by Anna Bennett
His sister looked at the chandelier, the portrait above the mantel—everywhere, it seemed, but at Nash. “It’s just something I found in the back of an armoire.”
The skin on the back of his neck tingled. “Whose armoire?”
“I’m shocked the moths didn’t feast on it,” Delilah replied, clearly avoiding the question.
“Delilah.” The look Nash leveled at his sister made Caroline shiver—and she wasn’t even in the direct line of fire. “Is it hers?” he asked.
Delilah’s chin quivered. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with regret.
Nash went very still. Delilah too. Caroline might have thought that time stopped and the room was under some sort of unnatural spell, if she couldn’t still hear the ominous ticking of the grandfather clock behind her.
Summoning all her courage, she asked, “Whose gown am I wearing?”
The question hung in the air like a thundercloud about to burst. Without saying a word, Nash placed his napkin on the table, stood, and left the room. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, ending with the abrupt click of his study door closing.
A wretched sob caught in Delilah’s throat, and she erupted into tears. “Forgive me,” she said, dashing toward the staircase. Caroline began to run after her, then stopped.
Good heavens. An hour ago, she’d slipped the golden gown over her head, sighing as the silk cascaded down her hips and legs, thinking the dress nothing short of magical. But perhaps, like most magical things, it was also prone to curses.
Caroline was certainly cursing it now.
Clearly, the dress had belonged to another woman—someone who was very important to the duke—and he’d been less than pleased to discover Caroline wearing it. A strange ache blossomed in her chest. It couldn’t possibly be jealousy, for she had no claim over him. But it was a pang, nevertheless.
In any event, Nash was the person Caroline needed to speak with. And though he didn’t seem inclined to conversation at the moment, she needed answers. Desperately.
Before she could lose her nerve, she smoothed the skirt of the troublesome gown, and marched toward the duke’s study.
Chapter 7
“Consider sampling stronger spirits for the first time in the company of your female friends. Nick them from your father or brother, if you must, and imbibe them in the privacy of your bedchamber.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Nash had already managed to down his first glass of brandy and was pouring his second when he heard a knock on his study door.
“Not now,” he said flatly. A noxious cocktail of pain and guilt already pumped through his veins, and he’d just as soon spare everyone else from his foul mood. He threw back his drink, relishing the warm tingling in his throat and the knowledge that he’d soon be pleasantly numb.
Another knock sounded. “Nash?”
He froze at the sound of Caroline’s voice. “It’s not a good time.”
“I understand,” she said through the door, her tone matter-of-fact. “You’d rather brood alone.”
He smiled grudgingly. “How do you know I’m brooding? I could be dusting my bookshelves or cataloging my cigar collection.”
“I must see this for myself,” she quipped. “I’m coming in.”
Before he could formulate a reply, she strode into his study, shut the door behind her, and spun to face him. She folded her slender arms and looked around the room, noting the lay of the land like a spy about to cross enemy lines. Cool and self-assured, her emerald eyes met his as she marched across the carpet and stood toe to toe with him. Her gaze lingered on his open collar, but the subtle twitch of her lips said she didn’t give a fig about his discarded cravat or rolled-up shirtsleeves. She was a force of nature swathed in a ball gown—and the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
In the far recesses of his mind, a feeble voice of reason cautioned that an unchaperoned visit with a young lady in his study was entirely unadvisable. But that voice was no match for Caroline’s commanding presence and the overwhelming power of her personality.
He set the decanter on a shelf beside his desk and faced her. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to apologize,” she said earnestly.
Jesus, he was the one who’d acted like an ass. “No. I behaved badly at dinner. I should be asking you to forgive me.”
She said nothing but held his gaze, looking deep into his eyes. The air between them seemed to crackle.
He made one last valiant attempt to play the part of a gentleman. “Now that we’ve settled the matter,” he said, “you should probably leave.”
“I’m sure I should.” She took a leisurely turn about the room, trailing a finger across the spines of several volumes on his bookshelves and pausing to inspect the horse figurine on a side table. “But I’ve no intention of letting you go back to your brooding.” As if to prove her point, she sank onto a cushioned bench in front of his fireplace.
“Shall I fetch you a glass of brandy?” he asked dryly.
Her green eyes twinkled. “That would be delightful, thank you.”
Very well. If she could call his bluff, he might as well call hers. He poured a glass, handed her the drink, and ignored every alarm sounding in his head as he sat on the bench beside her.
He watched, transfixed, as she tilted the glass and the amber liquid slid toward her lips.
The delicate muscles in her throat flexed as she swallowed. She narrowed her eyes, thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted this before. The wine at dinner seemed familiar, but this…” She stared into her glass and swirled the brandy. “This is new.”
The skin between Nash’s shoulder blades tingled with awareness. He was flirting with a woman who didn’t know her real name. Or maybe it was more accurate to say she was flirting with him. Either way, they were playing a dangerous game. “What are you really doing here?” he asked.
