A Trace of Roses Read online

  A Trace of Roses

  The Daring Dersinghams

  Book Three

  By

  Lynne Connolly

  Copyright © 2020 Lynne Connolly

  Text by Lynne Connolly

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Lynne Connolly

  The Daring Dersinghams Series

  A Touch of Silver

  A Hint of Starlight

  A Trace of Roses

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Lynne Connolly

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  June 1756

  “Such a waste!”

  Several people turned away from watching the orchestra and dancers to stare at Dorcas as she gazed at the abundance of flowers decorating the Rotunda at Ranelagh Gardens.

  Their stares didn’t deter her, but she lowered her voice. If they were enjoying the music, good luck to them. “They’ll be dead in a week,” she murmured.

  Her sister-in-law Annie hunched a shoulder in a shrug. Her interests lay elsewhere, and as a Londoner born and bred, flowers came from markets. But Dorcas had also lived in the city for most of her life, and yet she had an abiding love of plants.

  The man sitting next to her grunted. The Duke of Blackridge could converse in grunts. He had one for every occasion. Dorcas found the habit endearing. A duke was usually impeccable in dress and manners but Blackridge was an exception. Dorcas, who felt like an exception herself, understood. To a certain extent, at least.

  He glanced at his mother, lately arrived in London, although not his younger brother. His brother was staying in the duke’s villa at Greenwich. Dorcas had visited the villa once when Blackridge’s family was not there. She would never forget his kindness when she’d fallen unexpectedly ill during a visit to Greenwich. If anything, she’d have thought that would have put him off. But it hadn’t, a miracle in itself.

  An elegant woman, the duchess’ dark hair, powdered white for tonight, was sleekly brushed back into the high bun favored by fashion. She turned her head to meet her son’s gaze. She nodded. He smiled back.

  Her glance flicked to Dorcas and her smile grew rigid. Dorcas didn’t let her response show, because she sensed the lady wanted to see it. Her grace was so, well, gracious she put Dorcas’ teeth on edge.

  But Dorcas would have to make the effort, because Blackridge had courted her all season. She might be the third member of the family to become a duchess. Society would have a collective fit. Dorcas’ branch of the Dersingham family had been comfortably obscure until her brother Gerald had inherited an earldom. Now look at them, she thought gloomily.

  Dorcas heaved a sigh, and studied the dying flowers rather than listening to the orchestra. There was a plethora of daisies and roses, with abundant greenery ripped from the earth to fill in the gaps. “Surely small troughs of plants would be better?” she wondered aloud. “They’d last longer, for one thing.”

  “So they would. You should suggest it to them.” Laughter echoed in his voice.

  She turned her head and found the duke watching her, rather than the dancers. He didn’t look away when she looked at him. Warmth shaded his brown eyes and despite her naggy mood, he made her smile.

  Few people saw him like this, relaxed and open. He had a reputation for surliness, but she’d never experienced it. His huge hulking body tended to favor that interpretation of his actions and words, but in her mind he was taciturn rather than surly. At any rate, he didn’t sulk. He had a reputation for a temper that flared hot, but she’d never seen it.

  “Now, tell me what’s really wrong,” he murmured, leaning back and crossing his legs in a negligent way. “It can’t be the flowers. They’ve been here every day this season, and you never commented on them before.”

  She heaved a sigh. “London wearies me,” she said, sounding like every fashionable woman who ever was. “I want to breathe country air.”

  “Didn’t you live in Shoreditch for most of your life?” his mother put in. “Isn’t that in London? Or is it your humble home that you miss?” Her sharp, staccato voice ran over Dorcas like nails on glass.

  Dorcas tried not to be frosty. “You’ve been reading the gossip sheets, ma’am. Our house wasn’t so humble.” So much for not sounding irritated.

  “Since you landed in the middle of the fashionable world two years ago, you’ve done
nothing but create gossip. Even if you don’t listen to it, everybody else does.” The duchess opened her fan with a practiced flick, the snap punctuating her words.

  “I can’t help what they think.” Recalling some of the insults slung their way, Dorcas clamped her lips together.

