Regency Improprieties: Innocence and Impropriety / The Vanishing Viscountess

Her father’s brows knitted. ‘But I must also agree to any arrangements. She is still my responsibility, sir.’

‘She knows what is expected of her,’ added Letty.

Rose knew exactly what Letty expected. Letty expected a great deal of money to come into her pocket by way of this marquess. She glanced at her father. His motives were more unselfish, but still distasteful.

‘We will speak later,’ Flynn said to her father.

Rose rather liked the way Flynn simply passed over Letty, as if she had no say in the matter, which she certainly did not.

‘She’s still young, Mr Flynn,’ her father added, sounding genuinely worried.

Flynn turned to Rose with a question in his eyes, but Rose had no idea what he was asking. ‘I will see no harm comes to her.’ His gaze changed into something that made her feel like fanning herself.

She glanced down at her food. Imagine that a mere look from a man could make her feel like that.

Signor Rivolta’s music ended and the faint sound of applause could be heard. Soon the orchestra would play again.

‘I must get back.’ Mr O’Keefe rose.

Flynn stood as well. ‘Miss Dawes will wish to go with you, I am certain.’ He walked over to help Letty from her chair, giving her no oppportunity to argue. ‘I will safely deliver Miss O’Keefe to you before the night is done.’

Mr Flynn escorted them both out of the box, then returned to the table, sitting opposite her this time.

Rose gazed at him with admiration. ‘You do have the silver tongue, do you not, Mr Flynn? I believe Letty thought she wanted to go with Papa.’

He frowned. ‘Only one of many talents,’ he said absently.

He’d rattled her again, making her wonder what had suddenly made him frown. She picked up a strawberry and bit into it, slowly licking its juice from her lips.

Mr Flynn’s eyes darkened and he looked even more disturbed.

Rose paused. Could it be she had captured Mr Flynn’s interest? That idea made her giddy.

She took another sip of champagne and lowered her eyes to gaze at him through her long lashes. He reached over to retrieve his glass, downing the entire contents.

Rose felt light headed.

He gave her an intent look. ‘We must talk, Miss O’Keefe.’

But she was not finished flirting with him. She leaned forward, knowing it afforded him a better glimpse of the low neckline of her gown. ‘Will you not call me Rose?’

His eyes darkened again. ‘Rose,’ he repeated in a low voice that resonated deep inside her.

Their heads were close together, his eyes looking as deep a blue as the Irish Sea. The air crackled between them and he leaned closer.

A reveller, one who no doubt had been drinking heavily, careened into the supper box, nearly knocking into the table. The footman quickly appeared and escorted him out, but it was enough to break the moment between them.

He frowned. ‘I apologise for that.’

She hoped he meant the drunken man. ‘You could not help it.’

He gazed at her in that stirring way again. ‘I could not help it.’ He set his jaw. ‘About the marquess—’

But Rose could not bear losing this new, intoxicating connection between them. She daringly put her hand upon his arm. ‘Let us not speak of the marquess. Let us simply enjoy this beautiful night.’

He stared at her hand for a moment. Slowly he raised his head. ‘Your father—’

‘I will tell my father that I put you off, but that you will be back.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘What say you? Can we walk through the gardens? I have seen so little of Vauxhall. I have been confined to the gazebo, really.’

He stared at her, then released a long breath. ‘Very well.’

With a leaping heart, she finished the rest of her champagne. She grasped his hand in hers and led him out of the supper box. He offered his arm. ‘Hold on to me, Rose. I must keep you safe.’

It was a fair warning. Vauxhall could be a dangerous place for a woman alone, but that did not keep Rose from enjoying the feel of his muscle beneath his sleeve.

They joined the throngs of people enjoying the clear, warm night. The music of the orchestra filled the garden, the sound ebbing and flowing on the summer breeze. Night had fallen and the lamps glowed like bright stars. Flynn escorted her through the arches painted to look like the Ruins of Palmyra. He showed her the Pavilion with its allegorical paintings. They strolled down the Colonnade past the fountain sparkling in the lamplight. What had seemed false to him two nights ago now seemed magical. He was under her spell again, he had to admit, but that last exchange with her father gave him pause. Her father treated her as if she’d just come out of a schoolroom.

As if she were an innocent.

