Chapter 12
Caroline woke in that strange bed alone. She lay still for a long moment after she reached for her husband and found him gone. Cocooned in the soft feather bed, the down comforter covering all but her eyes and her hair, keeping her warm, the cold of morning touched her heart. He had left her.
She heard her mother’s voice in her head, warning her against folly, reminding her of what marriage meant to the men of the South, to the people of the London ton. Marriage was business with them, a bargain made for the exchange of wealth, for the birthing of children. Caroline had known this. Her mother had instructed her of this as soon as her father came home from the war, their finances in ruins and their estate entailed away to a cousin she had never met. Caroline’s sons would inherit from Anthony. Her children would be well cared for all their lives. In exchange, she would keep his house, both in the country and in town, smile at his guests, and teach herself to be content.
Her mother had been content all the years her father had been away at war. Though their own marriage had been a love match, Caroline had known since she was eleven years old that her family was all but ruined by debt, that she would not be able to choose her own husband for love, as some girls did. She had always known she would have to marry to save her family from disgrace.
Now that her marriage had been made, the reality of that choice was her only bedfellow. She feared she and Anthony would be partners in nothing but the act of love, strangers who greeted each other at the breakfast table on the few mornings he deigned to come home at all. She had heard of that kind of marriage all her life. And now it seemed she had one. She shook her head to clear it. Their lovemaking had left her hopeful for better things. And who knew what might come in the years ahead. They might learn to like each other beyond the sheets of their marriage bed. They might even learn to laugh together.
There was a pain over her heart, and she swallowed it down. She was no weak woman to pine for what she could not have. The tenderness she had seen in her husband’s gaze the night before had been more than she had hoped for, but as her mother was fond of saying, she was a woman grown. She must live in the world and accept its realities. The fact that Anthony had made love to her with such sweetness, that he had initiated her into their marriage bed with abandoned sensuality, had nothing to do with the bargain they had struck.
Caroline got out of the bed in one swift move, tossing the covers back. The blood of her innocence marred the sheet. She left it in full view in case he might come back to look at the proof that she was pure, that she had kept her part of their agreement.
She did not think she would be able to stand Tabby’s idle chatter, so she did not call for her to help her dress. Alone, she drew on her traveling gown from the day before and a cloak to go over it, for as cold as it was in her room with the fire lit, it would be much colder outside this early in the morning.
Her husband had left her alone on their wedding night. But Hercules was down in the stables. Though she could not ride out on him, she could go and see him.
Caroline slipped her hand into her portmanteau and found the apple she had hidden in its depths. There were two more tucked away in the same side pocket. Caroline drew on her hood, leaving her golden hair to fall past her shoulders and down her back beneath the cloak. If she was quick and quiet, perhaps no one would see her.
She opened the door to the sitting room where she and her husband had taken their dinner the night before. Anthony was not there. God alone knew where he had gone when he had left her bed. Caroline pushed that thought from her mind. She slipped out of her husband’s rented rooms, leaving the door unlatched behind her. She did not trust herself to find the back stairs, so she went down into the taproom.
A few men slept still by the fire, wrapped in their cloaks. The woman who ran the inn was busy in the kitchen, giving orders to her cook. One girl knelt by the fire, building it up. Caroline moved quickly past when the girl’s back was turned and escaped into the inn yard.
The morning light was gray; the last indigo of the night sky had faded. A glimmer of orange rose from the east, and Caroline smiled to see it. They would be in Shropshire in a few days. Once on her husband’s estate, she would go riding, far from him and the life she was now forced to lead. She would have time to herself in that new place. Nothing brought her as much joy as riding on Hercules across the moors. Shropshire had no moors, but surely there was some wild country there she might enjoy. She might even learn to love her new home with Hercules and Tabby there with her.
Caroline stepped into the stables. Two grooms mucking out the stalls paused to lift their hats before they continued their work. She nodded to them and passed on until she found Hercules. Her great horse was menacing Anthony’s coachman, rolling his eyes and stomping his front hooves in warning.
“Now then, you great bully. Are you frightening my husband’s man?”
At the sight of her, at the sound of her voice, Hercules calmed at once, lowering his head so she might rub the splash of white along his nose. “You must be polite to those who serve you, Hercules. This behavior is ungentlemanly and beneath you.”
She offered the apple then, and her stallion’s lips closed around it, bringing it into his mouth without putting his teeth too near her tender flesh.
Her husband’s coachman stood by, not too close. He seemed to fear her almost as much as he feared her horse.
Caroline smiled at him. “I am Caroline Montague.” She corrected herself. “Lady Ravensbrook now. What is your name?”
“John, my lady.” He had taken off his hat as soon as he had seen her, and now he bowed low to her.
“No need for bowing, John. I am sorry Hercules has given you trouble. He does not like new people or new places.”
“No, my lady, no trouble at all. He is a fine horse.”
She saw John’s hand was wrapped in dirty linen. Hercules had nipped him already.
“We’ll have to see to that bite. I don’t want it turning putrid.”
“No, my lady. I mean, as you say, my lady.”
