by Marlowe Mia
“We happened upon Rowley in York when the coach stopped to change horses,” Bredon explained when he stepped down from his conveyance. His expression said he was sorry, though his good manners forbade him to voice the sentiment. “As Rowley had no pressing business elsewhere, he decided to join us.”
Rowley stood there with that smug look of his, daring Lawrence to be rude to him before the Lovells and Caroline’s friends. “Isn’t it a wonder? I’ve seen the splendors of the capitals of Europe but never the Lake District. No time like the present, eh, Sinclair?”
Lawrence didn’t see a way around it. The only decent thing to do was welcome all his guests. After all, he hadn’t invited any of them.
That first night, once the gentlemen had finished their after-dinner port, he cornered Rowley as the rest of the men left the dining room to join the ladies in the parlor.
“Not so fast,” Lawrence said, his hand heavy on the door through which Rowley intended to follow Bredon. “Why did you come here?”
“Following your advice, Sinclair,” Rowley said smoothly. He was one of those few souls who could not be shamed, no matter what he did. “Aren’t you the one who told me to leave London for a bit of rusticating in the country?”
“I expected you to retire to your own estate, not descend upon my uncle’s.”
“Well, there’s a bit of a problem with my going back to Rowley End. It’s rather the first place my creditors will look for me.” He had the grace to hang his head for a heartbeat or two, but his sly expression was anything but penitent.
“So you expect me to shelter you from them.”
“Not for long. Perhaps a month or so…”
“That’s not possible.” Lawrence folded his arms across his chest. Not even he would be allowed to remain at Ware once his uncle returned.
“Come, Sinclair, be reasonable,” Rowley said. “Once the House of Lords acts on my petition, I’ll be able to sell off the woods and settle everything in one fell swoop.”
Until the next time you find yourself in Dun territory, Lawrence thought but didn’t say. It wouldn’t matter if Rowley owned a hundred thousand acres, a fleet of merchant ships, and married an heiress to boot. He would never have enough to cover his impulsive extravagances.
“Very well; you may stay as long as the Lovells do.” Lawrence held up a hand to stop him when Rowley would have started thanking him. “But only so long as you behave yourself. And by that I mean I don’t catch you trying to seduce Miss Tilbury again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Being caught or seducing?” Lawrence figured he’d better nail this slippery eel to the floor.
Rowley raised a hand as if taking an oath. “I will not seduce Miss Tilbury.”
“Or any other lady.”
“You have my word.”
Lawrence scoffed. “Or any of the help.”
“Be serious, Sinclair.”
“I am serious.”
“I can’t be held to account if one of your serving wenches takes a shine to me.” Rowley chuckled. “Besides, what else is a chambermaid for?”
“For doing her job without being molested by the likes of you.” Lawrence grasped his wrist and squeezed hard enough to make the bones grate against each other. Rowley cowered in pain. “If I catch you putting so much as a toe out of line around any woman at Ware—and I don’t care if it’s the washerwoman or the goose girl—I will thrash you into next week and send you packing. Am I understood?”
Biting his lip, Rowley nodded. Then, once Lawrence released him, he slinked away to join the others in the parlor.
As it happened, Lawrence needn’t have worried about Rowley trying to ruin Freddie.
None of the women were ever left alone, which meant Lawrence had no opportunity to speak with Caroline privately either. Not during the heart-stopping moment when she alighted from the coach and the soles of her feet touched Ware for the first time, nor at any time thereafter. Part of the charm of a house party, it seemed, was in keeping the group together for myriad activities punctuated by endless picnics, teas, and meals.
Lawrence would have been hopelessly out of his depth as a host if Mrs. Bythesee hadn’t kept the party on schedule. She appeared at his elbow at the most opportune of times, whispering what came next.
And as an added blessing, the housekeeper’s prediction about his mother came true. Eleanor Sinclair brightened more each day. She and Lady Chatham clicked like magnets, delighting in each other’s company. They were invariably side by side, engaged in companionable embroidery or poring over Lady Chatham’s newest edition of Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine. Then, once Eleanor’s Bath chair arrived, she was nigh unstoppable. She joined in when the whole group played at cards or listened to Ben play his violin.
His mother passed as happy a time at this unexpected house party as Lawrence could have wished. However, he didn’t fool himself into believing this improvement was a turning point in her disease. Consumption often came in sieges, allowing for a respite before it returned to ravage its sufferer. But this was a sweet respite, and if not for the fact that Caroline was just as unreachable as if she were still in London, Lawrence would have been in perfect charity with the world.
He tried seeking Caroline out during the day, but invariably her friends, or her mother, or even his mother—drat the luck!—were at her side. After supper, everyone gathered in the large drawing room for games or music or read-alouds. When the whole group was together, Caroline barely met his gaze. Even when the fiddler came so they could dance, Caroline partnered with her brothers instead of him. Every time he screwed up his courage to approach her, she was already being led away on someone else’s arm. When the fiddler struck up a waltz, Lawrence ached to hold her, but he knew he didn’t deserve to.