If she were an innocent, negotiations were at an end. Even if Tanner would accept a girl who’d been untouched—and he would not—Flynn could never involve himself in such an arrangement. It was almost a relief. An end to this madness.

They paused by the fountain, and she dipped her fingers into the cool water, a gesture so sensuous it belied his earlier thought.

‘Rose! Rose!’ A young woman ran towards her, bosoms about to burst from a revealing neckline, flaming red hair about to tumble from a decorative hat. A rather mature gentleman tried to keep pace with her. ‘Rose, it is you!’ The two women embraced. ‘I’ve been here every night you’ve sung. I thought I’d never talk to you.’

‘Katy.’ Rose pressed her cheek against her friend’s. ‘I have missed you so much.’

This Katy broke away to eye Flynn up and down, making him feel like a sweetmeat in a confectioner’s shop. ‘And who is this?’

‘This is Mr Flynn, Katy.’ Rose turned to him. ‘My dear friend, Katy Green.’

Flynn somehow managed to keep the shock from his face. Her friend could only be described as a—a doxy. No innocent would greet a woman like Katy Green with such undisguised affection.

He bowed. ‘I am charmed, Miss Green.’

The young woman gave a throaty chortle and turned to Rose. ‘Where did you find this one? He’s quality, I’d wager a guinea on it.’

‘Oh, Mr Flynn is a very important man.’ Miss O’Keefe slanted an amused look at him. ‘But, it is not what you are thinking, Katy.’

‘Isn’t it?’ The doxy’s expression was sceptical. ‘What a shame …’

As the two young women talked of even more acquaintances, Flynn was left standing with the older gentleman.

He recognised the somewhat ramshackle fellow who was said to be one step from River Tick. ‘Good evening, Sir Reginald.’

The man was still catching his breath. ‘Flynn, isn’t it? In Tannerton’s employ, am I right?’

‘You are, sir.’

Sir Reginald poked him in the ribs. ‘Doing very well for yourself, ain’t you, my boy? Rose is a looker.’

Flynn did not reply. He was still in the throes of confusion. Rose O’Keefe could not be an innocent. Sir Reginald, a man on the fringe of society, knew her. A doxy knew her. She must be of their world. It made sense—the way she moved, the expression in her eyes, the timbre of her voice. That sort of sensuality made for arousing a man’s needs, enough to bewitch him, that was for certain. But she also brought him an aching yearning for the green hills of Ireland, the warmth of family, and the pure, unspoiled days of his boyhood in Ballynahinch. How did he explain that?

Illusion, he told himself. Again. In any event, none of this should matter to him. Rose O’Keefe could be nothing to him.

‘I am working for Tannerton,’ he explained to Sir Reginald.

‘Aha!’ The man wagged his brows knowingly, but this only disturbed Flynn more, as if by his innuendo the man were crushing the petals of a flower. A rose.

A bell sounded, announcing the illuminations were about to begin.

‘Come,’ cried the red-haired Katy. ‘We must get a good spot!’ She seized Sir Reginald’s arm and pulled him through the crowd.

Flynn held back until Katy and Sir Reginald disappeared. He wanted Rose to himself, wanted the illusion to return, even if she was not supposed to mean anything to him.

But he was thinking only of himself. He turned to Rose. ‘Do you wish us to find your friend?’

She shook her head and gripped his arm again. Together they walked to the illuminations. People jostled and pushed them, all trying to find the perfect spot to see the fireworks. It seemed natural for Flynn to put his arm around her and hold her close, so that she would not become separated from him.

The whoosh of a rocket signalled the first of the bursts of light and colour, and the explosions sounded like several muskets firing at once.

‘Oh!’ Rose gasped as the sky lit up with hundreds of shooting stars.

She turned her smiling face towards him, the hood of her cape falling away. Their gazes caught. The illuminations reflected in her eyes, and he was truly bewitched, lost, drowning in the sparkling lights. He bent his head and she lifted hers so that there could be no more than an inch separating their lips. Flynn wanted, ached, to close the distance, to feel the soft press of her lips against his, to taste her, to hold her flush against him. His body demanded more of her, all of her.

But he forced himself to release her, to break the contact with her eyes.

What had he been thinking? This was Tanner’s woman, as sure as if Tanner had given her his name. What sort of suicide was it for Flynn to even gaze at her as he had done?

