"I'm enough for a week or two." He laughed though there was no humour in it. "God I'm destined for a life not good enough. Not good enough for my father, not good enough for our grandfather, and not good enough for the woman who stole my heart."
Edward frowned in concern.
"Your father was a bastard," he stated now, matter-of-factly.
"You'll hear no arguments from me."
"And our grandfather did not particularly care for anyone."
"Except his heirs".
Edward could not argue the point.
"But Caroline, Tom. Are you really so blind that you cannot see how she feels?"
Tom refused to let himself hope, refused to let himself believe, and refused to show any weakness for her in front of Edward.
"Regardless of how you think she feels Edward, she has made it painfully obvious that she intends to marry a title. Even now, two years have passed and nothing has changed. She wants to marry a Peer and get on with her life and I will be stuck trying to fill a void that I know will never be filled."
"You underestimate her, Cousin." Edward was relentless.
"No I don't." Tom was starting to lose patience. "She said as much."
"So she did," said Edward calmly rising from his chair. "Just as you said you would never want to marry. You're both liars."
The ride home had been a quiet affair since Tom was wrapped up in his thoughts and Edward was wisely leaving him to it.
Should he risk it all then? Give her what she wanted and hope that it would be enough? Again?
He did not know if he had the strength to do it all again. To risk the pain once more.
No, it was best to leave things as they were, he had thought as they made their way up the driveway to the front of the house, it was best to keep his distance, enjoy her company but not get any closer.
That way, when he inevitably had to let her go, maybe it wouldn't hurt as much. He would see her with the man she chose, wish her well, and walk away.
This was a fine thought in theory. Unfortunately, that along with every other rational thought in his head, flew right away at the sight that awaited him on the steps of his house.
Caroline. In the arms of another man.
Without conscious thought, he urged Brutus to go faster, ignoring whatever it was that Edward was shouting at him.
His entire focus was on Caroline and the brute that was manhandling her.
She doesn't look as though she is in distress, his conscious spoke up. He ignored that too.
Charging up the steps, urged on by a savage jealousy at the look of happiness on her face, he pulled her from the man's grasp and landed him a facer, which connected with a satisfying crack.
Caroline had screeched at him but he'd had no desire to listen to her pleas for the man.
How could she do this to him? On the steps of his own damned house.
And then she'd screamed the words that had brought a brief second of relief, followed almost immediately by horror as realisation took hold.
He had just punched her brother.
And now that man was sure to be wondering why.
They had reached the study in silence and Tom immediately set to pouring generous measures of brandy for all three of them.
Caroline had stormed off to another part of the house and Tom had no doubt he was in for a stern lecture when they were next alone.
Of course, he frowned in displeasure, studying the deep amber liquid in his glass; they may never get a chance to be alone again, since her brother had arrived.
Speaking of which—
"I apologise, once again my lord, I had no idea who you were."
"Yes, that much is clear, or you wouldn't have hit me in a jealous rage."
Tom's head snapped up as he met the viscount's eyes. They were as blue as Caroline's though his hair and skin tone were darker, like Rebecca's. That penetrating look, however, that he shared with his blonde sister.
Tom's first instinct was to babble like a schoolboy and deny everything. But years of being a rakish man about town had thought him well — school your features into impassivity and talk yourself out of trouble.
"I felt duty bound to protect her, my lord. She is after all a guest under my roof. It would be remiss of me to see her in the arms of a man and not try to intervene."
"Yes it would," agreed Charles easily. "However intervention tends not to involve beating the man in question, so I think I shall trust my instincts on this one. Which brings us to an interesting point — just what is going on with you and my sister?"
His tone was easy enough, his manner all friendliness, but Tom heard the steel in the other man's voice.
He was not going to be fobbed off, that much was definite.
So now Tom had to decide how the hell he was going to explain what was happening between him and Caroline. An impossible task, since he didn’t know himself.
"Honestly?" he said now, the brandy coupled with his earlier ale loosening his tongue somewhat, "I haven't a damned clue, my lord."
Charles Carrington, to Tom's surprise, leaned back and chuckled softly.
"I think it is safe to say that you are suffering rather badly. I also think, under the circumstances, you might as well call me Charles."
Tom swallowed hard but said nothing, waiting for the other man's lead in what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.
"So," Charles began, accepting another shot of smooth, amber liquid, "how long have you been in love with my sister?"
Tom, who had just taken a swallow of his own drink, choked and spluttered in alarm before finally being able to catch his breath.
He noticed, with some disgust, that Charles was completely unperturbed by Tom's near death experience. Even Edward hadn't rushed to help.
If Tom had been hoping that the choking would distract Charles from his question, he was sadly mistaken. Charles merely raised a brow, his expression disconcertingly like his sister's, and waited.
"What?" was Tom's only reply, which, he could admit, wasn't the wittiest.
"How long have you been in love with my sister?" Charles repeated calmly.
It was the calm that frightened Tom. He didn't trust it. After all, he knew Charles' sisters and had no reason to think that Charles would be any more predictable than the two shrews he was related to.