Not after he’d left her weeping in London.
After a whole week, Lawrence still didn’t know why the Lovells had brought a house party to Ware’s door. But he knew why Caroline was there.
She’s come to torture me.
Chapter 26
The world would be a far better place if a woman could put words into a man’s mouth. Heaven knows, I can’t find them on my own. Not if I had a map and a compass.
—Lawrence Sinclair, after a particularly trying evening during which he didn’t screw up his courage to ask her to dance, no, not once!
He deserved torture. He was worse than a cur. He’d made the love of his life cry in the Lovell House parlor and hadn’t offered her comfort.
Of course, he could scarcely be blamed for that because there was no comfort to be had. Nothing had changed. He still couldn’t marry her, drag her off to the back of beyond, and chance making a widow of her in that godforsaken post.
Even so, if he didn’t manage to speak to her alone soon, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t rise from his bed by night and go in search of her. Lawrence knew very well which chamber Mrs. Bythesee had assigned to her. It was located on the family floor, with a bank of windows framing a wide view of the meadow and winding lane. Beyond the woods, the Scottish hills rose in the distance.
If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Mrs. Bythesee had known how he felt about Caroline. Her chamber was the best Ware had to offer.
Under the cover of night, Lawrence could find her room without a candle to light his way.
Bad form, Sinclair. You claim to love the lady, yet all you think of is how easy it would be to put her in a compromising situation.
He managed to keep himself from wandering to her chamber by night, but sleep, when it finally came for him, was fitful and full of strange dreams.
In his night phantom, mist rose from the lowlands and then slowly parted to reveal a horse and rider. He recognized his dead cousin. Astride the stallion he’d fallen from, Ralph called out to Lawrence, “Come ride with me.”
Then the dream Ralph wheeled his mo
unt around and barreled across the heath, bouncing out of rhythm with his horse, but holding on gamely.
Just as he had in life.
“No! Ralph, stop!” Lawrence yelled after him. Though he’d no hope of catching the stallion, he tried to run after them. The ground beneath his feet turned boggy and his boots stuck fast.
Clammy sickness crawled over his skin. He was helpless. Ralph was going to die and he couldn’t do a thing about it.
Then, to his wonderment, Ralph and his horse easily took the leap that should have killed them both.
“Don’t fear to try, Lawrence. If you do, you’ll miss everything.”
He jerked awake and sat up straight in bed. The dream was so real. From the sound of his cousin’s voice to the freckles that peppered Ralph’s nose, it felt truer than his memory of actual events.
But Ralph’s message to him was all wrong. In life, Ralph had tried the jump and failed. He’d died. He hadn’t grown up, or found someone to love, or assumed his proper station in life. He had tried and, as a result, he’d missed everything.
Or had he?
When Ralph had sailed over the barrier for real, before his disastrous landing, Lawrence remembered how he’d cried out in triumph. He’d never sounded so happy in all his life.
Was that momentary joy worth it? Was an unrealized tomorrow worth more than today?
Or is this day, this moment, this breath all any of us ever really has?
Lawrence churned the vision over and over in his mind.
By the time sunrise glinted on the topmost turret of Ware Hall, Lawrence was up and out and headed for the stables. He told himself he wasn’t looking for Ralph’s shade out on the moor. He wasn’t the type to believe in spirits. He just needed a good hard ride to clear his head.
And then, after a blistering hour or so in the saddle, he was determined to speak his piece to Caroline, whether he could find her alone or not.
When he rounded the first bend in the bridle path that led through the woods, he caught a glimpse of another rider in the early morning mist. An invisible fist squeezed his heart.
Caroline.
She was wearing a deep green riding habit with a jaunty hat tilted on her dark hair. She waved to him and then set off at a gallop in the opposite direction. Even riding side-saddle, she coaxed her mount to a breakneck pace. Lawrence leaned forward in the saddle and gave chase.
When they broke free of the forest and raced over the heath, Lawrence finally caught her. Laughing with pleasure, she reined in her mare. The horse danced under her, still ready to run.
“Well, that was quite wonderful,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes sparkled, and a thin sheen of perspiration glinted on her brow. Her hat had come unpinned and dangled down her back. The slender ribbon tied at her throat was the only reason it hadn’t flown away during their sprint. Her hair, too, had come unbound and framed her face with unruly curls.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and Lawrence wanted her more than his next breath. He dismounted, hurried to her side, and lifted her from the saddle. Her body slid against his all the way down.
She was unbearably soft against his hardness. He didn’t release his hold on her narrow waist even once her feet touched the ground. Her breasts rose and fell in shallow breaths.
She waited for him to speak.
His heart might be full, but his throat was tight. No words came to his lips. Lawrence would give his left arm if, just once, he could be charming and glib like Rowley. That blasted fellow always knew what to say to make a girl feel cherished and special, even if he didn’t love her in the least.
“Come now, Mr. Sinclair, cat got your tongue?” she said softly.
He wanted to speak, to tell her all he felt, all he needed, but no language could express it. Nothing would explain the depth, the height, the sheer, unbridled, writhing mass of his love for her.
