Tempted by His Touch: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Dukes, Rogues, & Alpha Heroes Historical Romance Novels

by Darcy Burke

Ronan glanced toward the open curtains of the carriage and pulled each curtain over the glass windows.

  “You won’t be able to see anything,” she coolly pointed out.

  “Exactly.” He moved forward in his seat, blew out a breath and gently reached out into the darkness before him. His fingers and palms brushed up against the sides of her soft, muslin gown. He slid his hands up toward her corseted waist, convincing himself that these blatant touches were a necessary evil and took hold of her hips. “It would be better if you sit on my lap.” He waited for permission.

  She hesitated and grouched, “Do whatever is necessary.”

  He half-nodded and guided her down slowly by the waist, carefully seating her on his lap. The faint, playful fragrance of powder and jasmine teased him yet again. Feathery locks of her long hair fell heavily onto his left hand, arm and shoulder.

  He had never been so aware of a woman before in all his thirty years of life.

  He focused on breathing through his mouth, rather than his nostrils, so he could concentrate. Though it was quite dark inside the carriage due to the foggy night and the drawn curtains, he managed to find the first hook at the very bottom. Just above the curve of her backside, which he refused to acknowledge as being her backside. He hooked the material together as best he could, up the back of her gown, despite more than half of the hooks having been ripped from his earlier assault.

  He felt as if he had raped her.

  The thought made him want to retch as his fingers now trembled. He loathed himself knowing he had violated her. It wasn’t real. He didn’t want it to be.

  She sat perfectly still, her breaths barely noticeable, as if expecting him to revert to the man he was when he’d been blindfolded.

  As he reached the top part of her gown, just beneath her neck, his bare fingers accidentally brushed against the warmth of soft skin. He almost unraveled. He almost buried his face into her neck like he had that night in the alcove and begged she not judge him for what had just happened. That this wasn’t him. That he didn’t know who had showed up at that champagne party. He didn’t know who had put on that blindfold.

  He quietly finished, wishing he could keep his thoughts blank. When he was done, he slowly slid his hand across the length of her back one last time, to ensure the hooks he had latched would hold. Fortunately, there were enough of them intact to hold it in place. “There,” he murmured, lifting her up. He turned her and set her back into the seat across from him. Away from himself.

  Knowing that he shouldn’t keep the curtains closed any longer, he pulled both sides open. Dull light from the carriage lanterns filtered back in.

  Caroline settled back against the upholstered seat but said nothing.

  He swallowed. He needed to assure her of his intentions. Intentions he not only planned to offer her, but intentions he damn well owed her. “You and I will marry. I’m not worth much, but what I do have is yours.”

  She turned her face toward the window of the carriage. Her unbound hair slowly slid over her shoulder and fell down onto her lap. “The sort of marriage I want, you clearly cannot offer me.”

  His eyes burned. He turned to stare out the window toward the fog-ridden night swaying just beyond the glass. “Are you saying that to hurt me?”

  Caroline fidgeted with the bare tips of her fingers. “I have always known, given that you cavorted with my brother all these years prior to my father’s death, that you associated with many women. Believe me. I did. I grew up in a family in which such things were never shielded from me. My own father was a very passionate man, and my brother and my mother have all been guilty of being the same. But I somehow believed, through it all, given our friendship, that there was more to you than this. I somehow believed, given you once claimed Persuasion was a book dear to you, that you were merely a man struggling to be more like Captain Wentworth in a world full of infamy and temptation. But obviously, I was wrong.” She lowered her gaze. “You knew what I felt for you all these years and yet you chose to ignore it. You chose to ignore me. To the very end. And now I am the one paying the price for your inability to love me.”

  The misery in her voice became his own. And that misery bit into him like a physical pain. “Caroline,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning forward, so as to better look at her face. “I never ignored you. I never could. From the moment we met, I was drawn into wanting to know you and be with you. I have never taken the time to know anyone like that. Especially a woman.”

  She continued to miserably stare down at her hands.

