Then why did she desire him so? What drew her to him, after all the vile things he had said, whetting her physical hunger beyond reason?
Because she had foolishly thought there was more in his heart than the cruel selfishness she had witnessed that night.
She would never understand him. Nor herself, whom she hardly recognized anymore. She had become so absorbed in Magnus that she was forgetting her duty to James. How had she ever hesitated, even for a moment, over selling the necklace and sending him to the best facility money could buy? She had to get hold of herself, and quickly. Before she was lost forever.
Magnus never suffered from a guilty conscience. Never.
This is what he told himself, anyway, as he stared at his wife’s empty place at breakfast.
A long-ago memory welled to life, a voice sounding as close as a whisperer at his ear.
Vile.
He pushed away his neglected meal and marched out of the room.
The familiar confines of his study brought no more relief from the uncomfortable pricking sensation than the dining hall had. Or his bedroom before that. He opened the French doors and walked out onto the flagstone terrace.
The wind lifted his hair. It was cold, bearing winter upon its wings. His feet took him to the symmetrical pathways of the formal garden, his-haven of the past. It looked neglected, abandoned, with dead flowers and dried leaves littering the ground. His shoes crushed the refuse under heel as he wandered.
Hateful.
He could apologize to her. He should. He had said dreadful things. Unforgivable.
Hedonist.
He tried to tell himself this self-recrimination was absurd. Why should he care whether he had hurt her feelings? But the devastated look on her face haunted him, and just that expression wounded him to the quick.
Nothing he had ever done in his life had been worthwhile. So, why start dwelling on his failings at this late date? That he didn’t like himself was no revelation. That this fact bothered him was.
It was dangerous to want more, which was why he never allowed it. Now there was Cara, and maybe he couldn’t resist. She was temptation, but what she offered was forbidden, a soft refuge for other men, but not for him.
Wasn’t it?
Looking down at a particularly shabby bed, he sighed. He hunkered down and gathered together the bracken with his bare hands. After a moment, he stood and pulled off his coat and got down to it in earnest.
Three hours later, he was still at it.
Chapter Twelve
Mrs. Judith. Cameron sipped her tea. Caroline held the plate of pastries up to her. “You really should try these, they are Mrs. Bronson’s specialty.”
“Oh, really?” The plump woman eyed the sumptuous array of scones, lemon tarts and fried dough. “Well, just one, perhaps.”
Caroline watched her pile three on her plate. Mrs. Cameron was the vicar’s wife, a gentle, sweet soul who had come to visit, she had said in a timid, explanatory tone, to see how the new Countess of Rutherford was faring. Caroline had been prepared for a delicate grilling, but Judith displayed an amazing lack of curiosity. It had taken only minutes to realize she had not come for gossip, but out of her own sense of duty.
She had brought with her a healthy appetite. “Have you been missing London?” Judith asked between bites.
“Not so much. I do miss my family, though. They were with me until recently, but have gone to visit friends.”
Actually, Caroline’s mother and brother were in Switzerland. At the finest sanatorium in Europe, so James’ doctor had said. Using the Barrister’s Ordinary to post a letter, Caroline had contacted a jeweler in London about the necklace and the man wasted no time in coming to Cambridgeshire at the promise of so singular a treasure. Nearly salivating when he saw it, he had met her price with only a modicum of haggling and within days, James and Audrae departed, neither suspecting the nefarious means by which Caroline had come up with the funds.
“How lovely for them. It must be sad to have them gone, but a married woman must learn to be content in her husband’s house.”
Magnus’ house, Caroline reflected silently, was an odd place. It was as changeable as its master, some parts cold, like the grand salon, and others charming. She particularly liked this parlor, and her bedchamber was cozy and welcoming.
“Hawking Park is such a lovely place,” Judith was saying. “All this priceless marble and statues—oh, it tends to take one’s breath away.”
