Regency Improprieties

There were grumbles and arguments, but they all eventually dispersed. Except one man, elegantly attired in a coat that could only have been made by Weston. Flynn recognised him as the Earl of Greythorne.

‘You are Tannerton’s man, are you not?’ the earl asked.

‘I am,’ Flynn responded. He started toward the Grand Walk.

The earl fell in step with him. ‘And is the alluring Rose O’Keefe claimed by Lord Tannerton?’

‘She is.’

Flynn tried to remember what he knew of the gentleman, besides the fact that Tanner thought him a ‘damned prig.’ Greythorne’s estate was in Kent, but he possessed properties in Sussex and somewhere up north as well. He frequented the ton entertainments. Belonged to White’s. Still, there was something he was forgetting. Some rumour about the man.

Greythorne chuckled. ‘A pity. I fancy her myself.’ His arm swept the area. ‘As do others. Tannerton may be in for a serious contest.’

Greythorne possessed enough wealth to pose a threat. If he offered a great deal of money to put Rose under his protection, Flynn had no doubt Miss Dawes would bully O’Keefe into accepting. She’d have no qualms about selling Rose to the highest bidder.

Flynn regarded the man. ‘I am certain, as a gentleman, you would not covet what another man has claimed as his.’

Greythorne’s slippery smile remained. ‘Her father does not seem to agree with your perception. He seemed to indicate the game was still in progress.’

It was as if dark clouds suddenly gathered. ‘The deal is all but made,’ Flynn said.

Greythorne continued walking. ‘I would be the last man to encroach,’ he assured Flynn. ‘But if the deal is not made, I’m prepared to play my hand.’

Chapter Four

The next day was as sunny as any summer day could be in London as Flynn navigated the streets of Covent Garden on the way to Rose’s lodgings. Tanner had wholeheartedly endorsed this escapade, especially after hearing of Greythorne’s interest.

‘Something about that fellow,’ Tanner had said. ‘I have always detested the man. Damned natty, for one thing. Never a speck of dirt, or a wrinkle in his coat. Every hair in place. Devilish odd.’ Tanner had shuddered. ‘Something else, though. I shall endeavour to discover what it is.’

Tanner had insisted Flynn take his curricle and the matched chestnuts, which had cost him a fortune at Tattersalls.

Flynn brought the curricle to a halt in front of Rose’s building. He tossed a coin to a boy passing by, asking the lad to hold the horses. As he climbed the stairs to knock upon Rose’s door, his excitement grew, an excitement he had no right to feel.

The door opened and there she stood, green paisley shawl draped over the same dress she’d worn when he last visited these rooms, hat and gloves already on. If she could appear this beautiful in a plain dress, think of how she would look in all the finery Tanner could buy her.

He frowned as she turned to close the door. He must keep Tanner in mind. Wrest control over this tendency to be bewitched.

But his resolve frayed as his hands spanned her waist to lift her into the curricle. And frayed more when she smiled down at him.

He climbed up next to her, and the boy handed him the ribbons. ‘Hyde Park, is that correct?’ he asked her.

‘It does not have to be Hyde Park,’ she replied in a breathless voice.

‘Where then?’

The sun rendered her skin translucent, and he had the urge to pull off his gloves and touch her with the tip of his finger.

‘Anywhere you wish,’ she whispered.

They stared at each other.

‘Hyde Park, then,’ he said finally.

He flicked the ribbons and the horses started forward. He drove through the riders, wagons, carriages, and hacks on Long Acre towards Piccadilly. ‘Your father gave you permission for this outing, I trust.’

‘He and Letty are out,’ she responded. ‘So there was no objection.’

She had not really answered him, he realised. He thought of asking for an explanation. Why did she appear to be under her father’s control, yet also out in the world with the likes of her friend Katy Green?

‘It is a fine day,’ he said instead.

‘Yes, it is.’ She changed positions and her hand brushed his leg as she readjusted her skirt.

He felt her touch long after her hand closed upon the bench to steady herself.

Flynn mentally shook himself, and concentrated on what he intended to accomplish. He must give her Tanner’s gift, the finest emerald ring Flynn could find at Rundell and Bridge. He must offer her Tanner’s patronage and propose a time and place for her to meet Tanner.

And he must ensure she spurned Greythorne.

