The Groom's Gamble

by Jade Lee

  “Tomorrow—” he said. “After you are rested, you must come see me. No matter what I am doing, you will come find me.”

  She opened her eyes then. It was too dark for him to see her clearly, but he knew from the tension in her body that she was alert.

  “Caroline,” he said, his tone insistent. “You must come see me.”

  “No questions.”

  He bit his lips. Damn that impetuous promise. He had a million questions. “Caroline—”

  She straightened, lifting her head off his shoulder. “You promised.”

  He had. And given how he had betrayed her this night, he had no wish to add to his sins. “No questions,” he finally agreed. “But I would see that you are well.”

  She smiled, her head dropping to her pillow. “I can answer that already. I am very well indeed.”

  He pressed a kiss to her lips. How could he not when she was smiling like the cat that had eaten the cream? “Nevertheless, I would see you as soon as you are able.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He squeezed her in sharp admonishment where he was wrapped around her waist. She smiled but did not open her eyes.

  “Yes, Gregory, I will see you tomorrow as soon as I am able.”

  He had to be content with that. So before he fell under her spell again, he forced himself out of her bed. He hesitated, wasting time as he adjusted her blankets around her. She was covered, but he was loath to leave, even to go as short a distance as one flight of stairs.

  But he had to go, and so he left. And all the while his mind ran with questions. How could he get answers without being able to ask a one?

  ***

  Caroline had no time the next day. Jenny, the apprentice housekeeper, had tried to push her authority too quickly, and the kitchen was in full rebellion. Mr. McTavish was no help because he felt this was the province of the female staff, and therefore, not his concern, except to throw blame. Everyone was tired after yesterday’s dinner party, and they all looked to her for direction as if she weren’t three times more exhausted than they were.

  Of course, she couldn’t confess to that, nor that despite the way her shoulders dragged and her eyes burned, she was bubbling over with happiness.

  She had slept in his lordship’s arms. She had become his mistress, and the pleasure of that was beyond even her wildest imagination. She didn’t regret last night’s experience in the least. If anything, she regretted not having fallen from grace a good deal earlier. Making love with a man was a wonderful thing, and she couldn’t wait to do it again and again.

  But even as she rushed through the emergencies that cropped up every time she turned around, one fear reverberated through her thoughts. It was what kept her from seeing his lordship right away. It was why she kept leaping upon the crises belowstairs, rather than venture to the main floor.

  What if she became pregnant?

  She had been euphoric last night. And while she didn’t regret anything, she did remember that their last time—in her bedroom—had been impulsive. He had not used a French letter. And she had been too far gone to care.

  Well, she would care if she became pregnant. And then there would be problems aplenty. But she didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to face his lordship because she couldn’t look at him without thinking of everything they had done. The joy and the fear would be plain on her face for everyone to see. So she avoided him despite her promise.

  But by teatime, she could avoid him no longer. Jenny had everything well in hand, and besides, as Lady Anne’s companion, she was supposed to join her during the afternoon for callers and to take tea.

  So she neatened her appearance as best she could and slipped into the parlor with an apology on her face. Lady Anne was there in conversation with her best friend, Miss Joelle Moret. The woman was a French bluestocking of democratic leanings. Of all the people who might encourage Lady Anne to maintain an association with Mr. Pike, it was most likely Miss Moret. Of course, that seemed exactly what they were doing because they leaped apart when Caroline entered. That, and the suddenly innocent expressions on their faces, gave Caroline pause indeed.

  “Oh Lady Anne,” Caroline breathed, disappointment in her tone. “You promised your brother.” She would not normally have said it in such a way, her tone loaded with censure, but she was tired and less prone to guarding her speech.

  “I have done nothing wrong!” Lady Anne said, but Caroline caught the flash of a white piece of paper tucked quickly into her mistress’s pocket.

  Caroline arched a brow, but it was Miss Moret who answered.

  “The sending of letters is perfectly appropriate.” It wasn’t, but Caroline didn’t quibble as Lady Anne had her own defense.

  “Besides, I only promised not to see him.”

  Caroline looked back and forth between the two women, wondering how best to proceed. “In your heart, Lady Anne, do you feel as if you have been honest with your brother?”

  The woman flushed and looked away. “Some things must be done whether they are honest or not.”

  Caroline could not argue, especially since what she had done last night fell squarely into that category. She had needed to be in Gregory’s arms, whether it was moral or not. So she sighed as she sat on the settee.

  “Do you know what you are doing?” she asked, repeating the same question she had asked herself all morning. “Are you that sure of yourself?”

  Lady Anne nodded, though the gesture was less emphatic than she could wish.

  Miss Moret laughed. “It shall work out perfectly. You shall see. And you can count on me to help in anything. Anything!”

  Spoken like a naïve child, Caroline thought with some sadness. After all, when she herself was sixteen, she had been positive that things would work out right, but nothing had been further from the truth.

