by Julia London
“Shouldn’t you step out and see what has happened?” she asked. “Perhaps lend a hand?”
“Thank you for the suggestion of how I ought to behave, but I believe I’ll remain here and discover why you are treating me like a leper.”
“I’m not treating you like a leper.”
“No? Feels a bit like it. Whatever you may call it, you are treating me quite differently than you did the last time we met. You do remember the last time we met, do you not?”
The color in her cheeks returned. “Yes, all right, I was ill behaved when last we met, but I was terribly cross. I beg your forgiveness.”
“Interesting.” He sat up and braced his arms against his knees, leaning toward her. “What a strange thing you do when you are cross. Is it always so?”
“Obviously not. It depends on the person and the injury.”
He nodded, amused. “I don’t know if you are complimenting me or not.”
She frowned. “It won’t happen again. I lost my head, that’s all. My actions were in no way an indication of any...regard for you.”
“Ah. But the color in your cheeks just now and the enthusiasm in your kiss would suggest otherwise. Are you certain you don’t have a bit of regard for me?”
She clucked her tongue. “Completely certain.”
Leo leaned forward in the small space between them. Lady Caroline pressed back. He placed his hands against the bench where she was sitting, on either side of her knees. “May I offer a bit of advice, Caroline?”
Her lips parted and she drew a slight intake of breath. “I’d really rather you not.”
He lifted one hand and touched his fingers to her jaw. “My advice—”
“Which I just said I’d rather not have—”
“Is that you not kiss a man in anger. An angry kiss can be an enjoyable kiss, and certainly yours was, I won’t deny it. But it’s not as enjoyable as a happy kiss.”
She blinked. Her eyes had landed on his lips, and he could feel desire stirring in him. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it. I understand you’re an expert.”
“I do know a little about it,” he agreed. He couldn’t help himself—he touched a dimple in her cheek with the tips of his fingers.
“And I know a little about rakes,” she said as he tilted her chin up just slightly. “I know one instantly.”
Leo smiled. He leaned closer. “Are you cross, again, Caroline?”
“Yes, Leopold, a little.”
“Would you like me to move away?”
She hesitated. She pushed his hand from her face, and he thought that was the end of it. He was just about to slide back into his place when she cupped his face with her hand. “Just be warned that if you kiss me, it will mean something. I would advise you think long and hard about that.”
“I am thinking long and hard,” he said, and shifted closer.
She put her hand on his chest and sighed. “You are the worst sort of rake, Leopold Chartier. But if you mean to do it, then do it. We haven’t much time.”
He bit back a laugh of surprise. “Has anyone ever told you how contradictory you are?”
She traced her thumb across his bottom lip. “What the devil are you waiting for?”
Leo moved then, touching his mouth to hers. He kissed her quite differently than she kissed him. She’d pressed her mouth hard against his, her tongue probing. He kissed her softly and carefully, lingering against pillowy lips while the faint scent of florals teased his nose. The kiss was so exquisite that he had to claw his fingers into the squabs to keep from falling into her and nibbling her up like a delicious delicacy. He teased her lips apart with his tongue. She tipped her chin up and opened her mouth to him. The kiss was tender and slow, but the flames in him were not. This was the tiny gasp of air in a hearth before a fire raged.
Caroline lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. The gentle touch of her fingers caused him to shiver—he felt as if he could explode with his desire at any moment. He had meant to tantalize her, but she was luring him in, enticing him to a mystic mountain of pleasure, and he very much wanted to go with this brash woman.
Don’t tell me what to do. Her words popped into his head. He wouldn’t tell her what to do; he’d let her lead him to what she wanted. He leaned in, pressing her against the squabs at her back. The kiss was quickly sending him off to oblivion—he wanted to touch her flesh, to feel her skin against his. He wanted to put his hand between her legs and feel the damp of her desire.
It was Caroline who reminded him of where he was. She cupped his face with both hands and pushed his head back. Her lips were wet with his kiss. “My brother is just outside.”
Beck. His only friend if his life continued to progress as it had the last few weeks. Leo gathered himself. He nodded, pressed his eyes shut for a moment, then fell back across the carriage, adjusting his Alucian coat to hide his enormous erection. He pushed his hand through his hair and smiled at her. “How did you find that kiss, madam?”
A ringlet of her hair had tumbled out of place, and she very carefully tucked it back in. “I found it serviceable.” She smiled impertinently.
“I don’t believe you,” he said playfully. “I think you felt that kiss in a way you’ve never felt one before.” He arched a brow, daring her to disagree and knowing full well that she would.
But she laughed and said, “Now who is proud? Very well. It was very nice, Highness. Thank you.” Her smile broadened.
She enjoyed the game she was playing. So did Leo. “You little—”
The door suddenly swung open and Beck’s head popped into the interior of the carriage. He looked at his sister, who was smiling like a fat little feline. “Bit of a mechanical problem,” he said, hoisting himself back inside. “One of the harnesses, as it happens. It’s always something with the harness, isn’t it?” he asked, and began to talk about the number of times he’d been involved with harness issues.