As the curricle reached the Hyde Park gate, Flynn felt back in form. ‘Have you driven through the park before, Rose?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, with no elaboration.

He was again reminded that she was no green girl, but it only forced him to wonder who her former escorts had been.

The fine day had brought many others to the park. Governesses with young children, servants and shopworkers, all taking respite from their toil. Fine gentlemen drove carriages accompanied by gaily dressed female companions—their mistresses, no doubt. Flynn knew some of these men, though he knew better than to nod in greeting. Later in the day some of these same gentlemen would return to this same carriage path to drive their wives or some respectable miss they were courting.

It occurred to Flynn that, if he did his job successfully, Tanner would soon be sitting in his place in this same curricle with Rose beside him. He frowned.

‘What makes you unhappy?’ she asked.

He started and looked over to see Rose staring at him, her lips pursed with concern.

‘I am not unhappy, I assure you.’

One brow arched. ‘You looked unhappy, I was thinking.’

With effort he composed his features into their usual bland expression. ‘I am not unhappy. Merely concentrating on driving.’

She faced forward again to watch the few carriages approaching them at a leisurely pace. ‘Yes, it is so treacherous here.’

He ignored her teasing and changed the subject. ‘Do you enjoy carriage rides?’

‘I do,’ she replied, smiling again.

‘The marquess has several carriages,’ he said, dutifully promoting Tanner’s interest. ‘This one, of course, and a phaeton, a landaulet—’

‘How nice,’ she said without enthusiasm.

He persevered. ‘He also has been known to purchase carriages for special friends.’

‘Yes. Special friends.’ She showed no increased interest.

Flynn gave her a sideways glance. Most women would leap at the chance to receive this man’s regard. The advantages were inestimable. ‘He is a generous man, Rose. I can provide you many examples to prove it, if you wish.’

She gave him an imploring look. ‘Please do not.’

He frowned again, pretending to concentrate on the horses and the carriage path. Finally he asked, ‘What is it, Rose? Every time I mention the marquess, you put me off. Perhaps if you could explain why, I would proceed in a manner to please you.’

Two spots of colour dotted her cheeks. ‘Oh, I have nothing against the man …’

Flynn waited for her to say more. The horses waited, too, almost slowing to a stop. He flicked the ribbons and they moved again. The Serpentine came into view, its water glistening in the afternoon sun.

‘It is pretty here,’ she said after a time.

He forgot about Tanner. Against the green of the grass, lushness of the trees and blue of the Serpentine, she looked like a Gainsborough portrait. He wished he could capture her image, frame it and hang it upon a wall to gaze at for ever.

He closed his eyes. This was madness, coveting his employer’s intended conquest.

He drew a breath, steeling himself again to perform his task. ‘I should like to speak for Lord Tannerton, if you will permit me.’

Rose wiped an escaped tendril from her forehead. She’d been pretending Mr Flynn had called upon her like a suitor. A foolish notion. He merely wanted to talk of the marquess.

The rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves on the gravel path seemed louder while she delayed her answer. How could she explain to him that she was not wanting a marquess’s money? She was wanting what every girl wanted.

Love.

She set her chin firmly. ‘Later perhaps we can speak of the marquess.’

‘But I ought—’ he began, but clamped his mouth shut. He blew out a long breath and continued in a resigned tone. ‘What do you wish to talk about, Rose?’

The knot inside her uncoiled. She could pretend a bit longer. ‘Oh, anything …’ She smiled at him, suddenly light hearted. ‘Things people talk about.’

Things she longed to know about him.

She took a breath. ‘Have … have you been in England long, Flynn?’

It took him a moment to respond. ‘Since I was eighteen.’

‘And how long is that, then?’ she persisted.

‘Ten years.’

She had discovered his age! Twenty-eight. ‘What brought you to England, then?’

‘I came to attend Oxford.’

‘Oxford? That is where gentlemen go, is it not? To become vicars and such?’

He laughed. ‘Yes, and other things.’

‘Your family was high enough for Oxford?’

He stiffened. ‘It was.’

She’d offended him. ‘I should not have spoken so.’ She blinked. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me.’

His expression softened. ‘My father is gentry, Rose, a fairly prosperous landowner. He was well able to send me to Oxford.’

Rose relaxed again. ‘And what after Oxford?’

