Waiting for a Rogue

by Marie Tremayne

  Any opportunity to see the russet shimmer of her hair was a welcome one, and he admired her openly before realizing what she’d said was not in line with her usual snappy retorts. She was also here unannounced, and now that he was looking closer, he could see that the normally stalwart Lady Caroline was pale and shaken.

  “You are unwell,” he said in alarm, stepping clear of his chair with the intent of approaching her.

  “Stop, please,” she said, staying him with a raised hand. “I don’t plan on staying long but I need to say something without my head getting . . . muddled. By you.”

  He stopped, and with a small bow in her direction, attempted to respond.

  “I would not flatter myself into thinking my presence could affect you in such a way. But if—”

  “You know it does,” she said, interrupting. “So please stay on your side of the desk.”

  Her admission was gratifying. Briefly, he envisioned her reaction if he were to come nearer anyway, not hesitating until he had pressed her against the door behind her, mercilessly savoring the sweet taste of her mouth until the color had revived in her face. Given the seriousness of her countenance, he steered his thoughts in a more appropriate direction and obeyed, seating himself once more and nodding to the chair before her.

  “Won’t you sit, at least?” he asked.

  She twitched her head and glanced away. “No, thank you. I only want to know if your generous offer of extra staffing is still available to me.”

  Jonathan stared. Something was definitely wrong. He leaned forwards on his elbows to regard her intently.

  “Will you tell me what has happened?”

  Her chin quivered slightly. “It was y-yesterday afternoon. Lady Frances, she . . .” Her voice trailed off and she fidgeted with her hands before raising her eyes to meet his. “My aunt is having more trouble with her memory. She forgot . . . who I was . . . and . . .”

  Caroline trailed off, and he worked to grasp the magnitude of what she had just told him. Lady Frances had forgotten her own niece, the one person who loved her best in this world.

  Jonathan cleared his throat as a suspicious emotion rose to thicken his voice. It was something like sadness. Like his heart aching on this woman’s behalf.

  “Has her lapse persisted?” he forced out. “How is she today?”

  She shook her head as if to somehow dismiss the severity of the situation and smiled bravely. “No, I was familiar to her this morning. The only sign of anything out of the ordinary was her demanding that I wear this bonnet.”

  He couldn’t prevent his answering smile, and glanced over at the item in question. “Is this not a style she would normally find pleasing?”

  “Perhaps as a little girl,” she said, eyeing the headgear warily from where she stood. “Or maybe a decade ago. You must understand, Mr. Cartwick, my aunt has spent the past few summers in London. Normally, she would know which pieces were especially . . . out of fashion.”

  “I believe it. From what I know of her, she possesses a keen intellect.”

  “Yes. When she is herself, she is very sharp. It’s just that soothing her agitation will be much more difficult from this point on if she cannot remember who I am, and I have come here today to see if your offer still stands,” she said in a choked voice.

  Jonathan was overwhelmed by both her confession and her request. The pain must have been unbearable for her to come to him like this. He couldn’t really imagine it. Hidden away in the country with no Pemberton parent in sight, trotted out to London each year for the sole purpose of getting rid of you, then watching your only loved one fade into some nameless oblivion. No wonder she felt the need to constantly defend both herself and her aunt from every conceivable threat.

  He wasn’t certain when the change had taken place, when his irritating highborn neighbor had managed to breach his heart, but Jonathan found he would gladly remove himself from that list of worries. Would do all that he could to keep her from worrying about anything, were it possible.

  Rising, he slowly rounded the desk. Her eyes widened but remained on his when he stopped before her, and he reached out to surround her chilled fingers with the warm strength of his own. She not only allowed it, she returned his grasp.

  “Of course my offer still stands,” Jonathan said, his voice sounding huskier than he’d intended. “You will have two members of my staff at your immediate disposal. Anything else you might require will be yours as well.”

  Her expression changed, relief spreading across her features like the rolling of a wave across the ocean, and she gripped his hand tighter.

