She turned her back to him, still in that half-aroused state where relief that he would not be bedding her battled with frustration.
Her sensitised nerves felt every small tug and touch of his fingers as he loosened the ties of her gown, then the laces of her stays. There were too many layers of clothing, she thought, yearning for just one touch of his hands against her bare skin.
Then, when she thought he’d complete the process without it, he smoothed his hands from the nape of her neck to the edge of her bodice, loosened the material of gown, stays and shift, and pulled it away from her skin. As if he, too, could not end the night without making a small beginning on exploring her body, he slipped his fingers under the loosened garments and slowly stroked the flesh beneath.
She froze, closing her eyes, every bit of awareness focused upon the delicious friction between the slightly rough pads of his fingers and her bare skin. Oh, that he might continue stroking her, working from the back of her gown to the front, where his questing fingers might explore the swell of her breasts, discover the nipples peaked and aching!
For a few thrilling moments, it seemed he might, as he caressed his fingers slowly from the back of the gown around to her shoulders. But he halted there, thumbs resting on her bared collarbones as he pulled her against him and nestled his chin in her hair.
After cradling her a moment, he released her and stepped away. ‘I’d better stop now,’ he said, his voice sounding strained. ‘Can you manage from here?’
‘Y-yes, I think so,’ she stuttered.
‘Goodnight, then. Sleep well.’
He gave her a little push towards the bedchamber, then closed the door behind her.
In a gradually fading sensual haze, she removed her gown, shift and stays, drew on the night rail and climbed into the mammoth bed. The chill of the linens against her body finally extinguished the last of her fevered tension.
‘Sleep well,’ Max had advised. As Caro pondered the power of her response to him this night, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep at all.
Even now, thinking about kissing him brought her senses simmering back to life. When she reviewed her behaviour since arriving at the hotel, she had to suppress an hysterical laugh. After dithering in a missish quandary between desire and dismay, she’d fallen into his hands like a ripe fruit after one simple kiss.
She’d been right to fear the potent effect he had on her. They’d been wed barely half a day, and if he’d made any move to join her in the big bed she’d not have repulsed him. Indeed, before stumbling into the room, she’d come very close to inviting him.
It didn’t do any good to remind herself that though he liked her, he wasn’t in love with her; that she’d given him full freedom to pursue other women, a freedom he would almost certainly exercise at some point.
She still wanted him and burned for his touch.
Even reminding herself that giving in to the craving he elicited so easily would surely lead to her conceiving a child and testing the power of the Curse didn’t lessen his hold over her—at least, not while he was touching her.
And he was so clever, drat him. If he’d cajoled or tried to coerce her, it would have been much easier to resist him. Instead, he’d promised never to hurt her...and let her desires set the pace of their intimacy.
She remembered the thrill of exploring his face, his lips, the wicked taste of his mouth, and groaned. At this rate, she was going to be dragging him to bed within a week of their return to Denby.
The danger was not just his physical appeal, devastating though that was. Their outings together this week as they prepared for the wedding had shown him to be not just kind and thoughtful, but clever, insightful and amusing. She liked being with him and could all too easily imagine coming to depend on his presence. Missing him when he went away, as he surely must.
She didn’t want to end up like her cousin Elizabeth, pining away for the husband who’d beguiled and then abandoned her. Not that Max would treat her so shabbily, but it would never do to let herself grow too fond of a man who would probably never see her as more than a pleasant companion.
Sighing, she punched the pillow and turned over. There was still so much work left to achieve the dreams she and her father had had for the stud. War had put a temporary end to negotiations with the Italian owners from whom they had purchased Arabians in the past, but with matters on the Continent stabilising after the final defeat and exile of Napoleon, she could renew the correspondence. Visit Ireland to choose the necessary mares, then begin the complicated and delicate process of breeding the right dams to the correct sires and cross-breeding the offspring into the bloodlines they’d already established.