"I-I am not," mumbled Tom now, realising that he sounded like a naughty child and then realising that he felt like one.
"Why not?"
At this, Tom's eyes snapped up to meet the other man's. The same icy blue as Caroline's. The fact did nothing to improve Tom's mood.
"What?" he repeated like the dolt he suspected he was.
"Why not? What's wrong with her?"
"Nothing," he hit back immediately, thoroughly confused by this bizarre conversation.
Tom looked to Edward for support but Edward looked to be enjoying the exchange far too much to be any help.
"Of course, I know there are plenty of reasons why a man wouldn't be in love with her," Charles continued nonchalantly. "She is stuffy enough to bore a man to tears, I know. And though she's my sister and I love her, her personality is hardly worthy of comment, given that she doesn't exactly have one."
Tom felt his temper flare at Charles' continued insults. He was a God-awful brother and a complete idiot if he did not understand what a treasure his sister was. Unfortunately, he was also still talking.
"Growing up there were those amongst my friends who thought her quite pretty of course, but you must remember, rural Ireland is no place to see real beauty and sadly, her looks are not improving with age. Why, she—"
Tom stood so abruptly that his chair flew out behind him. His fists were clenched and he would love nothing more to land another blow on the viscount's other cheek. Several, in fact.
"Do not speak about your sister that way in my presence again," bit out Tom, uncaring of the fact that he was making his feelings about the lady more than a little obvious. "And you," he continued
rounding on Edward, "how can you sit there and listen to this? How would you feel if it were Rebecca he so insulted?"
"Murderous," answered Edward now, a grin on his face, "because he would have been insulting the woman I love."
Edward's words hit Tom like a douse of icy water. His temper cooled and he immediately realised that he'd been baited. Turning slowly back to face Charles, he saw to his dismay that the other man was smiling knowingly and shaking his head.
"How not one, but two of Society's greatest catches could be so taken in by my irritating little sisters is beyond me," he said now, leaning forward to refill their glasses yet again. "But it seems that they have. We all know Edward was a damned fool waiting as long as he did to tell Rebecca about how he felt. I wonder, are you any smarter than your cousin or is this idiocy a family trait?"
Tom made no answer save to throw himself back into his righted chair and down yet another glass of brandy. He would have to confront his feelings. And soon. Otherwise, he'd drink his cellars dry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CAROLINE COULD HAVE wept with joy when she finally saw the dowager's carriage return.
She had been pacing the corridor outside Tom's study for the past twenty minutes.
There had been no sounds of punches, swords, or gunshots so she was feeling vaguely hopeful. In fact, all she heard was a low rumble of male voices, interspersed with a laugh or two.
Laughing was good. They wouldn't be laughing if they were killing each other, would they?
She rushed to open the door before even the footman got to it and skidded to a halt in front of Rebecca and the dowager.
"Caro, what on earth is the matter?"
"Charles is here. And Tom punched him. And now they're in the study and I have no idea what is going on," she said in a rush, breathing frantically.
"Charles is here? How wonderful!" was all the answer Rebecca gave.
Caroline stared at her in exasperation.
"Didn't you hear the rest of it?" she demanded. "Tom punched him, Rebecca."
"I'm sure he's had worse," Rebecca answered, unfazed by the news. "None of us are deaf to the antics of our dear brother, Caroline. I'm surprised he hasn't been shot by a disgruntled husband or two by now. Frankly, if he got punched, he probably deserved it."
Caroline was well aware of Charles' reputation. If Tom was known as a rake, Charles was bordering on utterly debauched.
They all hoped that he was merely rebelling against the pressures on the shoulders of a young heir. Unfortunately, he seemed to have a knack for the type of rebellion that included drinking, gambling, and womanising. And since he was disgustingly handsome, or so they'd been told by more than one tearful debutante, it seemed he got away with far more than he should.
But that was hardly the point.
This time, he hadn't done anything except hug his own sister. And that was most definitely allowed.
"He didn't deserve it," Caroline argued, "he only arrived minutes before Tom and Edward. He was hugging me and next thing Tom had grabbed him and punched him."
"Ah, well that explains it," said the dowager, who had been listening avidly.
Caroline felt as though they'd all run mad.
"How can that possibly explain anything?" she almost shouted. Almost. Ladies didn't shout.
"Very easily, my dear. He was jealous. Imagine his surprise seeing you in the arms of a tall, and might I say devilishly handsome young man."
"Exactly, 'twas merely jealousy. Boys will be boys, Caroline. It's best not to try to understand it. I would wager they are now ensconced in the study and very probably halfway foxed."
Rebecca was right as it turned out. Though not quite foxed, the gentlemen had certainly imbibed in a few glasses.
And to Caroline's relief and consternation, they seemed to be getting along famously.
After a brief knock, the dowager had entered followed by Rebecca and with Caroline cautiously bringing up the rear.
"Hello, trouble," Charles had called, standing and embracing his tiny sister.