  “I would ask, although it may be too much, that you might defend my efforts to continue caring for Lady Frances at Willowford House as well. My parents will likely not heed my opinion on the matter, but I can’t allow them to move her into an asylum. They may listen to you.”

  Jonathan nodded. “It would be most effective if we were to present a unified front. Although my opinion may mean very little to them, you may be assured of my support. Please know that I will do whatever I can,” he said with a gentle squeeze of his fingers.

  Gratitude transformed into reluctant skepticism behind her slate-colored eyes. “But why?” she asked with a sad shake of her head. “Why help me at all when I’ve only caused you trouble from the start?”

  “Trouble?” He laughed. “No. Mischief . . . perhaps. But I would not trade you for a more placid neighbor. Trust me on this.” His eyes danced lightly over the diminutive angle of her nose, across the delightful smattering of tiny freckles and down to the lips that had thankfully returned to their tempting strawberry hue. God, how he yearned to kiss her. “In fact, I think a less formidable woman would be rather boring.”

  Caroline blushed, the color in her cheeks rising to match her lips. “If you were to ask the ton, they would tell you that I am hardly formidable.”

  “Good thing I wasn’t asking the ton.” Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles, his eyes closing at the feel of her.

  Her quiet intake of breath was easily heard in the silence of his study, and he wondered how she was looking at him in this moment. Normally, a kiss on the hand wouldn’t be cause for any sort of notice, but he meant this one differently and felt like she knew it. It was a commitment—a promise made in her time of need—sealed now with his mouth upon her soft skin.

  When he relinquished his hold, she took a quick step backwards then retrieved her bonnet, affixing it to her head in outwards preparation for her departure. It was almost painful for him to see the lovely ruby sheen of her hair covered once more by that feathered abomination, but the sight of her leaving was profoundly more upsetting.

  “I thank you, Mr. Cartwick. Most humbly,” she said and crossed to the door, her fingers working on tying the fuchsia ribbon. “We can discuss the particulars at a later date—”

  “Why not discuss them now?” he asked.

  Gazing at the floor, her fingers remained unusually absorbed in their task. “I-I suppose we could, but I have other errands to attend to this afternoon.”

  “Don’t,” he said.

  Caroline cinched the bow and glanced at him cautiously. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t leave like this. Not again.” Jonathan strode to where she stood by the door and saw her stiffen. He stopped before reaching her but leaned in, dodging a feathery protrusion from her bonnet to speak into her ear. “I’m glad you came to me for help,” he murmured.

  Her eyes drifted closed at his nearness, then snapped back open. “And please know that I will send payment just as soon as I am able to acquire the necessary funds from my parents—”

  He inhaled slowly through his nose. “I will accept no payment from you. You know that,” he admonished, his chin scraping softly against her jaw.

  “P-please,” she stammered through trembling lips. “You don’t have to kiss me.”

  He tilted his head to regard her in surprise. “If I kiss you again, it will be because I desire it.”
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br />   The anxious rise and fall of her breath paused for a brief moment, and she blinked up at him. “You . . . do?”

  Jonathan nodded slowly. Reaching out, he stroked a thumb across the tender curve of her cheek. “I’ve kissed you before. Is it so very hard to accept that a man might find you desirable?”

  “I’m sure you believe that, Mr. Cartwick. But I do not pretend to understand the whims of men, and know that a kiss could simply be the result of an errant impulse.”

  He swiftly closed his hand over hers before she could yank it away. “Caroline,” he whispered fiercely. “Clearly you don’t know me at all. If you did, you would know that you are not the only one who has endured the changeable nature of love. You would know that my family was mercilessly ridiculed and disparaged by those very people who mock you now.” His tone softened, his gaze dropping to her lips. “And you would know that I do not kiss women unless I find them desirable.”

  “Oh,” was her stunned and barely audible reply.

  Glancing aside, he took a breath before continuing in a low voice. “I think Lord Braxton was a fool.”

