Never Kiss a Notorious Marquess

by Renee Ann Miller

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Dazed, she lifted her face, suddenly remembering Langley and the light repast she’d requested.

  The handle turned.

  Her heartbeat spiked as the door swung inward.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Damnation,” James mumbled as the door inched open. He released Caroline, tugged down her skirts, and jerked up his trousers.

  Langley, holding a large silver tea tray, backed into the room, pushing one of the double doors wide with his hip.

  James braced a hand on the wall and bent his head to Caroline’s as though they were engaged in an intimate conversation.

  “Look at me,” he whispered.

  His wife’s glazed eyes shot to his.

  Turning, the butler peered at the empty chairs and settee. A puzzled expression flashed over his face. Then his attention shifted to them. His bony cheeks reddened. “My lord, I didn’t realize you were in here.”

  “Thank you, Langley. You may set the tray down. Lady Huntington will pour.”

  The butler nodded, then, without a backward glance, exited the room and pulled the door closed.

  Air swished from Caroline’s lungs. “Do you think he realized . . . ?”

  James almost laughed at the absurdity of the question. Her lips were kiss-swollen. Her cheeks high in color. Her yellow gown looked twisted and wrinkled, while her upswept hair hung in disarray with one lock dangling over her left eye.

  He looked no better, with his shirt untucked and his unbuttoned trousers riding low on his hips. He glanced at the floor where Caroline’s torn drawers lay at their feet. Only a fool wouldn’t know what they’d just done.

  Christ, the woman made him reckless. What an understatement. She made his cock the ruler and him a buffoon. He scooped up her torn drawers and dangled them before her. “What do you think, Caroline?”

  The two pink spots coloring her cheeks darkened.

  He shoved the torn garment into his trouser pocket. He should have handed them back to her. What the hell was he doing, hoarding the ripped cloth like a trophy? The woman was his wife, not a conquest. Buttoning his trousers, he said, “I need to return to the pasture.”

  As he turned, she gripped his arm, halting his movement. “James, I do love you. And if you weren’t so angry, you’d admit you love me as well.”

  “Do you really think what we just did speaks of love? We are like two physically starved people when next to each other. But sex isn’t love.”

  “It isn’t, but what’s between us is clearly more than that, otherwise you wouldn’t have been concerned about how the experience was for me. And you were concerned because you didn’t wish me to feel any pain.”

  Caroline was correct. He did love her. It was like a deep ache near his heart, and during their lovemaking, he couldn’t separate that emotion from his actions.

  “Caroline, love can only grow when there is honesty in a relationship.” He turned and headed for the door. He’d just opened it when she spoke.

  “Yes, but would you not agree that it can only survive when there is also forgiveness?”

  She was correct. Both honesty and forgiveness were needed in a marriage, yet he couldn’t stop the niggling doubt that she’d only married him because he was the lesser of two evils. Henrietta had said the word love so easily, but her actions had told a different story. Was Caroline no different?

  Without looking back, he strode from the room.

  * * *

  So much for the dowager marchioness’s presence forcing James to play the doting husband. A week had passed since their encounter in the yellow drawing room. And during those seven days, Caroline had hardly seen James. He continued to avoid her. He might as well be married to his steward. James was always with the man. Though she’d never met Mr. Warren, she was starting to feel a great deal of animosity toward him.

  And when not with the steward, James was off on some business venture or working tirelessly beside the men who tended his estate.

  As she made her way to the dining room, she mulled over last night. She’d awoken to find herself alone in their massive bed. Noticing the light streaming from under the private sitting room door, she’d opened it. James had been asleep at the desk, his head at an odd angle against the back of the chair.

  She’d removed the comforter from the foot of the bed and draped it over him. Exhausted, he’d not even moved when she snuggled the heavy blanket around him.

