Her interview over, Caroline climbed the stairs back to her neat desk. She hadn’t written anything in days, since even before Edward had turned up on her doorstep. Garrett was not going to be pleased with her lack of progress. She dipped her pen in the silver inkpot and held it over the page. A splash of ink fell and spread merrily over the white surface.
“Hell and damnation!” Frustrated, Caroline tossed the pen down. What was she to do with herself? She couldn’t write, couldn’t visit, couldn’t shop, couldn’t even settle her mind long enough to read. Mrs. Hazlett had banned her from the kitchen as well after a long lecture on how unsuitable it was for a baroness to cook. She had absolutely nothing to do except wait until Edward came back from Parliament, when they would circle politely around each other at dinner, then fall into their respective beds in agonizing propriety. Her eye fell on the neatly made-up camp bed and she stifled an urge to take an axe to it.
Weeks ago, Edward had decided she would be his mistress, even if she was already his wife. They had burned up the sheets before that last, sad morning. Caroline couldn’t even remember the details of it, except she had finally told him the truth. Whatever words she had used, they had been too effective. He had stayed away, and now, even though he was back, treated her as if she were a distant relative. He hadn’t made the least effort to make her change her mind about her ill-conceived abstinence policy. How foolish she’d been to set such impossible ground rules before he moved in. Impossible for her, at any rate. Edward seemed to be having no difficulty keeping to himself.
He was divorcing her and probably welcomed the space between her bed and his, miles and miles across the flowered carpet. He was only there out of some misplaced chivalry because she was still technically his chattel.
That would change soon. Even if Edward said Andrew was no longer involved, he’d cook up something with that stuffed shirt Maclean. Caroline would be happy to help. Maybe she could haul the handsome-even-if-his-nose-was-slightly-off-center Cameron into her bed to speed the process along.
Her lips quirked. Now, that would be a scandal. And probably impractical. Cameron didn’t seem to have one iota of sin in him, poor devil. The thought of seducing the man, despite the mighty challenge, really had no appeal. There was only one man Caroline wanted to seduce, but she had lost her touch.
Chapter 14
The broken shutter banged against the hinges in the maelstrom. The forces of nature were upon them, and nothing was safe from being swept away.
—The Villa of Deceit
Cameron was waiting with a candle when Edward finally came home. The session in Parliament had gone late, then he’d met Mulgrew in a dingy public house where he was not apt to be recognized. Mulgrew had shaken the guest list out of the Everdeens at some considerable expense to Edward and made the necessary inquiries. The most likely culprits—Pope and Douglass, who were present at the party—had been interviewed and intimidated by Mulgrew and several of his larger agents. As Mulgrew was plenty large himself, Edward was inclined to believe the threat to Caroline was now moot. To make sure, he would deliver his own threat in person tomorrow. If the so-called gentlemen worried for their social standing, a Christie had the power to ruin them with a few well-chosen words far more effectively than all the books Caroline could write put together.
He should feel vindication. He should be at peace. But there was no longer any reason to stay on Jane Street, and that made him rather cross.
Cameron helped him shrug out of his jacket in the shadowy hallway. “Good evening, Lord Christie. Lady Christie is already to bed.”
“I should hope so. It’s very late.”
“May I get you anything before you turn in?”
“No, Cameron. I’ve already eaten, and drunk more than my fair share of ale.” Mulgrew had insisted on toasting to their success and had stood a few rounds. Edward expected it would all be covered by the exorbitant bill that would arrive tomorrow morning. “How did Lady Christie pass her day?”
“She stayed in her bedroom in her flowery robe for the most part, muttering over one of her notebooks.” Cameron caught Edward’s cool look and hurried on. “I couldn’t help but see what she wore, sir. She left the door wide open. This afternoon she had a visitor.”
Edward’s heart quickened. “Oh? Who?”
“A Mrs. Bannister. Don’t you worry. I made sure she was who she said she was. It seems the lady used to be a neighbor. They spent a few minutes in the parlor, then she went away.”
