Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

P atrick felt like the slimiest of snakes as he sorted through the cards while Rosie was in the bath. There was simply no other way, though. He'd nearly kissed her before she'd left his study, and God knew where that would have led. He couldn't trust himself around her anymore, and knowing how he'd hurt her, he had to make sure it never happened again.

He was determined to make her his wife and get her safely settled on one of his estates… far away from him, and anyone else who might hurt her. With that in mind, he continued sorting the cards. If he organized them just right, he was guaranteed a win. God how he hated cheaters, and loathed himself even more for stooping to such lows, but it was for the greater good. When he won, he would claim her hand as his prize.

Even in his own mind it sounded ridiculously stupid, but it was the best plan he had come up with. If she had been appalled at the idea of marrying him before, it would be exponentially worse knowing of his parentage. Being connected to a marquessate in any way sounded illustrious, but was, in fact, very daunting. Even for him, and that was all he'd ever known.

When the cards were in the perfect order, he laid half of the stack in front of himself and the other half in front of the empty chair across from him. He let out a long sigh, and continued to tell himself it was for the best.

Patrick reached his arms up to stretch his muscles, and a jolt of pain shot through his shoulder. With all that had happened, he'd completely forgotten about that damned wound. He stood and gingerly removed his coat, draping it over the back of his chair. At least he wasn't bleeding through his shirt.

Patrick's muscles ached but his thoughts spun like a top inside his head. How was it possible for a man to be both excessively frenzied and utterly exhausted at the same time? Perhaps a half glass of brandy wouldn't go amiss. He walked to his decanter. The amber liquid splashed in and then out of the glass as his arm gave a violent twitch. He set everything down, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. The alternative would have been to throw the glass across the room like a frustrated child.

There came a light tap at the door, and he was glad he'd refrained when he turned and saw Rosie standing in the doorway. Her hair was damp and down around her shoulders. She was wrapped in a light blue, silk wrapper, and her fingers fidgeted nervously with the sash. His heartbeat stuttered. She looked so unsure. He just wanted to hold her and promise that everything was going to be alright, but holding would lead to kissing, which would lead to other things. Instead, he smiled.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, much better. Thank you." She nodded and her shoulders relaxed a bit.

"Sit." Patrick gestured toward her usual seat in front of his desk. "The cards are dealt and ready for us."

She nodded again. "I hope you didn't cheat," she quipped as she settled herself in the chair.

Patrick's stomach lurched and he very nearly tripped over his own feet. "Me?" He clutched his hand over his chest in an exaggerated show of being offended. But in truth, he was completely nauseated, a fist wrapped around his stomach, knowing he had done exactly that.

She giggled softly, oblivious of what a cad he was.

Patrick seated himself in the chair opposite and turned over his first card. He'd never felt like more of a blackguard in all his life.

He breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, girding himself for what was to come. "I promised to tell you everything, and since I know you're not looking for small talk, I'll just get right to it." Rosie looked up, apparently waiting with bated breath. Well, he'd not make her wait any longer.

"As you know from the letter, my brother is the Marquess of Epworth." Rosie nodded but said nothing. In fact, she looked down and turned over her next card. She was trying to make this easier for him. Patrick's heart filled with gratitude. He didn't deserve this kind, selfless woman. He turned over his card, and then continued with his explanation.

"I was my father's second son. The spare, if you will."

She looked up then, her brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Well, the second son only becomes important on the solemn occasion that the first one drops dead."

She choked. "Don't be ridiculous. That's not true."

Patrick raised his brows. "Isn't it?"

She shook her head. "Of course it isn't. But that wasn't what I meant." She looked into his eyes then. "What I don't understand is why you're ashamed of who you are."

"Ashamed?"

She shrugged, looking a bit exasperated. "Embarrassed? I don't know the reason, but you hide your rank, your standing in society, and refuse to allow people to show you the deference to which you are entitled."

Patrick shook his head and let out a long sigh. "You see, that is precisely the reason I chose this life." He turned over another card. "I don't want deference. I want people to respect me for the man I am, not because of the man my father was."

Rosie stared into his eyes then, her head to one side.

