But always distrust reared its ugly head—a primitive distrust of the male animal, so deeply buried in her memories that she had no control of it. Until she could break down that wall of suspicion, until she could go freely into her husband’s arms and offer herself to him, she didn’t dare allow herself to get too close.
Besides, he might not want her.
Her fingers stilled. What had happened to that obvious hunger on their wedding night? There had been no repeats of that hot, demanding need in the days they’d been married, just sweet kisses that lingered longer each night before they retired to their separate rooms. Perhaps he had told her the truth, that his arousal had been only a natural occurrence in the morning. Nothing to do with her.
Nothing at all.
And if that were the case, it made it only harder for her to go to him.
Then there was the matter of his temper. It amazed her that a man with such a good heart was capable of such utter rage—and equally incapable of controlling it.
From what he had told her of his family, she suspected that as a child he had simply not been taught to rein in his temper. If anything, it seemed as if his family enjoyed indulging in such dramatics, turning on each other like hungry wolves at the slightest provocation.
When consumed with fury, Rogan seemed to almost enjoy the experience. But afterward he often castigated himself, aware that such behavior was ill-advised, yet incapable of stopping himself.
But she could stop him. And perhaps once she had helped him control his rages, and he helped her get past the wall of fear that prevented her from sharing his bed, maybe then they could finally have a real marriage. Maybe.
She shook off the melancholy brought on by such deep thoughts. With her father so ill, she had decided—with Rogan’s blessing—to continue her charitable works with Belvingham’s tenants. She had decided on a schedule of making her rounds twice a week, much as she had done before her marriage, which still allowed time to manage Rogan’s house and keep the accounts. It gave her a sense of normalcy to visit the sick and read to the children at the school. It was as if the clock had wound backward to a time when her father was hale and hearty, and she had nothing to worry about except the weather.
She smoothed her hands down her pale gray skirt and scooped up the books she intended to read to the parish children.
An equine shriek split the air, and she nearly dropped the volumes. Shouting erupted from the yard. She rushed back to the window and looked down to see Grafton leading away an unfamiliar horse, while Tennsley’s animal raced around the yard, ears flickering, clearly agitated. The gelding shrieked again, clearly a call of distress.
And grappling around in the dirt outside the fence were two men, one of whom was Rogan.
“Not again,” she muttered and hurried downstairs.
By the time Caroline bolted outside, Lord Tennsley’s horse was pawing the dirt, snorting like an angry bull. Tallow tried to separate the two men fighting on the ground and got knocked aside for his trouble. Grafton came at a run from the stables.
She wasn’t about to get into the middle of two large men trying to pound each other into dust. Disgusted with males in general, she took up her skirts and marched around to the kitchen. When she came back, she lugged along a pail of water, clutching the handle with both hands as she struggled not to spill the sloshing contents.
She put the pail down with a thump and watched for an instant longer as Rogan and Colin (as she could see now despite the dust that covered both men from head to toe) continued to wrestle and—from the looks of it, anyway—twist each other’s heads from their necks.
“Stop it!” she shouted. “Both of you, stop right now!”
Neither man paid her any heed. Narrowing her eyes in irritation, she bent down and tried to lift the heavy bucket. Grafton hurried over to her side. With his assistance, she was able to heave the water at the two fighting brothers.
Water splashed over both of them, eliciting howls of surprise. They rolled apart, and both men clambered to their feet as Grafton darted away, clearly unwilling to be associated with the wet, cold call to order.
Rogan—drenched, muddy, and clearly furious—narrowed his eyes at her. “Explain yourself, madame.”
She shivered at the warning in his voice. She knew that tone, had heard it the day he bought Peterson’s horse. Nonetheless, she faced him. “I had to do something to stop the two of you from brawling like schoolboys.”
“Schoolboys, is it?” Rogan’s brows lowered, and he planted his hands on his hips as he raked an angry glance over her.
She didn’t back away, though part of her screamed to do just that. This was her husband, and they were surrounded by three other people. He wouldn’t hurt her.
Not with witnesses anyway.
She swallowed her nervousness and propped her own hands on her hips as she met his glare with one of her own. “What would you call two grown men rolling about in the dirt?”
“Brothers,” Colin answered, his amusement plain even through the mud smeared on his face.
“Hush,” she snapped, then turned her attention back to Rogan.
Even as she watched, his eyes seemed to lose some of their ferocity. “Did you just tell my brother to hush?”
“I did. And you can do the same.”
Colin chuckled and cast a glance at Rogan. “She sounds like Mother.”
Annoyed beyond words, Caroline folded her arms and gave Colin a pinch-lipped look of disapproval. “I do believe I asked for silence, sir. You will have your turn to speak.”
“You’re very brave today.” Rogan’s low voice whispered along her spine like the cold finger of death.
“And you’re very foolish,” she snapped back. “Have you even noticed what your altercation has done to Odysseus?”
