by Cheryl Bolen
Her words were like a slap in his face. He wanted to protest, to remind her of the intimacies they had shared, but he remained mute as he gazed solemnly at the woman he loved. There had been times over this past year and half when she had slipped and called him by his first name. The very memory of his name spoken softly on her kissable lips had the power to accelerate his breathing.
But he could not dredge up what had been, not when he was unwilling to advance the relationship. “Forgive me,” he said somberly.
She shoved the jacket back at him. “Pray, Mr. Perry, do restore your clothing. This is most improper.”
And so it was. “Why is it you bring out the improper in me, Lady Caroline?”
Their eyes locked again. She was the first to flick away. “Will you tell me something?”
“Yes.”
“Why when all the times I begged you to come to Glenmont, you refused, and now, when I don’t want you here, you show up?”
These words were far worse than a slap in the face. She doesn’t want me here. His humiliation was insignificant compared to the rip that tore through his heart. He’d always known she would find someone more worthy of her love than he. He just hadn’t been prepared for that day to come so soon. And he would never be able to accept that she could give herself to the most unworthy man in the kingdom.
“I’ve already explained. I came because I care too much for you to ever see you unite yourself to someone not fit to be in the same room with you.”
“I pray you’re not referring to Lord Brockton,” she said coolly.
He came closer and said in a low, husky voice. “You know I do.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. Lord Brockton has always been all that’s amiable to me. He has much to recommend him. Do you not agree that he’s incredibly handsome?”
Christopher shrugged. “How should I know if a man’s handsome?”
“He does have other attributes. He’s a peer of the realm, and he’s got a fine country house as well as a grand mansion on Grosvenor Square.”
His anger simmered. “You’ve seen these places?”
“Not yet.”
“You’ve kissed him?”
“Of course,” she said flippantly.
A singeing fury crashed over him with shocking potency. Until this moment he’d not thought of her actually kissing another man. No woman’s kisses had ever affected him as profoundly as hers. Surely she couldn’t have kissed that blighter in the same way she’d kissed him!
He eyed her and swallowed hard. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to know the truth, but some strange force compelled him to ask. “Can you honestly tell me you kissed him in the same way you kissed me?”
Their gazes connected as if by forging iron. She drew a wobbly breath. “Are you saying that I kissed you in a certain way, Mr. Perry?”
He hated this wall of formality she’d erected between them. His anger ignited a most informal response.
In one long stride he reached her, firmly clasped her shoulders, and pulled her to him for a hungry kiss.
Little ripples of pleasure ran through her, and her breath became labored. His arms came fully around her as she molded to his body like clay. Her mouth opened beneath the pressure of his.
He was as profoundly affected by the searing kiss as she.
The door to the chamber banged open.
They looked up to see Lord Brockton standing there, his legs spread apart and fury blazing on his face. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing with my betrothed?”
Caroline stepped away from him, fear etched on her face as she regarded the swine, Brockton.
Christopher met her frightened gaze. “Is this true? Are you betrothed to Lord Brockton?”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she slowly nodded.
Chapter 6
Her face flamed, her watery gaze dropped to the floor. Christopher then excused himself with two words. “Forgive me.” He said this not to Brockton but to her, and then he raced from the room. It had not only been the most awkward moment of his life. It was also the most horrifying.
The announcement of Caroline’s betrothal was as shocking and painful as the death of a loved one. Indeed, the only time he’d ever felt like this was when his father died suddenly at the age of two and forty.
His heartbeat roaring, he paced from one long wooden corridor to another. During his anger-fueled walk, inky skies replaced the day’s fading light. He easily outpaced the aged butler, who was lumbering along, lighting the sconces at fifteen-foot intervals.
His initial humiliation at Lady Caroline’s rejection quickly melted away. Even though she told him she didn’t want him at Glenmont, even though she had foolishly accepted Brockton’s offer, even though he could never be worthy of Caroline, he would not surrender and allow the most offensive man he’d ever known to ruin the life of the woman he loved.
Were it not for the breathless passion of their kiss, he might have been forced to capitulate. But a woman in love with her betrothed would not have kissed another man as Caroline had just done. Just remembering it caused him to groan with want of her.
She cannot throw herself away on such a scoundrel! He was comforted in the knowledge that her powerful brother felt the same. Now he and the duke had two things in common. Now that Christopher had finally followed in his father’s footsteps and successfully stood for the House of Commons, they shared political interests. More importantly, he and the duke bitterly opposed a marriage between Lady Caro and the blackguard earl.
Finch, whose wife’s favorite sister was Lady Caroline, had already expressed his horror at the thought of being forced to welcome Brockton into their family.
The pity of it was that Lady Caroline was of age. She could very well wed the scoundrel without her brother’s permission. By marrying Finch in that manner, her sister had set the example. Christopher was determined to enlist the duke and Finch to crush Brockton’s hopes.
* * *
Caro was frightened at the fury in Lord Brockton’s flashing eyes as he moved to her after Christopher left the gallery. “So you had an assignation with your former lover.” His lips sneered. He spoke harshly.