“I know what you mean,” Caroline smiled, averting her eyes tactfully as the other woman licked strawberry jam from her finger.
“Oh, Lord Rutherford,” Judith said, her glistening finger poised just before her pursed lips. She looked shocked.
Caroline looked up to see her husband dressed in plain wool trousers and loose-fitting shirt. It hung open, revealing much of his neck and more than a glimpse of broad chest. His hair was windblown and there were dirt smudges on his temple.
Caroline waited, not knowing what to expect. If Magnus had been unpredictable before, he was a positive enigma of late. He watched her all the time, sometimes with a soft longing in his eyes, sometimes with a harshness which hardened the green depths to deep emerald.
“Magnus,” she said, rising. “Do you remember Judith Cameron?”
She held her breath, waiting to see what mood he would favor. One of his most engaging smiles graced his handsome face. He came forward to take the vicar’s wife’s hand and bend over it. “Of course. Mrs. Cameron, how are you?”
So he had decided to be charming, Caroline noted. He looked at her, the grin deepening and a devilish sparkle lightening his eyes. A warning quickened in her breast. “Darling,” he said by way of greeting. In one step, he was beside her, his fingers burning a trail along her waist as he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers.
There was nothing she could do, short of push him away. It was not that it was unpleasant. Far from it. But Mrs. Cameron was watching, no doubt choking on that last scone, as the irrepressible earl lived up to his reputation and kissed her with all the intimacy of their bedroom.
He lifted his head and faced their guest. “Do pardon me, Mrs. Cameron. I have been in the garden. Bracing weather we are having.” His tone was insolent and patronizing all at once, yet so subtle the vicar’s wife never noticed.
“Quite chilly, yes, my lord.” She wiped her hands on her napkin, a gesture that made her look nervous and fidgety. “Working in the garden, you say?”
“Yes. Nothing like the outdoors.” He still had his hand about Caroline’s waist, which meant she could not resume her seat. This put Judith at a distinct disadvantage, one she quickly remedied by standing and announcing she should be returning home.
Magnus said goodbye and strolled over to the tea tray and grabbed a pastry. Looking over his shoulder at the women, he shrugged. “I have a monstrous sweet tooth, and I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”
The way he stressed the last word, making it ambivalent as to which “appetite” he was referring, coupled with the slight widening of his eyes, put Mrs. Cameron to flight. When Caroline returned from seeing her to the cloakroom, she stood inside the doorway with her hand on her hips. “Are you quite satisfied with yourself?” she demanded in a steady voice.
Magnus leaned back, bringing his left ankle to rest on his right knee. “Yes, actually. I am.” He took another bite of lemon tart.
She threw up her hands. “I am tempted to squash that pastry into your hair!”
“I am becoming quite alarmed, Cara, at your recent penchant for violence.”
“Why were you so rude to Mrs. Cameron? She’s a lovely woman.”
Magnus shrugged. “She’s a bore.”
Caroline took a threatening step forward. “No, Magnus, you are a bore.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “Not to worry, my darling wife. You shall not have to endure my company much longer.”
Stamping her foot, she shouted, “And don’t try to play on my sympathies!” Whirlin
g, she left, flying up to her chamber and slamming the door with enough noise, she hoped, to wipe the supercilious smirk right off his face.
Winter deepened. A harsh season was heralded by early snowfall which kept David stranded at Hawking Park for three days. Magnus’ irritability had led to more than one quarrel between the brothers, arguments that could be heard echoing down the hallways and driving the earl into seclusion.
For Caroline, however, David was good company, and she was grateful for the buffer between Magnus and herself. He played chess with her, teased Magnus and generally brightened the chilly atmosphere.
In the parlor one evening when a north wind whistled with shrill urgency outside, Caroline and David sat across the checkered board from one another. Magnus had locked himself in his study. Caroline was happy not to have his brooding presence about, and yet she found she missed him. Or at least missed the way he had been once.
