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

by Darcy Burke

  Hawksford veered in close and grabbed Caldwell’s shoulder. Hard. He squeezed it slowly, digging the tips of his large fingers into the flesh beneath Ronan’s jacket.

  Ronan winced. Not because it hurt, but because he wanted this moment to be over so he could move on to do what he wanted to do: which was get Caroline back. He needed to get her back.

  Hawksford leaned in. “God save me from murdering someone,” he growled. “How do I know she hasn’t done this before?”

  Ronan’s eyes widened. Was he accusing Caroline of—

  The son of a bitch. How could he think that of Caroline? It was the man’s own sister! Ronan now stared him down with a fierceness Ronan hoped the man felt. “I can assure you, Hawksford, as experienced as she might have seemed to me with the blindfold on, Caroline was in fact—” He paused. He had said enough.

  “A virgin,” Madame de Maitenon supplied.

  Christ. “Yes, thank you, Madame,” Ronan tossed over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Hawksford released him and swiped a whole hand over his face. His voice quieted. “Is she with child? Do you even know?”

  Ronan’s throat tightened. A part of him wished Caroline was. He had always wanted to be a father. The sort he had never had. “No. She shouldn’t be. I didn’t—” He probably shouldn’t go into detail.

  Random coughs escaped Banfield and Brayton.

  Ronan didn’t even want to know what the two thought of all this. They probably felt much better about their own problems. Which was why Madame had insisted on him being open to sharing it. “I was completely ridden with guilt,” Ronan finally explained. He let out a less than enthused laugh, for that was an understatement. “Completely. My uncle insisted that I seek out assistance so as to bring this matter to your attention in a civilized manner. He recommended going to someone who understood these sort of situations. And so here we are.”

  Hawksford stared. “Yes. Here we are. All so civilized. All standing in a school that educates men on the topic of love and seduction.” Hawksford whipped a finger back toward Madame, who stood behind them. “Thanks to you, Caldwell, our lives are now being orchestrated by the bloody French!” he boomed.

  Madame tsked. “Do not blame me for any of this.”

  Hawksford dropped his hand. “Your uncle is the last person you ought to take advice from. He barely remembers the day of the week.”

  As if the day of the week ever mattered to his uncle. “Yes, I know, I know. But he’s the only family I have. I was desperate. And it made sense to me at the time. Hawksford. I do intend to marry her.”

  Hawksford glared. “You damn well better marry her, you bastard! Despite your so-called offer, I cannot help but fear the sort of a husband you’ll make. What with your background, your father, and all.”

  Ronan stiffened. He was a good many thing but he was more than his father. He had always been more than his father. Shifting his jaw, Ronan stepped toward him, ready to take him on with both fists if need be. “It was always my intent to be a good husband.”

  “Is that so?” Hawksford gave him a pointed stare. “And what would you even know about being a good husband? You aren’t even capable of being a good friend.”

  The man was going to try to undermine him in this. And he’d be damned if he let Hawksford do that given he was trying to be a better man. “Now that’s not bloody fair!” Ronan pointed at him rigidly, getting up close and into his face, no longer caring if this did result in fists. “I may have been born unto a bleedin’ Marquis de Sade, but I am still capable of decency!” And love.

  Hawksford shoved him back. “Are you including this in your definition of decency?”

  Ronan staggered against that shove but didn’t retaliate. Instead, he swallowed, knowing that his pride had no place in this. He sighed. “Hawksford. For God’s sake, I— Aside from trying to be responsible, that night with Caroline was...well...incredible. I cannot deny what occurred between us.” He dug into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew the gold sovereign that he had carried with him every day since Caroline had given it back to him. He held it up. “Do you even know what this is? Have you seen it before?”

  Hawksford blinked at it. “Caroline’s lucky sovereign.”