  Caroline might have said more, might have spoken a word of caution if nothing else, but at that moment, his lordship appeared at the parlor door. Caroline turned at his entrance, and every thought fled from her mind, except that he looked handsome. Tall, broad, and strong. Adjectives flitted through her mind, each more romantic than the first.

  Until she hit upon one more: worried. He appeared worried as his gaze sought hers.

  She flushed, knowing that her avoidance of him had created those lines of distress between his brows. That the slightly stiff way he moved was a result of her absence throughout the day. So she shrugged and offered him an apology in a soft smile.

  He seemed to understand. The furrow between his brows eased, and he took a deep breath. Only then did he turn to greet the others.

  Conversation turned to polite topics. To Lord Hartfell’s scientific research and Miss Moret’s studies. Lady Anne said nothing, her troubled gaze an echo of Caroline’s own agitation. When tea was over, Miss Moret promised to visit soon, and Lady Anne declared she wished to rest before tonight’s round of parties. The two ladies walked arm in arm out of the parlor, which left Caroline alone with Gregory.

  She was the one who spoke first. After all, she had broken her promise. “I meant to see you first thing,” she said. “But Jenny and Cook—”

  “Yes, McTavish explained it all in detail with my morning coffee. You should not have had to rise so early to handle such things. You are a companion now, and—”

  “It was no trouble, my lord.”

  She fell silent, as did he. She was standing with her hands clasped firmly in front of her, her expression and attitude that of a servant before her master. She knew that their relationship had changed, knew too that there were things they would need to discuss. But this was familiar, and so she clung to it.

  Until he crossed the room, touched her cheek, and kissed her when she looked up. He took her mouth quick and sure, and she melted into it as if they had been apart years instead of hours. She was fully engaged now—and so alive that she
felt his kiss in every cell of her body. Whatever it cost her later didn’t matter. For right now, he was worth it.

  Then a noise in the hallway had them jumping apart. She composed herself quickly, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands. She felt breathless and flushed, her heart beating triple time. And when she looked at him, she read frustration on his face.

  “This is not how I imagined our conversation.”

  She felt her lips curl into a smile. He was always so commanding, so much in control. The irritation on his face and in his tone was reassuring. He clearly felt as unsettled as she did.

  “What did you imagine?” she asked, knowing that she had pictured all sorts of things—from another passionate encounter to a stiff dismissal.

  He shrugged. “I feared that you would hate me. I hoped that you wouldn’t…” His voice trailed away.

  “I don’t,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t.”

  He smiled, and his gaze grew intense. “This is madness. I cannot be sneaking through the halls in my own house.”

  She winced and looked down. He wasn’t trying to end things, was he? Not when they’d just begun?

  “But I will,” he said softly. At some point between his last sentence and this one, he had crossed to her side. His words were whispered into her ear, his breath heating her blood as surely as a flame. “For you, I will risk all sorts of things, Caroline.”

  She smiled. “There is no risk with a willing woman.”

  He laughed. “There is always risk.” Then he sobered. “Caroline, how are you feeling today?”

  She lifted her gaze. “Just as I said I would—wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

  He exhaled a long breath in relief. “But you are probably sore.”

  She shook her head. “Not enough to worry. Not enough to…” She licked her lips. Dare she be so bold? Of course, she did. With him, she dared everything. “Not enough to stay in my room tonight.”

  She heard his breath catch, but in the end, he shook his head. “We cannot tonight.”

  She winced at the stab of disappointment that shot through her. “But—”

  “I kept you awake most of the night, and this morning you were up with the servants. I will not exhaust you. Not even if I am kept awake all night longing for you.”

  “You must be as tired as I am. You—”

  “Hush. Have no worry for me. If I need to, I can take to my bed and sleep for a week.” Then he winked, the most mischievous expression she’d ever seen from him. “Of course, I would rather do that with you.”

  She felt her cheeks heat. “As I would too.”

  “Do not tempt me, Caroline. I have half lost my mind over you already.”

  Then he was doing better than she was, for she had lost her heart and her soul last night. She felt his hand on her chin, gently tugging her to look at him.

  “You are smiling. I vow that is the most beautiful sight in the world.”

  “Did you fear I wouldn’t? Did you fear… anger?” She couldn’t conceive of it, and yet she read the truth on his face.

  “You would be right to be furious.”

  She huffed out a breath. “Enough of this,” she said as much to herself as to him. “I have made my choice and am very happy. Are you, as well?”

  He didn’t answer at first, clearly taking time to choose his words. “I am a man who likes things ordered, Caroline. I spend my days experimenting with gunpowder and explosives. An ordered life is the only way to survive that.”

  She nodded, understanding what he meant. “Then pray set this into order. I am your mistress now, and I am well pleased. Perhaps after this Season is done, you will set me up in a room somewhere, and you will visit me. Perhaps you will tire of me quickly, and we will go back to how it was before.”

  “Never—”

  “Perhaps something different will happen,” she said, her thoughts on a possible pregnancy. “Whatever it is, it will come in time. For now, I must help Jenny with the menus before dressing for tonight.”