By that point, the stud would be established enough to turn over to another manager, if necessary. Her father had estimated it would take several years to reach that stage.
How was she going to resist Max long enough?
Despite her need to resolve that dilemma, the exhaustion of the last few weeks began to gather her in its grip. But before sleep pulled her under, she concluded her best hope was to allow Max to escort her to Denby Lodge and introduce him to the neighbourhood, as he seemed to want. Then, before her senses triumphed over good sense, she must persuade him to leave.
Chapter Eighteen
Three weeks later, Max stood at the rails of a paddock at Denby Lodge, watching Caro work with a young gelding. Though he came here every day, he didn’t think he’d ever tire of observing the expertise and finesse with which she coaxed, enticed and commanded the young animal to do as she bid.
As soon as she had finished working the gelding, they were to take their daily ride, during which she showed him around the estate and he encouraged her to talk about her horses. Having spent most of his boyhood away at school, he was discovering he genuinely enjoyed the simple routines of country life and learning how she had helped Sir Martin establish the stud.
She stretched a hand out, coaxing the horse—a movement that pulled the fabric of her jacket taut enough to outline her breasts. His breath hitched and his body tightened.
He’d always thought her lovely, even in the breeches and boots, which, with a semi-defiant glance at him, she’d resumed wearing after arriving home. But here on her own land, among the horses she loved, she positively glowed with determination and purpose.
She was driving him crazy. A lithe, unconsciously sensual grace filled her every move. The enthusiasm and passion with which she attacked every aspect of her work, which brought a becoming flush to her face and a dynamic energy to her actions, kept him continually aroused. So far, he hadn’t broken his promise to take only what she was willing to give, but keeping it was about to kill him.
Just thinking about that kiss on their wedding night made his pulse jump and his member harden. He’d suspected from the first that she possessed a highly passionate nature; he’d been looking forward to awakening it. But all the passion he could wish for had been present in her very first kiss which, making up in ingenuity and enthusiasm what it lacked in expertise, had nearly brought him to his knees with frustrated desire.
After closing the door to her bedchamber on their wedding night, he’d damn near had to warn her to lock it, fearing he might lose the battle to keep himself from slipping in later. Caressing her, while she was compliant and drowsy with sleep, into the acquiescence he sensed waited just below the surface.
With so promising a beginning, he’d hoped that after returning home to her beloved stables and familiar routine, she might come to him within a day or so. But though he believed she no longer feared him, he still hadn’t managed to beguile her into crossing that final barrier and inviting him to her bed.
And so, although he had initially intended to remain at Denby Lodge only long enough to see her settled and meet her friends and neighbours, he found himself lingering, hoping each day might bring the moment when she finally gave herself up to the passion that always simmered between them. How he longed to show her the richness and joy physical uni
on could add to the growing friendship they already shared!
She seemed more relaxed and approachable on their daily rides, sometimes giving him kisses or permitting touches she shied away from at the manor. Innocent that she was, perhaps she believed the possibility of being discovered by some farmer or woodsman and the lack of a proper bed kept her safer from seduction.
His lips curved in a grin. He’d love to demonstrate what could be accomplished with the aid of a saddle blanket under the concealing canopy of an accommodating stand of oak.
Maybe today?
At that moment, a groom trotted over to her. After turning the gelding’s reins over to him, Caro walked to the fence.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ she said with an apologetic smile as she climbed over the rails to join him. ‘I’m making such rapid progress now with Sherehadeen, I’m afraid I lose track of time.’
‘I enjoy watching you. It’s a true gift, the knack you have for working with horses.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s more experience than gift,’ she replied modestly—which Max didn’t believe for an instant. ‘Anyone could do so, with the proper training.’
‘Maybe you could show me, then.’
Surprise widened her eyes. ‘It’s such a slow process, I didn’t think you would be interested. But if you’d like to learn, I’d be happy to show you.’
