She laughed. “Good heavens, you sound like Louisa. I thought scientific experiments went by the wayside after the time you and George singed your eyebrows and turned your hair grayish-purple.”
“A small setback, nothing more. Actually it’s a documented fact that frequent gunpowder use is the mark of a true aristocrat.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Really? And here was me believing it to be lineage, surnames and estates. Not to mention behavior.”
“Poor, deluded peasant.”
“Excuse me,” she said, sniffing haughtily as she perched on the padded stool in front of her dressing table. “I may not be a peasant. My father might have been a prince for all you know. I could outrank you so far you’d be forced to bow sixteen times just to say good morning.”
“Well, your highness, it’s time to doctor that shoulder. What I should I use and how?”
“Is there an infusion of St. John’s wort?”
“Ummm,” he replied, checking each of the labeled glass bottles. “Yes. Here.”
“Then pour some on a clean muslin cloth and let it soak into my shoulder. It really is a wonderful herb, speeds up wound healing and is an antiseptic too.”
“I’m curious,” he said while he dipped, pressed and dabbed. “Did your mother teach you herbals, or did you study Culpeper’s book?”
Caroline immediately tensed. Nothing like a constant need to hurry along an education. “Please, I’m not an herbalist, nowhere near one. I just know what to use for cuts and bruises.”
The washcloth froze in midair, the herbal infusion dripping onto the carpet instead of her skin. “Don’t be angry, but I wanted to ask…has he done this before?”
“Countless times,” she said, bitter anger coating the words. “He’s been violent for a long time, although more frequently in the past few years. All those occasions I perspired in the heat wearing silly long-sleeved gowns and shawls were for a reason.”
“And George did nothing?”
“Don’t use that tone, George didn’t know. I made sure he didn’t know. He might have acted foolishly, and there is enough bad blood between them already.”
“You should have said something.”
“Said what? To whom?” she replied, gently mocking. “Correction of wives and daughters is a fully accepted practice.”
He made a growling sound, but she ignored it. Just because he was relatively enlightened about the place and treatment of women didn’t mean others were. But one thing was for certain, if they had a daughter or two, Stephen would be giving the little poppets boxing lessons as soon as they could walk.
“Caroline,” he began seriously, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Yes?”
“Excuse me, my lord, we have your dinner trays,” came back a female voice.
“Come in. Just leave them there on the side table,” he directed, and the two kitchen maids hurried to obey. They bobbed curtsies and just as quickly were gone.
“What have they sent up?” Caroline asked.
“No idea. Get into bed and I’ll bring you your tray.”
“My word. You might be the best, if largest, lady’s maid ever.”
“If you’re going to do something, do it well. Bed. At once.”
Strolling to the bed, Caroline eased herself under the blankets, and he propped the tray on her lap. “Mmmm,” she said, lifting the covers off the food. “Chicken in cream sauce. Baked potatoes, steamed asparagus and…vanilla cake and custard.”
Stephen sat on the other side of the bed with his tray and they ate in silence, until Caroline leaned back on the pillows and smilingly yawned.
“I’m so full I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Good,” he said over his shoulder as he took both empty trays and stacked them outside the door. “Time to get some rest then, wife. I’ll leave you to it.”
Her spirits plummeted. “You’re going?”
As in the foyer, he hesitated. “I have letters to read. Documents to sign.”
“Oh,” Caroline replied, plucking a loose thread on the embroidered bed covers, so unbearably disappointed she could no longer meet his gaze. “Of course.”
This time Stephen didn’t reply. Could he be wavering? She didn’t dare look at her husband, but his firm tread towards the connecting door between their rooms had halted at least. Stay with me, she begged wordlessly. Please, please stay with me.
The silence stretched to breaking point, until Stephen cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could remain a little longer,” he said. “Just until you fall asleep.”
Joy bloomed to the tips of her toes, but she made herself offer a token protest. “You don’t have to. If there are important matters…”
“They can wait a half hour or so.”
