As if a bucket of ice chips was upended over his head, he released her and untwined her arms. Small shafts of dappled lamplight filtered through the leaves that clung to the trellis. Caroline’s green eyes were dark, luminous pools. Her panting filled the quiet void.
“Return to the ballroom, Caroline,” he said, his voice raspy. “And if I ever do that again, I suggest you slap my face. Rather soundly.”
Her eyes narrowed. For a moment, he thought she might not wait. She appeared to contemplate cracking her palm against his cheek. Did she think he’d only used her? That he didn’t want her? The problem was he wanted her too much. “We’re acting impulsively. Your reputation must be considered.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded, and side-stepped away from him.
“Caroline.” He set his hand on her arm. The temptation to pull her to him nearly overwhelmed. “Once you walk away, don’t look back.”
Her smooth brow creased.
“The stableboys and coachman reside in the rooms above the stable. There’s a window that overlooks this part of the garden. Some couples come back here because the idea of being watched heightens the experience for them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The confusion on her face faded. Her eyes grew wide. She gave a sharp nod and slipped out from behind the trellis.
James waited a good ten minutes after Caroline left to head back to the ballroom. It wouldn’t have served either of them well if he’d followed on her heels, especially in the aroused state she’d left him in. He stepped around the evergreens and was rounding the fountain when Leticia came into view.
She lifted one of her thin blond brows. “The east corner, James? My, you have changed if you’ve taken a fancy to being watched by the stableboys.”
He cocked a brow, mimicking her affectation. “Not bloody likely.”
“You didn’t happen to accompany Miss Lawrence there, did you? Her cousin Anne Wallace was looking for her. And I just saw the girl making her way up the path. She looked rather flushed, like a poor puss who’s escaped the clutches of a wolf.”
A wolf? Leticia baited him. But if she thought he’d defend himself and reveal he’d been with Caroline, she was wrong. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. If Miss Lawrence took a walk to cool off, I didn’t see her.” He offered Leticia his arm. “Come. Let’s return to the festivities. Your guests will wonder where you’ve gone.”
“It wouldn’t be a first. Or have you forgotten all the times we sneaked out here? Perhaps even now we should enjoy the garden.” She ran her palm over his chest and leaned close.
The idea should have appealed to him. His body was tense with want. Starving. Yet, Leticia wouldn’t satisfy the hunger. Hell, what was wrong with him? He knew. Caroline Lawrence’s taste lingered on his tongue, and he wished to savor it. Fool that he was.
“I should be heading off. I have an early appointment tomorrow morning with my solicitor.”
She gave a little pout, then slipped her hand around his arm as they started up the path. “I’m glad you have no interest in the girl. Her father would insist you marry her if he found out about anything untoward. Then he’d contemplate hiring someone to run you over with a carriage to make her a quick widow. He wants her married, but—”
“Not to a man who might have murdered his wife?”
She laughed. “No, not to a man with your political views. If you were a Tory, he’d not think twice about a union, no matter what the gossips whispered, but a reformer. That he couldn’t abide.”
“The old man has nothing to fear in that quarter. As you know, I don’t wish to marry ever again.”
* * *
“There you are,” Anne said, walking up to Caroline.
Charles followed in his wife’s wake.
Anne snapped her fan closed and motioned. “Look there.”
Caroline turned.
Lord Huntington and Lady Randall stepped through the French doors. The way Lady Randall’s hand wrapped around his arm spoke of possessiveness.
Caroline’s fingers lifted to her lips. She’d obviously been the appetizer before the main course. The sight of them together caused an odd discomfort in her chest.
Anne leaned close. “They were lovers once. Then he hied off and married Edmond Channing’s daughter, Henrietta. Baffled everyone. He was the season’s prime catch. No one thought he’d marry a cit’s daughter. And we know how that turned out, don’t we? Perhaps Lord Huntington and Lady Randall have picked up where they left off. How deliciously wicked.”