Edward watched as Cameron struggled mightily to suppress a yawn. His sleeping conditions were even worse than Edward’s, sharing the box room with the pot boy up at the top of the house. It was a wonder they all didn’t roast alive up there in the sweltering summer heat. “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll be glad to know things will be back to normal tomorrow. I met with Mr. Mulgrew this evening. He’s satisfied no harm will come to Lady Christie.”
“Does that mean we’ll be going home, my lord?”
Edward began to unwind his neckcloth. “I believe it does. Pack up my things tomorrow morning if you would and arrange to get them to Christie House. I have several appointments, but should be back in time for dinner.”
Edward sat on a hall chair as Cameron jacked off his boots, as they had done every night Edward returned so late. There was no point in disturbing Caroline at the late hour. Stocking feet would be quieter. The longer he had stayed with her, the easier it was to absent himself in the evenings. It meant he missed Mrs. Hazlett’s cooking. Missed seeing Caroline across the table. But when he left, he would not miss the rickety camp bed or the fact that Caroline was sleeping half a world away, forbidden to him.
He leaned back in the chair, a depressing weariness overtaking him. Tomorrow night he would undress in his own luxurious suite instead of a foyer, every amenity at his fingertips. He would not be sneaking upstairs like a thief clutching at his rumpled clothing. He’d have his soft feather bed and his spectacles and a good book, a snifter of brandy at his bedside. Somehow the thought did not cheer him as much as it should.
What if he temporarily forgot Caroline’s edict and crawled into her bed tonight? One last fling before he formalized their deed of separation. A divorce was not possible—his integrity would not allow it—but a legal separation agreement was long past due. Will had hounded him about the too-casual way he had set up Caroline on Jane Street for five years. With his marriage a closed book, albeit one with a dog-eared page near the beginning, Edward might find a mistress and get on with the business of being a healthy, normal man.
Trouble was, he thought ruefully as he mounted the stairs behind Cameron’s flickering candle, he didn’t want just any mistress. He wanted Caroline. Still, after everything.
Cameron left him standing in the pitch darkness of the hallway. Edward disrobed before the door, folding the rest of his garments neatly for Cameron to deal with in the morning. He turned the handle. The room was no longer bathed in moonlight but dark as sin. Despite his caution, he banged a knee on the camp bed, which was slanted at an odd angle. One of Caroline’s tricks to set him off balance, like those indecent nightgowns and red dresses and rich foods. She needn’t bother. He was already tilted at a crazed angle, about to fall face-first onto his sword.
He crossed the carpet in silence, pulled by her Siren-like call to his blood like Odysseus. Reaching his hand out in the dark, his palm hit one carved bedpost. Not far then. Would she simply roll over in sleep or wake and argue? Would she welcome him in warm half consciousness? Stifling a curse, he stumbled on the covers that had migrated to the floor and almost fell on top of her. He sat down gingerly, then reached for her.
Nothing. His hand felt air. Pillows. No wife whatsoever.
“Caro?”
No response. Perhaps she was in the little dressing room taking care of her needs. Stretching his weary body on the bed, he willed himself to relax. When she returned, she’d either throw him out, ignore him, or melt. He was hoping for the latter.
He waited. T
he room was drenched in silence, no movement from next door. Edward sat up. “Caroline?” he said, his voice louder. Bumbling about in the dark, he wrenched open the door to the dressing room.
“Caroline!” A lingering scent of jasmine was all that remained. Feeling his heart kick up in panic, he managed to light an oil lamp on the bedside table. He saw at once the door to the little balcony was wide open, the curtains still in the breezeless summer night.
He vaulted across the room and skidded to a stop. There on the iron railing was a knotted, twisted sheet leading to the garden below, unmistakable evidence that someone had climbed in. My God. Had they taken her while he was politely drinking inferior ale with Mulgrew? Where the hell was Cameron during her abduction? How long had she been gone?
“Caroline!” His voice was hoarse, desperate. He would kill whoever took her with his bare hands, then kill him again.
