Trying to locate a friend, one did so accidentally. If someone continued to circulate, they might never meet. Therefore, after Hal, Caroline and the Templetons made the rounds once, they picked a spot to settle and let the rest of the crowd pass by them. The D'Arcys arrived and found them quite unwittingly. Caroline hadn’t spoken with Sara D'Arcy since the night Antonio had been seen with Lady Maribelle.
“Caroline, my dear, you look absolutely stunning,” the older lady complimented. “I am so glad, dear girl, you decided to step out and enjoy some of the Season. I dare say, it’s done you a world of good. You bloom as lovely as the rose you carry.”
“Why, thank you, Sara,” Caroline returned. “To tell the truth, this time spent in London has been more illuminating than I ever imagined.” She paused. “It’s taught me how much I really love living in the country,” she continued with a broad smile and a chuckle.
At that moment, Andrew Brawley approached Caroline to claim a spot on her dance card. Soon, it was all but full. Ever alert, Lady D'Arcy noticed a dark head bobbing above the crowd, stopping now and again to pass a remark but plowing a straight line toward Caroline.
“I believe the dark duke is heading our way. Perhaps, he’s come to claim a dance, Caroline. What do you think?”
“My card is full, Sara. He’ll have to wait for another time,” Caroline replied tersely. Antonio approached Caroline with determination. As usual, he looked absolutely elegant. Not a gallant in the room could match his masculine, exotic, archangel looks. Antonio’s impressive height, his carriage, the sureness and loose-limbed grace of his walk, all spoke of the nobility bred in him on both sides of his lineage.
Caroline inhaled sharply.
Antonio smiled.
“I've come to claim the dance you were supposed to save me. I proclaim mine the next one.” Saying so, he took her dance card and scratched his initials over whoever’s name was already there.
“Your Grace!” she exclaimed. “But, that’s…”
“My dance,” he said, gripping her elbow and strongly leading her out onto the floor as the orchestra began a Viennese waltz.
With a sigh of pure resignation, Caroline turned into Antonio’s arms. She was tired of fighting off his appeal. Anger, frustration, and most of all, heartache, had taken their toll on her. At this moment, she simply wanted him to hold her. Somehow, some way his arms alone felt like home.
Propriety demanded their bodies not touch, but she felt an urge to press herself against his full length, wrap her arms around him, and never let go. How she longed for him to draw her into a closer embrace.
Antonio sensed the difference in Caroline immediately. His fingers tightened on her waist as he felt her slight unsteadiness.
“Caro, are you all right?”
What in the world had she been thinking? It was best she came to her senses.
“Oh, I’m fine, Your Grace. It's just…the heat…I suppose. And too many people…” Her voice trailed off. “I'm all right, really.”
As they whirled past one of the open French doors, Antonio maneuvered her adroitly out onto the balcony. There were others outside taking the cool air, but he led Caroline to the end where the light was dimmest.
“Are you certain you're all right, Caro?”
She heard the concern in his softly spoken question. Sometimes it was hard to believe he was the same rake that so often upset her with his suggestive sallies.
What she felt must’ve shown in her eyes, because when Antonio’s penetrating gaze stared down into hers, he seemed to recognize and understand an unspoken promise. Either that or he knew she’d given up fighting him and was about to surrender.
“Caro,” he murmured, lowering his head toward her. He closed her eyelids gently with tender kisses, touching his lips to the tip of her nose, until he finally took her lips in a kiss.
“Oh yes, Tonio.” A murmured sigh escaped her slightly parted lips. Her eyes remained closed, savoring his kiss. He took her breath away.
He hesitated briefly before lowering his mouth again, this time slowly, as he pushed for entrance into her mouth with his tongue. When she acquiesced, he slipped between her teeth and plunged into the wet heat of her mouth. Hungrily, they tasted each other for long moments, arms wrapped around each other, bodies melded into one form in the deep shadows of the balcony.
Antonio’s tenderness grew quickly into passionate kisses, and Caroline’s knees grew weak. She clung to his shoulders. Her fingers entwined around his nape as she pressed herself against him, unable to crush herself close enough. Everywhere they touched spurts of fire flared hotter and faster until the heat between them burst into invisible flames.