David rubbed his hand over his mouth as he studied his dwindling black pieces, and Caroline was struck with the similarity in gestures to his absent brother.
“It’s check in three moves,” Caroline said.
He flickered a glance at her that barely disguised his annoyance. “I know it.” To her surprise, he was seriously vexed. This was the third game she had won.
It played out as she had predicted. David said, “Shall we do another?” He began lining up the ivory statues.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” Caroline demurred, resolving to let him win the next time. But she was weary tonight.
His eyes snapped up, and he glared at her for a moment before blinking and forcing a smile. “You can’t leave me out a loser this many times. What do you say to a small wager?”
Caroline laughed nervously. “I never gamble, David.”
“Just something small. To make it more interesting.”
His intensity was disturbing. “Really, no,” she insisted. “We shall have a rematch tomorrow night.”
“But I am planning to leave in the morning, if the weather permits. You must give me a chance to redeem myself.”
“All right,” she conceded. “But no wager.”
They were three moves into the new game when a shout outside the parlor door brought them both to their feet.
“What the devil—?” David started to the door.
Caroline flew past him, racing into the hall. “Magnus!”
Both the parlor where she and David had been and Magnus’s study opened into the huge circular center hall. The door to her husband’s domain was open, and several men were just now rushing inside.
She took a step toward the study, then stopped. Uncertain, she turned to David. His face was ghostly pale. Someone within the study shouted, “There’s blood! Call the doctor!” which was followed by a distinct growl voicing disagreement with that course of action. Magnus.
Blood. That unfroze Caroline’s feet without a second thought of the consequences. She rushed forward, then. stopped when her husband, borne between two footmen, came out and the three headed for the stairs. He was barely conscious, but he had seen her and given her a look that left her feeling as if she had just received a blow. She hesitated but a moment, then moved forward.
Magnus’ hoarse voice ground out, “Get her out.”
Caroline knew she was mad to ignore his repeated orders not to come near him when he was like this. Yet, what worse could he do to her? And if there was blood. Resolutely, she stepped closer.
Sweat poured down his face. Without thinking, she grabbed a handful of her dress, a lovely brushed wool in vivid rose, and wiped his brow. He gave her a damning look. Caroline whispered, “Let me help you.”
He lifted a weak hand out to her, and Caroline’s heart leapt. But all he did was touch his palm to her shoulder and give her a feeble shove.
Crushed, she stepped away, turning her eyes from the sight of him being half carried, half dragged up the stairs.
David came up and put his arms around her. “He’ll be all right. He always is. I am sure this is the same as all the others.”
He took her back to the parlor and poured her a deep glass of brandy. “Drink it,” he ordered, then threw one back himself.
After a space, Caroline asked, “How long has he been like this?”
David stood by the fire, staring into the flames. “Not quite a year.”
“Has he seen a doctor? Perhaps—”
“He’s seen several,” David cut in. “None of them worth a damn. All they have told him is that it is his heart. It is weak, you see. Like our father. He died almost ten years ago, from failure of the heart. His symptoms were the same.”
Caroline took a deep breath. “How long.”
David studied her for a moment. “For my father, the illness lingered for years. However, Magnus seems to be. It has accelerated faster. They do not give him long.”
Caroline dropped her eyes to her hands twisted on her lap.
“Mistress?” Arthur’s voice cut in. Caroline’s head came up. “Please come,” Arthur said.
David stepped in front of her, body rigid and face a mask of fear. “Is Magnus dead?”
The majordomo shook his head. “No, Master David, it is not that. He is restless. This is a bad one. If the mistress would come, be with him, it may help.”
Caroline rose and asked hopefully, “Did he ask for me?”
Arthur looked at her with regret. “No, mistress, he did not. But I think it would be best. If he is angry, then it shall be with me.”
Caroline nearly wept for this dear man’s concern, and braving his master’s dark temper to do what he felt was right. “I shall go to him,” she reassured, “and if he rages at anyone, I am sure it will be me. I shall not mind in the least.”
