It went much, much deeper.
Chapter Eleven
Sebastian rose atdawn that morning, wanting to get some of his tasks done early so that he could do as Hale asked and keep an eye on Rose during the day. According to Hale, the gentlemen houseguests were leaving after breakfast for a shooting party, so he did not expect Rose to confront any trouble later that day. But White could cause trouble before they left.
After a quick meal of a biscuit he’d stuck in his pocket from dinner the night before and a cupful of cold water from the well, he headed out to work. The rest of the gardeners were only just stirring, dressing, and grousing, but he paid them no mind. His mission today was to keep watch over Rose.
Dew had dampened the tips of his boots by the time he reached the rose garden. He turned a corner but stopped. Voices were coming from behind the trellis. A soft, feminine voice that could only be Rose’s, followed by a gruff, masculine one.
He leapt to action, running around the row of manicured shrubs and into the rose garden. There, trapped in front of the swing, was Rose. A barrel-chested man in a fine coat stood before her, his back to Sebastian. Thick black hair. Rotund.
White.
“Baron White, please, just leave me alone. Please. I’ve just come to read.”
Why was he here and not with the other men?
“We’ll be man and wife soon enough. Give me a little kiss before I head out to the shooting party.” White pressed ever closer to Rose.
She pushed at him with her hands, but her small frame was no use against the brute. “Leave me alone.”
“But I’ve gone to so much trouble, getting up before daybreak to follow you out here. Away from prying eyes.” His voice carried the rough edges of a man used to getting his way through intimidation rather than charm.
“I said no.”
His laugh was coarse, dismissive. “You’ll learn to mind your tongue once we’re wed, girl. I have no patience for disobedience.”
Sebastian stepped forward, his heart hammering. “Sir, you need to step away from the lady.”
White barely glanced over his shoulder. “Bugger off, boy. This is none of your concern.”
“Lady Rose appears distressed,” Sebastian said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Perhaps you should—”
“Perhaps I should what?” White wheeled around fully now, his broad face flushed with annoyance. “Take orders from some grubby gardener? I don’t think so.” He looked Sebastian up and down with obvious contempt. “You forget your place.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched. Behind White, he could see Rose gripping the swing’s rope, her knuckles white. He made eye contact, and tilted his head toward the house. She got the hint and tore out of the garden without a backward glance. “My place is to ensure the safety of Lady Rose.”
“Your place is to trim hedges and keep your mouth shut.” White took a step toward him, his barrel chest leading. “Unless you’d like to find yourself without employment. Or worse.”
The casual threat sent a spike of anger through Sebastian’s chest. He’d dealt with bullies before—men who thought their position gave them the right to abuse others. “I’m humbly asking you to leave LadyRose alone.”
“Are you now?” White’s smile was more a grimace, as if he had need of a chamber pot. “Well, what you’d like matters about as much as what she’d prefer. Which is to say, not at all.”
That did it. Sebastian moved forward, but White was ready for him—the older man might be soft around the middle, but he was clearly strong. But he was not expecting Sebastian’s speed. Years of physical labor had made Sebastian quick and wiry, and he managed to grab White by the lapels and shove him backward against the trellis.
“I said leave her alone,” Sebastian growled.
White’s eyes flashed with genuine anger now. “You stupid boy. Do you have any idea who you’re laying hands on?” He tried to push Sebastian off, but couldn’t get the leverage. “I’ll have you flogged. I’ll have you transported.”
Sebastian’s grip tightened. The rage that had been building since he’d heard Rose’s frightened voice was making his vision blur around the edges. Almost without thinking, his hand went to his tool belt, fingers closing around his gardening shears.
“Let go of me!” White said.
“Not until you give me your word you’ll stay away from her.”
“My word?” White laughed harshly. “You think I owe you anything, you worthless—”
The shears were in Sebastian’s hand now, the metal warm from his palm. He held them up where White could see them, and the older man’s words died in his throat.