Tanner might appear affable, but he was a formidable adversary if crossed. If Flynn, a mere secretary, a mere employee, took liberties with a woman Tanner had selected for himself, not only his position would be lost, but his entire future.

Her smile disappeared and she turned her head to watch the pyrotechnic display. Flynn kept his arm wrapped around her. Indeed, he could not bring himself to move it. She felt soft and warm against him, and he wanted to hold her through eternity.

The illuminations, however, came to an end.

‘I must return you.’ He slipped his arm from her back as the crowd dispersed, and glimpsed her friend strutting away, Sir Reginald in tow.

Rose—Miss O’Keefe, he should call her—nodded, taking his arm in a more demure fashion. Still, he could not hurry to the orchestra’s gazebo where he must leave her. He did not wish to let her go.

She stopped when they reached the door. ‘Thank you, Flynn, for the lovely tour of the park and the illuminations. I am most grateful to you.’

No, he could not release her yet. It was too soon.

Flynn remembered he had not given her the emerald ring still in his coat pocket. He had not spoken to her of Tanner’s willingness to be a generous patron. He had done nothing that his employer had sent him to do.

But even Tanner’s disappointment in him could not compel him to rectify this lapse in efficiency at the present moment.

‘Miss O’Keefe, may I call upon you tomorrow?’ Tomorrow he would do his duty, what his employer required of him.

She stared into his eyes, not answering right away. She inhaled sharply as if her decision had been a sudden one. ‘Not at my lodgings. Take me for a drive in the park.’

He nodded. ‘Two o’clock?’ Neither of them belonged in the park during the fashionable hour when the highest rung of society took over. Two o’clock should be early enough.

‘Two o’clock,’ she repeated.

‘There she is!’ a man’s voice shouted, and other voices joined him.

A throng of men started towards them. Flynn quickly rapped loudly on the door. It opened immediately, and she disappeared inside.

Flynn faced the group of men, unreasonably angry at their pursuit, unreasonably wanting to claim her for himself. Had he been alone that first night, not with Tanner, he might have been among men such as these. ‘She is spoken for, gentlemen. Abandon your pursuit.’

There were grumbles and arguments, but they all eventually dispersed. Except one man, elegantly attired in a coat that could only have been made by Weston. Flynn recognised him as the Earl of Greythorne.

‘You are Tannerton’s man, are you not?’ the earl asked.

‘I am,’ Flynn responded. He started toward the Grand Walk.

The earl fell in step with him. ‘And is the alluring Rose O’Keefe claimed by Lord Tannerton?’

‘She is.’

Flynn tried to remember what he knew of the gentleman, besides the fact that Tanner thought him a ‘damned prig.’ Greythorne’s estate was in Kent, but he possessed properties in Sussex and somewhere up north as well. He frequented the ton entertainments. Belonged to White’s. Still, there was something he was forgetting. Some rumour about the man.

Greythorne chuckled. ‘A pity. I fancy her myself.’ His arm swept the area. ‘As do others. Tannerton may be in for a serious contest.’

Greythorne possessed enough wealth to pose a threat. If he offered a great deal of money to put Rose under his protection, Flynn had no doubt Miss Dawes would bully O’Keefe into accepting. She’d have no qualms about selling Rose to the highest bidder.

Flynn regarded the man. ‘I am certain, as a gentleman, you would not covet what another man has claimed as his.’

Greythorne’s slippery smile remained. ‘Her father does not seem to agree with your perception. He seemed to indicate the game was still in progress.’

It was as if dark clouds suddenly gathered. ‘The deal is all but made,’ Flynn said.

Greythorne continued walking. ‘I would be the last man to encroach,’ he assured Flynn. ‘But if the deal is not made, I’m prepared to play my hand.’

Chapter Four

The next day was as sunny as any summer day could be in London as Flynn navigated the streets of Covent Garden on the way to Rose’s lodgings. Tanner had wholeheartedly endorsed this escapade, especially after hearing of Greythorne’s interest.

‘Something about that fellow,’ Tanner had said. ‘I have always detested the man. Damned natty, for one thing. Never a speck of dirt, or a wrinkle in his coat. Every hair in place. Devilish odd.’ Tanner had shuddered. ‘Something else, though. I shall endeavour to discover what it is.’

Tanner had insisted Flynn take his curricle and the matched chestnuts, which had cost him a fortune at Tattersalls.