"Charles, it is so good to see you. And with no bullet holes," answered Rebecca cheekily.
"I told you before, Becca, I have nine lives."
Charles turned then to execute a polite bow to the dowager.
"Your grace, I believe you are getting younger with time," he said smoothly.
The dowager giggled, actually giggled, and tapped him lightly on the arm.
"Do behave yourself, Charles," she admonished though her grin remained planted on her face.
Everyone seemed in fine spirits.
Caroline should have been relieved. But she felt furious, though she was unsure as to why.
Perhaps, she thought, it was because her relationship with Tom was certain to be at an end. And she hadn't even received a final kiss.
Or perhaps it was because she'd been aging decades in the hallway worrying about them all and they'd been in here joking and drinking and not giving a fig about her.
Or perhaps, and this was probably closer to the truth, perhaps it was because Charles had obviously decided that Tom held her in no particular regard and therefore deemed him safe.
The thought was utterly depressing.
"Well," she said now, sarcasm dripping from her every word, "don't you all look cosy. Never mind that I was left outside alone for hours wondering what was going on."
"Hardly hours, Caro," drawled Charles, "and would you rather we were at twenty paces?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she barked at him, too riled up to be placated.
Charles held up his hands in surrender.
"Good God, Caroline, if I didn't know better I'd say you're loosening up a little. I'd almost be tempted to say you're losing your temper."
Normally, or rather in the past, Caroline would have raised a contemptuous brow.
As it was, she was too highly strung, too disappointed, angry, frustrated, and a whole host of other emotions to even try to remain under control.
Charles wasn't the only person whose jaw dropped when Caroline swore at him, loudly too, and stomped from the room.
She left a stunned silence in her wake.
"Did she just—" Charles started then ground to a halt as words failed him.
Rebecca was laughing.
"Charles," she said taking his arm and leading him from the study, "I think you've just met the new Caroline."
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE NEXT FEW days were torturous for Caroline. Either Charles was being ridiculously overprotective or he was taking great amusement from her misery. Whichever it was, he had followed her like a shadow and she was heartily sick of it. And on the rare occasions that she managed to escape him, it was to find him planted next to Tom.
Whenever Tom suggested something, whether a morning ride or a trip to the village book shop, Charles found a way to invite himself along. Every. Single. Time. It was the outside of enough.
And what was worse today was the day that Tom's guests were due to arrive.
Caroline sat in the window of a small morning room and gazed out at the bright sunlight glinting off the verdant grass.
It pained her heart to know how much she loved it here. And it wasn't because it was so big, though big it was. Or so beautiful. It was because it was his. And she would love anything that belonged to him because it was a part of him.
And now it was all over. Charles had made sure to stick to her like a shadow; in fact she'd slipped in here when she knew he wasn't watching just to get some peace.
And in mere hours, the house would fill with Tom's guests, one of whom, Miss Noble, she knew wouldn't make for pleasant company.
She sighed and leaned her head against the cool windowpane, closing her eyes and wishing for the impossible.
The door creaked open and Caroline whirled around. As if her wishes had conjured him up, there he stood. And he was mercifully, beautifully alone.
"How did you manage to escape Charles?" she asked quietly, only half joking.
<
br /> Tom grinned in response.
"I told him we were planning on riding to the river. I believe I last saw him rushing to the stables."
Caroline laughed softly and shook her head.
"I wonder why he has been so attentive to me," Caroline mused now, before adding dryly, "Probably because there are no light skirts to chase."
"I think it is me he is sticking to," answered Tom ruefully.
"I don't think you are his type."
"Funny! Think about it, Caroline. He's your brother. He's not going to leave you alone with a man like me. Nor should he."
"I'm not a child, Tom. There's no need for his constant watching."
"Of course there is. I don't blame him in the slightest." His deep blue eyes bored into hers. "If you were mine to protect, I would never let you out of my sight."
And all at once, as his words dropped into the air between them, the atmosphere of the room changed.
Caroline didn't speak, too afraid to break the spell that seemed to be captivating them both.
Tom stepped slowly, so slowly towards her and she stood to meet him.
He came to a stop right in front of her. Agonisingly close. She would be able to touch him by just lifting a hand, kiss him by just leaning up. It was heaven and it was hell.
He reached out and brushed her cheek softly and Caroline had to close her eyes against the sheer force of her attraction.
Why could he not be hers? Forever, not just for a few days?
When she opened her eyes again he was staring at her and she thought, hoped, prayed that he would finally kiss her once again.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against hers — once, twice, before finally, with a muffled oath, pulling her against him and devouring her.
"God, I missed this darling," he whispered against her lips.
"I missed it too," she gasped boldly. "It is what I've been yearning for."
He pulled back slightly, so he could look down into her face, his eyes roving her features.
"I wanted to keep my distance. So that it would be easier. But—"
"Well isn't this just the prettiest house you ever saw?"
The jarring voice from outside the door was enough to shatter the atmosphere into a million pieces.
Seeking Scandal (Ranford Series Book 2) Page 21