Chapter 9
William greeted Caroline when she rode in. He noted her agitated mien but simply asked, “Did ye and that black devil of yers have a good outing today, milady?”
“Oh, yes…William. Fine…just fine,” she replied somewhat vaguely. She relinquished Demon’s reins to him without another word and slid from the saddle.
“I’ll have him rubbed down and walked. He seems a little hot,” William said, frowning at her with a studied glance. It was a second time in recent weeks that she’d brought the lathered horse back after a ride.
She deserved the reprimand, Caroline thought. William must be wondering what made her forget his teachings. If only he knew it was the duke who had caused both incidents.
Nevertheless, she strode hurriedly toward the manor.
Caroline was glad she didn’t encounter any servants. She took the stairs to her bedchamber two at a time, feeling like the hoyden she once was. All she wanted was to bolt the door and hide her shameful and traitorous body behind it. How could she have allowed the duke such improprieties?
“Hah! Dumb, pea-brained fool!” she muttered, scolding herself aloud, leaning her back against the thick wooden door. She was breathing hard and trying to come to terms with the episode in the meadow. After all her grandiose resolutions to humble him, his mere touch and those myriad searing kisses had crumbled her defenses and left her trembling and at his mercy.
And what was worse—wanting more.
Never had she experienced the things his hands and mouth did to her. He was tender, loving, and a passionate lover after his trumped up anger had passed.
Of course, she knew his sweet lies were a ploy to seduce her for his scandalous enjoyment.
I shall punish you with kisses, he’d promised.
She buried her face in her hands, aware that her cheeks burned like fire.
He’d said it, and he meant it. He had kept his promise. And she, like a fool, had let him. His kisses may have been meant to punish, but they were something else, something rare and completely wonderful and exciting.
But how could I have made such an idiot of myself?
Her random thoughts galloped ahead, reminding her that she was still at the duke’s mercy. She wondered if he would rip her reputation to shreds in polite society. If so there was little she could do about it. It worried her even more that she’d come face to face with him again. Possibly, if he stayed in London and she never stuck her nose out of Kent, they may never meet. But even to her frazzled mind, it didn’t seem logical. Hal and Antonio were friends. Of course, they would visit back and forth between their estates, probably quite frequently.
If he became a local resident, she was bound to run into him at social occasions. She would hate having him smirk at her knowingly, reminding her. I haven’t forgotten, he might whisper in her ear when no one was listening. I know what you wanted, Senora Lockler. Are you sure you still don’t want more?
Arrgh! The common beast! How humiliating! Embarrassing her to tears, even if only he and she knew what he’d done, touching her in ways no man ever had. He must believe she had encouraged him. Good grief! How in the world could she handle it?
Pulling away from the support of the thick door, Caroline paced the floor of her bedchamber then threw herself across her bed. Her hands shaking, her mind in chaos, she buried her face in the counterpane the same way she’d hidden it against his shirtfront. She’d simply have to brazen it out.
If only…
She dare not finish the thought.
Rolling over on her back, she stared up at the canopy, guilt cutting a wide swath through her moral upbringing. The dusky green fabric reminded her of the green haze under the willow where Antonio had made love to her only an hour ago. She covered her eyes with a slender forearm as if by doing so she could wipe away the Spaniard’s image.
How could I have been so unwise, so imprudent?
Her lips silently formed his name over and over. Tonio—oh, Tonio. She recalled murmuring it while he kissed her, and memories repeated the unfulfilled need simmering inside her.
Suddenly, she sat up and dried her eyes.
No! I won’t let him do this to me. I’ll forget that encounter and him. In reality he’s simply a foolish dream I’ve permitted to haunt me. He’s not a hero, and certainly, not the love of my life.
Jumping out of bed, Caroline strode around the room, halting in front of the large cheval mirror. She stared intently at the reflection, studying herself. The events of the afternoon should have marked her in some way, changed her. Shouldn’t she look different after he’d made love to her? Would anyone be able to tell? Lord, she hoped not. Her humiliation was too new, too devastating. She must hide those wanton feelings…explore them…but savor them for another time when she was old and gray.
