Mistress by Marriage Page 21

  The brush tangled in the snarls despite Edward’s best efforts. She longed for Lizzie—no, Lizzie was probably in on the trick, too. And Garrett! They had all of them deceived her.

  She watched in horror as her eyes filled with tears again.

  Edward noticed but misunderstood. “I’m sorry if I’m hurting you. Perhaps I should let you do it.”

  “Pl-please.” She held up her shaking wrists.

  Somehow she thought she’d feel more satisfaction when she threw the silver hairbrush and shattered the mirror. Even the first two vases did not quell the empty feeling she had in the pit of her stomach, but at least Edward dashed out the door in self-preservation. The third vase was too heavy to throw, or she was too tired, so she settled for carrying it to the open window and dropping it to the courtyard far, far below.

  She discovered she was very high up in Bradlaw House, on the third or fourth story. The sheep were high on a faraway green hill. Sheep couldn’t save her anyway. She was doomed, and down to her first and now last vase. It lay glittering and empty at her feet, a forlorn rose petal stuck to its lip. Caroline kicked it across the rug, succeeding only in hurting her toes again. She would save it for an emergency. There was bound to be one.

  Chapter 18

  Betrayed again. But how they would suffer for their perfidy. Her precious virginity but a vague memory, Jeannette ran through the mudflats with vengeance on her mind.

  —Ocean of Doom

  She assessed the damage. Without proper footwear, she’d slice her feet to ribbons. Her pretty red suede half-boots had disappeared, probably thrown out the carriage window by an injured and irate Edward. She tiptoed carefully to the dressing room, but was disappointed to find none of her imagined clothing. Whatever had happened to her luggage? And all her household objects she’d boxed up so carefully? She was left in that tower of hell with bath towels and bedding to clothe her body, which was now covered in gooseflesh.

  And Edward’s signature lime scent.

  There was no point in sobbing—she’d lose what little voice she had left. Caroline climbed up the padded wooden steps to the bed and crawled in, pulling the brown velvet coverlet to her chin. What on earth was she going to do? She had weaponry aplenty, the sharp slivers of glass sprinkled like an ice storm on the carpet. Everything had shattered in a most satisfactory manner, although the pieces were more toothpick than lance sized. Her toes and twisted ankle hurt and she was hungry. Famished. Despite Mrs. Hazlett’s urging, she’d eaten very little at breakfast. That meal seemed like days ago, when she was excited and nervous about starting her new life. Instead she was back under Edward’s control, cold, naked and filled with frustration.

  She flipped on the mattress, felt something hard and chilly against her thigh. The scissors! Caroline sat up. She doubted she had the strength or the will to plunge them into Edward’s heart if he ever came back into the room, but at least she could turn a pillowcase into a shift. She shook a thick down-filled bolster from its pretty embroidered rectangle. Yellow-centered daisies and a scroll of green leaves edged the fine linen, ridiculously cheerful under the circumstances. With a sharp scissor-point, she picked opened the seams wide enough to stick her head and arms through, then pulled it down to mid-thigh. She couldn’t see the effect, as the mirror was crazed in a hundred pieces.

  Caroline tugged the top sheet from its neat corners and set about cutting it into thick strips. When she was done, she had fabric to wind around and cushion her feet, tying the sandals with a jaunty knot at her ankles. There was plenty left over, in case she had to strangle Edward or make a bed linen ladder. The descent out the window was more than she wanted to consider, however.

  It was time to tackle the room. In good conscience, she couldn’t leave it for Mrs. Hazlett, even if the woman had betrayed her. Caroline wrapped a strip of linen around her hand and grabbed the coal scuttle. With each plink of glass to metal, she imagined dropping Edward off the roof, his brains dashing on the pavement below. There was still a great quantity of glass dust, but the little broom from the hearth swept it away. She gathered up the stems and flowers and heaped them into the coal scuttle too, but not before rubbing some ruined roses on her temples and throat to dilute the pervasive lime scent.

