by Darcy Burke
He cleared his throat. “She uh…she was ill for quite some time, but she has long since recovered and is enjoying life again. I bought her a house on the Seine. It’s a big house with a walking path and its own garden. You can see most of Paris from the top floor.”
The way he said it tugged at her heart. He announced it with such pride. It was so, so good to see him. The ache she had carried within her these past three years had been unbearable. She sighed. “It’s difficult to believe that we allowed so much time to pass without seeing each other. I was very disappointed you never took the time to visit me in Bath. Even when I asked you to visit.”
He averted his gaze. “I had too much going on.”
She nodded. “I know. I understand. At least you wrote every two months. Which is the only reason why I have long forgiven you.”
He made his way toward her, closing the space between them. His features grew somber. “I’m sorry about your father.”
She pinched her lips together and told herself not to get emotional. “So am I.”
“Neither you nor your brother wrote to tell me until months after it happened. Why?”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It was a dark time and neither of us felt like putting it into words. Nor did Alex want you to finish your trip early because of it. We knew you would, so we thought it best not to say anything. Your aunt was very ill and needed you more than we did.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I was worried after hearing of his death. You had written that you and he weren’t on speaking terms.”
She nodded, her throat tightening. “Yes. But fortunately, he and I did mend the rift before he passed. I just didn’t write to tell you all of it.”
“I’m glad there were no words left unspoken.”
“So am I. His passing would have been all the harder to bear.”
He softened his voice. “How did he pass?”
She swallowed. “He died when he was visiting me and my sisters in Bath. According to the physician, his heart stopped. Mary found him lying on the walking path of the estate in the garden. It was…it was incredibly traumatic for her.”
“I’m so sorry. How is she now?”
“A touch morbid, but otherwise well.”
He hesitated. “Ah.”
For a long moment they said nothing. Not that there was anything more to say about Mary being morbid.
He drew closer and lingered, the crisp, sweet scent of his cigar wafting toward her. “I know I mentioned it in many of my letters, but I never got to thank you in person for what you did. For the money.”
She shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“It was everything. It kept me out of prison.” He hesitated. “It’s good to see you.”
She sensed he meant it. “And you.” She gestured toward the hearth where he had extinguished his cigar. “When did you start smoking?”
He eyed her. “I’ve always smoked. Since I was sixteen.”
She blinked. “I didn’t know that.”
He shifted his jaw, still perusing her face. “There is a lot you don’t know.”
The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.
Still perusing her face, he asked, “You’ll be twenty this summer, won’t you?”
“Yes. I will. Is that a problem?”
He shrugged again. “No. I was merely asking.”
She sensed there was more to it than he was admitting. She inched closer. “I want to show you something.”
He lifted a brow. “Oh?”
Digging into her cleavage, which made his gaze veer to it, she withdrew the coin and held it up. “I still have it.”
His gaze snapped to her face. He said nothing.
Not wanting to make him feel self-conscious, she smiled. “You never came back to collect it. Do you want it back?”
He snorted. “No. The damn thing never brought me luck. In fact, I think it’s cursed. I suggest you keep it.”
A laugh escaped her. “What a lovely sentiment to pass off the curse to me. But I intend to defy its evil intentions and will carry its burden in your name. Gladly.” She smirked, tucked the coin back into her bosom, and noting he was intently watching her, she pointed out, “You’re staring.”
He looked away and adjusted his coat. “I know.”
Silence crawled between them.
“I was presented at court last week,” she offered.
“I heard.”
Silence crawled between them again.
“I’m getting married in June,” she added.
His gaze jerked to hers. “To who?” It was almost a demand, not a question.
It gave her hope. She brought her hands together, trying to keep herself and her voice calm. “To you, of course. You didn’t think my affections for you have changed since we last saw each other? In fact, I consider myself more passionate now than I was then. Which means, you don’t stand a chance. By June, you’ll be mine. I guarantee it.”
His expression stilled and grew serious.
Quite certain he needed to absorb her romantic threat, she gestured toward her gown. “I wore this just for you when I heard you were coming to visit. Do you like it?”
His gaze traveled down to her breasts. “Your bodice is too low.”
Her hand jumped to her gown around her throat and patted the material into place. She paused. It was well above where it needed to be. She gave him a pointed look. “Nothing is showing.”
He swiped his face in exasperation. “You grew up on me. I can’t even look at you without… You’re annoyingly attractive.”
She almost dissolved. “I am?” She edged toward him. Close enough for him to lean in and kiss her if it came to mind.
He paused.
The air seemed to ripple between them as that oh-so-familiar scent of soap pierced her breath. He still smelled the same.
He didn’t move. Nor did he appear to be breathing.
Maybe he needed prompting.
She swallowed. “Are you on the market yet?”
His features darkened. “I’m twelve years older than you.”
“I know.” She lowered her gaze to his mouth, and felt herself fading at the thought of those full masculine lips brushing against hers. She tilted her own lips further upward hoping it was all the encouragement he needed and leaned in closer to the heat of his body.
