by Wolf, Bree
“Good,” was all Pierce said in reply before he could no longer restrain the desire to reach for her, to feel her again.
A sharp tug was all it took, and she stumbled forward into his arms. His hands found her waist with unerring precision, pulling her closer against him as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss he’d been waiting for for far too long.
Her response was delayed by no more than a second before she overcame her initial shock and returned his kiss, her hands slipping up over his shoulders and sinking into his hair.
Utter longing for the woman in his arms simmered in his blood as though she were an ocean away and not right here. She was warm and alive and he could feel her heart beat against his own and, in that moment, Pierce wondered if he could ever win her.
If her heart could ever be his.
She was here with him, yes.
But her heart was not his to claim.
Not yet.
Perhaps not ever.
Pierce had been blind not to see it before. Now, however, he knew that the only reason his little mouse insisted on her unfortunate attire was to frighten off London’s gentlemen. With sharp claws, she clung to her freedom to come and go as she pleased, to do what she deemed right. Pierce admired her for her convictions, for her determination and ingenuity to see her plan succeed. Still, he could not help but wonder what she would look like with her hair down and shining in its natural color. How a feminine dress might hug her curves in all the right places. How her eyes would sparkle without those hideous spectacles.
What would she look like should his little mouse ever decide to forgo her disguise and dress as she liked and not as she thought she needed to?
All of a sudden, she stilled as though time had slowed and then stopped. Her hands were still entangled in his hair, and her lips still rested against his own.
Then her eyes opened, and she pulled back, an odd mix of confusion and recognition coming to her face as she stared at him as though she’d all but forgotten what he looked like.
“Are you all right?” Pierce whispered as his hands moved up and then down her back without thought.
Inhaling a sharp breath, his little mouse extracted herself from his embrace, the look in her eyes not changing, only intensifying. She took a step back then, and her gaze swept his face before her jaw tensed and her lips thinned. “I need to go home,” she said all of a sudden, moving in a wide circle past him and toward the door as though afraid he would snatch her once more.
For the life of him, Pierce could not understand her reaction for she had returned his kiss most passionately. Had she sought to end it, he would have released her immediately. Did she have regrets? Was he not the kind of man she thought she could give her heart to? Or was it simply that she didn’t want any man no matter who he was?
Watching her all but flee his presence, Pierce sat down on the edge of the desk and closed his eyes. What did it mean that his heart ached and throbbed painfully at the thought of her rejection?
If only he could pretend he didn’t know.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Highwayman
It was him!
Or not? Was she going mad? Had she imagined the…familiarity of his kiss? Or was it truly him? Was Lord Markham her masked savior?
Caroline spent the next few days doing little else but staring out the window, her thoughts hopelessly entangled, going through each and every memory she could conjure. Moments in the dark with a stranger with neither name nor face, and others in the ballrooms of London with an irritating and most persistent lord. Could both men be one and the same?
The kiss at the orphanage had felt so…it had instantly drawn her mind back to the moment the masked stranger had pulled her into his arms in that dark alley. Once again, she’d felt his hands on her, his lips against hers. It had been a memory and, at the same time, it had not been, the sense of him, the feel of him. Or had she been mistaken? Had her mind instantly linked the only kisses she’d ever received? Had it been nothing but her inexperience that had led to this confusion?
Sarah watched her most carefully throughout the following days, her dark green eyes full of concern. Fortunately, she refrained from asking questions to which Caroline did not know the answers. What ought she to do? Confront Lord Markham? What if she was mistaken? Would he laugh at her? Be offended that she’d allowed a stranger to steal kisses?
The thought of Lord Markham turning from her stirred regret in her heart as well as a pain she’d never experienced before. As irritating as she’d found his presence not long ago—and, to be honest, still did—he’d proved himself worthy of her trust, had he not? Had he not come for her when she’d needed him? As he’d promised? Had he not kept her secret?
But so had the masked stranger she still did not know what to call.