Blinking into the mirror, Caroline saw that nothing had changed. She looked the same, except her hair was more flyaway, tangled by her ride. It lay loose on her shoulders. Her eyes were red-rimmed. But then, she’d been crying. Her lips felt swollen and tender. No doubt from his bruising kisses.
Slowly, she undid the buttons of her shirt, slipping it off her shoulders. All the time she met her own eyes in the mirror. She eased her arms out of the chemise and exposed her bosom. She stared, imagining his hot eyes and fingers touching her there.
He’d called her breasts muy linda—beautiful.
A tentative fingertip lightly touched a breast. Horrified, she watched the rosy nipple grow hard almost immediately the way it did when he rubbed a thumb across it. She jerked her finger away.
“Perdition!” she groaned, remembering the way it felt. “Look at me. I still yearn for his caress.”
Rapidly, she pulled her shirt on again and threw her backside into a cushioned chair, staring all the while at the walls of her room without seeing anything but Antonio’s face.
If only she had someone to talk with, to confide in. Some female to offer her advice on what to do, how to behave the next time she came face to face with the dark-eyed devil.
But she had no one.
After much deliberation, Caroline concluded she would do what she had done before—avoid him. One could get lost in crowded social affairs. If that didn’t work, to save face, she would simply ignore the incident in the meadow; behave as if nothing had transpired between them. If he were any kind of a gentleman, he’d never mention their inadvertent encounter.
Relieved at having come to that weighty decision, Caroline pulled the bell chain and summoned Daisy to make ready a hot bath, resolving to push further worries about the duke from her mind.
* * * *
Hal came back to Kent two days later filled with glowing accounts of Briella’s successful London debut. “Caro, Tony’s sister is the smash of the Season. I have never seen anyone so taken up by the ton in recent years.” He smiled widely. “I found out something else, too.”
“What is it, Hal?”
“Do you know, Caro, she’s more like that wild chit of ten than the lady we met at supper weeks ago?”
Caroline grinned. “I could have told you had you asked. Briella and I shared a few secrets on our ride.”
“Did you now? And what did you learn that you haven’t seen fit to divulge to me?”
“Well, for one thing, Hal, I know she’s accustomed to riding astride. So, the duke cannot be outraged or scandalized. Not by me, at least. And I won’t hide the fact that I ride astride here in the country. You know I would never disgrace you in Town, brother.”
“Rides astride, does she? Hmm…never mentioned it to me. She was quite ladylike in that respect,” Hal said, a puzzled expression flashing in his eyes. “Oh, almost forgot to tell you. Briella sends her everlasting thanks for giving Mr. Leathem’s direction to Tony. She had the new sidesaddle by the time they left for London and was very happy with it. Manages very well, I must say.”
Hal glanced at his sister. “I don’t recall you telling me that Tony stopped by here inquiring about a saddlemaker.”
“Oh? Didn’t I? I’m sorry. I must have forgotten. I believe it was after our foursome ride in the meadow. I promised Briella, and she must have reminded her brother to make an inquiry. You were away the day the duke came by.”
“I see. Strange, Tony never mentioned it to me, either.”
“Well, Hal, it wasn’t exactly a world-shaking visit. I’m sure Weston thought it too insignificant to mention.”
Before Hal could question any further, Caroline said, “We’ve received an invitation to sup at the Templetons, Hal.” Caroline hadn’t planned to attend because she didn’t expect to be escorted. But now that Hal was back, she asked if he wished to accept.
“Of course, let’s go, Caro. Do you good. Send our acceptance.”
* * * *
Caroline had dined with Reverend and Penelope Southland while Hal was in London, but outside of that, she accepted no other invitations.
She still wore drab-colored, mourning gowns but felt it was proper for her to accept certain invitations without feeling guilty. Like this dinner tonight with the Templetons. Believing she was on the road to recovery after her long, drawn out bout of melancholia, she looked forward with anticipation to the supper party. Hal would have plenty of juicy gossip to relate, as would the Templetons and the D’Arcys, who usually spent part of the Season in London.
