A Rose at Midnight

by Jacqueline Navin

  Caroline woke up alone in the elegant chamber. She blinked, trying to shed the hazy cobwebs of slumber. All at once, memory descended and last night, in all of its vivid detail, exploded into her brain.

  Oh, yes, last night.

  Releasing a protracted breath, a hint of a smile touched her lips. It had been wonderful. She had never imagined such feeling existed, and Magnus had been kind and tender, yet exciting. Unpredictable. He had taunted her outrageously, touched her where she had never thought a man would dare, and brought her as close to the brink of sanity as she had ever feared to be.

  Catlike, she stretched, running her hands over the crushed bedclothes next to her. They still bore his masculine scent, stirring alive a not-so-dormant longing. He had been with her through the night, she knew, for the unfamiliarity of his presence had brought her out of sleep several times. Yet, it was a comforting, pleasant knowledge, and each time she had contentedly drifted back into her dreams.

  Rising, she examined the sheets. There were no stains on them, but her thighs bore a few flecks of blood. The ending of her virginity had been surprisingly painless.

  Suffering through a quick hip bath with the cold water in the basin, she yanked the tapestry bellpull to summon Lillian.

  Her toilette did not take long. Donning the prim muslin and instructing Lillian to dress her hair in a plain chignon, she rushed downstairs. She got lost trying to find the small dining room, until a parlor-maid showed her the way.

  Magnus and David were already seated. She watched for her temperamental husband’s reaction, trying to gauge his mood this morning as he looked up and caught her eye. He seemed closed, reserved. David, on the other hand, leapt to his feet and ushered her to her seat.

  “Ravishing, simply ravishing,” he fussed as he played footman and fluffed her napkin and placed it on her lap. “First thing in the morning, and she looks like a dewkissed flower. That comes from righteous living, eh, brother?”

  Magnus continued his steady look. “Food’s on the sideboard. Help yourself. Cook’ll get you eggs if you like.”

  “Just toast,” Caroline murmured.

  Was this the passionate man who had set her flesh on fire only hours ago? She would never understand his mercurial moods.

  And, strangely, it hurt more than a little bit to have him look at her with such dispassionate eyes.

  “So, sister,” David said, “What are your plans for the day? Being a London girl, you will no doubt find country life dull. I know I do,” David said.

  Magnus’ deep timbre cut in. “I think it best if you spend some time with Mrs. Gervis, the housekeeper. There are duties you will be expected to take over, and she can instruct you. David and I have business to attend to, and perhaps after luncheon, we’ll take the horses out.”

  It wasn’t a request. Caroline understood his conversational tone was only a courtesy. She nodded in assent.

  He never looked up from his paper again. When the meal was over, they dispersed—the men into Magnus’ study and Caroline in search of Mrs. Gervis.

  At the housekeeper’s monologue on the working of Hawking Park, Caroline felt as if she were back in the schoolroom, but she endured in polite and attentive silence. It was late in the morning before she had a chance to steal away and dash off a message for her mother. Finding a footman, she asked him to dispatch it to the Ordinary.

  In it, she had written only one line: No money yet. Magnus had not mentioned when she would begin to receive her allowance. If he didn’t bring up the matter soon, she would have to.

  After luncheon alone, David came to say his farewell before returning to London.

  Holding her hands in his, he said, “I am so glad to know you are here, Caroline. Though he would never admit it, Magnus needs you, and I am pleased he is in such good hands.” In the face of his unfamiliar seriousness, Caroline only nodded.

  Magnus strode out of the study. “Still here, David?”

  “I’m leaving.” He clicked his heels together and bowed low over her hand like a Prussian prince. “Just lingering in the presence of beauty.”

  “Yes, well, get out.”

  David grinned. Caroline noticed Magnus was never truly vexed with his brother. Rather their rude and teasing interchange seemed a comfortable repartee between siblings deeply fond of one another.

  Magnus looked to Caroline. “Are you ready to go riding?”

  “I have no habit,” she answered. Actually, she had, but it was so dated and small she would never have let him see her in it.

