Chapter 21

Paris

It was a full-page advert.

I might not have learned of the advert at all, if not for a fellow American actress who offered me congratulations as I arrived at the theater. Seeing my confusion, she produced the morning edition of Le Figaro , where I found the advert on page 3. Big block letters spread out on the page to read:

MR. ALFRED MOORE EMERSON III ANNOUNCES HIS BETROTHAL TO MISS ROSE O'DONAHUE.

There was a smaller story at the bottom about how the wedding would take place after I returned to New York, as I was currently starring in a traveling theatrical production. My incredulity rose with every letter and sentence.

Of all the dashed nerve.

First, I crumpled the newsprint into a tiny ball, then I marched to the nearest télégraphe office. Moore had lost his mind, apparently. I never consented to marry him. Furthermore, he hadn't asked .

Wasn't this high-handedness exactly like him?

I sent a cable to the New York World , asking them to print my response and bill it to Moore:

MISS ROSE O'DONAHUE DELIVERS EMPHATIC REJECTION OF MR. ALFRED MOORE EMERSON III'S PROPOSAL.

TALENTED ACTRESS UNINTERESTED IN TYCOON'S SHENANIGANS.

There. Let him choke on that.

Then I returned to work.

Two days later another full-page advert appeared:

MR. ALFRED MOORE EMERSON III BEGS MISS ROSE O'DONAHUE FOR ANOTHER CHANCE.

TYCOON DETERMINED TO MARRY FAMOUS ACTRESS.

I snorted and hid my smile behind a sip of my morning chocolat . How was he managing this? By placing adverts in every major newspaper around the globe? The man had money to burn, apparently.

I could only imagine what New York Society thought of these exchanges. The city would likely run out of smelling salts. What happened to his concern over gossip and avoiding a scandal? This was a scandal of Moore's own making.

I stared at the words on the newsprint and my toes curled. I hardly believed they were real. Moore wanted to marry me? So what had changed his mind?

I missed him, certainly. And this was flattering. Never would I have believed him capable of such a public display of his feelings.

Still, he'd hurt me.

I think I love you.

I rubbed the center of my chest, wishing for the permanent ache lodged there to dissipate. I wanted a partner who loved me beyond reason, without any shred of doubt. So was Moore's stunt about love . . . or about the reacquisition of his favorite toy?

I wasn't certain. And guessing was too great of a risk. If I were wrong, then I ended up precisely back where we started—and I had far too much pride for that.

Paris was my future and there was no reason to dwell in the past. Eventually, I would recover from this heartache and feel happiness like before. One thing I knew for certain? Never again would I agree to being a man's mistress.

I folded the newspaper and set it aside. There was no use in sending a response.

The adverts appeared like clockwork.

Over the next three weeks Le Figaro printed another declaration from Moore every other day. At first it was embarrassing, but the theater where I performed loved the publicity. Tickets were sold out every night, the Parisians racing to see the actress who had an American tycoon chasing after her. I quickly developed into a celebrity, as the French adored love above all things.

Everywhere I went people were full of advice. Most of the men said I should give Moore another chance, while the women thought Moore should suffer. " Vive la résistance! " they shouted at me as I walked along the boulevards and during our curtain calls.

Admittedly, the attention was nice. But I wondered when Moore would give up. This couldn't last forever and I hadn't responded, save after the first advert. At some point he would realize his folly and stop trying to convince me.

Would I be relieved? Or devastated? I wasn't certain.

The show in which I performed was unremarkable at best. However, I was grateful they hired me after only a brief audition and a letter from Mr. Martin touting my abilities. The wages allowed me to eat well and sleep with a roof over my head, considering I left New York with almost nothing but the clothes on my back.

" Allez! Allez! " the stage manager hissed, waving his hand for all of us to go out on stage. It was the end of another show, another curtain call.

The performers filled the tiny stage and we all bowed, the audience clapping for us. Everyone pushed me forward, and the cheers grew louder, along with shouts of resistance. I blew kisses and soaked in the attention. God, I loved Paris.

When we finished I strode to my dressing room, ready to remove my costume and find my bed. The other actors like to frequent cafés and restaurants, where they would drink absinthe, smoke, and talk until daybreak. I wasn't ready for camaraderie yet; I preferred solitude these days.

I threw open the door and hurried into my personal space. I stopped in my tracks and sucked in a breath. The room wasn't empty.

Moore.

My heart jumped into my throat as so many emotions bombarded me at once. I stared for a beat, making sure he was real. "How did you find me?"

" Bonsoir, ma chérie. "

His smug expression set my teeth on edge and instantly I realized my mistake, albeit three weeks too late. "My response to your newspaper advert. You had me tracked here. Damn it." I shut the door, closing us in together. "I don't want you here, Moore."

He rose out of the chair, straightening to his full height, and I looked him over, greedy for the little details I'd missed these last weeks. His suit was well-tailored, the expensive cloth designed to emphasize his power and strength. Lord, how I'd missed those shoulders and that broad chest. The strong jaw, the full lips that kissed me until I melted. Those threads of silver in his hair that I loved so much. My fingers itched with the need to touch him, to map every muscle and tendon once more.

Was he a bit thinner? I didn't remember his jacket hanging quite so loosely on him.

"You are far too talented for this abysmal show," was all he said.

Sighing, I tore my gaze off him and went to my dressing table. With my cream and a cloth, I began removing the heavy cosmetics from my face. "And you are far too high-handed. So you've found me. Congratulations."

"It wasn't easy. I don't know how you got out of the city without anyone noticing."

A wig and an Irish accent. I was an actress, after all. "Yet I did, which means I didn't wish to be found. But here you are."

