by Alice Gaynes
“I hope you won’t mind if I watch a bit first,” he said. “It’s all a bit overwhelming.”
“Not at all.” Dobshire pointed to a sideboard full of wines and liquors. “Get yourself a drink.”
“Thank you.” He wandered off in that direction.
A liveried footman bowed slightly as he approached. “My lord.”
“Whiskey, please.”
“Scots or Irish.”
“Scotch.”
The servant poured a generous amount of liquor into a tumbler and handed it to him. He tasted it—excellent stuff—and turned to watch the orgy.
Quite a few familiar faces here—some he would have expected at a party like this and others rather a surprise. Still others hid their identities behind masks. Lord and Lady Mountjoy, an apt name there, looked on as two women engaged in a tangle of mutual gamahucherie. Though the lord and lady were clothed, Mountjoy had unbuttoned his pants and his wife stroked his erect cock. Not exactly the impression they gave at the Queen’s court.
Similar scenes played out around the room and even the hosts had set to energetically frigging on a chaise in the corner. All in all, the whole thing seemed more surreal than sexual and his earlier interest in joining faded, along with his erection.
Caroline would have witnessed orgies like this one. Oakhurst would have forced her to participate. Under those circumstances, the enjoyment of the others would have been perversion rather than titillation. Honestly, if he hadn’t come here for information, he’d sneak out quietly and leave the lot of them to whatever the hell they thought they were doing.
A stranger joined him at the sideboard, refilled his drink with whiskey offered by the footman and turned to survey the group. Obviously wealthy as evidenced by the cut and fabric of his clothes and the massive ruby ring he wore, the man wasn’t anyone Wortham recognized. Indeed he’d probably made his money in trade, as the upper classes didn’t advertise their wealth so loudly. He had close-set, dark eyes and a cruel line to his mouth.
“Haven’t seen you before,” the man said in an accent that showed his less than noble breeding.
“James Hardison, Marquis of Wortham.” He’d probably put too much emphasis on Marquis but the fellow acted too familiar by half.
“Phillip Langdon,” the man said, with no pretense of a proper greeting.
“Well, Langdon, I suppose we haven’t met because I don’t move in your circles.” A blatant insult and Langdon didn’t seem stupid enough to miss it.
“You’re in my circle now.” Langdon took a drink of his whiskey.
Indeed he was. One more reason to get away from here. If he didn’t need to find Caroline, he’d leave this moment. Quietly or not.
“How did someone like you meet Lord and Lady Dobshire?” Oh hell, he ought to give up on insulting this upstart and find someone more agreeable to question.
“We attended the same party at Oakhurst’s place. Sans Regret. You’ve heard of it?”
“I’ve been there.”
One of Langdon’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”
“Really.” Wortham sipped his own drink and did his best to look casual about the conversation. “You knew the Earl and his wife then?”
“Some. She was a great deal of fun.”
Fun? What in bloody hell did that mean? “I’d call the countess many things but I doubt fun would be one of them.”
“She didn’t mean to be. She did her best to disappear into the wainscoting. Seemed as if she hated everything and everyone there.”
“You found that amusing?”
“I like to take the haughty down a bit,” Langdon answered.
Loathsome creature. Wortham’s stomach clenched. This bastard had most likely tormented Caroline during her misery. Langdon had been one of the ones who’d ill-used her body to satisfy his own lust.
Langdon chuckled. “I remember one night when she’d done her best to avoid me, I—”
“Spare me the details.” Damn but he’d like to tear this one apart with his bare hands. He ought to wipe the floor with the cur’s face and then allow the fellow with the biggest rod to rape him to see how amusing he found that. But he’d never lower himself to this creature’s level.
He took another drink of whiskey, more than last time, and did his best to keep his temper in check. “Did Oakhurst have parties at any of his other holdings?”
“I have no idea.”
“You didn’t visit them anywhere else then,” Wortham said.
“They weren’t my friends,” Langdon answered. “I just enjoyed Sans Regret.”
The man knew nothing useful. Just as well. If Wortham spent another moment with Langdon, he’d lose control of his temper. Then he’d never find out anything from any of the guests.
“You’ll excuse me,” Wortham said.
Insolent as ever, the man didn’t answer but merely shrugged.
Before Wortham had taken more than a step or two away, something caught his eye. Rather someone. In the middle of a group of naked bodies, he spotted something familiar. A hip with a mole on it. He’d seen it before and not long ago. The woman wore a mask but it didn’t hide the color of her hair. Red. A redhead with a mole on her hip. “Abby!”
The woman looked up and saw him. Her mouth dropped open and she got to her feet and ran toward the doorway. It was Abby and she was trying to get away.
He followed, pushing people aside as he dashed to the door. She’d already left the room by the time he got there but he caught a glimpse of her hair as she turned a corner. Running at full speed, he also rounded the corner into another corridor, just in time to find her slipping into another room. When he got that door open, he found her. She’d gotten herself into a pantry of some sort. With no escape, she stood there, facing him.
