She stared at him, speechless, mouth dry, pulse racing. After a moment of watching him battle the conflicts within himself, now unmasked and visible to her eyes, he slowly stood back, wiped a shaking palm over his face, and turned to the door.
Pausing in front of it, he looked back at her, his expression pained, his voice filled with deep sorrow.
“I lived with a woman for twenty-five years who berated me, despised me, who left me thankful for the times when she only ignored me. But never, until now, have I felt useless and unwanted. Thank you for giving me something new to experience, Caroline.” Dropping his gaze, he added, “Go to your lover. I’m tired of trying.”
He walked through the door and slammed it in her face.
Caroline stood where she was, unmoving for minutes, until finally she started shaking uncontrollably. Slowly, her palm covering her mouth to keep from crying out, she moved her leaden legs to sit on the bed.
She’d never meant to hurt him, and now it was clear that since the moment they’d met, that was all she’d done. Yes, she’d helped his daughter communicate, had listened with profound understanding as he spoke of the war, even felt that with her help, he and his sister would put their troubles behind them. But through it all, on a deeply personal level, she’d done nothing but hurt him, and realizing that for the first time made her eyes fill with water.
He was right. She’d been selfish and unfair from the beginning, marrying him for an annulment she knew, even on their wedding day, he would never give her, ignoring him as if he didn’t exist, speaking to him arrogantly, even rudely. He deserved so much better, but he’d married only her.
Staring at the floor, Caroline dropped her hand as it slowly dawned on her that this was the moment for which she’d been waiting, hoping, since arriving at Miramont. She had two choices tearing at her heart, but right now, as things stood with Brent, an annulment was feasible, the worry of approaching him suddenly gone. Since he believed she had a lover, and because their marriage had not been consummated, he had grounds for letting her go. The path before her was illuminated, leading the way toward her lifelong dream. This was the time to tell him she was leaving. Botany was and always had been the truest part of her, and she would honor it.
Standing, knowing what she had to do and forcefully telling herself that her life, her destiny, was in another world entirely, she moved quietly to the adjoining door, put her hand on the cold, hard knob, and walked into his room.
She melted when she saw him. He sat on the settee, exactly as he’d looked the night of her birthday, staring into a blazing fire, a brandy snifter half full in his hands. And although he had to have heard her enter, he didn’t move his gaze or utter a word.
She stood there for a long, quiet moment, watching the glow of firelight dance across smooth, bronze skin, catching each soft, shiny curve of his hair with every flicker. She felt his anger, his grief, his loneliness, and finally something new—a blooming comprehension of what had been staring her in the face for months, what she’d been blindly refusing to recognize. All she’d ever wanted from the time she could remember was the beauty of her flowers, her garden, and instead, as a gift from God, she’d been graced with a man more intricately designed, more brilliantly woven, more intensely beautiful than any flower or any one thing she could ever imagine. At last, after months of uncertainty and conflicting desires, it all became perfectly clear. This was where she belonged. He was her destiny.
“I go to the green house.”
The words came out raspy and low, just a whisper above the sound of the crackling fire. For a second, as she watched him slowly grasp the meaning of the confession, his breathing seemed to stop, his body stilled, and she knew then that that statement was the most honest she’d ever made in her life.
“I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid you would take it from me,” she admitted in a gentle, unsure voice, “and until just now, I thought it was the one thing in my life that made me complete.”
Slowly she began to move toward him.
“But I was wrong because I realize now I could never be complete without the one man who has become my champion, who respects me as none have before, who is braver and smarter and more compassionate than any I’ve ever known. I should have trusted you,” she whispered with aching sweetness as she finally stood beside him. “I’m sorry.”
After a moment of silence, he drew an unsteady breath and looked down to the snifter in his hands. “I cannot be anything more than I am, Caroline,” he said hoarsely. “I just don’t know what you want from me.”
She swallowed, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, and in a soft, passion-choked voice, she replied, “I want you to make me your wife.”
For seconds or minutes or even hours, she couldn’t be certain, time seemed to stop. Then he raised his head, his eyes piercing hers, sparkling in the firelight like dark emeralds.
“You deserve a husband who wants you, Caroline, just as you are, and you know I do. But as much as I need you, I don’t want you if you’re here right now from a feeling of guilt, or pity, or some odd sense of self-righteousness or duty.” He abruptly glanced down once again to his brandy. “Because I also believe, even with my numerous faults, that I deserve a wife who wants me in return, just as I am. Anything less isn’t worth the pain.”
She blinked hard for strength, to clear the blur in her vision as she grasped the meaning behind his words. Then ever so slowly, with a braveness she didn’t really feel, she reached out, gently pulled the brandy snifter from his hold, took one full swallow for confidence, and placed it on the side table.
She looked at his face, his beautiful, masculine face, as she stretched her hand out to softly glide her fingertips along each firm point, each fine etch of perfection, vitality, and uncommon grace. Then, resolute in her decision, breathing deeply, she took his hand in hers, rubbed her thumb against his palm, and opened her silk wrap just wide enough to place it directly on her breast.