Rogan whipped around to look at Tennsley’s horse, then muttered a curse. Two long strides carried him to the fence, and in one leap he was over it. His pace slowed down as he approached the spooked animal. The soft murmur of Gaelic words drifted to Caroline on the breeze.
“You’re a brave woman,” Colin said, glancing from Rogan back to Caroline. “Even my father hesitated to take on Rogan in a temper.”
“And what of your part?” she demanded. “How did this start? What did you say?”
“I said hello,” Colin shot back, clearly offended at the question. “I barely arrived, and Rogan came after me.”
She raised her brows. “I find that hard to believe.”
His façade of innocence faded under her skepticism. “Well, I did ask him if he’d considered my request. But that was after he ordered me off the property.”
“More the fool you,” she said with exasperation. “Rogan can’t be bothered with visitors when he’s working with a difficult animal. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
“This is important to me! To our family.”
Caroline cast a glance at her husband, who once more seemed to be completely focused on the horse. That wouldn’t last long, she knew. “I suggest you go inside and clean up and wait for him to finish training Odysseus before you begin pleading your case.” She turned to leave.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“Far away from here,” she replied with a twitch of her lips. “Grafton, will you please see to Mr. Hunt? And send Marie to me. We’re expected in the village.”
“Yes, Lady Caroline.”
“You’re going to leave me alone here?” Colin asked in astonishment. “What if he starts another fight?”
“Just don’t break anything in the house.” Dismissing her brother-in-law, she headed for the waiting carriage. As she passed the yard, she couldn’t stop herself from casting one last glance at Rogan.
And met his eyes—dark, aggravated, and brimming with the promise of retribution.
It had taken a good while to get Odysseus calmed.
Rogan sat in the parlor and sipped his whiskey. That his petite wife had managed to soak him with water and escape uns
cathed while he was in the middle of one of his rages was a complete miracle. Even now he shuddered to think what he might have done has she not distracted him with Odysseus.
But damn if he didn’t admire the chit for standing up to him. Lady Caroline Hunt had spine beneath that delicate exterior, and finally she was beginning to realize it.
“Are you still brooding?” Sitting across from him, Colin enjoyed his own glass of whiskey.
Rogan sent him an annoyed glare. “I could have harmed her. And you, come to think of it.”
Colin shrugged off the comment. “Not me. I’m used to your rages.”
“Well, I’m not.” Rogan rose and put his glass on the table. “I never will be.”
“Bloody hell, Rogan, will you get past it already? You have the gift, so you get the temper. It’s been that way for generations.”
“That’s a convenient excuse, nothing more. I never realized that before now. I just need to maintain control before the fury takes hold—or before I start swinging.”
“Well, I seem to bring out the worst in you.” Smirking, Colin tossed back the dregs of his drink. “I came by to ask you for help, to play on your loyalty to the Hunt name and lend me the money I need to make Hunt Chase a working stable again.”
Rogan arched a brow at his brother. “Lend?”
“All right then. Give.”
“You and Father should have considered that before you sold off everything.”
“By the devil, Rogan, do you intend to hold that foolishness over my head forever? Father was the one who sold everything. Yes, I helped, but I want to restore Hunt Chase to what it once was. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Maybe it will. Eventually.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. Why do I think I can reason with you?”
“There’s the door.” Rogan gestured with his glass before moving to refill it.
“I’m not leaving.” Colin thumped his glass down on the table. “You care about Hunt Chase, too, Rogan. I know you do. What Father and I did was wrong, but I’m trying to make it right. Help me. Give me the money to make our legacy great again.”
Rogan didn’t answer. With a frustrated growl, Colin got to his feet and stalked toward the door.
He intended to let his brother leave. Intended for him to go back to his empty house and impoverished existence and reap what he’d sown. But then he thought about it, imagined what it would be like to have Hunt Chase restored to its former glory, a sister operation to his own breeding stables.
In his heart of hearts, he knew it was what he really wanted.
“Wait.” He turned to face his brother as Colin paused, one hand on the door latch. “I have a proposition for you.”
Colin raised his brows in a skeptical expression Rogan knew had frequently been seen on his own face. “Will I have to pummel you again once I hear this?”
Rogan bared his teeth in a challenging smile. “I believe I pummeled you, dear brother. But it does not signify. I will give you the funds to set Hunt Chase to rights, but in exchange, you will work here for two months.”
“Work? Me? Curse you, brother, but I am no groom to be employed at your whim!”
Rogan arched a brow. “Aren’t you? The money is yours, Colin, for two months of your time.”
Colin opened his mouth to protest again, then slowly closed it. Finally he said, “Done.”
“I’ll expect you here by week’s end. That should give you enough time to set affairs in order at Hunt Chase.”
Caroline crept into the house with all the care of a drunken spouse unwilling to wake a scolding wife. As silently as she was able, she removed her bonnet and gloves. She’d stayed in the village as long as she could, but she knew she had to return home, to face Rogan.
Enough hours had passed that his anger should have cooled, but at the same time, she knew that there was bound to be a confrontation. No doubt he would lecture her, paint himself the devil incarnate, and warn her to stay clear of him when his temper flared.