The bed dipped when he sat down and swiveled his hips so he was stretched out on top of the covers. She smiled and turned onto her right side, tucking one arm under the pillow. “Goodnight, Stephen.”
“Goodnight.”
~ * ~
Long after Caroline had fallen into a deep, unmoving slumber he still laid beside her, but after today it was hardly any wonder. The strange incident at the dock with the girl Clara as well as his dislike of Sir John Smythe had somewhat tempered his enthusiasm at joining Gregory’s friends, although perhaps he’d just completely overanalyzed the situation. Then of course there was the opium-eating rat Sir Malcolm to deal with.
But all of that came a distant second to thinking about his wife, which he was doing altogether far too much of lately. Like the other evening after stealing her away from dinner. Despite wanting to keep some needed distance between them, he’d nearly fallen asleep in her bed. Damned foolish. He didn’t want a marriage like his parents. That ‘love’ might have resulted in some good times, but losing it had nearly been his mother’s destruction.
Tonight was different, of course. Staying here didn’t mean aught other than doing the right thing toward an injured person. Bloody hell, no man could have turned away at the sight of a lady looking so small, pale and fragile. Exactly how his six foot one wife had managed that he didn’t know. But her hunched, forlorn figure, nearly swallowed up by the oversized pillows and blankets as she fumbled with the bed cover rather than look at him meant leaving wasn’t an option. Remaining like a sentry, ready to beat the living daylights out of anyone who dared come near, was. And ensuring no one ever hurt her again.
Leaning over, Stephen stared at Caroline. Her green silk robe had slipped off one shoulder and tangled around her elbow, so very gently he removed it, giving himself extra credits for not lingering on the perfection of her naked breasts or bottom. There would be plenty of time for that when she felt better. Quickly he tucked the covers around her shoulders, he was only human after all. Then he tugged off his own wrinkled shirt and tossed it onto the floor. He wasn’t going to sleep here all night, just an hour or so. And it was uncomfortable. With those reassuring thoughts in mind, he slid under the blankets, his eyes drifting shut, finally lulled by the softness of the pillows and muted light of the three candlesticks in the corner of the room.
Only to be jolted awake some time later, his brain unable to function but still entirely certain the world was askew. And yet it felt good. So damn good…Endeavoring to keep his breathing steady, he opened one eye the merest slit.
Well, well, well.
The blankets had been pulled right down to his waist, and Caroline lounged beside him, propped on her right elbow, the fingers of her other hand performing a deliberate, exploratory dance across his remarkably over-warm chest. Slowly, so slowly, her gaze utterly intent, she trailed her fingers around, tracing the muscles and testing the springiness of his chest hair. Next she moved onto his left nipple, circling and caressing the small pale brown nub until it grew firmer and larger, instantly stirring his cock to life.
It took every shred of self-control he had to remain still. But when she leaned down and flicked her tongue across his nipple, he couldn’t stop a soft groan of pleasure. God. So g
ood.
Caroline’s head jerked up, her cheeks scarlet. “Stephen! I…um…” she mumbled, clumsily trying to move away from him and only tangling herself in the blankets.
One hand shot out and grasped her wrist, halting her movements.
“If you want to touch me,” he said roughly, about ready to plead with her to continue. “Go right ahead.”
She smiled and licked her lips in a way that instantly hardened his cock to a point where it might yet tear his trousers or explode before she got anywhere near it. Hell, each time he thought she couldn’t arouse him more, she went and surprised him.
Bracing herself on her knees and right hand, Caroline leaned down again to tongue his nipple, gently biting and sucking like he’d done to her so many times, while she plucked and teased its twin. Then she shifted on the bed so she could reverse the action, and her soft breasts brushed his lower belly, tormenting him until he was actually panting.
Sitting back on her heels, she folded her arms. “Your trousers. Take them off.”
“That sounded like an order,” Stephen said mildly, resisting the urge to claw them from his body as his cock begged him to comply immediately if not sooner.
