Julie Garwood

by Rebellious Desire

  “I am dressed,” Caroline argued.

  They were standing at the edge of the foyer. Milford had joined them and he, too, turned to hear Bradford’s reply. “She looks just fine to me, Brad,” Milford announced, staring at Caroline with appreciation.

  “The gown is lacking a top,” Bradford stated. “Go up and change into something more suitable.”

  “I will not,” Caroline replied emphatically.

  “You aren’t decent,” Bradford growled. Milford started chuckling, and both Caroline and Bradford turned and glared him into silence.

  Then Caroline turned back to confront Bradford. “I am as decent as you are in those breeches.”

  “What’s wrong with my breeches?” Bradford demanded. He was caught off guard by her absurd remark.

  “They are entirely too tight. It’s a wonder you can sit down without injuring yourself,” Caroline answered. She slowly looked him up and down, secretly admiring the way he looked. Lord but he was handsome! And terribly distinguished looking too, in his formal evening black, Caroline considered.

  Milford started laughing again. “May I escort you into dinner?” he asked Caroline as he offered his arm.

  “I would be delighted,” Caroline answered. She placed her hand on Milford’s arm and gave Bradford a chilling look. “When you remember your manners, you may join us.”

  Bradford stood there, baffled by their conversation. How had she put him on the defensive so quickly, so effortlessly? he asked himself. And didn’t she have any idea of the temptation she caused by her dress? He doubted that there was a man there who wasn’t as affected as he.

  Caroline ignored Bradford all through dinner. She sat on Paul Bleachley’s left and conversed with him and with Milford, who was seated across from her. Bradford had taken the chair on Caroline’s right. She didn’t even glance his way.

  Bradford didn’t like being ignored. He barely touched his food, although the comments concerning the dishes were quite favorable. He noticed with some satisfaction that Caroline wasn’t eating much either.

  He fought the urge to take off his jacket and put it over Caroline’s shoulders and promised himself that he would beat Nigel Crestwall to a bloody pulp if he continued to leer at Caroline.

  Bradford decided, halfway through dessert, that he had been patient long enough. He had thought, in the beginning, to proceed slowly, to give her time to accept him, to come to terms with the fact that she would belong to him. Now he admitted that he lacked the patience to continue. It was time to have a little talk with Caroline, and the sooner the better.

  Caroline tried to concentrate on Milford’s remarks about the opera they were all going to directly after dinner, but her attention kept turning to Loretta Kendall, Franklin’s wife. The auburn-haired woman was making a spectacle of herself in her admiration of Bradford, and Caroline thought that if she didn’t quit her flirting very soon, she would do something positively horrid. She considered dumping one of the raspberry tarts down the woman’s dress. Heaven only knew the gown was low enough to accommodate a fair number of tarts.

  Dinner was finally over and the ladies stood to take their leave. The men would stay to share a drink together, but Bradford broke with tradition. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize with anyone but Caroline. He followed her out the door, grabbed hold of her elbow, and requested a word with her. He was acting very formal because Lady Tillman and Loretta Kendall were watching him.

  Caroline gave a curt nod and said, “If it is important,” for the benefit of the ladies listening. She led the way to her father’s study on the first floor, silently fuming at the way Loretta was goggling Bradford.

  “Please leave the door open,” Caroline requested in a haughty voice.

  “What we have to discuss shouldn’t be overheard,” Bradford announced. His voice sounded grim. He slammed the door, leaned against it, and stared at Caroline. “Come here.”

  Caroline frowned over the harsh demand. Why, he was actually commanding her! Was she no better than a serving girl in his eyes? Obviously not! Caroline held her temper, thinking that she had just about reached her limit of endurance.

  And she had hoped for a perfect evening. Perfectly horrid was a far better description, and it wasn’t even half done. She still had the opera to get through. Bradford would be to blame if she lost control of her temper. First the arrogant man arrived over an hour late, next criticized her beautiful gown, then flirted outrageously with a married woman, and now had the audacity to demand her obedience.