  Blackridge raised his thick black brows. “Most of it is coming from the Illingworths, particularly the daughter. She is not endearing herself to others.” Without waiting for her answer, he continued, “The lady is forgetting that she is seen as increasingly vindictive and waspish. One certainly doesn’t want to marry someone who will do that over the breakfast table.”

  Goodness, how refreshingly straightforward. But he could afford to be. He was a duke. Dorcas, as the younger sister of an earl, and a newcomer, had to watch what she said. A pity she did not always take her own advice.

  His mother, however, protested. “Really, Blackridge! You have no tact at all!”

  He snorted. “I have no truck with obfuscation. Society’s pretty words cover some appalling prejudices. If we allow them to continue, we do ourselves no favors. None at all.”

  “You were great friends once,” the duchess pointed out.

  “Yes, we were. Once. She has changed. Not for the better, I’m afraid.”

  Dorcas had to say something. Fumbling for her fan, she flicked it open with none of the finesse of the duchess, and plied it vigorously. Not for effect. “Let her do her worst. We have prospered despite her best efforts.”

  A slow smile curled Blackridge’s lips. “Indeed, you have. Not satisfied with marrying one of his sisters to a duke, Carbrooke has snagged one for the family chaperone. I was never so glad as when I heard that. Not just for your Aunt Matilda, but for Trensom. Harry deserved a happy ending. He was a widower too long.”

  “I have to admit that the Illingworths were always encroaching,” the duchess put in, her cut-glass tones derisory. “They set store by vulgar aspiration. People with true greatness do not boast of it.”

  “Just what I’ve been saying,” Lady Comyn put in. “You are a woman after my own heart, duchess.”

  The two women set to discussing the Illingworths, and their various transgressions. Strange how a year or two could make a difference to one’s perception of a person. When they had first landed in society, the Dersinghams feared for their success, since the Illingworths seemed all-powerful. Not so much, as matters had turned out. But Lady Elizabeth had done herself no favors when she had declared she would marry a duke.

  Dorcas closed the fan. It wasn’t helping to cool her down. She had never enjoyed society gossip, but the reminder of the unhappiness Lady Elizabeth had willfully caused distressed her still. “My sister and my sister-in-law’s aunt found the men who would make them happy. That they are dukes is beside the point.”

  “Not as far as society is concerned.” He got to his feet and held out his hand to her. “Do you care for a walk around the gardens? I daren’t ask you to dance, since all your attention is on the flowers and I’d rather have it directed elsewhere.”

  At him, he meant.

  Was this it? When he would ask her to marry him? His mother wasn’t here by accident, apparently.

  As she obtained Annie’s permission to tour the well-lit paths, Dorcas had her doubts. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, or witty, or wealthy. Moderate described her best. Except for her passion for gardens and rare plants. Moderate height, moderate looks, moderate intelligence…but she was good at doubting herself, she had to admit that.

  She laid her hand on the deep, silky velvet of his red evening coat, and let him take her away from the bustling center of Ranelagh Gardens. They went into the fresh night air. “The Rotunda is nothing more than a place for people to display themselves and gossip about everyone else. I can’t see the point.”

  “Neither can I,” Blackridge said. “But it’s one of society’s rituals. It’s why I don’t come to London unless I have to.”

  “Oh?” Despite Lady Elizabeth’s insinuations, Dorcas was bred well enough not to ask intrusive questions. But she’d had two London seasons now, and Blackridge had been there both times. And at the Duke of Trensom’s house for Christmas. “You live in Scotland, so I suppose it’s a long journey.”

  He lifted a massive shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s not so bad by ship. And if you have a decent coach, even road travel is tolerable.” He paused and they walked further. The light from the flambeaux overhead flickered, sending warm light flickering over them. His skin took on the warmth, and then passed into shadow as the torches became more widely set apart.

  She glanced ahead. A few people were also strolling around, their elegant poses making her smile.

  “Does something amuse you?”

  Oh, she hadn’t realized. What had he said? She’d let her mind float. She’d better tell him what she was thinking. “It’s just that everyone is so respectable here, close to the Rotunda.”

  He glanced up with a smile. “Too much light for them.”

  He’d picked up her meaning at once. Few people did that. “Yes. Further along, the lights are fewer, and not so bright. Do you think the owners of this place do it on purpose?”

