Black Rose

1890s.”
    “You’ve dated her based on a dress and a hairstyle,” he said as he scribbled. “That’s not quite enough.”
    “It certainly seems sensible, logical.”
    He looked up, smiling, his eyes distracted behind his glasses. “It may be. You may be right, but I like a little more data before I call something a fact. What about your great-aunts? Reginald Jr.’s older sisters?”
    “I couldn’t say. I didn’t know any of them, or don’t remember them. And they weren’t close with my grandmother, or my father. There was some attempt, on my grandmother’s part, to cement some familial relations between their children and my father, as cousins. I’m still in contact with some of their children.”
    “Will any of them talk to me?”
    “Some will, some won’t. Some are dead. I’ll give you names and numbers.”
    “All,” he said. “Except the dead ones. I can be persuasive. Again,” he murmured as the singing came from the monitor across the room.
    “Again. I want to go check on Lily.”
    “Do you mind if I come with you?”
    “No. Come ahead.” They started upstairs together. “Most likely it’ll stop before we get there. That’s the pattern.”
    “There were two nursemaids, three governesses, a housekeeper, an under-housekeeper, a total of twelve housemaids, a personal maid, three female kitchen staff between 1890 and 1895. I’ve dug up some of the names, but as ages aren’t listed, I’m having to wade through a lot of records to try to pinpoint the right people. If and when, I’ll start on death records, and tracking down descendants.”
    “You’ll be busy.”
    “Gotta love the work. You’re right. It’s stopped.”
    But they continued down the hall to the nursery. “Cold still,” Roz commented. “It doesn’t last long, though.” She moved to the crib, slid the blanket more neatly around the sleeping baby.
    “Such a good baby,” she said quietly. “Sleeps right through the night most of the time. None of mine did at this age. She’s fine. We should leave her be.”
    She stepped out, leaving the door open. They were at the top of the stairs when the clock began to bong.
    “Midnight?” Roz looked at her watch to be certain. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Well, Happy New Year.”
    “Happy New Year.” He took her hand before she could continue down the steps and, laying the other on her cheek, said, “Do you mind?”
    “No, I don’t mind.”
    His lips brushed hers, very lightly, a kind of civilized and polite gesture to commemorate the changing year. And somewhere in the east wing, Roz’s wing, a door slammed shut like a gunshot.

    Though her heart jumped, she managed to speak evenly. “Obviously, she doesn’t approve.”
    “More like she’s pissed off. And if she’s going to be pissed off, we might as well give her a good reason.”
    He didn’t ask this time, just slid the hand that lay on her cheek around to cup the back of her neck. And this time his mouth wasn’t light, or polite, or civilized. There was a punch of heat, straight to her belly, as his mouth crushed down on hers, as his body pressed, hard against hers. She felt that sizzle zip through her blood, fast and reckless, and let herself ride on it for just one mad moment.
    The door in the east wing slammed, again and again, and the clock continued to chime, madly now, well past the hour of twelve.
    He’d known she’d taste like this, ripe and strong. More tang than sweetness. He’d wanted to feel those lips move against his as they were now, to discover just how that long, slender body fit to his. Now that he was, she settled inside him and made him want more.
    But she eased back, her eyes open and direct. “Well. That ought to do it.”
    “It’s a start.”
    “I think it’d be best to keep everything... calm for tonight. I really should tidy up the parlor, and settle down up here, with Lily.”
    “All right. I’ll get my notes and head home.”
    In the parlor she loaded the cart while he gathered his things. “You’re a difficult woman to read, Rosalind.”
    “I’m sure that’s true.”
    “You know I want to stay, you know I want to take you to bed.”
    “Yes, I know.” She looked over at him. “I don’t take lovers... I was going to say just that. That I don’t take lovers, but I’m going to say, instead, I don’t take them rashly, or lightly. So if I decide to take you as a lover, or let you take me, it will be serious business, Mitchell. Very serious business.