by Wolf, Bree
“And we will,” Pierce assured her. But justice would have to wait a few moments. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? Any more that you need to say?”
The look on her face became thoughtful, then she shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”
“Good.” And without a moment of hesitation, Pierce’s head swooped down and his mouth claimed hers in a long-overdue kiss.
Chapter Forty-One
A Moment Alone
Lost in his kiss, Caroline wondered at the oddity of how he made her feel.
Her knees felt like water and she all but sagged into his arms, dependent on his strong hold on her, keeping her upright and saving her from crashing to the ground. Her pulse was racing like a horse thundering down the track, and she felt utterly lightheaded.
Weak even.
He made her feel weak and vulnerable. Her heart ached with the knowledge that her well-being, her happiness was now tied to him. It frightened her that he possessed such power over her, that if he chose to he could crush her with little to no effort.
A part of Caroline was terrified.
And then she felt his own desperate need for her in the way he kissed her, the way he held on to her as though he, too, was terrified. I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Was that not what he had told her?
His hands were in her hair then, traced the column of her neck. His touch was gentle, achingly so, as he cradled her in his arms. He held her to him, shielded her, protected her, offered everything he was if only she would give him her heart.
With that knowledge, Caroline’s fears went away and she felt utterly at peace for the first time in her life.
Balanced.
Safe.
Home.
Her arms snaked around his neck and she returned his kiss with the same fierceness as they clung to each other, too many words still left unspoken. Her heart urged her to speak, and yet, she could not bring herself to pull away.
Her world moved then, tilted, up and down changed, and Caroline belatedly realized that she was lying on the settee with Pierce draped over her like a blanket. His weight did not make her feel crushed, but warm and comforted. His hands were everywhere as were her own, and she found the hammering pulse in his neck with her gloved fingertips, marveling at the connection she felt to him despite the fabric separating them.
As though Pierce had read her thoughts, she felt his hand move over her ribcage and up to her shoulder. His fingers slipped under the fabric and touched bare skin, then brushed the puff sleeve off her shoulder as the pad of his thumb traced along her collarbone, sending delicious shivers across her skin.
When his lips closed over her own hammering pulse, Caroline smiled. “Do you like my dress?” she whispered almost breathless, feeling reminded of the last time he’d held her in his arms like this.
His teeth nipped her sensitive skin. “I love your dress,” he murmured near her ear, his warm breath making her gasp with longing, “but not nearly as much as I love you.”
Caroline’s eyes flew open at the softly whispered words and, for a long moment, she could not seem to breathe. Her body stilled, and every fiber of her being latched on to that murmured declaration, unwilling to ever let it go. Had he meant it? Her always doubtful mind whispered while her trusting heart danced with joy.
Sensing the change in her, Pierce lifted his head, his eyes searching hers in the silvery semi-dark of the room. “Are you all right?” he whispered as his knuckles gently brushed along her jaw, then tucked a loose curl behind her ear.
“I’m fine,” Caroline all but croaked as their gazes locked in a way they never had before. “I…I…” I love you as well. Would she ever be able to say it? Why was there this lump in her throat? “I—”
A sharp knock on the door startled them both, and they almost fell off the settee.
Grumbling something rather unseemly under his breath, Pierce pushed to his feet and then offered her his hand to assist her. “Who is it?” he called out before his hand moved to return the puff sleeve to its place upon her shoulder, a soft smile teased his lips as he looked at her.
“My lord?” came a hushed voice through the door. “Is that you? It’s Jacob. Albert sent me to find you.”
In no more than three large strides, Pierce was by the door, yanking it open and revealing a familiar young man. “What happened?”
With his hat clutched in his hands, Jacob tried very hard not to take note of the young woman in the darkened room, her curls hopelessly undone and her gown wrinkled beyond repair. At the sight of the dark red that came to his face, Caroline could not help but smile, surprised by the impulse to reassure him.
