Everything But the Earl
Page 15
Caro dropped her spoon with a splash. “You can speak with us any time!” she exclaimed. “We’re a bit rusty on our herpetology, but indeed, Mariah—we’ll argue with you, any time you like.”
Mariah smiled.
“Lawks,” Edie added, still staring at her in disbelief. “Even my brother could string together a thought or two on certain subjects.”
A wave of dread hit Caro unawares. The idea that another woman might claim Adam’s time and attention? That he might partner with her in her schemes? It smashed into her and left her reeling.
A wave of intense guilt hit her next: Mrs. Hellkirk had taught them never to compete with one another, and she adored Mariah. But she knew now how Adam must’ve felt when he’d come upon her chatting innocently with Mr. Perkins. And she knew, too, that she could not tolerate a future in which Adam was claimed by anyone except her.
She was still struggling to right herself in these roiling seas when she noticed Adam looking at her from across the table, his head cocked, brow furrowed. He was concerned.
And all at once, the heat in her cheeks took on a happier meaning: Adam had already set his cap at her, of course. She needed only admit that she felt the same attachment—the same, dare she think, love—and embrace it. Marriage to Adam would not be a leash; it would not be a hand held over her mouth or an arm that pushed her behind him. It would be a hand held out to her in a storm.
She closed her eyes briefly, feeling foolish, then gave him her silliest smile, feeling the guilt seep from her as she did so.
“I’d like to hear Miss Crispin tell us about her balloon launch the other day. I was there on the ground, and I can tell you it was quite the scene,” he said.
“Yes, do!”
“Indeed—tell us everything!”
“No detail is too small!”
She smiled at him, then told them all the harrowing story of how the balloon’s tethers had broken in a most unfortunate—and most unexpected—accident.
When she’d finished, she continued, “And I would like to hear Lord Ryland’s thoughts on plantings—”
“Well, I would not,” Edie interrupted.
“Must we all, though?” Lady Ryland added.
Caro raised her voice over their protests, continuing, “My parents have asked Lord Ryland to offer some ideas for our garden. And I am so excited to hear what he’s come up with.”
Edie and Lady Ryland looked at her in astonishment. Caro gave them each a pleasant smile then nodded to Adam, who seemed to chew his potatoes with a touch more satisfaction than he had a moment before.
After dinner, the three younger ladies retired to the drawing room, to work out a dissected puzzle at a candlelit table.
“I have a question for you,” Caro began.
“What is it?” Mariah asked.
“Do you study snakes, or just frogs?”
Mariah burst into laughter. Then Edie followed, taking Caro with her. It seemed to strike them all at once as a rather bizarre question for their lot, sitting as they were in one of London’s most exclusive drawings rooms, sipping primly from their coffee.
“I don’t study snakes professionally,” Mariah replied when they could finally draw breath again. “I just—”
“You just study them in your closet?” Edie offered, elbowing Caro in the ribs. They both laughed again, but stopped when they noticed Mariah’s sly grin.
“Lady Mariah Asperton,” Edie continued, “are you telling us you do still keep small dead creatures in your closet?”
“Not exactly,” she replied, picking up her coffee. “I only have one. And he’s neither small nor dead.”
Edie went bug-eyed. “What kind is it? You keep it in the country, of course?”
Caro steepled her fingers together and arched a brow. “Precisely how big is this snake?”
Mariah shook her head. “He’s called a python. And no, I keep him here in town. At the house.”
Edie reached out and smacked her arm, and Mariah let out a shriek followed by the most enthusiastic and cathartic bout of laughter that Caro had heard in some time. “Please do not tell my father,” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “Either of you! I would be in terrible trouble if he ever found out.”
“And here I thought Toby was a handful,” Caro said, picking up her coffee.
“Oh, Frederick isn’t a handful,” Mariah replied, shaking her head. “He’s not fully grown yet, and he’s as gentle as a lamb.”
“Mariah, he probably eats lambs.”
“Not since we moved to town,” she clarified.
Caro reached over and squeezed her hand.
“It is so good to see you both,” Mariah added, returning the squeeze. “It’s been a difficult few weeks.” She looked into the candle as she said it, nodding once before returning her attention to the puzzle.
After a moment of quiet contemplation, Edie sat back and crossed her arms. “Do either of you think I’m…eccentric?”
“What do you mean?” Caro began, careful to keep her tone even.
She didn’t know how Edie and Adam had come from the same two parents. Where Adam was a quintessential Englishman—if a bit tall—Edie seemed to have come from another world. With her green eyes and hair like straw that had been dragged through the summer mud, she struck Caro as the likely offspring of the fairest forest nymph and…some other, and far more mischievous, woodland creature.
“I do not care to have a husband,” Edie continued. “I’ve said this many times. But now that I find that no prospective husbands want me, I find myself rather put off by it.”
Her friends threw their heads back now, unable to contain their laughter. Eventually, Edie joined them.
“Dearest,” Caro soothed, taking her hand. “Do be patient. It’s going to take an extraordinary man to deserve you. And it’s going to take Ad—I mean, your brother—a while to find him.”