‘I came to London in search of a position. Lord Tannerton took a risk hiring me.’

‘You must have impressed him.’

He gave a half-smile. ‘More like he took pity on me, I should think. But I have learned much in his employ.’

She felt bold enough to ask more. ‘Have you been back to Ireland, then?’

He shook his head, and the frown reappeared on his face.

Oh, dear. She’d made him unhappy again. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve only been in England a few months.’

‘And why did you come, Miss O’Keefe?’ His response sounded more automatic than curious and, oh, so formal.

‘The school was willing to keep me teaching. The school near Killyleagh, I mean. But I had this desire to sing, you see.’ She paused. ‘Like my mother.’

‘Your mother?’

She nodded. ‘My mother sang in London in her time. She died long ago.’

He looked at her with sympathy, pricking a pain she usually kept carefully hidden.

She swallowed. ‘In any event, my father was working in London, so I came here.’ She glanced away. ‘He could not afford to keep me at first, but then Mr Hook hired me to sing.’ She skipped over a lot of the story, perhaps the most important parts. ‘And when I’m done singing at Vauxhall, I’ll find another place to sing.’

‘Where?’ he asked.

‘Oh, somewhere. I’m thinking there are plenty of theatres in London.’

‘There are theatres in Ireland as well,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘Not like in London. London has King’s Theatre and Drury Lane and Vauxhall nearby. Plenty of places. My mother once performed in King’s Theatre.’

‘That is impressive,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘Not very impressive, really. She was in the chorus, but she did sing on the stage at King’s Theatre.’

‘Do you wish to sing in the King’s Theatre?’ he asked.

She sighed. ‘I do. More than anything. It must be the most beautiful theatre in the world.’

He smiled. ‘It is quite beautiful.’

‘You’ve seen it?’ She turned to him eagerly.

‘I’ve accompanied Lord Tannerton there on occasion.’

‘You have?’ She would have loved to just walk inside the building, see the boxes and the curtain and the stage. She sighed again.

He continued to smile at her.

She could not help but smile back at him, thinking how boyish he looked when he let his face relax.

A carriage came in the other direction and he attended to the driving again. They lapsed into silence.

She searched for something else to ask him. ‘What work do you do for Lord Tannerton, then?’

‘I manage many of his affairs—’ He cleared his throat. ‘His business affairs. Tend to his correspondence, arrange his appointments, pay bills, run errands and such.’

‘Ah, I see.’ But she really did not understand the business of a marquess.

He went on, ‘You might say I attend to all the tedious details, so the marquess is free for more important matters, and so his life runs smoothly.’

Such work would give Rose the headache. ‘Are you liking what you do?’

He nodded. ‘I have learned much about the world through it. About politics. Money. Power—’

Such things were mysteries to her.

‘I have even been to Vienna and Brussels and Paris with Lord Tannerton.’

Her eyes widened with interest. ‘Have you now?’

‘The marquess assisted in the diplomacies, you see. And I assisted him.’ He spoke proudly.

She liked seeing his pride. ‘Were you there for the great battle?’

‘In Brussels, yes, but we were not at Waterloo.’ His face became serious. ‘The marquess helped with the aftermath, assisting in the logistics of the wounded and in any other way of being at service.’

Rose did not know what ‘logistics’ were, but she knew there were many wounded in the battle. Many Irish soldiers had fought and died at Waterloo. She was glad Flynn had been there to help those who survived.

He gave a dry laugh. ‘But it must be tedious to hear of such things.’

‘Oh, no,’ she assured him. ‘I confess I do not understand all of it, but you were meaning, I think, that you were in important places, doing important things.’

‘That is it,’ he agreed. ‘In the centre of things. A part of it all.’

‘I’m supposing it is a little like being a performer, isn’t it? Performing is not so important, perhaps, but it is being a part of something. I mean, the singing is only one piece of it. There are the musicians, too, and the conductor and all. Everyone together makes the performance.’

He looked at her so intently her insides fluttered. ‘Yes, it is precisely like that. One feels good about one’s part in it.’

‘Yes.’ She quickly glanced away and spied a man crossing the park with a bundle on his shoulder. ‘And that man there is doing his part, too, isn’t he? We don’t know what it is, but without him it would not happen, would it?’

A smile flitted across his face, disappearing when he gazed into her eyes again. ‘Yes, I expect you are very right.’

