She swatted him and pulled back, laughing. “That tickles.” Their eyes met, hers smiling and teary, as her laughter turned to a whisper. “You shouldn’t be glad I worried.”
He didn’t have the fight to argue or tease. He didn’t have the fight to keep from doing what he so desperately wanted to do. “Kiss me, Caroline,” he said against her lips. “Kiss me and know that I am only alive because of you.”
She hiccupped a sob, tears threatening to spill, and stood on her tiptoes to offer him her lips, eyes squeezed shut. His courageous, impulsive, brave Caroline, offering the kiss of a shy schoolgirl. He bit back a chuckle, bracketed her face in his hands and nudged her nose with his until she opened her eyes.
“Cara.”
She chuckled, her shove insincere. “Caroline, your grace. You should, at the least, get my name correct.”
“Cara,” he whispered into her ear, “When we go to Italy, you will understand.”
She shivered. A good sign?
“Look at me, Cara, my love.”
He kissed each of her lips, he kissed the corners of her mouth, he kissed the tip of her nose before brushing her lips with his. “You.” He kissed her lips once. “Were meant.” He kissed them again. “For me.” This time, in small increments, he revealed his hunger, his need, mouth to mouth, his hands holding her face to his.
She started to slide her hands up, around his neck, but stopped abruptly and pulled her right arm back with a small moan.
“Oh my Cara, you are hurt.” He let go of her face and reached down to lift her into his arms. “Let me hold you.” He meant to say, “instead of you holding me,” but he was kissing her again as he carried her to sit on his lap on the chair she’d abandoned. The safest place. He’d not ravage her, as he wanted to do, in the chair.
They sat, him cradling her in his lap, her head on his chest. More comfort than he’d ever imagined, experienced. He’d just hold her, keep her close, keep her safe, for a moment. Then he would let her go.
He had to let her go.
After all, it was what she wanted, and she’d saved his life. He owed her that much.
***
He was asleep. One moment he was holding her close and the next he was asleep.
The chair was not a comfortable place to rest, as she well knew, but how to move him? Even if her arm had not been injured, she never would have been able to carry him as he’d carried her.
She slipped off his lap, considering her dilemma. No point in trying to rouse him. He was beyond waking. She went about the room, doing all those little things one did before shutting a room for the night. She banked the fire, and then, before blowing out the candles, she opened one drape to a soft gray morning. Once the candles were extinguished, she stood before her sleeping husband.
Yes, her husband, if he still wanted her. Summerton had enough problems without her disrupting the balance of his life.
He’d taken her breath away, quite literally, from the first time she saw him when she’d been a sullen and moody thirteen.
She’d been visiting her only friend from school. Roz’s mother had been willing to take two sulky girls around London during the winter holidays, and she’d taken them for cups of hot chocolate at a fashionable confectioner. Spotting the future duke stepping out of a crested carriage outside the shop, she’d teased the girls who’d been madly falling for every handsome young gent who entered the store. “That’s the heir to the Duke of Summerton, and he’s unattached.”
Of all her crushes that winter, he was the only one Caroline didn’t forget. He’d been so handsome and regal. And remote.
She understood remote. Neither common nor gentry, she didn’t quite fit in any society. Not really. This man, despite the buzz of friends about him, had mastered the art of being a part, while remaining separate.
Caroline scoured every bit of gossip news for any hint of him. She studied the streets in case he might be walking, attended the theater, walked around museums, going to every public place she thought he might be. Her infatuation deepened with each siting, held strong through years.
Budding dreams bloomed, blossomed. He’d stolen her heart.
Then he’d noticed her.
Her heart withered.
It was at the Pendleton’s ball. Caroline had missed the announcement that he was entering, but Roz hadn’t. “He’s here!” she’d whispered. “And he’s a duke now.”
Caroline’s heart tripped, quickening as she watched him step down into the ballroom.
His chestnut hair, a tad too long, revealed a natural wave, a hint of disarray. Everyone else, with their meticulous detail—from the precise folds of their cravats to the perfect little curls on their foreheads were fools, the lot of them. She was no different. She dared not break a rule, lest she risk loosing those censorious tongues that loved to wag. Daughter of trade, she’d felt that sting far too often to feed it.
No one thought anything of her watching him, for they all did. Men bowed, women curtseyed, earning slight nods for their efforts.
She thought him bored in this place where others sought to relieve boredom. He had the right of it, a dull distraction, except for the dancing, of course. One needed a ballroom for that. She did so love to dance.
He represented the finest of class, and obviously the most arrogant. Born to it. She turned her back on him, once she’d calmed her breathing. “Just another man,” she told Roz, a baron’s daughter who lived in books, proudly wore spectacles and cared little for the art of fashionable attire or ballrooms. She wouldn’t have been there, except Roz’s betrothed, the scholarly second son of an earl, had been pressed to attend. He’d escorted the two women.
They stood toward the back of the ballroom near a column, hidden by a mass of ostrich feathers in a vase on a plinth. Roz’s intended was in deep discussion with another fellow only a few feet away.
Neither young woman cared to be seen. Roz preferred quiet gatherings and Caroline’s toes had been badly trod upon and needed to recover.