Caroline paused in mid-stride, her eyes unseeing as they stared outside at the busy street. Perhaps it would be safer to ask him. The masked man. If he laughed at her, if he truly was not Lord Markham, where would be the harm in that?
Unfortunately, Caroline knew not where to find him. He had always been the one to find her. Was she mad for considering once more setting out at night simply to draw him out? Would he notice? Was he watching her even now?
Frowning, Caroline peered out at the street, hoping to spot a dark-clad man hiding behind a tree or simply standing off to the side. However, all she saw were people going about their business. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing and no one that reminded her of him.
Her heart sank.
“What will you wear tonight?”
At the sound of Sarah’s voice, Caroline flinched. “What?” She blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. “Tonight?”
“The Cavendish ball,” Sarah clarified, her gaze narrowing as she regarded her friend. “Are you unwell? Shall I excuse you?”
Caroline shook her head. “No, I’m…I’m fine, simply preoccupied.” She managed a weak, halfhearted smile, which Sarah clearly did not buy, but chose to ignore.
At least for now.
The Cavendish ball was a large affair and all of London seemed to be in attendance. Although Caroline all but abhorred such gatherings, she could not deny herself the chance to see Lord Markham again. Oddly enough, she’d come to realize that she’d missed him these past few days. Or had her dark mood merely come from her confusion over his kiss?
Whatever the reason, perhaps seeing him tonight would grant her an answer. Perhaps there was some way she could find certainty when it came to his identity. Was he truly the kind of man who donned a mask at night and set out to rob his fellow peers?
Those that don’t deserve what they possess. Was that not what the masked man had said?
Again, Caroline felt her head spin as her eyes swept the large ballroom and disappointedly came up empty. He wasn’t here.
At least not yet.
Seeking to distract herself, Caroline decided to refocus her attention on her cousin. Rebecca had been acting very strangely and—to be precise—rather scandalously these past few weeks, which had resulted in a week-long banishment from London. What, exactly, had led to that Caroline did not know. But it was no doubt Lord Coleridge’s interest and the promise of a proposal that had recalled Rebecca from exile.
Curiously enough, Lord Coleridge was nowhere to be seen.
Rebecca, however, was far from bothered by that fact, her eyes following a particular young American lord around the room. His eyes, too, seemed strangely glued to her that Caroline could not help but smile. “It seems you’ve made your choice.”
Rebecca’s head snapped around to look at her cousin. “What?”
Glancing over her cousin’s shoulder, Caroline once again spotted the handsome young lord. “He’s been following us ever since we arrived.” Most likely, that was even true! Not that Caroline would have noticed. However, it was a well-informed guess. “Are you telling me that doesn’t mean anything?”
Fighting the grin that threatened to reveal all she felt, Rebecca shrugged.
“You look happy,” Caroline observed, a tinge of envy settling in her heart, but she quickly pushed it away. Rebecca deserved happiness; if only her father would not interfere, she thought, glancing at her parents not far off. “Has he stated his intentions?” she whispered carefully.
Rebecca sighed. “He has not.”
“But you’re hoping he will?” Caroline inquired, wondering about the depth of her cousin’s feelings for the young lord. How could one truly be certain what lived in one’s heart?
A deep flush came to Rebecca’s cheeks and the glow that lit up her eyes said more than a thousand words. Unfortunately, their intimate conversation was interrupted by Caroline’s parents, robbing her of the chance to probe further into her cousin’s life.
Their faces looked taut, their eyes wide with concern. Caroline felt a deep chill grip her bones. “Mother, Father, is something wrong? You look distressed.” She grasped her mother’s arm, fearing the woman might faint so hard was she swaying on her feet.
“It is quite horrifying, indeed,” her father exclaimed as he wrung his hands, his gaze slowly shifting to Rebecca, suggesting that whatever news he was about to share with them somehow affected her the most.
Rebecca’s face paled.
