“I do not love you, Caroline.”
Pouring a bucket of ice water on her head would have been kinder.
“What?” she whispered as her smile slowly faded.
“I said I do not love you.” Sitting bolt upright, Eric swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and rose to his feet. Snatching his trousers off the floor, he shoved one leg into them and then the other. “I made love to you. There is a distinct difference.”
“But…but the way you kissed me.” Her heart thumping wildly against her ribcage, she rose to her knees, helpless to do anything but watch as he quickly dressed himself. “All of those things you said to me.”
“Are no different than what I’ve said to a dozen other women. Where the devil is my – here it is.” As if he hadn’t just plunged a knife into her heart, he pulled his shirt off the back of a chair and yanked it over his head. “This doesn’t change anything, Caroline. I am sorry if you thought it would.” The pity in his eyes cut a thousand times deeper than his anger ever had. “I meant what I said earlier. I would like to us to maintain a civil relationship. One based on a mutual understanding.”
Holding the sheet to her chest as though it was a suit of armor that might somehow protect her from the pain his words were inflicting, she sank back onto her heels. “A mutual understanding of what?” she managed.
“That our marriage will always be one of convenience.” His brow furrowed. “I am incapable of love, Caroline. I should think you would have realized that by now.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “Of – of course.”
“It will be better this way, I can assure you.”
“Yes,” she replied distantly. “Much better.”
“You look rather pale,” he observed. “Would you like me to send for your lady’s maid?”
“No. I – I am sure I will be fine.” Just as soon as I find a way to stop my heart from aching, she thought silently.
Eric shrugged. “I shall bid you good evening, then. Sleep well.”
“Good evening,” she echoed.
But it was a long, long while before she managed to fall asleep.
Chapter Ten
“Put the evergreens over there,” Caroline instructed, pointing to the main staircase, “and bring the holly in here, if you please.”
“What are you going to do with it all?” Anne jumped to the side as two footmen, their arms filled with holly, marched into the front parlor. At Caroline’s nod they dropped their bushels into two large wicker baskets and went back outside to fetch more.
“Drape it along the mantles and put it in vases.” Stepping down off the small ladder she’d been using to hang red bows from the curtain bustles, Caroline put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room.
After nearly an entire afternoon’s worth of decorating, it was coming along quite nicely. A few more finishing touches and it would be ready for Christmas.
One room down. Twenty-two left to go.
Oh well, she thought with a sigh. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to occupy her time.
At least not during the day.
As the last of the leaves had fallen and the ground had turned hard and barren, Eric had visited her bedchamber nearly every night. Under the cover of darkness he’d given her more pleasure than she had ever dreamed possible, doing things to her body that made her turn red as a holly berry if she thought of them in the light of day. But when it was over he always left, leaving her to sleep alone in a bed that now felt too large and much too lonely.
She’d tried to console herself with the thought that it was better to have his attention some of the time than not at all, but the truth was she would almost rather he ignore her completely instead of having one husband during the day and a completely different one at night.
When the sun was up he was cold and aloof. If they happened to walk by one another in the hall she felt as though she was passing a stranger. He barely looked at her, let alone touched her. But when the moon rose and he drew her into his arms, it felt as though they’d known each other for their entire lives.
“Are you ready to start on the foyer?” she asked Anne brightly. “I thought we could weave the evergreen boughs through the bannisters.”
But the maid wasn’t looking at her, she was looking at the door. As Caroline followed Anne’s gaze she felt a familiar ache of longing in her chest when she saw Eric standing in the doorway. He must have just returned from a brisk ride, for his dark hair was windblown and his nose was a tad red.
Over the past few days the temperature had dropped drastically. They’d yet to get any snow aside from a few passing flurries, but with twelve days to go until Christmas she was still hopeful. To her mind there was nothing more beautiful than an estate blanketed in snow. Particularly around the holidays.
This would be the first Christmas she’d ever spent away from home and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or sad. She wasn’t going to miss the enormous dinner party her mother threw every year, but she’d always loved drinking hot chocolate with her father on Christmas Eve while they tried to guess what was hidden inside their presents.
“Your Grace,” Eric said curtly, his keen blue gaze zeroing in on her from across the room. “A word, if you please.”
“Of course.” Setting down the spool of velvet ribbon she’d been using to decorate the drapes, Caroline followed her husband out of the parlor and down the hall to the library. A fire crackled in the hearth, giving the room a warm, cheerful glow that was at direct odds with the tightness in her throat.
She hated feeling as though she was always standing on pins and needles whenever she and Eric were in the same room together, but she couldn’t help it. Not when she knew he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t for reasons she couldn’t understand.
She knew he wasn’t the cold, unfeeling duke he pretended to be. There was warmth in him. Humor as well. Even kindness. But for some reason he always kept the best parts of himself hidden from her, only revealing them when they were completely alone and at their most vulnerable.
It was those parts she had fallen in love with first.
