by Julia Kelly
She snorted. “Of course they were, but it also means there’s hope for you yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“The only real risks I’ve ever seen you take have been regarding what’s right here in this building. You’d give anything to make the Lothian and the Tattler run.”
“And launch my evening newspaper,” he said.
“It’s good to see your attention and energy diverted elsewhere,” she continued.
“It’s not wise,” he said, rubbing his forehead.
“Love is not wise, my friend.”
He started up. “What we are talking about is not love.”
Eva tipped her shoulders up in a shrug. “Isn’t it though?”
He scowled. “No.”
Lust, yes. Desire, absolutely. Caring, more than he wanted to admit. None of those things, however, was love and it was a good thing too. Love made people vulnerable and weak. He’d seen it with his own father. When Brian Moray had married Sarah Stewart, the pretty maid who’d kept him at arm’s length for years, he’d known she was pregnant. It was the reason she was being cast from the big house where they both worked, and grateful though she was that he was saving her from the poverty that awaited her and her unborn son, she’d refused to tell her new husband who the father was.
To hear his mother tell it, Brian Moray had thought he could live without knowing because he loved her, but eventually the shame of it and the difficulty of their new life together had eaten at him. He’d given up a good position as valet to the master of the house where he and Sarah had met, and he came to blame her for the grueling hours he’d put into the failure of a shop they’d opened after marrying. All the while, Sarah made it plain that she’d never stopped loving the nameless man who’d fathered her child.
Anger had made Brian Moray bitter, and drink made him violent. His love had become twisted and gnarled. The day he’d walked out of the house and out of their lives had been a blessing.
Moray’s father had loved his mother. His mother had loved the man who’d left her defenseless and with child. And Moray, more fool than all the rest of them combined, had loved his father until the man left them penniless and alone. That was what love did to people. It tore them apart and hurt them. Moray wasn’t going to be one of them.
Still, despite his protestations, he couldn’t deny that he felt something deeper for Caroline. It wasn’t love, but perhaps it was as close as he was going to ever come to it.
“I need to see her again,” he murmured.
“Then go and leave me in peace,” said Eva.
“I need to see her alone, which, when it comes to an unmarried lady, can be harder than breaking out of prison.”
“Well, I wouldn’t recommend climbing through her bedroom window again. You’ll only be tempting fate,” said Eva.
“I can’t bring her here,” he said. His rooms weren’t even worth mentioning. One stray glance from a gossip at an unmarried woman entering a man’s bachelor apartment could devastate a reputation as fast as fire.
Eva sighed. “Bring her to the house.”
“To your house?”
“If we can conduct a marriage in secret while in plain view of our neighbors, I imagine we can host one clandestine meeting between a man and a woman. I’ll speak to Catriona about it, but I daresay she’d suggest the same thing,” she said.
Even if his friend was acting as though it wasn’t much, he knew the offer was a monumental one. Eva and Catriona were vigilant about whom they let into their lives—they had to be, for if anyone outside their extremely tight circle found out the truth about their “arrangement” they’d be ostracized. So while they pretended that they were two widows living together for economy and companionship, only Moray, Gavin, and Ina knew the true depths of their love. Now Eva was suggesting that he bring Caroline into the sanctuary where Eva and Catriona could be completely themselves.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She cocked her head. “When have you ever known me to offer something I wasn’t completely sure of? Besides, I’d like to get a look at this Miss Burkett before leaving you alone.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I think you’ll like her.”
“Why is that?”
He smiled. “Because she’s as hard on me as you are.”
His editor laughed. “Then she shows good taste. I believe Thursday would be best. You may wish to tell Miss Burkett to make arrangements for her maid when she is out.”
He nodded but then paused. “Why are you doing this?”
Eva sighed. “Because this is the first time in all my years of knowing you that you’ve been even the littlest bit bothered by a woman.”
“You know I’m not exactly a saint.”
“But there are also few women who can make you want to stop working and go see them. That has to count for something.” She made to turn back but then glanced over her shoulder as though remembering one last thing. “Don’t forget, Moray, if she’s worth climbing through windows for, dancing with, and letting go of stories that you were convinced you had to have just a few weeks ago, she’d better understand that you’re also worth those sorts of sacrifices too.”
He wasn’t, and he knew he never would be, good enough for a woman like Caroline. She needed a husband from her own world, not a trumped-up bastard shop boy who’d managed to make good because doing so was his only option. Yet he couldn’t let her go—not yet—and so he’d do what he could to keep her in his life for as long as he could.
On Monday afternoon, Caroline sat in the drawing room across from Elsie, trying not to blush at the unmistakable ache between her legs that—even a day later—could only be blamed on Moray. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, and he’d thoroughly stretched her to the point that there was no forgetting him.
Picking at a piece of needlework she didn’t really care about, she almost laughed at the thought of ever forgetting that night. Shocked didn’t even begin to describe how she’d felt when she threw open her window and spotted him climbing up the side of the building. And while she’d practically scolded him for doing something as risky as coming to her at night, it was undeniably the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her. She still didn’t entirely trust the man, but his insistence that he impart what he’d learned about Trevlan’s past to her as soon as possible had been an act of protection and it softened the hardness around her heart just a little bit.