  “I never understood that convention. It’s merely a skirt, no more practical for riding than any other dress. You will wear what you have on. No one shall see us, anyway, for it is all my land.”

  Caroline shrugged. “Very well.”

  He grabbed her cloak and led her out to the stables, inquiring, “Do you enjoy riding, Caroline?”

  Just last night, he had called her Cara. He had made it sound like a cry from his soul.

  “I do, though I am not very accomplished.” She mimicked his attitude, keeping her voice cool and abrupt.

  His hand touched her waist. It was warm and the gentle gesture of possession was decidedly pleasant. “The country out here is beautiful, and Balthazar and I love to roam.”

  “Balthazar?” Caroline queried.

  Magnus held up his hand. “Balthazar.”

  Caroline swung her head in the direction he indicated to find two horses saddled and waiting in the stable yard. There was no question which one was Magnus’s Balthazar. Midnight black, sleek and beautiful, the proud stallion was indeed noteworthy.

  “I am no equestrian, but I know enough about horseflesh to see that is an extraordinary animal!”

  “He is,” Magnus agreed. Approaching the stallion, he caressed his velvet nose. The horse responded affectionately, drawing a chuckle from his master. “And not only fine-looking, he has an excellent temperament and great intelligence. Not to mention he is an astute judge of character.”

  He continued to nuzzle the majestic beast. “Balthazar shall miss me when I am gone, won’t you, friend?” Emerald eyes shifted to Caroline. “Not many shall.”

  His gaze flickered away. “Lord, I am getting morose. Please believe that I am not normally like this.”

  She did move then, laying a gloved hand lightly on his arm. “I think you are very brave, Magnus. I don’t know how you have the courage to face each day.”

  A quick frown of pain darted so quickly across his features that she almost missed it. He swallowed. “Caroline, you misunderstand me. There is nothing brave about me. You do not understand. There is nothing to live for. Only to die for. The child, the one you will give me, is what gives me courage, if indeed I have any.”

  She shook her head and smiled. “You are a poet, Magnus. I’m never quite certain I understand you.”

  “Ah,” he laughed, folding his hand over hers and leading her to her mount, “if you ever do, let me know of it. I’m afraid I still do not understand myself.”

  “There!” she giggled playfully. “You did it again.”

  He was lighthearted once again, his features softened with the twinkle of merriment in his eye and strong, white teeth flashing in the sun. “Very well, you have my permission to call me on the carpet every time I say something inexplicable.” He paused, cocking his head. “What a novel idea for seduction. It is liable to increase my maudlin musings, not the opposite.”

  “Then let us confine the calling onto the carpet to the figurative,” Caroline suggested.

  “Not nearly as enjoyable as my idea, but as you wish.”

  He introduced her to the pretty mare as if it were a formal presentation at a London soiree. Then they mounted and rode in the direction of the river.

  It was the perfect autumn day, Caroline reflected, with large billowy clouds racing across a steel-gray sky. Riotous color surrounded them as they skirted the forest: cherryred, burnt orange, vibrant yellow. The breeze was cool, whipping Caroline’s hair out of its pins as they
cantered along the path.

  Magnus was being charming once again. The aftershocks of last night had lessened, and Caroline was restored to her normal temperament. She had been a bit numb, she realized, knocked off-balance by the devastating feelings she had felt in his arms. In addition, daily life as the mistress of Hawking Park was a new experience, and she wasn’t too proud to admit she felt more than a bit intimidated.

  Yet, all seemed well as they meandered through the wooded path to a small stream that fed into the river.

  “There’s a beautiful spot just ahead,” Magnus called.

  Following the stream, they came upon the small delta where the land opened up once again and the darkening sky was visible. “We may get a soaking,” Caroline commented, glancing upwards at the gathered thunderheads.

  “Very likely,” Magnus answered. He squinted at the sky. “Do you wish to return?”

  Caroline tossed her head bravely. “I? Afraid of a bit of water? How many times have you commented that I am no shrinking violet?”