Her brow crinkled in a hurt frown. “We’ve had our misunderstandings in the past, but surely we can at least have a civilized conversation.”
“No, we can’t,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “What I want from you is not the least civilized.”
He might not be able to speak his heart, but he could act. So, without warning, he took her mouth.
It wasn’t a tender kiss. He wished it could have been, but he was incapable of tenderness at that moment. He demanded. He took.
She gave.
God be praised!
When he finally released her, she didn’t try to break away from him. Her lips kiss-swollen, she blinked up at him.
“You’ve been saving up.”
“You’ve no idea.”
That made her laugh. He joined her.
“Thank God for your lightness,” he whispered. “You lift the darkness from me.”
He kissed her again, less savagely this time, but only a little less.
Merciful Lord, she’s so sweet.
“I love…you, Caroline.” The words were torn from his throat between kisses. “I love…your heart…your mouth…your hair.”
He fisted a handful of it and pulled as gently as he could, so her head would tip back, baring her neck. He kissed his way down her neck to the lapel of her riding habit and back up.
“Dear God, your scent…”
His tongue dove between her teeth and then hers followed his back into his mouth. He managed to mumble, “I love your tongue.”
“Do you mean you love what I say with it or what I do with it?” she asked when he gave her a second to come up for air.
“Both! I love everything about you, Caroline Lovell.”
She kissed along his jawline, feathery light kisses that set his nerves tingling. Then she leaned back a bit to peer up at him. “Would you love me still if I told you I forged your handwriting and invited us all here?”
“I’d love you even more.”
She laughed again.
Suddenly, he wasn’t quite sure how, they sank down and became all tangled up together there on the lush grass. Her sweet body was under his, but instead of struggling to get away, she was rocking her pelvis slowly against him.
“Marry me, Caroline.”
He needed an answer or he’d run mad, but she couldn’t give him one because he was kissing her again. His hands brushed the front of her bodice. She was so soft. And she smelled like honeysuckle and warm horse and crushed velvet.
“I’ll take a commission under Colonel Boyle and we’ll go to India together. I swear you’ll never want for anything.”
Then he plunged his hand down the front of her habit to cup a breast. So soft, and yet such a hard little tip.
She put her palms on his chest and pushed. He pulled his hand from that blessed place, but his palm still tingled.
“What has changed?” she asked.
He met her gaze. “What do you mean?”
“You left me in London.” Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. “But you meant to ask me to marry you there.”
It must have been her footfalls he’d heard in the hallway when he was confronting his uncle in Lord Frampton’s smoking room. “I won’t ask how you know that.”
She blushed. “Perhaps it’s best if you don’t.”
“Clearly a man cannot keep secrets from you.”
She cupped his cheek. “Again, it’s best if you don’t.”
“Then here’s the truth. I was afraid to try, Caroline. I didn’t ask you to be my wife because a soldier’s life is uncertain. I feared dying in Peshawar. What if I left you there a widow?”
She pushed against his chest again, and this time he rolled off her. She sat up and peered down at him. “So instead you were willing to leave me in London?”
“I thought it best. But now I know I can’t live on what if.” He pulled her down on top of him and she came willingly. “The joy of
now is worth any sorrow that may come.”
“But you will try mightily not to bring me sorrow, won’t you?”
“With all my strength,” he promised. “Caroline, if we don’t grab now with both hands, we’ll miss everything.”
“Agreed.” She kissed him slowly, her hair tumbling around them like a dark wave. Then she raised herself back up. “But next time you make a decision that affects both of us, you might try asking my opinion first.”
“So, you think there will be a next time.”
“Plenty of them. I intend to be Mrs. Lawrence Sinclair for a very long time.”
She’ll have me! God be praised! He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them as if they were the crown jewels. “I don’t think I can wait for the banns to be read.”
“Certainly not,” she agreed. “That would take weeks. The ship’s captain can marry us once we board for India.”
Lawrence shook his head. “I can’t wait for the ship either. Gretna Green is only ten miles from here. We can say the words over an anvil and be wed on the spot.”
“Well, that’s not the wedding every girl dreams of.” Caroline smiled wryly. “But then, I’m not every girl. In truth, I didn’t imagine I’d ever marry.”
“And I never dared imagine it, but Caroline, please, if you’ve any mercy in your heart, let us fly north.” Now that she’d accepted him, he had to marry her straightaway, before she changed her mind. “Right now.”
“In a bit, Lawrence.” Her eyes took on a hazy, languid glow as she lay back in the grass. “I’m not feeling particularly merciful at the moment.”
She lifted an arm in invitation.
He lowered himself to cover her body with his. Then, in a flurry of hastily shoved aside clothing, hot kisses, and urgent pleas, everything started to happen.
A button popped here. A hand sought there. The whole world went warm and sweet and dewy. A kind of madness seized him.
But Lawrence clung to a bit of sanity. He was determined for this moment not to descend into mindless rutting. When he finally sank into her, he wanted it to have the rightness of a homecoming, of two halves of a whole finally joined.