His chest rose and fell in uneven takes. “What are you doing?” he rasped.
Her hands boldly curved up his chest to the smooth lapels on his coat. Her fingers brushed past cool brass buttons as she reveled in the feel of all that broad muscle beneath the soft wool of his morning coat. Lifting her gaze to his, and wanting so desperately to be his, she daringly and softly said, “Tell me how much you missed me. Only say it in French.”
He stilled beneath her touch – his chest still rising and falling visibly – but otherwise, didn’t move. His dark eyes prolonged the moment.
Heavy footsteps sounded from down the corridor, making them both pause.
Caldwell shoved away her hands and scrambled back, adjusting his coat over what appeared to be a very visible arousal. He swung away and buttoned his coat to better hide that bulge. “Shit.”
Her cheeks burned. She couldn’t believe it. At long last, Ronan Henry Dearborn, the fourth Marquis of Caldwell, was attracted to her. She was finally a woman in his eyes.
Still adjusting his coat over himself, he glared. “You don’t go about touching men like that, Caroline. You just don’t. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
She bit her lip, feeling awkward for being reprimanded. Only Caldwell knew how to make her feel self-conscious when she rather thought herself confident. “I’m sorry.”
The footsteps were now outside the door. Alex veered into the room. “Well, if it isn’t the traveling circus,” her brother drawled from behind.
Caroline cringed. It was time to go. She turned and hurried out of the parlor knowing neither she or Caldwell were going to forget that anytime soon.
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nbsp; ***
Endlessly thankful his erection had quickly subsided, Ronan stared in exasperation after Caroline. Her gown trailed across the receiving room floor with the sway of corseted hips, her chestnut curls delicately bouncing as she swept out of the room with a womanly rustle.
Knowing that he wanted to bed Caroline, his Caroline, made him want to punch every wall in the room. Because he didn’t want to change what he and she had shared these past seven years. He didn’t want this turning into something he couldn’t control.
Baxendale – or rather, Hawksford, now – strode toward him in morning attire, those green eyes brightening with usual mischief. “What a grand life you’ve been leading. Wish I had time to go to France.” Hawksford snapped out a hand. “Good to see you, Caldwell.”
Ronan tried to focus. “And you. I have to get used to the idea of calling you Hawksford now.” He grabbed that hand and shook it firmly. “I’m sorry about your father. I wish you had told me when it happened.”
Releasing his hand, Hawksford shrugged. “You were tending to your aunt in France whilst she was ill. What could you have done?”
“I could have shown up for the funeral.”
“And? Would that have brought him back? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Damn the man. “I’m sorry. For all of you. It must have been hard.”
Hawksford dragged a hand through bronzed hair. “We all learned to swallow it in our own way. My mother was a mess for a while. But she is more than fine now. Their relationship was always a strange one. It was love but it wasn’t.” Striding over to a leather chair, Hawksford flopped himself into it. He pointed to a chair across from him. “Sit.”
Ronan glanced at the open doorway, half expecting Caroline to return. He still couldn’t believe his pimpled little friend had turned into a fresh-faced stunning woman who made him want to rip off all of her clothes. He hadn’t been this attracted to a woman since…well…he couldn’t remember.
Making his way to the chair, Ronan sat and thumbed toward the doorway, still in disbelief. “Caroline has certainly…blossomed since I last saw her. I hardly recognized her.” He probably shouldn’t say more than that.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? Men are lining up at all hours of the day.”
“Are they?” Ronan shifted against the leather cushion of the seat, irked to know he not only wasn’t the only man who thought Caroline was attractive but that she was actually old enough to…bed and wed a man.
He needed to get a hold of himself. It was wrong thinking of her in that way. He cleared his throat. “How have you been?”
Hawksford shrugged. “I’ve been better. With my newfound role as earl, I had to swear off women, late nights and parties. So regrettably, you and I won’t be doing much of that anymore. After the name my father made for himself, I decided it was best to dedicate my time to being an exemplary leader for my sisters.”
Ronan tsked. “I hate to tell you, old boy, but it’s a touch too late for that. You’ve already done everything you shouldn’t.”
“Yes, well, a man can try.” He paused, pensively looking off to the side. “I did meet this one woman, though. God did she ever make me want to reconsider my entire life.”
Ronan had only ever seen that hazy look once before. Years and years ago. “Are we talking marriage here?”
Hawksford’s gaze snapped to his. “Don’t be stupid.” Leaning forward in the chair, Hawksford confided, “I’ll have you know, the woman propositioned me – me – from a hackney on the street. In broad daylight. She didn’t even look the sort, either. She was dressed in this—this…mourning garb and had the face of an angel about to deliver Jesus himself. I didn’t know what to make of it.”
“So what happened?”
Falling back against the chair, Hawksford hit the arm of the chair with a fist. “I escorted her home.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“As in nothing?”
