A Rose Before Dying by Amy Corwin Page A

his uncle
under arrest? If his uncle were locked away, he couldn’t be
accused. An ugly voice whispered that it would also prevent him
from harming anyone else, if Charles were wrong or couldn’t
identify the roses.
    Pushing through the gate, he walked toward
Rosewell and Miss Wellfleet. He would inquire about the roses first
and then visit his uncle. That way, he’d have more information when
he spoke to him. Then he could determine if Sir Edward needed to be
detained for the sake of safety, particularly his own.
    Twenty minutes later, Charles knocked at the
front door of Rosewell.
    “My lord?” Mr. Abbott eyed him. His mouth
twitched as if he couldn’t decide whether to smile or maintain his
normal expression of professional boredom.
    “Is Miss Wellfleet available? I must see her.
It’s rather urgent.”
    “I see.” The butler stepped back a pace.
“Will you follow me, my lord?”
    Charles nodded and fell in step behind him.
The butler led him down the hallway past the grand staircase to the
library at the back of the house. A golden glow filled the room as
amber-colored walls caught the morning sun shining through the tall
windows at the rear. Oak bookcases, interspersed with lush English
landscape paintings, lined the other walls, and comfortable
clusters of chairs and tables filled the huge room. In one corner,
a delicate gold and cream French-style desk stood with a set of
crystal inkpots gracing one edge. A matching chair with gracefully
curved legs was tucked beneath it.
    The room reminded him of Miss Wellfleet—all
elegance and grace with that gleam of gold in her chestnut
hair.
    After Mr. Abbott shut the double doors and
went to locate the lady of the house, Charles wandered to the
bookcases. It was no surprise to find the majority of the books
were related to gardening and science. A few tomes by explorers
were also scattered amongst the sciences. He reached up to take
down the first volume of Edward Gibbon’s The History of the
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire when he heard the door
open behind him.
    “Lord Castlemoor,” Miss Wellfleet said as she
walked into the room, out of breath and flushed.
    He turned and walked to her, aware again of a
deep attraction. Without thinking, he took one of her slender
hands. Her soft skin felt chilled despite her blushing cheeks.
    He frowned when he caught her expression. “Is
something wrong?”
    “Yes—no! That is, yes—well, I don’t truly
know.” She glanced down at their intertwined hands, blushed, and
ever so gently pulled her fingers out of his grip. In a
determinedly cheerful voice she said, “I’m sorry. Mr. Abbott said
you wished to see me?”
    “Yes, but I can see you’re upset—did
something happen? Is Rose all right?”
    Her eyes widened. “Why yes, she’s fine. Why
do you ask?”
    “No sensible reason.” He grinned and almost
took her hand again before he remembered the impropriety of the
gesture. She seemed so nervous; he wanted to do something to
reassure her instead of burdening her with more worries. He almost
decided not to show her the roses when she reached out and lightly
touched the package.
    “What’s in the box?” Her lips trembled, but
she managed to smile.
    “You have enough worries—”
    She paled. “It’s not—it’s not another
rose?”
    “I—” He shook his head.
    “It is, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. How
foolish of me. I should have guessed.” When she realized what she’d
said, she pressed her fingers briefly to her mouth before hastily
covering the gesture by pushing a lock of hair away from her
forehead.
    Surprised at her response, he studied her,
aware of a tightening in his body. She thought he had come to see her . Part of him agreed. He may not have realized it at the
time, but he had come here first because he wanted to see her, and
the roses were only an excuse.
    “Well, let me see them.” She held out her
hand.
    Despite his efforts to catch her glance, she
refused to meet his