  “Good enough,” he said, pleased, as he kicked his horse onward. They traveled down to where the countryside fell away, and a vista of brilliant color and intricate pattern lay before them. Plots of ground were visible as squares and rectangles in various shades of green bordered by clusters of magnificently crowned trees dressed as gaudily as a band of gypsies. Through all of it, the crystal blue of the river cut a meandering swath.

  “My God, Magnus, it’s beautiful!”

  He paused, taking in the scene. “Let’s dismount and rest here awhile.”

  They tied the reins to a low branch and walked a little way. Magnus picked up a handful of rocks and skipped them on the calm water. Devilishly, Caroline selected a few choice flat stones and taking careful, very low aim, astounded her husband by skipping one four times before it disappeared.

  “A multifaceted woman,” he stated with approval. She bowed her head in exaggerated humility, and they laughed.

  They stopped where the river descended quickly, the swiftly moving water spewing white against the rocks.

  “It’s called the Witch’s Cauldron,” Magnus said. He was standing very close, behind her and off to one side. The sound of the rapids was loud, but his deep voice carried clear.

  “Is this another of your childhood haunts?” Caroline called back.

  “Actually, I always dreamt of making love to a very special woman right here in this spot.”

  Her stomach plummeted in reaction. She turned to face him, already trembling. He gave her a quick shake of his head and pointed upward. “Don’t look so frightened. The weather would not cooperate even if we were so inclined today.”

  “Are you trying to shock me?”

  “Did I?”

  She sighed. “Yes, actually.”

  He touched her chin with warm fingers. “Cara, you are no prude. Last night you were unabashed and passionate.” At her flush, he raised a forbidding finger. “No, no. No belated modesty. I can’t think for a minute you have any regrets. Though I do.”

  Despite herself, she had to ask. “What regret do you have?”

  “Your pleasure, madam,” he grinned. “As much as I would loved to have petted and teased you all night long, I didn’t think your delicate new-bride sensibilities would take so much.”

  Petted and teased? Her belly convulsed, sending ripples of shivery delight through her. Oh, God, what was he doing to her with mere words?

  “Come here,” he said. “Now you have made me want to kiss you.”

  He pulled her close, and she stepped willingly into his arms. If he had. tossed her onto the ground and realized his fantasy, she would not have uttered one word of protest.

  Was it only a game to him, she wondered as his lips brushed tantalizing kisses over her mouth. A game of power?

  The sound of thunder brought his head up. “I think we may have outstayed our welcome.”

  The first few spatters of rain confirmed this. Magnus grabbed her hand and they hurried back to the horses. They mounted, riding at full tilt as the heavens unleashed their burden. It was exhilarating to ride helter-skelter through the storm, and Caroline laughed at the sheer joy of being so reckless. And being with Magnus.

  Chapter Eight

  The grooms were waiting at the house, as was Arthur, fretting at the front door as Caroline and Magnus dripped all over the fine Aubusson carpet.

  “Right upstairs,” Magnus ordered, grabbing Caroline’s elbow. “Hot tea, Arthur. And tell Mrs. Gervis to send up plenty of towels.”

  “Yes, your lordship.”

  A mere fifteen minutes later Caroline was wrapped in Magnus’ dressing gown—it was larger and thicker and therefore warmer, and he had insisted—with her feet tucked up under her, nestled by a roaring fire in the sitting room of her apartments. She had both hands around her teacup as she sipped the steaming brew. Outside, the storm was going full force. Raindrops pounded against the leaded glass and grumbling rolls of thunder rippled through the air.

  Magnus came through the connecting door, dressed in fresh clothes and rubbing a small towél over his still damp hair.

  “Shall I pour you a cup?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” He sat on the sofa opposite her chair, his long legs crossed ankle over knee. A loud clap of thunder sounded close. “I hope David pulls off the road somewhere. Horses can be unpredictable in this kind of weather.”

  “Why does David travel back and forth so frequently? It’s not a terribly long journey, but still time-consuming.”