  “My lucky sovereign, Hawksford,” Ronan corrected. “I once gave this to your sister with a promise. A promise I intend to keep.” Ronan glanced at the coin and shoved it back into his pocket. “I suppose all you need know is that despite everything, I have always thought Caroline to be incredibly beautiful. But with her being your sister and a Hawksford, I never—” He cleared his throat, knowing he was rambling. “I suppose I’ve said more than enough.”

  Hawksford lingered and after a moment of silence eventually asked, “Are you telling me that...you’re in love with her?”

  Ronan froze and stared at him, astounded that the man would even think to ask such a question. It wasn’t like Hawksford to ask about…love. “Well, no.” Jesus. Did he just say no? Why the hell was he so nervous? It was Hawksford. “I mean...well, I may be, but—”

  “May be?” Hawksford boomed, edging toward him. “What do you mean you may be? You either are or you aren’t, goddamn you! Don’t you even know?”

  Ronan almost grabbed his head. “For God’s sake, man! I’ve never been in love! In lust, yes, but never in love. And this—” He shook his head, wishing he could dig through all the emotions that ravaged him whenever he thought of Caroline or was in her presence. It was all consuming and all confusing. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know.” But he did know he couldn’t live without her. He did know he couldn’t and didn’t want to breathe without her.

  After a long moment, Hawksford finally said in a flat tone, “I shall obtain a special license from the Archbishop.”

  Ronan stepped toward him, feeling a weight lifting. “You will?”

  Hawksford poked him in the chest, hitting the buttons on his waistcoat and lowered his voice to lethal. “In the meantime, you will make everyone in London believe, including myself, that this is a match based on all things civil. And above all, you will make her happy. For if she is not happy—” Hawksford narrowed his gaze. “Then I am not happy. Is that understood?”

  Ronan tugged his coat into place. He could do this. He could. “I can make her happy. I know I can.”

  Hawksford gave a curt nod. “Good.”

  The man only ever said ‘good’ when he refused to return to a subject again. Ronan was so relieved knowing it. That meant all was forgiven. “Good?” He couldn’t help but grin in outright relief, knowing it. “Really?”

  Hawksford glared. “Not another word. Lest I change my mind.”

  Ronan’s grin faded. Beyond exhausted and numb, he heavily sat in the chair behind him knowing that despite all of his lessons, that included six days a week at two hours at a time, a part of him still wasn’t ready to face Caroline and kiss her in the way she deserved.

  But he’d come this far. And he’d be damned if he didn’t give her everything she deserved and more. Because he realized something. He had to love Caroline to submit to so much. He had to. And knowing it made him all the more confident that he was not only going to win Caroline but make her realize what they shared was miraculously different from anything else he had ever kneeled to.

  Lesson Nineteen

  Do you believe in fate? Or do you believe that others control your fate?

  -The School of Gallantry

  Four days later – 1 a.m.

  Caroline quietly dressed with the assistance of her lady’s maid who she had wordlessly roused. A dream about her father walking up to her in the park and asking her when she would visit him at his cottage had rattled her into tears. She had only visited him in that cottage twice in the year he had been sentenced to it. She had always regretted not visiting him more, especially given he had died barely two years after. So she visited him in spirit at the cottage whenever she could. Mostly because his crypt was hardly the place she wanted to be. Especially at night.


  “I will only be gone a few hours,” she faintly offered to her lady’s maid. “I will be back by morning. As always. If my mother should ask for me, inform her of it.”

  Bundling herself in a cloak, she went through the servants’ quarters and with the assistance of the butler, roused the driver and two footmen and asked them to take her to her father’s cottage. They were always very sweet and obliging to such requests for they had all been in service to her father for years.

  Gathering up her cloak and gown, she stepped out of the house and into the cool, foggy darkness. The footman hopped down from behind the carriage, opened the door, and folded out the steps for her. He held out his gloved hand.

  Caroline climbed into the carriage, which was dimly lit with a lone lantern hanging from the red brocaded ceiling, and sat on the cushioned seat as the footman folded the steps back into place and closed the door. The carriage lurched forward and clattered off.