“Miss Palmer pointed me down this corridor. I’ve been knocking on every door,” Jacob rushed to explain before he gulped down a lungful of air. “Albert told me to bring you home.” His gaze now remained fixed on Pierce with a steadiness that spoke of a focused mind. “He says Lord Coleridge’s butler has been found.” The young man’s voice darkened when he spoke Coleridge’s name, and Caroline knew that Pierce had shared Daphne’s story with him.
“His butler?” Caroline asked as she stepped up to the two men, giving up on fixing her hair.
Jacob’s eyes moved to something beyond her shoulder as Pierce turned to her. “He was there the night Coleridge and his friends returned to London, but had since been relieved of his position. I thought he might have observed something, overheard something.”
“Good thinking,” Caroline commented, delighting in the proud smile that came to Pierce’s face. It made her think that perhaps he longed for her respect as much as she longed for his.
“Fetch the carriage,” he told Jacob, who immediately darted off, before taking her arm. “We’ll head home immediately.” Then he stopped and looked around the room, his eyes searching before they fell on her abandoned red mask on the floor. Picking it up, he refastened it, hiding her face from the crowd outside, before donning his own. “We’ll see you home first.”
Caroline stopped. “I cannot go home like this.” She glanced down at her gown. “I need to get out of this dress first.”
His brows rose, and a wicked smile came to his lips. “That sounds like an awfully good idea.”
For a moment, Caroline was at a loss, but then she caught his meaning and her cheeks flushed with warmth at the thought of how he’d understood her comment. Fortunately, her mask was hiding the evidence of her discomfiture. “I meant,” she began, striding past him so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes, “that I need to change before I can go home.”
Catching up to her near the archway leading back into the ballroom, Pierce grasped her arm, pulling it through the crook of his. Then he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I know what you meant, but you cannot deny that my idea is far more appealing than yours.”
Unable not to, Caroline laughed. “You’re a wicked man!”
“Is that a compliment?” he asked with a smile.
Pausing in her step, Caroline looked up at him. His dark eyes held hers, and the longing and regard she saw there took her breath away. He did love her, didn’t he? “Well, I do believe it is,” she whispered, smiling up at him with all the love she couldn’t seem to put into words.
His chest rose and fell with a slow breath as though he’d understood her meaning nonetheless. Then he once more grasped her chin and pulled her toward him, kissing her with a fierceness that made her knees go weak yet again.
A round of applause erupted around them, and when Pierce released her, Caroline was horrified to find herself the center of that night’s attention. Apparently, Pierce’s display of affection had not gone unnoticed, which of course was not that surprising considering they were standing just inside the ballroom, easy to spot from all around.
Clinging to Pierce’s arm, Caroline touched a trembling hand to her mask, ensuring that it was still there, still covering her face, still keeping her identity concealed. Her eyes darted from mask to mask as people looked at her, their inquisitive ey
es following them as they made their way through the crowd. When they finally stepped into the foyer, Caroline breathed a sigh of relief.
“The carriage is waiting,” Jacob announced as they stepped toward the door.
“Wait!” Her feet stilled, and Pierce turned to look at her, a questioning look in his eyes. “We cannot leave without Charlaine.”
His gaze widened, partially in horror and partially in surprise. “Charlaine is here as well?” he demanded, his arm under her hand tensing. “What were you thinking?”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Caroline snapped defensively. “She was the one to invite me!” The second the words left her mouth, she clamped her lips shut, shocked that she’d betrayed Charlaine’s confidence. “And don’t act so surprised,” she rushed to add. “After all, Jacob already mentioned her.” Perfect! Now, she was drawing yet another one into this.
Pierce frowned for a second before his gaze cleared. Apparently, he’d been too focused on Albert’s message to register Jacob’s reference to Charlaine at the time. “I see,” was all he said, and she could not help but think that he did not look surprised after all to hear his ward was in attendance at this masquerade as well. “I wasn’t aware the two of you knew each other.”
“It’s a long story,” Caroline said, dismissing the questions she could see in his gaze with a wave of her hand. “Will you just go and fetch her? We cannot leave her alone in this place.”