  She stepped into the dining room. James and Anthony, already seated, stood. At least lately, her husband joined the family for dinner. For all the good it did; they were normally separated by the great expanse of the table. Tonight, she’d insisted Langley seat her next to her husband.

  James arched a brow as the butler withdrew the chair next to his and she sat.

  The dowager nodded as if in approval. Did James’s grandmother and siblings sense the tension?

  Of course they did. The silence between James and her was unsettling.

  “Thank you,” she said to the footman who ladled cream of asparagus soup into her bowl.

  Anthony cleared his throat, shattering the silence. “I hear half the staff has visited the east pasture to take a look at the new bull.”

  “I’ve not seen him yet,” Georgie said.

  “Really?” Anthony replied. “Perhaps tomorrow afternoon we might all walk down and take a gander at the beast. I hear he’s built like a shed.”

  Nina wrinkled her nose. “I don’t wish to see him.”

  “I have no interest in such a spectacle,” the dowager added.

  “How about you, Caroline?” Anthony asked. “Interested in taking a stroll with Georgie and me tomorrow?”

  Would James accompany them? She hoped so. “Yes, by all means.”

  Anthony grinned. “Capital. What do you say, James? Will you join us?”

  James glanced at Caroline—a fleeting look she wished would linger. “I don’t believe so.”

  Of course not. There was only one way to get her husband’s attention. Under the linen-covered table, she slipped off her soft-heeled shoe and ran the sole of her foot up his calf.

  James’s spoon clattered out of his hand, clinking against the fine bone china.

  The conversation at the table ceased and everyone’s gaze swung to him.

  Retrieving the utensil, he mumbled an apology.

  She crept her toes farther up, rubbing them against his inner thigh—closer to her intended target.

  His dark eyes flashed a warning.

  She didn’t care. Touching him was the only time she got a reaction from him. Her toes reached their mark, sliding up and down his already hard flesh.

  His thick lashes briefly drifted closed. An odd noise escaped the back of his throat.

  “Are you unwell, Huntington?” the dowager asked. The woman sniffed her soup. “Is the taste off? Your cook adds so much spice, one can hardly tell.”

  He fisted his hand in front of his mouth and coughed. “No, the soup is fine.” The last word came out an octave too high as Caroline curled her toes against his girth.

  “Caroline, what are you doing?” Nina asked.

  Like a child caught licking the frosting off a cake, Caroline froze. She shifted her attention to her sister-in-law, seated across from her. “D-doing?”

  “Yes, what are you doing after dinner? Would you care to take a stroll in the garden?”

  “Um, yes, that would be lov-ly.” Her voice caught as James’s long fingers gripped her ankle. His eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint that clearly spoke of retribution. Slowly, torturously, his knuckles grazed the arch of her sheer-stockinged foot.

  She tensed, fought back the urge to squirm as she surreptitiously tried to jerk her foot free.

  He answered with a tug on her leg that caused her to slip an inch lower in her seat. No one appeared to have noticed her sudden less-than-gracious posture. The pad of James’s thumb skimmed her arch.

  She clapped her hand over her mouth to
stifle a giggle.

  The dowager scowled. With a flick of her wrist, the old woman motioned to a footman. “Take Lady Huntington’s Madeira away. She has no tolerance for the stuff!”

  “Nor whisky,” James mumbled, once again torturing her with the barest touch.

  Caroline wrenched her leg back. Her knee slammed against the underside of the table, rattling the wine goblets.

  Next to her, Anthony stifled a laugh.

  James picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. “Is something wrong, darling?”

  Blasted man. “No, I’m fine. Just a cramp in my leg.”

  The dowager harrumphed. “I fear we might have to start drinking lemonade with our dinners.”

  An hour later, as everyone finished their almond cake, Anthony mentioned playing cards.

  “After Caroline and I stroll the garden,” Nina said. “I have things I wish to ask her.”

  Caroline’s stomach sank. This morning Nina had asked questions about the marriage bed. She’d tried to tell the girl what transpired in technical terms, but Nina didn’t seem satisfied. She wanted to know more.