He sucked in a clear, rapid breath the instant his skin came into contact with hers, lifting his eyes again in surprise or confusion, she wasn’t sure which, but he didn’t move or speak, just watched her.
Boldly she held his gaze in a timeless grasp until finally she whispered in a deep, husky, impassioned voice, “You were wrong about one thing, Brent. Your feelings mean everything to me, and I promise never to hurt you again.”
With gentle acceptance in her heart, and knowing with peace and finality that the time had come for them, she slowly closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and pulled at the sash around her waist until it opened for him, exposing to all of him—his eyes, his touch, his soul—the only remaining part of herself he had yet to know.
Brent could not recall a time from his past when he had felt such a surge of raw, tumultuous emotions consuming him from the inside and making him weak. Never in his life had he laid eyes on anything as beautiful as the vision in front of him.
She stood no more than a foot away, her left side to the fire, her lovely face innocent and soft, hair falling to her waist in luminescent waves. As the deep-purple silk fell away from her, the flickering glow from the hearth played delicately on the pearlescent sheen of her skin, the crested nipple exposed not to his palm but to his eyes, and on the few dark, shiny curls escaping the shadows between her legs to reflect the firelight.
Slowly he began to trace her nipple with the tips of his fingers, moving from her breast down the length of her body, skimming her waist, her stomach, moving gradually to her hip and down the outside of her thigh. He felt her shiver, felt gooseflesh rise to his fingertips, and with that he softly moved in until his knuckles grazed the inside of her leg.
“Caroline…”
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
That admission made his heart swell with tenderness. Dropping his hand, he slowly stood to face her. She still hadn’t opened her eyes, hadn’t moved, but he felt her trembling. He cupped her face with his palms and leaned in to brush his lips against hers
.
“Trust me now,” he pleaded quietly.
She nodded imperceptibly and whispered, “I do.”
In that instant, he knew he belonged to her as he had never belonged to another. He ran his thumb along her jaw, placed his hand behind her neck, and covered her mouth with his.
The initial contact was both shocking and sweet, familiar and awkward. They had certainly kissed before, but not with the mutual understanding of what was about to happen between them. He toyed with her lips almost timidly at first, giving her time to adjust, then increased the pressure, running his tongue back and forth until she opened for him.
Slowly she relaxed, kissing him back with growing need, raising her hands to run her fingers through his hair. She tasted of brandy, smelled of violets, and felt as delicate and smooth as a rose petal.
He ran his hands down her neck to grasp her shoulders just inside her silk wrap. He moved his mouth, his tongue, in gentle rhythm against hers, and she followed his lead, allowing the magic to consume her. He caressed her skin with his fingertips, then carefully, gradually, lowered her dressing gown over her upper arms and pulled his lips from hers.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, uncertain. “I…I’m not sure what to do.”
That melted his heart. With a comforting smile he raised one hand and placed it on her cheek, the other he rested on her chest, his fingers stroking her collarbone in tiny, wispy movements.
“Tonight I’ll do everything,” he reassured in a husky timbre. Then before she realized what was happening, he pulled at the purple silk until it slid from her body and onto the cold floor.
He felt a shiver escape her, and she instantly dropped her lashes. With that he grasped her chin and raised her head, forcing her to look at him.
“Don’t be ashamed,” he beseeched, his gaze piercing hers. “I’m the only one who matters now and I think you’re beautiful.”
Caroline knew, when the shock of those words seeped in, the tears would begin to flow, and that was the last thing she wanted to happen on what she now considered to be her wedding night.
“You’re the first man ever to call me beautiful,” she disclosed in a thick, choked voice.
He grinned. “I knew I’d be the first for something.”
She smiled in return and cautiously reached for the buttons on his shirt.
Immediately he covered her hand. “I’ll do it.”
She dropped her arm and stood before him unmoving, watching until he’d removed his shirt and tossed it on the settee.
They stood only a foot apart, he undressed to his waist, she completely naked and feeling more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her life.
Gently he reached out and lightly stroked the tops of her breasts with the fingers of both hands, inciting a gasp from her lips and a sudden weakening of her legs. His eyes melded with hers in silent communication as his face became serious once more, intense. He stroked her, then cupped her fully, his palms rotating to make her nipples tingle and stand out against his hands. Within seconds she was breathless, shivering from new sensations beginning to burn inside of her, and flushing not from the warmth of the fire, but from a rising inner heat now slowly starting to replace the apprehension.
Instinctively she reached for him, and understanding her growing desire and need to feel, he released her, moving his hands to take off his boots. Those discarded, he unbuttoned his trousers and removed the remainder of his clothing to stand before her as naked as she.
She closed her eyes, partly because she couldn’t bring herself to look down and partly because she suddenly felt so nervous she wanted to bolt from his bedchamber.
He must have felt her uncertainty, for within seconds he wrapped one palm around her neck, grasped her around the waist with the other, pulled her toward him, and lowered his mouth.