“As in absolutely nothing.” Hawksford puffed out a breath. “Now I’m smacking myself knowing I should have at least kissed her. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so restless.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s like I’m losing myself to this thing called respectability.” Hawksford stared. “Speaking of respectable, you wouldn’t happen to know of any good men on the market, would you?”
Ronan smirked. That was rather random. “Why? Are you looking?”
Hawksford swiped an agitated hand toward him and glared. “No, you knothead. I’m trying to make a decent match for Caroline. I want her off my hands by the end of the Season. The girl is too much work. She wags her tongue at me all the bloody time, and doesn’t want to go to half the places I tell her to. The only thing she does enjoy about the Season is riding out on Rotten Row. Annoyingly, the ton has been twitching and calling her old because she turns twenty this summer. She wouldn’t have started so late, but we were all in mourning this time last year so it was out of the question.”
Ronan shifted in his seat again. Whoever thought that thirteen-year-old girl he’d met in the library would have caught up to him by being almost twenty? It was unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable. And to think. She still had his ‘lucky’ sovereign.
Hawksford squinted. “Are you all right?”
Ronan glanced toward him. “Yes. Why?”
“You’re unusually quiet. And only women ever make you quiet. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Even though Hawksford was his closest friend, there were many things Hawksford didn’t know and would never know. Like how he took money from women in return for certain favors. And how he’d been doing it since he was fourteen.
Once upon a time, he had felt shame in it. The older he got, however, the more he realized he wasn’t the one who ought to be shamed by what he was doing, but rather, the women who were coming to him in the name of pleasure. It eventually turned into a way of life in which he only dealt with women who paid to be in his life.
Everything else was a waste of time.
That is…until Caroline came into his life seven years to the breath and made him realize there didn’t have to be anything sexual between men and women. There could be intelligence, compassion, laughter and above all, companionship that wasn’t tainted by lust or the gormless games women played with men.
But seeing Caroline again, after three years of being apart from her, made him realize none of that applied anymore. Because he was attracted to her. And it wasn’t a simple oh-she-is-pretty sort of attraction. No. It was a shred-all-of-the-clothes-from-her-body-and-bang-her-into-every-wall sort of attraction.
It was something he didn’t need.
Spraying lust on what they shared would only mar her.
And the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.
Which he would.
It was best to avoid her.
In fact, it was best to never look her way again.
Lesson Four
Why is patience considered a virtue? Does anyone know?
-The School of Gallantry
Friday evening
The Hawksford Residence
The damn thing really was cursed.
Hitching up her moonstone gown from around her stockinged legs, Caroline kicked off her satin slippers and frantically climbed up and onto her massive bed. Whipping aside the lone remaining pillow that hung from the edge of the bed, she crawled across the cleared mattress, patting and sliding her gloved hands along the smooth linen around her. She had tucked Caldwell’s sovereign beneath her pillow just this morning. Where did it go?!
A gargled male laugh drifted toward her from the open doorway. “Dare I even ask what you’re doing?”
Caroline froze, her hands and knees still planted atop the mattress, her evening gown billowing up to her elbows. She cringed and peered toward Alex who had quirked an inquisitive brow from beneath the rim of his top hat.
His green eyes mocked her as he crossed his arms over his chest, causing his evening coat to tighten aro
und his shoulders. “And I thought I was fond of my bed.”
Always the court jester and always at her expense. “Cease. I’m looking for something between the linens.”
“Aren’t we all.” He dropped his hands back to his sides. “Get off the bed. We’re late. The Whittle ball already commenced twenty minutes ago.”
Caroline grudgingly scooted herself toward the edge of the bed and hopped down onto the floor, landing beside her overturned satin slippers. “I can’t leave until I find my lucky sovereign. I don’t know where it is.”
He groaned. “Caroline, don’t do this to me. It’s not like I enjoy going to these festivities. I’m only going because of you.”
Using her right foot, she positioned her slippers upright, shoved her feet back inside, and hurried around the bed toward him. “And I’m only going because of you. Imagine that. You think I like associating with superficial tarts who all gossip about us when we aren’t listening?” She waved him aside from the doorway he was blocking. “Please step aside. An unspeakable crime has been committed and I have no doubt the four culprits better known as our sisters are responsible for it.”
Alex pedaled back into the corridor, allowing her passage. “They have probably ceased announcing people by now.”
“I know, I know. I will do my best to hurry. Just let me find it.” Of all nights. Caldwell was going to be there. She couldn’t engage him without his sovereign tucked away in her dress. It would be like walking up to him without her heart. She had gotten so used to carrying it with her these past three years. “Wait for me downstairs, Alex,” she called. “I’ll be right there.”
“Five minutes,” he called back. “Or I leave without you!”
One would think the man was getting married. Caroline hurried down the length of the candlelit corridor. She eventually paused before the first of the four bedchamber doors. Seemingly innocent silence hummed, but she knew better. None of her sisters ever settled into bed before nine. They were congregating somewhere.