The evening began very pleasantly. In addition to the D’Arcys, the Templetons had invited three other couples, all of them unknown to Caroline, although Hal was acquainted with them.
George Basingham, Earl of Montford, and his countess, Lucille, were in the country for a few days’ respite from the hectic goings on in Town.
Viscount Trevor Wiltshire and his viscountess, Susan, lived a short distance from the Templetons. Trevor had been a classmate of Simon’s at Cambridge.
The last were the newest acquaintances of the Templetons: Earl of Gragmor, Horace and Jocelyn Brandon. The countess had been made a widow at a tender age much like Caroline.
The conversation was lighthearted around the supper table until Genevieve Templeton brought up the name of the Duke of Weston. She directed her remarks to Hal who was seated on her left.
“You are only recently returned from London. Is that not so, Crestwood?”
“Yes, my lady. Just rode in yesterday.”
“Been in company with Weston and his sister, I heard.”
“Yes,” Hal replied. “The duke asked me to escort Lady Briella when he wasn’t available. Told him I’d be glad to take a turn while I was in Town.”
“She certainly took the ton by storm,” chimed in Sara D’Arcy. “It’s been a while since any young chit has made such a splash. But, of course, her grandmother has the right connections, don’t you know?”
“Ah yes, the Lady Briella,” mused the corpulent, middle-aged Lord Brandon, fiddling with a bristling, salt and pepper mustache that matched his thinning hair. “Quite a stunning addition to our Season, I must say. I met the lady only once in the company of her brother. You recall, Jocelyn? You knew Weston before that, didn’t you?”
“Yes, several years back before he was made duke.” She went on to say that the crush had been horrendous at the Cunningham’s do. “The duke and I barely had time to converse.” Jocelyn neglected to mention that she and Antonio did more than chitchat when he first returned to England from Spain earlier this year. Their renewed acquaintance had flared quickly and ended just as abruptly.
“I heard he’s playing the gallant to every young thing on the marriage mart. And some of those already out from previous Seasons,” Lucille Basingham commented, adding more spice to the gossip. “He must be deciding on a duchess to start his nursery.”
“Hate to burst that bubble,” Hal interposed. “Weston’s not looking for a wife. Told me so himself.”
“Running with a wild crowd, I learned,” George Basingham responded. Nearing forty years old, the earl had sown his wild oats and settled down five years ago. “Saw him at Creamington’s and Bullock’s last Thursday. The next morning he was out at the crack of dawn in St. James’s Park racing that bay Thoroughbred he owns. Won, too, I’m told.” He winked at his wife. “Lawd, I can’t take that pace any longer.” He chuckled. “Need my rest, don’t you know.”
“He’s been squiring Lady Maribelle around town the past week,” Trevor Wilshire noted. “I’ll wager she’d tire anyone out.” He snorted through his nose then covered it with his napkin. “That voracious young lady can do a man in, in no time a’tall.”
“Trevor!” Susan admonished him with a frown. “Mind your manners! That’s not proper conversation for the table. You men can gossip when you have your port and cigars.”
“Right you are, dearest. My apologies to the ladies.”
Caroline hadn’t listened closely to the table babble until her ears were bent toward gossip about Antonio. It was said he’d been chasing petticoats from one end of London to the other. Well, it was no affair of hers what he did or with whom. Obviously, the Spaniard hadn’t wasted time forgetting her or their brief encounter. She listened about his womanizing. It was told he would charm a lady, take what he wanted, and leave without regrets. Oh, how true that was!
Caroline was unable to recapture the conviviality at the table. She barely touched the rest of her meal. An unpleasant lump had lodged in her stomach. She was glad no one seemed to notice; they were too busy gossiping about décor, dress, personalities, and behavior.
After dessert, the ladies retired to the salon, leaving the men, as usual, to their social twenty or so minutes alone with port, brandy, and cigars. The women continued to buzz about the goings on in London. Finally realizing that Caroline was left out of the mainstream of conversation, Genevieve apologized.