Her breath quickened, like it had when he’d almost kissed her under the illuminations the night before.

‘So what, Flynn, is your King’s Theatre?’ she asked, needing to break the intensity, just as he had broken away when he almost kissed her. ‘Or have you reached it already?’

‘My King’s Theatre?’

‘What you want more than anything.’

His eyes darkened, making her insides feel like melting wax again.

The horses stopped, and his attention turned to them, signalling them to move.

‘What I want more than anything …’ he repeated as if pondering the question. ‘To be a part of something important,’ he finally replied. ‘Yes, that is it.’

She waited for more.

His brow furrowed. ‘Lord Tannerton is an excellent employer, an excellent man, Rose, but.’ His voice faded, although his face seemed lit with fire.

‘Something more important is what you are wanting?’ she guessed.

He nodded. ‘To work for government. For a diplomat, perhaps. Or the Prime Minister. Or for royalty.’

‘Royalty?’ she exclaimed.

He flicked the ribbons and shook his head. ‘It is daft.’

She put her hand on his arm. ‘It is not daft! No more daft than me wanting to sing in King’s Theatre.’ But it did seem so impossible, and somehow it made her sad. ‘It would be important, wouldn’t it? So important you’d not be seeing the likes of me.’

He covered her hand with his and leaned towards her. The horses drifted to a stop again.

‘Move on!’ an angry voice shouted.

A young man driving a phaeton approached them from behind. Flynn put the chestnuts into a trot, but the phaeton passed them as soon as the path was wide enough.

They finished their circuit of the park, not speaking much. Their silence seemed tense, holding too many unspoken words, but Rose still wished the time to go on endlessly. Soon, however, other carriages entered the park, driven by gentlemen with their ladies. The fashionable hour had arrived, and they must leave.

As Flynn turned the curricle on to her street, he was frowning again. ‘What is it, Flynn?’ she asked.

‘I have not talked to you of Tannerton,’ he said. ‘My reason for seeing you. And there is something else, Rose.’

She felt a pang at the reminder of his true purpose. ‘What is it?’ she asked in a resigned tone.

He gave her a direct look. ‘Another man will be vying for your favours. He is Lord Greythorne. He is wealthy, but some unpleasant rumour hangs about him.’

‘What rumour?’ She had no intention of bestowing her favours on whoever it was, no matter what.

‘I do not know precisely,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘I thank you for the warning, Flynn.’

‘It is important that you not choose Greythorne.’

She did not wish to choose any man, not for money or the gifts he could give her. She wanted to tell Flynn he could tell them all to leave her alone. Let her sing. That was all she wished to do, even if he were making her imagine other possibilities.

Her father had been drumming it into her that to be a success on the London stage, she must have a wealthy patron. It seemed all anyone wanted of her—her father, Letty, the marquess, this Greythorne.

Flynn.

He was still talking. ‘Lord Tannerton would be good to you, Rose. I would stake my life on it.’

But she did not love Lord Tannerton. That was the thing.

With such a lofty man, she could never have what Miss Hart had with Mr Sloane.

She needed time. ‘I will think on it some more, Flynn.’

Langley Street was empty in front of her building. He jumped down from the curricle and held her waist as he lifted her down.

She rested her hands on his shoulders a moment longer than necessary, not wanting to say goodbye to him. Wanting to see him again. ‘I.I will be singing at Vauxhall tonight. If you’ve a mind to come.’

He stood still, but it seemed as if his eyes were searching hers. ‘I will be there.’

‘Come to the gazebo door. You’ll be admitted, I promise.’ Her spirits were soaring again. He wanted to see her. Her.

He grasped her hand and held it a brief delicious moment. ‘Tonight, then.’

Feeling joyous, Rose entered the building and climbed the stairs to her father’s rooms.

When she opened the door, Letty stood there, hands on her hips. ‘Were you with that Flynn fellow? Has he given you a meeting time with the marquess?’

She ought to have been prepared. ‘It is not set, Letty. But soon, Mr Flynn tells me.’

‘Where did you go, Mary Rose? I was wondering.’ Her father sat in the chair near the fireplace.

Rose walked over and gave him a kiss on the top of his bald head. ‘A drive in the park, is all.’ She headed for her room.

Letty blocked her way. ‘This Flynn. Did he tell you how much the marquess will pay?’

