“Hard to tell. In this weather, I imagine they’d be here by now. Whoever lit the last fire was clearly planning on returning. They left a flint.” He struck a spark on the hearthstone. Within minutes, flames licked at the dried wood. “Convenient for us, at least until they come back and decide they don’t like being discovered. This has all the earmarks of a hiding spot.”
Caro wrapped her arms about herself. The damp had begun to burrow its way through the thick velvet of her riding habit in search of bare skin. “What will we do?”
“Wait for the rain to stop. Come on.” He held out a hand. “Let’s get you settled closer to the fire.”
The very suggestion warmed her through. He moved the other chair beside the hearth and helped her to it, one arm lightly about her waist. His fingers drifted along her spine as he seated her, but then he moved away.
She stared into the flickering flames, longing for his touch, and nothing so fleeting or light. No, she wanted solid and firm like the man himself.
Then the brass fireplace implements caught her eye. They would have found their place at Sherrington Manor rather than this rustic dwelling. “I wonder if Barrows didn’t set himself up here. If he stashed the money he skimmed in the woods, he might well have brought things from the manor and hidden them here.”
Mr. Crosby wandered to the dry sink, lifted the lid off a crock, and peered inside. “How long has Barrows been gone?”
“Since June.”
He dragged a finger along the kitchen table. “I think someone’s been in here since then. Someone who prefers a certain level of cleanliness.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but there’s no food left about. That would attract vermin.” He stepped back toward the fireplace. Toward her. “If you ask my opinion, I’d say someone’s been using this place for trysting.”
Trysting. The word hit her with all the force of Boudicca’s hooves and brought all manner of wicked ideas to mind. As if they’d planned this encounter, they were alone, and likely to remain that way as long as the rain continued.
Her gaze slammed into his, and she watched his eyes darken. Yes, he was thinking along similar lines—imagining, perhaps, the texture of her lips beneath his, his hands exploring every forbidden contour of her body.
But then he switched his focus to the floor. “We can’t.”
Damn him. “Who’s to tell—”
“You know we can’t.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment. “I stopped yesterday, I stopped just now, not because I don’t want. It’s because I do want. Too much. And we both know nowt can come of it.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Rather than push her away, his admission enflamed her. “What if—”
“No, damn it.” His protest emerged on a strangled note. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But here…” She waved a hand. “This is like a place outside of time. If we decided, it could be a place of no divisions, just for this one afternoon. Where you and I stand on equal footing. Where I’m Caro, and you’re—”
A beat passed. Another, but she waited him out. “Adrian.”
That single word felt like a hot balloon expanding inside her, full to bursting with triumph. For now, though, she tamped down the outpouring of elation. “Adrian. That’s a fancy name for a tenant.”
“Can you not let my past be? How can you pretend we stand as equals when you fling my birth in my face?”
If he’d stood close enough, she’d have touched him. She’d have run a soothing hand down his shoulder, but she couldn’t, so she calmed with words. “I’d rather you talk about it. Tell me what your life was. Tell me what brought you to Sherrington. I want to know.”
Chapter 16
At Lady Caroline’s request, Adrian stiffened. The wooden planks under his feet seemed to wobble as if the ground beneath had suddenly turned to quicksand. “What, exactly, do you wish to know?”
Everything.
She didn’t have to say the word. Curiosity lit her very expression, flickering like the flames on the hearth.
He couldn’t tell her everything. That much was clear. But part of him wanted to, since her thirst for knowledge extended beyond a bored lady’s yearning for sordid tales. For one thing, she couldn’t know his past possessed anything worth hiding. For another, if she was the sort of woman who coveted tidbits of nasty gossip, she would surround herself with other like-minded ladies. He’d enough personal experience with such a woman to realize Lady Caroline was nothing like that.
No, she desired to see him as a person, not a servant, not a hired man who was only as good as his performance at his assigned work, and that dawning understanding plucked at the space directly behind his sternum.
“Tell me of your life before you came here,” she replied.
“I told you the circumstances of my birth.” He moved back to the shelves, peering into containers. Had whoever used this place not left anything in the way of sustenance? No tea? Or better yet, brandy? What he wouldn’t give for an excuse to drink. “If you looked in on any of your tenants’ dwellings, you’d find them as humble as the one my mother occupies.”
She turned in her seat, keeping him in view. “But how does one get from there to here? Sadie told me she cannot so much as read, but you’ve been taught to keep accounts and assess crop yields, and what have you.”
He set the lid back on an empty earthenware container and turned. “I will answer your questions on one condition.”
“What is that?”
“That you answer a few of mine.” If she insisted treating him as an equal, let her begin with this exchange.
At the tip of her head, he went on. “Wyvern’s estate agent took a liking to me. He mun have told the marquess that he could make something of me, and his lordship agreed. When I was of an age to be sent off to learn a trade, Bertram Danvers took me under his wing and taught me what I needed to know.”
Adrian’s education had begun on horseback—days spent in the saddle, at Danvers’s side, learning about crops and rotation, soil and pasturage—but it hadn’t ended there. He’d spent time in Wyvern’s library, learning his letters, then reading, and finally working his way through the figures in the account books.