He'd never tried to explain this to anyone before and hadn't expected her to take him seriously. If he was honest, he felt a bit churlish complaining about being the son of a marquess, and he'd assumed Rosie would think him ungrateful and self absorbed. And perhaps he was. But she didn't look at him that way. Her gaze was tender, and curious.

"So how exactly does the second son of a marquess end up here?"

"You mean, living in a tiny flat over a shop in a less than respectable part of London?"

Rosie chuckled. "Well yes, but I'm actually more interested in the part where you became the owner of a gaming hell with your two friends. Are they also lords?"

Patrick sighed and nodded. "The three of us were at Oxford together. We were all orphaned fairly young and close together. After we left school, we soon all had our own demons to fight." He reached for his glass, but it wasn't in its usual place. He'd left it next to the decanter. He let out another sigh. "When Ash asked if we'd like to partner him in opening a club, Michael and I both jumped at the chance. It was exactly what all of us needed."

They reached the end of the first round, and Patrick's stack of cards was much taller than Rosie's. Another tendril of guilt snaked its way around his heart.

"What does your brother think of your club?"

"Ha!" Patrick nearly choked on his laughter. "If we're going to talk about my brother, I definitely need my brandy." He pushed back his chair and crossed the room to the decanter. "Would you like a glass?" he asked, as he filled his own.

"No, thank you," Rosie answered, with a soft groan. "My head wouldn't thank me. I'll just stick with tea."

He chuckled, and then yawned as he returned to his desk.

There was concern in Rosie's eyes. "Perhaps we should put our game on hold so you can get some sleep."

Patrick was exhausted. He hadn't had any real sleep in days, and under any other circumstances, he would wholeheartedly agree. But he had to finish this game.

"I'm fine," he assured her, forcing as genuine of a smile as he could muster. He nodded to the desk where it was her turn to play a card. Hesitantly, she looked away from him and took her turn.

"Surely, you must have more questions for me."

Rosie raised her eyebrows. "I did, in fact, ask you a question."

"Oh yes, my brother." He tipped his head to the side stretching some of the tension from his neck. "I think he's still holding onto the hope that I will eventually lose interest in all of this and settle down." He shrugged. "Our relationship has always been a bit difficult, but I think he probably cares, in his own way."

"Well," Rosie said, turning over another card, "I, for one, think you are lucky to even have a brother."

Patrick nodded. "I won't argue with you there. For one thing, without him, I'd have been the one to inherit the title, and God knows I'm not cut out for that level of responsibility." He grimaced at the thought.

Rosie took a breath, presumably about to argue his case, but then just shook her head. "Tell me about Michael and Ash. I mean, Patrick and Michael are common enough names, but surely Ash isn't actually his name?"

"No. Ash is short for his title," Patrick explained. "His full name is Adrian Black, Earl of Ashdown" Rosie blinked rapidly.

"Earl," she said under her breath. "And Michael?"

Patrick hesitated, but what did it matter at this point? "Michael Cunningham, Earl of Dalinridge."

Rosie laughed nervously.

"I know what you're thinking, Rosie, but they're nice people." Patrick looked into her eyes. "We're nice people."

She furrowed her brow. "I never said you weren't." She turned over her last card, a 10 of diamonds, and waited for his.

Not now, this was terrible timing. He couldn't win yet. His stomach lurched as he saw the black J. He had won. He looked up into Rosie's eyes, his heart pounding. Fear, dread, guilt all fighting within him. But then she smiled, and like always, it warmed him like a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds after a storm.

"What would you like for your prize?" she asked. To Patrick's surprise, her eyes widened with anticipation rather than apprehension.

Patrick swallowed. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for what came next.

* * *

Patrick pushed himself out of his chair and slowly made his way around the desk. Butterflies fluttered low in her belly and her lips tingled. Oh, how she loved the feel of his lips on hers. He took her hand gently and urged her to her feet. She swallowed as she looked up into his eyes. But instead of bending down to kiss her, he lowered himself onto one knee before her.

Panic rushed through her. She began shaking her head side to side before he even uttered a word.

He ignored that. "Rosie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Patrick, you can't— Don't be— I'm not—" She was completely flustered.

He lowered his head with a sigh, allowing the top of his head to rest against her stomach. When he looked up again, there was so much hurt in his eyes. "Please, just hear me out."