  “I think we should all go,” Anthony said.

  “Yes,” Caroline agreed.

  Nina frowned.

  “James, will you join us?” Georgie asked.

  “I have work to do.”

  “You’re always working lately,” the child protested. “You didn’t even accompany us when we showed Caroline the parkland yesterday.”

  Everyone’s gaze shifted to Caroline, then back to James.

  He tossed his linen napkin on the table. “Next time, Georgie.”

  Anthony stood and offered her his arm. “Then I shall have the honor of escorting your lovely bride. Caroline, afterward I insist you allow me to teach you a new card game I learned at university. Poker. The Americans play it.”

  The dowager snorted. “If the Americans have taken a fancy to it, it must be a trifling game.”

  “Ah, I fear it is trifling, Grandmother. But enjoyable when played with the right company.” Anthony winked.

  James’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Heart heavy, Caroline’s gaze followed his retreating form.

  * * *

  The clock struck twelve times, announcing midnight. Laughter floated in the air, Caroline’s tinkling voice and Anthony’s deeper guffaws. James set his pen down, resisting the urge to snap it in half. Why were they playing cards in the library next to his office instead of in the drawing room?

  To the devil with Anthony! His brother was doing it on purpose, attempting to rile him. Well, it was bloody well working. James jerked back his chair and strode to the door, intending to close it. His fingers gripped the edge and stilled at Caroline’s lighthearted laughter. A nerve ticked in his jaw.

  “Do you want a glass of brandy, Caro?” Anthony asked.

  Brandy? James clenched his fist. Was his brother trying to get her drunk? He had half a mind to drag Anthony from the room and wring his neck! The rascal knew Caroline had no tolerance for liquor.

  Agitated, he marched down the corridor and stormed into the room.

  Caroline and Anthony glanced up from where they sat at opposite ends of a small marquetry card table. His brother’s hand, the one holding a decanter, paused. “Ah, James, have you come to join us?”

  The expression on Anthony’s face was innocuous enough, but the decanter of spirits was not. James uncurled his fingers. “My wife doesn’t need brandy.”

  Caroline inched her nose in the air. “I’m quite capable of making my own decisions, James.”

  “Really,” he snarled. “So far most have been rather impetuous, I’d say.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “Does that include marrying you?”

  Anthony set the bottle down and covered a clearly forced yawn with his hand. “I think it best I retire. Dashed long day.”

  James leaned back against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest.

  “If she were mine, I’d worship her. Don’t be a fool, James,” Anthony whispered as he walked by him.

  Ha! He’d already played the fool when he’d fallen in love with her, then married her, knowing what she’d done. If those weren’t the actions of a besotted idiot, what was?

  Anthony’s footsteps echoed in the corridor, then faded. Silence filled the room.

  Caroline fiddled with the corner of one of the playing cards. She tipped her face to his.

  His gut clenched. She was lovely beyond words, and he wanted to carry her to their bedchamber and make love to her. He clasped his hand on the door handle, halting himself from moving toward her. “Go to bed, Caroline. And stay away from the whisky in the sitting room.”

  Her spine visibly stiffened. “Because it’s a man’s drink?”

  “No, love, because you have no tolerance for spirits.”

  “I don’t, do I?” Her lips twitched.

  He shook his head.

  Caroline stood and smoothed the fabric of her skirts over her hips. The gentle movement of her hands shouldn’t have affected him the way it did.

  “You’re right, James. During the last several weeks, I have acted impetuously. But I don’t regret most of my actions. Not going into the summerhouse with you. Not kissing you at the Burrows’ ball. And surely, not marrying you. The only thing I regret is writing that article. No, that’s not true. I’m pleased I wrote it. I’m only ashamed I hinted at you being a member of such a heinous group of men. That was inexcusable and will haunt me until the day I draw my last breath.”

