Chapter 2

"Is anybody in here?" Rose asked tentatively as she stepped hesitantly into the library.

It was so dark that she stumbled over a footstool, only just managing to steady herself. She saw the blurry haze of candlelight from further within, but that appeared to be the only source of light within the massive space.

Rose stopped, her heart pounding. She frowned. Were there whispers coming from the far corner of the room? Or was her imagination running away from her?

"Is there anybody in here?" she called again, feeling uncertain. She didn't want to surprise anyone else who might have taken refuge here.

Suddenly, there was a squeal. A high-pitched, feminine squeal. Before Rose could react to it, a figure brushed past her, almost knocking her to the ground. Rose had to steady herself again, staring at the figure. It was a tall, slender lady in a diaphanous salmon-colored gown, with dark brown hair, sprinting towards the door as if the very hounds of hell were pursuing her. The lady didn't look back. Rose couldn't see her face at all.

There was a loud bang, followed by a rattle. Rose jumped. The lady had clearly left the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Rose tried to catch her breath, gazing around the darkened room, her heart pounding in her chest. The ghostly encounter had spooked her, just a little.

It was just a lady. A lady like me who just wanted to have a moment to herself. It wasn't a ghost. Stop being ridiculous.

Suddenly, she saw the flickering candlelight approaching her. Rose stiffened, pressing herself against a bookcase, her heart pounding harder. There was someone else in this room, and they were fast approaching her.

She hesitated, torn between running towards the door or bluffing it out. She decided to bluff it out. She wasn't doing anything wrong by being here, and she hadn't had any idea that anyone else was in the library, had she? She would simply apologize for disturbing them and then leave.

The candlelight grew brighter. The figure was almost upon her. Rose plastered a bright, fake smile on her face, bracing herself for the embarrassing encounter.

She could clearly see the figure now. It was a man. A very tall, powerfully built man, wearing a white shirt and pale tan britches, but no evening jacket. Rose's eyes widened in alarm. His white shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, exposing his hard torso, and his gray cravat was askew.

Rose felt a strange stirring within her as she gazed at the firm, rock-hard muscles of his chest and abdomen. It was unlike anything that she had ever felt before.

Her eyes flew to his face. He was looking directly at her as if he was the one seeing a ghost. Rose bit her lip, highly embarrassed, but she was unable to stop staring at him. He was handsome. In fact, he was very handsome, with a strong jawline, straight nose, and stark green eyes, the color of a river on a sunny day. He had a mop of curly dark brown hair, which he brushed from his face, his eyes never leaving hers for a moment.

Rose couldn't breathe. The moment stretched out. She watched, in the manner of a snake hypnotized by a snake charmer, as he set down the small candelabra he was carrying on a small side table, before calmly buttoning up his shirt and fixing his cravat.

"You have truly dreadful timing," he drawled in a deep voice.

Rose shook herself, hastily averting her eyes, feeling a deep, painful flush spread across her face. The gentleman was in a state of half-undress! What on earth had he been doing in here with that tall lady?

You know what they have been doing in here. They were doing something they shouldn't have been doing.

Rose bit her lip, beyond mortified. She didn't know everything that went on between men and women in that way, but she knew that unmarried people were not allowed to do it. That if they succumbed to temptation, it was a sin before the eyes of God and they could face potential ruin. High society did not look well upon it, especially in regard to the ladies involved.

At least, that's what her tutors had always said to her during her lessons. Rose wasn't sure she wanted to word it as strongly, but she didn't know anything else.

Her own brother, Alexander, and his wife Edwina had been discovered in a compromising position, and it had been written about in a scandal sheet. That was what the virago Miss Hartfield had been referring to when she had said that Rose's family was mired in controversy.

But Alexander had done the honorable thing and married Edwina, at least. And it had turned out to be the best thing for him—he and his wife were so happy together. Would this very handsome gentleman, standing before her, casually buttoning up his shirt, do the honorable thing and marry the tall lady if Rose had identified her and spread the word?

"I should leave," she said abruptly, finding her voice at long last. "You require privacy, Sir…"

"Are you afraid of me, My Lady?" he asked slowly, lazily, pinning her with his green eyes, which seemed to look into her very soul. He smirked, and his eyes danced with amusement. Almost as if he wanted to toy with her, make her flush. "You do not need to leave on my account. I quite enjoy a woman watching me dress."

Rose's eyes widened. It was a saucy thing to say to a lady, but then what could she expect from such a gentleman who had just been caught in a compromising position with a lady, even if she hadn't actually witnessed it with her very own eyes?