Pierce scoffed. “She’s been alone for quite some time now. Who knows what she’s gotten herself into?” he grumbled and then nodded to Jacob before heading back toward the ballroom. “What is she wearing?”
“A golden gown,” Caroline told him, “with rubies circling her mask.” Watching Pierce leave, she wondered what Charlaine’s evening had been like. Her own had been nothing short of amazing despite the heated words she and Pierce had exchanged. Perhaps even because of them, Caroline now felt closer to him than she ever had before. Had Charlaine’s night been equally successful?
Caroline could only hope that Charlaine would not be angry with her for sending Pierce to fetch her or for betraying her confidence for she realized that the strong, exotic, young woman with the soulful eyes was a friend Caroline would like to have.
Chapter Forty-Two
A New Course
Pacing the length of his study the next day, Pierce found his thoughts torn.
A lot had happened the night before, and he was most eager to pursue not only the new lead with regard to proving Coleridge’s guilt but also the woman who had been in his arms only a few hours past.
Of course, Charlaine had barely batted an eye when he had retrieved her on Caroline’s behest. Apparently, she’d spent the night in the company of none other than Mr. Nathanial Caswell, a man who’d nearly dropped dead when Pierce’s interference had revealed her identity. Indeed, the ride home with all four of them in one carriage had been a most painful one to say the least.
Mr. Caswell had then alighted with barely a word of farewell when the carriage had stopped at his brother’s townhouse. After that, Charlaine had prattled on happily about having had a marvelous night that Pierce could not help but wonder about her sanity. That was until she’d asked Caroline about her own night, giving Pierce a sidelong glance.
For reasons Pierce could not name, Charlaine always knew too much. She had a way of looking into another’s soul and knowing exactly what lived in their hearts and plagued their minds.
Caroline had blushed ever so slightly at Charlaine’s inquisitive questions, and Pierce had felt temptingly reminded of the way she’d blushed at the ball when he had purposefully misunderstood her.
Once they’d arrived home, Charlaine had ushered Caroline upstairs to change while Pierce had followed Albert to his study where Coleridge’s former butler awaited him. Unfortunately, the man had little to say. He’d overheard nothing that would speak to Coleridge’s guilt and the blood he thought to have seen on Coleridge’s sleeve that night might also have been mud—as the man admitted after some probing. Clearly, he still detested Coleridge for relieving him of his employ.
After that, Pierce had waited in the foyer for Caroline to return. He’d paced then, too, picturing her upstairs as she slipped out of her dark red gown. His thoughts had carried him a bit farther still, and when she’d finally returned downstairs in her usual mouse-grey gown, he’d been close to ravishing her on the spot.
The spark in her blue eyes had told him that she’d been aware of his lingering gaze, and Pierce had decided that it would be prudent to walk her home instead of calling for the carriage yet again.
And so, they’d walked through the darkened streets arm in arm, her cloak wrapped protectively around her and her hood pulled deep into her face. They’d not met a single soul on their short way, and Pierce had treasured every little moment of it. He remembered well the soft feel of her hand on his arm, the way she’d leaned into him, the way she’d pulled him into a quick kiss before darting off toward her father’s townhouse and then disappeared inside.
He could have stood out in the dark for hours, imagining her inside, sneaking up the stairs and then slipping into her bedchamber unnoticed. Still, he didn’t dare linger, and so he had reluctantly returned home and called for the Bow Street Runners in order to locate Coleridge’s cousin, Mr. Oscar Ruthledge.
Pierce had barely slept a wink after all that had happened that night and then risen with the sun, his body still tense with waiting, with doing nothing, with standing still. Eventually, he’d found his way down into his study and begun to pace. For how long he’d been doing so, he didn’t know nor did he care to. All he wanted was for the door to open and good news to be delivered.
Hours passed, and Pierce thought he would go mad, his mind picturing Ruthledge dead or disappeared from the face of the earth. What would he do then? All evidence he possessed at the moment was circumstantial, but the testimony of Coleridge’s cousin would change all that.