  Satisfied that she’d made the room safer, she explored her prison cell. There were two chamber pots—intact—which she returned to the underside of the enormous bed. A massive tallboy was empty of everything, even dust. She doubted she was strong enough to tip it over to crush Edward, or slide it to bar the door. A pair of comfortable brown and yellow striped chairs sat before the empty fireplace. She righted the gold-leaf and black patterned table that she’d first knocked over, and returned the crystal vase to its center. Two polished brass candlesticks stood side by side on one end of the mantel. Moving one to the other end for balance, she checked its heft. It would make a considerable dent in Edward’s head if he held still long enough for her to whack him. The brown toile-skirted dressing table held her comb, her rouge pot, an ivory tray of hairpins, and her new jewelry box. Caroline opened the lid to see her all her old glittery friends. She fastened a topaz and citrine brooch at her ragged neckline and clasped a topaz bracelet on her wrist. She found her hairbrush beneath the gold fringe of a curtain, sat down on the toile-cushioned window seat and counted one hundred snarling strokes.

  The view below was lovely. Caroline was sorry the room did not face the elaborate formal gardens, but the brick-chevroned courtyard had a pleasing pattern. From there she could watch for any traffic, like a princess trapped in a tower. A long lime avenue led to the estate gates, which she would be exiting soon as she could figure out how. The hills beyond were still bright green, although a brief freak cold snap had turned some leaves, altering nature—just as Edward had altered her life those past three months. Even the last month, when she’d convinced herself she was done with him and everything that came before him.

  Would she never get to start her life anew? She kept trying, only to encounter one stumbling block after another.

  There was a slide of key to lock. Edward peered in through a two-inch gap. “Are you all right? It’s awfully quiet in here.”

  “I ran out of things to throw.” Not quite true, but he didn’t need to know she held anything in reserve. “I’m hungry, Edward. Do you plan to starve me here?”

  “That wouldn’t suit my purposes at all.” He entered with obvious caution, fully dressed in his own clothes. Caroline was not sorry to see a mottled bruise forming on his cheek where the second vase struck home. She was less thrilled with his bark of laughter at her own costume.

  “How resourceful you are, Caro. I would never have guessed. What’s next? An evening gown made out of the curtains?”

  She put the brush down before she threw it again. “If I must. The velvet is good quality. But I’d rather have my own things. Where are my clothes? My shoes? Where is my food?”

  “All in due time. I confess I like how you look right now—rather like a woodland elf. All you’re missing is a crown of daisies in your hair.” He looked down at the carpet. “I see you’ve done some straightening up.”

  “Yes. Tell the Bradlaws to send me a bill. I’ll be happy to replace the vases.”

  “I’ll take care of that. I hope,” he said, looking stern, “this will be the end of your childish tantrums. You must have been spoilt as a little girl.”

  Caroline felt a tantrum coming on. How little he knew of her. No one save Nicky had paid the least bit of attention to her—unless she made them. Her father had seemed to forget she even existed most of the time until she broke something he valued. Of course, most everything of value had been sold to cover his drinking and gambling and wenching.

  “Yes,” she replied, her tone glacial. “I was dreadfully spoiled. And there’s my red hair, always a sure sign of temper, is it not? Yet, that was what you first noticed about me.”

  “Not quite. I admired the whole package as I recall. As did every man in the room.”

&n
bsp; “Yes. Entirely superficial admiration. No one bothered to get to know me, especially you.”

  “My greatest sin—which is why we’re here.”

  “Edward, it’s too late. You know me well enough. And I know you. We are both far too old to change our natures.”

  “I’m not asking you to change, Caro. Not really. But I am willing to listen to what you want in a husband.”

  “Not you! Never you! Never again!” Her hands fisted at her sides.

  His eyes glittered for a moment, just like evil glass. So she had been wrong, after all. “I don’t want to have to restrain you again, but I will.”

  Caroline’s laugh was brittle. “Oh, my lord. How pathetic to realize that’s the only way I’ll endure your company.”

  “That’s not true and we both know it.”