  “Not yet!” he said, his voice an urgent whisper. “I would ask…” He stopped, and she pressed her lips tightly together. He must know that she would never answer. Not questions about her scars. And if he wished to know about the future, she had no crystal ball.

  In the end, she touched his cheek. “For now, I must help with the menus,” she said firmly. Then to emphasize that she would remain a servant—at least during the day—she curtsied and departed.

  He didn’t follow, nor did he call her back. He had that right as the master of the house. But he respected her choice, and that was one of many reasons she loved him.

  And as she walked away, she repeated her own words. She would be his mistress, and she was content with that. She would not look for more. She would not expect him to return her love because, in truth, what aristocrat would love her? A woman with a whore’s scars on her chest?

  She would live for this moment—and perhaps, for their next night together—and she would be content.

  She repeated it so often and so firmly that she began to believe it. For at least ten seconds every time she said it. Especially as one other thought pushed to the fore. She hadn’t allowed herself to remember. She hadn’t wanted to dwell on it, but it was there. And as the evening wore into night, she couldn’t push the thought away.

  She had told him she loved him. She’d said it clearly.

  And he had looked horrified.

  Seven

  Gregory was a patient man, but waiting even one night to be with her again was torture. Still, he managed to dance with her again, a single waltz during which they said not a word. They simply danced, and he would remember the way her eyes had looked into his, her body moving in complete synchronicity with his as she smiled. It was an intimate look, one that recalled everything they had done the night before and whispered promises for the future.

  He had nearly dropped to one knee right then and there. But he had stopped himself because he was not a man to do such a thing impetuously. He would think before he proposed marriage. Though if any woman could tempt him to be reckless, it was she.

  He also believed such an act would have embarrassed her. She was more aware of her social class than he was, and she might refuse him on principle alone. Or because of that nameless something else. The villain who had created her devastating scars. The thing that infuriated him—once she had been so abused.

  Instead, he focused on learning what he could without asking questions. He began with something his sister had told him. Their gowns were made by an old friend of Caroline’s. The woman was a seamstress and part owner of A Lady’s Favor dress shop. He headed there as soon as it was proper.

  Miss Wendy Drew was not accustomed to speaking with gentlemen of rank, but she answered him kindly enough. It helped that she knew who he was. Then he lied, claiming that he had heard Caroline’s mother was ailing, and he planned to send a food gift.

  It only took some time and some charm to get the address. And then, a moment more to ask about Caroline’s childhood. At that Miss Drew became downright surly. She found his questions impertinent which, given that she was a shopkeeper talking to an earl, was quite a surprise. But apparently, Miss Drew had metal under her elfin features, and she was not one to gossip.

  He respected her, so he spoke his apology from the heart. Then he withdrew, his disquiet growing as he headed toward the address he had been given.

  He found it with difficulty. This was not an area of London that saw many titled souls. The buildings were crammed together, their tenants even more so. Their situation was squalid, and their expressions bordered on desperate. It was not as bad as some places, but it was a good deal worse than he had hoped. And he worried that he’d forgotten his pistol.

  Fortunately, he didn’t even have to chance the stairs in the rickety building that housed Caroline’s mother. He found what he
was looking for in a squint-eyed woman lounging by the front stoop. He didn’t have to greet her. She challenged him before he’d gotten within two steps of the door.

  “And ’oo might you be calling on?” she asked. “I know the best tarts hereabouts. To eat and to… eat.” She cackled at her own joke.

  He repressed a shudder at the sight of her rotten teeth. A gin sot, he thought, though not too far gone. And a gossip for the right coin.

  He smiled genially and held a shilling to the wan afternoon light. “Mrs. Caroline Lyncott, if you please.”

  “Caroline!” the woman cackled. “She ain’t no missus, nor will she be ever. And you’ll have to look elsewhere for that fancy piece. I know of better goods anyways.”

  He set a booted foot on the step, then leaned forward, extending his shilling. She snatched it quickly enough, but he remained there, a foot away from the foul woman. “There’s another for you if you tell me everything you know about her. Everything.”

  She didn’t even hesitate. She talked, and he listened. She told him more than he cared to know, but less than he wanted. And by the time she was done, he was sickened and furious. There would be a reckoning, he swore silently. But first, if what he had learned was true, it would take a delicate hand to finish this business.

  With a grunt as his thanks, he headed for home. He needed a bath before he could think of standing in Caroline’s presence again.

  ***

  “Mrs. Lyncott, if you would pack a bag for tonight, I will drop you off at your mother’s home after the theater. I don’t want you walking there, even in the morning. And, as I’ll be at my club, I might as well take you there.”

  Caroline turned to his lordship and barely restrained herself from gaping. Her mother? Tonight?

  Meanwhile, Lady Anne turned to her. “Is your mother faring poorly? You should have told me. I’ll have Cook put together a basket.”

  Caroline barely managed a slow nod. “It’s just her hands, as I told you the other day. I need to give her the stitching. I finished it today.”

  Lady Anne turned to her brother. “Did you know that Caroline has the most delicate hand with embroidery? She stitches to help her mother.”