Mistress by Marriage Page 23

  She had almost agreed. How that would have helped Andrew pay his bills she had no idea, but he probably would have bided his time until she sold the silver or a painting on the wall. But Edward had come home as a birthday surprise. The surprise had been on him.

  She felt sick to her stomach reliving the worst period of her life. No, not the worst, a little imp whispered. Not even close.

  “I want to go upstairs—to my new room.”

  “Caro, please—”

  “No, I cannot talk to you anymore. Not right now.”

  Edward had remained composed and reasonable throughout most of their conversation, even when Caroline threatened him with bodily harm, although she thought he was beginning to sense his ultimate defeat. She would not, could not do what he wanted.

  “Very well. I’ll show you.”

  He led her up a double flight of stairs to a sunny corner bedroom overlooking the parterre garden. The walls were not blue or gray, but a soothing silvery green, the color of lambs’ ear. The curtains and bedspread were floral chintz, lending the impression the garden had come indoors. It was much more feminine. Caroline wondered if Edward had expected to share the other, more masculine room with her.

  The surfaces were bare, except for a little dressing table. The maid had lined up her toiletry items. Her jewel box stood open.

  Edward frowned. “What’s this? Where are your trinkets?”

  Caroline patted the comforting lump. “In my pocket. I wasn’t sure about the staff.”

  “There’s just the Hazletts and Ben, a few day girls from the village. Most of the servants accompanied the Bradlaws to town and much of the house is shut up. I’m sure you needn’t worry about theft. The Bradlaws wouldn’t hire people they couldn’t trust.”

  “Why not? I did.”

  “Don’t be too hard on them, Caro. They do care about you.”

  “So they keep saying. It’s a mystery how everyone seems to think they know what’s best for me.”

  “Maybe they do. Maybe you should listen.”

  “La la la.”

  Edward went to the door. “I’m off then.” His lips twisted. “Perhaps to find a fork. I’ll expect you downstairs for dinner at eight.”

  She heard the inevitable key turn. Locked in again. Caroline hoped the sticky buns were still in her cloak. Dinner was a long way away. She looked around. There really was nothing satisfying to throw. So she screamed instead—for quite a long time—until her throat hurt and she became bored.

  There were books in her trunk. Her own. Resigning herself to one more day of captivity, she curled up in a chintz-covered chair and began to read, even though she already knew the ending.

  Chapter 20

  “Just once more, I beg you.” The Marquess of Ravenwood kissed her fingertips. Lily could do nothing but comply.

  —The Marquess and the Mistress

  At seven o’clock there was a tap at the door. Caroline scrambled up from the bed and brushed the crumbs off her blue dress. “Enter.”

  The key turned. She expected a maid, but it was Edward the eternal water-bearer, carrying a pitcher. He was fully clothed in handsome black and white attire. Some towels and a suspiciously bright red evening gown were draped over an arm. “I thought I’d help you get dressed for dinner.”

  She looked down at her ruined dress and spied a sticky bit of cinnamon-coated pastry she’d missed. “I am dressed.”

  “But I’ve bought you a new gown.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed. She touched the oily fabric in revulsion, half expecting to see bloodstains on her fingers. “Were you blind? I can’t wear that!”

  Edward blinked. “But it’s red. You love red.”

  “Not that red. It’s hideous.” In fact, she’d never seen a more ghastly dress in her life, edged in stiff black lace that looked sharp enough to cut into her skin. “The only way I’ll ever wear that is if I’m in my coffin. And even then, it’s horrible enough for me to come back from the dead to claw it off me.”

  “I shall never understand you.”

  “Exactly.” She flounced over to the dressing table. Knew she was flouncing, too. Every move she made was exaggerated impatience. Her hair had tumbled down during her nap and she sighed dramatically.

  Edward set the pitcher and dreadful gown down. “Here. Let me help you with your hair.”

  She suffered through the brushing, the tender touches on her nape and temples. He seemed hypnotized as he stroked through her copper curls, no doubt hoping she was equally mesmerized. Well, she wasn’t. She grabbed the brush away and twisted her hair up every which way with some pins, then splashed some water on her face. “There. I’m done.”