  Damn him. He was right as he always was. Part of her wanted to fling herself into his arms. But she hoped her other part would prevail.

  “How long must I suffer here? Did you say a week?”

  Edward nodded. “I hope you won’t suffer, Caro. If you do, it will be by your own choice.”

  “You expect me to countenance kidnapping and torture? Curl up like a kitten in your lap?”

  Edward walked over to the black marble fireplace and sat down in one of the chairs. “Please join me over here, Caro. I wouldn’t want you to jump out the window.”

  “I have no intention of causing myself harm. Only you.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider.” He gave her a most charming smile. Freshly shaven, his hair drawn back from his intelligent forehead, he was temptation itself. Caroline knew where that led. Then he extended a conciliatory hand.

  His earnest effort was annoying, but she got up, crossed the room, and sat. She put her head back on the chair, closed her eyes and hummed.

  “Give me five minutes, Caro, then I’ll bring up a tray. It’s a bit early for supper, but you missed lunch. I won’t be joining you—I don’t want a soup bowl thrown at my head.”

  Caroline’s stomach rumbled. “I trust you won’t drug the food.”

  “Of course not. And you needn’t worry about what you ingested earlier. Dr. Wyatt told me it was perfectly harmless.”

  Yet another name to add to her list of enemies. At least her cat was faithful. “Where’s Harold?”

  “Prowling about. He and Ben are outside somewhere, exploring. I don’t believe the boy has ever seen an open field in his life.”

  No, he hadn’t. When Caroline found him, he’d been white as milk and stick-thin, begging on a seedy street corner. Over the objections of Garrett Marburn, who had accompanied her to a poor part of the city in the name of literary research, she had whisked Ben away in Garrett’s carriage. It had taken several days to get him clean and calm and integrated into her household. It had been a tiny step toward the motherhood she would never have.

  “I hope they don’t get lost.”

  “I gave him my compass. He’s a bright lad.”

  “When he wants to be.” She knew Ben was in awe of Edward, the little traitor. “Are your five minutes up?”

  “Almost. Tomorrow morning after breakfast I’d like to see you in Bradlaw’s library.”

  “Do you want me naked or in this pillowcase?”

  Edward winced. “Your trunk is outside in the hallway. I’m sorry I forgot about it.” He stood. “I’ll fetch it now.”

  He left the door ajar. For one mad moment Caroline contemplated pushing past him and running down the flights of stairs.

  She wouldn’t get far with sheets on her feet.

  Edward carried the small trunk into the dressing room. Caroline had not packed much for her trip to Dorset, just a few changes for the several days’ travel. But a flagon of jasmine perfume was rolled up between her petticoats, and she would drown herself in it as soon as Edward left. “I’ll leave you to unpack. Supper will be very simple. I hope you won’t mind.”

  Caroline was hungry enough to eat the leather slippers she was thrilled to see at the bottom of her things. She waved Edward away and hung up her dresses, just to get the wrinkles out. She was not moving in. Not staying, no matter what Edward planned.

  When Edward returned with the tray, she fell on the vegetable soup with joy. Her bread was already buttered, the rare beef and cheese sliced—he’d taken the precaution of not including a knife. She bit directly into the juiciest peach of her life, its nectar dripping onto her pillowcase dress. She drank every ounce of the sweet red wine that filled her glass and wished there were more. She wanted to sleep tonight and wake up this morning all over again. Her day would be vastly different this time.

  Morning found her in the same strange room, garbed in her own nightdress, a slant of bright sunshine slipping through a gap in the dark velvet. Caroline sprang up and rushed to the window. She looped back the drapes with their tasseled gold cords. There was no one about on the courtyard—no one with a tall ladder or a team of acrobats who could scale the walls and set her free. Her hair was not as long as Rapunzel’s, and in any case, there was no prince to climb it. The point was to get out, not invite another vexing man into her boudoir.

  Her hair was more tangled than ever. Good thing Edward had spotted the scissors and taken them away, or she’d be sorely tempted to cut the whole mess off. She sat at the dressing table, viewing two dozen little Carolines with two dozen hairbrushes in the cracked mirror. She needed to make herself ready for the morning’s negotiation with Edward, her first and hopefully her last.