Flynn brought the curricle to a halt in front of Rose’s building. He tossed a coin to a boy passing by, asking the lad to hold the horses. As he climbed the stairs to knock upon Rose’s door, his excitement grew, an excitement he had no right to feel.

The door opened and there she stood, green paisley shawl draped over the same dress she’d worn when he last visited these rooms, hat and gloves already on. If she could appear this beautiful in a plain dress, think of how she would look in all the finery Tanner could buy her.

He frowned as she turned to close the door. He must keep Tanner in mind. Wrest control over this tendency to be bewitched.

But his resolve frayed as his hands spanned her waist to lift her into the curricle. And frayed more when she smiled down at him.

He climbed up next to her, and the boy handed him the ribbons. ‘Hyde Park, is that correct?’ he asked her.

‘It does not have to be Hyde Park,’ she replied in a breathless voice.

‘Where then?’

The sun rendered her skin translucent, and he had the urge to pull off his gloves and touch her with the tip of his finger.

‘Anywhere you wish,’ she whispered.

They stared at each other.

‘Hyde Park, then,’ he said finally.

He flicked the ribbons and the horses started forward. He drove through the riders, wagons, carriages, and hacks on Long Acre towards Piccadilly. ‘Your father gave you permission for this outing, I trust.’

‘He and Letty are out,’ she responded. ‘So there was no objection.’

She had not really answered him, he realised. He thought of asking for an explanation. Why did she appear to be under her father’s control, yet also out in the world with the likes of her friend Katy Green?

‘It is a fine day,’ he said instead.

‘Yes, it is.’ She changed positions and her hand brushed his leg as she readjusted her skirt.

He felt her touch long after her hand closed upon the bench to steady herself.

Flynn mentally shook himself, and concentrated on what he intended to accomplish. He must give her Tanner’s gift, the finest emerald ring Flynn could find at Rundell and Bridge. He must offer her Tanner’s patronage and propose a time and place for her to meet Tanner.

And he must ensure she spurned Greythorne.

As the curricle reached the Hyde Park gate, Flynn felt back in form. ‘Have you driven through the park before, Rose?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, with no elaboration.

He was again reminded that she was no green girl, but it only forced him to wonder who her former escorts had been.

The fine day had brought many others to the park. Governesses with young children, servants and shopworkers, all taking respite from their toil. Fine gentlemen drove carriages accompanied by gaily dressed female companions—their mistresses, no doubt. Flynn knew some of these men, though he knew better than to nod in greeting. Later in the day some of these same gentlemen would return to this same carriage path to drive their wives or some respectable miss they were courting.

It occurred to Flynn that, if he did his job successfully, Tanner would soon be sitting in his place in this same curricle with Rose beside him. He frowned.

‘What makes you unhappy?’ she asked.

He started and looked over to see Rose staring at him, her lips pursed with concern.

‘I am not unhappy, I assure you.’

One brow arched. ‘You looked unhappy, I was thinking.’

With effort he composed his features into their usual bland expression. ‘I am not unhappy. Merely concentrating on driving.’

She faced forward again to watch the few carriages approaching them at a leisurely pace. ‘Yes, it is so treacherous here.’

He ignored her teasing and changed the subject. ‘Do you enjoy carriage rides?’

‘I do,’ she replied, smiling again.

‘The marquess has several carriages,’ he said, dutifully promoting Tanner’s interest. ‘This one, of course, and a phaeton, a landaulet—’

‘How nice,’ she said without enthusiasm.

He persevered. ‘He also has been known to purchase carriages for special friends.’

‘Yes. Special friends.’ She showed no increased interest.

Flynn gave her a sideways glance. Most women would leap at the chance to receive this man’s regard. The advantages were inestimable. ‘He is a generous man, Rose. I can provide you many examples to prove it, if you wish.’

She gave him an imploring look. ‘Please do not.’

He frowned again, pretending to concentrate on the horses and the carriage path. Finally he asked, ‘What is it, Rose? Every time I mention the marquess, you put me off. Perhaps if you could explain why, I would proceed in a manner to please you.’

Two spots of colour dotted her cheeks. ‘Oh, I have nothing against the man …’

Flynn waited for her to say more. The horses waited, too, almost slowing to a stop. He flicked the ribbons and they moved again. The Serpentine came into view, its water glistening in the afternoon sun.

