by Erica Ridley
There was nothing he could say to take away her pain, so he pulled her into his arms and said nothing.
He understood why she believed life was a formula that could be learned. Why she needed to believe every problem had a solution. But by reaching for answers that might not exist, peace would forever evade her. He lay his cheek against her soft hair.
“It’s all right to want things you can’t have,” he murmured. “It’s all right not to be perfect; to be sad; to be happy. It makes you human, not incomplete.”
She lifted her face from his cravat and gave a wobbly smile. “But is that enough?”
“It’s more than enough,” he said softly. “You’re enough. Plenty of the fish in the sea are very bitter that you’re not out there swimming with them.”
She snorted. “Do fish get bitter?”
Adam was starting to think maybe they did.
He was a fish. He was in the sea. No—she was in the sea and he was in a private aquarium with a view of the water. His glass palace was expensive and protected, up high on a pedestal, boxed in on every side. Her boundaries were as limitless as the ocean. She could swim as far away as she wanted, but she was right here in his arms.
Marrying her would be the opposite of fitting in. Instead of talking to him, the peers he was trying so hard to fit in with were more likely to talk about him. Not to mention his duty to the title. And yet…
He didn’t need a fortuneteller to see his future: his bride would be the wealthy daughter of a fellow peer. Well-connected, well dressed, and well bred, with a flawless reputation and a dowry whose property rivaled his own. In all his thirty years, he’d never questioned the strictures he was meant to follow and the ideals he was meant to live up to. Now he was wondering whether that path was the right path.
What if he didn’t marry a High Society debutante? What if he took an unconventional bride? What was the worst that could happen? And if the worst did happen… would it still be worth it?
He cleared his throat. “Carole?”
Her hazel eyes peered up at him from beneath her lashes. “Yes?”
He tucked a tendril of golden hair behind her ear. “We’re always here, in my billiard room. Out of the way. Secretive. What do you think of… Would it be all right for me to call on you tomorrow instead?”
Calling wasn’t the same as proposing. All sorts of gentlemen paid twenty-minute afternoon visits to all sorts of ladies. Although, perhaps not typically dukes knocking at the cottage of—
He needn’t have worried. Carole reared back as though he’d doused her in water.
“Please don’t.” She pulled an expression that might have been comical, had it not twisted a knife in his chest. “If you come to our door, my father would think it meant something.”
Which told him everything he needed to know.
“Of course,” he murmured. “It’s better like this.”
Just like billiards, the rules were clear. When the game was over, it was over.
Effectively being rebuffed before he could progress far enough to ask a question ought to have turned him against the idea altogether. Instead, his respect for her only grew. Carole had never left him unclear as to where things stood. As far as she was concerned, she wasn’t missing a man. As far as Adam was concerned, that was absolutely true. Carole was marvelous in her own right.
But it did let him know that he needed to add
* * *
even though she doesn’t need me… still wants me.
* * *
to his list of requirements.
Chapter 13
Carole hunched over her writing table, filling the last page in her sketchbook with yet another illustration of a fantasy life starring her and Adam. Her skill with portraying real-life people had not improved, but it took little effort to copy Adam’s simple, top-hat-wearing rectangle-man into the drawings.
The ridiculous tableau of Fashion Plate Lady and Rectangle Man somehow made her fantastical settings seem all the more real. As though it really was the two of them riding horses through the evergreens, waltzing in the castle ballroom, curled up next to each other before a winter fire.
Truth was, in just a few days, they would be nothing at all. His party was the following night. Whether tomorrow went well or badly did not signify. He had promised to stay for a month and it had already been five weeks. She was taking more than her share. Soon, it would be time to let go.
But not until after tonight.
She shoved the sketchbook back into her reticule and turned to face the looking-glass. Judith had wanted to save the prettiest gown for the night of the party. Carole didn’t want to wait to look her best until Adam’s gaze was on other women. Tonight was the last night she would have him all to herself.
Judith had draped her in her finest gown: an underdress of deep blue covered with white gauze, complete with matching puffed sleeves and French-heeled slippers. This was as close as Carole had ever come to matching the elegant illustrations in her fashion plates. Not even a hair was out of place.
With a final pinch of her cheeks to give them color, she swept out of her cottage and over to his.
His eyes widened when she walked through the door.
Not because she had vastly overdressed for an ordinary occasion. But because he’d done the same thing, too.
His snowy white cravat contrasted sharply with the black superfine coat molded to his body. His formal black breeches and emerald green silk waistcoat looked fit for a ballroom. Even his Hessians were probably champagne shined. Her heart gave a little flutter.
He gave a self-deprecating grin at her expression. “One’s last night feels like a momentous occasion.”
She matched his smile. It wasn’t his last night in Cressmouth. It was their last night alone together. Tomorrow night was the party. His opportunity to win the hearts of every other female in town. To practice for when it really mattered. A flash of jealousy stabbed through her. She tried fruitlessly to push it away. Watching him flirt with someone else was going to kill her. Watching him drive away to marry someone else…
Tomorrow, she reminded herself. There was still tonight. They could make this evening anything they pleased. Celebrate however they wished. She rose to her toes, laced her hands about his neck, and kissed him.
