Just One Touch

by Debra Mullins

  She forced herself not to look away. “I simply came to check on my father.”

  “All well and good.” He walked over to her, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We need to talk, Caroline.”

  “I know.” She stepped away from him, shaken by that simple touch. She studied his face, looking for some trace of the furious stranger from this morning. She could practically feel the annoyance coming off him in waves.

  “She’s not going back with you,” the duke said. “Not if she doesn’t want to. I can ruin you, Hunt.”

  “Papa, stop it!” Aghast, Caroline whirled to face her sire. “I told you, I will address the problems of my marriage.”

  Rogan ignored the older man’s blustering. “Caroline, it’s time to go home.”

  “I’m not ready.” She stepped closer to her father’s chair.

  Rogan’s eyes narrowed, and for an instant he looked every inch the dangerous stranger from that morning. “You can’t hide here forever. You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later.”

  “Stop badgering my daughter,” her father commanded. He took Caroline’s hand and tugged her closer. “Or I’ll have you removed.”

  “Papa!”

  Rogan stiffened, his posture shifting into a fighting stance. “You can try.”

  Caroline jerked her hand from her father’s. “Both of you stop this!”

  The duke sat up straight in his chair, never taking his eyes from Rogan. “Are you challenging me, Hunt?”

  “I’ve tolerated a lot of interference from you, Your Grace,” Rogan replied, his voice low and gritty with irritation. “You arranged the entire wedding, obtained the special license, even purchased me a suit of clothes and paid off my debts. Despite my resentment of your high-handedness, I said nothing. But now—don’t think you can meddle in the private affairs between me and my wife. I won’t tolerate it.”

  “You won’t—” Caroline’s father spluttered incoherently. “You young pup! Why, I could have you transported this very day if I had a mind to do so!”

  “Go ahead.” Rogan bared his teeth in a taunting smile.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t!”

  “Will you both stop?” Caroline shouted.

  “Hush, daughter.”

  “Don’t fret, love.”

  Neither man looked at her. They were too busy posturing in some mystical male way that made no sense to Caroline.

  “I can ruin you with but a few words,” her father warned. “Step lightly, Hunt.”

  “If you ruin me, you ruin your daughter.”

  “I can protect Caroline.”

  “Like you did before?” Rogan gave a harsh laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve done her a favor or a disservice by keeping her sheltered here all these years.”

  “You know nothing about the situation—”

  “I won’t tolerate your manipulations—”

  The shattering of a small vase against the mantel brought complete and absolute silence to the room. Both men stared at Caroline, astonished.

  She took a deep breath. “Now that I have your attention, I must insist you stop arguing immediately.”

  “Daughter, did you throw that vase?”

  “I did.” Caroline lifted her chin in defiance, though having two such powerful males staring at her did tend to make her feel rather uncertain.

  “When did you develop a temper, love?” Rogan asked softly. Dangerously.

  “I don’t know.” With effort, she kept her voice even. “However, now that I have your attention, I demand that you listen to me.”

  Rogan blinked in surprise, then folded his arms and set his feet in a way that indicated he was listening, but not happy about it. He clenched his jaw, clearly holding back some sort of blistering set-down.

  The duke beetled his brows at her in that way that meant he was extremely displeased with her. When she had been eight years old, that look had been enough to reduce her to tears.

  But she wasn’t eight years old anymore.

  “Papa, I would like to speak to my husband alone.” The duke opened his mouth to reply, and Caroline raised a hand, silencing him. “This is a private matter between a husband and wife, and I shouldn’t have come here looking for answers. You can’t help me with this.”

  “But—”

  Caroline turned to her husband, ignoring her father’s spluttering protests. “You’re right, we do need to discuss matters; however, this will be a civilized discussion between two educated and refined individuals. If you are incapable of such a conversation, please tell me now.”

  A glint of humor flickered across Rogan’s face. “I think I can manage to participate without too much trouble.”

  “Very well. Let’s go to the conservatory.” She glanced at her father. “Papa, I trust you will not send anyone to spy on us?”

  The flash of guilt in her father’s eyes told Caroline that was exactly what he had planned. Frustrated with her sire, she nonetheless went to him and kissed his cheek. “No spies, Papa,” she whispered near his ear. “Else I shall never forgive you.”

  He scowled and sank back in his chair, reminding her of a petulant child.

  Shaking her head, she led the way out of the parlor and toward the conservatory, all too aware of Rogan right behind her. She smiled at the familiar servants they passed, but when they reached the door to their destination, she grabbed Rogan’s hand and made an abrupt turn, skirting the conservatory and darting through a set of French doors at the opposite side of the hallway. She pulled him outside into the rose garden, then quickly shut the doors behind them.

  “What—?”

  “Shhh.” Caroline waved him to silence and cracked open the door, peering through it at the hallway. She had to wait only a few minutes before she saw Gregson, her father’s trusted assistant, head toward the conservatory. “I knew it!” she whispered.

  “Knew what?” Rogan murmured.