  Darkness swayed beyond the glass window. She pulled the curtains shut over all the windows and settled back against the seat, knowing she would find peace again once she sat in her father’s chair and held his coat that was still in a trunk in his room.

  As the carriage clattered on and on at a high pace, she could do nothing but think about how poorly she had handled herself regarding her father. Her poor father. To the end, he had kept asking her for forgiveness. As if her forgiveness mattered more to him than all else. Tears blinded her. She missed him. As her Mama had said, he wasn’t a perfect man, but he didn’t need to be. For no one was.

  What seemed like moments later, though she knew it was just a touch over an hour, the carriage eventually slowed, then swayed to a halt. She sat up.

  The crunching of gravel beneath a steady pace of boots as the footman rounded the carriage, and the door opened. The footman stoically unfolded the steps and held out his gloved hand for her.

  Taking his hand, she stepped down and glanced around at the trees towering in the shadows. Warm, glowing lights shone up ahead through the glass panes of the lone home. She squinted. Odd. Was the caretaker still awake?

  “Thank you. I only require an hour,” she said to the footman. “Wait here unless I call for you.” She made her way down the narrow path to the front door whose small, stone archway was covered with ivy. Testing the latch, she was surprised to find that she didn’t need the key. It was unlocked. She hesitated, opened the door and slipped inside.

  A narrow wooden staircase led to the quiet second floor of its low ceilings. Several portraits of the family scattered the uneven timbered walls, and though there appeared to be several waning candles lit in the adjoining room, it was still dim. It smelled like musty oak and reminded her of summers spent here as a child.

  She hurried toward the stairs, wanting to grab her father’s coat from the trunk.

  “Charlotte?” a gruff male voice suddenly called from the adjoining room.

  She almost screamed as her heart plummeted straight to her feet. She froze before the narrow stairwell. It sounded like…her brother. She turned and slowly, slowly stepped back toward the adjoining room, entering the doorway.

  A half-dressed male figure sat cross-legged on the wooden floor next to a toppled chair that appeared to have been kicked aside. It startled her into meeting the anguished green eyes of her brother who was only wearing his trousers and boots. His bronzed and usually well-tended hair was wild and unkempt, falling onto his forehead and into his eyes. His jaw was heavily shadowed as if he hadn’t tended to himself in days, and what was perhaps even more unnerving was that he continued to sit there cross-legged on the floor as if it were normal.

  His eyes widened as he jumped onto his booted feet. “Caroline! What are you doing here?”

  Her eyes flickered across the length of his bare chest. She cringed and snapped up a gloved hand to shield her eyes. “Why are you prancing about half-naked? I realize it’s the country, but really.”

  Alex snatched up the shirt from what appeared to be a pile of his clothes and yanked it hurriedly over his head. He stalked toward her, stuffing the ends of his loose shirt into the depths of his trousers. “My chest should be the least of your worries.”

  Caroline dropped her hand to her side and glared at him, given she wasn’t the one prancing around the countryside half-naked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He stopped before her. “I can overlook the bloody hour, but why the devil would you come all the way out here? And alone? ’Tis anything but safe.”

  Apparently, she was back to being two-years-old. “I brought two footmen and a driver. I always come out here whenever I need time to myself.” She eyed him, wondering why he was out here with a broken chair. A dalliance? “What about you? Why are you here? Dare I even ask?”

  “Me?” He shrugged in what appeared to be agitation. “I needed quality air, is all. Can’t trust anyone these days.”

  Oh, dear. Between the two of them not confessing to their sins, this was about to get incredibly awkward. “You are being annoyingly cryptic.” She paused, then rose on the tips of her slippered toes and tried to glance around him and into the room. Was he alone? “Is someone here?”

  He stepped aside and gestured toward the empty room and the toppled chair on the floor. “As you can see, no.”

  She dropped back onto her heels. Something told her he had been entertaining, but it really wasn’t her place to ask who or why.

  He pinned her with a firm stare, and after a long, pulsing moment, said, “I know about Caldwell. He told me.”

