☆ ᴡᴀᴛᴛʏꜱ 2024 SHORTLISTER!! ☆
A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.
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Manchester, England. May 1925.
The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz mus...
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When at last they returned to Warwick Hall late that night, Liam noted an exhilarated, giddy energy in Rose. She had many an opinion on the scene that had unfolded within the hotel room at the Mitre, and her thoughts and remarks were not what Liam would've expected from a lady of her proper breeding.
However, upon further consideration, his consternation was misplaced. Rose was always surprising him. He ought to have been used to it at this point.
“...and it looked to me like Jackson had far too much fun smackin' Jimmy in the head,” Liam was saying as he and Rose walked through the main hall, their pace brusque. “Hafta admit, I almost broke.”
Rose put a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle and followed him up the stairs to the second floor. “You almost broke?” she exclaimed, her voice hushed for the benefit of the sleeping household. “I daresay, had Elijah not been covering my mouth, I would have burst into peals of laughter and possibly given us away!”
“Nah, not you, love,” Liam argued with an amused smile. “You're an actress for the ages. Missed your callin'; you should be performin' on West End.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
At the top of the staircase, he crossed the landing and paused outside the double doors that led to his bedroom. Turning back to her, he said, “You've done nothin' but impress me, Rose. From our very first conversation. Your intellect and tenacity in regards to the situation with Dmitri, well, you were a force. I knew it then, and know it more so now.”
Rose's lips curled in a kittenish smile. “Is that so? I thought you found me a torment.”
“I did,” Liam confided. “And the very fact that ya got under my skin enough to make me react is proof that you are not a woman to be trifled with. You could ruin me with a word, Rose. Met my match, I think.”
In his mind, Liam winced. He hadn't meant to confess such a thing to her. Those words were a transfer of power, arranged and laid out on a silver platter. But if there was anyone in this world he could trust not to take advantage, it was Rose Sinclair. And it was time. Time she knew, and time he let himself trust.
A myriad of unreadable emotions passed through Rose's eyes as she stared at him in the dim light of the corridor. “You truly believe that?” she asked, her volume low.
“Aye,” he confirmed. “I do. Truly. You gave my smarts and ability to plan a run for their money. Came up with ideas I'd have never thought of. You were instrumental through every step of this, Rose. Calm, undeterred, cerebral. Fearless. We woulda failed without ya.”
Rose inhaled a slow, deep breath. Her cloth reticule still hung from her wrist by the drawstring, and she fiddled with the embroidery. “From a person with your intelligence and resumé, that is certainly a lofty compliment.”
“More lofty than ‘Ya got some body on ya’?” Liam asked with a soft chuckle. “That's what Jimmy said to ya, isn't it?”
Rose appraised him, one eyebrow arched, and advanced a step closer. “It is, yes. And, speaking of my boorish former beau…” she began, her voice taking on an air of purposeful nonchalance. “To Jimmy's skewed knowledge, just what are you doing to me right now?”
