by Robyn DeHart
Perhaps he behaved that way with any woman who got close enough to him. Somehow she doubted that, though. She’d seen Lady Fairfax, the kind of woman Roe had affairs with. A sophisticated woman with curves aplenty, lovely golden hair, and big blue eyes. Not at all like Caroline’s unruly mouse-brown hair and her own lackluster brown eyes. And she’d seen the kind of woman Roe intended to marry, someone who looked a bit like her, only a much more attractive version.
Caroline had not come downstairs to spy on Roe. She’d wandered down to find a book to read and had seen a particularly interesting looking text in Roe’s study on mathematics. She clutched her dressing gown closer around her as the draft from the night air wafted around her. She’d thought Roe had left hours ago. Evidently not.
She waited a few breaths before making her way to Roe’s study. She intended to walk in and go immediately for the book, say goodnight, and be on her way. Instead, she locked her gaze on him and boldly asked, “Are you and Lady Fairfax having an affair?”
Roe looked up from his desk, then leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his abdomen. The pose was nothing short of masculine perfection.
She silently cursed her body and its betraying desire.
“We were. Once. But no longer,” he said, his words even, unwavering.
She tried to think of something to say, but merely stood there as the relief washed over her. “She’s quite beautiful.”
Roe nodded. “She is.”
The book she’d come to retrieve was on the bookshelf behind Roe. She could see the reddish leather mocking her. Still, she made no move to claim it. Mathematical treatise could not hold her attention when Roe was near. Her mind barely functioned well enough to hold a conversation, let alone read about the complexities of algebra. “What did she want?” It wasn’t her concern, she knew that. She was nothing to Roe, nothing but a financial burden and he owed her no explanation about anything. Still she was curious.
“Me,” he said with a grin.
I want you, too. But still, his obvious humor in the matter sent another flood of relief through her. If he was still interested in Lady Fairfax, he would not be joking about the matter with her. “I see. Your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?”
He tilted his head as if considering her question. “I don’t believe it does.”
“I came down to borrow a book.” Caroline stood in the same spot, her eyes unable to leave Roe’s face.
“Do you want to play a few hands?” he asked.
“I do,” she said without thinking. They hadn’t played since the night he discovered her disguise, and her hands had been itching to touch the cards, to see the numbers tally in her mind. It would be a good diversion from what her mind was currently considering—all the ways Roe could seduce her. He motioned for her to come forward.
“Pull up that chair.” He indicated the wooden chair that currently sat near the window adjacent to his desk.
She dragged it across the Persian rug and brought it to the edge of his mahogany desk. She would have a difficult time saying no to a game in any circumstances, but this one, here tonight with Roe, it would have been impossible. She had nothing to compete with Lady Fairfax except her skill with cards, something Caroline knew Roe would appreciate and value. So she’d do her best, challenge him, beat him, and then be able to go to bed tonight knowing while she might not be prettiest woman in his life, she was the smartest.
He retrieved a deck of cards from his top drawer and nimbly shuffled them, flipping and fanning them within his hands. He had beautiful hands, large, broad, masculine hands with a light dusting of hair on each knuckle, and neat, manicured nails. Hands that had touched her throat and her face when he’d kissed her.
She felt her cheeks warm and knew they likely burned red. She looked down, inspected her own hands, which she’d never felt were particularly feminine because her fingers were long and narrow. Her own nails were blunt and jagged from her bed habit of picking at them when she was nervous. She remembered, when she’d been very young, her mother had told her that her hands were that of a pianist. Caroline had tried to play sometime after that, but she’d never been particularly musical.
“I met someone tonight.” Caroline hadn’t intended to bring up Penelope so abruptly. Still, her curiosity seemed to know no bounds.
“Yes, the American fellow, I saw.”
Caroline frowned. “No, not Mr. Bishop, although I suppose I met him as well. No, I meant I’d met someone you knew. Penelope, or I should probably refer to her as Lady Granger, though she introduced herself with her Christian name.”
Roe stiffened and the cards in his hand stilled, but it was so brief a moment that had she not been studying him, she would likely have missed it. “Yes, I do know Lady Granger.”
“Of course you do. You were betrothed to her once?”
He met her gaze. “No, we were never officially betrothed. I realized things would not work out between the two of us and we parted ways. It was for the best, as she’d already fallen in love with Lord Granger. They married shortly thereafter.”
Was that jealousy or hurt she heard in his voice? It was hard to tell, but there was a decidedly darker tone. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought her up at all, if she reminded Roe of their painful past. She had always assumed Roe felt love was beneath him, a pedestrian emotion. She’d never considered he’d once loved and lost.
“Ready?” he asked, indicating the cards in his hand.
“Yes.” He still wanted to play, which relieved her. Perhaps that would lighten his mood.
He dealt her cards and she flipped them over, glanced at both. Twenty. His brow slowly rose.
“I’ll stay.”
“Very good.” He checked his own hand. “Dealer takes one. And another one.” His eyes slowly rose to meet hers. He flipped his cards over. “Dealer has twenty-one.”