When she’d told him that, despite his past abandonment of another woman, Trevlan was still her best option, she hadn’t been being entirely truthful. She should’ve said that the man was her safest option. She suspected that if she pushed him, she could probably secure a proposal from Trevlan. He was of an age where his family would naturally wish him to marry. His friendship with Michael no doubt made him look upon her more favorably, forgive her advanced years and perhaps a little of her reputation too. Or maybe it was that very reputation that he wished for. Maybe he believed she’d do nothing to risk being placed so solidly at the center of society’s attention once again. She’d be quiet and compliant and grateful. For some men that was enough.
It’s not enough for me.
The thought, deceptively powerful in its simplicity, exposed a truth that was almost impossible to fathom: never once since she’d conceived of this plan to move to Edinburgh and secure her future had she thought about what she really wanted. She needed security and the protection of a man’s name, but in the pursuit of those, she hadn’t given an ounce of attention to what she actually wanted.
What if she was bold enough to hold her head up and demand the sort of life she might once have thought she deserved? The life that she dreamed of at night was filled with passion and excitement with a man who challenged her and loved her with equal ferocity. It was what she’d thought she would have with her fiancé until she saw the coldness he was capable of. What would happen if she held out for that?
She might actually find it.
Her whole bod
y felt alight with the possibility of it, like she was burning from the inside out.
“Are you quite all right?” asked Elsie, pulling her out of the maze she was weaving through in her head. “Your color looks a little high.”
“I’m fine.” Caroline pressed shaking hands into her lap, her needlework now abandoned next to her on the sofa. She couldn’t tell Elsie that everything had just shifted for her. Mrs. Sullivan had been right after all. There were things she wanted.
You should demand more from your life. Moray had said it to her in a moment of heated argument right before she’d taken what she’d wanted and kissed him. He was right.
The ring of the doorbell sounded through the house, and Elsie straightened, preparing herself to become the consummate hostess. Sure enough, Eilidh, the Burketts’ maid, slipped into the drawing room and dipped into a curtsy with lowered eyes.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Burkett, but a message was just delivered for you by hand.”
“For me?” asked Caroline. “Did the sender ask for an immediate response?”
“No. It was just a boy who ran off as soon as he handed me the letter,” said the maid.
“Thank you, Eilidh,” said Caroline, taking the letter.
Her heart skipped when she turned it over and saw the handwriting that was now so familiar. Moray.
“Anything interesting?” asked Elsie.
Caroline curled her hand in so that the address wouldn’t be visible to her sister-in-law. Elsie had swiftly become her friend, but Caroline didn’t think that she would appreciate finding out that a clandestine affair had begun just upstairs.
“It’s from Mr. Trevlan,” she said, the lie coming easily enough. “I expect he will want a response as soon as possible. Do you mind if I excuse myself to read it and write back?”
Caroline had the distinct impression from her sister-in-law’s searching look that the woman didn’t entirely believe her. She was about to give another reason to steal away, embroidering the lie, when Elsie nodded. “Of course, take all the time you need. If anyone comes to call, I’ll give them your regards until you return.”
It was all Caroline could do not to bound up the stairs two at a time. She yanked her bedroom door open and locked it behind her before hurrying to the little desk that sat in front of one of the room’s two windows. With trembling fingers, she broke the seal.
Inside was not the familiar news clipping, but a note.
Caroline,
Saturday night wasn’t enough. I want you alone again. If you’ll come to the home of my editor, Mrs. Wilis, at 14 Infirmary Street on Thursday at four o’clock we will not be disturbed.
I know you’re a woman who won’t be swayed if she’s set against something. All I can do is hope that you’ve been thinking of me as I have of you. I burn for you, Caroline.
Yours,
Moray
It was a succinct note, but it told her exactly what she needed to know. He wanted her again. He’d made arrangements, finding a way for them to see each other. He was almost arrogantly self-assured, and she couldn’t help that it made her smile. That was Moray.
Now she had to make a choice. She was at a junction, with one path leading her toward the man she shouldn’t want and one leading her away to safety. Down one temptation lay before her, and down the other was the mundane reality of her current situation.
Her determined, logical plan that had seemed so right when she was in London was beginning to fray and show its various flaws. In her mind, choosing a husband should have been as easy as deciding what kind of gown flattered one, placing the order, and then accepting the decision as final. However, it seemed that human nature didn’t work quite that easily. Not when a very determined newspaperman had decided to muck it all up.
This should stop now before either of them put the other at any more risk. There was the danger of being caught, but that paled in comparison to what would happen if she once again trusted a man the way she’d trusted Julian.
