by Wolf, Bree
Caroline frowned. Had he just called her a caterpillar?
A snort rose in her throat, and she barely managed to force it back down. Pierce had always called her his little mouse, and although she’d first taken affront, she now saw it as the most endearing name anyone had ever called her.
Her mother smiled graciously. “You’re too kind, my lord,” she beamed, casting a warm glance at Caroline.
Caroline could have groaned. If only they knew!
Curses and insults drifted into her mind as she stared at the man before her, her blood boiling with the need to slap him, to yell into his face, to claw his eyes out. After all he had done, after all he had done to others, to poor little Daphne and her parents, he had the audacity to stand here in front of her and smile as though his heart knew nothing but kindness.
“Is something wrong, my dear Miss Hawkins?” Coleridge asked, a slight frown coming to his brows. “You look a tad upset.”
That certainly had to have been the understatement of the century!
“Oh, you’re mistaken, my lord,” Caroline’s mother chimed in. “She’s merely overcome by your kind words. In fact, she confessed to us only this morning that she has an answer to give you.” Almost bouncing in her shoes, her mother exchanged a look with her father, who looked equally giddy with glee.
Lord Coleridge’s smile deepened, like that of a wolf certain to have a sheep cornered. “Is that so, my dear?”
Caroline felt utterly tempted to plant her fist in his smug face. Instead, she smiled at him and took a slow step forward, aware of how his eyes followed her, their green bright and brilliant with imminent triumph. Then she parted her lips, looked him straight in the eyes and said, “No, my lord. That is my answer.” Her smile deepened as his fell. “Not even if you were the last man on earth.”
Behind her, Caroline could hear her mother gasp for breath and her father mumble something rather unintelligible. A part of her felt guilty for putting her parents through this but, in that moment, she could not focus on her parents’ aspirations.
Her eyes shifted beyond Coleridge’s shoulder to where Pierce stood watching them, a look of deep urgency and forced restraint on his worried face. Then she met Coleridge’s confused gaze. “What did you do?” she hissed, and to her surprise, he seemed for once lost for words.
“Pardon me?” he croaked as anger slowly began to lace his words. Turning to follow her gaze, he saw Pierce and then quickly moved to face her once more, a look of suspicion distorting his face.
“What did you do?” Caroline demanded yet again. “You did something! I know you did!”
Lord Coleridge swallowed hard, and for the first time since she’d made his acquaintance, the man looked worried.
Chapter Forty-Four
A Threatening Accusation
Pierce wanted nothing more than to stride across the room, shove Coleridge out of his way and take Caroline away from this place. That, however, would cause a scene, and he had no intention of ruining Caroline’s moment. She had worked too hard to become the woman she was, and she deserved to shine like the jewel she was. Besides, she was not in any danger.
She was strong and fearless and he knew she could handle Coleridge.
At least, in a crowded ballroom.
All this would be over soon.
And so, instead, he watched as his little mouse stood up to the vilest monster he’d ever encountered in all his years. She was magnificent. Her nostrils flared with fury, and her eyes shot daggers. She stood tall, advancing on the man with a deadly smile. He noticed Coleridge swallow hard, concern slowly etching itself into his eyes.
Pierce’s gaze narrowed. What was going on? What was Caroline saying to the man?
At first, he’d thought her parents might have put her on the spot, forcing her to refuse Coleridge’s marriage proposal here and now. Still, the look in her eyes spoke of something else, and the way Coleridge’s lips thinned in distaste while his throat worked almost convulsively suggested that Caroline had just thwarted his plans—whatever they were.
Unable to keep his distance, Pierce made to approach with cautious steps when a shrill voice suddenly called out, “There he is! Seize him! He’s stolen my necklace!”
Never in a thousand years would Pierce have thought that the incensed voice had been speaking about him. However, the moment it echoed through the ballroom, Caroline’s gaze snapped to him, her eyes wide with shock before a sense of understanding registered on her face.
For a long moment, she simply looked at him and then her eyes narrowed and returned to Coleridge. Hissed words left her mouth, and Pierce finally turned to look over his shoulder.