She nearly ran up the stairs, with Arthur puffing behind. He indicated the rooms that adjoined her own, and Caroline went in.
Magnus lay unconscious with the sheet tucked around his waist. His chest was bare. Her touch at his forehead roused him slightly. He was burning with fever. His eyes opened, glazed and unfocused, and he tried to lift his head up from the pillow.
“Who—?
“Shhh, Magnus. It’s me. Please relax. I am with you now.”
He fell back. Caroline picked up the bottle of laudanum.
“Do you want your medicine? Have you had it already?” He didn’t answer. Caroline did not want to risk an overdose, so she put the tincture down.
Magnus thrashed, kicking off the covers. His naked body gleamed with perspiration in the candlelight. Fearful he would catch a chill, she tried to cover him.
“You are a siren,” he groaned. “Why won’t you let me be?” He squinted at her. “Natasha?”
“It’s me, Magnus. Caroline.”
“Why did you laugh at me? I was just a boy.”
“I never laughed at you. Magnus, it is Caroline. Your wife.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed. “You were so beautiful. I loved you so much.”
He fell into a fitful sleep. Caroline kept watch over-him, soothing his brow and murmuring soft words. Jealousy stung, and she fought with the burning question-who was Natasha?
She sponged him with a cool cloth and spoke to him in a low tone, trying to effect a calming influence. He went in and out of lucidity. He cried out for his father and said in a voice that almost broke her heart that he was sorry. Caroline pretended she was the old earl and, without a qualm, pardoned him for whatever it was that pricked at his conscience. It was enough to allow him to fall asleep, his breathing shallow. But he was quiet, she was satisfied to see.
She lay her head on his breast, as she had done so many times after making love, and heard the strong heartbeat. How is it such a powerful, vital man could be flawed? A weak heart. She knew enough to realize such illness could strike down the most robust, stealing strength and vigor. Magnus would waste away like that. Slowly fighting every step of the way.
She stayed awake through the night, keeping a faithful vigil. In the morning, she spooned a thinned broth past h
is pale lips and cooled him again, trying to keep the fever at bay. He opened his eyes briefly. “Cara?”
“Yes!” she said, stroking his cheek, happy that he finally knew who she was. It was a sign the delirium was over.
But his eyes were still glassy. “You are beautiful. Tempting. I shall miss you. So much.” Then his gaze focused for a moment, and he smiled. “You are here.”
“Yes, I am here, Magnus. I will never leave you, not as long as you will allow me to stay.”
“Do not leave,” he muttered, and Caroline wished she knew if he were in the grip of the fever or not. What she would not give to hear him say those words in truth. He subsided again, and she leaned toward him, whispering close to his ear. “I do care for you, Magnus.”
He uttered something she couldn’t decipher, and then he was gone once again in sleep.
Caroline opened the drapes and let the cold winter sunshine in. It was a beautiful day, and her eyes filled with tears thinking that she and Magnus should be out riding.
The same rage at the injustice of illness that she used to feel when she thought about James took hold of her now. She stemmed it, knowing its futility. On its heels, she thought of Natasha. He loved her, he had said. Why had he not married her? Caroline wondered. Who was she, and where was she now?
No wonder he had not wanted her caring, she mused miserably. He yearned for another.
Chapter Thirteen
“You are awake!” Caroline declared.
Magnus didn’t answer. He still felt weak, though not so much to fail to notice his wife looked especially beautiful this morning in a pale lavender gown sewn perfectly to conform to her thin waist and high, full breasts. Her skirts swung in an alluring way as she came to his bedside.
She was smiling, and he wanted so badly to kiss that gorgeous mouth. She said, “Oh, but you look better.” Reaching a hand up to his forehead, she brushed aside a lock of hair. Her fingers were cool and pleasant against his skin.
A Rose at Midnight Page 13