‘It is pretty here,’ she said after a time.

He forgot about Tanner. Against the green of the grass, lushness of the trees and blue of the Serpentine, she looked like a Gainsborough portrait. He wished he could capture her image, frame it and hang it upon a wall to gaze at for ever.

He closed his eyes. This was madness, coveting his employer’s intended conquest.

He drew a breath, steeling himself again to perform his task. ‘I should like to speak for Lord Tannerton, if you will permit me.’

Rose wiped an escaped tendril from her forehead. She’d been pretending Mr Flynn had called upon her like a suitor. A foolish notion. He merely wanted to talk of the marquess.

The rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves on the gravel path seemed louder while she delayed her answer. How could she explain to him that she was not wanting a marquess’s money? She was wanting what every girl wanted.

Love.

She set her chin firmly. ‘Later perhaps we can speak of the marquess.’

‘But I ought—’ he began, but clamped his mouth shut. He blew out a long breath and continued in a resigned tone. ‘What do you wish to talk about, Rose?’

The knot inside her uncoiled. She could pretend a bit longer. ‘Oh, anything …’ She smiled at him, suddenly light hearted. ‘Things people talk about.’

Things she longed to know about him.

She took a breath. ‘Have … have you been in England long, Flynn?’

It took him a moment to respond. ‘Since I was eighteen.’

‘And how long is that, then?’ she persisted.

‘Ten years.’

She had discovered his age! Twenty-eight. ‘What brought you to England, then?’

‘I came to attend Oxford.’

‘Oxford? That is where gentlemen go, is it not? To become vicars and such?’

He laughed. ‘Yes, and other things.’

‘Your family was high enough for Oxford?’

He stiffened. ‘It was.’

She’d offended him. ‘I should not have spoken so.’ She blinked. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me.’

His expression softened. ‘My father is gentry, Rose, a fairly prosperous landowner. He was well able to send me to Oxford.’

Rose relaxed again. ‘And what after Oxford?’

‘I came to London in search of a position. Lord Tannerton took a risk hiring me.’

‘You must have impressed him.’

He gave a half-smile. ‘More like he took pity on me, I should think. But I have learned much in his employ.’

She felt bold enough to ask more. ‘Have you been back to Ireland, then?’

He shook his head, and the frown reappeared on his face.

Oh, dear. She’d made him unhappy again. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve only been in England a few months.’

‘And why did you come, Miss O’Keefe?’ His response sounded more automatic than curious and, oh, so formal.

‘The school was willing to keep me teaching. The school near Killyleagh, I mean. But I had this desire to sing, you see.’ She paused. ‘Like my mother.’

‘Your mother?’

She nodded. ‘My mother sang in London in her time. She died long ago.’

He looked at her with sympathy, pricking a pain she usually kept carefully hidden.

She swallowed. ‘In any event, my father was working in London, so I came here.’ She glanced away. ‘He could not afford to keep me at first, but then Mr Hook hired me to sing.’ She skipped over a lot of the story, perhaps the most important parts. ‘And when I’m done singing at Vauxhall, I’ll find another place to sing.’

‘Where?’ he asked.

‘Oh, somewhere. I’m thinking there are plenty of theatres in London.’

‘There are theatres in Ireland as well,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘Not like in London. London has King’s Theatre and Drury Lane and Vauxhall nearby. Plenty of places. My mother once performed in King’s Theatre.’

‘That is impressive,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘Not very impressive, really. She was in the chorus, but she did sing on the stage at King’s Theatre.’

‘Do you wish to sing in the King’s Theatre?’ he asked.

She sighed. ‘I do. More than anything. It must be the most beautiful theatre in the world.’

He smiled. ‘It is quite beautiful.’

‘You’ve seen it?’ She turned to him eagerly.

‘I’ve accompanied Lord Tannerton there on occasion.’

‘You have?’ She would have loved to just walk inside the building, see the boxes and the curtain and the stage. She sighed again.

He continued to smile at her.

She could not help but smile back at him, thinking how boyish he looked when he let his face relax.

A carriage came in the other direction and he attended to the driving again. They lapsed into silence.

She searched for something else to ask him. ‘What work do you do for Lord Tannerton, then?’

‘I manage many of his affairs—’ He cleared his throat. ‘His business affairs. Tend to his correspondence, arrange his appointments, pay bills, run errands and such.’