‘I would like it,’ he said, catching up her hand and kissing her fingers. How I wish I might learn the right touch to use with you, he thought, watching her eyelashes flicker briefly, as if savouring the contact. How he burned to make her feel more intensely, so intensely she’d be propelled beyond caution into a passion that would not be denied.
‘Where are we to ride today?’ he asked as he gave her a leg up, letting his hands linger as long as he dared.
‘Another place that’s very special to me. I used to visit there almost daily, but I...I haven’t been back for a while.’
‘Then it shall be special to me, too.’
She raised her eyebrows, as if she didn’t trust his words. But though he’d never been above making pretty speeches to gratify a lady, he found he didn’t even attempt to flatter Caro. She was so straightforward herself, it seemed...dishonest, somehow, to offer her Spanish coin. Somewhat to his own surprise, he found that whatever avowals of interest, support or affection he offered were absolutely sincere.
As they walked the horses side by side, Caro said, ‘I did appreciate your treating me as “special” at Squire Johnson’s dinner party last night. In fact, I must commend you for playing “the devoted husband” on all our neighbourhood visits with the same perfection you bring to the role of “haughty earl’s son”.’ She chuckled. ‘Thereby astounding several matrons who were certain you could never have seen anything appealing about Caro Denby beyond her enormous dowry.’
He found himself irritated with her. ‘That’s not true, Caro, and you know it. Why do you so underrate your many excellent qualities?’
‘Oh, I don’t underrate my talents. But you must allow even Stepmama despaired of me and she holds me in great affection! The skills I do have are not those generally possessed by females or esteemed by such arbiters of behaviour as Lady Winston and Mrs Johnson. Who were both astounded, I’m sure, when you repulsed Lady Millicent’s attempts to partner you at cards.’
‘With my bride garbed in a gown as lovely as that golden dress you wore last night, why would I wish to look at anyone else?’
‘Perhaps because she was so intent on trying to seduce you?’
Max groaned, feeling almost...guilty that Caro had noticed the widow’s none-too-subtle efforts. He’d been saddled with Lady Millicent, the highest-ranking female in the neighbourhood, as a dinner partner, and she’d taken every opportunity during the meal to brush his elbow, touch his hand or bend low over the table to give him a good view of her assets.
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘Probably. To me, anyway.’
‘In my younger days, I might have found her attentions flattering.’ And in his frustration right after Waterloo, he might have taken her up on her offer. ‘But though she’s handsome enough, I thought her casting out lures right under the nose of my wife to be quite distasteful. I didn’t wish to cause ill feeling in the neighbourhood, but I had a difficult time rebuffing her advances with even a show of courtesy.’
Caro looked down at her hands on the reins. ‘I’m glad you rebuffed her,’ she said gruffly, ‘even though I have no right to ask it.’
‘You have every right, Caro. You’re my wife. It would be shockingly bad conduct for me to embarrass you in front of your neighbours by loping off like a hound on a scent after a woman whose pedigree is far more elevated than her
morals.’ He grinned. ‘I far prefer loping off after you.’
She looked back up, her eyes mischievous. ‘Should I interpret that as a challenge?’
‘Do you want it to be?’
‘Very well, race you to the fence at the end of the meadow.’
Before the last of her words reached his ear, she’d kicked her mount to a gallop. He set off after her, loving the rush of wind in his face, the thrill of the chase surging in his blood.
It had been like this since their wedding night, she leading him, he pursuing. Like every day and night since, she reached the end of meadow just ahead of him. But soon, they would reach it together, he vowed.
He was about to applaud her victory, but as they rounded the crest of a small hill near a stone-walled enclosure, she suddenly dismounted, her face solemn. Above the wall, its edges draped by the forlorn, still-leafless branches of a rambling rose, he saw the tops of several gravestones.