“And he insisted you learn to speak as well as you do?”
“Danvers didn’t give so much as a fig for the way I talked. He reckoned I’d be taking his place one day. Wyvern’s marchioness, on the other hand…” The first one—the less said about the second one, the better. “She discovered me in the library at my studies and decided to make a project out of me.” Fair speaking, she’d declared, would be the key to a brighter future. Elocution, she’d called it, a fancy enough term, though she’d never been able to fully scrub the Yorkshire out of him.
Before Lady Caroline could question further, Adrian said, “It’s my turn to ask you something. How does a finely bred lady get away with riding in breeches?”
Her smile stretched the width of her face. “It’s easy when one’s papa thinks himself an invalid and spends most of his time in his rooms.”
Adrian stepped back toward the fireplace, snagging the other chair with one foot and nudging it to face Lady Caroline. “His Grace cannot have allus kept to his bed, though.”
“He has for a good many years now.”
He settled into the chair, leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees. “I know a thing or two about riding. If you’re used to a sidesaddle, you don’t simply take to sitting astride.”
Her smile became fixed. “Some people have a natural seat.”
“I do not dispute that, but you seem to have a singular talent when it comes to horses. One that requires years to hone. Come, do not evade. You had to have started as a lass.”
Her gaze drifted to the flames for a long moment. “I suppose you might say there came a point in my childhood where people paid me less attention, which made it easy for me to sneak off to the stables whenever I liked.”
Something lay behind her words, discomfort or perhaps sadness.
Either way, he sensed she’d rather avoid this subject the same way he preferred not to discuss the circumstances that led to his leaving Wyvern. “People like your governess? Your sisters? Or people like your papa?”
Her chin hiked up a notch. “It’s my turn.”
“Ask your question. I’ll just return to the subject afterward.”
She dipped her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “Unless I manage to distract you.”
The suggestion hit him like a fist to the gut. Despite his resolve to stay away from Lady Caroline, she most definitely could distract him if she chose to. In the most sinful ways. “Do your worst.”
She placed her forefinger against her chin and stared at the ceiling. “Let’s see. What would be distracting? Women, perhaps?”
Another punch to the gut, one that knocked the air out of him. But no, she couldn’t know.
She leveled him with a look. “Did you leave a sweetheart behind at Wyvern’s?”
Somehow he forced himself to reply. “If I’d a serious sweetheart, don’t you think I’d have found a way to bring her along?”
“And if she couldn’t leave? Would you have stayed for her?”
Christ, why was Lady Caroline so caught up on this particular subject? “It’s all one, as she doesn’t exist.”
“So you wouldn’t go back.”
“There is nowt to hold me there.” The moment the words came out, he realized his error. Too harsh, too dark. She’d keep probing if he didn’t take more care. Time to turn this around. “What of you? Did one of the stable boys catch your eye?” For good measure, he reached for the hem of her habit and rubbed the velvet between his thumb and forefinger. “Did you persuade one of them to teach you to ride like they do?”
“My goodness.” If she’d held a fan, she might have wafted it before her face. “Did you intend on insinuating anything?”
The back of his neck prickled with sudden heat. Her skirt fell from his fingers. Another blunder, and this one far worse, since he’d just impugned her virtue. Hang him for a fool. “No! Your pardon, my lady, I did not mean—”
—
Caro cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I know what you meant.”
She did. Nothing about his previous actions suggested he’d wish to insult her on such a basic level. Anytime she’d been party to slander of this sort, it had emerged from the mouths of so-called ladies. As much as she preferred to keep company with gentlemen, none had ever dared imply such deep impropriety. Not in her presence. If they enjoyed ribald comments, they saved it for the dining room after a lengthy supper, while they sipped port, smoked cheroots, and passed the chamber pot.
“If I chastise you for anything,” she added, “it would be the my lady. I thought we’d agreed to dispense with that here.”
His shoulders sank a quarter inch or so as the tension drained out of him, the movement barely perceptible unless one was observing closely. “You mun know I could have lost my job over an ill-advised comment like that.”
“Is that what happened at Wyvern’s?” For clearly something had spurred his departure. With every turn of this dance they were doing about each other’s pasts, Caro became surer and surer.
“No!” His voice sharpened to an even keener edge. “And do not ask me any more about my reasons for leaving. They are valid, but they are personal.”
She rolled her lips into her mouth. Do your worst, indeed. Her worst, it turned out, was worse than she’d imagined. Somehow she needed to regain control of this conversation, to take the reins in hand and guide it in a more profitable direction. Earlier, it had nearly gone the way she wanted. He’d almost given in to her invitation to flirt. As with a colt learning to respond to a nudge of the heels, she had to press him toward that goal once again.
“Shall we start over?” she proposed.
He jerked his head up to meet her gaze. “Start what over?”
“This entire conversation.” Taking a chance, she leaned forward and laid her fingers on his knee, the gentlest of pressures. Just like training a yearling to the saddle. “I don’t wish us to be at odds.”