An elderly matron was storming toward him, two burly footmen at her side as she pointed an accusing finger at him. It would seem the woman had come prepared. For what, remained to be seen.
Their host, Lord Hawthorne, stepped forward, utter incredulity on his face as he addressed the woman, asking what the problem was.
The matron huffed under her breath. “He took my necklace! It’s a family heirloom!”
“Now?” Lord Hawthorne asked, glancing at Pierce.
The lady looked ready to swat him with her fan. “Of course, not now! Last night, after the …on my way home, a masked man clad in black came upon me in my carriage. He held a pistol on my driver and demanded that I hand over my jewels.”
Pierce tensed, loath to admit that he had no clue what was going on. Certainly, what the woman described was his method of acquiring funds for those in need. However, he had not been out on the road the night before, at least not as his masked self. Then who had? And why was this woman so certain it had been him? Had someone discovered the truth about him and his nightly activities?
Pierce’s gaze swerved back to Coleridge, a smug smile now rested on his vile features, while Caroline looked ready to throttle him, her cheeks glowing a furious red.
Coleridge then! Pierce thought. But how?
“Lord Markham,” Lord Hawthorne said carefully. “Would you like to comment?”
Clearing his throat, Pierce stepped forward and graciously nodded to the lady eyeing him like a bug she wished to squash under her shoe. “I’m deeply sorry to hear you’ve suffered such an unfortunate incident. However, the man who robbed you was not me.” He glanced at Hawthorne. “Why would you believe so?”
The lady glared at him. “Because,” she began, then turned and addressed Lord Hawthorne as though Pierce were not worthy of her attention, “as he remounted his horse, he smiled to himself and I distinctly remember,” she held up her forefinger for emphasis, “that he chuckled, saying ‘The Black Baron strikes again.’” Her eyes swerved to meet Pierce’s. “Is that not what people call you? Are you not the Black Baron? Can you truly deny it?”
Pierce shrugged, trying his best to remain calm. “I do not deny that I’ve heard others call me by that name,” he replied, then smiled as though he truly did not have a care in the world, “mostly behind my back.”
An amused murmur went through the crowd.
“However, I was not the one to rob you last night,” Pierce continued, holding up his hands as a sign of innocence. “I swear it. I would never dream of taking something so precious from you, my lady.”
The matron grunted under her breath as she swatted her closed fan against her open palm.
“Perhaps if you inform us of your whereabouts the night before, Lord Markham,” Lord Hawthorne suggested diplomatically, “it will convince everyone here that you are not to blame for this heinous crime against a treasured member of the peerage.”
The lady cast Lord Hawthorne an appreciative look at hearing him speak of her thus.
“Very well.” Pierce nodded to his host, grateful for the man’s calm authority. “Last night, I attended the Whitherton masquerade.”
Lord Hawthorne nodded, then turned placating eyes toward Pierce’s accuser. Before he could say a word, Coleridge strode forward, all but elbowing his way into the small circle in the middle of the crowd. “As it was a mas
querade, I cannot help but wonder,” he said, feigned concern on his face as he glanced at the elderly woman, “if there is anyone here who can verify his presence there.” He looked around the assembled guests.
Pierce cleared his throat and did the same. Unfortunately, he did not spot Mr. Caswell anywhere. Neither did he see Charlaine. Where on earth had those two gone? “Mr. Caswell, Lord Pembroke’s brother, accompanied me last night. I’m certain he will—”
“And at no point of that night did you part ways?” Coleridge interrupted, an annoyingly pleased look in his eyes that made Pierce want to punch him.
Gritting his teeth, Pierce felt his hands ball into fists. “Of course, we did. But there were others who saw me.”
“With a mask on your face no doubt,” Coleridge pointed out eagerly. “How is anyone to know who was there and who was not? Would it not be simpler if you would allow us to search your home? Your person? For instance, I suggest you empty your pockets right here in front of us so as to alleviate Lady Brockton’s accusations.”