“It is. Don’t make me repeat myself, or there’ll be the devil to pay.”
His lips twitched, but he undid the buttons and pushed his trousers down until his thick erection sprang free.
“Oooh. Well hello,” she murmured, allowing one lazy finger to trace the rock-hard length of him. Up and down, back and forth she stroked, sometimes down as far as his swollen testicles, sometimes across the dampening tip.
Christ Almighty. When the hell had she learned that?
But ‘that’ was only the beginning.
Swirling her thumb in the dripping moisture, she lifted it to her lips for a taste, nearly making him laugh when her nose wrinkled. Yet he wasn’t laughing a second later when she bent forward again and dragged her tongue across the end of his cock, once, twice, three times.
Gasping for breath as she lapped at his cock, he clenched the sheets, fighting the overwhelming desire to thrust his hips upwards and shove himself down her throat. No. This was her show. But as if she’d read his mind, his perfect woman enveloped the swollen head in her mouth and sucked firmly.
He swore, jerking so hard she nearly lost her precarious perch on his thighs.
“My, my, Lord Westleigh,” she tsked with a raised eyebrow. “Such appalling language in front of your wife.”
“My wife,” he ground out, “is doing her very best to torture me.”
“Really? Should she stop?”
“God no.”
Clearly stifling a grin, Caroline wrapped her left hand around the base of his cock, alternately squeezing and releasing while taking him into her mouth. Sometimes just the tip, sometimes several inches, hollowing her cheeks and using her tongue to lash the sensitive underside. Unable to stand a moment more, so close to coming in her mouth he was shaking, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her away.
“What?” she said, blinking like an owl. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to be inside you when I come. You’re ready, aren’t you? I can smell your wetness.”
Her cheeks flushed bright red, but she couldn’t deny it, not when musky cream glistened on her inner thighs. Delighted at the thought she enjoyed giving as much as receiving, he lifted his hand and stroked the damp curls between her legs, and she made a choked gasp of pleasure. Determined to ensure she was as ready as him, he teased her slick, swollen center, thumbing her clitoris while sliding two fingers deep into her soaked channel, in and out, in and out until she thrust her hips forward and moaned loudly.
“Damnation, Stephen!”
“What?” he said innocently, as if this drawn out, on the verge of climax teasing wasn’t torturing him as much as her.
“No more, I can’t bear it. Do you want me to lie down…?”
“I think not. Straddle me.”
Her eyes widened with interest. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Damn it, hurry.”
Allowing her knees to fall either side of his thighs, Caroline shimmied upwards. At his curt nod, she took his erection and fed it slowly into her body, sucking in a sharp breath as her tight sheath stretched to accommodate him.
“Now what?” she gasped, bracing her hands on his shoulders, her engorged nipples so close to his lips he couldn’t help turning his head for a quick, hard suck of each. But he could barely remember his own name let alone the ability to instruct, and mentally scrabbled around for something to say other than incoherent gibberish.
“Move. Up and down,” he managed, gripping her hips to guide her. The rhythm was awkward at first as she bore firmly downwards and he thrust fiercely upwards, but soon they were flawlessly, gorgeously in sync, grinding together in a way that made her throw her head back and cry out in prolonged, exquisite ecstasy. Two more circling, poundingly deep thrusts and he came, bucking and jerking as he filled her to overflowing with his seed.
Caroline collapsed against his chest, fitting herself to him like a second skin, and she felt so soft and warm and good he closed his arms around her without a second thought. Not that he even had the ability to think right now. Jesus.
“And that, Stephen” she said breathlessly, “is why you should always remain in your wife’s bed.”
He smiled. Probably a good a reason as any.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“So, Westleigh. It’s been what, a few weeks now? How is married life treating you?”
Stephen barely heard the unknown buck’s polite enquiry over the sheer din in the overcrowded ballroom, but before he could answer he was interrupted by a bark of laughter.