So, they had a history together. Somehow she should have known. Sensed it. She remembered the dark look Lady Randall cast over her as they passed in the garden. The woman’s expression had unsettled her.
“Anne, I really must see to getting this hem mended.” Caroline motioned to the torn material.
“I thought you already had.”
“No, I went out for a breath of air and to rest my bruised toes.”
“Alone?” Anne’s shrill tone caused several heads to turn.
“Yes.”
“You mustn’t do that again. Tongues will wag. I’ll not be thought a very proper chaperone. And if your father found out, he would be irate with both of us. He might send me back to Cornwall. I do so despair of the idea of having to contend with my mother-in-law.” As if bored with her own lecture, Anne’s regard shifted back to Lord Huntington and Lady Randall. “Did you happen to see them when you were out there? If so, do tell.”
Reluctantly Caroline gazed at Huntington. Lady Randall had turned to face him. Lovers? If so, she didn’t care. She needed to center her mind on making an impact with her writing and avoiding any men her father might wish to align her with.
Oh goodness! Her article. She needed to write Hinklesmith and tell the editor not to publish the column she’d mailed today. No matter what Anne said, or the ton whispered, she believed Huntington innocent. Her instincts told her the expression on his face was genuine when he’d spoken of his deceased wife. The first rule of journalism was to gather facts. She’d acted rashly. Unprofessionally. And even though the article didn’t mention his name, timed with his arrival in Town, the implication was clear.
As if sensing her regard, Huntington peered at her. She looked away. “No, I didn’t see them together. Do you mind if we go? I’ve a terrible headache.”
“I do hope this season you aren’t going to be plagued by megrims like you were last year. Dreadfully dull when we are confined to the house.”
“Dull,” Caroline mumbled. “No, I fear this season will be anything but.”
* * *
Relief washed over Caroline as she stepped out of the post office. Last night, after returning from Lady Randall’s ball, she’d written a letter to Mr. Hinklesmith telling him not to print the last article she, C. M. Smith, had penned. She’d hired a messenger to hand deliver it, and this morning posted, not one, but two articles—the one on the marriage mart and another on women and politics. The task done, she and her lady’s maid strolled up Oxford Street. Maggie’s full cheeks were still rosy from having seen her sweetheart in the post office.
“Your beau is quite handsome, Maggie.”
The young woman grinned. “He is, ain’t he, miss?”
“Yes, indeed.”
From the corner of her eye a movement caught Caroline’s attention. She looked across the street.
Lord Huntington’s brother Lord Anthony waved at her.
Her chest tightened. Drat! Was the whole family in Town?
“Miss Armoire!” he called as he dashed between carriages to cross the roadway.
Maggie narrowed her eyes at him as he approached. “Armoire? Miss, that gent’s got you confused with someone else. And though he looks like quality, I don’t like the way he’s eyeing you. Like Mrs. Roth stares at those cookies she’s so fond of right before she gobbles them up.”
Lord Anthony stepped before her on the pavement and enthusiastically lifted her gloved hand in his.
“Sir, I’ll not have you accost my mistress,” Maggie stated, straightening her petite five-foot stature.
“Accost?” Anthony surveyed the maid. “Madam, are you mad? I’m surely not accosting anyone.” He turned to Caroline. “Ah, my dear Miss Armoire, how fortuitous to meet you again.” He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss to her gloved fingers.
“Come, miss,” Maggie said. “The gent’s obviously bitten by drink.”
“Now see here.” Lord Anthony set a fisted hand on his lean hip and frowned at the servant. “It’s obvious you’re the one who’s been nipping at the cooking sherry. I met Miss Armoire at—”
“Sir, how are you?” Caroline said, cutting him off. She didn’t wish the young maid involved in the wicked web of falsehoods Caroline had weaved. If Father found out, then learned Maggie knew and had not informed him, he’d sack her. Bad enough she’d involved Mrs. Roth. “Maggie, would you be good enough to give me a moment to talk to this gentleman in private?”
