by Julia London
Also, Lady Norfolk was terribly pregnant and terribly cross. Caroline had assumed, on her friend’s behalf, that the anxiety would be too much.
“Watch your tongue, Caroline,” Beck warned her. “Naturally, he said what any man would say—that it’s well past time you married.”
“Ah—with all due respect, Beck, that is not exactly what I said,” the prince politely demurred.
“It was implied,” Beck said impatiently.
“What did you say?” Caroline asked, turning back to the prince.
“Caro, please! Do not speak to His Royal Highness as if he were some servant to be interrogated for a missing spoon!”
“It’s quite all right,” the prince said. “I merely said that in Alucia most women are married by the time they are twenty. It was an observation, that’s all.” And now he was observing her hair with a curious look.
“And you are well past twenty, Caro,” Beck needlessly pointed out.
Ooh, she would strangle Beck when they were alone. Why was it she could never meet the prince when she looked her best? Why must she always look so bedraggled? He’d been casually looking on all the while she was standing with her hair half down and stuffing cheese into her mouth.
She slowly turned back to her brother. “You’re right, Beck. I should marry. Bring on the suitors, then. Bring them now! If the prince says it—”
“Again, I did not say it,” the prince said quickly. “I simply had a conversation with a friend—I didn’t mean to offer advice.”
“But you did.”
“Caro! For God’s sake, he is a prince of Alucia! Show some respect!” Beck bellowed.
“My lord?”
Caroline and Beck turned toward the door at the same moment. Garrett had stepped inside, unnoticed by them, and interrupted what Caroline felt was the prelude to a brawl. “My lord, there is a gentleman at the door about the horse.”
“Ah!” Beck grinned and hopped to his feet. “That must be the stable master where I intend to house my horse when she arrives. Fine blocks of stables they are, too—the queen’s Horse Guard is stabled there.” He started for the door but paused to look at Caroline. “This would be an opportune time to do something with your hair,” he added, his fingers fluttering in the direction of the fallen tress that drooped over her shoulder as he hurried out.
Caroline made a face at his back and remained where she was, her arms folded. When she was certain he was gone, she pivoted around and marched to where the prince stood behind the open door.
He seemed alarmed at first and straightened as if he thought he might have to do battle. But then he quickly clasped his hands at his back, his legs braced apart, and seemed to prepare himself for whatever she had to say.
“How dare you,” Caroline said.
“How dare I...?”
“Speak to my brother about my marriage prospects!”
“Once again, I did not speak to your brother about your marriage prospects. Or even that you were not married. Your brother asked a question and I answered as I would answer any friend.”
“I am not his ward, for God’s sake. I’m a grown woman and I do as I please.”
“Evidently true on both counts,” he agreed. And then he smiled.
It infuriated her that he should smile in a way that would make her feel so buzzy. With a quick look at the door, she shifted closer. “I don’t have to do as he commands, you know.”
“I never dreamed that you did. I can’t imagine there is any man on this earth that can tell you what to do.”
She shifted even closer. She could detect the musky scent of his cologne, could see a bit of lint on his collar. “Why should any man tell me what to do? I am as much a person as him or even you, Your Highness.”
“Obviously.” He picked up the tail end of the loose tress of hair and brushed it along her collarbone before dropping it over her shoulder. It instantly slid forward again.
All the nerves in Caroline’s body began to sizzle. She despised this man, but she’d never been quite so aroused as she was in this angry moment. She dropped her gaze to his mouth and the shadow of his beard. “Why are you always here?” she demanded. “Are you having an affair with our Ann?”
His eyes widened. He barked out a laugh. “Good God, Caroline, do you speak every thought that occurs to you?”
She would ignore, for the moment, that he had used her given name, which meant, she supposed, that they were very much acquainted, thank you, just as she’d maintained all along. She would further disregard how pleasant her name sounded in his melodious accent. And she would not use this moment to discuss how many thoughts did not pass her lips, for there were quite a lot of them. “Well? Are you?”
His brows dropped into a dark frown, and he leaned forward. “Hear me plainly, woman. No. For God’s sake, no. If I were to have an affair, it would be with a woman who is lush, and curved in all the right places, and open to my suggestions for how to debauch her. Not a timid maid.”
The sizzle was quickly turning to fire. She couldn’t help but wonder what his suggestions for debauching a woman might be. Her gaze fell to his mouth again. She was feeling a little heady.
“My turn. Why aren’t you married? Surely a beautiful woman like you, with her own inheritance, and an enormous dowry, apparently, who does not have to do what any man says, would attract quite a lot of gentlemen in this town. Particularly the type who enjoy a great challenge. Or are they all bloody fools?”
Aha—again, she would not be put on her heels by a compliment casually tossed to her. “Of course I’ve attracted them,” she scoffed. “I don’t care for any of them. Why aren’t you married? Been waiting for the right Weslorian to come along?”
He chuckled, and his gaze moved to the bit of lace she’d sewn along the edge of her bodice. “The same as you, madam—I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do and I don’t want responsibilities.”