"Did you think I would give up? I nearly tore the city apart in my search for you."

"And when that failed, you began placing adverts. The Fifth Avenue matrons must be horrified. No doubt they've run you out of town with pitchforks after such a public display for a woman so beneath you."

"You are not beneath me. And I don't care about what anyone says, not any longer."

"That's quite a change from two months ago."

"Rose," he said softly. "I love you. I think I've loved you since the very moment I saw you. When you walked out on the stage for the first time I felt a lightning bolt to my chest. I cannot live without you. These last two months have been the worst of my life."

Could this be true? I searched his face, looking for cracks in his story but finding none. "Worse than the divorce trial and the vitriol from the press?"

"A thousand times worse. I haven't been able to breathe or eat. I cannot stand to be apart from you. I'm so damn sorry I hurt you. Let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Frowning, I threw the dirty cloth onto the dressing table. "We've been over this. I don't want to be your mistress."

"I don't want you as a mistress. I want you as a wife."

The earring I was removing slipped from my fingertips and dropped onto the table. Shock twisted my tongue into a knot. "A wife?" I managed. "You want to marry me."

"Yes."

Just like that? Was this how tycoons acquired their wives, by declaring it so? I didn't know whether to be hurt or insulted. Perhaps both.

I turned to face him, my voice sharp as I said, "Was that an attempt at a proposal of marriage?"

"No." Coming over to where I stood, he lowered himself to the floor, bending on one knee. "This is a proper proposal of marriage."

Oh. My heart began slamming inside my ribs, the force of my breathing picking up. Was he serious?

Moore produced a ring box and opened it. Nestled inside was a simple rose-cut diamond ring in a gold band. I covered my mouth with one hand, unable to take it all in. Moore grabbed my free hand and said, "Rose, I've never been happier than when we were together. You are the sun and the moon, the flowers and the trees. I'd rather face a thousand scandals than live without you. If you do me the great honor of becoming my wife, I promise to stand by your side proudly, publicly, as your partner, until the day I leave this earth."

I could feel tears building on my lashes, but he wasn't thinking rationally. "Moore, think about what you are doing. You'll never be accepted in polite society again. Your company?—"

"None of that matters. None of it." He winced. "May I stand? I'm afraid my knees aren't what they once were."

Swallowing a teasing comment regarding his age, I helped him to his feet. "You say it doesn't matter now, but you will come to resent me when it's all stripped away."

"Sweetheart, nothing is being stripped. The board has been dealt with."

"What about your mother? She must hate the idea of an actress as a daughter-in-law."

"She wants me to be happy with whomever I choose. And she's eager for grandchildren, so I think that helps."

This was all sounding fantastical, like the end of an Austen novel. I pulled my hand from his and pinched the bridge of my nose. "This is madness. You must think about what you are asking before demanding an answer from me."

He tugged lightly on the pearls around my neck. "You're still wearing them."

I didn't want to tell him the truth, that I'd hardly taken them off since leaving New York. I could've sold the necklace in Paris and lived comfortably, but I wasn't able to bring myself to part with Moore's gift. "Moore, please. You must think about this, because you'll come to regret it."

"I've done nothing but think about this for the last two months. Ever since the morning you raised the idea, actually. I won't regret marrying you. I'll only regret not asking you sooner." He took my hand a second time. "Say yes, Rose. Let's be the two most scandalous people in New York together."

"What if I want to stay in Paris?"

"The Parisians are notoriously hard to shock, but I'm up for the challenge."

"Really?" I peered up at him. "You would stay here, if I wished?"

"Yes." He shook his head, like he was frustrated. "You're not listening. I'm keeping you, Rose, and to hell with what anyone has to say about it."

"You're serious. You really want to marry me."

"I truly, honestly, obsessively want to marry you." His eyes searched mine. "But what do you want? I'm older and you could do better than?—"

"There's no one better." I moved closer, wrapping my arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and a sense of rightness settled into my veins. "Yes, I will marry you. Although I must warn you, I will shock New York Society by hosting the biggest, most lavish balls—between my work on the stage, of course."

He pulled me close and I heard him exhale a sigh of relief into my hair. "Thank god. I honestly didn't know how many additional adverts I could write."

"Tell me how you managed it. You knew I wouldn't be able to resist responding, didn't you?"

"Exactly." His hands moved to my waist and settled on my hips. "And once I knew you were in Paris, I paid Le Figaro to run my adverts every other day while I boarded a steamer bound for Europe."

I nuzzled his jaw. "I never thought you'd make your feelings widely known. You created a very public scandal to win me back."

"A worldwide scandal, actually. I didn't know where you were, so the first advert appeared in one hundred and twenty-six newspapers around the globe."

"You clever man," I whispered, shocked and pleased he'd gone to so much effort. "Are you going to kiss me now?"

"As soon as you put on my ring. I won't take advantage of you."

I laughed, but Moore didn't crack a smile. Warmth flooded my chest when I realized why. "This is because of what happened in Ohio."

Instead of answering, he took my hand and slipped the diamond ring on my finger. "There. Now you belong to me." He bent and placed a brief yet deep kiss on my mouth. "And I do hope that door locks because I'd very much like to take advantage of you."

I toyed with his collar stud. "What if I said that I preferred to wait until after we married?"

He didn't respond for a long moment, his body preternaturally still. "Then I suppose we would wait."

Grinning, I pulled him down for a kiss. "Good thing I would never say something so foolish. Hurry and lock the door, darling. I need you inside me."

Never in all my years had I seen a man move so fast . . .

Thank you for reading The Scandal of Rose ! You know I love a mistress story! ;-)

I'd love an honest review after you're finished, if you feel so inclined!