Rose looked her in the eye. ‘I thought you would be proud of me, Letty. I put him off. Did you not say that would increase the price?’

‘Well, I—’ Letty began, but Rose brushed past her to disappear into the little room that was her bedchamber.

Returning from the mews where he’d left Tanner’s curricle and horses, Flynn ran into Tanner walking back from St. James’s Street.

Tanner clapped him on the shoulder. ‘How fortuitous! You have been on my mind all the afternoon. What progress, man? Do tell.’

Flynn had nothing to tell.

‘Out with it, Flynn. What the devil happened?’

As they walked side by side, Flynn used what Rose had called his silver tongue. ‘You must trust me in this matter, my lord. The lady is not the usual sort. You were correct about diplomacy being required.’

Tanner put a hand on his arm, stopping him on the pavement. ‘Do not tell me she disliked the emerald ring!’

Flynn had forgotten it was in his pocket. ‘I did not present it to her, sir.’

‘You did not present it?’ Tanner looked surprised.

It was difficult to face him. ‘She would have refused it.’

Tanner started walking again. ‘My God, she is a strange one. What woman would refuse such a gift?’

One who bewitches, thought Flynn, but he replied, ‘She is a puzzle, I agree.’

‘You do not think she prefers Greythorne, do you?’ Tanner asked with a worried frown.

‘She was unaware of Greythorne’s interest.’

Tanner looked aghast. ‘And you told her of him? Now she will know there is competition!’

Flynn countered, ‘Now she knows to come to us to top any offer he makes.’

After a few paces, Tanner laughed. ‘She is a rare one, isn’t she? I am unused to exerting myself. This is capital sport.’

Tanner, of course, had not exerted himself at all beyond charging Flynn with the work. ‘I need some time to gain her trust, I think. I shall see her again tonight at Vauxhall.’

Tanner clapped him on the shoulder again. ‘Excellent! I have a previous engagement, otherwise I’d join you.’

Flynn felt only a twinge of guilt for being glad of Tanner’s previous engagement.

‘Did you discover anything about Greythorne?’ Flynn asked.

‘Not a thing,’ replied Tanner.

Later that evening when Flynn strolled down the Grand Walk of Vauxhall Gardens, he thought about Greythorne, trying to place his finger on who’d spoken ill of the man.

He had at least an hour to ponder the puzzle before the orchestra played. He knew she would have arrived by then, and he could then present himself at the gazebo door.

He thought about simply knocking on the door now, but he really did not want to chance encountering her father, or, worse, being plied with questions about Tanner by Miss Dawes.

Flynn stopped at one of the restaurants in the gardens instead. Sitting at an outside table, he sipped arrack amid the laughter and buzz of the people walking by. He could feel the velvet box containing the emerald ring still in his pocket. It kept him grounded. A reminder of Tanner, of Greythorne, of what his duty must be.

As he idly watched the passers-by, he let his mind drift to how it had felt to walk through the gardens with her, her arm through his, how the illuminations lit her face, how tempting her lips had been.

He took a longer sip of arrack.

‘Well, look who is here!’

Flynn glanced up to see Rose’s friend, Katy, striding his way.

‘Mr Flynn! Fancy meeting you here again!’ She flung herself into a chair even before he could rise. ‘You must be here for Rose. Imagine, our little Rosie catching the eye of a marquess! Not that I’m surprised. She barely needed lessons with that face and figure. Just enough to get rid of the accent and learn to put herself forward.’ She reached for his glass and took a sip.

Flynn felt as if he were caught in a whirlwind. ‘Lessons?’

Katy laughed, patting his arm. ‘Never mind that.’

Showing no signs of leaving, she commandeered his glass for herself. He signalled for more for both of them.

She rested her elbows on the table. ‘Tell me about this marquess. Sir Reginald says he is an important man.’

Flynn pursed his lips, wishing he’d said nothing to Sir Reginald. ‘You must understand, Miss Green, this is not a matter I am free to discuss.’

‘Miss Green?’ She laughed again. ‘Well, aren’t you the high-and-mighty one! Call me Katy. Everyone does. I tell you, it’s a marvel how well Rosie’s done. Here I thought I was the only one. Not that Sir Reginald is anything. He takes me around and I meet people. I’m going to rise higher myself, I am.’