Pierce’s gaze narrowed and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the lady’s precious necklace was somewhere on his person, planted by the man currently looking at him with a look of restrained triumph.
“Your pocket for instance,” Coleridge prodded, pointing to the right one, “what is in it?”
Pierce glared at the man, then slid his hand into his pocket, knowing he didn’t have much of a choice as the crowd watched him with eager eyes. “You seem to know precisely where to find the lady’s heirloom. I cannot help but wonder why that is?”
Coleridge merely shrugged, but Pierce could see the excitement in his cold gaze. It would seem the man had put a plan of his own into action. Had he suspected Pierce of gathering evidence against him? Had he done this as a preemptive strike in order to discredit Pierce?
Glancing up at Caroline’s furious face, Pierce prayed that she did not believe a word spoken here that night. Still, there was no way he could think of thwarting Coleridge’s plan, not without ruining Caroline.
And that, he would never do.
As expected, as his fingers neared the bottom of his pocket, their tips touched upon a cool metal chain as well as a large, smooth jewel. With a tense glare at Coleridge, he pulled it out for all to see, and a shocked murmur went through the crowd.
Lady Brockton turned a dark shade of angry red, and her forefinger once more rose in an accusatory fashion. “That’s my necklace!” Surging forward, she snapped it from his grasp.
“But I didn’t steal it!” Pierce stressed, then looked from the agitated lady to Hawthorne. “Someone must have planted this necklace on me in order to frame me for this crime.” His gaze moved to Coleridge. “I suspect it was you,” he said loud and clear, “as you seemed to know even better than me where to find it.”
Coleridge laughed. “That’s preposterous. All I meant to accomplish by suggesting you empty your pockets was to prove your innocence.” He sighed rather theatrically as though the outcome had truly surprised and saddened him. “It pains me to see that a member of the peerage is capable of such a heinous deed. Lady Brockton, you have my full sympathies.”
“It wasn’t me,” Pierce gritted out, not knowing what else to say. He had no proof, only his word, and judging from the accusatory stares of those crowding around him, it wasn’t worth much at the moment.
“That is easy to say,” Coleridge hastened to exclaim. “However, I’m afraid the evidence is too damning. So unless there is someone here who can verify your whereabouts last night, there is nothing—”
“I can verify his whereabouts.”
At the sound of Caroline’s voice, clear and strong, Pierce closed his eyes, touched that she would sacrifice herself to save him, knowing that after tonight her life would be in ruins.
Chapter Forty-Five
A Fearless Woman
Caroline barely noticed the words slipping from her lips. She had not meant to say them, but neither did she regret that they had been spoken. Her parents, of course, were of a different opinion, and out of the corners of her eyes, Caroline saw them turn pale, reaching out a hand to the other to steady themselves as the shock of her revelation slammed into them.
“I can verify his whereabouts,” she repeated as her feet carried her forward, her eyes fixed on Pierce, standing tall to defend himself as Coleridge circled him like a rabid dog. She had noticed the faces of the crowd change from shock to anger to outrage, the look in their eyes damning, their minds made up by the evidence presented to them. Now, however, she saw jaws drop and eyes widening. She heard hushed whispers and felt accusing stares.
Never had the world noticed her and, now, no one would ever forget her name. In an odd way, Caroline could not help but feel proud, and a small smile curved her lips as she stepped up to Pierce’s side.
This was her choice.
Her moment.
And she would do what she deemed right.
“Miss Hawkins?” Lady Brockton whispered almost breathlessly, the look in her pale eyes one of sheer incredulity.
Caroline drew in a slow breath, then looked back at Pierce, his eyes dark and apologetic as he moved to her side. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he whispered low enough only for her to hear. “You don’t. Simply take back—”
“No,” Caroline cut him off, then turned to Lord Hawthorne, giving Coleridge a sideways glance that made him flinch. “My lord, I can verify Lord Markham’s whereabouts. He was indeed at the masquerade last night.”