“I just heard that Lord Coleridge was set upon on his way to the ball.”
Her cousin’s jaw dropped. “What?” Shock marked her features, and yet, a hint of relief sparked in her eyes. Of course, she was not overly concerned for Lord Coleridge and had probably feared worse news than what they’d just now received.
“Do not worry, my dear,” Caroline’s father implored as he grasped his niece’s hands, misinterpreting her reaction. “Fortunately, he suffered no lasting ill effects. However, he won’t be attending the ball tonight.”
“How awful!” Caroline exclaimed, thinking that at least one of them ought to show a certain measure of shock at such news, and Rebecca seemed currently incapable of portraying any other emotion but relief. “What on earth happened?”
Glancing at her, her father shrugged. “That is still unclear. Apparently, his carriage was attacked by highwaymen. They struck him down and stole his belongings.”
Caroline’s heart ceased all movement as she stared at her father. “Highwaymen?” she croaked, praying that no one would notice how close she was to losing her mind. “More than one?” Her hands began to tremble and she clamped them together as her own encounter with a masked stranger rose before her inner eye. Could it have been him?
Her gaze once more swept the crowd, and once more she came up empty. Lord Markham was not in attendance. Was he delayed for a perfectly understandable reason? Or was he absent because he’d set out to once more rob one of his peers? If that was indeed the case, Caroline could only hope that Lord Coleridge had not recognized him.
The thought struck her as odd for how could she feel protective toward…toward…
“That I cannot say for certain,” her father droned on, “but surely it would take more than one common man to subdue a lord like Viscount Coleridge.”
More than a common man? Caroline mused. Indeed, the masked stranger had always seemed somehow…larger than life, had he not? But were he and Lord Markham the same man?
A thousand questions surged through Caroline’s mind, but she clamped her mouth shut, knowing that anything more would lead to suspicions, especially from her nosey cousin. And Caroline was not ready yet to share with another what she could hardly explain to herself. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about that at present. As long as Lord Markham remained absent, all she could do was wait and find some means to pass the time without losing her mind.
And so once again, Caroline turned her focus to her beloved cousin. Perhaps at least one of them could end the evening with an answer they desired. “Rebecca and I will make our rounds,” she told her parents as she slipped her arm through the crook of her cousin’s. “We’ll assure everyone that Lord Coleridge is recovering swiftly.” And before her parents could object, the two women disappeared amongst the throng of people. “I assume you have plans for tonight,” Caroline whispered to her cousin as they moved along arm in arm, offering a smile here and there to an acquaintance they passed, “and no intention of leaving before seeing them through?”
Gratitude rested in Rebecca’s green eyes as she chuckled. “You assume correctly.”
“Then you won’t mind if we walk over to the other side of the ballroom where a certain gentleman seems to be waiting for you?” Caroline suggested with a teasing note, knowing how displeased her father would be if he saw his hopes for a union with Lord Coleridge thwarted by the young American. He did not care for Rebecca’s happiness.
Caroline, however, did.
“Not at all,” Rebecca replied, her eyes glowing as they swept over the man watching them with hawk eyes, the longing in them all but palpable.
Another sting of envy found its way into Caroline’s heart and, once again, she pushed it aside. “And you won’t mind if I get distracted by…say, a dear old friend and leave you alone for…oh, a minute or two?”
Turning to look at her, Rebecca smiled. “What would I do without you?” she whispered, her hands grasping Caroline’s as her green eyes moved to hold her gaze. “I hope you know that if you ever need my help, I—”
“I know,” Caroline assured her quickly, noting the hint of suspicion that lingered in her cousin’s gaze. Of course, Rebecca had noticed something! Sometimes that woman was like a bloodhound! “You’re sweet to say so, but I’m perfectly fine.”
“Are you?” Rebecca challenged that statement, and her eyes narrowed alarmingly. “The mention of the highwaymen seemed to upset you.”