She turned over her own cards. “We have nothing we’re playing with,” she said. “What do I owe you?”
He cocked his hand to the side. “Nothing. We can merely play to enjoy the game.”
“You don’t believe that. There must always be stakes. You told me that the first time we played. Otherwise, there is no incentive for someone to play with skill. They get lazy, rely on luck. No, there must be something we could exchange.”
“What can you offer me?”
“A kiss,” she said before she thought better of it. She leaned forward, offering herself to him. If nothing else, her advance would give him a chuckle.
“I am not such a scoundrel that I need to win kisses from women at cards.”
“Perhaps.” She eyed him from under her lashes. “But it is not my kisses that I am offering up as prizes. I’m asking for your kisses.” Even as she said the words, her cheeks flamed, but she did not back down. A successful player never backed down from a bluff.
He leaned slowly back in his chair and studied her from behind his cards. “And why would you need to win my kisses?” he asked in a voice that sent fissures of pleasure through her entire body.
He was so distracting she almost forgot to answer, but finally she cleared her throat and said, “I suspect I’ll be courted by many men now that I have been reintroduced to Society.” That wasn’t at all true, but she’d had to think of something to say. “I am certain many of them will want to kiss me. I will need some experience, will I not, if I am to judge their skill?”
A scowl settled over his handsome features. “Perhaps you should judge your suitors on qualities that are more important than their kisses.”
“Qualities such as?”
“Their ability to provide for you. To protect you.”
“Hmm … I have had a man to do those things for me for the past nine years. In my experience, it’s been dreadfully dull.” She stood, pushing herself away from his desk. “I think I’ll simply retire for tonight.” Before she could move so much as a step toward the door, he rounded the desk, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her close to him. She
fully expected him to argue, to call the game off. She felt every second tick by as she waited for him to lower his mouth to hers. When he finally did, her feelings of inadequacy melted beneath his kiss. His hand at her neck was firm and warm, but his lips betrayed his control. In his kiss, he made no attempt to hide his desire or urgency for her. The realization of that flooded her body with lust and hope. If only for a moment—this moment—he wanted her. Not Belinda, nor Penelope.
Only Caroline.
Their tongues intertwined and desire shot through her, hardening her nipples and dampening between her thighs. She wanted him, too. Wanted him to touch her. To kiss her. To take her body and make her forget about the fact that she was merely a baron’s daughter and he was a duke, make her forget about him being her guardian and she being his ward. In this moment they were merely two people who desired one another.
He ended the kiss and gently touched his lips to the top of her head. She sat back in her chair and did her best to appear unaffected, but the truth of the matter was, she knew she was very much in danger. Warmth spread through her and she knew she should run from him, run from the danger in which she’d just placed her heart.
He said nothing for several moments, then he dropped his cards and stood. He walked over to the decanter of brandy and poured himself a glass. He downed it and poured another before turning to face her.
“I cannot afford this game because it will not have the payout you’re looking for,” he said.
“What the devil does that mean?” She dropped her cards.
“I am not the man you think I am, Caroline, not the hero you saw as a girl.”
She wanted to argue, but knew part of what he said was true. Once upon a time she had seen him as a hero, the man who had saved her when she’d been left utterly alone in the world. She could see the real him now, the man she’d somehow missed. And the truth was, she much preferred this man to the one she’d spent hours mooning about, though she’d never tell him that.
“I want you to know the truth, though. I’ve kept it from you for far too long, convincing myself that I was protecting you. But know this, Caroline, the only reason I didn’t tell you this nine years ago is because I didn’t want you to see me for who I really am.” There was such earnestness in his eyes that her own burned with tears.
She came to her feet. “Roe, what are you talking about?” Her heart thundered in her chest and her stomach twisted in knots.
“I am the reason your brother died. Were it not for me and my stubborn ways, Christopher would still be alive.”
She frowned and shook her head. “Christopher died of cholera, a disease you both had if I’m not mistaken. Mille told me you were quite ill when you returned and it took months to nurse you back to health. Even I remember how gaunt you still were that first time I saw you. Not at all the man you are now, healthy and strong.”
He inclined his head. “True. But it was my idea to go to Persia to begin with. Then when we returned and we were so ill, he more so than me, my father came to get me and I just left Christopher there. Left him there in that pitiful excuse of a hospital.” He swore and downed his second drink and he gave her a sad smile.
“So you see, Caroline, you mustn’t set your heart on me. I don’t deserve your affection and I thought it was about bloody time you knew the truth.” He strode from the room.
Caroline sighed. If only he knew the truth: It wasn’t that he wasn’t the man she’d believed him to be that frightened her, it was that the real Roe was even more appealing than her childish image of him. She had thought her girlhood fancy of him nothing more than that, but here now, with her adult body and her adult mind…she found she wanted him more than she ever had before.
And that was terrifying.
Chapter Eight
The following day, Caroline was reading the mathematics text alone in Roe’s study. Well, she was holding the text, though the words seemed to blur in front of her. Her thoughts were occupied with reliving Roe’s kisses. It was easier than thinking about everything he’d told her about her brother. Her heart hurt for Roe.
