by Cheryl Holt
“I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will. There has to be a road that will lead me to the life I crave.”
“What life would that be? Are you planning to be a dictatorial spinster who constantly complains about men?”
“We should complain. My brother is the prime example of why! I’d say it’s time for women to speak up.”
Since his own father, the grand and glorious Captain Miles Ralston, had been a philandering roué, Blake couldn’t argue the point. Then there were the irresponsible wastrels who ruined themselves at Caleb’s club. They would blithely imperil their wives and children by wagering until their pockets were empty.
Maybe if women ran the kingdom, it wouldn’t be in such a dire condition.
The instant the peculiar thought slithered by, he tossed it away. As if women should run the world! As if things would be better if they did!
“Do you actually assume that you’re different?” he asked. “Would you ignore the chance to enjoy an amour if it came winging in your direction?”
“I have big dreams, and they don’t include a tedious marriage to a country dolt.”
Blake gave a mock shudder. “Yes, that sounds like a fate worse than death.”
“I shall move to London and have my own apartment. I’ll be acclaimed as a gracious hostess, and every night, I’ll have supper parties that will be attended by the most interesting people in the land.”
It was a sweet idea, but he supposed—before too many more months had passed—her father would announce that he’d selected a fiancé for her. She wouldn’t have a choice in the matter, and the prospect made him sad.
He was glad he wasn’t a female.
She gestured to the manor. “Why don’t you head back? I’m sitting out here because I’m thinking and plotting, and I can’t have you distracting me.”
“Am I distracting you?”
“You know you are. Don’t pretend.”
“I hate your gown and the severe way you’ve pinned your hair.”
“Why would I care about that? Haven’t you been listening? I’m not trying to entice you. If you notice a single one of my stellar traits, I should like it to be my brilliant mind.”
“I’ve never liked smart women—they’re too bossy—so I don’t view feminine intellect as much of a benefit. You’re a beautiful girl. It’s such a waste that you’re working so hard to be plain and ordinary.”
“Real beauty is found on the inside.”
He scowled at her. “Did you read that in a book somewhere?”
“What if I did? The fact that I read it doesn’t make it any less true.”
“I especially hate women who read. When a female constantly sticks her nose in a book, she grows too domineering. A man like me can end up totally emasculated.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are positively deranged, and I can’t fathom why I’m talking to you. You have nothing to say that’s worth hearing. Would you please go away?”
He knew more about women than he probably should. They chased him relentlessly, hoping he’d catch them, and Miss Grey looked absolutely miserable. She was brimming with odd notions, and he couldn’t imagine why her father had allowed her to develop such radical leanings.
If Blake had had a daughter, he’d have been a little more cautious about the reading material brought into the house.
He wondered how much of her diatribe she believed deep down. If a handsome swain swept her off her feet, wouldn’t she succumb? Should he test that theory? She claimed to be modern and independent, but he figured—if push came to shove—she’d jump in with both feet.
Should he give her the opportunity? If he could tantalize her, wouldn’t he be doing her a favor? She needed to be shown that a passionate relationship could be very satisfying. Shouldn’t he prevent her from making idiotic choices that couldn’t be reversed?
“You’re not serious,” he said. “You wax on exhaustively, but I predict—if the right fellow seduced you—you wouldn’t be able to resist. You’ve let a bunch of aged old crones indoctrinate you with nonsense.”
“For your information, the authors I idolize have all been wed, so they’re experts at what they’re writing about. They’re wives, not spinsters, but so what if they were spinsters? It’s not a crime.”
He shifted nearer, using his male body to ease her into the bench. She really was pretty, and it was too bad she was so silly. If he dallied with her, she’d likely talk him to death.
“Let’s bet, Miss Grey.”
“I’m not my brother. I don’t gamble.”
“May I call you Janet?” She frowned, as if it was a trick question, and he said, “You can call me Blake. We’ll be on familiar terms.”
“I’d rather not be.”
“Call me Blake. You know you want to.”
“You’re such a bully.”
“I definitely can be. Now about that bet. . .”
“We’re not wagering!”
He rested a hand on her waist, and he couldn’t help but note that she didn’t pull away and order him to stop being so forward.
“If I begin flirting with you in a dedicated manner,” he told her, “you’ll be delighted by my attention. You’ll revel in it.”
“I would never capitulate in my convictions. I’m too adamant, so you could never persuade me. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”
He leaned even nearer, his lips a hairsbreadth from her own. “What shall we declare to be the prize? If I win, what will you give me?”
She tsked with annoyance. “You’re being absurd.”
“Am I?”
He closed the distance between them and kissed her. It was a quick brush of his mouth to hers. Then he drew away.
They stared, both a tad startled. She—because she hadn’t expected him to be so brazen. He—because it had been much more delicious than he’d anticipated.
Perhaps Miss Janet Grey had a few hidden depths!
She regrouped, her tone scolding. “You can’t just bluster up and kiss me!”
“It’s how adults behave, Janet. Didn’t you know that? If you didn’t, maybe you shouldn’t have developed such strong opinions about men and romance.”
