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R ockwell hadn’t seen his brother look so happy for a long, long time. Wolf and Tiffany had returned from their honeymoon in Cornwall last week. Married life obviously agreed with the happy couple. In fact, Tiffany was glowing tonight, even though he understood how nervous she was about hosting her first ball as the Marchioness of Wolfarth.

The night was going well, with most of the ton present, many no doubt wanting to evaluate Tiffany. How had she captured the attention of the Marquess of Wolfarth? That was the question top of their minds. The answer was easy—with love.

That was why he hid in the shadows. He was now the only eligible Wolfarth left. Most knew he’d accumulated his own fortune from his travels and investing. He was now sought after by mothers of young debutantes. While Rockwell held no fear of love—in fact, he loved a lot of women—he wasn’t ready to find “the one”.

He’d taken immense satisfaction in cleaning up Sprat’s crimes instead. While the newly married couple were in Cornwall, Sprat had been tried and hanged. The saga was over, and he hoped Wolf could get on with his life and put the terrible past behind him. If his contented, smug smile was anything to go by, he had.

The heat of the ballroom hit, and just as he was thinking of taking a stroll on the terrace, a feminine laugh caught his ear and he knew whom it belonged to—Lady Farah, the younger sister of the Duke of Blackstone, his best friend. “Stone” to everyone who knew him, because he had about as much emotion in him as a stone did. But Rockwell knew that underneath Stone’s ducal persona there was a man who was all heart. Or he hoped so.

He searched the crowd and found her with the other ladies who surrounded Tiffany. But his eyes saw only Lady Farah.

He loved the sound of her laugh. It was warm-hearted and filled with joy. He shook his head to clear the image of Farah standing in his bedchamber with his Hessian boot on her long slender leg, her skirts hiked up to her waist. He’d never seen anything so erotic. Was that why he couldn’t get her out of his head?

Rumor was, Stone was marrying her off to Lord Franklin. That wouldn’t be a happy match. Perhaps he should talk to Stone. But there had been no announcement yet. Franklin was as dreary as a cold winter’s day, and quiet, shy Farah needed a man who could draw out the real woman inside. The woman who wasn’t scared to assert her own wishes and desires. He felt sorry for Farah. If Stone pushed ahead with this match, she would marry a man who didn’t know how to spell “fun”, let alone enjoy life.

As if Lady Farah had sensed him watching her, she turned and glided across the floor toward where he hid from the crowd. He couldn’t help the seductive smile that broke over his lips. She was very beautiful in a pixie-ghost sort of way.

“Good evening, my lord. I hear you’re traveling to Ireland tomorrow to retrieve the money Sprat stole from Lady Wolfarth.”

“That’s correct. I need to sign some papers at the bank to have the funds transferred back to Wolf.”

Farah nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think it will take long for the funds to be returned?”

This made Rockwell curious. Why was Lady Farah so interested in funds? “It should not take more than a few weeks.”

She bit her lip. “That long?” She rubbed her hands together.

“Is there a reason Tiffany may need the funds sooner?”

She shook her head. “No. Not Tiffany.” Then, before he could ask more, she brushed past him and out into the corridor.

How strange. Had Tiffany invested funds for Farah? Why would Farah, of any of the ladies, need funds? Her brother was very wealthy and she was soon to be married to a wealthy lord.

Before he could give the strange conversation any further thought, Tiffany arrived at his side. “I think it’s time to dance with your sister-in-law instead of hiding from all the ladies in the corner of the room. Why are men so afraid of marriage?”

“Wolf has shown me there is no need to be afraid of marriage, only of choosing the wrong woman.”

“Well answered, Rockwell. Is there a right woman for you, do you think?”

An image of Farah in his Hessian flashed through his head.

She chuckled. “Oh, I think there might be.” And as they danced, Tiffany ran her eye over the ladies present, only Farah had not returned to the ballroom yet. Tiffany turned her attention back to Rockwell. “I will work out who it is. I’m so happy. I want everyone to find what I have found with Wolf.”

*

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. He was perfectly capable of undressing himself.

He pictured Farah helping him undress. He’d love to undress her and leave her standing naked except for his Hessians. For God’s sake, he had to pull himself together. He wasn’t ready to marry. He had a big safari through Africa to do next. He wouldn’t marry and 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, when his head hit the pillow and…something else. 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 a fine scent of roses. Slowly he undid the ribbon and rolled out the sheet.

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 began to stroke 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.

The End