The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) by Meara Platt Page A

compared to a wriggling worm or pieces of raw, skinned meat.
    Nicola nodded. “You’re the reminder Julian needs or he’ll never break off his affair with that witch.”
    “I’d rather not. Truly, I’m not necessary to this plan.”
    Nicola took her hand. “Rose, I beg to differ. You’re vital. You’re the only one who can work this miracle. Good. It’s settled. You’re coming with us.”
    “Oh, this is a mistake.” Rose shook her head and groaned. “I’m not a predator.”
    “Heavens, whoever said you were? No, your role is the temptress. After all, your middle name is Lorelei so it must be significant. Close your eyes and think seductive thoughts.”
    “I will not.”
    “Especially about my brother. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind being seduced by you.”
    Rose gasped, the thought of herself and Nicola’s brother with their arms wrapped around each other and their bodies arched in a passionate embrace, posed like those scandalous Greek statues on display in the halls of the various royal societies and museums around London, too shocking to contemplate. “No.”
    “Please, Rolf.”
    “Stop it, Nicola. I’m no temptress.”
    “You are. You’re the Lorelei.”
    “In name only, not in any special knowledge of the seductive arts. I wouldn’t know how to get your brother to kiss me. This is ridiculous.”
    A deep, male chuckle came from behind her. “If you wish me to kiss you, all you have to do is ask.”
    Rose leaped out of her chair, spilled tea all over her gown, and landed on her sore ankle, which promptly collapsed under her weight. She let out a yowl and lost her balance, certain she was about to fall to the floor and land in an unladylike sprawl. But Lord Emory caught her in time to prevent her humiliation. That he’d heard their discussion was humiliating enough.
    “Are you hurt?” he asked, drawing her firmly against him and seeming to be genuinely concerned. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She felt the quiet rumble of his chest as he spoke, for her back remained pinned against his hard body. His arms were securely around her, the heat of his body so intense she melted into him. Or was it her heat? Her blood was on fire and her limbs were quivering.
    She had no chance to respond, for everyone was now gathered around them and fussing over her and her ruined gown. She was so roiled with unfamiliar sensations that she couldn’t have responded to Lord Emory even if she’d known what to say.
    “You’ve strained your ankle again,” her aunt Hortensia chided, her tone muffled for Rose’s heart had flown upward into her throat and was now pounding through her ears. “How will you ever recover if you insist on walking about on it? Too soon, my dear. You must rest.”
    “Indeed, Miss Farthingale. You must do as your aunt suggests.” Lord Emory turned her slightly to face him as he spoke. He had an odd expression on his face, a mix of puzzlement, concern, and hilarity. She was not mistaken. The bounder was struggling to hold back a roar of laughter. She would have been more offended if it weren’t for the fact that even she considered her predicament hilarious.
    Nicola added her thoughts before Rose had time to apologize to her brother for staining his clothes as she leaned against him. And why shouldn’t Nicola speak up since everyone else seemed to have an opinion on her condition? “I heartily agree, Hortensia. Isn’t that what I was just telling you, Rolf? You need plenty of rest and good country air, so you must come to Darnley Cottage with me this week.”
    Lord Emory released her and turned to his sister. “You’re going to the country house? When was this decided?”
    “Just last night. Yes, all of us are going and I want Rolf to come too.” She turned to Rose’s parents, who had rushed forward and were now standing beside her. “Please say you’ll let her go with us. My aunt and uncle will take excellent care of her, and my brothers and sisters adore her. She can’t