“You’re in London,” he said. “I thought you’d be with Caroline.”
Fear shone clearly in her eyes, even from behind her mask. “What are you going to do?”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
“Really I don’t,” she said. She was lying though. The blush on her fair skin proved it.
“Damn it, Abby. Tell me the truth.”
“I can’t. She made me promise not to tell anyone.”
He walked to her and pulled off her mask so that he could look directly into her eyes. “Even me?”
“Especially you.”
That shouldn’t have hurt but it did. In Caroline’s twisted logic, she’d most want to keep away the person who could crumble the walls around her heart. He would frighten her more than anyone else on earth. Only why couldn’t she trust him to make her whole again?
“You know I’m the person she most needs in the world,” he said.
“I tried to tell her that.” She sighed. “Really I did. She wouldn’t listen.”
“Tell me where she is and I’ll convince her myself.”
“I can’t,” she wailed.
“You can and you will.” He put his hand at her throat. “Do it or I swear, I’ll squeeze the life out of you.”
She looked up at him evenly. “We both know you’d never do that.”
He dropped his hand. “Damn.”
“It’s hopeless.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “You did your best. I did my best. She won’t see reason.”
“Not good enough.”
“Go back to your life here. You’ll find another woman.”
“Not good enough!”
“You’ll forget about Caroline in time,” she said.
“Never.” He stared at her. “I tried to resume my life. Enjoy other women. Nothing. I’m empty without her.”
“You really do love her.”
“After everything the two of you have done to me, do you dare to doubt me?”
“I don’t know—”
“Tell me where she is.” He pointed a finger in her face. “Either tell me this moment or I’ll have you arrested for kidnapping me.”
Her ey
es went wide. “You wouldn’t.”
“That, I’d do. I’d happily put you away until you told me where Caroline’s gotten to.”
She put her hands around her ribs and hugged herself. “No please. I can’t go to prison.”
“Then tell me.”
“All right.” She straightened. “How well do you know Scotland?”
* * * * *
Caroline sat on the stone bench gazing over the moor to the mountain in the distance. So many visiting Englishmen described the scenery here as bleak. Once you came to know the landscape, many more colors emerged than the obvious grays and greens. One only needed to sit and actually look to find life within life. Luckily she’d had plenty of time to do that.
Prime wildflower season had passed of course. But a trained eye could spot ripening seedpods. She’d gather some to take back to England when her time came. Maybe she could coax them to grow and bloom at one of Oakhurst’s houses. She would return to England. As much as she loved the highlands, she’d have English doctors or midwives for the birth of her child.
Her child. She put her hand on her belly, even though it was much too early to feel anything there. What a miracle that her time with Wortham had ended up creating a new life. After Oakhurst’s attempts to get a son from her, she’d felt certain she couldn’t conceive. Oakhurst had certainly blamed her for his lack of an heir. What delicious irony that another man had finally accomplished what he wouldn’t allow his friends to try. What irony and what a blessing.
She’d give this child everything a parent could. She’d shower him—or her—with all the pent-up love she had inside her. After everything she’d put Wortham through, he’d still given her the best gift she could have hoped for.
The pain of missing him twined around her heart and squeezed again and she shut her eyes to wait it out. One, two, three. Not as long as last time. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes again.
She’d have to tell him about the baby of course. She owed him that much. She wouldn’t see him. He’d no doubt found another woman by now. Though she certainly deserved the punishment of seeing him happy with someone else, she was far too much of a coward to face it. She’d write to him after the delivery. If he wanted to see his son or daughter, he certainly could. She’d only ask that he come alone.
Damn. He would come. He was far too decent not to. And she’d have to face him again. Tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them away. She’d endure the meeting. She’d have no choice. Oh well, all of that was months away.
A breeze picked up, ruffling her hair and blowing it into her eyes. She brushed that away too. Clouds had closed in above and the wind held moisture. It would rain soon. She’d best go inside. Getting sick could hurt the baby.
She rose from the bench, turned toward the path to the lodge and stopped dead, gasping. Wortham himself stood only feet away.
“You,” she whispered. “Are you real?”
“Hello, Caroline.” The warm timbre of his voice was real, as was the solid height of him. He wore riding boots but no hat and his long cape fluttered around him.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“Abby.”
“I told her not to tell you where I’d gone.”
“I threatened her with prison if she didn’t,” he answered.
“Why?” Why had he come? Why did he even care where she’d gone?
“Enough.” His brow furrowed in anger and his jaw stiffened. “Enough of you and Abby and your bloody games. Enough of your bloody brother too. We’re going to set things straight between us. Right now.”
“It’s going to rain.”
“Then we’ll get wet.” He pointed to the bench. “Sit down.”
She obeyed. Just as well. Her knees might have given out if she hadn’t sat. He’d come looking for her and he hadn’t brought the constable. Was that a sign of something good between them? He’d sworn once that he loved her. Might he still love her? Impossible and yet, why had he come?