Nobody would have ever blamed him for Christopher’s death, least of all her.
These thoughts were futile, and so she’d curled up in one of the sizable chairs, with one leg swinging crossed over the other. Roe was out of the house, though Caroline wasn’t certain where he had gone, and Millie had gone shopping with Aggie. They’d invited Caroline to go along, but she hadn’t seen a reason to. Granted, she probably could use some new dresses, especially now that she had so many Society obligations. She had declined, as she hadn’t wanted to ask for the funds.
She spent part of the morning searching The Times for recommendations of architects and their employees to decide whom she should contact for the work needed at her family home. The list was overwhelming, and the amount of knowledge she had about the men listed was nonexistent. She could just as easily select a man because she liked the sound of his name as the list of his credentials.
She knew the staircase was her primary concern. Well, that and the roof on the back part of the house, where they’d had significant wind damage. Once those issues were resolved, the remaining issues were mostly cosmetic, such as repairing and replacing some of the wood paneling and baseboards. After that, she could slowly update the décor, put in new wallpaper, reupholster the furniture that was still useable, and then she’d have to replace the pieces that were too worn.
Of course, none of that would matter at all if Mr. Murdock would not allow her to forego the remainder of the lease. She’d spoken to the solicitor who had originally managed the lease and he’d said the document was legal and binding, which meant that the only way she could prevent Mr. Murdock from retaining residence in her home was to talk him out of it.
“I’ll merely wait for him,” a man’s voice said from the corridor outside of Roe’s study, “if you don’t mind.”
The butler opened the door, then, startled to see her, he bowed. “Miss Jellico, I was not aware you were in here, my apologies.”
Caroline swung her legs to the front of the chair and stood.
“The duke’s solicitor has come to see him and wants to wait,” Grimm said.
“Bring him in, Grimm. I was borrowing this text is all,” Caroline said.
The man who entered the room held his satchel up against his chest. He couldn’t have been too much older than Caroline herself. He smiled shakily at her. “My lady,” he said with a nod. “Many apologies to intrude upon you like this. Please carry on with your reading and do not mind me, I only need to speak with Lord Chanceworth regarding some funds he requested for a charity.”
Was the charity he spoke of the Dover House? Perhaps she could play hostess for a few moments so the man was not alone. Caroline pointed to the two wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. The solicitor sat in one. “My name is Caroline Jellico,” she said with a grin. She’d never been much of a flirt, but she knew how to speak to people since she’d never been terribly shy. “And you are?”
“Harold Simpson.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” She smiled at him. “This charity in question, it wouldn’t happen to be the Dover Street Girl’s Asylum, would it?”
His eyes widened and he nodded. “Indeed.”
“I am on that board of directors with Lord Chanceworth. He is my guardian—my legal guardian, that is,” she added awkwardly. “Is there a problem with the funds?”
Mr. Simpson shook his head and frowned. “It is not so much the funds themselves, since His Grace has more than enough. But the instructions he gave me as to where to send the monies…” He flipped through some paper in his satchel. He pulled out one sheet and read over it. “I was told to pay a certain vendor. But I looked into the matter and contacted the vendor myself, first by post and then I even went over to their establishment.” He looked up at her then. “Miss Jellico, I’ve received conflicting information. The letter I received indicated that the vendor had not been used for the Dover Stree
t Girls’ Asylum in over six months. There have been no orders for goods. I went to see them for clarification and the man I saw said that I had been misinformed and he’d have the receipts sent to my office, which he later did. But with the discrepancy, I felt it best to bring this to His Grace’s attention.”
“Well, that’s most peculiar.” Caroline frowned. “Is it standard procedure for you to directly handle the funds for charity payments?”
He took a shaky breath. “It depends. Most of the time I give the monies directly to the charity and they pay their bills as they see fit. But Lord Chanceworth, he asked me to handle this matter directly with the vendor.”
“I see.” Obviously Roe did not trust Mr. Lamb either, which was interesting because he’d never indicated as much to her. Granted, they hadn’t discussed much in lines of the orphanage. Instead, they’d danced around issues. Her house, her playing cards dressed as a man, his former mistress…
Mr. Simpson pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He nodded as if confirming something, but said nothing to her. They sat in silence for a few moments.
“I must admit that this is a perplexing issue, Mr. Simpson. Perhaps the vendor made an error originally, and they were clearing matters up for you.” Or this could be indication that something, indeed, was going on with Mr. Lamb. “It’s really quite kind and thorough of you stopping by to handle matters yourself. I do wish Lord Chanceworth was home to see to this matter straight away,” Caroline said.
Mr. Simpson sighed. “And you do not know when he shall return?”
“I do not.” She had no notion of where he went. Normally he was not awake this early in the morning, but since he hadn’t been to Rodale’s to play since discovering her charade, he’d been keeping more usual hours.
Mr. Simpson once again pulled on the chain attached to his pocket watch and popped it open. “Oh dear, I was hoping to speak with him, but it would seem it is approaching the time of my next appointment. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave.”