  In answer to his command, Caroline leaned against the edge of her father’s desk, folded her arms in front of her, and said, “I’d rather not, thank you.”

  Bradford took a deep breath. He smiled, but it didn’t soften his gaze at all. “Caroline, love. Do you remember telling me that I didn’t know when I was being insulted?”

  Caroline nodded. She was caught off balance by the question and the mildness in his tone. “I do remember,” she replied with a smile.

  “I now suggest that you don’t know when you should be afraid.”

  Caroline quit smiling. Her eyes widened with actual alarm when Bradford began to walk toward her. “I’m not afraid,” she lied.

  “Oh, but you should be,” Bradford stated in a whisper.

  She didn’t stand a chance. Before she could even decide which direction to run, Bradford had her by the waist and was pulling her toward him. He never took his eyes off her. When she was plastered up against his chest, her face tilted up to him, he said, “You have flaunted your charms, allowed every man in the house an ample view of your body, ignored me, and now try to bluster your way out of obeying me. Yes, my love, I believe this is one of those times when you should be afraid.”

  He was furious. The telltale muscle in the side of his cheek was twitching, a sure indication that he was having extreme difficulty keeping his temper in check.

  Caroline was astonished by his remarks. She couldn’t believe how he was trying to turn the tables on her when he was the one who had behaved so dastardly.

  “I haven’t flaunted my charms,” Caroline began. “Loretta’s gown is far more … flaunting than mine. And you are the one who has flirted, Bradford, not me. Don’t you dare glare at me like that. You flirted with a married woman, or did you forget that she was married?”

  She didn’t wait for his answer but continued, “I did ignore you, but only after you insulted my dress. That was probably very childish of me but I wanted this evening to be perfect and I overreacted to your horrid comments.”

  “Why?” Bradford’s expression was guarded and Caroline couldn’t tell how he was reacting to her argument. “Why did you hope for a perfect evening?”

  Caroline turned her gaze to stare intently at his cravat. “I had hoped that you … that is, I did believe …” Caroline sighed. She couldn’t continue.

  Bradford found himself sidetracked by the distress in her voice. He lessened his grip and began to gently caress her back. “We will stand here all night if necessary,” Bradford said, “until you tell me what’s going on inside your head.”

  Caroline knew he meant what he said. She nodded with acceptance and then said, “I had hoped that you would say something … nice to me! There, I have told you the truth and I’ll thank you not to laugh. I wanted to hear you say something other than you want me. Is that asking too much, Bradford?”

  Bradford shook his head. He forced her to look back up at him, using his hand below her chin to get his way. “Nice words aren’t what I had in mind right now. I believe I would much rather throttle you. You have run me in circles these past months. Worse,” he added with a look that made Caroline tremble in trepidation, “I have allowed it.” He paused, determined to lower his voice. “The chaos is over, Caroline, and so is the game. My patience has ended.”

  “Have you been patient because you waited for me to admit that I want you?” She whispered her question, a purposeful setdown to his bellow. Caroline’s expression showed her distress. “I do want yo
u. There, does my admission please you? Before you gloat over it, Bradford, understand that in my heart, it isn’t enough. I also happen to love you. It is therefore, in my mind, acceptable to want you because I love you.”

  Bradford’s irritation vanished with her declaration. He found himself grinning, felt a sense of satisfaction that almost overwhelmed him. He was content. He leaned down and tried to kiss Caroline, but she evaded him with a curt shake of her head.

  “Don’t look so smug, Bradford. I didn’t want to fall in love with you. You aren’t a very nice man to love. Why I couldn’t have chosen someone like Paul Bleachley is beyond me. I believe you have grown on me,” Caroline continued, “but then, so do warts, so that doesn’t explain anything very satisfactorily, does it?” She sighed again, with acceptance this time. “And now you are going to kiss me until I am senseless, aren’t you?”

  Bradford smiled and placed a chaste kiss on the top of Caroline’s head. He inhaled her sweet fragrance and felt intoxicated by it.

