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

attend any balls yet, so where’s the harm?”
    Rose cast her parents a pleading gaze although she wasn’t certain whether she was pleading for them to consent or refuse. Lord Emory was still standing too close to her, his hand now on her elbow to brace her while she struggled to balance on her good foot.
    She couldn’t think clearly while he remained so close. She’d spilled tea all over herself and ruined her new gown. Her ankle was heavily bound, and everyone in the room was now staring at her in horror. But all she could think about was Lord Emory. Had he meant his words? That she had only to ask and he would kiss her?
    She glanced up to him, wondering how it would feel to have his lips on hers. Warm. Nice. Magical, she supposed. “Miss Farthingale, you’re shaking. Do sit down before you fall again.”
    Heat shot into her cheeks. Indeed, everyone in the parlor was watching her, and all she could think of still were how good his lips would taste. Like coffee, perhaps. A hint of whiskey and mint. Maybe a little salt like an ocean spray.
    Her mother took her into her arms and began to guide her from the parlor. “You’re right, Nicola. Perhaps a few days in the countryside is just what my daughter needs, especially after that nasty business with her kiln. Rose, I’ve never seen you look so foggy. This isn’t like you at all. You must have bumped your head.”
    “No, Mama. Truly, it’s been an unsettled few days but otherwise I’m fine.”
    Her mother patted her arm and then turned to Nicola and her brother, both of whom had followed her out of the parlor. “Lord Emory, we’re truly in your debt for saving Rose’s life the other day. What a frightening incident. I know my husband has extended his warmest gratitude, but it doesn’t seem enough. We are entirely indebted to you. Will you remain in the country with your family?”
    His brow furrowed as he glanced at her and then Nicola. Sighing, he ran a hand roughly across the back of his neck. “I’ll have to escort them because no one else will dare ride with my unruly younger brothers. But as for remaining the entire week, I doubt it. A few days at most. I will however return at the end of the week to escort them back to London.”
    Her mother nodded. “I’d be more comforted if you stayed the week, but at least you’ll be traveling with them. Although you’ve brought Sir Aubrey to task, who knows what other pottery ruffians may be lurking about? I wouldn’t want them to harm my daughter.”
    Why was her mother going on as though she were a delicate fribble? Admittedly, she was still injured but the ankle was practically healed. “I’m not afraid of those scoundrels.”
    Her mother frowned. “And that’s what worries me most. You ought to be, Rose.”
    “But I—”
    Lord Emory emitted a soft groan. “I’ll protect her, Mrs. Farthingale. I give you my word of honor.”
    Rose’s eyes rounded in astonishment. What? Their ridiculous plan was falling into place? It couldn’t be. But what if it was? More important, would Lord Emory truly kiss her if she asked him?
    If she were truly a fribble, she would now fall into a swoon.
    But she was sensible.
    She didn’t swoon.
    That her limbs were tingling and her legs still as soft as melted butter was of no moment. That her heart was pounding like a war drum was a mere coincidence.
    Tingles and heart pounding did not count.
    Nor did the butterflies madly fluttering in her belly.
    Did Lord Emory realize it would be her first kiss ever?
    Would he mind?

CHAPTER 4
    “THANK GOODNESS YOU’RE here!” Nicola accosted Rose as soon as she and the rest of her family made their way into Lord and Lady Winthrop’s elegant townhouse the following evening. Rose’s ankle was feeling better so she had decided to attend the musicale after all. Her improving ankle and the dozen desperate notes from Nicola begging her to attend had swayed her.
    “You look so pretty, Nicola.” Her friend wore a lovely mint green gown