“I didn’t like it!” she claimed.
He laughed. “You little liar. You’re all aflutter, wondering if I might do it again, and I will do it again. I promise. I’ll wait until you’re not looking, so it can be a surprise.”
He stood and gazed down at her, and she appeared young and a bit lost.
“How old are you, Janet?” he asked.
“Twenty. Why?”
“Was that your first kiss?”
There was enough light to see that her cheeks heated. “No! I’ve been kissed dozens of times.”
“Well, then. . . good. It means you’ve learned how.”
He bent down, and he hovered an inch away. There was gladness in her expression, but excitement and nerves too, which was humorous to observe. She was completely off balance.
“Goodnight, Janet,” he whispered, then he straightened and walked away.
He headed toward the manor, and he counted the steps he took—four—until she couldn’t stand it and called to him.
“Ensign Ralston! Why did you do it? Why did you kiss me?”
He halted and glanced at her. “I did it because I knew you’d like it, and we have a bet running, remember?”
“We don’t have a bet!”
“We do,” he said, “and it’s obvious I’m already winning.”
He kept on to the house and went inside. He could feel her watching him the whole way, her eyes like daggers in his back. The next day, he had no doubt she’d be wearing a more fetching gown and her hair wouldn’t be pinned in such a severe style.
When Caleb had invited him to the wedding, he’d thought it would be a dull bore, that he�
�d simply sit in a corner while Caleb gambled with Gregory Grey. But the sojourn might provide some entertainment. He always like to trifle with a pretty girl, and Janet Grey needed his help like nobody’s business. Once he was through with her, who could guess what kind of person he’d leave behind?
He couldn’t wait to find out.
“What do you think of my bride-to-be?”
“I like her,” Caleb said to Gregory, “and she’s much too good for you. You’re lucky she agreed to a betrothal.”
Gregory smirked. “Everyone tells me that.”
“Everyone is correct.”
They were in the front parlor, enjoying a final glass of wine as the party wound down for the night. Gregory wasn’t exactly rushing guests out the door, but he couldn’t completely hide his impatience. He was anxious to get Caleb and his other London friends off by themselves so the real party could begin.
Caleb couldn’t deduce why he was still at Grey’s Corner. He’d visited in order to evaluate the property and determine—should Gregory risk it in a wager—whether it was worth having. It definitely was, but now that he’d met Caro, the notion of taking it from Gregory wasn’t as amusing as it had previously been.
If he let Gregory continue until he was beggared, what would happen to her?
Why didn’t he pack his bags and leave? He and Blake could return to town and spend the remainder of Blake’s furlough together. Sybil would love to have Blake at home for a bit. Why didn’t Caleb oblige her? Why tarry where the situation was so untenable?
The verve required to keep on with Gregory had vanished, but if he departed, he’d never see Caro again, which was a strange problem to have. Why would it matter if he never saw her again? He barely knew her and didn’t intend to develop a bond. Why worry about separating himself from her?
He was worrying though, and he couldn’t stop.
She was prepared to cry off from her engagement, and he hoped she’d have the fortitude to forge ahead, but he felt deep in his bones that it would never come to fruition. If he stayed on though, it might help to imbue her with the courage she needed to follow through.
If his presence was necessary for her to stand up to her uncle, it was a small price for Caleb to pay.
He had another important concern with regard to her. If he quit gambling with Gregory, and locked Gregory out of his club, Gregory would simply start racking up new debts at other clubs.
If he didn’t lose the estate to Caleb, he’d lose it to someone else. Was it better for Caleb to seize it from him? Would Caro be safer that way? He couldn’t decide, and he had no idea why he was dithering over such a ludicrous issue.
“Have I told you Caroline’s secret?” Gregory asked, yanking Caleb out of his reverie.
Gregory was intoxicated to the point of slurring his words, and Caleb couldn’t imagine what he might confide. He sighed with aggravation. “What is her secret? If it’s horrid, please keep it to yourself. I meant it when I said I like her, and I’d rather not hear any awful rumors.”
“It’s not awful,” Gregory claimed. “It’s just incredibly peculiar.”
“What is it?”
“Caroline is one of the Lost Girls.”
“What are you babbling about?”
“You know the ones. They were found on that deserted island in the Caribbean. It’s been twenty years ago, but you can’t have forgotten. Gad, that siren, Libby Carstairs, has the whole city buzzing about it again.”
Nothing surprised Caleb anymore, but this did. He scowled. “Your fiancée is not one of those girls. You’re spewing nonsense.”
Gregory’s sister, Janet, was walking by, and he motioned to her. “Janet, tell Mr. Ralston.”
“Tell him what, Gregory? You’re drunk, and I don’t like to talk to you when you are.”
“He doesn’t believe me about Caroline being a Lost Girl.”
Miss Grey glowered at her brother. “We don’t mention it to strangers, Gregory. You’re aware of that fact, so be silent.”
Caleb frowned at her. “Is it true?”