“Ah-ha!” Edie said as she sat up, raising a finger in accusation. “I caught that, Caro. What’s this with you treating my brother like an intimate, all of a sudden?”
She felt herself flush crimson, from her widow’s peak to her décolletage. “You know me, Edie. I’ve never met a gentleman whom I didn’t bring to my level, at the earliest opportunity.”
Edie lowered her hand. “True. But what does Adam have to say about that? He lets you tease him so?”
“He tolerates me, so far.” She looked at her other friend and changed the subject: “Mariah, I have a favor to ask of you.”
Adam said good-night to Mother and dismissed the beefy footman who’d helped him install her safely in her room. He tried not to look too hurried as he descended the main stairs, back to his sister’s small party, and back to Caro.
He had to speak with her. It had been entirely too long since the Incident on Caro’s Stairs, and while he was keen for an Episode in His Study or Some Such, he also had to discuss with her the strange feelings that had roiled him since the balloon launch. He had to see if she was feeling out of sorts herself.
He went to the drawing room, where Edie and her other friend were sitting at a candlelit table, absorbed in a puzzle.
“Has Miss Crispin gone?” he blurted out. Damn. He had meant to be more subtle than that.
And indeed, his sister and Lady Mariah exchanged looks. “She’s gone to the kitchen to look for some sweetmeats, brother. Ever the independent lady, she would not wait for a servant.”
He bowed quickly and left, hearing them titter behind him.
So now Edie knows for certain, as does her friend.
He would think about that later. He had to find Caro.
Even with a sizable candelabra, the house was very dim. And as he descended the servants’ staircase toward the kitchens he cursed—once again—the dark, decades-old paneling, too-skinny passages, and poor fenestration throughout the home.
“Forget renovation,” he growled as he bumped his shoulder against the door frame of a workroom. He peeked in and found no one there. “Maybe I should just s
ell the place.”
“But where would you go?” came a smiling voice from across the hall.
He stood still. “Caro? Is that you?”
“It is,” she answered, peeking from around the butler’s pantry.
“Are you after my claret, then?”
She feigned shock and stepped into the corridor. “I thought if I skulked around long enough, I might overhear one of those gentlemen’s wagers I enjoy so much.”
He hooked his hand around the small of her back and pulled her hard against him. “Never.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed as her hands caught between them.
“What is it?” he replied, stepping back.
She giggled and peeled her hands from her gown, where perhaps two dozen delicate jellied candies were now smooshed to bits.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Your dress!” But her giggles wouldn’t be contained, and soon bubbled up into an effervescent sort of laughter that spread quickly to him.
“Well, you did say you wanted silliness,” she eked out between giggles. He guided her into the pitch-dark scullery and when he turned around to her again, the candles illuminated the front side of her—a golden, ghostly apparition, smiling and gesturing grandly with fruity, sticky hands. She gave him the wobbliest of curtsies and said, “My lord, I give you silliness.”
He froze. What did that mean? That she felt they were a good match?
A love match?
He blinked himself back to the present and set his candelabra on a worktable at the center of the room. Then he swept aside everything else, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her onto it. She laughed and let out a yelp.
“Now then,” he whispered as he pressed his waist against her knees. “Let’s get you cleaned up. May I have a look?”
She nodded, and he lifted her wrist until her hand was illuminated in the candlelight. The flames reflected back at him from the dark ocher of her eyes as he pulled her hand close and put the entirety of her index finger in his mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut as he closed his lips around it, sucking on it gently before swiping it out again with a guttural sound he had not intended.
As he moved on to her next finger, a sound emerged from her own throat that did not sound entirely voluntary. So he moved on to the next, and the next, and the next.
He had barely finished her first hand when she opened her knees and allowed him to push through them, his waist hitting hard against the table. He let go of her hand and grabbed her bottom with both hands, cupping it roughly and yanking her right up against him, soiled dress and all.
“Adam,” she whispered into his ear, putting her newly clean hand at the nape of his neck, drawing her nails across his skin with a pressure he felt in every extremity. “You are getting very dirty.”
“My darling, you have no idea,” he said before turning his face and putting his lips to hers—lightly at first, opening his own as a cue for her to do the same.
He had been with women, of course, but he had never felt that insatiability he’d read about in novels, in poetry. That feeling of never being full enough, of never being able to slake some new thirst. Not until now, here with Caro, where a deep and inexorable need for her nearly overrode his every faculty.
It frightened him. But still, he kept drinking.
Caro tilted her head to him and ran her fingers through his hair, her nails applying gentle pressure to his scalp, from nape to crown, soothing and inflaming him all at once.
Then slowly, tentatively, she broke from their kiss, and he could tell from the gentle press of her cheek against his own that she was smiling.
He nuzzled her back, then rained kisses on her lips, cheeks, and chin. He forced himself to stop when it came to that irresistible neck of hers, however, as he knew that if he let himself go there tonight, there would likely be Quite an Occurrence in the Scullery.
She went to kiss him again but he leaned back. “What is it?” she asked, looking pained.