The lady’s maid worried her lower lip. “I don’t think your father would wish me to leave your side, Miss Lawrence.” The woman accentuated Caroline’s last name. “Especially the way this gent’s drooling on your hand an’ all.”
“Drooling?” Lord Anthony scowled, then his brows knitted. “Why did she call you Miss Lawrence?”
Goodness, she was slipping deeper into a quagmire. “Please, Maggie, give us a minute.”
Maggie tossed a distrustful look at Lord Huntington’s brother, then stepped a few feet away.
Caroline forced a smile. “Lord Anthony, how lovely to see you in Town.”
He arched a brow. “Is it? You look flustered. I start to think your companion is not as daft as she seems.”
“Yes, well, I wasn’t completely truthful when we last met.”
His dark eyes, so much like his brother’s, studied her.
There was no avoiding it. She must tell him the truth. “Might I take you into my confidence, sir?”
He lifted his hand to halt her words, then glanced about and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “There is no need. I realize what is going on. Your name is really Caroline Lawrence, and you used an alias because you didn’t wish anyone to know you and my brother are . . . involved.”
“No, that’s not it. You misunderstand. I didn’t know Lord Huntington when I went to Essex. If I tell you why I wasn’t truthful, will you give me your word as a gentleman to keep my secret?”
“Of course.”
“You see, I shouldn’t have attended Miss Walker’s speech. My father would not approve.”
“Then you are not involved with James?”
Her face warmed. Hopefully, he’d think it a reaction to his question. “As I said, I just met his lordship in Essex.”
“And that story about becoming a nun was nothing more than balderdash?”
The heat in her face spread to her ears. “That was a misunderstanding I didn’t correct.”
“No need to explain. I shall not say a word. But . . .” He grinned.
Her heart skipped a beat. “But?”
“I have two conditions.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you blackmailing me, my lord?”
“Blackmail is such an ugly word. We are friends that share a secret, and as such, I wish you to call me Anthony, and I will call you Caroline.”
She nearly sighed aloud. That was doable. “What is the second request?”
He touched her hand again. “That if our paths should cross at some ball, you will dance with me.”
A slow breath eased from between her lips. She’d feared he’d ask for something wicked. “Of course.”
Caroline bid him good day and continued home.
The moment she entered the house, Mrs. Roth informed her Cousin Anne wished to speak with her.
“Cousin,” Anne said excitedly as Caroline stepped into the blue drawing room. “Look!” Her cousin made a sweeping gesture toward three flower arrangements atop the sideboard.
“They are lovely,” Caroline replied.
“They’re for you. Aren’t you even a bit curious who sent them?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Anne briefly averted her gaze. “How should I know?”
Caroline lifted an eyebrow.
Her cousin blushed. “Very well, I did peek, but only because I was overjoyed for you. The roses are from Mr. Reed. Red roses mean the young man is smitten with you. The red carnations are from Lord Piers. He is equally taken by your charms, and the yellow daffodils are from Lord Hamby.” Anne frowned. “He’s a bit long in the tooth, Caro, but he does have an impressive country house, though I’m not sure it would compensate for having to . . . You know.”
Lord Hamby. God save her. The man was older than her father. Worse, Mrs. Roth’s cousin was employed as a footman in Hamby’s house. He’d told Mrs. Roth that his lordship had a penchant for cornering his poor maids. The thought of marrying the wretch made a sour taste fill her mouth. Caroline picked up the vase of daffodils, opened the back window that overlooked the gardens, and upended it.
Anne gasped. “Oh no. What have you done? If Hamby calls on you, he will expect to see his flowers on display.”
“If he comes to call, I shall be suffering from a megrim and not able to receive him.”
Someone knocked on the door. It swung open, and their ancient butler entered the room. Percy’s rheumy gaze fixed on Caroline. “Excuse me, miss, but another arrangement of flowers has arrived.”
“Let me see,” Anne said before Caroline could respond.
The butler nodded and handed the oversized bouquet of yellow tea roses mixed with delicate baby’s breath to Anne.