  “I need him here.” Magnus grew serious as he stared into his teacup. “He is starting to take over some of the business.” He didn’t explain further, but Caroline could imagine how difficult it must be for Magnus to hand over his duties to his heir. It was admitting weakness. Defeat. “And,” he continued, “he despises being away from London for too long, thus the travel.”

  The lovely mood of only moments ago dissipated. Thunder roared again, and talk of business had reminded Caroline of an unpleasant duty.

  He had picked up a strange-looking pastry, a sort of knotted bread. Seeing her look at it, he explained. “I am afraid I have a wicked sweet tooth. Mrs. Bronson makes these just for me. They are so sickeningly rich, no one else can take them.” He took a huge bite, giving testimony to his enthusiasm for the odd things. “Would you like to try it?”

  She couldn’t have forced a single bite past her constricted throat as she thought about the awkward request she was about to make. She shook her head.

  “Magnus, I need to ask you about something. Or, rather, remind you. That is.there is the manner of my allowance. As thoroughly as everything was explained, it was never made clear when I would receive this first.ah.”

  “Payment,” he supplied.

  It was barely noticeable, the darkening of his eyes from emerald green to murky jade. The tenseness about his mouth was slight, but she was waiting for a sign of his displeasure, and so she saw every nuance. She sat unmoving as she awaited his answer.

  What she would give to have had their carefree afternoon not be spoiled by talk of money. Or payment. But she was not in this house, this room, to while away pleasant hours with its lord. She was here for money. Money she needed for James.

  “How much would you like?” he asked at last

  “All of it, please.” She said it quickly before the words could choke her.

  He hesitated, and for a panicked moment, she though he would refuse. Then he stood and said curtly, “I’ll get it at once. Of course the money is yours, and you can have it right away, if that is what you wish. You earned it last night.”

  Her head snapped back as if she’d been slapped. His look was brittle and cold before he turned away and left the room.

  Alone, she blew out a long, tired breath. She could not blame his shifted mood on his capriciousness this time. It was her own doing that had ruined the lovely day.

  But what was she to do? Even as she had ridden like a fury through a storm, and gazed at
beautiful scenes and kissed her husband by wild rapids, her brother had languished in a bed, as he did every day, be it a good or bad one. She was here for James. She was not here for love.

  The thought startled her, and she groaned, knowing it was true.

  Oh, yes. She could easily fall in love with Magnus.

  Burying her face in her hands, she tried to think. Falling in love with Magnus was something she must never do. Magnus was dying. She absolutely would not allow herself such a disaster. The fear of losing James was bad enough—unbearable, unthinkable. Would it be any less excruciating to lose a beloved husband?

  She was not in love with him, not yet anyway. He was merely charming, when he set his mind to it. And, yes, handsome, and a passionate lover. She was simply confusing the wonderful desire he had awakened in her with a more lasting emotion. Oh, assuredly, when he passed on, she would miss him, but she could carry on without him. She certainly would.

  Arthur arrived within a quarter hour of Magnus’ abrupt departure and set a covered silver tray on a table. When Caroline opened it, a stack of bank notes lay neatly on the salver.

  Guilt stabbed at her soul. She wished she could explain that the money was desperately needed to save a life. She couldn’t do that, of course, but still, a pressing desire to see him made itself felt, and she slipped into a tattered patterned muslin and went down to his study.

  He was there, as expected, striking an insolent pose when she knocked at the half-open door. “Is there something else you require?” he asked, his voice sounding bored. Her instincts flared. He had retreated behind aristocratic ennui once again.

  She entered the room, feeling as if she were entering the lion’s den. “Magnus, I wanted to explain. About the money.”

  “You do not need to explain.”

  “I want to. My mother has debts, and her moneys are nonexistent.”

  “What do you mean? She lives at my expense.”

  The statement hit her wrong. “It is ill-mannered of you to brag of your generosity.”

  His face darkened, and he said stiffly, “I merely mentioned because I have no idea why she could be in such dire need of funds.”