Her eyes grew wide. “For me?”
“Indeed. While I did not think of flowers, my present is one that has brought me many fond memories. I hope it does the same for you.” A chill shivered down his spine as she raised the lid and peeked inside. Holding his breath, he exhaled only when her face colored with a charming blush. He would wager she knew precisely to which memories he was referring.
“Oh, my lord, it is lovely. What a thoughtful gift.” Caroline lifted the delicate wooden miniature, complete with sails. In fact, the ship was an exact replica of the Hera. “Thank you. I shall treasure it always.”
Bursting with pride, Trevor could summon no words of response so he merely nodded his head. No doubt their war of wills was at an end. Caroline would once again welcome his suit. Yes, for a man who had never courted a woman, he was doing quite well.
#
Two weeks later, Caroline stood amid her group in Lady Northcote’s ballroom, pretending to listen as Alex shared some new bit of gossip. In reality, she was mulling over her--or should she say Trevor’s--agenda for the night. Since embarking on her war of retribution, she had reveled in success after success.
The previous night had been her crowning achievement. She had managed to seat Trevor between the Hogart twins, commonly referred to as the braying asses, at supper. Even now she laughed as she recalled the expression of abject horror on his face as they returned to the ballroom after the meal. She had also noticed he had not eaten much. The Hogart twins had that effect on people.
What amazed her, however, was that he took her tortuous enterprises in stride. With good humor, he met every dance partner--even Brie. He answered every question with a smile and managed to charm every single female in her lifelong group of friends.
Including Caroline.
She thought it the worst insult that she should be falling in love with Trevor all over again.
Of course, the replica of the Hera holding pride of place on her bedside table was not helping matters. Whenever she looked on the precious miniature, guilt wreaked havoc on her conscience. Perhaps she could relent just a bit. Perhaps she should grant him one waltz.
Glancing at the full dance card hanging from her wrist, she smiled as she considered her sudden popularity. Brie had teased her mercilessly that it might have something to do with the radiant glow on her face since she returned from Jamaica. Of course, Brie also intimated it had nothing to do with the sea air and everything to do with a certain sea captain, a fact Caroline denied to no avail.
But she did not want to glow with happiness. She did not want to hope. She did not want to believe Trevor had any real interest in her. Caroline feared the minute she invested the minutest amount of faith in him he would disappoint her once more.
And how he had disappointed her.
She loved him. Never would she have shared her body with him, given herself to him, had she not first committed her heart. That made his betrayal more grievous.
“You are woolgathering, my lady. Dare I ask if your thoughts are of me?”
Forcing a smile, she gazed from beneath her lashes at Trevor. “You may ask, my lord, but I shall never tell.”
“I believe this is our dance.”
Her resolve weakened, she stepped forward without checking her card. “I believe it is.”
Instead of taking her hand, he hesitated. “My back has been bothering me today. But I do not want you to suffer because of my malady, so I took the liberty of procuring an alternate partner, Sir Kleinfeld.”
Caroline gulped.
Even Sabrina could not rival Sir Archibald Kleinfeld’s talents on the dance floor. The mere mention of his name was enough to strike terror in the heart and feet of any young lady.
“My lord, I would be willing to sit this one out.”
Wearing a fuchsia coat emblazoned with large gold buttons, Sir Kleinfeld appeared at Trevor’s side, held out an arm, and shot her a toothy grin. “It would be an honor, my lady.”
Knowing it would be an unforgivable breach of decorum were she to refuse him, Caroline forced a smile to her lips and said a silent prayer for her toes as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.
It was a useless endeavor.
One after another, the less-than-graceful males of the ton--all substitutions for her supposed partners--had approached and claimed her dances. Her feet were still throbbing when the dinner bell sounded. She knew without doubt her husband-to-be was exacting recompense for her shenanigans of late and resolved to bear his abuse in the same sporting fashion as he had suffered hers. She supposed he was owed one good turn.