This was not a kiss of innocence or experimentation. She knew his mouth as well as her own. Loved the firmness of his lips, the heat of his tongue. Not for the first time, she wondered how his kisses would feel against the rest of her body. Desire unfurled at the familiar fantasy. Hours remained before they had to say goodbye.
“One more game?” she suggested. “Winner takes all.”
His dark eyes didn’t leave hers. “All of what?”
“Anything he wants,” she said softly.
He kissed her again. “I’ll get the cues.”
Instead of following him to the table, she wandered over to his reading nook. When and if Adam returned to Cressmouth, his father’s favorite books would be here waiting. Battered spines, torn pages, and all.
She pulled her sketchbook from her reticule and hesitated. This wasn’t a mere “favorite” possession. This was a piece of her soul. Fitting, she supposed.
Before she could change her mind, she opened the book to the first sketch of Fashion Plate Lady and Rectangle Man smiling and laughing in Adam’s billiard room. Her heart thumped. Quickly, she dogeared the page, bent the spine, and then shoved the volume onto the shelf where it wouldn’t be noticed for a long while.
If Adam never returned to Cressmouth, he would take this collection with him… and whenever he missed what they used to have, all he would have to do was take this book from its shelf, run his finger along the creases her hands had made, and lose himself in the eternal adventures of a world that never was, knowing she had done the very same.
She shoved her empty reticule into a hidden skirt pocket just as he finished arranging the table.
He gestured toward the beautiful table she’d once belie
ved the finest thing on earth. “Ivory ball or black dot, madam? Lady’s choice.”
Carole didn’t give a damn about billiards. She wanted Adam.
Just this once.
“If I surrendered…” She gazed up at him and licked her lips. “What would you take?”
“Everything,” he answered without hesitation. “You made the rules.”
She wrapped her arms about his neck. “Then I surrender.”
His mouth met hers and there was no more conversation.
She gave herself over to sensation. His hands were warm and familiar against her curves, his tongue an iron to stoke the fire. These were flames that nothing could extinguish.
What would she do to have more than one night? Could she perhaps become his summer mistress? Would a few torrid weeks every year be enough? Or was one goodbye all she would ever be able to bear?
She shoved the thoughts of a bittersweet future away and concentrated on fully experiencing every moment, while she could still revel in his embrace. She loved the familiar hard planes of his muscles, the warmth of his strong arms, the equally breathless passion in every kiss.
“Winner takes all?” he murmured against the base of her throat.
“Absolutely everything,” she confirmed, her raspy voice laden with desire.
He slid his hands to cup her bottom and lifted her hips to straddle his.
It took a second for her to realize he meant to position her on the edge of the rail.
“Watch the table,” she gasped between kisses.
“If we break it, I’ll buy another one,” he growled as he nuzzled the top of her bosom.
She arched her spine to give him better access. “But the baize—”
“Swinton knows how to iron.”
“John Thurston made this. If it tears, the billiard gods will curse you.”
He lifted his head. “Are there sofa gods?”
“Sofa gods love wrinkles,” she assured him.
“Hallelujah.” He swung her toward the satin-covered cushions. “Let’s go and create some wrinkles.”
Her arms reached for him as she tumbled backward onto the sofa. She could not withstand even a hairsbreadth of space between them. He was too dangerous to let go. Too ephemeral. He made her question things she’d previously accepted as fact. Like not wanting a partner in life. Like not needing love.
Good God, she was in love? Carole’s throat went dry in horror.
Her kisses were so urgent because she could not stand the thought of him marrying someone else. And yet she would not beg him to stay. He couldn’t do so if he wanted to. The dukedom came first. He was as tied to London as she was to Cressmouth. She had her household. He had the House of Lords. What they couldn’t have was each other.
Except for right now. Right here. Tonight.
She kissed him with everything she’d been holding back; every fear, every surreptitious glance, every long night of endless longing, every heartbeat that called his name. She might not have him forever, but she would absolutely have him tonight.
He yanked up the hem of her skirt and slid his hand slowly, deliciously, toward the junction of her thighs. Her inner muscles tightened deliciously in anticipation. She let her legs fall wide to give him greater access. Already her core pulsed with need as if it ached for the stroke of his fingers. He paused inches from where she wanted his touch most.
“Carole.” He lifted his lips from hers to meet her eyes. “What exactly are we doing?”
She wriggled her hips to try and get closer to his hand. “I believe it’s called love-making?”
“Have you done this before?”
“Does it matter?”
He removed his hand. “I’m not going to ruin you.”
“You can’t ruin me. I’m having my way with you.” She dug her fingers into a satin pillow in frustration. “I willingly relinquish my virginity. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to marry anyway.”
“You matter.” He brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek. “I like you too much to want our bodies to make promises they’re not going to keep.”
“I don’t mind,” she tried again, but he was already ending their embrace and pulling her to her feet.