Rosie nodded. How could she not? He stood, then, and gazed down at her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her left ear.

"You wouldn't have to be my wife in the usual way, but you would have everything you could ever want for; a beautiful home, gowns, jewelry, servants to see to your every whim. You would also have the protection of my name, which as you now know, is a powerful one."

Rosie nodded, but her brain was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. She was quite certain she could happily spend the rest of her life with this man, but that wasn't what he was offering. What he was offering was to hide her away somewhere and keep her safe. Even if he wasn't the son of a marquess and clearly out of his mind offering something he couldn't realistically offer to someone of her status, she wanted more than to be kept safe. Not only that, but he deserved better than her.

She took a deep breath, trying to order her thoughts. "Patrick, this means more than you can possibly know. You're offering me a life I could never have imagined." She closed her eyes briefly and squeezed his hands. "You're the son of a marquess, Patrick. You can't simply marry a nobody like me." It took every bit of strength she possessed to hold back the tears as she watched desperation fill his eyes.

His warm hands grasped her shoulders gently. "Rosie, you are not a nobody."

"You know what I mean, Patrick. As the son of a marquess, you must marry a lady of good breeding. Or one with a large dowry, at the very least."

"That's the advantage to being the second son." His lips turned up, but the smile didn't meet his eyes. "I can do whatever the hell I want."

He was just being ridiculous now. Of course he couldn't.

"Will my brother have a bit of a temper tantrum? Of course he will." He squeezed her shoulders. "But I've weathered worse. I assure you."

"Patrick," she said, shaking her head. Why did he have to make this so difficult?

"Please, Rosie." His eyes pleaded even more than his words. "This is what I want for my prize." Desperation infused his voice, and she knew… he wasn't going to take no for an answer. She would have to find another way. She had to save him from himself.

A plan almost instantly unfolded in her head. A heart wrenching plan, but one she knew she must accomplish. She could not allow him to sacrifice his life for her. One day, he would regret it. One day, he would want a wife who deserved him, and would loathe her for denying him that. Fortifying her resolve, she looked up into his eyes and smiled.

"I'll make you a deal."

Patrick's eyebrows rose expectantly.

"If you will go sleep, in your own bed, for at least a few hours, I will sit in here and mull this whole thing over."

Patrick nodded slowly. "Why do I have to sleep?"

"You look as if you're about ready to collapse. When was the last time you slept?"

He let out a long sigh and rubbed his palms over his forehead. There were dark circles under his eyes. "Very well, but promise me you'll consider my offer."

She nodded, but he took her hands again and gazed into her eyes. "Promise me."

She knew even before speaking the words that they were a lie, and hated herself for it. "I promise." Then she immediately continued with her next sentence before he could call out her lies. "Just allow me to gather a few things I might want from your room so I won't disturb your much needed sleep." She smiled nervously, praying he wouldn't ask any questions.

Patrick nodded and gestured toward the door. "Of course."

Rosalyn hurried down the hall. Making sure he hadn't followed her, she grabbed the hooded cloak he'd given her and rolled it up tightly and tucked it inside her velvet robe which she folded around it. Obviously, if he saw the cloak, he would have questions, but a warm robe wouldn't raise his suspicions. She then grabbed A Christmas Carol off of the table. She treasured it too much to leave it behind, even if she didn't deserve to keep it. She grabbed a handkerchief and the gambling chip he'd given her and stuffed them inside her bundle.

Making her way back down the long corridor, she straightened her spine and raised her chin. Crying would have to wait until later.

"There." She held up the bundle in her arms. "Now I can read and be cozy in your favorite chair."

Patrick arched one of his brows. "I thought you were supposed to be thinking."

"I can think and read at the same time, believe it or not."

Patrick chuckled. He rested his hands on her shoulders and brushed his lips softly across her forehead. "Good night, Rosie."

Tears burned her eyes, but she held them back. "Good night, Patrick." She quickly turned away and made her way to his chair. Please just go. Please just go. Finally, his footsteps moved into the hallway and gradually grew quieter as the distance lengthened between them. When his door eventually closed, she allowed one tear to escape. She still couldn't release the entire deluge that was inevitably coming, just in case he came back. Now, she just had to wait for him to fall asleep. It was going to be the longest, most difficult wait of her life.