Caroline soon discovered Trevor’s revenge was just beginning.
While considering the selection of sweets offered after the meal, six full portions of lemon custard suddenly appeared before her. She had always thought lemon custard the ideal dessert to encourage moderate food consumption. With a consistency similar to the phlegm that pooled in one’s throat when cursed with a wicked cold, and a taste to match, it was better suited to punishment for a recalcitrant child.
A glance over either shoulder revealed various smiling dance partners from earlier in the evening.
“W-what have we here, gentlemen?”
“Lord Lockwood told us you have a particular affinity for lemon custard,” Sir Kleinfeld stated with youthful enthusiasm. “Eat up.”
Determined to persevere, and refusing to allow Trevor a measure of victory, Caroline clutched a spoon, shoveled a large amount of the vile concoction, and sucked it in. The clammy congeal stuck in her throat. She closed her eyes and shuddered as she swallowed.
“She must be chilled,” one of her admirers remarked. “I will get her some ratafia.”
That was insult to injury.
Her eyelids flew open. “No!”
With every consecutive bite, Caroline reminded herself she had asked for this. It was obvious Trevor was on to her scheme and engaging in combat of his own. She had cleared the last dish of custard when he appeared at the other end of the table. As she had done to him that first night of battle, he raised his glass in toast and smiled.
She was about to return the gesture in kind when a sick feeling came over her. With a hand to her mouth, she fled the dining room. Her slippers skidded on the polished marble as she navigated the ballroom. Running through the double doors, she hit the flagged surface of the terrace and just reached the hedge.
In the bushes, Caroline bent and revisited all six portions of lemon custard.
CHAPTER TEN
After the infamous lemon custard affair, Caroline made a concerted effort to blend into the background of the Lester’s formidable ballroom the following evening. She had learned her lesson and had no desire to attract attention to herself. When fencing with one rogue sea captain, she was out of her league. If she were lucky, Trevor would accept the dessert disaster as suitable recompense and punish her no further.
Should he wish to commence a courtship, he would get no argument from her. As far as she was concerned, they had reached a tenuous détente. Pressing a palm to her still shaky belly, she prayed he felt the same. Hugging the shadow of a large bust seated atop a pedestal, she almost jumped out of her skin when the devil in question tapped her shoulder.
“Come, take a turn about the room with me.”
Caroline’s first instinct was to run.
“I warn you, I shall brook no refusal.” As if reading her thoughts, Trevor clutched her elbow and anchored her at his side. “Any rejection will be considered a call to arms.”
“Rejection, indeed.” Though his smile conveyed his threat was in jest, Caroline could not muster sufficient confidence to gainsay him. “I should be honored to walk with you, my lord.”
They strolled, unhurried and nonchalant, nodding acknowledgements as they weaved through the crush. Conscious of the pointed stares and whispered comments, she wondered at the gossip spreading among the ton. Was it inconceivable that an earl would be interested in the daughter of a duke? Perhaps the curious s
pectators believed her familial connections were her most promising assets.
They neared a sidewall, and he paused at a paneled door. With a mischievous grin, he arched a brow. “Trust me?”
“Certainly not.” If her eyes had not betrayed her fear, she was positive her voice had underscored her trepidation.
“Wise woman.” He chuckled, pushed open the panel, and handed her over the threshold.
The small study was a cozy room illuminated by moonlight filtering in from the doors opened to the terrace. Deserted but for the two of them, the chamber was cool, unlike the stifling warmth of the crowded ballroom.
Before she could protest, Trevor leaned against the closed door, hauled her against him, and took possession of her mouth, plundering her flesh as would a starving man who had just found sustenance. For several minutes, he held her tight, while his other hand skimmed her back before coming to rest on her bottom.
Ignoring the warning bells in her head, Caroline wrapped her arms around his neck and held his lips to hers. Scorching heat poured through her veins, fire burned in her loins, and she melted into him. It was so lovely to taste her captain again. After a few heated, groping, desperately quiet minutes, his frenetic intensity eased. Trevor’s caresses became more relaxed, almost tender. Finally, he lifted his head. When their gazes met, she gasped in surprise.
Visible in his stare was the same raw hunger ravaging her senses.
But why should he be thus affected? Was it possible? Could it be that he wanted her? Perplexed by his reaction to their scandalous dalliance, she uttered the first thing that came to mind to break the uncomfortable silence.
“You kissed me.”
One day soon she was going to have to sit down and pen a series of suitable rejoinders that would keep her from appearing a complete idiot in similar instances.
“I could not help myself.” Trevor grinned. “I have wanted to do that ever since we returned to London.”
Caroline blinked. “You wanted to kiss me?”
“Aye.” His grin widened into a boyish smile. “I’ve missed you.”
“You’ve missed me?” Bloody hell, she sounded interested and bit her tongue.
“Caroline?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you keep repeating what I say?”
“I do not know.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I am distracted.”
“Then allow me to distract you further.” Trevor bent his head and again set his mouth to hers.
A soupçon of alarm swirled about her, nipped at her nerves, shivered over her skin, but Caroline was lost amid a tidal wave of pleasure.
His words of desire echoed in her ears--until the refrain mutated into unhinged mirth. Taunting. Mocking.
Her eyes flew open, and Caroline froze. She pulled back, and his arms loosened about her waist.
“What is it, darling?”
“Darling?” She vented a self-deprecating sound. “Why do you speak to me thus? You are no gentleman to feign an attachment we both know you do not harbor.”
“I beg your pardon.” Even in the dimness of the room, his shock was palpable.
“You do not want me. You never wanted me.” She wrestled from his embrace. “I was nothing more than a convenient means to an end.”
“What are you talking about?” Trevor reached for her. “We are going to be married.”
“Only because you are being forced to repair the damage to my reputation.” Caroline retreated. “I know I am not the sort of woman a man desires.”
“You think I do not want you?” He lunged, caught her by the wrist, and pressed her hand to a firm bulge in his trousers. “Does that feel like I do not want you?” In an illicit rhythm, he rubbed her palm over his erection. “Do you remember holding this part of me inside you?”
Wicked images flooded her mind, ensnared her senses. Naked bodies sliding, pumping, grinding. A chorus of masculine groans and feminine sighs played a sensual accompaniment. The study seemed suddenly hot, and she could not breathe.
“Let me go.” Caroline struggled to wrench free, but his iron grip imprisoned her.
“Do you think of me at night when you go to bed?” he asked, his voice husky.
“No,” she cried, but it was a lie.
In her dreams, Trevor came to her without fail. In the realm of make-believe, she relived everything he had done to her aboard the Hera. But in her fantasies, his seduction was always preceded by a pledge of everlasting love, and sometimes she woke to find a slick wetness where their bodies had come together. Surrendering just enough to trace his turgid length with her fingers, she gave herself to the passion welling in her chest. To her surprise, Trevor let go her wrist and allowed her to stroke him at will.
“I think of you every night,” he said on a groan. “I taste your honey lips on mine.”
Was it possible? Could he be telling the truth?
“I imagine your warm, soft body beneath me, taking my flesh deep within yours, again and again, until you cry in release.”
Dare she hope?
“I want you, Caroline.”
Out of nowhere, her brother’s words revisited her.
He thought you a whore.
The resultant heartbreak chilled her to the bone.
“No.” She withdrew her hand as though she had been scalded. “You wanted Dalton’s mistress. That is not the same as wanting me.”
#
Confused and painfully aroused, Trevor did not pursue his fiancée as she fled the study via the terrace. Moments later, his fist connected with the oak-paneled door, the pain in his knuckles a welcome respite from the ache in his trousers. When he managed to compose himself, he returned to the ballroom in search of his intended. He did not have far to look.