“I wanted you to know that ignoring Dr. Cupton’s orders was my idea. I was rather relentless when I begged Delilah to help me. With each hour that passes, I discover more about my personality. Apparently, I am headstrong,” she said, impressively unapologetic.
“That is an understatement,” he said, smiling. “And I’m not angry with Delilah.” He had been at first, but not now that he’d had time to think.
“Ah. Then you’re angry with me.”
He shook his head firmly. “I’m angry with myself.”
“For bringing me here?”
“No,” he said, frowning. “I don’t regret that.”
She set her drink on the side table and scooted closer to him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Part of him longed to unburden himself. To give in to those imploring eyes and tell her everything about Emily, his father, and all the mistakes he’d made before and after he’d lost them both. It would be so easy to confide in Caroline. They’d already forged a connection. She possessed the wisdom and strength of someone who’d suffered a loss and risen above it, and Nash knew, deep in his bones, that if anyone could understand him, she could.
But it didn’t seem right to burden her with his troubles. Not while she struggled to find out who she was.
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you or Delilah. It’s a dress, nothing more,” he said, feeling exceedingly stupid. “And it happens to look lovely on you.”
She slid her hand forward on the bench, and her pinky finger brushed against his in the slightest of touches—a touch he felt somewhere in the vicinity of his godforsaken soul. “Whose dress is this?” she asked.
“Yours,” he answered, taking the coward’s way out and not caring.
“It belongs to someone you love,” she surmised, refusing to let it go. “Your wife or … fiancée?”
Good God. He shook his head firmly. “No.”
She laced her fingers through his and forced him to meet her gaze. Lifted her chin in a silent challenge that said, open up to me.
Damn it all, she was asking him to unlatch
the door on a cage of demons that he’d locked away and carefully guarded for five years. He’d known that moving back to London would stir them up—and that a few were bound to escape.
But he hadn’t expected that a beautiful stranger with no memory of her past would force him to face his. She wouldn’t allow him to take a single memory for granted—even if it was the soul-wrecking variety. He owed her the truth.
“The dress you’re wearing belonged to my sister.” He closed his eyes and saw her, twirling on a dance floor, laughing. Vibrant as a daffodil blowing in the breeze.
“The gown belonged to Delilah?”
He opened his eyes. “No,” he said regretfully. “To my other sister. My twin.” He gritted his teeth, preparing to tear open the wound. Forced himself to speak her name. “The dress belonged to Emily.”
* * *
Caroline swallowed the awful lump in her throat. “I didn’t know you had a twin,” she said softly. She desperately wanted to understand the duke and sensed she was on the brink.
For a dozen excruciating heartbeats, they sat on the plush bench in silence. She waited, running a slippered foot over the Aubusson carpet. At last he said, “We were very close.”
“And?” she asked, even as she dreaded his answer.
He hesitated and looked away. “She died five years ago.”
An iron band tightened around her chest. She smoothed the skirt of the golden gown that shimmered unapologetically despite the fact that it had ripped open Nash’s wounds. “Will you tell me about her?”
He looked down at their hands, clasped on the bench between them, and let out a long breath before he spoke. “We used to sneak out of our rooms at night and meet in the kitchen,” he said, his voice low and faraway, as if he was lost in the memory. “We’d raid the pantry for some fruit or cakes. Then we’d light a candle and talk till our eyelids grew heavy. As children, we plotted ways to terrorize our poor governess. Concocted elaborate schemes to avoid doing our sums.” He chuckled softly, the hint of a boyish grin softening the pain that clouded his face. “But as we grew older, we shared heartbreaks and humiliations, things we couldn’t talk about with anyone else. I told her about my first fistfight—and black eye—at Eton. She told me about her first ball at Almack’s—and how she spilled lemonade on one of the patronesses. Do you know what the most amazing thing was?”
“What?” Caroline asked, humbled by his trust.
“We always felt better afterward. We laughed at ourselves until all our problems sounded stupid and trite. We laughed until the embarrassment wore off and the hurt was gone.”
“How lovely,” Caroline said, wistful. “You must miss her terribly.”
Nash nodded and absently rubbed his chest with one hand—as if he might somehow massage away the pain of losing her.
They sat in silence for several moments while Caroline waited to see if he’d say more, but it seemed as though he’d grappled with the past enough for today.
“Thank you,” she said. “For confiding in me.” It was a promising start, but she wasn’t ready to leave him just yet. She cast a surreptitious glance at their fingers, still entwined in the space between them. His thumb brushed across the back of her hand in a simple caress that turned her knees to mush.
“Nash,” she said softly.
He swept a curl off her cheek and gazed at her with heartbreaking tenderness. “We should say good night.”
He was undoubtedly right. But she couldn’t help sliding a palm across the hard wall of his chest, underneath his waistcoat. “Your heart is beating as fast as mine.”
“That’s exactly why you should leave,” he said gruffly.
“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “but first I should like to make one very simple request.”
His amber eyes crinkled. “Where you are concerned, Caroline, nothing is simple.”
“Kiss me,” she said, surprised at her own daring. “Just this one time. No one will know but us, and afterward we can pretend it never happened, if that is what you wish.”