Losing some control, Antonio’s kisses turned urgent and demanding, devouring her lips with increased sensual ardor. Caroline felt his arousal pressing against her belly. Unable to stop the flood of desire that gripped her, she answered his kisses with passionate equivalence.
“Ah Caro, Caro, querida,” Antonio rasped hoarsely, his voice sounding hurried and urgent. “We must go somewhere private.” His words whispered harshly against her mouth. “See what you do to me. I must have you, mi amour, now, tonight. Don’t deny what we both want so much.”
“I won’t…any longer. But, there is nowhere. We can’t leave; we can’t stay out here. Already we’ve been gone too long. I’m courting disaster for being so indiscreet…”
“Lady Caroline?” a masculine voice called from an open doorway leading from the ballroom.
Someone had been searching for her. Quickly, Caroline stepped away from Antonio and ran her gloved palms over her hot cheeks.
It was Andrew Brawley.
“Have I missed our dance, Lady Caroline?” he asked, spying her amidst the shadows. “There was such an inordinate crush I was unable to reach you in time.”
He saw there was someone with her. “Oh, pardon me. Is that you, Your Grace?”
“Indeed, Brawley. Your loss was my gain. I took your place on Lady Caroline's card since you were tardy. The lady felt a bit woozy from the heat, so we stepped out here for some air. Are you better now, Lady Caroline?” Antonio asked.
“Yes, thank you, Your Grace.”
The moment was lost.
“I say, Lady Caroline, if you have an opening, I beg you to allow me scratch my name there. I dearly wish to share a dance with you,” Brawley rambled on while Caroline and Antonio retreated into thoughts of what might have occurred in some dark corner of the garden.
Their coming together seemed a certainty now, at least to Antonio. He’d find a way to explore the urgency between him and Caroline that had developed during those earlier months. It demanded fulfillment—an aching, undeniable madness that wouldn’t leave him alone. When and where, he wasn’t sure, but it would happen, it had to happen. He would make it happen, and soon.
“Umm, yes, of course, Lord Brawley,” Caroline was saying as she preceded him into the ballroom crush.
Antonio remained where he was, his hands clutching the marble railing while he took control of his aroused body. He glanced down and spied something on the balcony’s stone floor. He picked up the rose Caroline had dropped. Bringing it to his nostrils, he inhaled the fragrance that belonged to her alone, certain he’d never smell the same perfume without thinking of her. His fist tightened around the stem as he gazed out over the dark garden.
“You’ll soon be mine, querida,” he whispered into the night. “You must, or volverse loco, I shall go crazy.”
Chapter 18
As far as Caroline was concerned, the Season was over, finished. There may be additional festivities, but the biggest and most prestigious event of this year ended with the spectacular fireworks display that took place at the Cromleys’ an hour after midnight.
She was up early the following morning. She and Daisy packed for the trip back to Crestwood. Caroline ached to be home again. The country called to her like a siren's song.
Antonio’s cruel remark at Covent Garden had pierced her core. Afterward, she’d made up her m
ind to find out what she’d missed. Last night’s incident at the Cromleys’ had her insides in turmoil even more so when she’d almost succumbed to his kisses on the balcony.
She hung onto that vow like a lifeline. Although she was dearly afraid she might lose her nerve, excitement bubbled through her veins. Anticipating another meeting with Antonio sometime soon, she had decided to allow him to make love to her. That way, she could get him—and it—out of the way, off of her mind, and soothe her tortured system.
She would purge the Spaniard’s handsome face and dark charisma from her heart and soul in one last face-to-face encounter. Banishing him would dismiss the silly longings about love or marriage with the Duke of Weston. Let Antonio keep his Maribelle and Isobelle or whoever his next ladylove was to be, she would not be his mistress. Caroline intended to keep that promise at all costs. It was not in her nature to share what she loved. One more magical interlude, and she and Antonio would go their separate ways without regrets. It seemed the best solution for both of them.