“I have something to tell you, and I’m afraid it cannot wait.”
“Has something happened?” Her voice went weak as he stepped back and away from her.
“In a moment, love,” he said as he opened a cabinet. A moment later he returned to her with two small towels and a pitcher of water.
She wiped her hands, then dabbed as best she could at the bodice of her dress. “Now. What is it?” she asked, giving him a quick whip with her towel.
He exhaled and leaned forward, resting his fists on either side of her. “I saw Chumsley at the gymnasium. Strayeth has left town,” he said.
“That’s wonderful.”
“Yes. You’ve succeeded in making your point to him.”
“And?”
“And Chumsley thinks he’s all but won the wager.”
She snorted. “I figured as much. Is there something else?”
He dropped his chin to his chest and breathed deeply again. “Seeing Chumsley there…listening to his boasts…I wanted to hurt him, Caro.”
When he lifted his head, her eyes were darting rapidly to and fro.
“I wanted to stand up and crush him. I—”
“I should never have involved you in this,” she said quickly, her voice raspy. She reached out and took his face in her hands. “I am sorry, Adam. You don’t have to involve yourself any further.”
He wanted to tell her more—about the way he’d been unwell for some days, how he couldn’t calm himself no matter what he tried. But it occurred to him that if he told her the extent of his ill feelings, she might abandon her scheme. Or worse, do it on her own.
So he shook his head and yanked her close again. “Don’t be silly. I am in this as long as you are. To the end.”
She traced his jaw from ear to chin, as if searching his face with her fingertips as well as her eyes. “Are you quite sure, Adam? I—”
“It’s not even a question. Now—what is our next step?”
He stood to his full height and took one of her hands from her lap, cradling it gently, enjoying the luxury of her soft, bare skin against his own calloused kind. He wanted more than anything to have this sort of moment every day of their lives, and was more and more confident that she did, too. She had acknowledged their silliness together; she had recognized his distress and tried to release him from her scheme; she was placing his peace of mind first. It was something he could not have said for Father—that many people could not say of their parents or spouses. His heart banged against his ribs, as if it would push out a proclamation of his gratitude to her, of his full feelings for her, right there in his basement scullery.
“A few nights from now, at my party,” she began again, “I’ll ask Chumsley to go for a carriage ride with me.”
“What about the tower, down at the river?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve changed the scheme. My parents had quite a fright at the balloon launch, so I’ve found a way that doesn’t involve dangling someone from their tallest structure.”
“Right. What do you need from me, then?”
“I’d like your help on the morning of the rendezvous. Would you meet me, first thing?”
“Of course.” Could it be the right time to tell her what he felt? They were alone, and they were ready for the next part of their scheme. He tightened his hands on hers.
“It’s funny,” he continued. “I’ve been trying to be patient, to focus on your scheme and refrain from asking if I can begin courting you in some formal way. But I think we are already courting.”
“Indeed,” she replied, laughing.
“And we are already getting to know one another.”
“In some ways, yes.” She cocked her head at him, as if she knew his thoughts were heading somewhere new, and she didn’t quite know if she wanted to go there yet.
“And I already know that I love you.”
She blinked, her eyes suddenly submerged in a bath of would-be tears. “I love you too, Adam.”
“What I already feel for you, Caro,” He pursed his lips, con
centrating. “What we already feel for each other…do you think…is it too soon—”
“Adam, please,” she interrupted, putting her hands on his chest. “There are things I need to know, to—”
“Caro!” called a voice from the top of the stairs. “Are you all right?”
It was Edie.
“Caro?” she called again.
“We must hurry,” Caro said as she slid from the table and picked up the candelabra in a single swift motion. “She will be worried about me.”
“Caro,” he said with a laugh, sifting his hands through his hair. “I’m fairly certain that Edie knows about…us. If she didn’t, she’d be standing right there in the doorway, looking horrified.”
But she was already gone, disappeared into the darkened hallway. It was almost as if she were eager to get away from him.
Or more likely, just from his talk of marriage.
Caro’s thoughts sloshed around her mind with the lurching of the carriage. And no attempt to fix her gaze or to lean out the window for some night air seemed to still them.
If she wasn’t mistaken, Adam had not begun to ask if he could court her; he had begun to ask if could marry her.
And she hadn’t wanted to stop it.
She knew, now, that she could not be happy without Adam. It was as clear to her as the raindrops that had begun to fall on her head, her hands, the sides of the carriage.
She hadn’t wanted to stop it, but she’d needed to postpone it—to set it safely aside, like a thrilling volume of stories on the table next to her bed, with every intention of returning to it with the attention it deserved, at a point in the not-too-distant future. Because before she could agree to such a future, a few matters needed to be sorted out and agreed upon.
So when the carriage stopped and Edwards opened the door, she scampered into the house and up to her rooms, where she could write Adam a letter. She hoped he would understand that she was not really talking about architecture when she wrote:
Dear Lord Ryland,
We find it is essential to have a clear understanding of a gentleman’s hopes and needs for the future before we partner with him in the building of his new home. To this end, we have a few additional questions for you.