my settlements, but this was written out very plainly.”

“I intend to prove my father wasn’t in a sound mind when he wrote it. Won’t be hard to prove. He had to be mad to marry a woman less than half his age.”

“There was absolutely nothing wrong with Charles’s mind,” Rose said indignantly. “He was one of the kindest men I’ve ever known.”

“Kind was he?” Albert balled his fists as he stepped inside. He hadn’t donned a hat, or else it been torn off in the wind, and his thin, graying hair was a mess. “He wasn’t kind to me, was he? His own son—his only son!”

“You shunned him,” Rose said, lifting her chin. “When I met Charles, he was very lonely. In all the time I was betrothed to him, and then married to him, you never once called on him, or tried to meet with him, or wrote him any letters except having to do with business.”

“How do you know? Did you read his correspondence?”

“Of course not. He told me—very sad that you couldn’t bother to even have a conversation with him.”

“You know nothing!” Albert shouted, the words ringing to the high ceiling. “You stupid tart! My father never had time for me—ever. Not when I was a boy, not when I left school, not when I became a man. He never cared that I made my own living without taking a penny from him, and a good living. No, he only cared about this sodding house and the bloody title and the family name. He didn’t care about me at all!”

Rose bit back her next retort, sensing she was wading into murky waters. Charles had always spoken of Albert sadly, as someone estranged from him. A gap between us, my dear Rose, he’d said. More like a chasm. I thought perhaps we didn’t see eye to eye because of our ages, but you are younger than he, and you and I rub along very well, don’t we?