  Without another word, she strode by him and headed up the dim corridor. She was near the stairway when he found his voice. “Caroline.”

  She turned. A single tear trailed down her cheek.

  His chest tightened. “I’ve never cared a whit what the ton thought. But your good opinion . . . How could you think that of me?”

  With the back of her hand, she brushed away the moisture on her face. “I think I was so quick to accept such malicious gossip because I was looking for any excuse not to give my heart to you. Not to veer from the path I’d set for myself. Anne handed it to me on a silver platter with her malicious tale. It was not only cruel to accept what she said, but cowardly because deep down I knew it wasn’t true. I couldn’t love someone so wicked, and I do love you.”

  The tightness in his chest intensified. Perhaps he understood her fears, why she’d rushed to judgment and attempted to distance herself from him. God knows, he’d not wanted this attraction or this marriage at first either, but they were like two trains on the same track, destined to collide. Inevitable.

  He walked up to her, cradled her face in his hands, and searched the depths of her green eyes. He loved her so much it was like a physical ache deep in his bones. He pressed his lips to hers, hoping to soothe the pain they’d both brought upon each other.

  Chapter Thirty

  With her soft-soled shoes in her hands, Caroline dashed down the corridor of the west wing. She’d overslept. Understandable, since James had kept her awake most of the night with his lovemaking, and then they’d talked. Not about the weather or balls or anything frivolous. They’d conversed about politics. He believed one day women would hold the right to vote. What a glorious picture he painted of the future. While snuggled in his arms, she admitted to having sent Hinklesmith a new article last week—a counterpoint to the editorial in the City Globe.

  Tense, she’d waited for James’s response.

  His lovely dark eyes had held hers as he’d asked if his name was mentioned in it.

  After she replied with an adamant no, he’d lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed each of her fingers.

  With a bounce in her step, she made her way down the winding stairs, stopping once to slip on her shoes.

  The bright sun shining through the dining room windows elevated her already euphoric mood. A lanky footman with a long nose and pointy chin was removing the chafing dishes. Since returning to Trent Hall, she’d noti
ced most of the male staff were either elderly or a bit on the homely side. James was obviously aware of his sister’s fascination with the opposite sex.

  The footman inclined his head. “My lady, I beg your forgiveness. His lordship said to clear the sideboard. We were instructed to send a tray to your bedchamber.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “Martin, is it?”

  The ridge of the man’s pronounced cheekbones reddened. “Yes, madam.”

  She picked up a dish and set a scone on it. The scent of fresh bread drifted to her nose. “Please tell the kitchen there is no need to send up a tray. Is his lordship in his office?”

  “I believe so, my lady.”

  “I think I shall join my husband in there. Will you ask Langley to send a tea tray?”

  The man smiled. Did he sense the tension in the house had lifted? Most likely, for she couldn’t stifle her grin or smooth the spring in her step.

  With the dish in her hand, Caroline started toward James’s office. Her stomach growled. She broke off a sizable piece of the scone, plopped it in her mouth, and stepped inside the room. James wasn’t at his desk.

  Her shoulders sagged. Was he already off with his steward?

  She glanced about the space. Like the private sitting room attached to their bedchamber, this room possessed a masculine air. Dark wainscoting covered the lower two-thirds of the walls. A massive painting of Trent Hall hung above the mantel and well-read books lined ceiling-high shelves. On a side table was a stack of newspapers. She picked up the first one and grinned. How smashing! The London Reformer. This week’s edition. Did James normally read it, or only now that he owned it?

  The massive chair behind the desk creaked as she settled into the leather and leaned back. She snapped open the newspaper. The scent of ink tickled her nose. As she scanned the pages for her article, little bubbles of excitement exploded within her.

  Langley entered with a silver tea service.

  She’d hoped he would send one of the maids to deliver it. Something he’d done since walking in on her and James a week ago. Caroline’s face heated.