Caroline had taken refuge amid her lifelong friends.
Though none gave any indication they were aware of her tremulous state, he reminded himself they were her family--not his. If she hinted at their quarrel, though he doubted she would, he knew to whom they would ally. Alone and outnumbered, Trevor headed for the card room and a bottle of brandy.
#
In what was becoming a frustrating routine, Trevor trudged up the entrance stairs to Elliott House. He had been seeking a private audience with his fiancée for three days and had yet to have any success. It did not take a genius to surmise the little darling was avoiding him, a tactic that was driving him to the edge of insanity. With renewed determination, he pounded the oak panels. When the granite-faced butler opened the door, Trevor shoved his way inside.
“I wish to see Caroline, and I am not leaving until I do.”
“Her ladyship is out, sir.” The manservant appeared terminally bored. “If you wish to leave a card, I shall convey your regard.”
“Like bloody hell.” Trevor strode to the opening of the drawing room. “Caroline!” He shouted at the ceiling. “I am not leaving until you come out!” Tapping an impatient beat with his booted foot, he put his hands on his hips and waited for a sign of his exasperating future wife. Seconds passed with nary a hint of his intended. When next they met, he was going to heat her posterior for such insolence. Lashing out with an arm, he emitted a primitive growl and stomped back into the foyer. “Caroline, I swear on our firstborn, I will remain at this very spot until you face me.”
“What on earth is going on?” The duchess appeared at the landing and navigated the grand staircase. “Lord Lockwood? Are you trying to bring the whole house down about you?”
“Your Grace.” Trevor bowed, and then stood upright, arms folded. “I demand to see Caroline.”
She waved to the butler, who made a fast exit. “I am afraid that is not possible.”
“You refuse my request?”
“I do not.” His soon-to-be-mother-in-law smiled. “The simple fact is my daughter is not here. She is, at present, lunching with the Douglas sisters.”
“Oh.” It was as if someone had knocked the wind from his sails. Trevor stared at the marble floor, a wave of defeat weighed heavy on
his shoulders. “I give up.”
The duchess neared. “Perhaps I can be of service?”
After placing a chaste kiss on her proffered hand, he contemplated the estimable noblewoman. She was a nurturing parent, which in light of his formative years defied logic. Never had he seen a mother so devoted to her child. His own had abandoned him for her lover, while his father had forsaken Trevor for comfort in a bottle. If there were anyone he could rely on to help him, that person would be Her Grace.
With a dip of her chin, the duchess seemed to sense his quandary. “Will you join me for tea, Lord Lockwood?”
“It would be an honor, Your Grace,” he said before he realized he had spoken.
As he followed Caroline’s mother into the drawing room, Trevor felt as though he had just cast off without a map and compass. For him, asking anyone for help was a cold swim in unfamiliar territory.
“May I offer you a refreshment, Lord Lockwood?” She settled on a sofa and lifted a silver teapot from a matching service.
Trevor shook his head. He opened his mouth, rethought his words, and resumed his repetitive stride. Finally, he whirled around. “Why does Caroline think herself unattractive?”
“Well--”
“She is beautiful. Stunning. Yet she believes herself unappealing.” He held his arms wide. “I ask you why?”
“Perhaps because--”
“It is too ridiculous. I have never found a woman half so pleasing to the eye.” Trevor huffed a breath in frustration. “And she calls herself undesirable. How can that be?”
“Lord Lockwood.” She appeared to be staving off laughter.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I give you leave to address me as Sarah, and please be seated. It is quite difficult to hold a conversation with someone who will not stand still.” She retrieved a square of shortbread from a plate. “I feel as though I am attempting to speak with a racehorse.”
“My apologies.” Trevor plopped himself into an overstuffed chair, placed his elbows on his knees, and cradled his chin in his hands. “Help me to understand Caroline.” He narrowed his stare. “Surely this low opinion of herself stems from something more than the incident with the Darwiths?”
Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) Page 13