  “Tell me what I need to do,” he gently prodded. “Tell me how to mend this.”

  She said nothing.

  “Tell me,” he insisted. “I wish to mend this.” When she still said nothing, he swallowed and said, “Then I suppose we will let your brother decide what happens. Because I am telling him. I have to.”

  Startled, she glanced up. “No. I don’t want Alex to know.”

  He choked. “I can’t very well keep something like this from him. Nor will I.”

  She coolly observed him. “You have kept everything else from him.”

  He shifted his jaw. “That isn’t fair.”

  “If you tell Alex what happened between us tonight, he will force us to marry.”

  He glared. “Yes. And that is exactly what should happen. We should marry. For God’s sake, Caroline, we aren’t talking about a missing glove here. We’re talking about your maidenhead!”

  She glared back. “Oh, I see. So you think because you claim a maidenhead, that somehow it gives you the right to claim the hand and the heart of the woman attached to it? Even if you haven’t earned it? No and no, Ronan. I’m not marrying into this. I’m not stepping into whatever deranged game you and your lover were playing tonight. I’m not.”

  He stared, his breaths uneven and labored. “She played us both.”

  She stared back. “If that is true, and I honestly don’t know what to believe when it comes to you anymore, then it is time you accept that you were the one laying in her bed. Not I. So now you must stay in that bed. Because I am not marrying into this. And after tonight, you had better damn well believe I don’t ever want to see you again. Do you understand?”

  He was losing her. It wasn’t merely those words that were pushing him away. He could see it in her eyes. Those green-blue eyes that used to be so bright and so eager whenever they looked at him. Now they were flat, hard, unforgiving and full of hate. After years of cradling the only genuine relationship he had ever shared with a female, their friendship was breaking. He was breaking. “Caroline. Don’t do this. You and I are more than this. We are friends. We always have been. Surely you know that I didn’t—”

  “Didn’t what?” she demanded. “Do you honestly think I deserve to settle for a man like you? For a man who whores himself to other women? Is that what you think? Whilst I have faithfully held out my hand to you and chased you up and down every facet of your life throughout the years, devoting every breath to you and only you, when did you ever hold out your hand to me and chase me up and down through the facet of my life outside of superficial letters these past three years? No wonder you didn’t visit me in Bath. You were too busy copulating.” She glared. “The day you walked out of that parlor, three years ago, when I was broken and ill in mind over whether you would survive your debts, and convinced my father to assist, you thought nothing of me or what I did for you. You simply galloped off to another woman who then crudely paid your debts and bought your body as if any price could be set on such a thing. For shame, Ronan. For shame for putting your pride and your debts before my heart.”

  He momentarily closed his eyes.

  The carriage rolled to a halt as the driver called out their arrival.

  He wasn’t worthy of her. He had never been and had known it all along. He had known it from the moment that thirteen-year-old girl had asked to be his friend in the library. As if he were worthy of being a friend to anyone. And to now force her into a marriage that would only make her
miserable was the last thing he wanted for the girl he had always secretly adored.

  Opening his eyes, Ronan looked away, unable to face her. “I won’t tell him. Stay here. He may already be home. And if he is, I will come up with something to keep him from seeing you entering the house.”

  He rose, threw open the carriage door and without waiting for the steps to be unfolded by the driver, jumped down onto the cobbled street and slammed the coach door shut. He numbly strode onto the pavement and over and up the stairs leading to the Hawksford household and glanced toward the fog-ridden streets and endless dark windows and houses.

  Fortunately, the fog was going to keep their arrival discreet.

  He prayed Hawksford wasn’t home. Ronan glanced down at his mussed clothing and cringed. After he rebuttoned his waistcoat and tied his cravat as best he could, he tested the door. It unlocked.

  The door suddenly swung wide open, making him freeze.

  One of the older servants held up a lit lantern toward his face. She squinted up at him from beneath the ruffled rim of her nightcap, and upon recognizing him – for he’d been calling on the Hawksford residence for too many years to count – the woman’s gray eyes widened. “My lord. Is all not well?”