Leo didn’t hear much of what he said. All he could think of was how hard he was for the woman sitting across from him with the most annoyingly enticing and cheeky little smile he’d ever seen.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
All of London rejoices with the return of the sun to our skies, but many have already departed for the country. In Sussex, it is anticipated that Lord Hawke will debut his Alucian racehorse at the Four Corners event. He is rumored to have brought the steed to Arundel to be housed there until the racing season is complete.
An afternoon tea at the home of Mrs. Moriarity was remarked because of one particular guest who arrived clad in a morning gown. Ladies, it is important to know how to dress for the occasion, lest you be the one everyone remembers and not for the reasons to which you aspire.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
AUGUSTA, LADY NORFOLK, was in a very foul mood, for which she could be forgiven. She was in the last month of her pregnancy and complained that nothing fit her, her back hurt, and that she hated her husband.
“Augusta,” Caroline said with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t hate Henry.” She had fit the dressing gown she’d made for Augusta around her but realized she’d hardly made it large enough. That was her own fault—she’d never been so close as this to a pregnant belly, and it was...quite large. Privately, Caroline worried that Augusta was carrying more than one child in there. It looked like an entire village.
Augusta had collapsed onto a chair with her legs sprawled in front of her. Caroline wandered over to the towering window to gaze out at the vast lawn below. It was a gloriously sunlit day, and she longed to be outside with everyone. Beck and Norfolk reclined in chairs like a pair of country gentlemen. A nursemaid rocked Augusta’s baby, scarcely a year old, under the boughs of a tree. And in the clearing, the prince...Leopold...was romping with Augusta’s two young daughters along with a frisky black-and-white dog.
It made her feel a little achy.
She absently touched her fingers to her lips and remembered again that staggering kiss in the coach. It had been so tender and considerate—not the same desperate passion she’d shown him. And yet her body had bloomed with it. She could feel herself opening up like a flower, wanting more. Wanting all of him.
Good God. Maybe Beck was right and it was time for her to marry. She was as randy as she’d ever been, wanting things she would not take. Caroline was no saint—she’d been kissed and petted and more. But she’d always been conscious of her virtue and the need to protect it. Great families, her mother had said, maintained their stature through their heirs, their morals and their generosity. She warned Caroline about doing anything that could bring shame to the Hawke name. “A man can recover from his mistakes,” she’d said. “But a woman will carry her shame to her grave.”
For some reason, that warning, said by a mother she’d lost many years ago, had stuck with her all this time. She’d certainly had many opportunities to bring shame to the family name. But yesterday, in the coach, she had seriously considered it.
“What are you looking at?” Augusta asked.
“Oh, just your daughters and your husband in the green below.”
Augusta emitted a sigh that sounded a bit like despair. Caroline turned from the window. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Augusta said. Then she shook her head. “I’m not. Henry disappears from me when I am in confinement.”
Caroline laughed, gesturing to the window. “But he is here, darling. He’s not gone anywhere at all.”
“He disappeared from me in the last four months before Mary was born. The moment he discovered I was with child again, he began to disappear again. He is here in body,” Augusta said morosely. “But not in spirit. He despises my body in this state.” A tear slipped from her eye. “He’s entered some sort of arrangement for exports, and as part of it, he brought home a kitchen girl. Can you imagine? She was part of that arrangement. It’s not the first time it’s happened, either, for him to have a girl tucked away in the servant’s quarters. I got rid of the last one.”
Caroline was stunned. “What are you implying?”
“What do you think?” Augusta asked tearfully.
“No, Augusta,” Caroline said, coming to her side. “That’s not true! He is besotted with you.”
“Don’t try to tell me what he is, Caroline! I know what he is and what he does.”
Caroline suspected she might, too. Last night when they’d arrived, Henry had whisked Beck and the prince away, as if Caroline and Augusta didn’t exist. When she’d mentioned it to Beck, he’d said it was because Augusta wanted nothing to do with Leopold, and really, did Caroline want to sit with the gentlemen while they smoked cigars and talked about masculine things?
“What are masculine things?” she’d asked.
Beck had frowned. “Masculine things. Use your imagination, Caro.” He’d tapped her head with two fingers and had left her to spend the day with a miserable Augusta.
“The dressing gown is beautiful,” Augusta said, stroking the embroidered placket.
“The embroidery is Martha’s work. She’s taught me quite a lot,” Caroline said. “She worked on it while I sewed the hem.”
“I never knew you had any talent,” Augusta murmured.
Caroline laughed. “Neither did I. But last summer, I couldn’t find a modiste who was willing to make a train like the Alucians wear. I’ve always been fairly good with a needle and thought I’d try. It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be,” she said with a shrug.
The door to the salon opened, and a young maid entered, carrying a tray with tea service. She misstepped; the pot clattered against one of the cups.
Augusta took one look at her, and her expression turned dark. “For God’s sake, don’t be stupid.”
The way she snapped at the maid surprised Caroline. She’d never heard her speak so ill to a servant.