Her gaze already focused on the graveyard, she paced slowly forwards. Unwilling to break the silence, Max reined in and jumped down, walking beside her to the gate, where they turned the horses free to graze. He followed her to a pair of marble tombstones whose carvings read Sir Martin Denby, dead the previous year, and Lady Denby, beloved wife, deceased some twenty-five years previous.
When Caro knelt by her father’s gravestone, he went to his knees beside her. To his surprise, she reached over to take his hand. He wrapped it tightly in his own.
‘I used to come here often when I was a girl,’ she said softly. ‘Mama died giving birth to me, so I always wondered what she’d been like. A portrait of her hung in Papa’s room, but he never visited her here. Not until after his death did I understand why. Riding the farm, working with the horses, sometimes it seems like he’s just away on a trip, maybe in Ireland looking at breeding stock. But coming here, seeing the date on that stone, I can’t escape the fact that he is
really gone.’
Tears tracked down her cheeks. Knowing how rarely she wept, sadness filled him for her grief. ‘I’m so sorry, Caro. Lady Denby told me how close you were. Losing him must have been so difficult.’
‘Stepmama is wonderful, but we’re as different as...as these old boots and a pair of satin slippers. Papa and I understood each other, knew what the other was thinking and feeling without a need for words. He was...everything to me. Father. Teacher. Adviser. Friend.’
She looked over at him. ‘This is the first time I’ve been able to bring myself to visit since...since he joined Mama here. Thank you for coming with me.’
He raised the hand she’d given him and kissed it. ‘You’re not alone any more, Caro. You have me now.’
Two new tears welled up, sheening her eyes. ‘Do I?’
She did, he thought, suddenly recognising that truth. He’d pledged his faith to her the day they had exchanged their wedding vows, but after sharing her life every day for almost a month, he felt that commitment to her on some deeper level. Before he could assure her of that, she rose and turned to walk out.
As he followed, she asked, ‘Were you ever close to your father? Even if you were not, it must have been difficult to face his disapproval.’
Mention of his father called up that familiar acid blend of anger, bitt
erness, pain and regret. ‘Yes, it’s hard to accept he considers me a disappointment when, my whole life it seems, I wanted only to earn his attention and approval. I was the second son, not the heir, not the one who received whatever interest he could spare from his public life.’
Remembering, Max smiled faintly. ‘I used to wait for his occasional visits at home or school with as much fear and anticipation as if he were the king himself. When I left the army, I was thrilled and honoured that my contribution in the diplomatic corps might assist his work in the Lords. But after Vienna, when I became the subject of rumour and speculation he considered damaging to his efforts, I was banished.’
‘What...what did happen in Vienna?’ When he looked up sharply, she said, ‘I don’t mean to pry! But I cannot believe you would do anything dishonourable.’
Warmth filled him at her avowal. ‘Thank you. Even without knowing the circumstances, you’ve shown more faith in me than my father.’
She smiled. ‘We’ve already established his conduct left much to be desired. But you needn’t tell me if you don’t wish to.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Somewhat to his surprise, he realised that was the truth. He’d fobbed off the curious who’d enquired after he’d been sent home, sharing the facts only with Alastair and his aunt, but he knew Caro would listen carefully and return an honest opinion, rather than mouth useless platitudes.
Leaning against the stone wall, watching their mounts grazing in the distance, he said, ‘Going to Vienna as aide-de-camp to Lord Wellington was a great opportunity. Even beyond the chance to assist a great man and do some small bit for my country, it was fascinating to be part of such a brilliant assembly of statesmen and diplomats.’
‘I can well imagine!’
‘Shortly after we arrived, I made the acquaintance of
Madame Lefevre, widowed cousin of one of the French diplomats, whom she served as a sort of housekeeper and hostess. Many of the delegates, after Napoleon’s devastation of Europe, despised the French and would have nothing to do with them. But I had to sympathise with the difficult task faced by Prince Talleyrand and his staff, trying to keep the country they loved from being dismembered and punished after all those years of war.’
The Rake to Ruin Her Page 17