The sounds below were faint, but they intruded into his murderous rage. “At last! Good evening, Edward.”
“Caro! Where the devil are you?” It was too dark to see a bloody thing, but he thought he saw a wisp of white on the garden bench.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said with a sigh, so quietly he almost fell off the balcony bending to hear her. “When I can’t, I often come down into the garden. It’s so peaceful. But I couldn’t get past Cameron on the stairs. He hasn’t let me outside in days.”
“So you climbed down on a rope of sheets?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you mad? You could have broken your neck!”
“Nonsense. It’s only two stories. I used to do it all the time at home. Of course, then I had Nicky’s breeches on. Yours were way too long. I did try them on. But I couldn’t get back in. The last sheet gave way when I was coming down. My knots are not what they once were.” There was a hint of wistfulness in her voice.
Edward gritted his teeth. Of course Caroline Parker would be an expert in breeches and breaking the rules. How long had she been out there anyway? Anything might have happened to her, sitting beneath the faint stars. “And you couldn’t come in by way of the back or kitchen doors?”
He imagined he saw her shoulders shrug. “They were locked. If I’d had a hairpin, I might have picked them. I used to be good at that, too. Everyone had gone to bed. Except Cameron. I could see him through the glass pacing up and down the hall, regular as clockwork. I didn’t have the nerve to ask for his help, you see. He was quite explicit in his instructions. Your instructions. He would have felt an utter failure to find I’d escaped, and despite the fact he’s been most annoying, I didn’t want to upset him. You’re very late, Edward.”
To his everlasting regret. He felt as though he’d been robbed of ten years of his life in the past ten minutes. “Hang on. Don’t move. Not one inch.”
He tripped over the bedclothes again and went into the hallway, where he stepped into his pants in record time. He didn’t bother with anything else. Racing down the stairs, he sprinted through the hallway to the back garden door. After struggling with a hellish combination of locks in the pitch black hallway, installed recently to keep Caroline safe and completely unpickable, he pulled open the door and ran smack into Caroline on the grass path.
They fell in a tangle of limbs and white nightgown. Edward raised himself to look down upon the shadowed face of his wife. It was not too dark to see her smile. He caught his breath. He had not hurt her. “You moved, didn’t you? I told you to stay on the damned bench.”
“I’ve been sitting there for hours. I didn’t expect you to be quite so energetic leaving the house. You shot out like a ball from a cannon—there wasn’t time to move away.”
“I was worried, you little fool. When I couldn’t find you—”
She shifted under him, the silk of her gown slicing his bare chest. The night was hot, but Edward felt goosebumps rise up the back of his neck. The angry words died in his throat.
“I was just fine. I got so bored, I tried to weed. I probably pulled up half my plants in the dark. Don’t you think we’d better get up?”
Her breath tickled against his throat, her body soft beneath him. He could smell earth. The mélange of flowers. Caroline. Of course he should rise and help her into the house. Brush off the blades of grass and straighten the strap of her nightrail, which had slipped from her shoulder. A pale shoulder, vulnerable. Exposed. His lips covered a few inches of it, but they weren’t enough.
Soon his hands joined the fray, long fingers skimming her alabaster perfection, freeing her breasts from the cloth that shred like a spider’s web. Her nipples pearled in the starlight under his hungry touch. Edward kissed away her one obligatory protest because he sensed—knew—she was every bit as engaged as he in their mutual surrender. Her body didn’t lie. She relaxed beneath him and her womanly moisture soon coated his fingers as he sought to pleasure her. Tomorrow—today—would arrive soon enough. Within the halls and walls of Jane Street, they would take leave of each other for a final time. In Caroline’s pocket garden, there were no restraints. No barriers. She was as open to him as one of her lush scarlet and white-streaked roses, fragrant, complicated, exquisite. He turned long enough so she could release his member from its half-buttoned state. There was no time to remove his pants or tear away her nightrail completely—the abrasion of the textures on their skin only heightened their sensitivity to each other. She guided him home, seemingly as frantic as he to complete their coupling. His head flew backward in triumph as he seated himself inside her, the stars sliding above. He closed his eyes and permitted himself to feel . . . the incendiary velvet around his cock . . . the smooth skin and crumpled silk beneath him . . . the damp grass and tangle of russet hair between his fingers. They rocked together in almost agonizing slowness, savoring each thrust. For they each knew this was the end of it. The mutual torment had to stop. Caro was safe and he was—
He was a Christie.