  “Of course they do,” he said. “They encourage it and set their spies on likely looking people. If something scandalous happens here, the gossip-rags get to hear about it in the morning.”

  Even Grub Street hacks had to make a living but, preferably, not at her expense. “I didn’t know that. We used to come before Gerald inherited the earldom, but nobody noticed us then.”

  He laughed, a sharp bark that sank into a nearby hedge. “I find that hard to accept. How many lovely triplets are living in London?”

  “Ah.” That distinction had dogged the sisters all their lives. “As you might have noticed, we’re not identical. We don’t read one another’s minds, and we don’t have to be together to be happy.”

  Not entirely true. She missed her sisters, as if part of her were missing.

  They turned, and walked back the way they’d come. “I thought you were restless this season. Your sister, the Duchess of Glenbreck, came to town, though. Are you sorry you didn’t go to Rome with the Trensoms?”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. Matilda and her duke were ridiculously in love. “Not at all. Delphi would have gone to Rome on her own if Gerald hadn’t put his foot down. Matilda and Harry didn’t marry for convenience, you know.”

  He used his spare hand to rub his nose, not quite hiding his smile. “Forgive me, but that was evident last Christmas. They didn’t even try to hide their—devotion, once they had become formally engaged.”

  That was true. They had shamelessly shared one bedroom—his. Since they were among friends, everyone pretended not to notice. “I can’t imagine being so in love—with a person, that is.”

  He took her along the path skimming the central area. They could still hear the music, and the light was still bright. Other people strolled along these wide, smooth paths. Perfectly respectable. He was a friend of her sister’s husband, a very close friend. He wouldn’t try anything nefarious. Although, truth be told, she’d rather like it if he did.

  Blackridge was outrageously attractive, a dark Hades to his friend Kilsyth’s Apollo. Dorcas preferred the dark, hidden beauty to the obvious, bright one. He was taller than most people, broad-shouldered, a man to depend on. Although she couldn’t say she loved him, Dorcas wouldn’t have encouraged his attentions if she hadn’t felt some attraction to him.

  He guided her deeper into the gardens. They walked in silence for five minutes, until they reached a deserted glade. The music and chatter from the Rotunda had faded, though if she concentrated, Dorcas could still hear them.

  Without words, he drew her closer. He knew how to be gentle, despite his huge hands, with their long, capable fingers. He slowly urged her closer. Her wide hooped skirt touched his waistcoat, but instead of pulling her close, threatening to damage the cane hoops, he leaned down, and touched his lips to hers.

  The t
enderness undid her. Raising her chin and going on tiptoe made her lose her balance, so she reached up and put her hands on his shoulders. He groaned low in his throat, hardly audible, but she felt it because they were touching. Grasping her upper arms, he steadied her, giving her tacit permission to let go, to let him take her weight.

  He pressed his lips more firmly against hers. She opened her mouth.

  Slipping his tongue past her lips swamped her with sensation, gave her an impression of nearly unbearable intimacy. Cautious, gentle, as if she would jerk back any minute, he explored her mouth, grazed past her teeth to touch her tongue with the tip of his.

  Dorcas melted into him, enjoyed him. Her body tingled all over. This was why such contact was banned. It was too intimate, threatening to overwhelm her senses. Illicit thoughts she barely understood crowded into her mind, pushing out everything else.

  He finished the kiss as gently as he’d begun it but the interval in the middle was passionate and needy. She wanted more. Drawing away, he gazed down at her face before releasing her. He did it slowly, in stages, giving her time to regain her balance, though not her senses.

  She blinked rapidly, swallowed, tried to collect her thoughts.

  “Thank you,” he said gravely, as if she’d granted him a great favor. But he had done the same to her. Should she thank him in return? Was that too gauche?

  He saved her confusion by speaking again.

  “Lady Dorcas.” He sounded uncertain. Here it came, the proposal she was expecting. “Dorcas…”

  “Yes?” She tried not to sound too eager. She glanced down, then up at his face.

  His next words came in a rush. “My lady—Dorcas, I have enjoyed your company a great deal this season. I know you are missing your sisters, but perhaps I may suggest a solution, another way to—”

  “There you are!”

  Grant closed his eyes and tightened his lips. Just as he’d screwed up his courage to do the deed, along came her brother.