‘Sleepy?’ Josh asked her.
Rose nodded.
‘Come on then. I’ll do the decent thing and sleep on the floor so that you can have the bed.’
Josh’s bedroom was small and almost filled by the double bed, a bed that smelled familiarly of Josh himself, Rose thought tiredly as she curled up beneath the covers and closed her eyes.
The floor and the sleeping bag Josh kept for emergency guests were not exactly conducive to sleep, so he was awake several hours later when Rose cried out, her panic and fear plainly audible.
He normally slept naked but, in deference to Rose, on this occasion he had kept on his underpants. The lino was icy cold on his bare feet as he made his way to the bedroom, the light he switched on waking Rose out of her nightmare.
‘I was dreaming about Mr Russell,’ she told Josh. She shivered. ‘I don’t want to go back to sleep in case I start dreaming about him again.’
Josh looked at her. ‘OK,’ he decided, ‘move over.’
Rose did so, too relieved at the thought of having his company to worry about any impropriety.
Josh had switched off the light and was busily making himself comfortable, thumping the thin pillow and voicing a variety of grunts as he settled down. They were comforting sounds, just as his warmth was a comforting presence.
A wave of misery flooded through Rose. ‘Is it always going to be like this for me, Josh?’ she asked him helplessly. ‘Are men always going to think the same about me as Russell did, because of the way I look?’ A single tear rolled down her face, glistening in the moonlight coming in through the gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet.
Propping his head up on his hand, Josh reached over and gently wiped it away.
‘No,’ he told her, ‘one day it will be different.’
Rose refused to be comforted. ‘Different? What does that mean?’
‘It means this,’ Josh told her softly, leaning towards her, cupping her face with his free hand as he brushed his lips lightly against her own.
This wasn’t what he had intended to happen, not at all. Seducing Rose had never even entered his head. Well, maybe there had been occasions when he had looked at her and thought about it–he was a man, after all–but certainly not tonight. It must be the unnatural situation of being in bed with a girl and not making love to her that was affecting him. And it was only a kiss.
Emerald glanced pointedly at her watch. It really was inconvenient of Dougie to have arrived at her house unannounced just as she was about to leave for the Ritz and Christmas lunch with her friends. Her mother had wanted her to spend Christmas at Denham, but Emerald had declined. She had no intention of doing something so boring and unappealing when she was having such a very pleasant time here in London being cosseted and admired for her ‘bravery’ in ‘going it alone’ after Alessandro’s ‘cruelty’ to her. She had even warned Jeannie not to invite a spare man for her unless he was suitably elderly and very respectable. Emerald was rather enjoying her current ‘Madonna’ status and she wasn’t about to have it spoiled by being seen in public in the company of one of society’s charmers.
‘So why exactly are you here, Dougie?’ Emerald asked impatiently.
‘There’s something I want to ask you.’
‘Can’t it wait, only I’m on my way out,’ she told him pointedly.
‘I’d rather we discussed it now.’
Something in Dougie’s voice–a quiet but determined force–broke through her impatience, commanding her awareness and a certain grudging respect because Dougie wasn’t going to back down and let her bully him into leaving.
‘Very well then,’ she gave in.
‘Could we go somewhere more comfortable–the library, perhaps?’
Emerald exhaled an irritable sigh. ‘All right,’ she agreed, leading the way into the bookshelved room, where she dropped her coat onto the desk, before sinking down into one of the leather chairs close to the fire. Emerald insisted on all the fires being kept burning whether she was in the house or not.
‘Let’s get it over with. What is it, Dougie? What do you want?’ she demanded.
Dougie looked at her. His timing was, he realised, appalling but he was here and he was going to do what he had come here to do.
‘I want to ask you to marry me,’ he answered her simply. ‘I want to ask you to be my duchess.’
Emerald was lost for words, lost to anything other than the shock within her that was now giving way to disbelief, confusion and–against all logic–hope.