And then the sound of Albert’s slightly rushed steps echoed to his ears and, within the blink of an eye, Pierce was at the door, almost ripping it off its hinges. “Did they find him?” he demanded the minute Albert came into view.
The old man stilled and, for a moment, Pierce feared the worst. But then a tentative smile tugged at his butler’s lips and he nodded his head.
Pierce’s heart did a somersault, and he fought to keep his hopes from rising too high.
“He’s in the drawing room,” Albert stated, a hint of displeasure crinkling his nose. “I’m afraid he’s not in good shape, my lord.”
Pierce nodded, suspecting that Ruthledge rarely began a day these days without a bottle in his hand. “Bring some coffee,” he ordered as he strode past Albert. “We need to sober him up so that he can tell me what happened that night.” As they stepped into the hall, Pierce stopped and then turned to look at Albert. “And ensure that Daphne does not become aware of anything.”
Albert nodded solemnly. “I’ve already instructed Miss Glass, and she assured me she would keep the girls well occupied.”
Pierce grasped the old man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Albert.”
“Of course, my lord,” his butler replied, a slight hitch in his voice. “I’ll see to everything.”
“I know.” Straightening, Pierce drew in a deep breath, knowing that no matter the resistance Ruthledge would put up, he needed to break the man. Cousin or no, a monster deserved punishment.
And with that thought in mind, Pierce entered the drawing room.
Mr. Oscar Ruthledge was indeed a pitiful sight. His eyes were bloodshot and, even from the doorway, Pierce could detect the stench that wafted off him. His dark blond hair was in dire need of a bar of soap-or several!-and his clothes were so wrinkled, seams ripped here and there, that Pierce could not tell if they were simply old or had suffered some sort of accident.
Still, despite all the adjectives that could be drawn upon to describe Mr. Ruthledge—disheveled, drunk, desolate—the most fitting one was haunted.
“Good evening, Mr. Ruthledge,” Pierce greeted him, then closed the door and walked over to where the man leaned onto the backrest of an armchair. It seemed Mr. Ruthledge could barely stand. Why he didn’t simply seat himself was beyond Pierce.
“Are you the solicitor?” the man demanded with a slight slur. “Your man said this was about an inheritance.”
Pierce chuckled. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” He met Mr. Ruthledge’s unsteady gaze. “This is about your cousin, Lord Coleridge.” All color drained from Mr. Ruthledge’s face. “In fact, it concerns the night the two of you as well as the Lords Amhurst and Kearsley attacked a young family on a road outside London.” Pierce drew in a slow breath, fighting to remain calm. Nothing would be gained if he lost control now. “Do you recall that night, Mr. Ruthledge?”
Staring at Pierce as though he were seeing a ghost, Mr. Ruthledge scrambled backwards as Pierce moved toward him, then he all but stumbled and fell over the chair’s armrest, which landed him square in the seat. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man stammered, his gaze clearing as the shock of Pierce’s words seemed to force the alcohol out of his system. “I don’t recall anything.”
Leaning forward, Pierce braced his hands on the armrests of Mr. Ruthledge’s chair. The stench of the man’s breath was difficult to endure, but Pierce focused his thoughts on the task at hand, forcing himself to temporarily ignore his own discomfort. “Lies will not serve you, Mr. Ruthledge,” he snarled, his gaze hard as he watched the other man squirm. “I know you were there. I know because there was a witness. I know what you did.” His own hands tensed so hard on the armrests that he feared they might snap like kindling.
“I-I did n-nothing,” Mr. Ruthledge stammered, naked fear now clear in his gaze as he leaned back in his chair as far as possible, trying to escape Pierce’s wrath. “Nothing happened. We rode back to London. We got soaked on the road. We encountered not a soul.” The words rang of repetition, of practice, as though Mr. Ruthledge had whispered them to himself over and over again, hoping one day he would believe his own lies.