She tiptoed past the parlor, but just as she reached the staircase, she heard the door open behind her.
“Caroline.”
She winced. Rogan’s voice, stern and uncomfortably patient. As if he were her parent or her priest. Well, he wasn’t. Enough of that. A woman had to take a stand if she didn’t want to be treated as a helpless twit for the rest of her life.
She turned to face him, unnerved despite her resolve by his austere visage. Nonetheless, she managed a look of polite inquiry. “Yes, Rogan?”
He swept an arm toward the parlor. “A word, if you please.”
Her stomach knotted at that quiet, controlled tone. She’d rather he raged; at least then she knew what he was truly thinking. Feeling much like a chastised schoolgirl, she slipped past him into the parlor.
He closed the door behind them, and the quiet snick of the latch echoed like the clang of a cell door.
“Sit down.” He indicated the settee, and she sat, folding her hands in her lap out of sheer habit.
Rogan sat down in the chair across from her. He looked at her for a moment with a troubled frown on his face. Then he loosely linked his fingers together and said, “What the devil did you think you were doing this morning?”
The words, though soft, struck with the force of multiple pistol shots.
“I was breaking up your fight with your brother,” she answered calmly. “And you will note that my method was quite successful.”
His lips thinned. “This is no laughing matter, Caroline. When I am…like that, you need to stay away from me.”
“I’m not laughing, husband.” His patronizing tone grated. She stiffened her spine, preparing for battle. “I do not take violence on the part of males lightly, as you will recall. And I will not let you ruin your business when you are not in your right mind.”
“That’s not your responsibility,” he said. “I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around.”
“Well that’s just nonsense!” Her own temper flared. “I’m sick to death of the men around me treating me like I’m a brainless ninny who has no sense of self-preservation! Do I need to remind you of what I’ve survived?”
“I know what you’ve been through.” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “Do I have to remind you what that did to you?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m aware of my problems, Rogan. But hiding from them isn’t going to help me solve them.”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Rogan said, frustration showing for the first time on his handsome face. “When you see me lose control, you get away. No discussion.”
“There will be discussion!” She got to her feet and propped her hands on her hips. “You talk about yourself like you’re some kind of wild animal who will devour me if I get too close. And that’s just ridiculous, Rogan. You’re my husband, not some lunatic.”
“Damn it, Caroline, you must listen to me!” He jerked to his feet and took her by the shoulders. “When I’m like that, I have no control. I fear I will inadvertently hurt you. Please, do this for me.”
She raised a hand to his cheek. “You will never hurt me, Rogan.”
As if in pain, he closed his eyes and turned away from her touch. “Please, Caroline. Promise me.”
“What demons haunt you?” she whispered. He opened his eyes, and she saw a familiar torment in that gray gaze. A torment she had seen too many times in her own mirror. “Tell me, Rogan. Let me help.”
“This is madness.” He pushed away from her and strode to the other side of the room to lean an elbow on the mantel, his face hidden from her. “Your father and his machinations be damned, I should never have married you.”
Her stomach seemed to drop to her knees. Her mouth went dry. “What…what did you say?”
“I said I shouldn’t have married you, blast it!” He spun to face her, his handsome visage twisted with suffering. “I am a penniless second son prone to uncontrollable raving, and you are an heiress haunted by the ghosts of your rav
agers. We should have known this wouldn’t work. I’m no good for you.”
She took a deep, calming breath. “I think you have been very good for me.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “You’re in danger every time I lose my temper. And you won’t heed me when I tell you to run and hide. Dear God, Caroline,” he whispered hoarsely. “I live every day in fear that I will harm you.”
“What makes you think that?” Slowly she began to inch toward him.
He closed his eyes. “I’ve done it before.”
She stopped. “Done what?”
“Isabel. I killed her.” He clenched the hand resting on the mantel into a fist, pounded it against the marble. “I was furious at her for betraying me. And I killed her.”
“Rogan.” She waited until he met her gaze. “Who was Isabel?”
“A woman I knew during the war. I thought I loved her.”
“What happened?”
“She was using me, pretending to love me to get information for the enemy. When I found out, I confronted her. She laughed,” he added softly.
“Then what happened?”
“We argued.” Anguish roughened his voice. “I lost all control. I couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t think clearly. There was yelling, and she shoved me. I pushed her back. She tripped and hit her head on the hearth and died.”
“Oh, Rogan.” She came over and rested her hand on his arm. “It was an accident. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
He shrugged her off. “Don’t you see? No one is safe from me, not even the people I love.” His hard expression wavered as tenderness touched his gaze. “I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you.”
“I trust you,” she whispered.
He stroked his knuckles down her cheek. “You shouldn’t.”
“Rogan, has it ever occurred to you that we can help each other? That maybe two damaged people like us might actually belong together?”
“Damaged.” He nodded. “That’s how I feel. Defective. Wrong somehow.”
Just One Touch Page 17