* * * *
Bundles and valises with which Caroline and Hal arrived were compounded by additional baggage containing new gowns, jackets, bonnets, and furbelows recently purchased in London. A carriage was waiting in Berkeley Square that morning. A gray pall that never completely disappeared from London draped itself over the Town like a damp cloak. The sun was a hazy orb behind the smoky mist when Caroline hugged both Genevieve and Simon Templeton and thanked them for their hospitality during the past two weeks. Hal, too, expressed his gratitude and promised they would soon get together again at Crestwood. Caroline and Daisy shared the carriage while Hal made the trip on horseback.
Caroline leaned back against the velvet squabs of the comfortable coach, took a deep breath, and released a sigh of complete relaxation. “Oh, Daisy, I'm so glad to be going home.”
“Are ye, milady? Did ye not enjoy the dancin' and the parties an' all? Like as not ye'll find nothin' of the sort in the country. I hope ye won’t be blue deviled agin when we get back to Crestwood.”
Caroline sighed and smiled contentedly. “Never fear, Daisy. I'll be so glad to work in my garden and ride Demon in the fields, I won’t be anxious to see London again for a long, long time. We’ve made good friends—the Templetons, the D'Arcys, the Wiltshires, Lord Major and Lady Rossiter. I can make do with their company. And, of course, they’ll catch me up with the latest on dits from time to time. No,” she concluded, relaxing in the carriage. “I won’t miss London, Daisy. Not one bit.”
“And what about the duke, milady?
Caroline straightened in her seat. She looked out the window so as not to hint at her feelings. “The duke, Daisy? The duke will be about his business, and we’ll be about ours. I shall, I hope, continue my friendship with Lady Briella.”
Daisy let any more questions fall by the wayside.
The trip to Kent was pleasant. The weather had been dry the past few days. That meant the roads were not muddy pig wallows. The coach reached Cresthaven in late afternoon in time for tea.
* * * *
There was to be a fete at Westhaven Hall. Briella planned it for her friend, Caroline, who would turn two and twenty, two days hence. The surprise party would celebrate her birthday.
Of course, Hal was in on the surprise, making it certain Caroline did not suspect the upcoming festivities were for her. She believed the party was a finale to Briella's come out Season.
The idea had been Antonio's. Hal had mentioned to him that Caroline was glad to be back in Kent on her natal day. Antonio merely dropped a hint to Briella that a party would be an ideal way to repay Hal and Caroline's kindnesses. Elizabeth was as enthusiastic about the idea as was Briella, although she sensed something else was going on between her grandson and Caroline. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. There was a tension of sorts between the two even the day Caroline visited Weston House in London. The wily old duchess concluded it might bear looking into.
To share their Spanish heritage with their neighbors, it was be a small fiesta, not a formal party. As long as the weather remained ideal, supper would be held on the large terrace at the rear of the hall. Guests would consist of Caroline and Hal, Briella, Elizabeth, Uncle Carlos and Aunt Mari, and, of course, Antonio—a small, intimate family gathering.
The thirtieth of June arrived—clear and bright but unseasonably warm for England—reminding Briella and Antonio of Spain’s hot weather.
Hal and Caroline were asked to come at seven o’clock.
By five, the terrace had taken on a festive air, bedecked with pots of colorful flowers. Silken banners in tones of red, gold, blue, white, green and orange were attached to wooden poles and mounted along the terrace's rear balustrade. The flags fluttered as the slightest whisper of breeze wafted across the open greensward. Candles in glass chimneys lined up on the railing, to be lit when the sun sank behind the Kent hills.
A long buffet table, clothed in white damask, was not yet covered with victuals. A host of traditional Spanish dishes were specially prepared under the keen eyes of Aunt Mari. A dining table, this one in the shape of a 'U', was set with silver, crystal and china. It would seat family and guests. The unique arrangement permitted a view of the western sunset. Hal, Briella, Antonio and Caroline would fill the center section. Elizabeth, on one side, would face Carlos and Aunt Mari across from them.
Hal and Caroline arrived by carriage. “Are we early, Hal?” his sister asked, wondering why no other equipage was parked in the drive. Her brother just shook his head and said nothing.
A young groom took charge of the Crestwood equipage, and the siblings mounted the wide stone staircase to the impressive front entrance of Westhaven Hall. The entrance door was snapped open by Belmont when they reached the landing.