If she wanted to, she could brush Saturday night off as a moment of madness. She’d been worked up and angry, tired and lonely. It was natural to seek comfort from someone who, despite being a member of the press, seemed to have genuine concern regarding her best interests. But to do it again? To go to a stranger’s home to indulge in plans he’d made and to know that there’d be an expectation of sex between two unmarried adults with no hope for a future . . . that was something entirely different.
In the bright light of day her heart felt too fragile, and she knew she should give him up despite the power with which her body yearned for him.
But when she drew a piece of writing paper toward her and picked up her pen with the intention of composing the lines to explain herself, she found she wasn’t prepared to do that either. Not right now, when she could’ve sworn that her sheets still carried the faintest lingering scent of Moray on them.
Her pen hesitated over the blank paper, a droplet of blue threatening to mar the page. She couldn’t quite say when, but something had shifted for her in the last weeks. It was becoming harder and harder to keep Moray in the tightly defined little box she’d built for him. He was still cocksure and cavalier, but she’d seen another side to him too. Every time she scratched the surface, she saw a little more of the complicated, fascinating man who lay beneath.
She should have hated him for everything he and his newspaper stood for, just as she should have hated him for shining a glaring light on her ill-conceived mission here in Edinburgh. She’d been so determined to find a husband, but that sort of stubborn determination only worked when she could view the field with a detached heart. Moray had inserted himself into her life and shown her that she should demand more. He reminded her of the things she’d once wanted before a man, convinced that his title was more important than her happiness, had dashed her hopes. She wanted passion. She wanted excitement. She wanted challenge. She wanted to find her true match. She couldn’t do that if she was willing to settle for just any man. She deserved something extraordinary. She deserved love.
Closing her eyes to steady herself, she took a deep breath and then began to write her response.
Chapter Sixteen
CAROLINE SMOOTHED HER skirts and waited for Mrs. Wilis’s front door to open. Her hand trembled when she rang the doorbell, but she was determined not to show her nerves. It had taken very little to convince Madeline to take a few extra shillings and a few free hours to go for a jaunt around the city, leaving Caroline alone for her assignation.
The word sent shivers of anticipation down her spine. When she’d been engaged, it had been nothing to arrange a little bit of time alone with Julian when the family’s three servants were on their half day off and her mother had been sleeping. But there was another layer of secretiveness to this arrangement. Another level of forbidden excitement.
The maid who opened the door was a tiny, kind-faced woman with steel-gray hair. “Miss Burkett, you’re expected.”
Caroline allowed herself to be ushered in and removed the light coat that had helped keep the mist off her dusty-rose day dress. It wasn’t her most attractive dress, but Moray had just seen her in the new turquoise, and she hadn’t wanted to raise Elsie’s suspicion that she might be up to something by paying a visit to Mrs. Parkem to see if any of the dresses she’d promised to look out for had come in.
It was silly, really, thinking that the cut or color of her dress would matter a whit to a man who’d made clear why he’d asked her to meet him that afternoon. He wanted her, and merely thinking about that simple fact made her whole body ache with a powerful longing for him. She could become addicted to his taste and touch, to how he’d made her feel and the promise of every bit of pleasure they could explore together.
She followed the maid up a narrow set of stairs and into a small drawing room. There he stood in the center of it, his usual jacket off and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows to reveal a pair of corded forearms dusted with dark hair. She might’ve said he made
for a perfect picture, except for one fact. He wasn’t alone.
“Caroline.” Moray’s eyes lit up when they landed on her. Sensation bloomed in her like a flower opening to the sun. This power he had to pull emotion she’d long forgotten from her should have been frightening. Instead, she found herself unable to fight the urge to step closer to him and lean into the comfort of those strong arms wrapped around her.
Moray was flanked by two women, a tall, statuesque one who wore spectacles and whose dark hair, shot through with gray strands, was piled on her head, and a smaller woman with a sweet face and the most arresting clear blue eyes Caroline had ever seen. These, it would seem, were her hostesses for the afternoon.
“Are you going to introduce us, or are you just going to stand there staring with your mouth open?” asked the taller woman.
Moray scowled. “Miss Caroline Burkett, may I present Mrs. Eva Wilis and Mrs. Catriona Thorburn?”
“Mrs. Wilis, Mrs. Thorburn, thank you for inviting me into your home,” she said with a respectful curtsy. It felt . . . odd thanking someone for allowing the use of their front room for an assignation, but the appreciation cost her nothing.
Mrs. Wilis waved the formality away. “ ‘Eva’ and ‘Catriona’ will do just fine. You’ll find this isn’t a traditional house in any sense of the word.”
“You’re very welcome here, Miss Burkett,” said Catriona in a lovely, lyrical voice. The woman exuded a pure, untainted sweetness that seemed in contrast to the sharper, more brusque manner of her companion.
“If I’m to call you by your Christian names, please call me Caroline.”
“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Caroline,” said Eva, assessing her from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes.
“I could say the same of you. Jonathan speaks highly of your work,” said Caroline.
Eva slid him a sly look. “Now isn’t that surprising?”
“If I told you directly, you’d only wind up with a swelled head,” he said.