Chapter 3

"Oh, no," Rose squeaked as the full impact of the situation she had found herself in tumbled upon her like a pile of bricks. "No!"

She grasped the handle, shaking it vigorously, almost hysterically, as if she could force it open through sheer will. A bubble of pure panic was rising in her chest. Her breath was shallow, quick, making her feel quite lightheaded.

She couldn't breathe properly. The panic was disabling her.

"Stand back," he said in a curt voice.

She did so.

He suddenly lunged at the door, trying to force it open with his shoulder. He grunted, but the door still didn't budge an inch. His large frame should have been more than enough to break it, or at least dislodge it off its hinges. Rose truly hadn't seen such large muscles in another gentleman before. His arms kept straining against his jacket even when they were limp at his sides.

If a man as tall and fierce as him cannot open this door, then who can?

Rose felt hysteria well up in her chest again. She rushed towards the door, seizing the handle, and shaking it over and over.

"Please," the gentleman said in a softer voice, putting his hand over hers and gently removing it from the handle. "You are distressing yourself to no avail. The door is jammed and cannot be opened. We will just have to wait until someone opens it from outside."

"What?" Rose stared at him, her face paling. "No! Do you not understand?! If anyone finds me in here alone with you, it shall be the end of me!"

The gentleman's green eyes flickered. "Am I that hideous?" He gave a lopsided smile.

Even amidst her panic, Rose rolled her eyes at his attempts at flirting. "This is not the time for jokes!"

The man grabbed her chin and tilted her face up so she would look at him directly. "First, don't ever roll your eyes at me, again." His face was dark, and there was a hint of danger in his tone. His hand dropped to his side. "What do you want me to do?"

Rose bit her lip so hard that she almost tasted blood. She forced herself to take two long, deep breaths. The strange gentleman was right, it would hardly help matters if she broke down entirely or started screaming in panic. She needed to keep a grip on her emotions. She needed to remain calm.

They stared at each other, an awkward silence stretching between them. Rose blushed fiercely. She had never been alone with a gentleman before, apart from her brother. And it didn't help that the gentleman in question was so very handsome and commanding.

The gentleman's green eyes flickered slightly. "I do not even know your name." He straightened, taking a deep breath, then bowed slightly. "I am Benedict Crawford, the Viscount Dewsbury."

Rose's eyes widened, and she frowned. She had heard that name before, somewhere, but she couldn't quite remember where she heard it…

Suddenly, she gasped. She had attended a soiree only a week ago, and the ladies at the table had been gossiping about a certain viscount who had arrived in London the last month from further north, where he had been living for the past ten years.

"The Viscount Dewsbury is a rake," one young lady had whispered, her eyes as large as saucers. "My mama has warned me to stay away from him. Apparently, he has run wild while living in Scotland with his mad uncle. There are rumors he has sired an illegitimate child or two, or even three. He beds any woman he can lay his hands on. And he has a fearsome temper. You do not want to cross him."

Rose gaped at the gentleman. A frisson of fear ran down her spine. She was stuck in this room with a rake who bedded any woman he could lay his hands on and was violent, to boot. She knew that rumors weren't always true—her experience with how the ton gossiped about her own brother had shown her that—but still, there was always the possibility that the rumor about the Viscount was true, or at least parts of it.

"You look like you just spotted a ghost," he drawled, his grin widening as those magnetic eyes twinkled. "Are you afraid of me, Sunshine?"

"What?" Rose sputtered, gazing at him warily. "What did you just call me?"

He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he slowly reached out a hand, taking one of her unruly curls between his fingers, slowly caressing it. Rose was so stunned that she was transfixed. She wasn't able to move a muscle.

"I called you Sunshine," he repeated, in a soft, almost lulling voice. "On account of the brightness of your hair."

Rose stepped back hastily, breaking the contact, her heart pounding in her chest. His hand dropped to his side. He gave her a wolfish smile.

"You have not told me your real name," he reminded her, his eyes roaming over her body lazily, almost insolently. "So I am forced to call you what I will."

"I am Lady Rose Hardwood," she said in a clipped tone, trying to sound icy. "I am the sister of the Duke of Northfolk."

She watched, waiting for his expression to change at the mention of her fearsome brother, who was one of the most powerful members of the ton. Most gentlemen would blanch when they realized who her brother was. It wouldn't stop them from pursuing her, but they would become wary, never overstepping the mark with her. They were far too scared that Alexander would beat them to a pulp or ruin them entirely.

"They are milksops," Alexander had once declared disdainfully. "Every last one of them. Not a real man amongst the sorry lot of them."