“No. I came here to think. I wanted to come up with a list of things you could do to ingratiate yourself with my brother. I don’t know how Mr. Perry found me.”
“You certainly gave him a warm welcome.” There was contempt in his voice.
She shook her head. “I told him I didn’t even want him at Glenmont.”
“Yet the man was disrobing.”
“I . . . I was very cold. He . . . forced his coat upon me. To warm me.”
He moved closer, his gaze simmering. “From now on, your kisses will only be for me.” His voice was husky as he crushed her to him and kissed her bruisingly.
The kiss was nothing like Christopher’s. And certainly her reaction to it was nothing like her reaction had been to Christopher’s excruciatingly tender kiss. Then, her lids had gently lowered and her lips easily parted. Every second had been pleasurable.
Unlike now. All she could think of was how uncomfortable her neck was, how unpleasant was the pressure of his lips on hers, the burn from his stubble, the stale smell of yesterday’s brandy. She felt no more desire for this man than she did for the man driving the carriage.
She consoled herself, though. I am finally betrothed! I will no longer be a spinster. I will be mistress of my own home. And, lastly, she would become a mother. Once her life was intertwined with this man’s, love would come.
Her heartbeat caught when she thought of Lord Haverstock’s sister Mrs. Reeves’ unhappy marriage. But that woman had not desired love. She had desired the rank she thought Mr. Reeves would inherit when his ducal uncle died.
Caroline would endeavor to create a loving home with this man who now held her in his arms. She wanted to fall in love with him.
When he finally pulled away, he asked, “So what am I to do to win your brother’s approval—other than serving in the House of Lo
rds, which I’ve already vowed to do?”
“First, he needs to be assured you won’t squander away my dowry. Therefore, you must convince him that your interest in gaming has waned.”
His brows raised. “So how much is you dowry?”
She shrugged. “Each of my sisters received thirty thousand, so I assume I shall also. Unless I have to wed without his approval. In that case, I might not have a dowry.”
“I must ensure that your brother approves of me.” A huge smile spread across his face. “How fortunate I am to have won the hand of the loveliest lady in London—as well as thirty thousand. I don’t mind telling you I need it most desperately.”
“Not, I hope, because of gaming losses?”
He nodded ruefully. “But I will be a changed man.”
Was he telling the truth? She wished she better knew the man’s character. “You must also realize that while my brother is most devoted to his younger siblings, the light of his life is in his wife and their young son, the Marquess of Ramsbury. We call the adorable lad Ram.”
“So I’m to show uncommon respect to the duchess and effusively praise the lad?”
“Yes. I’m trying to work out the details where you will become my brother’s hero by saving his son’s life, but it needs to be something that would in no way jeopardize my nephew’s safety.”
He gave a wicked smile. “Oh, I like this. . .”
* * *
That night at dinner, Christopher was pleased to be seated next to Lady Caroline. He was not pleased that she ignored him throughout the meal. She directed pleasantries to all those around her. All those except for him. She obviously wanted to demonstrate to her betrothed that there was nothing between her and Christopher.
She might also wish to demonstrate to Christopher her anger over their stolen kiss. Her displeasure over the kiss was almost as devastating as the knowledge that she had agreed to wed Brockton. Since the day of their first scorching kiss, Caroline had schemed to be alone with him whenever she could. She had thrived on their passionate kisses.
He could still feel her pliant body pressed against his, still feel the languid stroke of her tongue on his, still hear her whimpering as he held her in his arms. How painful it was for him to recall.
He had to purge her from his thoughts. His attention turned to the foot of the table where the duchess was speaking with Finch’s grandmother. Because the dowager was so fond of her only grandchild, her affections were also lavished on his friends. She was the first lady of the nobility who had ever treated him as if he were her grandson’s equal. She’d always included him in their family gatherings—almost as if he were one of their distinguished family.
Even though Brockton was at the other end of the table, his attention also went to the duchess, and his loud voice carried like Kean’s upon the stage at Drury Lane. “Forgive me, your grace, if I keep staring at you,” Brockton said to the duchess, “but your beauty quite robs me of breath. Aldridge is indeed a most fortunate man.”
A well-bred man should never speak to a married woman so pointedly in public. It was permissible to say how well one looked, or it was permissible to merrily compliment the husband on his choice of a lovely wife. But one did not gush over the beauty of another man’s wife. Especially in front of her husband.
The duchess was taken aback by the sudden compliment. It was made even more awkward coming from a man who was supposedly courting her sister-in-law. “Thank you, my lord, but it is I who am the most fortunate one.” She eyed her husband at the head of the table, and the softness which came over Aldridge’s face as he locked gazes with his pretty wife quite shocked Christopher. It was a side of the powerful Duke of Aldridge Christopher had never before seen.
It had been the same with Finch shortly after he’d wed Lady Caroline’s sister. An incredible softening had come over him whenever his wife was near, and that overpowering affection strengthened when their son was born. Finch was twice besotted.
“For once I am in perfect agreement with Lord Brockton,” Aldridge said with a laugh before he took the decanter to pour more wine into the glasses of the ladies at either side.