Lines creased his forehead and his heartbeat thundered beneath her fingertips. “That is a horrid idea.”
“Why? Because you didn’t think of it?” she countered.
“No.” He gave a deep chuckle that vibrated deliciously through her. “Maybe.”
“One kiss,” she urged, leaning into him. “So that we may rid ourselves of these vexing symptoms.”
“And that will be it?” he asked, skeptical. But his heavy-lidded gaze and raspy breaths told her he was on the verge of agreeing to her mad proposal.
“Yes.” The word had barely left her lips before his mouth descended on hers. His capable hands cupped her cheeks. The rough pads of his fingers caressed the sensitive skin below her ears, making her entire body tingle. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and, when she parted them, he deepened the kiss to something altogether different and intimate—taking her through the door to a sensuous new world where only the two of them existed.
She clung to him, pleased that his lack of a jacket allowed her to feel his muscles flexing beneath her fingers. And when even the thin barrier of his shirt frustrated her, she ran her hands along the sides of his neck, hungry to feel his warm skin against her palms.
Without breaking their kiss, he groaned into her mouth and shifted her onto his lap. She gasped, delighting in the feel of his hard thighs beneath her bottom and his strong arms encircling her. Indeed, he seemed to surround her, filling all her senses.
Scents of leather and ink tickled her nose; a hint of brandy danced on her tongue. The shadow of his beard grazed her skin and growls from deep in his throat heated her blood. When she let her eyes flutter open, the sharp angles of his handsome face filled her vision, leaving her even more breathless than before.
And if she was only to be allowed this one kiss with him, she intended to make it last.
She met every thrust of his tongue, matching him stroke for stroke. His hands slid up her sides, and his thumbs grazed the undersides of her breasts. She leaned into him wantonly and speared her fingers through the thick hair at his nape.
He kissed her feverishly. Hungrily. As if he’d never have enough of her.
This was not the measured, deliberate, reserved duke she’d first met. It seemed the reins of his self-discipline had quite suddenly slipped through his fingers—and the knowledge thrilled her.
He caressed her hips, pulling her closer. “Caroline,” he murmured against her mouth. “Why can’t I resist you?”
Gently, she pulled away, her chest squeezing at the sight of Nash’s heavy-lidded eyes. “For the same reason I find it difficult to resist you. Our lives may have intersected in a strange and unusual way, but I think we came together that night in the tavern because … we needed each other.”
“Maybe.” Nash raked a hand through his hair and shot her an apologetic smile. “But we still don’t know who you are, and I was wrong to become carried away. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” She’d practically demanded that he kiss her, after all. And she didn’t regret it in the slightest. But she supposed that could change tomorrow if she woke and remembered she was engaged or, worse, married.
“What are we going to do next?” he asked. As if she had any answers.
“I suppose we shall go on as we were before and hope that my memory soon returns. If it does not”—she swallowed the knot in her throat—“I shall seek out a different living arrangement.”
His forehead creased in concern. “There’s no need to rush,” he assured her. “No one knows you’re here.”
“That’s part of the problem. I’m invisible outside of this household.” She reluctantly eased herself off his lap and stood. “I understand that secrecy is a necessity while I’m here—to protect my own reputation as well as Delilah’s. I would never want to risk hurting her.”
Nash stood too, reaching for her hands and pressing them between his own. “We’ll be careful. You can trust the staff.”
<
br /> “I know, and I appreciate all you and Delilah are doing for me. But being invisible is no way to live.”
“You could never be invisible, Caroline.” He spoke so earnestly that it nearly broke her heart. “In a crowd of thousands, you’d stand out.”
The sweetness of his words brought stinging tears to her eyes, but she willed them away and attempted a smile. “Yes, well. I have precious few memories, but our kiss is one that I shall never forget—no matter how many times I should bump my head.”
“You say that as though we are finished,” he said hoarsely. “What if … what if we are just beginning?”
“You could find out tomorrow that I am a scullery maid, Nash. And then you would not say such things.”
For the space of several heartbeats, he stared at her. “You don’t speak or act like a scullery maid. But even if you were, it wouldn’t change the way I feel about you.”
Perhaps not. But it would make any future for them impossible—and they both knew it.
She let her gaze linger on his handsome face as she moved to leave, wishing she could etch every angle, curve, and shadow in her mind. When she reached the door of the study, she paused.
“Our kiss,” she said softly. “You should know that it was gloriously new—rather like the brandy.”
Nash narrowed his eyes slightly, intrigued. “How so?”
“I can’t say how I know, but I’m quite confident I’ve never experienced a kiss like that before—in this lifetime, or any other.”
Before she slipped out the door, he shot her a grin that melted her knees. “Neither have I, Caroline,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Neither have I.”
Chapter 8
“Pay attention to your physical being. Observe the things that give you pleasure—a kiss on the wrist, the brush of fingertips across your neck, a caress down your spine. Do not be afraid to explore … and discover what pleases you.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge