Caroline’s lips thinned. “My father would not have cared about such trivialities.”
Gregson’s eyes widened in earnest. “But he would have cared that I had lied to him. And then he would have dismissed me, and I would not be able to marry my dear Edwina.” He took the ribbon from his pocket and looked down at it. “But neither could I marry Edwina with funds that I did not earn.”
His true remorse touched her. “Gregson, did my cousin ask you to do anything else, give you anything for my father?”
He frowned in puzzlement. “No, nothing. Just asked me to pass on information.”
“And did you tell him anything else?”
Gregson shrugged. “Sometimes he asked questions about the workings of the house. Sometimes about the family. But now that the will’s been read, His Grace is flying into the boughs about how he was cheated of his rightful inheritance, raging about how he’s going to get it back. I don’t think he’s right, of course, but as his secretary I must do his bidding.” He pulled an envelope from inside his coat. “I am to deliver this to Mr. Tenloft. It is a letter claiming His Grace—your father—was not in his right mind when he wed you to Mr. Hunt. And since the marriage hasn’t been…well, completed, so to speak, he plans to annul your marriage and take control of your fortune.”
“Then he is doomed to failure,” Rogan said from the doorway. He strolled into the house and bent to kiss Caroline on the lips. “My wife and I are quite legally married.”
She smiled up into his eyes. “Quite.”
Gregson’s shoulders sagged. “I’m glad to hear it. I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
“You were afraid,” Caroline said. Rogan’s expression darkened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she laid her hand on his arm, silencing him. “Please do keep the funds, Mr. Gregson. Despite what you did, you were a loyal employee to my father for several years, and I do believe he would want you to have it.”
“Thank you, Lady Caroline.” Gregson bowed, his face the picture of relief. “I’m glad my foolishness will have no dire consequences. And I would like you to know that I intend to resign my post immediately.”
“Gregson, no!”
“I must, Lady Caroline. I cannot remain after the way I betrayed your father.”
“Oh, Gregson,” she whispered sadly.
“Before you speak to the duke,” Rogan suggested, “might I suggest you deliver your letter first? This way Althorpe will find out through legal means that our marriage cannot be annulled, and you will not be implicated for coming to us with the truth.”
“An excellent suggestion. I will do that, Mr. Hunt.” Gregson bowed to Caroline. “Lady Caroline, it has been an honor to serve your family. I will miss you.” He nodded at Rogan. “Mr. Hunt.”
“Gregson.” Rogan nodded right back. “Good luck.”
“Thank you. Good day.” Gregson donned his hat and then slipped at the front door.
Caroline glanced at her husband. “That was well done of you, husband. I thought you would have torn the lad to bits.”
Rogan shrugged. “I’ve been practicing self-control. Besides, it will be more fun to watch Althorpe squirm when he realizes this tactic will not work.”
“You are truly a clever man.”
Days later, Randall Althorpe, Duke of Belvingham, crumpled up the letter from the solicitor and threw it into the fire. Then he grabbed a small figurine from his desk and threw it in as well. It smashed in the hearth, sending sparks flying.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
There was only one thing to do now. In order to regain what was rightfully his, he had to get rid of Rogan Hunt.
And any other loose ends that might bring about his downfall.
Rogan was unfastening his trousers when his wife burst into his bedchamber.
“Rogan, I found it!” She clutched one of the account books to her chest, her eyes wide with excitement.
Rogan raised a brow and glanced down at his half-fastened trousers. “I didn’t realize it was lost.”
She jerked to a halt, wisps of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her mouth fell open. “You…I…That’s not what I meant, you wicked man!”
He burst out laughing, something he hadn’t done in a long time. “The look on your face was priceless!”
A blush burned her cheeks. “You’re a devil, Rogan Hunt.”
“I’m sorry, love.” He came to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “What did you want to show me?”
Her piqued expression cleared, and her face once more grew animated. “When we first went over the accounts, you told me that you had lost some funds. Well, I found them.”
“What? Where?”
“It was a mathematical mistake. See? That number for the purchase of the feed is not an eight but a three. You thought that money lost, but it’s right here.” Eagerly she flipped the pages of the book, showing him this column of numbers and that one, chattering an explanation all the while.
Watching her, Rogan felt his heart tighten in his chest. She looked so excited, so thrilled to be able to help him. He loved her more than he ever thought possible, and he had never expected to feel this way again.
She glanced up and caught him staring. “What’s the matter?”
“You are my heart,” he said simply and touched her cheek.
Her face softened. “And you’re mine.”
He slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her into his kiss, tenderness all but choking him. She leaned into his body, and the book fell to the floor with a thud as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He lifted his mouth from hers. “You dropped your book.”
“So I did,” she murmured, not taking her eyes from his face.
He rested his forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Her scent enveloped him and made his heart lighter. “Thank you for fixing that for me. My accounts are in much better shape since you took over the ledgers.”
Caroline beamed up at him. “I’m happy to help.”
“Are you?” He kicked the book aside.
“Rogan! That book is the key to your business, you know.”
“Never mind that.” With a wicked gleam in his eye, Rogan pulled her into his arms. “Has it escaped your attention, wife, that I was in the middle of undressing when you burst into my chamber?”
She cast her glance over him. “My goodness, indeed it has.” She tugged on the tail of the untucked shirt, her fingers inches away from where his trousers were unfastened.
“That was quite rude of you.” He watched her face, fascinated by the flickers of curiosity and hunger in her expression. “I believe you owe me an apology.”
She slid him a seductive glance. “I’m sorry, Rogan.”
“Not good enough.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I must demand restitution.”
“Tell me what I can do,” she breathed and stroked whisper-light fingers along his waist.
He arched a brow at her even as his body responded enthusiastically to her touch. “You’re a forward chit, Madam Wife.”
“You’ve made one of me.”
“And a good thing.” He curved his hand around her neck. “Kiss me, minx.”
She stood on her toes to reach his mouth, pressing her small, feminine body against his. He dragged her closer with a hand on her bottom, the kiss leaping from playfulness to hot desire in the space of a second. She moaned in the back of her throat, meeting him mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue.
Passion flared, and she gave herself into his hands.
His fingers plucked at the fastenings of her dress as she shoved greedy hands up under his shirt and stroked his back. He buried his face in her throat, nipping and sucking on the tender flesh as she clung to him, knees weak. He stripped the dress down her arms, trailing his mouth down over the smooth slopes of her breasts above her chemise. The dress fell forgotten to the floor.
Caroline’s eyes slid closed, and she clung to him, trying to stay upright. How was it he could so easil
y melt away her every defense? He took one step backward, then another, edging her toward the bed. She went willingly, unafraid.
Rogan had given her this, freedom from the fear. He’d taught her to be a woman, to trust him. To love him.
He pushed the straps to her chemise down her arms, and she helped him strip the fragile garment from her body. His eyes darkened as he gazed at her.
She reached out and tugged at the shirt. He helped her strip it off him, and she eagerly tangled her fingers in the hair on his chest as he took her mouth in a hard kiss.
He tipped her back onto the bed, parting her thighs to cup her moist heat. She shuddered and reached for him, running her hands along his muscular arms as his fingers stroked her to readiness.
Then her hands fell limply to her sides as her head spun and she surrendered to the demanding desire that swept through her. He bent forward to take her nipple in his mouth, sucking strongly as his fingers continued to torment her. She gripped the coverlet with white-knuckled hands, lifting her hips into his touch.
“Please,” she whispered, clinging to the only English word that still made sense to her.
“Please what, love?” he murmured against her flesh.
With a soft cry of need, she arched her hips even more as his thumb found a particularly sensitive spot. “Please.”
“What do you want?” He pulled back to watch her face as she began to writhe. “Tell me.”
“You,” she managed, grabbing his trouser leg. “Just you.”
He left her to strip off his trousers, and she gave a whimper of protest. But then he was back, edging the blunt head of his erection against her aching flesh. “I’m here, love.”
He scooped her knees over his elbows and leaned on the bed, opening her and pushing inside in the same smooth movement. She moaned as he filled her, deeper than ever before.
“That’s right, love,” he whispered, closing his eyes as her feminine flesh embraced him in welcome. He began to move, slowly at first, her legs still hooked over his elbows.
“Rogan,” she moaned, tilting back her head as arousal swept through her. “Please, please, please—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, losing himself in the delicious heat of her. “Come with me.”
“Yes-s-s-s,” she whispered, giving herself up to the pleasure of having him inside her.
Words faded. Hands clung, and lips moved in silent supplication as the need grew hotter and hungrier by the second. She thought she would die if he didn’t go deeper, harder, faster. Then he did. Somehow he did. The spark grew, burst into an inferno. She tightened her inner muscles around him, keening her pleasure with abandon.
As she melted around him in climax, he slowed and bent to kiss her lips. “I love you,” he murmured.
She nodded, beyond speaking, her body still vibrating with the power of their coupling.
“Hold on to me,” he murmured, then suddenly thrust in earnest, wildly, eyes shut tightly and face taut with hunger.
She gasped, clung to his arms as he worked toward his pleasure. Then he groaned, expression twisted as if in pain as the peak of his release tore through him.
He remained poised there, muscles straining. Then he slumped over her, sweaty and sated. She ran her hands over his damp back and smiled, feeling every inch a woman. Then suddenly it struck her.
“Rogan!” She nudged his shoulder. “Do you realize I’m lying here beneath you, and there’s no sign of panic?”
He muttered a sound of assent.
She poked him harder. “Rogan!”
“No more ghosts,” he murmured sleepily.
“Yes,” she whispered with wonder. “No more ghosts.”
Much later they moved beneath the covers of his bed and fell into deep, satisfied slumber.
Shouting woke them from a sound sleep. Befuddled from sleep, Caroline struggled to make sense of the sudden chaos even as Rogan jumped from the bed and grabbed his trousers.
Then the jumbled shouting from outside sharpened into one, coherent word. “Fire!”
The screams of panicked horses split the night amid the cacophony of urgent human voices. Rogan grabbed his shirt and thrust his arms into it, his face grim, then shoved his feet into the nearest pair of boots. “The stable’s on fire.”
“Dear God!” Caroline thrust aside the blankets.
“Stay here,” Rogan commanded, heading for the door.
“But—”
“I don’t want you hurt.” With a last look of warning, he slammed out of the room.
Caroline stared at the closed door. “I don’t want you hurt, either,” she murmured. Then she went to her room to dress.
Rogan raced for the stables. Fire blazed, lighting up the night, and smoke curled into the sky. A shadow followed by a horse ran out of the burning building. Grafton.
“How many left?” Rogan shouted.
“Five!” Grafton called back, racing away from the blaze with the spooked animal.
Rogan charged into the burning building, bracing his arm over his mouth to keep from inhaling the smoke. He saw Destiny, her ears rolling back and forth as she pranced in panic. He pushed toward her stall.
His foot hit something; he stumbled. He looked down and saw Colin crumpled on the floor.
“Hell of a night to get drunk,” he muttered, bending over his brother. “Colin, get up, you lazy sot.”
His brother didn’t answer, didn’t move. He clapped a hand on Colin’s shoulder and shook. His brother’s head lolled, and it was then he noticed the lump near his temple.
Someone had coshed him over the head and left him to burn in the stables. The fire had been set deliberately, Rogan had no doubt about it.
A simple stable fire had turned into attempted murder.
“Colin!” He grabbed Colin’s limp arm, dragged it around his shoulders. “Colin, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
Cursing beneath his breath, he got to his feet and started dragging his unconscious brother toward the door, the screams of the trapped horses stabbing him like a thousand swords.
Tallow appeared in the doorway, raced for a nearby stall to release the animal locked in it. Rogan left him to it, dragging his brother out into the cool night air.
“Rogan, what happened?” Caroline came running up, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders.
“I told you to stay inside,” he growled. “But since you’re here, see to Colin while I get the horses.”
Caroline fell to her knees beside her brother-in-law while Rogan raced back into the stables.
Hours later Rogan stood looking at the charred ruins of what had once been very fine stables. They had managed to get all the horses out unscathed, but the buildings were a loss. Only the simple miracle that Grafton had been coming back from a late night at the tavern and sounded the alarm had prevented him from losing everything; the horses alone were worth a fortune.
Not to mention his brother’s life.
Caroline came up beside him and laid a hand on his arm, silent as she looked at the smoldering ruins of his dreams.
“How’s Colin?” he asked quietly.
“Dr. Raines says he’ll be fine as long as he stays in bed for a couple of days.” She buried her face in his arm. “Had he been trapped in there, he would have died.”
He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I know.”
She turned distressed eyes to his. “He regained consciousness for a few moments and insisted on talking. He said that whoever hit him called him by your name.”
Rogan’s jaw clenched. “The bastard.”
Caroline jerked back in surprise. “Colin?”
“No. Your cousin.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest his conclusion, then slowly closed it. “Of course,” she said. “If something happens to you, he can get to me.”
“And your fortune.” He squeezed her to him in a one-armed hug. “That’s all he’s ever wanted, Caroline, was money.”
“The things he has done to
get it are unconscionable.” She gazed out over the destruction. “He must be stopped, Rogan.”
“Don’t worry.” He dropped a kiss at her temple and stared out into the smoking night. “He will be.”
Chapter 20
Malcolm Gregson gathered his courage around him. The knowledge he possessed sickened him, as did his part in recent events. Reaching into his pocket, he clenched his fingers around the tiny vial, then dropped it, appalled at his own thoughts.
How could he contemplate such an action? But contemplate it he had, enough that he had purchased the instrument of his potential damnation. Did he now have the courage to use it and right the wrong he had helped to perpetrate?
Perhaps.
But not today. Cursing his own cowardice, he knocked briskly on the door to the duke’s study and entered when bid.
The new Duke of Belvingham sat behind his desk, papers strewn before him. He glanced up. “What is it, Gregson?”
Gregson resisted the urge to reach again for the vial in his pocket. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Get to the point.” Althorpe held up a paper and squinted at it.
“I am giving my notice, Your Grace.”
Althorpe looked up with a start, then slowly lowered the paper he had been reading. “I don’t believe I heard you aright.”
Gregson winced at the menace underlying the lazy tone. He glanced at the cup of coffee at the duke’s elbow, then jerked his gaze back to his face. “I am giving my notice.”
Althorpe leaned forward. “And why would you contemplate such a thing?”
“I—I—” Gregson swallowed hard.
“You heard what Hunt said to the good doctor,” Althorpe finished with a penetrating stare. “Didn’t you? Come, admit it. I saw you standing outside the room.”
Malcolm contemplated lying, then opted for truth. “Yes.”
“And do you suspect I am the guilty party?”
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