Anne cradled them like an infant. “Where is the card, Percy?”
“There wasn’t one, madam.”
Lord Huntington’s face flashed in Caroline’s mind. How foolish of her. He wouldn’t send her flowers. Caroline set the empty vase down and took the arrangement from Anne.
Her cousin grinned. “Caro, you have a secret admirer. How exciting. Who do you think it is?”
“I’m not sure.”
Anne frowned. “The gentleman obviously does not understand the language of flowers.”
“Why? What do they mean?” Caroline asked.
“Tea roses mean I’ll always remember you and yellow roses symbolize friendship.”
“And the baby’s breath?”
“Pure of heart,” Anne replied.
Caroline leaned over them and drew in the spicy, subtle scent. Maybe they were from Huntington. “I think I’ll put these in my bedchamber.”
“But what if the gentleman calls? He won’t see them.”
“I don’t think he will, Anne.”
“You naughty girl. You know who it is and won’t tell. How unsporting of you.”
No, she didn’t know for sure, but she would admit that deep down, she hoped Huntington had sent them. Friends. Yes, she’d like to be his friend and discuss novels with him.
Ha! What a fanciful thought. Sparks flashed between them when they were next to each other. Surely, it was best to avoid him altogether.
Chapter Fourteen
A hard knock against the oak door resonated through the bedchamber. “Enter,” James called as he tied the slipknot in his silver four-in-hand neckcloth.
Reilly stepped into the room with a charcoal-colored morning coat. The valet helped James shrug the superfine wool over his shoulders. “Best be warned, your grandmother’s squawking like an old hen with a randy cockerel after her tail.”
James sighed. What was bothering the woman now? Most likely still grumbling over her failed effort to convince him to attend Lord and Lady Delahunt’s ball last night. Grandmother, angered he’d not gone to any social gatherings during the last week, had lectured him, ad nauseam, about finding a wife and fathering an heir.
Anthony had wisely fled the house. Nina had taken refuge in her bedchamber, while Georgie and his tutor, Harkins, retreated from the drawing ro
om as if it were afire.
Sadly, listening to Grandmother was far less daunting than running into Miss Lawrence. It appeared his brain became pliant in Caroline’s presence, while his body—at least the witless part of it—reacted in an altogether different manner. It had been madness to act with such reckless abandonment in Leticia’s garden. He knew the consequences. Caroline wasn’t a widow. If caught caressing every delectable inch of her skin, he’d face the parson’s noose. He ran his finger inside the collar of his crisp white shirt, suddenly too tight and overly starched. He yanked his necktie loose.
“Crikey, James. Why’d you do that?” Reilly grumbled, setting his fingers to the silk and readjusting it.
James gritted his teeth, biting back the desire to tell Reilly to leave it be. “Do you know what has my grandmother vexed?”
“No, but you will shortly. She sent her maid with a summons.” Reilly handed him a note.
Huntington,
My private sitting room. Now!
Grandmother
He tossed aside the terse missive and stormed from the bedchamber into the dim corridor. Biting back his agitation, he walked down the passageway toward his grandmother’s suite of rooms.
“James,” Nina’s soft, hesitant voice called.
He turned. His sister stood several feet away, her head downcast as though she studied the geometric pattern of the gold and blue Turkish carpet.
“Yes?” he replied, trying to keep the edge from his voice. He was not in the mood for more theatrics. Surely, Grandmother was about to give him his monthly fill.
Nina tipped her head up. Light from a wall sconce lifted the shadows, revealing her pale visage. James’s gut knotted. Quick steps brought him before her. He set his fingers beneath her chin and angled her face closer to the lamp. “Are you unwell, dear?”
She shook her head. “No. I . . . I wish to know if I shall ever be allowed to leave this house.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I am overwhelmed with despair from sitting all day in the drawing room with Grandmother. She insists I keep my back as straight as steel, my hands folded in my lap, and my gaze on the wall before me.” She leaned close and whispered, “I do not recall her being such a tyrant.”
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