Knowing it was folly, knowing nothing good could come of it but unable to deny the yearning in her heart, she’d committed the worst mistake a woman in the ton could possibly commit: falling in love with her own husband.
Every time he touched her, every time he murmured in her ear, every time he wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest as though he never wanted to let her go, she felt her love for him grow deeper, like roots sinking into the soil.
And every time he left her, every time he saw her enter a room and looked the other way, every time he treated her with distant cordiality instead of desperate passion, the roots were ruthlessly yanked out of the ground.
Then he would come to her in the middle of the night and his hard countenance would soften and he would touch her so sweetly, so gently, that the roots replanted themselves all over again.
It was a cruel cycle. One she was growing wearier of by the day. What she needed – what they both needed – was a miracle. And what better time to find one than at Christmas?
“Is something the matter?” she asked when Eric jerked his chin at a chaise lounge in front of the fireplace, indicating she should sit. Perching nervously on the edge, she smoothed out a small wrinkle from her dress as he closed the door.
And locked it.
“Your Grace,” she gasped when he pulled off his waistcoat and started to unbutton his shirt. “What – what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I am doing?” he growled as he kicked off his boots.
“But it’s the middle of the day!”
“I don’t think that’s a problem.” Before Caroline could muster a reply he had crossed the library and had her flat on her back, one hand pinning her wrists above her head while the other dove up her skirts. “Do you?” he whispered silkily.
“No,” she gasped, her spine arching off the chaise lounge as he used two
fingers to drive her to a fast, breathtaking orgasm. “I – I don’t.”
Last night he had lingered over her body for what felt like hours, withholding her pleasure until she was all but begging for him to take her. Now the waves of release came so quickly and with so much intensity that she was left dazed and disoriented when it was finished, her mind numbed to anything but the trembling aftershocks of being thoroughly loved by her husband.
“I am leaving for London first thing tomorrow morning.” Standing, Eric pulled on his trousers and reached for his shirt. The muscles in his back bulged and rippled as he tugged the tunic down over his head. “I will be gone for at least a fortnight. Mayhap two.” Turning to face her, he raked a hand through his hair, pushing the inky mass off his forehead. “I will send word before I return.”
“But Christmas is in twelve days.” She’d lost a stocking, Caroline realized as she sat up and straightened her skirts. Drats. That made the third one this week!
“And?”
“And you cannot mean to be gone for Christmas.” She lifted up one velvet seat cushion, frowned, and then lifted up the other. “Have you seen where my stocking went to? I really can’t lose another.”
“Here.” Bending down, Eric plucked her silk stocking from underneath the chaise lounge and held it out. “Newgate will remain here, so if you require anything you have only to ask him for it.”
“You’re serious,” she whispered. “You’re – you’re really leaving.”
So much for Christmas miracles.
“At first light. What?” he demanded when she gazed silently up at him, gray eyes filled with disappointment. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just thought…this being our first holiday together that…well, that we’d spend it together. How foolish of me.” Her fingers tightened reflexively around her stocking, nails tearing into the delicate fabric.
A line creased Eric’s brow. “If I gave you the impression that we could be spending Christmas together, I apologize.”
“No, you didn’t. But I assumed…” she trailed off with a dismal shake of her head.
Stupid, she chastised herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Did you honestly believe anything would change, just because it’s Christmastime? He did not love you yesterday and he is not going to love you tomorrow, or on Christmas Eve, or on Christmas. He is incapable of love. He said so himself.
But it did not make the pain any easier to bear.
How much longer could they go on like this? Another month? A year? Indefinitely? Strangers in the daylight, lovers at night. Would it stop when she gave him the heir he so desired? Or would he demand a second? The heir and the spare, so the old saying went. And then what? Would he leave her here to raise their children and grow old by herself while he frolicked in London with his mistresses? Her eyes closed as pain cut through her like a knife, slicing across a heart that was already tender and raw.
“I can’t do it any longer.” Her eyes opened. “I won’t.”
“You won’t do what?” Eric sat down across from her and began to lace up his boots.
“This. I won’t do this.” She didn’t care that her voice was shrill or that it lashed through the library like a whip. The stocking floated to the ground as she leapt to her feet, her diminutive frame vibrating like a plucked bow string with all of the words and emotions she’d been struggling to suppress. “I am not your – your plaything. I am your wife!”
“Yes,” the duke said with the wariness of someone who realized they’d missed something important, but hadn’t the faintest idea what it was. “And I am your husband. I believe that has been thoroughly established. Caroline, why don’t you sit back–”
“NO!” she shouted, surprising them both. “I don’t want to sit.”
“Then stand, but keep your bloody voice down.” His eyes narrowed. “And for the love of God do not start crying.”
“These are angry tears, you – you – you dolt!”
One dark eyebrow shot up. “I’m a dolt now, am I?”
“Yes!” Her heel drove down into the rug for emphasis. “Yes, you are.”
“And why is that?” he asked coolly.