He sat beside her, close enough that she could make out the stubble on his jaw and the puffiness of lack of sleep in his eyes. Close enough to feel the heat of his body. How easy to lean into him and gather his arms around her and rest in that warmth. But she still didn’t know why he’d come.
He stared at her, his expression still grim. This was a man determined to get the truth.
“Why did you abandon me in London and run away?” he said.
“I found out the truth about Cecily.”
“You found out I was innocent and yet you tossed me away?”
“That does sound terrible, doesn’t it?”
“Worse than terrible. It’s stupid.” Still his expression gave no clue to how he felt except angry. She concentrated on his features, trying to read him. Nothing.
“You should have come to me. Confessed. Apologized. We could have gone from there.”
Gone from there to where? “I thought you’d hate me. I thought you’d faked loving me in order to escape. I don’t know what I thought.”
“Not true,” he said. “Try again.”
She looked down at her hands and sorted through all the confusion in her brain to find her real reasons. “I thought if we left Sans Regret you’d find someone prettier and get sick of me.”
“Oh, Caroline.” He grasped her chin and raised her face upward. “There is no one more beautiful than you in the world.”
A note of hope sounded in her mind and worked its way to her heart. Treacherous, untrustworthy hope. “But you said…if we met other men who’d known me from before…you wouldn’t know what to think.”
“I met one a while ago.” His jaw clenched. “I know now what I’d think.”
She didn’t dare ask what he meant but sat, searching his face.
“I’d think he was an inhuman beast,” he said. “I’d want to beat him to a bloody pulp.”
“I’d like that.”
He smiled. “I’ll bet you would.”
One drop of rain fell, landing on the shoulder of his cape. It sat there, glistening like a jewel.
“All right. Next,” he said. “Now you’ll finally tell me you love me.”
She looked down again. “Of course I do. You know that.”
“Wrong. Try again.”
She looked up at him. “Very well. I love you.”
“Ye gods, I’ve never heard anything so pathetic.” He huffed. “Do I have to write it out for you?”
“I love you, James Hardison.” Dear Heaven that felt good, like warm sun after a long winter.
A grin spread over his beautiful face. “That’s better.”
“I really, really love you, James.”
“Good. Then we’ll be married as soon as we get back to England.”
All the breath went out of her chest and then rushed back in. Her throat tightened and tears filled her eyes.
He frowned, staring into her face. “That’s not rain. You’re crying, aren’t you?”
With no words, all she could do was nodded.
He looked up to the sky as if searching for patience. All he found was more raindrops. “The woman says she loves me. I ask her to marry me and she starts crying.”
“I cry easily now. It’s normal in my condition.”
He went as pale as a sheet and stared at her. “Your condition?”
She nodded again. “I’m going to have a child.”
“My child,” he whispered.
She put her hands on her hips. “Now who else’s do you think it would be?”
“My…” His voice trailed off and his own eyes grew moist, “Child.”
“You’re happy?”
“For such an intelligent woman you ask the most idiotic questions,” he said. “How could I be less than thrilled with the woman I love giving me an heir?”
She put her hand over her belly. “It could be a daughter.”
“Heaven help me, there’ll be two of you.” He didn’t look put-upon, though. He looked delighted. She could picture him with
his daughter on his knee. That could be better than having a son.
“So then.” He cleared his throat. “That settles it. You’ll either marry me or I’ll take you back to Sans Regret and lock you in that room until you see reason.”
“With that horrid faucet?” She couldn’t help but laugh, even though the tears still ran over her cheeks.
He laughed too, his deep voice rich in her ears. “That phallic thing. I’d forgotten.”
“Well.” She lifted her chin and gazed into his face. “I suppose I have no choice. I’ll have to marry you.”
He rose, pulled her up and into his arms and lowered his head to kiss her. All the sweetness of his lips, the tenderness of his embrace. She’d thought she’d lost them forever and now she’d have them for a lifetime. She didn’t deserve it but by God, she’d take it.
The rain started in earnest, seeping into her hair and trickling under her collar but she wouldn’t have pulled away if she could. She’d found heaven and she wasn’t running away from it again. Ever.
He stopped though. “Good Lord, what am I thinking to keep a pregnant woman out in the rain.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.” He bent and scooped her up into his arms. “I’ll take you inside and dry you off.”
Heat spread over her cheeks. “You did that once before, didn’t you?”
“That I did.” His smile grew outright wicked.
“I think it’s perfectly safe to make love.”
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
And with that, he turned to the pathway and carried her back to the lodge.
* * * * *
The bedroom was modest but a nice blaze burned in the hearth and sent warmth onto the bed. It might have been a maharaja’s palace for all James knew. Certainly he’d never felt so right carrying a woman to a lover’s nest. He’d found her—his wife-to-be. The mother of his child. Of all the considerable gifts life had given him nothing surpassed this.
He set her on her feet and began removing her clothes. The rain hadn’t been too hard and the fabric had resisted a complete soaking. Still her dress had become clammy and his fingers trembled.