“In that the man barely leaves his house nowadays and even turned down a coveted dinner invitation from yours truly the other night,” said Thomas, lifting his glass in a salute. “I’d say passing well. By the by, Westleigh, did no one tell you it’s not the done thing to send one’s wife lustful, yearning glances across a crowded ballroom?”
He glared at the Marquess of Ardmore. Pure exaggeration from someone who knew far better. He was merely keeping an eye on Caroline’s progress as she made her way from group to group, accepting well wishes, complimenting their gowns and hair, keeping her promise not to overturn a punchbowl on a certain young baroness. If Lady Beecham was smart she would give Caroline the widest of berths, but the woman wasn’t exactly known for her mental capacity.
“It is a crush, is it not? Your dear sisters must be absolutely thrilled. Very kind of you to volunteer as host.”
Thomas scowled, and gestured for him to walk. “Like I had a choice. The girls have perfected trench warfare, it is tears and pleading one day, whisky theft and carriage malfunctions the next. I keep increasing their dowries, but reputation precedes them everywhere. As for Mother…God, you wouldn’t believe what tonight is costing. Peach silk on the walls, five kinds of flowers, ice sculptures, champagne fountains, French desserts, musicians…it’s bloody ridiculous.”
“Actually I would believe. Every year Mama employs half of London in an attempt to outdo herself with her parties. When the bills come in, I have to lie down for a week.”
“Women.”
“Indeed,” Stephen replied as they paused next to a giant Greek urn overflowing with peach and white flowers. “Why don’t you send your mother to the dower house? Confine the girls to their rooms until they learn who is in charge?”
“Tried that once. Mother returned in an hour stating the place was draughty and a spider haven, but if I was so enamored of it, I could live there. As for my sisters, some unspeakable bastard taught them to pick locks and tie sheets together. I believe it was your brother-in-law, unfortunately I have insufficient proof.”
“How could you possibly suspect someone so angelic?”
“Guess I’m just one of those cynical types. Damn. Thank God for my faithful companions wine, whisky and brandy is all I can say. Only they can dull my pain.”
“Pain i
s truly undervalued. Been propping up the country since the beginning of time.”
“Yes it has. But Westleigh, if your marrying someone you like rubbish catches on, there’ll be contented men everywhere. Contented men don’t drink nearly as much as miserable men, the English economy will collapse.”
“What?” Stephen said, stifling a snort. “Who says I like her? Caroline is stubborn, willful, impatient…not to mention eager to hurl heavy objects at my head. Or cripple me with her damned heels.”
“Then it’s just as well you married her and not Shilton. Nice enough fellow, but all that delectably wrapped pertness would have eventually wilted away.”
“Excuse me?”
“Shilton is a stuffed shirt. Gets it from his mother.”
“No. After that.”
Thomas blinked and took a large gulp of whisky. “Er, apparently there are men who admire ample curves, mile-long legs and a saucy mouth. Not me though. Ugh.”
“How fortunate. As for the drinking economy, so long as there is war, politics and impoverished aristocrats forced to wed horse-faced heiresses, I’m sure it will survive.”
“Then here’s to brave men, democracy, and ugly, rich women. God bless them all.”
They clinked glasses and drank in silence for several minutes, enough for Stephen to again scan the lavishly decorated ballroom. As she was taller than most in the room and wearing a striking silver gown, his wife was easy to spot.
Stephen smiled to himself. Caroline didn’t know it yet, but she and her mother would no longer be troubled by Sir Malcolm. The man thought he held all the power, but this morning had discovered otherwise. His bankers leaned on. Damning documentation gathered and filed. Stark promises of dire retribution made with the knowledge and backing of the highest level of government, should a hair on Caroline or Emily’s head be hurt again. God, that had felt good, but not nearly as good as a right hook, left jab combination sending the bastard bloodied and sprawling into the corner of his library. Sir Malcolm ruled by fear, and targeted those who couldn’t fight back. Today he’d learned the consequences of such actions.
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