He kissed her long and hard, as though for the final time. Perhaps it was. When he stepped back out of reach, her chest already felt empty inside. It did not help that his eyes looked just as miserable.
“I’ll think of you tonight and every night.” His voice was gruff. He did not reach for her again. “It will have to be enough.”
It wouldn’t be, of course. But they could pretend.
Chapter 14
It was an unmitigated crush. Adam could barely shift his weight without brushing shoulders with three different people. For a village with approximately a thousand inhabitants, it felt like most of the population was stuffed inside his summer cottage.
Despite this, Adam had not expected Carole to make an appearance. The previous encounter had ended abruptly, with both of them at odds with the other. She seemed to think sharing one night together would somehow be sufficient. He was already going to have enough trouble forgetting her, without adding making love on the sofa to the list of things forever marked with her presence.
A cluster of locals sat at the table that he and Carole had used to plan the renovation. A group of ladies sipped from the china he and Carole had used to take tea. A handful of neighbors crowded the enclave where Carole had created his reading nook. A dozen others surrounded the billiard room where he and Carole had spent the past fortnight, practically inseparable.
Now she was introducing him to so many people, he could barely keep his own name straight.
“Olive, may I present the Duke of Azureford? Your Grace, this is Miss Harper. She’s phenomenal with horses.”
“Nick and Penelope, may I present the Duke of Azureford? Your Grace, this is Mr. and Mrs. Pringle. She’s the best perfumer in England, and he’s an incorrigible rogue.”
“Angelica, may I present the Duke of Azureford? Your Grace, this is Miss Parker, an extremely talented jeweler.”
“Désirée, may I present the Duke of Azureford? Your Grace, this is Mademoiselle le Duc. She taught me how to curse in French.”
“Chris and Gloria, may I present the Duke of Azureford? Your Grace, this is Mr. and Mrs. Pringle.”
Wait—hadn’t there already been a Mr. and Mrs. Pringle? Adam’s head started to pound. Nonetheless, he smiled and nodded and bowed and murmured what he hoped would pass as charming manners, given the roar of surrounding conversation drowned out his words.
Carole was taking extra care not only to provide him with helpful tidbits to remember each person by, but also ensure every local unwed young lady had her turn to be presented to Adam. Regardless of how the previous evening had deteriorated, Carole was doing an admirable job of upholding her side of what was becoming an increasingly unwanted bargain. The more she nudged nubile young ladies into his path, the more he only wanted to spend all his time with her.
He wasn’t alone in his feelings. The greatest obstacle to Carole introducing him to every woman in sight was that everyone in the village elbowed and jostled in order to spend as much time as possible with Carole.
Apparently, she’d saved a theatre director from something or other, was on a first-name basis with the castle solicitor and all of her neighbors, had helped the Duke of Nottingvale prepare for his annual Christmastide house party…
Carole wasn’t just from this village. She was its heartbeat.
“Miss Shelling is a journalist,” she was saying now. “Eve, tell His Grace about your work with the Cressmouth Gazette.”
Adam tried to listen, truly he did, but it was difficult to pay attention to anyone else when Carole was standing right in front of him. He adored how friendly she was, how happy she made others feel, how effortless she made it look. How at home she was, right here atop a tiny mountain in the northernmost corner of England.
Despite his title and wealth, Ca
role seemed on an even higher rung. Unobtainable. Unreachable. Perhaps because she didn’t give a damn about his money and his title. The fact that Adam was a duke was actually a strike against him. He was needed elsewhere and she was needed here. That’s why he was supposed to be practicing his conversational parries and flirtation methods for his prodigal return as New Adam.
Yet it was getting harder and harder to work up enthusiasm to “graduate” from Cressmouth to London. Now that he knew what it was like to spend five weeks of relaxed, enjoyable, passionate, silly, delightful days with someone, he didn’t want to go back to… not.
When Carole was pulled away by yet another admirer, Swinton somehow managed to sidle up to Adam. “Enjoying your farewell party, Your Grace?”
Swinton already knew the answer. He’d been part of the household since before Adam was born. Life with his parents had always been complicated, but his relationship with Swinton had always been straightforward. He’d known everything about Adam from his first newborn cry to last night’s extra glasses of wine, which Adam had deeply regretted this morning. As Swinton had said he would. He was butler, he was father figure, he was a thorn in Adam’s side. And positively irreplaceable.
Adam sent him a sour look. “Shouldn’t you be minding the door?”
“We can’t fit anyone else.” Swinton’s expression was pleased. “Everyone is already inside.”
“Fair enough.”
Swinton glanced over his shoulder. “Miss Quincy is looking lovely tonight.”
“She’s always lovely,” Adam answered automatically. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her all night.
Her hazel eyes were especially bright tonight, her lips as kissable as ever. The edges of her sunlight-colored gown were decorated with tiny yellow rosebuds at the arms, hem, neck, and under-bodice, making five golden rings of—
“Ha,” he told Swinton. “Very humorous.”
Swinton looked back at him innocently.