  Edward took in her wrinkled dress. “Are you certain you don’t want to change? If not the dress I brought for you, perhaps one of your own?”

  “Why? Are we entertaining the king? Oh, but no. I remember. He thinks you’re in deep mourning. Who did you tell him died?”

  Edward examined his spotless white cuff. “Your mother.”

  Caroline struggled with her twitching hands. How they wanted to snatch up the hairbrush and heave it against the wall. “My mother? You never even met my mother! For that matter, neither did I!”

  “I’m sorry, Caro. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Edward, I’m beginning to think you have lost your mind completely. This is no way to go about winning me. Killing off my poor dead mother, buying me a dress fit for the cheapest of whores, locking me up for hours on end, not to mention the whole kidnapping scenario. What has happened to your good sense?” She put her hands on her hips, feeling very much like his mother.

  He gave her a rueful smile. “You’ve driven it from me.”

  “I? I’ve done nothing.”

  “You don’t have to. You just are.”

  She supposed that was a compliment. Edward was as inexplicably drawn to her as she was to him. To discover that their separation had pained him enough to go insane should have pleased her, but it didn’t. She wanted the rational Edward back, who recognized her for the hoyden she was: the woman who talked too much at breakfast; who made love too loudly; who broke things and climbed out windows; who ran away.

  “Let’s walk in the garden before dinner. I’ll get a wrap.” Some fresh air would do her good. The sun had dropped low in the sky, but there was still plenty of daylight left to examine the intricate knot garden. Earlier from her window she had glimpsed late roses, rust-red and yellow chrysanthemums, cosmos, anemones and alstromeria.

  But when she and Edward stepped onto the path, Caroline saw nothing but tenting rolls of burlap and heaps of straw covering the plants and shrubs. Bradlaw’s gardeners had been busy while she napped, protecting the plants from the uncertain nighttime temperature. It had been unusually cold for September, the threat of a nighttime frost frightening gardeners throughout the Home Counties.

  “Drat! I had so wanted to see the flowers.”

  “I invited you out here this afternoon. I understand the gardeners do this every evening and remove it all in the morning. How tedious for them when everything will die away soon. We’ll come outside tomorrow.”

  Edward cut an odd figure in his formal evening clothes amidst the humble burlap and straw. The only thing odder would have been for her to be wearing the ghastly red dress. That was one article of clothing that would not be going back to London with her.

  She supposed she’d have to leave all her belongings behind when she escaped. Wondering if Ben had made any progress finding her reticule, she sat on a bench beneath a canopy of bittersweet vines. After a moment, Edward removed a handkerchief from his pocket, dusted off the bench and joined her.

  “You needn’t dress up on my account, Edward. I don’t care what you wear.”

  “I planned a candlelit dinner with lots of romantic trimmings.” He sounded as dispirited as the brown garden surrounding them. Caroline wrapped her paisley shawl tighter, watching the sunlight fade on the windows of Bradlaw House. As far as roma
ntic places went, Bradlaw House and its famous garden had been an excellent choice. Too bad her heart had hardened.

  “We’re not far from Christie Park,” she said, changing the subject. “Do you plan on visiting while you keep me prisoner?”

  “No. I wanted this week to be for us. Only us. No distractions.”

  “That sounds awfully dull.”

  “It needn’t be. Caro, I know you’re angry.” He touched his bruise, then covered up his action by rubbing his jaw. She saw he was freshly shaven, in anticipation of how he thought he’d spend his night.

  Was she too angry with him to let him take her to bed? She thought not. In a few days she’d be shriveling up, not a spinster, no longer a wife. The prospect filled her with little satisfaction.

  “I told you yesterday I wanted us to make a fresh start. After today’s debacle, do you think we can forget it and make that fresh start tomorrow instead? I’m putty in your hands, Caro. I’ll stand for anything you say. Or throw. Please tell me there’s still a chance for us.”

  “This isn’t one of my books, Edward.” She picked a few orange berries from the vine and tossed them into a flower bed, where they pinged off the burlap and bounced back at her feet.