  Ronan cleared his throat. “Forgive the hour, Mrs. Tanner. Is uh…is Hawksford at home?” How he prayed he wasn’t.

  Mrs. Tanner blinked. “His carriage has yet to arrive.”

  He almost sagged into and against the doorframe. He could get Caroline into the house without Hawksford knowing.

  Mrs. Tanner stepped back, wrapping her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders and serving attire, and held the door open, the lantern swaying in her hand. “Would you care for tea as you wait? He should be along any moment.”

  Tea before the funeral. Ha. “No, thank you, Mrs. Tanner. I—”

  The rustling of skirts and quick steps behind him made his heart lurch. He jerked toward the sound. Caroline hurried up the stairs, past him and in through the open door, her long loose locks bouncing in her haste. “I owe you ten pounds,” she announced to Mrs. Tanner and then passed through. “And another ten if you don’t mention Lord Caldwell to my brother or anyone else.”

  “Yes, of course, my lady.” Mrs. Tanner promptly turned back to Ronan and lifted a fading brow. “Perhaps it’d be best if you call on his lordship at a more respectable hour.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I’ll not breathe a word to him or anyone. That you can depend upon, my lord. I have been serving the Hawksford name for as long as you have been alive, and I have kept every last secret known to the name.”

  The old earl had certainly laid out big boots. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Tanner.” Ronan reached into his coat pocket, knowing his leather satchel had thirty pounds in it. “Let me pay the twenty pounds, Caroline. It’s the least I can do.”

  Caroline reappeared from behind the servant, her anguished face partly hidden in the shadows outside of the lantern light which Mrs. Tanner held. “I’ll not be your whore. I settle my own debts.”

  He stiffened, his face burning as if he’d been slapped.

  The clattering of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves echoed against cobblestone just down the street. They all jerked toward the sound.

  In the distance, two carriage lanterns swayed from atop the driver’s seat of a brougham, like golden halos floating in through the thickness of the night fog.

  His stomach churned. It was Hawksford.

  Caroline jumped toward Ronan and choked out, “Whatever you do, don’t tell him. Please. If you have any respect for what I’ve endured, if there was anything ever between us, say nothing. Don’t make me—” A sob escaped her. She disappeared into the house, her shoes clicking at a running tempo.

  Mrs. Tanner tsked. “This reminds me of how the old master conducted business. Trouble. God rest his soul.” She waved him off. “Off with you. Lest we all rot for this.” She stepped back and slammed the door in his face, leaving him to stand all alone in the darkness of the night.

  With Hawksford.

  Ever so slowly, Ronan turned and watched in a state of detached dread as Hawksford’s black-lacquered carriage rolled up. It swayed to a complete halt.

  A footman hopped down from the back of the carriage, hurried around to the side door, opened it, and unfolded the steps before snapping himself back to attention beside the open carriage door.

  The oval top of Hawksford’s angled hat and his large frame appeared in the opening of the carriage. Without bothering to use the unfolded steps, Hawksford hopped down in one solid swoop onto the pavement, his black great coat rising and landing back around his solid frame.

  Hawksford strode steadily forward, then paused at the bottom of the stairs. He stared up at Ronan and slowly pushed back his top hat with the palm of his gloved hand. So as to better look at him.

  Hawksford let out a low whistle. “Whose window did you fall out of?”

  This was officially awkward.

  “Why are you here?” Hawksford eyed him. “It’s one in the morning.”

  Ronan swiped a shaky hand across his face and struggled to remain calm. He needed to give Caroline time to get back to her room. He also needed something that would enable him to survive this. “I need a drink. I was drunk earlier, but God help me, I’m feeling sober again and need to remedy that.”

  “I know the feeling.” Jogging up the remaining stairs, two at a time, Hawksford landed beside him with a thud before the door. “All I have is brandy. Which I know you don’t touch.”

  No. He didn’t. Brandy reminded him of his father. Brandy reminded him of vomit. Brandy reminded him of all the hours he spent alone. But Caroline needed time to get to her room and into her bed. And he…he needed…. “Brandy is good.”