“Aha! So you do prefer maids, then.”
He slowly lifted his gaze to hers and held it tight, like he had her attention in his fist. “I prefer women, Caroline,” he murmured. “I prefer women who are confident of their place in this world...but perhaps those who hold their tongues when they ought.”
“Because you don’t agree with everything a woman says doesn’t make what she says wrong.”
He lifted his hand, and with the tip of his finger, he traced a line from the curve of her shoulder up to her chin. “Tell me, Caroline—what gives you the right to speak to me in this manner?”
She leaned forward, just an inch or so from him. “I was born with the right to speak however I want to whomever I want. You are not the prince of me.”
The prince blinked. “Of all the outrageous—”
She didn’t let him finish. She pushed at his chest with both hands, forcing him against the wall, and before he could recover, she rose up on her toes to kiss him. She kissed the prince like she’d never kissed another man in her life. Admittedly, there hadn’t been very many, and certainly she’d never kissed a gentleman like this. But there was something about this man that begged for it—he was so high and mighty, so sure of himself. She had never taken such liberties, and she’d never been so wholly thrilled with an act in her life. This was fire.
But for a high and mighty man, he seemed not to know what to do. He held his arms out wide, as if he were silently announcing he wanted no part of this. Except that his mouth said differently. Oh, but his lips and his tongue said something else entirely. He wouldn’t touch her with his hands, but he nipped at her lips, his tongue playing with hers. He pressed against her, his chest against her chest, and kissed her back as passionately as she kissed him. It was intoxicating, and it wasn’t until her hair found its way between their lips that she suddenly pushed him away and stepped back.
She was breathing raggedly and so was he. They were both panting like they’d chas
ed each other around this room. They stared hard at each other for one endless moment. An entire book of thoughts and feelings and unspoken words flowing between them was written in that moment. Caroline felt something open in her, warm and wet and accepting.
But then he said, “What the hell is the matter with you?”
She didn’t have a good answer for him. A fever? If it was a fever, it was a new sort of fever, one that struck without warning and consumed her quickly.
He held up his hand, his palm facing her, as if he thought she would throw herself at him again. His eyes were dark, his lips slightly parted. He looked shocked. But he also looked dangerously aroused. “Never do that again,” he said in a low voice.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said, and wheeled about, fleeing for the door. She leaped into the hall and nearly collided with Beck on his way back in.
“Caro?”
She ignored her brother, picked up her skirts and fled to her rooms with that kiss burning on her lips.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Invitations to Lord Pennybacker’s ball will be delivered by the end of the month. Alas, there will surely be those disappointed by the absence of an invitation in their post, as the number of persons desiring to attend has grown steadily through the month. Lady Pennybacker has said the ball will be limited to two hundred souls.
The Duke and Duchess of Norfolk have returned to their family seat as the duchess enters her period of confinement. The couple has enjoyed the calls of many notable personages, including Lord Hawke and his sister, who is much acclaimed for her beauty. So acclaimed, it seems, that a gentleman who is expected to formally enter an engagement of princely proportions in a matter of weeks invited himself along.
It is discovered by many that Lady Caroline Hawke’s talents have extended to dressmaking. Ladies in Mayfair are suddenly clambering to have an evening dress designed and fashioned by our dear friend. She has a unique talent for drawing on the English-and Alucian-style gowns and creating coveted garments. She is taking limited requests for the winter season.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
AFTER A FULL two days of torment, Leo couldn’t shake that kiss.
He was strolling alongside Beck as they toured the stable blocks, and while Beck maintained a stream of commentary about the accommodations for his Alucian racehorse, Leo kept thinking about his outrageous, remarkable sister.
That kiss appeared in his thoughts at the oddest times. When he was alone. In the middle of the night. At breakfast, at lunch, at tea with friends.
He was shocked she’d done it, shocked that she’d so brazenly presumed that she could. And then again, he wasn’t surprised at all. He was appalled by her insolence but also admired her pluck. He was angry that she’d taken the liberty but also damn well excited by it.
He was beginning to believe that he’d never met a more perplexing, confounding, beautiful woman in his life. He seemed to be feeling every emotion—good, bad or indifferent—that a man could feel about a woman.
He was also feeling a libidinous desire that was not responding to his usual attempts to keep it at bay. He wanted to do that kiss again. Only this time, he’d do the kissing, thank you.
He had to force himself to think of something else. He turned his attention again to the women he was trying to save. He had intended to speak to his old friend Norfolk about Jacleen at the supper party, but then the supper had been indefinitely postponed. If that bloody gazette was to be believed, it was because of him. It must be true, because more than one gentleman had laughingly congratulated him for his indiscreet call to Mrs. Mansfield’s “house.”
“Never knew a bloke who could draw so much attention to his activities,” said a man he knew only as Hornsby with a guffaw.