  “I really wish that you wouldn’t, Bradford.”

  “Did you actually believe that you could wear that gown and not be kissed?”

  “I did.” It was a bare whisper made against Bradford’s mouth. And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him. His mouth was so warm, his tongue like silken heat as it penetrated and stroked hers. Caroline’s arms slipped around Bradford’s waist, just as his arms circled her, and allowed him to weave his magical web of passion.

  The kiss finally ended and Bradford had to hold Caroline steady. She rested her cheek against his chest, waiting for him to tell her what was in his heart.

  “Is it so painful loving me?” Bradford asked. She could hear the laughter in his voice and bristled over it.

  “Just like a stomachache,” Caroline told him. “I went along for the longest time disliking you so and I grew quite comfortable with that feeling, and then suddenly there it was.”

  “The stomachache or accepting that you loved me?” Bradford chuckled over her comparison. “And you accuse me of being unromantic!”

  A discreet knock on the door interrupted the discussion. Caroline was frustrated, for she was certain Bradford was about to tell her that he loved her.

  “Brad? Aimsmond would like a word with you.” It was Milford’s voice and he didn’t sound happy.

  “You’ve probably made my uncle angry for dragging me in here,” Caroline said. “I’ll go and find him and bring him to you,” she added as she walked to the door. “And do not think that our discussion has ended, Bradford.” With those words of warning, Caroline shut the door behind her.

  Caroline expected to see Milford waiting outside the door, but he was gone. She took a moment to straighten her hair and smooth her skirt and then hurried toward the salon. Nigel Crestwall was lurking in the shadows and grabbed her as she was about to round the corner. The obnoxious man had her pinned up against the wall before she could issue a single word of protest. He began to place wet, slobbery kisses against her neck and whisper obscene suggestions into her ear. Caroline was so outraged, so stunned by the attack, that she didn’t immediately fight him off.

  She finally began to struggle, just as Bradford came around the corner and spotted them.

  Nigel never knew what hit him. He was suddenly flying through the air and then landed with a soft thud against the back door. The vase on the table next to Nigel’s crumbled body wobbled and toppled on top of his head.

  Caroline stared at Crestwall for a long minute, trembling with disgust.

  “This is your fault,” Bradford muttered, and Caroline was so surprised by the vehement statement that she looked at him in amazement.

  She became truly frightened then, for she had never seen such a look of fury on his face before. The power was back, in both his intimidating stance and his expression, and Caroline was actually afraid of him.

  She shook her head, trying to ward off the fear, and made herself continue to look at him. “The man attacked me and it’s my fault?” she asked in a whisper.

  Nigel was trying to stand up, his eyes darting in one direction and then the other, and Caroline knew he sought an avenue of escape. Bradford watched him while he said to Caroline, “If you didn’t dress like a common woman, you wouldn’t be treated like one.”

  His statement hung between them. Caroline’s fear left her and she became outraged. “Is that the excuse you give yourself whenever you touch me? That I am common and it is therefore acceptable?”

  Bradford didn’t answer her. Nigel was edging past them, his eyes looking wild with fright. Bradford reached out with one hand, grabbed him by his collar, and slammed him up against the wall, until the man’s feet were dangling in the air. “If you ever touch her again, I’ll see you dead. Do we understand each other?”

  Nigel couldn’t answer—Bradford’s hold, pushing against his neck, precluded any sounds getting through his throat—but he was able to nod. Bradford released him and continued to watch him until Nigel had raced to the front door, opened it, and disappeared into the night. Caroline wondered what Rachel would make of her fiancé’s sudden disappearance and then put the matter aside.

  Bradford turned his fury on Caroline. He stood before her, blocking her exit. Caroline straightened her shoulders and said, “I did nothing to entice him. And I would have your trust in this matter. You didn’t see what happened.”

  “Do not mention the word trust to me again or I will beat you! It’s time we understood each other, Caroline.”