  “I’m assuming Lady Hedridge told you the particulars of how I left London,” she said wearily.

  “She did.”

  “And you still think him a fool?”

  He realized he was still holding her hand, and against every instinct that demanded he get even closer, he released it and took a step back. “Her implications don’t seem to match what I know of you so far.”

  “And just what do you know of me?”

  Jonathan deliberated for a moment. “You are a loyal friend to Eliza. I believe this trait would carry over to your other relationships. So this leads me to believe that your need to leave London must have been founded in urgency—particularly because the cost was so high.”

  “The cost wasn’t that high,” she said with a stubborn tip of her chin.

  “So, it did not trouble you when Lord Braxton chose another?” he asked. “It does not bother you that the ton now amuses themselves at your expense?”

  “Fine, yes,” she replied, glancing away sheepishly. “I was hurt when he moved on without a word, but perhaps it was understandable given the circumstances.”

  “It wasn’t. If you had been mine, I would have sought answers.”

  Her shoulders hitched up into a tiny shrug. “Obviously he didn’t think I was a question worth answering.”

  Cartwick supposed he had not gone to seek answers when Letitia had broken things off between them. But of course by that time, she’d been caught in the intimate company of one of his so-called friends. It had been all the answer he had required, and any affection he’d felt for her had dissolved in an instant. Perhaps it had been the same for Braxton, however unjustified.

  Still, he felt that any man who knew Caroline at all would know to question such an occurrence.

  “Like I said, my lady.” He reached over to tuck an errant lock behind her ear. “Lord Braxton was a fool.”

  Her lips twisted and she backed away. “It costs you nothing to say that.”

  “I disagree.” Only he knew how much it cost to lay his heart open for her.

  “Regardless, I had no choice,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I had to leave, and I needed help to do it. At least I discovered his real worth before agreeing to marry him.”

  And then it struck him with the force of a hammer. Here she stood before him in his study, beseeching him for help with her aunt, frantically trying to keep the unhappy truth about Frances’s condition concealed from everyone . . . and he realized the truth. That she hadn’t fled the season alone with the viscount, intent on debauching herself with a licentious rake . . .

  She had fled with Lady Frances. And the viscount had helped her.

  Jonathan stared at her, the wheels turning in his mind. “Was it your aunt?” he asked softly.

  “I—” She blinked at him, hesitating for a moment before clearing her throat and folding her hands before her. “Yes, it was. She declined considerably during our time in London.”

  His next question was difficult, but he needed to know. “And enlisting his help did not bind you to the viscount in any way?”

  Caroline’s eyebrows shot up. “So you do believe the rumors,” she snapped, turning on her heel. Her fingers wrenched at the doorknob, but she paused when his hands slid gently over her upper arms. She was unyielding beneath his touch.

  “Not at all, my lady. I only wish to ascertain whether Lord Evanston is a problem. I would help you, if he is.”

  Her reaction was immediate, and he could feel it in the way her flesh softened and relaxed beneath his hands. She said nothing for a moment, and his hands moved away as she turned around to regard him.

  “Thanks to Eliza, it did not,” she replied, facing him now with the door at her back. “He made the bargain with her instead.”

  The thought of a man striking deals with a widow to secure his assistance caused his blood to heat. “And you let her?” he asked incredulously.

  “The deal was initially made without my knowledge or consent. I advised against it when I found out, but she insisted. You should quit acting so outraged,” she added. “I’ll remind you that you were the one who originally displaced her.”

  “And I will remind you that this is how entailment works. It is neither personal nor malicious . . . it is simply family business.”

  “Business,” she mused, staring up at him. “Then tell me, if everything is business to you, then what do you hope to gain by helping me with my aunt?”

  You in my arms.

  The whisper of truth that echoed in his mind shook him like a clap of thunder on a quiet night. So did the hypocrisy. He could hardly criticize the viscount for striking a love deal when he might be doing the same thing himself.