And, as neither anticipated being noticed there at the back of the ball, behind the tall feathers, they were startled when Lady Pendleton and the duke came up beside them.
“Your grace, have you met Miss Caroline Howlett?” Lady Pendleton asked, without so much as a hello or a good evening.
“A pleasure.” The duke reached for Caroline’s hand, which she’d yet to extend, caught as she was by the clear blue of his eyes, framed by dark lashes. His gaze pierced deep inside of her.
“Your grace?” She recovered quickly enough, she hoped. She offered her hand, and dipped into a curtsy as he bent over her proffered hand.
Rather than meet those beautiful eyes when he straightened, she swiveled and introduced her friend.
“Your grace, may I present Miss Rosalynn Morris?” Caroline asked, with as much arrogance as Lady Pendleton had used introducing her.
He bowed again and Roz greeted him in return. Caroline hoped they’d move off quickly, so she could breathe again, but he asked, “Would you care to dance, Miss Howlett?”
She couldn’t. Her palms turned so damp with the mere thought, she’d feared it would seep through her gloves. “I’m afraid this dance is promised to another.”
Gratefully, she was promised to one of Lord Howard’s friends.
“Not a problem, my dear,” Lady Pendleton trilled. “I will let the gentleman know the duke desires this dance.”
His first dance of the evening. He’d singled her out of a ballroom full of beautiful women, finding her behind a wall of feathers, encouraging an introduction. Worse yet, he rudely insisted on dancing with her despite the fact that she already had a partner.
He’d sought her out for a reason.
Another aristocrat with empty pockets to let.
Let him suffer her sweat-dampened gloves.
“Of course,” she murmured with a smile.
She hated him for that.
Now here she was, watching him sleep, imagining life as his wife, knowing full well h
e hadn’t a farthing to his name.
Even if he didn’t know it, he could use her help, as much as her money. His tenants would benefit under her influence. Times were changing.
What had her uncle said? “They need new blood, Caroline, you’re just the girl to give it to ’em.”
CHAPTER 12 ~ Past into Present
Loathe to leave Summerton there, sprawled in a chair she’d found too small to sleep in, Caroline went in search of a footman. Hitches had them outside every occupied room.
She opened the door quietly and peeked out, but instead of a strong footman she saw Jeremy moving down the hall toward the foyer, his head swathed in bandages, a sling holding his arm to his chest.
“Caro?” He stepped closer. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Where’s the footman?” she asked.
He moved past her and closed the door behind him, moving easily into the room until he realized they were not alone. “Is that him?” He jerked his head toward Summerton, then swayed, grabbing his bandaged head.
“You’ve been hurt.” She steadied him, tried to get him to a chair. “Jeremy, sit down. You shouldn’t be out and about.” But instead of going further into the room with her, he grabbed her hand and pulled her outside the chamber.
“You shouldn’t wake him.” He looked up and down the hallway. “He’s put a watch on the Hall. There are men prowling all over.”
“Of course he has. There’s a murderer out there, Jeremy. It’s dangerous. Look at you! You’re lucky to be alive!”
“Aye, aye,” he soothed, his gaze shifting about, watching for any guards.
“Summerton knows about you. You’re all sorted. You are our guest now, you don’t have to hide.”
“Our?” he asked. “Does that mean you’ve forgotten about the mills?” He scowled, swore under his breath, pulling her toward the back of the house.
“Stop.” Caroling pulled free. “I won’t let the mills down, Jeremy.” She had an idea coming, just wisps of thoughts, nothing firm yet, but she was beginning to believe she could stay without abandoning her father’s affairs. “Come, help me get Summerton up to his chambers and then we’ll find you a room for the night.”
“It isn’t night anymore,” he said gruffly. “Leave him in his chair.” He pulled her along the corridor. “And don’t worry about me. I’ve got a place to stay. We’ve got a place to stay.”
“With who?” she asked.
“You’ll see. A helpful lass.” He smiled that crooked smile of his. “She’s sweet.” He held Caroline’s hand now, smoothed a wayward strand of hair off her forehead. “We need to talk, lass, and I don’t want anyone listening.”
They’d been friends the whole of their lives, but something was off, different now. “We can use the blue saloon.”
“Not here.” He shook his head. “We need to go somewhere else, get you out of here. That was the plan, Caroline. We talked about this.”
“Yes, Jeremy, but quite a bit has happened, and I can’t leave yet.”
“You think it would be better to leave later?” he asked. “Why?”
“I’m free to go when I want,” she hedged, “but we do need to talk first. Follow me.”
She took the lead this time and guided him down the hallway into the grand entrance hall.
“Uppity place, eh?”
“It’s an old family.” She did not want to be critical. “There is value in that, Jeremy. Value in family strong enough to survive countless generations intact.”
He snorted. “Easy when you have their kind of power.”
New blood, she offered new blood.
She guided him into the blue saloon, which was not so overly large as the drawing rooms. And the seating arrangements were more comfortable.
More important, she could see the Marble Hall from there, so she would know if Summerton went up the stairs.