  “There you are, Bradford!” The marquis’s voice broke the tension. Caroline was the first to move. She turned, forced a smile on her face, and watched her uncle Milo slowly advance toward them.

  “I’m going to head home now,” the marquis explained. He took hold of Caroline’s hand and smiled. “You’ll be coming to see me again tomorrow?” he asked his niece with eagerness in his tone.

  “Of course,” Caroline agreed with a nod.

  “Good! Bradford, I expect to see you on my doorstep and soon, my boy,” the marquis stated.

  “I will call on you directly,” Bradford replied. Caroline noticed that his tone held a note of deference and that there wasn’t any hint of anger. She decided then that he was more sophisticated than she was when it came to controlling emotions. She still felt like screaming and prayed that what she felt wasn’t displayed on her face!

  “They’re making to leave now,” the marquis stated. “Loretta will drop me off on her way to another engagement.” He turned, with Caroline holding his arm, and started toward the door. “Don’t know where Franklin went off to,” he continued. “As soon as Brax announced who would ride with whom, Franklin just got up and took himself off.”

  Caroline could feel Bradford behind her. “I’ll ride with my father,” she announced.

  “No,” her uncle commented. “He’s escorting Lady Tillman and little Rachel. Can’t find hide nor hair of Nigel but I imagine he’ll turn up. Milford suggested that you and he ride with Bradford.”

  Caroline felt her shoulders fall. She didn’t want to ride with Bradford anywhere. She needed time, away from him, to sort her feelings out. The only way she was going to get rid of her anger was to find a quiet corner somewhere and think. It just wasn’t possible to do much thinking with Bradford near. Besides, she told herself, she needed to be in top condition when she sparred with Bradford. And now she felt decidedly … wilted.

  Caroline considered coming down with a splitting headache. She put the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic gesture, even as she thought how cowardly she was behaving. “I do not feel—” She didn’t finish her sentence. The door had just shut behind the marquis, and Caroline was being jerked around. Her cape was slung over her shoulders, rather roughly.

  “Stomach problems?” Bradford asked in a lazy voice as he adjusted the collar on her cape.

  Caroline ignored his question. She knew he was referring to her earlier remarks about loving him and didn’t consider it the least humorous. She chanced a
glance up, saw that Bradford’s expression was still grim, and realized that he didn’t think it humorous either.

  Milford arrived, allowed Deighton to open the door, and then followed them outside. He chatted about the opera, remarking that the Italian soprano was considered quite spectacular, but Caroline wasn’t paying much attention. She climbed into the carriage and settled herself in the middle of the leather cushion. Milford followed and took the seat opposite. Bradford would sit next to his friend, Caroline had determined.

  Bradford didn’t seem inclined to sit anywhere but next to her. And he wasn’t terribly polite about it either. Caroline just scooted out of his way in the nick of time, grabbing the skirt to her gown so that he wouldn’t crush it, and plastered herself up against the side of the carriage.

  Caroline was silent for most of the ride to the opera house. She knew that Milford must have felt the tension and was not the least caring about his discomfort. Wasn’t it his idea that they ride together?

  Bradford seemed to relax somewhat as he conversed with his friend. He was ignoring Caroline just as she was ignoring him. Yet he sat so close to her that his arm continually rubbed against her side and his muscular leg kept itself glued to hers.

  “Caroline, you’re very quiet,” Milford finally remarked. “Don’t you feel well?”

  “She has a stomachache,” Bradford announced in a clipped voice. “And it’s not going away. As soon as she accepts that, she’ll feel remarkably better.”

  Milford showed his confusion over his friend’s remarks. He glanced from one to the other and then back again.

  “There are specific remedies for an odious, overbearing, insufferable stomachache,” Caroline returned. Her voice sounded strained.

  Bradford didn’t reply. Milford looked like she was speaking a foreign language that he hadn’t mastered.

  Caroline smiled at Milford then. Bradford was doing it again, pushing her off balance. He was also making her decidedly nervous. She started to laugh and only shook her head when Milford raised an eyebrow in inquiry.