Mr. Frame, who had vigorously cautioned Leo about the need for discretion and a moral compass before leading him to Mrs. Mansfield’s house of ill repute, had a fat mouth.
Now Norfolk and his family were in Arundel, awaiting the birth of their fourth child. That made things more difficult—Leo couldn’t simply drop in on the duke in Arundel. One did not “pass by” a grand English estate in the country, particularly if one had no holdings in that direction... Herstmonceux notwithstanding.
But then Beck handed Leo a solution.
A few days after Caroline had kissed him senseless, Leo had joined Beck at their favorite gentlemen’s club for a spot of gin. Out of the blue, Beck began complaining about having to make a trip to Arundel. “The rains have been awful and left the roads almost impassable, I’ve heard. It will take a full day to get there.”
Leo looked up. “You’re to Arundel?”
Beck sighed. “I promised Caro. Lady Norfolk is her friend, and she’s made a dress or dressing gown or a bonnet, I don’t know what, for her time in confinement.”
“Norfolk is an old acquaintance,” Leo said casually. “We were at Cambridge together. I’ve spent a holiday or two at Arundel.”
Beck didn’t bite. He nodded pleasantly. “Grand place, isn’t it? I’ve known the old chap quite a long time myself.”
Leo sipped his gin. The taste was too bitter. “When will you go?”
“Thursday,” Beck said, and glanced at his watch.
Leo drummed his fingers on the table before them, thinking how to proceed. He could not recall another time he’d been in the position of having to ask to be included. It was he who was always fending off people who wanted to join his party. What a strange new world. He eyed Beck from the corner of his eye and thought what to do. He thought perhaps the best way to approach it was the most direct way. “Beck, my friend, would you mind terribly—”
“Don’t ask it of me, Leo,” Beck muttered.
“Pardon? But Henry is my old friend.”
Beck shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked around, as if seeking a footman, even though his glass was full. “Naturally, Highness, at any other time I would be delighted—”
“Ah. I’m a Highness again,” Leo said with a bit of a sardonic laugh.
Beck groaned. He rubbed his face, then looked Leo in the eye. “It’s his wife. Augusta is...reluctant.”
“Reluctant,” Leo repeated.
Beck leaned forward. “You’ve gained a bit of a reputation,” he said with an apologetic wince.
“No. Listen, Beck,” Leo said quickly. “The things that are said about me are not true. Well, not entirely true. That is, they are true, but not in the way you or Henry might understand. I know the supper party was postponed on my account, and I should like to set the matter to rest, with my old friend, if nothing else but for the sake of our friendship.”
Beck winced again. “She’s at the end of a pregnancy and, as I understand it, rather uncomfortable. I’d not want to give her any cause for more discomfort.”
“I won’t see her,” Leo promised. “Arundel is as big as a palace—it is entirely possible our paths need not cross at all. I will do my best to stay out of her way.”
Beck leaned back, bracing both hands against the table. He filled his cheeks with air, then slowly released it. “Yes, all right,” he said after a moment. “I don’t believe what is said of you. God knows worse has been said of me.” He paused. “Well. Not worse, for what is said of you is wretched. Pardon, but you understand. Yes, of course you must come, Leo. We men must stick together.” He smiled.
Leo didn’t think men needed to stick together. It seemed to him they had the upper hand in almost everything as it was.
“I ought to send a messenger,” Beck said. “I should let him know you’re coming.”
“No, no,” Leo said hastily. “He would tell his wife, and the anticipation might cause her undue anxiety. When I call, people tend to be concerned with propriety and having everything just so, as it were.”
“Ah,” Beck said, nodding sagely. “Of cours
e.” He laughed. “I’ve quite forgotten you are a prince.”
Leo laughed, too. “I think so have I.”
* * *
CAROLINE COULDN’T KEEP the secret of that kiss another moment. She lasted an entire four days before she went to see Hollis and thought her restraint was rather remarkable given the extraordinary situation.
She wanted to kiss him again, but perhaps this time with his arms around her. She was confused by this desire—how could she feel such strong feelings for the worst sort of scoundrel? He was blithely seducing maids and walking out with women of the night! And then charming women like herself into bad behavior.
She arrived at Hollis’s house after a brisk walk, feeling as strong as she ever had and rather invigorated by the vexation with herself and that wayward prince. Hollis’s home was close by—her late husband, Sir Percival, felled by a muddy road and a carriage accident, had left his widow in very good circumstances. She lived quite comfortably near Hyde Park, in a very large house with minimal staff. It was true that a rich, attractive young widow was quite a lure, and gentlemen of all stripes had sniffed around Hollis in the almost three years she’d been widowed. But Hollis was never interested.
She knocked on Hollis’s door with her usual flair, a series of rapid-fire knocks. A few moments later Donovan opened the door. He stood casually in the doorway, his legs braced apart, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms. He was holding a silver teapot and worked to polish it as he looked Caroline up and down. “Good afternoon, Lady Caroline,” he said. “What a pleasure to see you in good health. I had heard you were all but dead.”