Trying to hold on to her composure, Caroline cleared her throat. “Oh, the thought of being set upon by such criminals is most disconcerting!” she exclaimed with feigned concern.
Unfortunately, her cousin saw right through her charade. “Oh, fine,” Rebecca laughed. “Don’t tell me, but please, be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?” Caroline asked with a grin before she allowed her gaze to travel past Rebecca’s shoulder and to the man waiting by the side of the dance floor. “He seems rather impatient.”
“Promise me!” Rebecca insisted nonetheless, her green eyes full of concern as they held Caroline’s. “Promise me you will be careful.”
Caroline squeezed her cousin’s hands in reassurance, touched by the depth of her concern. “I promise,” she finally said. “Now, go to him.” Then Caroline turned away and quickly addressed a passing acquaintance, hoping Rebecca would redirect her attention to her own plans for that night.
Fortunately, she did.
While Caroline passed the evening with one boring conversation after another, Rebecca danced with Lord Pembroke, the sight of them together whispering of a deeper connection than Caroline had ever thought possible. They seemed like magnets drawn to one another, dependent on one another, for whenever Rebecca was dancing with someone else that night, both their lights seemed to dim until they were finally reunited.
It was almost magical.
And utterly frustrating—at least for Caroline—because by the time her parents called for the carriage, Lord Markham still hadn’t appeared.
Rebecca, too, seemed somewhat disappointed on the ride home, and so when they arrived and stepped into the hall, Caroline could not help but ask, “I assume your evening did not go as expected?”
“Unfortunately not,” Rebecca sighed, regret palpable in her voice.
On top of that, they found a supper invitation for the following day had arrived in their absence. Apparently, not even being attacked by highwaymen seemed to dissuade Lord Coleridge from pursuing Rebecca. The man was like a dog with a bone!
Expectedly, her cousin was far from overjoyed at the prospect of sharing her evening with that man and thus had to endure a well-intended lecture from her aunt on the merits of securing a husband.
When the two young women finally were alone and on their way up the stai
rs toward their bedchambers, Caroline asked, “You will not accept him, will you?”
Rebecca shook her head. “I cannot stand the man, and I do not care how thoughtful his compliments are, I—” She froze mid-step. Her face went pale, and her eyes widened alarmingly, then became distant, locked onto something only she could see. She clearly did not hear a word of what Caroline said, asking for an explanation, uttering her concern. Neither did Rebecca put up any resistance as Caroline all but dragged her onward and into her bedchamber, urging her to sit. She mumbled something under her breath as though holding a conversation with herself. With each passing minute, Caroline grew more concerned. What had happened tonight? What plan had her cousin concocted that involved Lord Pembroke? What did the supper invitation from Lord Coleridge have to do with anything?
Caroline drew in a sharp breath. Perhaps she ought to have been more insistent her cousin tell her what she was up to. Yet, it would have been highly hypocritical for her to utter such a demand without reciprocating.
Finally, Rebecca returned from whatever place she’d drifted off to and her eyes once more settled on Caroline. Still, the calculating gleam in her eyes was worrisome for Caroline knew it well.
“I could use your help,” Rebecca finally said referring to the supper invitation the following day. “When I wink at you, do you think you could faint? Draw everyone’s attention?”
“Why?” Caroline demanded, deeply worried that her beloved cousin was getting in over her head.
“That, I cannot say,” Rebecca replied as expected. “Please, trust me. I will be fine.”
Torn, Caroline stared at her cousin. “What about Lord Pembroke?” By now, Caroline was certain that he’d been the man to leave her cousin’s chamber through the window a few weeks past. “Tonight, it seemed that he was involved in whatever plan you’re working on. Why do you not ask for his help?”
Rebecca sighed. “I can do this on my own. After all, he is not invited, and there would be no reasonable explanation for his appearance at Lord Tedious’ townhouse that night.” Surging to her feet, Rebecca grasped Caroline’s hands, her gaze imploring. “Please, help me, and I swear I shall tell you everything!”