“Oh dear, Caroline, we’ve been quite impolite to go on so. Please, do tell us how you’re getting on at Crestwood, and if you plan to come to London before the Season ends. You can, you know, now that you’re out of black gloves.”
“That might be just the thing, my dear,” Sara remarked. “I’m sure Crestwood has invitations to the splashiest festivities at the Nashes and the Cromleys. Those are the last big events for this year. Surely, you could come into Town for them, Caroline. It would do you good to get away from the country for a few weeks.”
“Oh yes, Caroline, please think on it. You can stay with us in Town,” Genevieve invited. “Simon and I would be delighted to have your company. That goes for Hal, too, of course. We’ve plenty of room.”
Sara D’Arcy stuck her oar into the conversation, commenting, “Crestwood’s got to think about choosing a wife for himself very soon. Wonder if he’s looked over the new crop. Has he mentioned anyone to you, Caroline?” The older woman’s questions persisted.
“He’s spent a large measure of time with Briella Thorndyke. Think you, Caroline, that he’s top over tail for her?” asked Lucille Basingham.
Caroline smiled and swiveled her head from one woman to the other without giving a definitive reply. “I’m afraid I know nothing of my brother’s plans.”
“Seems to me Lady Briella’s not ready to settle down yet. A gaggle of suitors are chasing after her like hounds on the scent, but she doesn’t seem to favor anyone special,” put in Jocelyn Brandon. “Her brother will have his hands full with that one. Take my word for it.”
Caroline detected a tinge of jealousy in the comments, but she was glad Briella had made a success of her first Season.
When Hal arrived back in Kent, he didn’t let on if he was seriously interested, so Caroline had no idea if he was considering Briella as a possible bride. She liked the girl, but such a liaison between their families would really complicate matters. If the duke became Hal’s brother-in-law, how in the world would she handle it? Caroline’s stomach quivered uneasily at the thought. Her mind raced in circles; the idea of Antonio becoming a close relative was upsetting to say the least. She would hint to Hal on their way home. Her own meandering conjectures and the group’s titillating gossip concerning the duke’s London affairs
gave Caroline a painful heartache.
Chapter 10
Antonio returned to London the day after his unscheduled tryst with Caroline. To get Hal’s sister out of his system, he threw himself into the ongoing whirl of the Season’s activities. He attended several balls each evening. Sometimes, he escorted Briella, Elizabeth, and Mari. Other times, he went on the Town on his own. But he wasn’t alone long.
Considered to be the catch of the current Season, the handsome duke was the target of every matchmaking mother whose daughter was trolling for a husband. So far, none had brought him up to scratch.
Antonio surrounded himself with a circle of companions, old and new. They browsed the cattle sales at Tatt’s and made the customary rounds to the men’s clubs on St. James’s Street. He joined footloose bucks in late night rambles to Curzon Street’s gambling hells and Covent Garden’s better brothels. The young nobles had eagerly welcomed Antonio into the ranks of unchaste, unattached, and unmarried rakehells.
Mothers and chaperones kept watchful eyes on their charges from the sidelines, but gave tacit approval behind their fluttering fans—hoping to snare the duke. Widows and married women were more brazen. Antonio plied them with charming compliments and seduced the eager ones with a smile, bringing them breathlessly to his side while they savored his attentions, preening under his Continental magnetism.
Antonio flirted and danced with young and old. However, when the gossip mill became too strongly interested in his newest partner, he no longer escorted that particular female and went on to lavish his smiles and compliments on another conquest.
If he earned the reputation of a womanizer, he didn’t give a damn. He went to bed late and rose early, until his extravagant nightlife and rakish lifestyle finally took their toll.
* * * *
Antonio was tired. He’d set himself a bruising pace. Trying to forget Caroline didn’t work. Briella, Elizabeth and Mari were still at the Chevinton’s and were to make another appearance later with Hal at the Brewster’s and the Bonnard’s. After attending three galas, Antonio excused himself and called for his carriage to take him to Weston House.
The Reluctant Duke Page 9