The kissing began slowly, allowing the passion to increase at its own pace. He caressed her back and neck, ran his fingers through her hair, all the while keeping a distance between them, for they still hadn’t fully embraced. He teased her lips apart, forcing her to open for him. Then he invaded her warmth, searching, and when he found it, grasped her tongue and began sucking it as he’d done so perfectly the day in the garden.
As with that day, a sudden bolt of lightning passed through her body, causing fire to erupt between her legs. Anticipating her response, he pulled her tightly against him, holding her firmly so she couldn’t help but feel every muscle, every cord of strength, every point of hardness he possessed.
She whimpered softly and wrapped her arms around his neck, relishing in his size, his body, so firm and warm against her. The curls on his chest teased her nipples. His erection, hard and hot, caressed her belly as if begging for attention.
She held his head with her hands and kissed him back fervently, possessively. He groaned deeply when he felt her response to his touch, her eagerness, and finally he reluctantly released her mouth and looked into her eyes.
She stood against him, panting, flushed. His lids had narrowed, his breathing was labored, and after what seemed like an eternity to her, he reached down, grasped her around the knees, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to his bed.
She nestled her face in his neck, clinging to him, filling her mind with his feel, his scent, until he gently laid her on the sheet. She stretched out willingly, expecting him to lie beside her, but instead, he stood back to view her body unclothed.
“Brent—”
“Shh…” His gaze traveled down the length of her. “I’ve wanted this for months, Caroline. Let me look at you.”
Boldly she allowed herself to look at him as well, to see a man completely for the first time, and the man before her looked like a god, exactly as he’d felt beneath her hands and fingers—hard, firm, beautiful of face and form. And as she placed her gaze on the part of him she’d never seen, she wasn’t overcome with bland curiosity or repulsion, but instead felt a surge of desperation to know the unknown, to touch him as she’d never done before, to stroke him, to feel him enter her. Suddenly passion filled her senses, and she was no longer afraid.
For Brent, to see her body bathed in firelight, nipples exposed and aroused to hard peaks, her slim, tapered waist leading to softly curved hips and smooth, silky legs, was not so much a viewing as it was an unveiling for his eyes of what his mind had been trying to imagine for weeks. She was perfect, voluptuous yet slender, enticing and seductive, and more than he’d ever thought she could be.
He lowered himself onto the bed beside her, leaning against her as he crossed one leg over hers. He placed his left palm on her head, his thumb stroking her brow, and with the right he began to caress her stomach lightly in small, slow circles.
“Do you know what I think, Caroline?” he asked thickly, almost thoughtfully.
She bit her lip nervously and tried to smile. “That you wish you’d married someone with longer legs?”
He chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “No, that isn’t it,” he murmured, moving his lips to the crook of her neck. “I think dreams, for most people, are perfection.” He ran his tongue along her jaw, feeling her respond to the touch. Then slowly he raised his eyes to hers once more, dropping his voice to a husky whisper. “But my dreams of you, Caroline, were nothing compared to the real thing. You are lovelier than anything I’ve ever dreamed before.”
She stared at him for several seconds, then her eyes filled with tears, and that was his undoing. He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth, kissing her not sweetly or softly, but fully, hungrily, passionately, wiping away her teardrops with his thumbs.
She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him close, and finally, as if waiting any longer would be simply unbearable, he moved his hand to cup her breast, kneading the fullness, gently squeezing her nipple, rolling it with his forefinger and thumb until she moaned.
He released her mouth and began a trail of kisses down her jaw, neck, and chest. She breathed rapidly, hands on his shoulders, eyes closed,
and when at last he covered her free nipple with his mouth, she jumped and clutched at him, pulling him closer.
And closer he moved, sucking, tasting, caressing as he’d wanted to do for so long, increasing the pace, groaning with the touch, feeling the blood rush through his veins as his heart pounded in his chest. She responded in kind by coming alive beneath him, allowing the passion to engulf her. He ran his hand from her breast slowly down her waist to caress her hip, desperately wanting to touch her intimately, to stroke her between her legs, to feel just how ready she was for him.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice strained with desire. “I’ve wanted so long to touch you.”
Caroline had never felt more out of control and so filled with cravings and desperate needs she didn’t understand. He was so gentle with her, so giving, and she wanted him now more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.
That thought in mind, she took his hand in hers, raised it to her lips, kissed his palm just once, and lightly placed it between her legs.
She shivered from the intimacy. He groaned as if he hadn’t touched anything so delicate or precious in his life. Then he was kissing her again, covering her mouth with his in a sudden fever of need. He wrapped his free arm around her neck to hold her close as he began to move his hand, his fingers, slowly at first, then more and more intimately with each stroke until she instinctively raised her hips for more.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as her mind emptied of all but thoughts of him and the magic he created with his hands and mouth. She whimpered softly as his tongue clasped hers once again in a now familiar embrace. Her heart thundered in her breast, and her body ached with need for something else, something moving closer. She ran her fingers through the curls on his chest, lightly rubbing the pads of her thumbs across his nipples.
My Darling Caroline Page 18