  “Marburn tells me you’re done.”

  “For the time being. I need a break. It’s exhausting imperiling my heroines. It’s exhausting being imperiled.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a while as the sun slipped behind the trees and the air chilled. Edward glanced at his timepiece. “Mrs. Hazlett must be nearly ready for us. Will you join me in a drink first?”

  “No, I want to keep a clear head. You could take advantage of me.”

  His cloudy green eyes met hers. “I had hopes to.”

  Caroline stood up. Who knew? He might get lucky.

  The candlelight flattered her, even in her plain wrinkled blue dress. Edward was secretly relieved she’d rejected the strumpet gown. That’s what came of entrusting one’s valet to go shopping for women’s clothes. Cameron must keep company with very fast females on his off hours to have picked such unsuitable attire, or else he simply hadn’t absorbed the lessons of Jane Street during the short time he was in residence. None of Caroline’s neighbors would have worn something so shockingly vulgar and they were the epitome of strumpets. Edward had been too busy the past weeks tying up loose ends so he could dedicate a week to Caroline to visit a modiste himself. Seven days now seemed both too short and too long.

  He was certain he could not keep her here, even if he locked her in. Judging from the jewelry stashed in her pocket earlier, she meant to escape at the first opportunity. Perhaps he’d let her.

  He’d been a proper gentleman all his life, save for the few hours yesterday on the road. While he’d allowed himself to feel a frisson of power over a helpless female, he was over that. He couldn’t hold his wife against her will. Whatever he’d hoped to accomplish, it was clear his mission was a failure.

  Except he still got to watch Caro across the table. See her break a roll apart. Take a tiny sip of wine. Dab white linen against her luscious mouth. His appetite for food had deserted him, but his hunger for Caro had not. He was a fool. Once again.

  She covered a yawn. He pushed back from the table. “I’ll escort you upstairs. You must be tired.”

  “I am, but I don’t know why. I slept the day away. Most of the morning, too.” She folded the napkin into a neat square and stood up.

  Edward offered an arm. “Being imperiled is exhausting, as you said. I didn’t mean to cause you harm or worry, Caro.”

  “To the end of my days, I’ll never understand what you were thinking.”

  “Let’s call it a temporary lapse of Christie judgment. I’ve reverted to my old boring self.”

  Caroline looked as if she wanted to say something, then focused on the stairs. Thank heavens there weren’t so many to climb. They were in front of her bedroom door before he knew it.

  “Goodnight, Caro.” He contemplated a kiss, but thought on the whole he should not subject himself to such torture. So he was surprised when she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

  Heaven. Honey. Every sweet lick drove him to despair. He had missed his chance to keep her, if not yesterday, five years ago when his pride had dictated a dismal future. His actions since had done nothing but cement Caro’s determination to cut all contact. If it was her way of saying good-bye, he needed to remember each brush of her fingertips, each thrust of her tongue, each flutter of his heart.

  She fell back against the door and Edward fell with her, her plush softness cushioning his lust. Trapped between the wood and his own rigid manhood, she made no effort to repel him; rather she held his shoulders firmly, drawing him down in her kiss. He opened his eyes to see hers closed, the fan of black lashes flickering on her cheeks. By rights they should be tipped with bronze, but Caro was nothing if not unique, even to her eyelashes. She appeared to be concentrating as hard as he was, her mouth a petal unfurling with such sweetness it broke him.

  What started as the merest brush of lips changed to devouring possession. Who possessed whom Edward wasn’t sure, for they took turns slanting their lips over the other, their tongues tasting and tangling, their hands busy exploring. The light from the sconces wavered. Anyone could come upon them in the hall to see Caro struggle blindly with his neckcloth, to see his hands covering her breasts under the blue cloth, to see her leg raise to wrap him closer. In minutes he could take her up against the door like a common harlot, but Caro was uncommon. She deserved better for their last night together.

  He wondered if she’d take a lover. He knew he wouldn’t.