He was an ass.
Those things were not compatible. Dealing with Caroline not only slid the stars from the sky but made him lose control. Caro couldn’t change, nor could he. It was time—
She pulled him down to her mouth, sealing him firmly in her orbit, her kiss more than a rough brush of lips or clash of tongues. He tasted her tears and his own, bitter and sweet. How could he spill inside her, as he was going to do any second, then rise and leave? It was impossible.
But it was impossible to stay. Wasn’t it? They were like chalk and cheese. He craved order and she blossomed in chaos. Their marriage had been the most miserable year of his life, worse than when Alice died. Caroline had lost her luster, too, becoming dimmer by the day until she had been tempted by Andrew Rossiter. He had asked too much of her—wanting her to be somehow less. Less Carolinian, more Christie. She seemed happy with her racy books and her racier friends. He’d kept her at bay for five years, save for the annual hellish birthday night. What on earth had possessed him to make her his mistress?
He had been angry. He had been high-handed. In his effort to put Caroline in her place he instead found his, gloved inside her and completely subject to the endless tremors surrounding him. It was no time to think, to be reasonable. With a howl he lost himself in temptation, no deliverance in sight.
When it was over, they lay side by side on the clipped grass. Caroline had pulled her nightgown down. Edward had pulled his pants up. The hazy stars winked down at them as they regulated their breathing and heartbeats.
“I met with Mulgrew tonight.” Edward’s words seemed foreign to him, as though the interlude with Caroline had robbed him of language.
“Oh?”
He heard the resignation. She expected her congé, and he would give it to her. Had to, for their own sanity. “He told me he had the matter of your safety at hand. He’s spoken to Pope and Douglass. They denied everything, of course, as one would expect. But Mulgrew is satisfied there is no longer any danger.”
“There’s always danger. A meteor could fall and strike us both dead.”
Edward blinked up at the stars. They see
med safely far away. “Or perhaps we could be devoured by wolves. Drowned in a trunk in the Thames. Flung down a cliff. Shot in a most uncomfortable place. Buried under the rubble in a disused mine. Have I forgotten anything else?”
He heard the smile in her voice. “Several. Never say you’ve been reading my books.”
“Of course not. Beth lives to tease me about my fictional demise.”
“I believe you were gored by a mad bull once.”
“Ouch. Why can’t you just slip poison in my port?”
“Done it. The Dark Duke’s Dilemma. One of my earlier efforts. It didn’t sell well. I’ve become progressively more bloodthirsty.”
Edward sought her hand and brought it to his lips. “Perhaps you’ll have a care from now on. While you may welcome my death, I should hate to have anything happen to you. Pope and Douglass may be warned off for now, but be careful.”
“I assume you’re leaving tomorrow?”
He dropped her hand gently back to earth. “Yes, Caro, it’s for the best.”
“I quite agree. Having you underfoot has been a trial.” She sat up abruptly, shaking her long red hair free from grass clippings. Before he could stop her, she swayed up and marched off to the back door. It would be the camp bed for him again for sure.
“Hell and damnation!”
“What’s wrong, Caro?”
“The blasted door is shut and I cannot get it open. Again. Did you not leave it unlocked?”
He hadn’t a clue. It had been such a struggle to open the series of locks, his hands shaking all the while. He hadn’t thought about anything more than fetching Caroline from the garden and giving her the lecture of her life. Instead he had fallen on her like a starved beast—a wolf—devouring her. But she was completely undead, a living flame of life who made his dull existence even more unbearable.
Mistress by Marriage Page 16