Caroline turned to Hercules, who had eaten his apple in one bite and was now nuzzling her hair. He had knocked her hood back already.
“You must not bite our John, Hercules. He is my husband’s man, which makes him my man, which makes him yours. Do you understand me?”
Hercules shook himself all over, then pressed close to her again, seeking in her cloak to see if she might have brought him something else.
“I will take that for a yes.” She laid her hand against his neck. She stayed and watched as both Hercules and Achilles were led into the cart in which they would continue their ride south. Achilles was as gentle with John as a lamb, and Hercules, while surly, did not try to bite the coachman again. Caroline petted both horses to reward them for their quiet obedience before she turned back to John. “Come with me into the inn,” she said. “I’ll need to wash your wound.”
“It’s nothing, my lady.”
“I will be the judge of that.”
With one last pat on Hercules’s neck, Caroline led her husband’s coachman out of the stables and into the taproom at the inn. She called for warm water to clean the bite and honey to fight against infection, and dressed his wound herself. “You must keep this dry and clean, John. Have you a wife?”
“Yes, my lady. Marjorie, who cooks for his lordship at Ravensbrook in Shropshire.”
“Very well, then. Have Marjorie apply honey to it twice a day once you are home. And a clean dressing, John. Do you understand me?”
He smiled, his dark brown eyes twinkling. “And you a wife of only one day. You have the way of it already, my lady.”
Caroline laughed at his polite way of calling her a nag as she turned to the stairs. She came back to her sitting room to find breakfast laid out for her, soft bread with butter, fresh cheese and stewed apples, fried eggs and bacon. She sat down and ate, surprised to find herself hungry after all she had supped on the night before. Then she remembered what came a
fter that supper and the color in her cheeks rose. Anthony was still nowhere to be seen.
Tabby stood over her chair, worried as she brought jam and warm toast, kidneys and stewed tomatoes. “My lady, you were gone when I came upstairs,” Tabby said.
“I was in the stables.”
Tabby stood close, misery written on her pretty face. Caroline took her hand. “I’m sorry to cause you concern. Next time, I’ll leave a note.”
“But I can’t read, my lady,” Tabby wailed.
“I will find a tutor for you once we reach Shropshire.”
The girl’s face lit up as with a sunrise.
“Oh, that would be wonderful! May I learn, my lady?”
“Of course, Tabby. You don’t need my permission for that.”
“But you need mine, Wife.”
Anthony stood in the doorway to the outer hall, glowering at her. “Do I?” She tried to keep her voice even, but when his back stiffened, she knew he heard the insolence in her tone her mother had often chided her for. Caroline held his gaze, drinking the last of her tea. Tabby had prepared it just as she liked, with cream and two lumps of sugar.
“Leave us,” Anthony said.
Tabby withdrew, with the teapot in one hand and the toast in the other. Caroline sighed to see her go. She was hoping for one more slice of toast with jam and one more cup before they took to the road. She turned to her husband and saw the anger in his eyes. Her ire rose to match his, but she bit down on it. She would keep her dignity and her temper, no matter what he said.
“Do not be rude to my maid, if you please, my lord. We are adjusting to our new life, and I would rather not have you interfere.”
“Interfere?” Anthony slammed the door behind him so the room shook. “I think you will find that, as your husband, I will interfere with you about a great many things.”
Caroline almost spat out a curse. She swallowed the foul words. “So I see, my lord. I would have thought you might have better things to do than to concern yourself with my household staff.”
“Perhaps once you prove yourself capable of running a household, I will be able to attend to other matters.”
“Why you—”
“After all, what proper wife—a countess, no less— disappears from my bed before dawn to go to the stables alone in her nightgown to see to her horse? Or flirts with my coachman in the taproom of a public inn, or any place else?”
Caroline jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. She pressed her hands onto the table in front of her, trying to hold her temper. She had never known anyone to provoke her as this man did. And she was married to him. If she was not careful, he would do nothing but infuriate her for the rest of her life.
“My lord,” she said. “I did not step out in my nightgown, but in this dress and a cloak. I went to the stables, as any free Englishwoman should be allowed to do. And I did not flirt with your man in a public house but tended his wound that would no doubt have festered, a wound he got taking care of my horse.”
“You are the Countess of Ravensbrook, Caroline. You cannot traipse about in public inn yards, caring for servants.”
“I can, and I will.”
“You will not. You are not free to do as you please. You are my wife.”
“Do you think I need reminding of that fact, my lord?”
“Yes, damn it, you do!”
***
Caroline stood her ground, her eyes never leaving his. The woman clearly had no intention of changing her ways at all.
Anthony crossed the room in two strides and held her upper arms, drawing her close. She did not flinch or look away. He saw a flash of pain on her face and her need to hide it.
He cursed himself silently for a fool. He should not have left her alone that morning. If he had stayed and played out a pleasant fiction of a romantic morning after, there would be no gossip about his countess in an inn yard at York.