She had no doubt he would check on her first thing when he awoke. He’d expect to find her upstairs. She took the chair facing the main stairway, to waylay him and avoid causing any alarm.
Jeremy hovered just inside the doorway, blocking her view. “This place is big enough to be a mill all its own.”
“The mills are in better nick than this place, believe me. Now sit,” she patted the chair at a right angle to hers, “before you fall over. You shouldn’t be up and about.”
“Had to get to you,” Jeremy explained, sitting down on the very edge of a chair, holding his head in his hand.
“I’m glad you did. I need you to go back to the mills to do whatever you can, until I can join you.”
“Why not come now?”
“We are going away. It’s important I follow through on this,” she explained. “By the time we get back, I will have everything worked out so I can help.”
“You can’t go.” He grabbed her hand. “You’re in danger, don’t you see? You have to know that!”
“I will be fine”
“Not here. You are not safe as long as you are here.” He looked up then, his eyes filled with tears. “I think he means to do you in when you are here.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She sagged back in her chair, winded by his accusation, as if he’d actually struck her. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“He married you for the money, didn’t he? He didn’t care, you told me so yourself.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s cruel, Jeremy.”
“Then who was it that murdered little Alice?”
It wasn’t Summerton; she knew it wasn’t Summerton. He’d been with her when Alice had been murdered. Hadn’t he?
He’d been a victim, too, that very night. “Someone tried to kill him, Jeremy.” She stood. “They are after him, too.” Her own words sliced into her. She had left him alone in the study, vulnerable in his deep sleep.
“Pshaw! That was you they wanted.”
“No!” She needed to get back to Summerton. “No, Jeremy, you have it wrong, you don’t need to worry.”
He rose as well, and latched onto her arm to hold her back. “Your uncle is that worried,” he told her. “He has someone here, too, I saw him, starting from the first night you was here. I tried to catch up with him, but he slips through those woods like no one else.”
“Biggs is here?” she asked, thinking of her uncle’s guard. All of them, her father, her uncle, even Caroline, had guards in Manchester for fear of kidnappers and Luddites. Like his name, Biggs was monstrously big and dangerous, if you were on his wrong side.
Was she on his wrong side?
“Come, Jeremy, we have to get back to the study!”
“No!” he said, “You come with me. I’ll keep you safe.”
But she pulled free, already out the door and down the hallway before he caught up to her again.
“No,” he snarled, “you’re not safe with him.”
“He’s not safe right now!” Caroline argued. “He’s not safe.” And she pulled free running to the study.
It was empty.
She flung drapes open, checked all the doors. Nothing was ajar; nothing was open. She spun around, ensuring there was only one door into the room. Unlike the library, with its towering cases of books, with doors at either end of two levels, the study only had one door from the inside.
Except for the hidden staircase. She didn’t dare look at it with someone watching, though she wanted to, desperately.
“Come with me,” Jeremy pleaded. “Come away from this place. It’s dangerous.”
“No, Jeremy.” If Summerton were safe, he’d be looking for her. She knew he would be, she just knew it. Just as she knew the failing estate was not due to his negligence. He looked out for his own.
She was one of his own now.
He would take that seriously.
“You can’t stay here.” Jeremy grabbed her arm, started to pull her toward the terrace doors she’d just checked, as a commotion rang through the hall.
“Caroline! Where is she? Find her!” Summerton’s shout rang through the ha
ll, answered by shouts and cries from the men on guard.
“Now!” Jeremy gritted out, as the sound of slamming doors and running carried all the way to the study. “Crikey! We’ll never get out of here alive.”
Caroline dug in her feet, “You are allowed to be here, Jeremy, Summerton knows you are around.”
“No, you don’t understand!” he snapped, shoving her away. “Fine, you stay here. I’m going.” With his good shoulder, he pushed through the double doors to the outside.
“Go to the mills, watch them for me.”
But he was running too hard to hear. She watched as he crossed the gardens, dodging this way and that, apparently seeking shadow.
“There you are,” Summerton said from the doorway, fighting for breath. “I’ve found her,” he croaked, seconding it with a louder call. “I’ve found her.”
She didn’t turn, but continued to watch her old friend run into the woods. “He is worried for me,” she explained, as Summerton came up beside her. “Jeremy. He thinks I’m in danger, when it appears you are the one who is.”
“I was worried for you,” he ground out.
She smiled at him, despite the fury radiating from him, and touched his cheek. “I was about to raise the alarm when I couldn’t find you here.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You beat me to it.”
Neither said a word.
“Is everything in order, your grace?” Hitches asked from the doorway.
“Yes, Hitches, sorry to have disrupted everyone.”
“Quite understandable, sir.” Hitches bowed. “These are unruly times.” He left them.
“This could have been avoided,” Summerton said.
He continued to look at the empty doorway, his profile as aristocratic as a marble bust despite the unkempt shadow of his beard and his tousled hair. His clothes weren’t much better, but his bearing made them look artful rather than slovenly.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he stayed that way—hands in his pockets, gaze beyond the doorway. She sighed and looked outside to ensure Jeremy had not run afoul of the men hired to protect. He’d been able to get past them twice. They obviously needed more training.
Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1) Page 12