  “He sent Gregson to spy on us.” Caroline shut the door with a quiet click and grinned up at Rogan. “But we’ve outsmarted him. Come with me. I know a place no one will find us.”

  He arched his brows, his eyes lighting with interest. “Lead on, wife.”

  Chapter 10

  Entranced, Rogan followed Caroline through the maze of hedges and rose bushes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so full of mischief as she led him willy-nilly through the gardens. Finally she darted behind a large lilac bush. He followed, only to find himself in a clearing just big enough for two people and a small stone bench.

  “No one will look for us here,” Caroline said, peering back through the bushes.

  “I find it encouraging that you allow yourself to be alone with me,” Rogan said.

  She stiffened and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I can assure you, Rogan, that I can scream very loudly.”

  That quickly, the feeling of camaraderie vanished.

  “Damn it all,” he muttered. “Of course you’re safe with me, Caroline.”

  “Before this morning I would have believed that.”

  “I assure you,” he said with a bitter twist of his lips, “I am in full control of all my impulses.”

  “Good.” She turned to face him completely. “Because that is what we need to talk about.”

  “I don’t blame you for feeling uncertain.”

  “Uncertain?” Her expression took on a cynical cast that no girl her age should ever wear. “I’ve seen behavior like that before. I just didn’t expect it from you.”

  He swiped a hand over his face. “Caroline, I once told you that I can be very bad-tempered.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “It’s worse than that. Much worse.”

  “Worse, how?” She edged toward the perimeter of the clearing, wariness flickering in her eyes.

  “Caroline, stop shuffling away from me. I won’t hurt you. Blast it!” He moved away from the bench, toward the far end of the clearing two paces away. “Sit down and listen to what I have to tell you.” />
  The suspicion that still lurked in her eyes sliced his heart to pieces. Only last night he had held her in his arms all night as they slept, and this morning she feared him.

  He swept a hand toward the bench and gave her a wry smile. “As you said, you can scream very loudly. I’m certain your father’s man would hear you.”

  Still she hesitated, and every second that passed felt like agony.

  “Caroline, you led me out here so we could talk about what happened.”

  She sighed, the distrust fading from her expression. “You’re right.” She slipped past him and took a seat on the bench, folding her hands in her lap and looking at him expectantly. “You were saying something about your temper.”

  “I was.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Short tempers run in my family. Any one of us can blow into a rage at a moment’s notice and over the smallest trivialities.”

  “Such as when your brother paid us a call on our wedding night?”

  “Exactly.” He grimaced. “What you witnessed is not uncommon for my family. We tend to hit first and discuss later.”

  “And that explains what happened with Mr. Peterson.”

  “Yes.” He pulled a leaf from the lilac bush and began to shred it. “My family has always had a gift for horses. Not everyone gets it. Some of us are born with a kind of inner sense that allows us to communicate with the horse on an instinctive level.”

  Her dark eyes reflected her disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me you’re some sort of mind reader for horses?”

  “No, not minds.” He threw the leaf aside. “It’s like I can sense what they’re feeling and soothe away anything that is upsetting them.”

  “The way you did with Mercury Mist.”

  “Exactly. Not everyone in my family is born with the gift, but usually there’s at least one in every generation. My father didn’t have it, but his cousin, the man he inherited the title from, did.”

  “And you have it.”

  “Yes.”

  She said nothing for a long moment, considering what he’d told her. “How does this gift relate to your tendency to fly into a rage at the slightest provocation?”

  “Every gift has its price. Usually the one born with the gift also inherits the fiercest temper.”

  “And because you are the gifted one, your temper is worse than your brother’s.”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “It sounds like a fairy story, Rogan.”

  “I know, but it’s something that goes back in my family for generations.” He plucked another leaf and met her eyes as he tore it into pieces. “What happened this morning…I’m sorry for that.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Peterson enraged me. What he was doing to the horse enraged me. I lost my temper.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “I’d like to tell you it would never happen again, but I don’t know if I can,” he said bluntly.

  “You’re not reassuring me, Rogan.”

  “Damn it, Caroline, I don’t know what else to say!”

  She raised her brows at his language, but didn’t chastise him.

  “This is why I didn’t want a wife,” he grumbled, tossing aside more shredded leaves. “I didn’t want anyone I cared about to get in the way of my bloody rages. Especially you.”

  “Especially me?” She gripped the edges of the bench. “What do you mean, especially me?”

  He closed his eyes, silently cursing himself for revealing too much. “I’m fond of you, Caroline,” he finally said quietly. He opened his eyes, had to see her face when he told her. “More than fond, actually. I rushed over here as soon as Chessington left because I was afraid you wanted to end our marriage.”

  Her eyes were as wide as saucers. “Oh.”

  “Oh,” he repeated with a hard chuckle. “‘Oh’ indeed. I’m the last man on earth a woman like you should be shackled to, yet here we are, husband and wife.”

  “What do you mean, a woman like me? You mean a duke’s daughter?”