Miss Grey peered around, as if to be certain there were no eavesdroppers. “We don’t like to remind people about it, Mr. Ralston. It was a terrible ordeal that she suffered as a tiny child. We’ve tried to let it fade into the background, but yes, she’s one of them.”
Gregory puffed himself up. “Told you.”
Caleb was stunned. He ignored Gregory and inquired of Miss Grey, “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, Mr. Ralston, I’m very, very sure. It was a defining event in my family’s life. My uncle and his wife drowned at sea, and my cousin, Caroline—who was only four—somehow survived against all odds. It’s not exactly an incident about which I would be confused.”
“I’m not doubting your veracity. I’m just. . . astonished, I guess.”
“As I said, we don’t mention it, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t raise the topic with her. And don’t gossip about it with the other guests either. If they’re apprised, they’ll pepper her with questions, and the subject is very distressing for her.”
“I understand,” he murmured.
Miss Grey continued on, and Gregory said, “You like my fiancée, but what do you think of her now? She’s a deep dish, Ralston. She has layers you couldn’t fathom in a thousand years.”
“You’re right about that,” he muttered. “Would you excuse me?”
“Where are you going? We’re about to head to the card room.”
“I have to speak to my brother. I’ll join you there in a bit.”
“Don’t dawdle. I’m feeling lucky, and I want to get started.”
Caleb didn’t respond, but hurried off. He was desperate to find Caro, and he searched through the various parlors that were mostly empty. She was probably already in bed, and he knew where her bedchamber was located. Dare he risk seeking her out in it again? He couldn’t avoid it. This discussion couldn’t be delayed.
He went to the front foyer, and as he reached it, Blake was there too. He grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him aside.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Blake said. “What’s wrong?”
“You won’t believe what that fool, Gregory Grey, told me.”
“Yes, I will. He’s an ass, so it might have been any horrendous thing.”
“His fiancée, Caroline, is one of the Mystery Girls of the Caribbean.”
Blake blanched. “Could he have been lying?”
“I figured he was, so I asked his sister, Janet. She insisted it was true, but she begged me not to tell anyone. Apparently, it’s very upsetting to Caroline.”
“A shiver just worked its way down my spine,” Blake said. “What are the odds that we’d finally stumble on one of those girls? What are the odds that it would be here at Grey’s Corner? I don’t like this. Is Fate toying with us for some reason?”
He and Blake had incessantly debated whether to track down the Lost Girls. Especially when Libby Carstairs had begun performing in London. They’d wondered if they shouldn’t arrange an introduction to her.
But would she want to confer with them? Would she recall that it was Caleb’s father who’d rescued her? Would she be delighted to learn about their connection? Or would it have been an embarrassing encounter?
In the end, they hadn’t pursued a meeting, but now, Caroline Grey had been pushed into the middle of their lives. What were they to make of it?
“Have you spoken to her?” Blake asked.
“No. I just heard about it.”
“It’s so late; she’s likely in bed.”
“I’ll look for her for a few minutes,” Caleb said, “in case she’s still up. Would you go to the card room and keep Gregory occupied? I’ll be there shortly.”
“I won’t be able to concentrate. I’m too excited over what her comments might be.”
/> “We’ll corner her tomorrow and spend hours chatting. I’d like to pry out every detail.”
“If she recollects any.”
“I’m sure she does. Libby Carstairs has a successful career from telling stories about it. I’m betting Miss Grey has some interesting tales to tell too.”
Caleb walked off, needing to get away from Blake before his brother realized he could have accompanied Caleb on his hunt for Caro. This was a conversation Caleb intended to have with her in private.
He climbed the stairs and headed for the other wing of the manor where the smaller rooms and unimportant guests were lodged. He hadn’t asked Caro why she was lodged there. Why didn’t she have a bigger suite overlooking the park?
She ran the house and was in charge of the staff, so she had plenty of authority. The servants appeared to like her, and they exhibited the appropriate deference, so he hoped she had chosen the spot and not that her uncle was treating her poorly.
He knocked once, then slipped inside, not pausing to ponder what he’d do if she had a maid tending her. Luckily, she was alone. She’d dressed for bed, so she was wearing a nightgown and naught else. Her glorious black hair was down and brushed out, her arms and toes bare.
The nightgown was white, with purple flowers embroidered along the bodice. It should have appeared virginal and innocent, but it was sewn from a thin fabric that had grown thinner from much laundering. There were two narrow straps across her shoulders, so she was displaying lots of bosom.
He was viewing much more of her than was proper or that should ever have been allowed to a rogue such as himself.
“Mr. Ralston!” she scolded in a whisper. “This is becoming a very bad habit.”
“I had to talk to you about a significant topic.”
“It couldn’t wait until morning?”
“No, it definitely couldn’t wait.”
She grabbed a robe off the chair, and she yanked it on, tying the belt with an angry flourish. Her nerves had flared, and she clutched at the lapels, trying to pull them closer.
He stepped away from the door, and in three quick strides, he was standing next to her. He pressed her against the dresser, their bodies crushed together from chests to shins. She glared up at him like a grouchy governess, but she didn’t draw away.