When he thought of how any rogue might have come upon her in the stables, his heart almost stopped. The day Anne had run away with Carlyle, she had disappeared while going out to saddle her horse for a sedate ride into the village. She had not come back until a week had passed, her honor in ruins. Their mother, horrified to see the family so disgraced, had died a month later from a failing heart weakened by shame.
Anthony still remembered the days he had spent scouring the countryside, looking for Anne. He had not found her until Carlyle dropped her off at the gate at Ravensbrook House. The bounder had not even bothered to drive her to the door but made her walk the mile up to the house, alone and friendless, not knowing if her family would even take her back again. Anne would never recover, no matter what care the Prince Regent took to preserve her reputation. She was unsullied in the eyes of Society but blamed herself for everything.
Anthony had salvaged Anne’s reputation and tucked her safely away on a small estate in Richmond. He had sworn no woman under his protection, especially not his wife, would ever be indulged so foolishly again. Gently bred women had no idea of what the world was truly like. It did not take a man like Carlyle to ruin a woman’s life. Just one unguarded moment might lead to a kidnapping for ransom, a throat cut, or worse.
As Anthony looked down at his wife, he knew if such evil were to befall her, he would not be able to bear it.
Slowly, he took in the soft brown of her eyes tinged with green, the alabaster of her skin, smooth where it met the silk of her rumpled traveling dress. As angry as he was with her, he wanted her with a desire so strong he could not catch his breath. But he would not indulge that desire. He would tame her with the force of his will. He was not a man to be thwarted, not by a woman who had sworn to obey him.
“Caroline, in London, among civilized people, ladies do not go out in public unless they are fully clothed.”
“You hope to instruct me on manners, my lord?”
“Clearly someone must.”
Caroline did not falter under the heat of his gaze. His hands held her too roughly, and he knew it. But he would begin as he meant to go on. She could not run about with no thought for her safety or for his honor. He would see to that.
She spoke finally after a long silence, contempt for him in her eyes. “I understand that in London things are done differently than they are in Yorkshire. It must be a hardship for you, to be tied to such a wife. But it is a hardship you chose of your own free will. As for me, I will do as I please.”
That challenge was his undoing. As soon as she spoke those simple words, his lips came down on hers.
Chapter 13
Caroline tensed under the onslaught of his mouth and almost flinched away, but her pride would not let her. She would not give in to his unreasonable demands. She was his wife, but she was no man’s servant.
She met his lips with coldness, not opening her mouth under his. His teeth pressed into her lips, as though he would bite her. Anthony did not release her. He kept his mouth over hers as if to punish her, as if by the strength of his will he would force her to do his bidding.
But Caroline did not yield. His lips became gentle, his hands on her arms softening into a caress.
Only then did Caroline try to move away from him. His hands were like steel on her arms, his lips like iron. He would not let her turn away.
Instead, Anthony drew her back into the bedroom, steering her toward the bed where they had spent the night before in so much bliss. She knew then he meant to conquer her another way.
Caroline twisted in his grasp. The suddenness of her movement seemed to catch him off-guard, for Anthony loosened his grip, and she slipped out of his hands. She ran into the sitting room, moving fast toward the door to the corridor beyond, but he was faster, catching the door just as she opened it. He slammed it shut, his arm above her head, trapping her between his body and the dark wood.
“Wife, I will not let you leave me.”
Caroline was breathless, as much from his nearness as from her anger at him. “I fear you forget yourself, my lord.”
“I forget n
othing.”
Anthony’s arms rested on either side of her head as he leaned down to whisper into her ear. The heat of his breath touched her temple and cheek, making her tremble even as her belly started to heat with desire.
“I remember every kiss you gave me last night, Caroline. I remember every sound you made as you writhed beneath me. I remember how you called my name. I will never be able to forget.”
He ran his lips down her temple to her jaw, his hands still holding the door closed behind her. She leaned back against the heavy walnut, her knees liquid. His mouth moved over hers as he kissed her again, holding her still with nothing but his body on hers, and his lips on her skin. Caroline almost lost herself in his kiss that time but was brought back to her senses by the sound of the bolt sliding home.
She ordered herself to push him away, to free herself, but he held her with just his lips on hers. Her knees were as weak as they had been a moment before, and she made a small sound of acquiescence in the back of her throat, a little moan of pleasure as his hands rose to cup her breasts. She leaned into his touch, following the warmth of his hands. The hard planes of his body pressed her against the door, so she felt the smooth wood on her back.
Anthony’s lips were on her throat then, teasing her as he unfastened his breeches. Caroline lowered her hands to help him, but he brushed her fingertips away. His lips and free hand were everywhere at once, on her cheek, on her throat, on her hair, on her breast. He raised the skirt of her gown, and heat coursed between her legs as it had the night before. He held her immobile, his lips on hers, plying her with kisses even as he readied himself to enter her.
“Anthony,” she gasped.
“I must have you, Caroline. Let me have you.”
His voice shook with need, and her throat closed with her own desire. She had not known that lovemaking could be like this, so hard and fast. But she found, as his lips traveled over her throat, as he waited for her answer, that she liked it.
How to Tame a Willful Wife Page 8