  “That, and other things.” He spun away, needing to pace, but there was little room in the clearing for such activity. He clenched his hands at his sides and faced her again. The morning breeze stirred the wispy curls around her ears and forehead and teased the hem of her soft pink morning dress. She watched him so earnestly. In a way she was yet innocent, despite her kidnapping. He didn’t deserve her.

  “Rogan? What did you mean?”

  Her soft voice washed over him like a soothing balm, offering to heal the wounds of his battered heart. But he didn’t dare accept it. Didn’t want to become even more tangled in the intricacies of married life, only to hurt the last person on earth he wanted to harm.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” She stood and marched over to him, laid her hand on his arm. “You will not retreat into silence now, husband. I forbid it.”

  He looked down on her, his mouth quirking with amusement as he noted that the top of her head only reached his chest. “So fierce, love.” He skimmed his thumb along her smooth cheek. “You have me quaking in fear of your wrath.”

  She thudded her small fist against his chest. “Stop teasing me, you lout. Is all this because I am a duke’s daughter? Is that why you didn’t feel we would suit?”

  “That’s the practical part of it.” He closed his hand over the fist that still rested against his heart. “Caroline, you’re beautiful and loving and your heart is so tender.” He brought her hand to his lips. “After all you’ve been through in your life, the last thing you need is a foul-tempered beast for a husband.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying I’m too fragile to be your wife?”

  “Of course you are.”

  “Bollocks!” she snorted and yanked her hand from his gasp.

  He stared, torn between humor and shock. “Where did you hear that particular phrase, gentle wife?”

  “I practically lived in the stables. After a while the grooms forgot I was there and weren’t so careful with their language. But do not change the subject.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “I am more than a duke’s daughter,” she said, her body stiff with indignation. “I may be a small woman, and I may have been raised to be a lady, but I have seen things and survived things other women of my acquaintance would swoon to even think about.”

  “I know,” he agreed quietly.

  “But for some reason, both you and my father seem to think I am sensitive and delicate, that I can’t get on in real life.” She held up a hand when he would have spoken. “Yes, I do have fears. Annoying, frustrating fears that keep me from doing many of the things I would like to do in this life. And I’m sick to death of it.”

  “It’s not unnatural, given what you’ve been through.”

  “Indeed. When they rescued me, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.” She turned away, stared at the softly blowing leaves of the lilac bushes around them, clearly lost in the past. “I didn’t fare well those first few months. My mother died soon after I was rescued. Papa and I were in mourning, living at Belvingham. I seemed to get better.

  “When I was seventeen, Papa arranged for my debut. Only after I saw the masses of people did we realize that I wasn’t well, that I hadn’t recovered from my ordeal. I fainted,” she told him with a wry smile. “I fainted in front of the cream of London society, and when they revived me, I became hysterical. Belvingham’s mad daughter.”

  “It was too soon,” Rogan murmured.

  “Too soon,” she agreed, “and I had gotten used to the peace of living at Belvingham. My father had armed guards around the estate. I knew I was safe there, and so we went back. Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. I could lick my wounds in relative obscurity, secure in the knowledge that Papa would take care of me.”

  “Maybe that’s what you needed at the time.”

  “It was, but it went on too long, I think.” She flashed him a sad smile. “Reall
y, Rogan, essentially I have been hiding for five years. My friends all married and produced children while I rode my horse and read books and slept at night with the candle burning.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were a little more than a child yourself.”

  “I don’t like feeling helpless, Rogan.” She plucked a rose from a bush and sniffed it. “Those men made me feel helpless, made me lose myself. I stayed alive, but so did the memories.”

  “I know how it feels. When the rage takes me, I am lost.”

  She bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “My father protected me, Rogan, but I’m beginning to think he protected me too much. When those brigands tried to take my coach last week, I had just been thinking that I was tired of hiding, tired of being afraid of shadows. That I wanted a normal life. I wanted to get married to a man I could have some affection for. I wanted to have children, to live the life of a normal woman.”

  “Instead you got me,” he said with a humorless laugh.

  “I got you,” she agreed. “But, Rogan, you must understand that you are the first man I have ever met who has understood me. You give me time, you proceed gently. You don’t let me flee back into the shadows.”

  “Unless I lose control, in which case I become a raging lunatic.”

  She sighed. “That is a problem, yes, but I do believe it is a matter of control. Did your cousin tell you anything about these rages? If he had the gift as you say, he must have been prone to them as well. Maybe he knew how to cope, how to control them.”

  “I never met him. He died, and my father inherited. I spent my first ten years in Ireland.”

  “No assistance from that quarter, then.”

  “I met his widow, though. We called her Aunt Alice. She was a friend of your father’s.”

  “Alice Hunt. Yes, I remember her. She was a lovely woman.”

  “She’s the one who bought me my commission.” His lips twisted. “Else I would have followed my father and brother to hell in a whiskey bottle.”

  “And she left you her estate when she died.”

  “Our house was her dower estate,” he confirmed. “She owned it outright and left it to me after my father destroyed what was left of Hunt Chase.”