  There was a rap at the door, then the turning of the key. Hazlett entered red-faced, whether from climbing the stairs, the weight of the breakfast tray or his mortification as her husband’s accomplice.

  “Good morning, my lady. I bring you Mrs. Hazlett’s sincere and abject apology for her part in your abduction. We have nothing but your best interests at heart, you know.” He set the tray down on the dressing table quickly, as if he were afraid to come too close, as well he should be.

  “So you said, you old liar. How much did it cost Lord Christie to steal your souls?” Caroline asked in a forbidding voice.

  “Why, nothing much above our usual weekly salary, my lady. Lord Christie was quite convincing in his ardor. Mrs. Hazlett and I thought you should give him another chance.”

  “Did you?” Caroline uncovered a dish of perfectly poached eggs on tiny toast squares. Their yolks would match the gold wallpaper, but she was not about to waste the meal on the walls. Who knew when she might find sustenance again? There was a dish of blackberries swimming in rich yellow cream, two enormous sticky buns, and a pot of chocolate. It looked like Mrs. Hazlett had made herself right at home in her new kitchen.

  “Lord Christie instructed me to tell you to take your time enjoying breakfast. He will await you at your convenience in the library. Please ring when you’re ready to come downstairs.” He lifted the tapestry’s corner to reveal a bellpull. Hazlett waited, looking hopeful. He could stand there rooted all day, and Caroline would not forgive him or his wife. She gave him the evilest of eyes.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  She stabbed into an egg. “Oh, just my freedom. My life back! I don’t suppose you’d hand over the key to this room so I won’t have to ring any damn bells?”

  Hazlett stiffened. “It is for your own good, Lady Christie. You are such a stubborn girl.”

  “I’m hardly a girl, Hazlett. I know my own mind, and it will not be changed. You’re dismissed. In every sense of the word.”

  Hazlett drooped a bit as he left, but still turned the key in the lock.

  Caroline drank her chocolate, ate her eggs and berries slowly, savoring every sip and bite. Edward could hang before she went downstairs. Although the buns tempted her, she wrapped them in a linen napkin. They would make a fine feast on the road when she caught the mailcoach in Ashford.

  She had money in her reticule, but unsurprisingly Edward had not seen fit to bring it upstairs with her trunk. He must think her too besotted by her jewels to e
ver think of selling them, but sell them she would to buy a ticket home.

  Where was home? Edward might have already arranged the sale of the Jane Street house to any one of the eager men lined up to install their mistresses there. But she hadn’t signed her life interest away. While she still had breath in her body, the house was hers.

  At some point while she slept, fresh water and towels had been delivered to the dressing room, although the bathtub was out on the carpet, still full. An oversight by Edward, but then he wasn’t used to playing lady’s maid. She blushed to think what she and her husband had done in it. Whatever else he was, he knew her body and how to bring it to pleasure.

  Caroline washed and dressed with care, folding the black cloak over her arm. The bundle of buns was pinned to its lining with two enamel brooches. If he didn’t agree to drive her to Ashford, she was in hopes Edward would let her outside to walk in Lady Bradlaw’s garden. Alone. The pocket of her dark blue travelling dress was stuffed with jewelry. For good measure, she’d pinned the diamond spray on her shoulder. It was a minor Christie family heirloom, and would be the first to go to the pawnshop.

  The soles of her leather slippers were thin, but Caroline knew she wouldn’t abuse them for more than four or five miles. Six at the most. She wished she’d paid more attention to the mileposts when she’d lived at Christie Park. Walking over to the glowing tapestry, she yanked the bellpull hard.

  Ben came up in place of Hazlett, who was probably lying down somewhere recovering from his earlier climb. The boy gave her a cheeky grin.

  “ ’ello, Lady C! Sorry if I gave you the flimflam. The country ain’t near as bad as I thought. Lord C says he’ll take me fishin’ if he has time.”