  Hawksford paused. “You never touch brandy.”

  “I know. But I need something. Anything.”

  “Anything it is.” Hawksford waved his carriage off and pointed at the door. “Come in.”

  Ronan nodded and followed him deep into the house sand into the study which was lit by two, fading candles. The stark darkness of the study and the silence was unnerving.

  Hawksford stripped his top hat and greatcoat. He tossed them onto a wingback chair, where they landed perfectly atop and stayed. He glanced at Ronan from over his shoulder, his face barely lit, and made his way over toward the oak sideboard where he always housed the brandy. “I would hate to know the sort of trouble you’re in if you’re calling on me at this hour.”

  Ronan wanted to say something. He knew he ought to, but he wasn’t about to force Caroline to be his, especially after what had happened. He couldn’t do that to her. For he knew all too well what it was like to be forced into a situation one didn’t want to be in.

  Hawksford yanked out a full crystal decanter of brandy and two crystal glasses and set them atop the sideboard. He filled each glass halfway, the sound of liquid rushing against glass resonating like the roar of an ocean in the silence. Hawksford plucked up both glasses and ambled toward him. “Did you want to talk?”

  Nausea hit Ronan hard. “No.”

  Hawksford extended one of the crystal glasses filled with brandy. “Here. Go slow.”

  Ronan took the glass, noting that his hand visibly trembled. He tried to hide it by lifting the glass to his lips. The penetrating sting of brandy lashed him back to days he didn’t want to remember.

  Was it worse than hurting Caroline? No.

  Without allowing for a breath, he gulped down the entire contents of the glass, hoping to drown out the reality that he had debauched Hawksford’s own sister. The burning liquid soothingly went down. He choked against it, feeling as if he were gagging on vomit, but shoved it down his throat, knowing he deserved it. He deserved to suffer for what he had done to Caroline.

  He swiped his lips with the back of his hand that now held the empty glass and paused.

  Hawksford’s green eyes sharpened with concern. He leaned in. “Are you certain you don’t want to talk? Because I’m
listening.”

  He had to stop being so obvious. “I’m tired.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Hawksford finished his own brandy, causing a few bronzed strands of hair to fall onto his forehead. He gestured toward Ronan. “Since you’re here, I’d like to discuss something with you. It’s about your uncle.”

  Not good.

  “Can you ask him to stay away from my mother and my sister? I’m trying to run a respectable household and his reputation is…well...worse than mine.”

  Ronan felt his lips growing numb. It had nothing to do with the brandy. “I will tell him.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Hawksford pointed at Ronan’s empty glass. “Do you want another?”

  Ronan shook his head. “No. I’ll be suffering in the morning as it is. I already had two bottles of champagne.” He shoved the empty glass toward him.

  “Only two?” Hawksford took the glass. “I once finished five. And you were there to see it. Remember? I never pissed so much.”

  Yes. He remembered all too well when Hawksford had brazenly taken on more than one woman at the last champagne party they’d attended years ago. How… inopportune.

  Ronan backed himself out the doorway of the study. “I know that we sometimes agitate each other, but…you have always been like a brother to me. I wanted you to know that.” He had to say it.

  Hawksford quirked a bronzed brow and pointed at him with one of the empty glasses. “Did you do something you shouldn’t have?”

  Ronan counterfeited a smile that was almost too painful to hold. “I’m notorious for it. I am, after all, my father’s son.” He edged back. “Thanks for the drink. I have to go. I have a long night ahead of me.”

  A very long night. Because he was damn well calling on Theodosia.

  ***

  Shoving his way past the butler who had opened the entrance door he’d been pounding on, Ronan thudded his way up the staircase toward Theodosia’s bedchamber.

  “My lord,” the butler hollered after him. “Her ladyship has retired for the night. She isn’t receiving!”

  “Don’t pretend I never call on this house, Selden,” Ronan hollered back in riled annoyance.