“I beg your pardon, milady.” The young woman spoke with a slight accent and seemed terrified of Augusta. She put the tea service on a table, then passed close to Caroline to collect a used glass. That’s when Caroline noticed something else about her—a tiny patch of green on her collar. Was that bit of color a coincidence, or was she Weslorian?
“Will you need anything else, milady?”
“No. Leave us,” Augusta said coldly.
The maid practically fled the room, and when Caroline turned back to Augusta, wondering what she ought to say, Augusta surprised her again by bursting into tears. “Augusta!” Caroline cried, and went at once to her side, dropping to her knees beside her. She took Augusta’s hand between both of hers. “What on earth troubles you?”
“That’s her,” Augusta said tearfully. “That’s the girl, the maid Henry is sleeping with.”
“You must be wrong, Augusta. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding. Henry would never.”
“He would! He thinks I don’t know, but they all talk, the servants whisper, and I hear them. She sleeps in a room off the kitchen, and twice now, I’ve caught him coming up the kitchen stairs wearing nothing but his nightclothes. He doesn’t come to me—he goes to her.”
“Augusta,” Caroline said softly. But she couldn’t find words that meant anything. What Augusta described was the worst thing she could possibly imagine and perhaps the very thing she expected. “I don’t...men are...well, they’re beasts,” she said, unable to find the appropriate word for the Duke of Norfolk.
“That’s why I don’t want him here,” Augusta said as tears slid down her cheeks.
“Henry?”
“No, the prince! You were right about him, Caroline. He’s a rake, and I think he has influenced Henry. They were mates in school, you know. They have a long history. And from what you said, I began to think on it. They’ve been hunting, and they go round to the gentlemen’s clubs. I heard the prince went to a brothel, and took a girl away from it,” she said, whispering the word. “He probably dragged Henry along.”
Caroline stared at Augusta. She had not a single word to offer in the prince’s defense. She’d heard all the same, but he didn’t strike her as the type to drag others into his corruption. “I’m so sorry, Augusta.”
Augusta turned in her chair and gathered a pillow to her chest and bent over it as best she could and sobbed.
Caroline slowly stood and went to the window. She looked down at the bucolic scene again. Henry was sleeping with that very young maid? Leopold was dragging his friends to brothels? She looked at him, so at ease. He was sitting on the grass now, his legs stretched before him, and the girls were climbing on him. It was hard to look at him now and picture that side of him. It was harder to understand what would drive a man to that sort of behavior. It made her stomach turn a little. Did he kiss those young women like he’d kissed her? Did he smile at them as he smiled at her?
* * *
THE LONG DAY with Augusta ended when she claimed a blinding headache and sent word to her husband she would not attend supper. That left Caroline alone to dine with the three men. This was a situation she generally relished. She’d even brought a spectacular green gown, one that had been rather plain three months ago but now boasted a modified train—really, the Alucians wore them too long—and a revised neckline that was more daring than what she typically wore. She had planned to be admired as she always did, but this evening she was feeling out of sorts. She didn’t want their attention or admiration. What she wanted was to be home with her cloth and her needle and thread and her imagination. Lord, she was turning into a spinster with every tick of the clock.
The maid who was sent to atten
d her as she prepared for the evening was a bubbly lass. Janey, she said her name was. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, if that. About the same age as the other girl had appeared to be.
Janey was not shy about admiring Caroline’s gown or her looks. She was chatty. Caroline took advantage of that, and as she did a final check in the mirror, she said, “There is another maid here, a young woman with dark hair.”
“Oh, there are so many maids, madam! Arundel is the biggest thing I’ve ever seen. Maybe bigger than Windsor. That’s what Adam said. He’s in the stables, and he rides with the duke and duchess to London to care for the horses.”
“It is indeed a very big estate,” Caroline agreed. “But this girl... I think she is Weslorian?”
“Ah, Jacleen! Aye, she’s come all the way from Wesloria. Hadn’t been in London two weeks before the duke brung her here. It’s all so new to her.”
“I can imagine it must be very new to her,” Caroline said darkly. She didn’t know if she could look at the duke tonight, knowing what he did, knowing that he’d brought that poor young immigrant here to service him while his wife carried his fourth child.
When she finally went down to supper, Caroline was feeling unusually subdued and unlike herself. Beck frowned darkly when he saw her enter the salon, most likely a result of his displeasure with her décolletage. Caroline ignored him. He ought to be thankful that she wasn’t sleeping with a footman like his friend the duke or rounding up her friends to go traipsing off to brothels like his friend the prince.
“Wine, madam?” a footman asked, holding a tray out to her as Beck turned his attention to the duke. Far across the cavernous room, Leopold was sitting in a chair, an open book in his lap.
“Thank you.” She took the glass from his tray, then walked to the window and watched the sinking sun wash the countryside in soft gold light. She hadn’t stood there long when she slowly became aware of a presence. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled thinly at the prince. She couldn’t help herself—the look in his eyes stirred blood, fever and heat. What was wrong with her that she could be so physically attracted to such a rake?