Rose was used to her brother's dismissal of her suitors. It was his way. And she hadn't really cared that much about any of them to mind that her brother disapproved of them, anyway. Privately, she agreed with him. They were milksops, mostly fashionable dandies, who lounged around parlors or took mincing walks through Hyde Park. They seemed like little boys to her.

But Benedict Crawford, the Viscount Dewsbury, didn't react at all to her revealing who her brother was. There wasn't even a flicker of fear or wariness in his eyes. Perhaps he hadn't been in London long enough to hear the gossip about Alexander yet.

The Viscount bowed, sweeping one arm to the side in a classic, courtly gesture that seemed a bit incongruous, given the circumstances. It wasn't as if they had just been introduced in the ballroom downstairs. They were locked in a room together.

The situation was ludicrous.

"A pleasure, Lady Rose," he drawled, grinning at her again. "Perhaps you would care to take a turn around the room with me?"

Rose's jaw dropped. "Take a turn? Are you quite mad?"

He laughed. A booming laugh, which alarmed and thrilled her in equal measure. If anyone was walking down the hallway on the other side of the jammed door, they would be sure to hear it. But then she reminded herself that she should want them to hear it, for how else would anyone realize they were stuck in here?

She also had no idea why his laugh thrilled her. Perhaps it was his odd irreverence in the face of this ghastly situation. His frustration and irritation had seemingly vanished. Now, he didn't seem perturbed at all. If she had found herself in this situation with one of her milksop suitors, they probably would be sobbing with vexation by now, chewing on their fingernails.

"Well, we should find some way to pass the time," he said eventually, scratching his chin. "Alas, I failed to bring a pack of cards with me when I entered the room, you see. I had other things on my mind."

He stared at her, his green eyes smoldering, as if daring her to mention the circumstances in which she had discovered him.

Rose blushed fiercely, but she raised her chin, meeting his eyes. "Alas, I do not have a pack of cards either," she said in a droll voice. "It seems we must rely on the art of conversation."

"A pity." He shook his head, scratching his chin again. "I am very good at whist. I would beat you into the ground."

"That is not remarkable," Rose replied, her eyes glinting, "for gentlemen are raised to be proficient at cards, after all. You play all day long, do you not?"

He took a step closer to her, gazing down at her. "I believe that some gentlemen waste their time in such a manner," he relented. "However, I like to make better use of my time, My Lady. I like to stay… active."

Rose's blush deepened. For some reason, she didn't think he was referring to riding or hunting or any of the other usual activities that gentlemen pursued. He was referring to another kind of activity entirely. The kind of activity that had led him into this library with the tall lady.

"Do you like to keep active, Lady Rose?" he whispered, gazing down at her, looking amused.

Rose tried to look dignified. "I… I take long walks," she stuttered, heat staining her cheeks. "And I dance. I find that is sufficient."

He laughed again, softer this time. "There are so many more pleasurable activities," he pointed out, his gaze lingering on her face, watching her carefully. "But then I suppose you are far too young to know what I mean."

"I am not so young and innocent," she insisted, feeling foolish. She edged away from him.

He is a known rake. He tries to bed any woman. Clearly, he doesn't have any morals in that regard.

"They will assume the worst when we are found, you know," he continued, in a speculative way. "No matter what we tell them."

Rose shook herself, stepping away from him again. It was as if she was entering some kind of strange trance every time he stepped into her orbit, as if she were powerless to resist it. And yet she must resist it.

"A pity," he uttered, his eyes roaming over her body. "You are very beautiful. Usually, I would say in a situation like this that I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, but you are far too innocent for me, Sunshine. No matter what you heard about me, I don't ruin innocent ladies."

Rose stared at him, confused. She didn't know what he was talking about, only that he was gazing at her intensely.

"A great pity," he said, lowering his voice, and taking a step towards her again. "What a shame it is that we did not meet in the ballroom downstairs an hour ago, Lady Rose."

"Why?" Rose couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

He laughed softly. "You will find out one day, I am sure, but I am not the man to teach you. More is the pity."

"Teach me what?" She couldn't stop staring at his lips. For some reason, they were mesmerizing her.

He opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, but at that moment, the door suddenly burst open. They both jumped like scalded cats, whirling around.

Rose froze with horror, for standing there was her mother. And behind the Dowager Duchess, there was a sea of shocked faces, all peering over her shoulder, straining to get a glimpse into the library.

Rose's heart sank to the ground. It was the worst possible outcome. Now, she had to explain what had actually happened.

Would anyone listen to her?