  Caroline’s eyes widened. She could feel alllllllll of the blood draining from not only her head but her heart. Ronan had promised her he wouldn’t tell her brother. He had promised. The bastard. “He told you?” She scrambled back into the darkened hallway and raised a trembling, gloved hand to her mouth knowing full well what it meant: marriage.

  “Yes. And he also told me that Mother and Lord Hughes were in on it.”

  Oh, God. This was about to get complicated. “Actually,” she said through her still cupped hand, “Mother wasn’t in on it.”

  Alex leveled his gaze at her. “What do you mean?”

  She lowered her hand back to her side and shook her head in disbelief, sending sections of her loose curls bouncing against her face. “She knew that my going to a champagne party would upset you. But I went all the same. I...never mind why. When she saw me grouped with all the women, she quietly left. I didn’t know until afterward that she had seen me.” She sighed. “In the end, she wanted me to follow my heart. She wrote Lord Hughes a letter about it, seeing that he had invited me in, and asked for further assistance. It only got more complicated from there.”

  “Lord Hughes invited you?” he choked out, edging toward her.

  Caroline held up both hands in an effort to calm him. There was too much to explain. “Alex, please. Don’t blame him. He was only trying to help.”

  “Help?” he rasped. “Oh, he helped. He helped debauch you. That no good son of a bitch! That fucking bastard! I’m going to kill him. I’ll kill him!”

  She hadn’t heard her brother use words like that in years. She rolled her eyes. “Alex, please. My bedding Caldwell was inevitable.” Sadly, it was true.

  He choked. “Christ have mercy, do not say things like that so matter-of-factly.” He raked both hands through his hair and huffed out a breath.

  She hated knowing that he probably hated her right now. For lying. For not saying anything. Let alone everything else. “Alex,” she said softly. “Try to forgive me. I...I was caught up in a moment. I know that now. I thought—” She pinched her lips together and lowered her gaze down to her hands that played with the folds of her dark burgundy gown. “Never mind what I thought. ‘Twas foolish.”

  Alex stepped closer to her. He gently cupped her chin with his hand, startling her. He lifted it and forced her to look up at him. “Why? Why did you do it? Tell me.”

  She searched his face, sensing he was being brotherly and said, “Because I’ve lov
ed him ever since I can remember.”

  Alex slowly released her chin and lowered his hand.

  Caroline sighed miserably. “Not that it matters. He and I are completely ill-suited. What he wants out of a woman is not what I have to give. It’s best I simply move on.” She only prayed Alex would understand.

  “Move on?” he demanded. “Wait, wait. What? Did something happen?”

  Ronan apparently didn’t explain everything. And it wasn’t as if she wanted to, either. “It’s complicated.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not complicated anymore.”

  She dreaded knowing what that meant. “What do you mean?”

  “Caldwell has asked for your hand in marriage.”

  She blinked. Why would he ask? Did Ronan ask out of guilt? Out of duty? Or was it possible there was more? Was it possible that…oh, how she prayed there was more. “Why would he do that?”

  “Well...” Her brother drawled as if it were disgustingly obvious as to why. “Because it’s the right thing to do. The only thing to do.”

  And there was her answer. There wasn’t more. Damn Ronan. Damn him. Because she wasn’t settling for this. She wasn’t. She stepped back. “So he doesn’t want to marry me. He merely feels obligated to marry me. Is that what you are saying?”

  Her brother glared. “Caroline, I should be the one to be upset here. You have no idea – and I mean, no idea – the lengths that Caldwell went through in order to tell me what happened. After everything I witnessed, I think he may very well be in love with you.”

  She refused to believe it lest what little hope she had be destroyed…again. “May?” she yelled up at him, now clenching her fists at her sides. “No. Do forgive me, Brother dear, but may is not good enough. It may be good enough for you, it may be good enough for him, but it is not good enough for me.” She glared at Alex. “You threatened him into marrying me. Didn’t you?”