  Caroline looked up at him in expectation of an answer—eyes bright with ire, lips clamped together impatiently—but he wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the truth. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he was ready to say it. But perhaps he could own up to part of it, at least.

  “You are my neighbor,” he answered, his heart pounding in his ears. “Whatever our disputes may be, I will provide my services to both you and Lady Frances.”

  “And I am a close friend of the woman Evanston loved. He assisted me much in the same way and I was thankful for it then, as I am grateful to you now.”

  His fingers stretched out to skim against the length of satin ribbon that hung down from the bow beneath her chin. “Forgive me, my lady. I had to hear the truth from you, because I find myself unable to believe that any man, let alone the viscount, would have been able to resist your charms for long.”

  Her lips parted, and she stared at him in stunned silence before huffing awkwardly and glancing away. “Our kiss was my first, Mr. Cartwick, so we can lay to rest any thoughts you have of me being some kind of temptress,” she said, a slight tremor marring her voice. “All of London knows I am not.”

  Caroline blushed fiercely, her cheeks turning a color only slightly lighter than the red highlights of her hair, while he heard her words ring once more in his head.

  Our kiss was my first.

  It seemed impossible. She had returned his attentions with such energy . . . such fervor . . . with a desire that had easily matched his own . . .

  Her eyes flicked self-consciously over to meet his, as if hoping to assess the current turn of his thoughts. Would she welcome another kiss from him? He supposed he would earn another slap if she did not.

  Slowly, he tugged on the ribbon, sliding it free of its knot.

  “Yet here I am, standing with you,” he whispered. The bonnet came loose and he gripped the edge, gently lifting it from her head before tossing it back onto the chair. “And I am tempted.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Caroline leaned against the door for support. Somehow, she had allowed this to happen again, and Jonathan Cartwick was standing so close, looking so incredibly dashing and every bit as if he wanted to
devour her. But she couldn’t deny that she had wanted this too. That she had found herself lamenting every second away from this man.

  Still, she needed to resist . . . for her sake and for Eliza.

  Laughing weakly, her eyes flicked over to the bonnet he’d just deftly removed from her head, and she swallowed. “If you find yourself tempted, sir, then I should probably remind you of my abundance of displeasing qualities.”

  His mouth twitched in amusement and his eyes dropped to her lips. “Such as?”

  “I can be disagreeable, for one.”

  “As can I,” he conceded with a nod.

  “And argumentative.”

  “To be sure.”

  She wracked her brain for something else, searching for something that would drive him away. “And,” she said triumphantly, “despite my parents’ thoughts on marriage, I have no intention of even being courted.”

  Caroline immediately winced at the implication. He’d already laid to rest her concerns about his thoughts on marrying her. The setdown still stung. But rather than scoffing at her assertion, this time he only shook his head, his gaze raising to lock on to hers.

  “Such a waste,” he said, in a low, sultry voice that caused her toes to curl. He reached out to stroke her cheek with his work-roughened hand. “I’ll take care not to court you, then.”

  The idea was almost laughable; that he could find something worth wanting in her. She hadn’t even managed that kind of success with Lord Braxton, and he had supposedly been about to propose.

  But as the flame inside of her fanned hotter with Cartwick’s gentle caress upon her cheek, she had to ask the question: Why him?

  Oh, God . . . why him?

  His fingers slid around the curve of her jaw and she could feel her resistance crumbling. She stood looking up at him, paralyzed in anticipation, and he leaned down to take her mouth in a slow and sensuous search that sent heat licking through every wanton corner of her soul. Warm and supple, soft yet demanding, his lips claimed hers in a way that was markedly different from their kiss in the hallway. There was no frenzied eruption of lust, no loss of control; this was a statement of his longing for her, eloquent and effective, the tip of his tongue teasing her full lower lip in a beckoning plea. Calling out to her own instinctual needs . . . stirring her desire . . . making her want to beg him for more.