“Because you have not figured out that I am falling in love with you! Or maybe you do know, and you simply don’t care.” She flung her arms in the air. “It does not matter. What matters is that I cannot go on like this any longer! You cannot pick me up when you want me and then put me back on the shelf when you don’t. I am not a doll to be played with and then cast aside when the mood strikes.”
His eyes flashing a deep, dangerous shade of midnight blue, Eric stood up and towered over her. “I did not realize being my wife was such a hardship for you.”
Too incensed to be intimidated, Caroline stiffened her shoulders and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Any woman would find being married to you a hardship! On your very best day you are cold, callous, and cruel.”
“And yet you claim to be in love me,” he scoffed, clearly not believing her.
“I never said it made any sense!”
“If this is about your allowance–”
“Oh!” she cried. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met! Go to London. Stay there for a fortnight. Stay for ten! I don’t care. Do you hear me? I don’t care!” Shoving past him, she ran out of the library and up the stairs to her bedchamber before he could catch a glimpse of her tortured countenance and see that she did care. She cared very much.
But oh, how she wished she didn’t.
“Step out of the way Newgate, I am going for a ride.” Stalking across the foyer, Eric threw open the door, admitting a gust of freezing wind so strong that it rattled the windows.
“Another one?” Nonplussed by the tumultuous storm cloud hanging over his employer’s head, Newgate pulled a heavy greatcoat out of the closet and held it up. “Might I suggest you wear this, Your Grace.”
Glaring out at the frigid landscape, Eric abruptly slammed the door and leaned back against it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes and muttered a short, savage curse. “She told me that she loved me.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes, my wife!” He opened his eyes to glare at the butler. “Do you see a mistress skulking about? My wife, Newgate. My wife said she was falling in love with me.” His brow furrowed. “Then she told me I was cold, callous, and cruel.”
“If I may be so bold as to speak openly, Your Grace…”
Eric waved his hand. “Go on then. We both know you’re going to say what you want anyways.”
The butler returned the greatcoat to the closet before he said, rather bluntly, “You are all of those things. And worse.”
“Then why the devil would she be in love with me?”
Newgate shrugged. “Stranger things have been known to happen.”
“Do you think it’s a ruse to increase her allowance?” He suddenly recalled a conversation he’d overhead between his parents. It was from when they had still been living under the same roof, which meant he’d been a small boy of only five or six. They had been arguing – they were always arguing – and his mother had said something that had struck a chord deep inside of him even though he’d been too young to understand what it really meant.
“If you loved me,” she’d wept, “you would try to make me happy.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” the late Duke of Readington had blustered.
As if someone had turned off a leaky faucet, his mother’s tears had immediately stopped. “You could buy me the emerald necklace I saw in the shop window yesterday. Then I would know that you truly loved me.”
That was the first time Eric had learned love was not something to be freely given, but something traded. It was a lesson he’d never forgotten…whether he realized it or not.
“Or perhaps she wants a new piece of jewelry,” he said thoughtfully.
“I hesitate to speak on the duchess’s behalf, but I do not believe her to be the sort of woman who is interested in material
possessions.”
Eric’s frown turned into a scowl. “Then what the hell does she want?”
“If I may be so bold, I believe what she wants is you.” A touch of gruffness was detectable in Newgate’s voice when he said, “You don’t see it, but your wife looks at you the same way my Adelaide used to look at me. True love is a precious gift.” Affection for the young man he’d raised as his own son softened the rigid lines around the butler’s eyes. “You would do well not to squander it.”
Chapter Eleven
The storm arrived with a vengeance. It snowed all through the night, and by the time morning came everything was covered in a heavy blanket of white, including the road to London. Standing with his arms crossed and his legs braced apart, Eric scowled out the drawing room window at the stone drive. Or at least where he imagined the drive to be. Given all the snow, it was impossible to tell precisely where anything was.
He’d already gone out and checked on the horses. They were all tucked safely inside, contentedly eating their hay. But they wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.
None of them would.
“Blast and damn,” he cursed, turning away from the wintry landscape to glare at the hearth. The crackling fire, along with the velvet bows pinned to the curtains and the evergreen boughs draped along the mantle, gave the room a distinctly festive air. His brow creased as he noticed a clump of mistletoe hanging from the door. When the devil had that gotten there?
Stalking over to the doorway, he yanked the mistletoe down and tossed it onto the nearest table. Then he happened to glance out into the foyer and his eyes widened, then narrowed.
Bloody hell.
Mistletoe, holly, and evergreens were everywhere.
Dangling down from every doorway, wrapped around the staircase bannister, in vases on the windowsills. There wasn’t a drape or a doorway that had escaped decoration.
“You there,” he barked at a maid passing by the drawing room. “What’s the meaning of this?”
A flicker of fear crossing her face, the maid stopped short. “The meaning of what, Your Grace?”
My Winter Rogue: A Regency Holiday Collection Page 29