Page 2 of Lady Farah Creates a Scandal (The Season of Secrets #2)
“Stone, darling,” Lady Pemberton interrupted with a breathy laugh, her fingers tightening possessively on his arm. “You didn’t tell me your sister was such a lovely little thing. So delicate, so… fragile.” The way she said “fragile” made it sound like a flaw rather than a compliment.
Miss Ashworth tittered in agreement. “Indeed, Your Grace. She’s quite the opposite of you, isn’t she? So small and retiring. How sweetly innocent she appears.”
Farah felt her cheeks burn as the two women continued their assessment of her as if she were a piece of porcelain they were considering purchasing.
Meanwhile, Stone basked in their attention, his chest puffing slightly with masculine pride at having secured the evening’s two most sought-after beauties.
This was how it always was. Stone commanded the room effortlessly, drew admirers like honey drew flies, while she faded into the background—the duke’s shy, unremarkable sister who could barely string two words together in company.
Even now, as several other gentlemen hovered nearby hoping for an introduction to his companions, Stone remained the undisputed center of attention.
“Perhaps you should retire early this evening,” Stone continued, his dark eyes boring into hers. “You look rather overwhelmed by the festivities.”
Overwhelmed by you, more like, she thought rebelliously, though she would never dare voice such insolence aloud. Instead, she found herself nodding meekly, staying in character so she didn’t raise his suspicions.
“Oh, but surely the evening is still young!” Lady Pemberton protested, though her gaze never left Stone’s profile. “Besides, I was hoping Your Grace might honor me with another dance. You move with such…authority on the dance floor.”
As the two women continued to vie for Stone’s attention with increasingly bold compliments, Farah felt the familiar suffocating sensation that always accompanied these public displays of her brother’s magnetism.
She was invisible next to him, insignificant, just another piece of furniture in his perfectly ordered life.
Soon nobody would be able to ignore her, and for once, her fear fled on the wings of exhilaration. She would make her life her own and her brother wouldn’t be able to stop her.
The image of herself in Blackstone’s study, speaking her mind about Lord Franklin, with her brother overpowering every concern she’d raised, flashed through her memory.
For just a moment, she’d felt like a real person with real opinions—not just an extension of her brother’s will. But as usual, he didn’t listen.
“Actually,” she said quietly, surprised by the firmness in her voice, “I believe I’ll stay a bit longer. I promised Lady Tiffany I would help her until the last guest departs.”
Stone’s eyebrows rose a fraction—the only sign of his surprise at her gentle defiance. “Did you indeed?”
The two women looked between them with barely concealed curiosity, sensing undercurrents they couldn’t quite grasp. Lady Pemberton’s grip on Stone’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Well then,” Stone said after a moment that stretched like eternity, “I suppose duty must come first.” His tone suggested this was merely a temporary reprieve, not a true victory.
As he turned to escort his admirers toward the card room, Farah caught his parting words: “We shall speak tomorrow, sister. There are matters we must finalize.”
He was still pushing her at Lord Franklin. The promise—or was it a threat?—sent a chill down her spine. She would not marry that man. Her brother would have to drag her kicking and screaming down the aisle and even Blackstone would balk at that.
For the first time in her life, instead of merely dreading their inevitable conversation, she found herself thinking: Let him try to intimidate me. I’m beginning to remember what it feels like to have a spine. She had a plan and a good one.
Soon, when her plan worked, she thought with sudden fierce determination, she’d be free of all this. Free to make her own choices, free to speak her own mind, free to love whom she chose. One day, she wouldn’t need his permission to simply exist.
The realization both terrified and exhilarated her. Change was coming—she could feel it in her bones like the approach of a storm. And for the first time in her life, she found herself looking forward to the tempest rather than cowering from it.
Before anyone else could stop her, she escaped the ballroom and headed up the stairs.
*
Nearing dawn, Rockwell entered the bedchamber he kept at Wolfarth House. He was too tired to return to his bachelor quarters after Tiffany’s successful ball. He’d told Wolf’s valet, Simpson, not to wait up for him. A man like him was perfectly capable of undressing himself.
He pictured Farah helping him. He’d love to undress her and leave her standing naked except for his Hessians…
He shook his head. For God’s sake, he had to pull himself together.
He wasn’t ready to marry. He had a big expedition through Africa next month.
He couldn’t marry and abruptly go off on a dangerous twelve-month trip.
It wouldn’t be fair to his wife. A pity, really, as he suspected Blackstone would have Farah married off by the time he returned, if not before.
Rockwell slid naked between the sheets. He was already hardening, thinking of a naked Farah in his arms, then his head hit the pillow and…
something else. In the dim light from the fire, he sat up and turned to look.
It was a roll of parchment tied with a pink ribbon.
As he picked it up, he could smell the fine scent of roses.
Slowly, he undid the ribbon and rolled out the sheet, tilting it towards the firelight to read it.
Safe travels to Ireland. I shall miss you while you are away.
But my dreams are free and I shall dream of you…
Yours F.
He put the parchment to his nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed. It smelled of the fragrance Farah had worn tonight.
Fancy little mousy Farah sneaking into his room to leave this saucy note on his pillow. What the hell did it mean? He didn’t want to examine too closely why he was so pleased.
It made him not want to leave for Ireland tomorrow. As he stroked his cock, picturing Farah in his room, naked in his bed, he thought it would be the quickest trip to Ireland and back he’d ever made.