"Regardless of that," Rose said, feeling like she was about to die from mortification, "I really should leave. I apologize for… disturbing you." Her face was burning so brightly that it probably looked like the sun. "Good evening."

She turned on her heel, marching towards the door, trying desperately not to trip. She could feel his eyes on her. She suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering what she looked like in his eyes, highly aware of where her gown clung to her body and how many more curls had managed to escape from the confines of her chignon since she had looked in the hallway mirror only ten minutes ago.

Instantly, she was shocked at the thought. Why on earth did she care how she appeared to him? Why did she care if he was looking at her figure, judging her and finding her lacking? She didn't know him from Adam, nor did she care to. The gentleman was clearly a rake.

Rose reached the door, gripping the handle and turning it. It wouldn't budge. Puzzled, she kept turning it, her movements becoming increasingly harried. But the door simply wouldn't open.

She frowned, withdrawing her hand and sharply staring at the handle, as if it might tell her what was amiss. Had the tall lady locked the door from the outside? But why would she do such a thing? Was it even possible to lock it from the outside?

"How strange," she murmured to herself, taking a deep breath, before gripping the handle once more. She shook it firmly, twisting it this way and that, using all her strength. But it still wouldn't budge.

A small kernel of panic started to form in the pit of her stomach. She needed to get out of this room. Not only was she stuck in here with a strange gentleman she didn't know, but her mother might start to search for her if she noticed she was missing from the ballroom. Her search might lead her to this very room.

Oh, Lord. I will be utterly ruined if I am discovered in a locked room with this gentleman!

Rose's heart started to race again. Her mouth went dry. Vigorously, she shook the handle, willing it to open. But once more, it refused to comply.

"Is there something amiss?"

Rose spun around. The gentleman was standing there, frowning slightly. His shirt was buttoned properly now and his cravat straightened. She noted that he had slipped on an evening jacket, as well, though his curly brown hair was still messy, as if he had been rolling around in a field of hay. He stared at her hand on the door handle.

She gaped up at him, once again, shocked anew by his physique. He was as tall as she imagined a Viking warrior to be, looking as if he spent all his time in battle, wielding swords and ripping up tree trunks with his bare hands. It was as if she had encountered a warrior, rather than a gentleman. The contrast between him and the fops who buzzed around her was vast.

"Yes," she breathed, shaking the handle again, "it appears to be broken, or wedged, or something." She hesitated. "It cannot be locked from the outside, can it?"

"Not likely," he replied, putting his hand over her own on the handle. "The only way it can be locked is from within."

Rose could barely breathe. In addition to her panic over the locked door, now she had him to contend with. He was standing so close to her, and his hand was covering her own. She stared at it. It was such a big, masculine hand. It was so big that it completely dwarfed her own.

And then there was the sensation of their hands touching. Tiny sparks were shooting up her arm from where their flesh was connected. It was oddly thrilling, but also very alarming. She had never felt such a thing before in her life.

He was so close that she could feel his breath on her neck. Heat was emanating from him. And what was that scent? It was very masculine, a strong cologne, intermingled with the stale smell of sweat that had obviously been secreted during his… tussle with the tall lady.

Oh, Lord. I never expected I would be in this situation! What am I going to do?

But the gentleman didn't appear to notice the strange effect he was having on her. His attention was entirely focused on the door handle. He shook it, quite vigorously, jiggling it in every direction. He stopped for a moment, his lips thinning, before he tried again.

"What the deuce," he muttered, looking angry and frustrated. "What the devil is wrong with it?"

Rose gazed at him, her eyes roaming over him, before she hastily averted them. Her whole body felt flushed now, as if she had a fever.

"I… I think that it is broken," she declared, her heart stuttering in her chest. "The lady who left the room did slam the door shut quite hard. Perhaps she dislodged the handle on the other side."

He glanced at her quickly, his frown deepening, before turning his attention back to the door. He didn't reply. He simply kept turning the handle over and over again, looking increasingly frustrated by the minute.

"Please stop," she begged, the panic growing in her stomach. "My hand is beginning to hurt…"

He looked at her closely, abruptly taking his hand off the handle. Ruefully, she removed her own hand, shaking it to get the blood flowing back.

"We are locked in here together, then?" Rose whispered, the terror in her voice audible even to her own ears.

He took a deep, ragged breath, but then smiled wolfishly. "Well, I'm not locked in here with you. You are locked in here with me." He winked.

Upon noticing the tremors racking Rose's body though, he seemed to frown and sober up.

"The door will not open for love or money. And there is no other exit from this room. It seems that we are in quite a pickle."