  He groaned, but Caro interpreted it as abandon and rubbed herself against him like a hungry kitten. He fisted her skirts, sliding under to her smooth, cool thigh. He couldn’t see it except in his mind’s eye—the dimpled white expanse of flesh above her stocking, so soft, so vulnerable. He would kiss her there later if he could, mark her as his, at least for tonight. She shivered as he swept up to quickly find her heat, two fingers impaling themselves inside her slick, tight passage. His thumb circled the apex of her womanhood, already stiff and swollen for him. Only for him, at least for tonight.

  Tonight was all they had. Tomorrow he’d send her away as she wished. He pressed into her in desperation. She was the one groaning, drenching his hand with her desire, angling her hips to sink him deeper in her folds, to force him to rub harder, to kiss her as though his very existence depended upon it. He fought for breath and wits as her hand freed his cock, curled about him and stroked him upward. He needed much more than her hand, much more than tonight. With a savage mental curse he lifted her, fitting her onto him, her legs locking around his, and held her up against the door.

  He was seconds away from spilling into her. In the hallway.

  Edward dragged himself from her mouth. “Caro, hang on. I’ve got to get you inside.”

  “You are inside,” she whispered. “And it feels so good. Please, please don’t stop.”

  “I must.” He clung to her fiercely with one arm as he fumbled with the doorknob. It would quite ruin the mood if he dropped her. Slamming the door behind them, he lurched toward the bed, Caro wrapped around him, nipping his lips and driving him wild. Wilder. His skin was on fire. Everywhere. Too many damn clothes on both of them, but there was no time to divest himself of anything but his seed.

  He had barely edged them to the bed when she contracted around him, her rippling muscles drawing him up to the tip of her womb. He tipped her backward, strumming her bud as she came apart on the counterpane, her spine curving closer to him, her breasts begging for their release. He tore at her bodice with his free hand, but the wretched dress was impervious to his assault. He settled for kisses to her collarbone, her throat, her swollen pink mouth. He released everything he was into her, riding her to mutual oblivion.

  Just for tonight. The waves wouldn’t stop, each thrust and shudder building upon the last until he collapsed mindlessly exhausted onto a heap of cl
othing and a gasping Caroline. His cock still jerked and her passage still trembled, an echo of the power between them. The thought of withdrawing from her caused him acute pain, but it would be more painful still to keep her skin from his. The bits of her body he could see were slick with sweat and scented with jasmine. He needed to see every inch of her again before she was forbidden to him. Each soft rose-tipped breast, each curve of her hip, each toe. Her plump thighs, the swell of her belly, her beautiful bare mound with its tiny heart-shaped freckle, as though Venus herself had branded her for love. Edward would keep his wife in this bed as long as he could, which would never be long enough.

  He pushed a copper strand from her damp brow. “We are not done. Not yet.”

  “Speak for yourself, my lord. I cannot imagine being more done than I am now.” Her voice was rusty from her cries.

  “I’m confident I can convince you otherwise.” His thumb traced her cheekbone, then swept across her well-kissed lips. If she opened them, she would taste her own honey.

  She turned her face and pushed at him ineffectually. “Edward, do get up. I’m roasting. Burning up.”

  “My plan precisely. I think it’s past time we removed our clothes, yes?”

  She scrunched her red-gold brows. “I don’t like the sound of ‘we.’”

  “All right. I shall remove your clothes.” He eased out and lay on his side, examining the row of buttons on her bodice. Caroline’s skirts were hiked up to her waist but despite her objection she made no effort to pull them down. Excellent. Seeing half of her was better than seeing none of her, but he wouldn’t let those damn buttons get the best of him again.

  He would start with her black slippers and her stockings and her garters. He sat up, the room swimming a bit. She had wrecked him—certainly wrecked him for any other woman. He looked down at his ruined clothing, thankful he’d given Cameron time off so he’d be spared the disapproval. Taking one of Caroline’s feet in the palm of his hand, he pulled the grosgrain ribbon from its knot at her ankle and tossed the shoe aside. Her cotton stockings were beige and practical for travel, no pretty embroidered fleur-de-lis or tiny clocks, but her garters were a different story. The rosettes were studded with winking crystals and seed pearls, a pretty boon for a knight to carry into battle. He untied one and rolled the stocking from her calf.