“Another thing we have in common, your grace,” Brockton said, looking at Lady Caroline, “is our eye for lovely women.” The man would not remove his gaze from Caroline. She looked up at her affianced briefly, and then shyly averted her gaze.
Always the aggressor, she had never averted her gaze from Christopher.
It cut Christopher to the quick to think that never again would he be the recipient of her affections. A hollow, gnawing void was eating into him.
I am the architect of my own misery. And misery it was.
Rothcomb-Smedley began speaking of politics—the only subject upon which that man would ever converse. Even though they were colleagues in the House of Commons, Rothcomb-Smedley to this day remained stiff with Christopher. All because of Caro’s scheme to have Christopher pay court to Lady Clair in order to coax Rothcomb-Smedley into declaring his own intentions toward that Ponsby sister. Even though he was now happily married to Lady Clair, Rothcomb-Smedley still believed Christopher hungered after his wife. Could the man not see it had always been Caroline for Christopher?
Political discussion dominated the conversation throughout the remainder of the dinner.
* * *
There had been an awkward moment when the couples were pairing up for whist after dinner. Rothcomb-Smedley put a possessive hand at his wife’s waist and positioned himself between her and Mr. Perry, almost shielding her from Perry’s line of vision. Good Lord, did the man think Christopher wanted to do the deed with his wife? Caro felt a twinge of guilt for having forced him to feign an attraction to her sister. While Caro’s plan had been wildly successfully, Clair’s husband would never again be civil to poor Christopher.
Lord Brockton had immediately claimed Caro, and since all the others—save Christopher—were to play with their marital partners, Christopher would have been left out. Fortunately, thought Caro, sweet and selfless Margaret insisted that she preferred to play the pianoforte, thus allowing Christopher to pair with her husband. It was true that Margaret was the most musically inclined in their family, and her play was lovely, but Caro knew how much her sister enjoyed playing whist with her husband.
“Wait!” Morgie said, a self-satisfied look upon his slender face as he peered at Christopher. “You needn’t pair up with Finchley. Your Lady Caroline’s here! You can play as her partner.”
She grimaced. “I am not his Lady Caroline. It so happens, Lord Brockton has asked me to be his partner.” She turned and took a seat next to his lordship.
“Dear me,” said a bewildered Morgie, “I thought . . .”
Lady Lydia quickly linked her arm into her husband’s. “Worry not about Mr. Perry, my darling man, I need all your attentions.”
Morgie’s eyes widened. “Is it your time?”
“No, dearest. It’s just that I like you near, and you are my favorite whist partner.” They sat at the table with the Haverstocks.
Caro was disappointed that she and Lord Brockton would share the table with her brother and his wife. It wouldn’t do at all for Aldridge to see that Lord Brockton was an inferior player. She so fiercely wanted to display her intended in a flattering light.
Early into their game, Lord Brockton showed disinterest in his play and interest in the duchess. “What a fortunate man your grace is to have claimed one of the most beautiful women in all of England for your wife. I do envy your domestic felicity.” As he spoke, Lord Brockton peered at Elizabeth, rather than at the man he addressed.
This wasn’t what Caro had in mind when she told Lord Brockton her brother valued his wife and son more than anything.
Caro found herself peering at Elizabeth, from her pale blond tresses and along the smooth planes of her flawless face. Because she knew her so well, Caro realized his lordship’s words had embarrassed the duchess. Even if they were true. Elizabeth was possessed of a fair loveliness that matc
hed her inward beauty and generous spirit. There was an elegance about her countenance that marked her for a duchess long before she and Aldridge came into each other’s sphere.
It wasn’t her husband’s fortune that accounted for the duchess’s impeccable taste in fashion. Her eye for lovely clothes was surpassed only by her infinite capacity for charitable works. Caro chuckled to herself. Indeed, it was Elizabeth’s charitable works that had inadvertently brought the duke and duchess together.
Instead of being pleased to have his wife’s beauty praised, Aldridge glared. “Your play, Brockton.”
“My brother takes his play seriously,” Caro explained, hoping his lordship would remember to concentrate on the game in order to impress her brother.
Lord Brockton’s concentration on the game lasted two more rounds of play before it strayed. “Of course the beauty of the House of Haverstock is matched by the beauty of the Ponsby/Aldridge house.” He eyed Caro, and she offered a brittle smile.
“I am proud of all of my sisters,” the duke said. “They’re as lovely on the inside as on the outside. I daresay I’d kill any man who hurt them in any way.” She thought of their eldest sister and the peer who would never return to England and face the wrath of Aldridge. Everyone in the ton seemed to know about the man’s duplicity.
Her brother once again glared at Lord Brockton, whose play was as unsatisfactory as she had suspected, and they were easily bested by Aldridge and Elizabeth. Twice.
Later that evening, before everyone went to bed, Aldridge complimented Mr. Perry on his ability to beat Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley, who was acknowledged to be an expert whist player. “Thank you, your grace, but I was fortunate to have a good partner.” Christopher’s gaze went from the duke to Lord Finchley.
“Perry excels at every game—even when we were lads at Eton,” Lord Finchley said, eying his lifelong friend with admiration.