“Good evening, Lady Caroline,” the butler said. “It is a pleasure to see you again. And, good evening, also, Lord Crestwood. Please…step this way.”
Caroline glanced around the marble-floored foyer. Its graceful staircase led to the upper floors. To her eye, the hall’s décor hadn’t changed since James and Lorena were duke and duchess. It had always been, and still was, a magnificent manor. There was no need for an overhaul. Except, she mused, wasn’t it strange that Antonio made no changes and added no personal touches? It was as if he were a guest here himself and had not planned to stay overly long.
Belmont led the way down a side hall to the French doors that opened onto the rear terrace. “Lady Caroline Lockler and the Earl of Crestwood,” he announced, giving Caroline precedence over her brother’s title.
Briella started forward before the words left the butler’s mouth. “Caroline…Hal…please, join us. It’s a beautiful evening. We dine alfresco. You approve, si?”
“It's a wonderful idea, Briella,” Caroline agreed. “Are we the first to arrive? I hope we didn’t get the time in error?”
“No, no, in truth, we thought to keep this…a neighborly celebration,” she went on. “To thank you and Hal for making us feel welcome here in England.” Briella slipped a hand through Caroline’s bent elbow and led her forward. “But come, Caroline, you haven’t met my uncle.”
Another dark and handsome Spaniard stood at Aunt Mari’s side. Briella gestured toward him. “Lady Caroline, may I present my uncle, Carlos de las Torres, husband to my aunt.”
Carlos was dressed in a waist length jacket and tight pants that flared below the knees over high boots. His shirt was of white muslin. A crimson sash wrapped his lean waist and silver decorated the opening of his jacket. Caroline remembered the outfit Antonio wore on their first morning ride.
“I am happy to make your acquaintance, Senor de las Torres,” Caroline said, hoping she used the correct address.
Carlos did not take her hand, but bowed from the waist and said simply, “Con mucho gusto, Senora. My pleasure.”
Hal and Caroline greeted Lady Elizabeth and Aunt Mari.
Antonio was hidden by the shadows inside the hall. He paused, looking out one of the open French do
ors while observing the group. Tonight he dressed as he would for a fiesta in Seville. Only his black silk sash was different than his uncle’s. A glimpse of his curly, ebony chest hair peeked out of the “V” of his pristine, open-necked shirt. He had knotted a brilliant, red scarf around his throat.
He looked dashing and quite dangerous, Caroline thought, all somber elegance, as he stepped from inside the house onto the stone terrace and joined the party. His Spanish style clothes, bronzed face and smoldering eyes flashing beneath slashing ebony brows, combined with his powerful-looking, lean physique, and flaunted his male virility. He oozed heady, alluring, sexual appeal. Caroline’s excitement tripped on a rapid beat or two of her heart, anticipation rapidly working its way through her bloodstream.
Choosing her attire for the same reason Antonio had—to attract—Caroline wore a gown of deep green. The style was simple, but Antonio noticed how the color and design suited her elegant figure, hugging the generous curves of her breasts and waist before the skirt flared out in a bell shape. Her lady’s maid had entwined fresh flowers through Caroline’s swept up, sausage curls.
Already Antonio’s mental images of her naked had his body stirring at the sight of her, the thought of his lips sucking on her pink nipples. The taste of her woman’s core sweet and hot on his tongue. Nor could he forget the answering passion that met his ardent kisses that evening on the Cromleys’ balcony.
After the duke joined the group, footmen filled crystal glasses with a fruit-like, blood red, Spanish sangria, until everyone was served. No one drank, waiting for the duke to make a toast.
Antonio’s eyes flicked over family members then came to rest on Caroline when he finally spoke. “I’m so glad you’re here with us tonight, Caroline…and Hal.”
He smiled that irresistible half smile—the one she must learn to forget while his gaze scarcely left her face. “Briella and I wish to thank you, Hal.” He gestured to the earl. “And Caroline.” Antonio’s chocolate-colored eyes captured hers. “Thank you for making us feel welcome here in England. You’ve been the best of friends and neighbors. Mucho gracias!”
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