“What is it you wish?” His words were wary, but at least he hadn’t flinched away.
“I’ve told you already. You and me, on equal terms. As long as we’re here, you and I can be nothing but our honest selves. Caro and Adrian.”
“And what purpose will that serve?”
“Must all our interaction serve a purpose?”
If any could witness this scene, the viscous-tongued gossips, those who would have gleefully besmirched her reputation simply because she preferred to ride with the gentlemen rather than engage in more feminine pursuits, would have whispered about her behind their fans. They would have raised eyebrows and giggled while pretending to be scandalized at her behavior. Lady Caroline hardly deserves that title, not the way she throws herself at men like a…a…well, a shameless wanton.
Perhaps she was tossing herself at Adrian, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. None of the other men of her acquaintance intrigued her the way he did. While she enjoyed a jaunt across the countryside—or better yet, a race—with one or the other, she’d never imagined more. Not kisses, not touches, not a more intimate exploration. Not even a simple conversation that delved beyond the usual socially acceptable topics.
Though the notion appeared preposterous, when it came to Adrian, she wanted to know everything, from his life as a child to his hopes for the future. He wants a future. Here. But you’ll make it impossible if you’re not careful.
Blast it all. But no one needed to know. Not if they had a hiding place.
There, now those were thoughts worthy of a shameless wanton, but she could not bring herself to regret them.
“Have you ever in your life been refused something you wanted?” He might have meant that question as a challenge, but a roughness in his voice betrayed the effect she was having on him.
“Do you mean to imply I’m spoiled?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
She couldn’t deny it. Her station in life had ensured she’d wanted for little. At the age of thirteen, she’d even managed to talk her father into acquiring an untried filly of uncertain lineage and allowing her to train it with the help of the head groom—though Papa did not approve of her racing about the estate in breeches. But what Papa didn’t know didn’t hurt him, and since he spent most of his time in his chambers, he could hardly monitor her comings and goings.
“I am used to getting everything I want,” she admitted. “And what I want right now is this.”
She tilted up her face in offering but kept her eyes open in defiance. He might claim to wish to refuse her his kiss, but the widening of his irises put the lie to his actions. He wanted this kiss, too. She’d heard as much in his voice. She felt it in the thickening crackle in the air about them. She’d experienced it on the previous occasion when he’d given himself over for all too brief a time.
Oh, but he was tempted. Good man. Someone willing to back off in the face of a challenge could never suit her.
“It’s impossible.” But he hovered closer.
She only needed to wait. “Not here. Here anything is possible. We have decreed it.”
“You have.” His head dipped; his nose brushed hers.
She placed her fingers to his jaw. The stubble of his beard was coarse against the pads of flesh, nothing like the smooth-skinned gentlemen of her acquaintance. She liked rough. She wanted rough. And if she didn’t get it soon, she was going to combust like the kindling on the hearth. “With your agreement.”
“I shouldn’t indulge you.”
Her fingers tightened. “Then indulge yourself.”
“God help me.” That last emerged on a groan, and finally, finally, he set his lips on hers.
Chapter 17
Somehow Adrian managed to keep the first contact brief—a test, like a man poking his toe into pounding surf and finding the temperature to his liking. And just like that he was ready to immers
e himself.
So he took a deep breath and plunged into the boundless, warm ocean of Lady Caroline. Salt water closed over his head, and the undertow sucked at his legs.
There were at least a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t kiss her, the danger of losing himself in her topmost. But the demands of his body were fast obliterating his reason.
He needed her closer, closer than their current awkward position permitted, stretched across their respective chairs, straining toward each other. He needed her spread out on the pallet before the hearth, her hair down in a shimmering golden blanket across her bare shoulders, the shifting strands giving tantalizing hints at her naked breasts, pink nipples poking through the silken skeins. At the back of her head, his fingers began to pluck at hairpins in an instinctive bid to turn fantasy into reality.
Fantasy.
He must hold on to that ultimate impossibility. But she’d wished to create her own fantasy world here in this cottage, and Adrian did not possess the will to deny her whim. Mainly because he needed her lips, her teeth, her tongue the way a drowning man needed air—as a physical imperative.
She clutched at him, her fingers burrowing into his scalp, her mouth ravenous on his.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough, but to continue in this position was untenable. Without breaking contact, he shifted to his knees. Unforgiving wood bit into the joints, and his neck soon ached from this new angle. Worst of all, he still could not take pleasure in the full press of her lithe body against his. Not this way.
By gum, he hadn’t been this unsure of where to place his hands since the age of fourteen when he’d sneaked into the hayloft with the daughter of a Wyvern tenant. Then he’d been all bumbling limbs, and he felt every bit as clumsy now.
Lady Caroline whimpered into his kiss. Doubtless he’d forced her to stretch to her limit, but she refused to break contact. A hint of desperation—one he quite understood—colored every movement of her mouth. She did not wish to be the one to shatter the spell, and neither did he.
But he had to.
Heart racing, breath ragged, he pulled away.
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