Lord Hawthorne paled slightly, obviously uncomfortable with her story. “Are you certain, Miss?” His gaze was kind, and Caroline knew that he was trying to give her a way out, a way to save herself by recanting.
“How would you know?” Coleridge demanded before Caroline could say another word, a vile sneer contorting his otherwise handsome features. “You only seek to protect him. However, your lies—”
“I’m not lying!” Caroline snapped at him. “I know because I was there.” Her gaze moved around the crowd, certain that most of them had attended last night’s event as well. “I was the lady in red with the pearl mask.” Gasps echoed around the room, confirming Caroline’s suspicions. “I’m certain that those who attended will remember me.” Her gaze moved to Lady Brockton and, for a long moment, the two women looked at one another.
Long ago, Caroline had managed to gain the matron’s approval, and so Lady Brockton had invited her into her inner circle, thus unknowingly given her the opportunity to influence influential ladies of the ton in order to aid those who needed her help. Never had Lady Brockton had reason to think less of Caroline, and now here they stood, both facing secrets they’d thought would never be revealed.
After all, Lady Brockton had been at the masquerade as well, her face hidden behind a feathery, blue mask. Would she condemn Caroline now? Or would she recognize her as a kindred spirit?
Holding her breath, Caroline looked at the other woman, knowing her words would carry more weight than anyone else’s. She could only hope—
A small smile teased the woman’s lips before she nodded her head. “It would seem I was mistaken,” she stated in a tone that allowed for no argument. “Lord Markham, please accept my apologies.”
“What?” Coleridge snapped, his face turning red as he stared at Lady Brockton. Then his eyes moved to Caroline, hatred burning in their depths before he suddenly charged toward her. “You!”
Caroline flinched, but Pierce immediately stepped in Coleridge’s path, felling the man with a well-aimed punch to the jaw. Coleridge went down like a ton of bricks, a groan of pain wrenched from his lips.
The crowd went still, then broke out laughing.
Holding his face, Coleridge staggered back to his feet, his eyes shooting daggers at the crowd around him, now eyeing him with pity and disdain. His attention, however, returned to Caroline, singling her out as the target of his wrath, understandable considering that without her interference his vile plan might have succeeded. “You lying—”
“I wasn’t lying!” Caroline snapped back. “I saw you slip Lady Brockton’s necklace into Lord Markham’s pocket only moments ago. How else could you have known it was there?” Her brows rose in challenge as she glared at the man who had thus far always shown impeccable composure.
Not tonight though.
“Why should we believe anything you say?” he growled, rubbing his chin. “You’ve just admitted to spending the night at a scandalous masquerade with a man who’s not your husband.”
“I may not be her husband,” Pierce stated loud and clear as he reached for Caroline’s hand, gently slipping it through the crook of his arm. His gaze, however, remained hard and unyielding as he glared at Coleridge. “Not yet, at least, but she is my fiancée.”
The crowd gasped, and Coleridge’s jaw dropped.
Caroline felt her heart jar to a halt and her breath lodge in her throat. Had she heard him correctly? Had he just—?
And then his dark eyes were on hers, a soft smile playing on his lips as his other hand moved to cover hers ever so gently. “If you’ll have me,” he whispered, his voice trembling as though he truly feared she would reject him.
Caroline blinked back tears. “You don’t…you don’t have to do this,” she whispered, aware of the crowd around them, their ears no doubt straining to hear what was being spoken. “It was my choice. You don’t have to do this.”
His smile deepened, warm and loving, and Caroline felt her insides melt. “I’m not doing this because I have to,” he murmured. “I’m doing this because I want to.” He swallowed, and his gaze intensified as it lingered on hers. “I want you, you and no other. I have for a while.” He exhaled slowly before his hand moved from hers and his fingers gently grasped her chin. “I should have told you this a long time ago.” He shrugged. “I love you, little mouse. I have since that first night you caught me off guard.”
A deep smile came to his face, and Caroline could not help but smile with him as joy hummed through her body. “I love you, too,” she finally told him, surprised how effortlessly the words tumbled from her lips.