Katy’s words were like puzzle pieces scattered on a table. They made no sense. ‘How do you know Miss O’Keefe?’

‘Rose, you mean?’ She grinned, then tried to compose her animated face. ‘You might say we were … schoolmates.’ Her voice trembled with mirth on this last word, and she dissolved into gales of laughter, slapping the table and causing several heads to turn their way.

He raised his brows, but she did not elaborate. Their arrack came and she finished his first glass before reaching for the next one.

‘Are you here to see Rose?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he answered, somewhat reluctantly.

‘And where is this marquess? I’ve a fancy to set eyes upon this paragon.’ She looked around as if Lord Tannerton might suddenly appear.

‘He is not here.’

She shrugged, taking another gulp of arrack. ‘I’ll be on tenterhooks ‘til I see him, I expect. I might fancy a marquess myself, though I didn’t aim to look so high. Miss H—Well, I mean, we were told to think high of ourselves, but I keep my feet on the ground, so to speak.’

Flynn was no closer to understanding her. Rose and Katy schoolmates? Not in Killyleagh.

The discordant chords of the orchestra tuning up reached his ears, and he interrupted Katy’s unrestrained volubility. ‘Forgive me, Miss Green. I must go.’ He stood.

‘Go?’ She rose as well. ‘Where are you off to, Mr Flynn?’

He hated to tell her, but feared she would follow him no matter what. ‘Miss O’Keefe said to meet her at the gazebo.’

‘Oh?’ She clapped her hands. ‘That is splendid. I’ll go with you. Give her another hello.’

So, with the gaily dressed, red-haired young woman hanging on his arm, Flynn strolled to the orchestra’s gazebo.

Miss Dawes opened the door. ‘Mr Flynn! Come in. Come in.’ She noticed Katy behind him and gave a scowl.

Katy grinned at her. ‘How do you do?’

Some mischief took hold of Flynn, making him give precedence to the obvious harlot, Katy. ‘Miss Green,’ he said in his most formal voice. ‘May I present Miss Dawes, a friend of Mr O’Keefe’s.’

Miss Dawes looked like thunder, but Katy rose to the occasion. ‘A pleasure, ma’am,’ she said in an uncannily ladylike voice.

Miss Dawes ignored her. ‘I’ll fetch Rose.’ She huffed out of the room, almost tripping over a jumble of instrument cases the musicians had left.

A minute later Rose walked in, the lamplight softening her lovely features.

‘Katy!’ she said in surprise.

Katy danced up to her and gave her a hug. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Rosie. I talked Mr Flynn into bringing me here. Met that dragon, Miss Dawes, too. Who does she think she is?’

Rose looked bewildered. ‘Are … are you here with Mr Flynn?’ Her glance slid over to him.

Katy laughed, but it was Flynn who answered, ‘She merely wished to say hello to you.’

Katy released her. ‘That I did.’ She chattered on about Miss Dawes and how all the men would admire Rose when she sang.

Rose turned to Flynn, anxiety in her eyes. ‘If you wished to spend time with Katy—’

‘Goodness!’ Katy exclaimed. ‘I am meeting Sir Reginald, who has promised to introduce me to some rich fellow.’ She swayed up to Flynn and pressed herself against his arm. ‘Unless that marquess would be interested in me?’ Without waiting for his reply, she returned to Rose to give her a peck on the cheek and flounced out of the door.

Rose looked at him. ‘I.I thought you were with her.’

‘I was not,’ Flynn said.

Her face relaxed. ‘Would you like to stand in the balcony while I’m singing?’

‘I should like that,’ he responded truthfully.

They talked of inconsequential things until she was called to perform. Flynn stood in a dark corner of the balcony, able to see her in profile, though she turned to smile at him before beginning her first tune, an old Irish ballad he remembered his sisters singing as a duet. She continued with ‘O Listen to the Voice of Love.’

His gaze wandered to the audience. It was still light enough to see the people staring spellbound as she sang. She captivated them all, he thought, scanning the crowd.

He caught sight of Lord Greythorne and scowled. But Greythorne was not looking at Rose. Flynn followed the direction of the man’s gaze across the span of people. He froze. At the edge of the crowd stood a familiar tall figure, arms crossed over his chest, face tilted toward the lovely Rose O’Keefe.

Lord Tannerton.