Tempted by His Touch: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Dukes, Rogues, & Alpha Heroes Historical Romance Novels

by Darcy Burke

  “I burned it,” she choked out. “I took the names and burned it.”

  A breath escaped him knowing that the diary and all of its wretched, disgusting contents had been destroyed.

  But then he remembered something as equally wretched.

  Caroline hated him. She despised him in the same way he had once hated Lady Stanbury. And though he knew he couldn’t erase what had been done to Caroline, he had to try. He had to. For her. For them.

  Lesson Twelve

  I can assure you, the world will only

  fall apart if you let it fall apart.

  -The School of Gallantry

  After spending half the morning wrangling a skull-cracking headache from irresponsibly overindulging in port, Caroline slowly, slowly sat into the creaking leather chair before her brother’s desk and tried not to gurgle up vomit.

  She was never drinking again.

  She miserably set Ronan’s coin onto the smooth surface of the desk. Tears blinded her. She had once believed that by holding onto Ronan’s coin, she was holding on to not only him but his dreams. When in fact, neither had ever been hers to hold.

  Using the tips of her trembling fingers, she set the sovereign up onto its rounded edge and spun it with a hard, quick flick. She watched as the golden coin whirled and whirled back and forth, side to side, across the polished surface of the desk. It eventually slowed, tilted and rattled against the surface until it flattened and stopped, landing perfectly beside a large stack of unopened and unorganized invitations.

  Invitations her brother hoped would find her a husband. Invitations he always had her gather so they could go through them together. She dragged them over and tidied the unorganized stack, setting them on top of each other. She paused, seeing an unopened letter from Lord Gifford addressed to her brother among the pile she had rearranged.

  Her eyes widened. Why was Lord Gifford writing to her brother?

  She glanced at the open doorway and grabbed up the correspondence. Turning it over, she frantically broke the wax seal on it and unfolded it.

  Lord Hawksford,

  Forgive this letter, as it will be inappropriately forceful. After the waltz I had shared with your sister, I have been unable to return to my regular way of life. I know there are younger, far worthier men than I, but I genuinely believe I have the means to ensure your sister’s happiness. I have no doubt my children would admire and adore her and I am hoping that I will be able to give them the honor of introducing them to her soon by hosting a family picnic. My boys miss their mother terribly and need laughter and smiles in their lives again. Something tells me your sister would bring that to them and more. Please allow me to call on her.

  Humbly,

  Lord Gifford

  Caroline blinked back tears and folded the letter with quaking hands. Oh, God. She tucked the letter away into the satin sash of her gown at her waist, knowing she couldn’t have her brother knowing of it or responding to it. She knew her brother well enough to say he would not only push her toward Gifford if he found out but would tirelessly shove her toward Gifford until she relented.

  Even if she tried to move on after what had happened, even if she could move on, what man would have her now? Certainly not Lord Gifford. If he knew what she had allowed for, he wouldn’t be writing about how suitable she was for raising his children.

  Her dreams of being loved for what she was had been that of a bullheaded thirteen-year-old girl who had never taken the time to grow up and look beyond acceptance. She hated Ronan for making her believe he was ever worthy of being loved.

  She hated him.

  Caroline stood abruptly, sending the chair she’d been sitting in tumbling backward. Gritting her teeth, she shoved the large stack of invitations viciously off the desk.

  “Apparently, your rendezvous didn’t go as planned.”

  She jumped and spun toward her mother who lingered in the doorway of the study. Her mother’s stance was stiff, her green-blue eyes anything but understanding.

  Caroline swiped at her tears but could not bring herself to respond.

  The dowager entered the room, her azure morning gown rustling from her steady movements. “I left when I saw you there last night.”

  Caroline’s breath hitched. The woman with the veil. The one who had left the room early. “You told me you had a headache and retired into your room last night.”

  Her mother stared her down. “Don’t turn this on me. I’m not the one who needs reprimanding. I could have easily humiliated you before all of those women and dragged you out by the ear, but what would that have accomplished? I knew you had to be allowed to follow your heart. A heart that would have kept sneaking out until it ended up with what it wanted. I only hope you walked away with what you wanted. I take it you went to bask in the glory of your beloved Caldwell? Is that why you went?”

  Caroline blinked back tears. “Yes.”

  “And who, might I ask, let you into that house?” The dowager continued to stare her down with lethal motherly intent. “Someone had to give Luc permission to allow you entrance. Who was it? I demand you give me the name of the man, because I will ensure Hughes not only takes a crop to his head but never allows him to partake in any of our events again. In case you didn’t know, Caroline, Hughes and I have been coordinating these parties for years. He and I are part of the Whipping Society. Something your father was also a part of when he was alive.”

  Caroline cringed. This was turning into a bigger mess, and although it was awkward, she knew it was best not to fester in lies. “Lord Hughes permitted me to stay.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened. “Hughes? He knew? He knew you were there and yet he—”

  “Mama, please. Don’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault. It involves too much for me to explain, but know that he was helping me. He meant well and did warn me. I simply chose not to listen.”

  Her mother slowly shook her head. “Your father and I brought you up to be independent in your way of thinking. You know that. It was our gift to you. We didn’t want to hide real life from you.” Her mother’s voice grew stern and unforgiving. “What you forget, however, is that society does not approve of such liberal independence from women. There are consequences if you decide to reveal your true self outside the limitations of societal constraints.”

  Caroline clasped her hands, feeling them starting to shake. “I know.”

  “I didn’t tell you I was coordinating and attending that event because I try to keep my personal passions out of sight.” The dowager came close and grabbed her hand hard and squeezed. “I’m not terribly angry. I know you only went to be with him.”

  A sob escaped Caroline. Yes. And it had been for nothing.

  Her mother leaned in, rubbing her shoulder and tenderly searched her face. “You remind me in so many ways of my mother. A rebel and yet not.” Still rubbing her shoulder, she whispered, “I never took the time to tell you more about your grandmother, did I?”

  Caroline tucked herself close against her, feeling like a girl again. “No. Distract me. Tell me more about her. Please.”

  Her mother tightened her hold on her. “My mother, bless her soul, was a fiery woman. A good woman. As you know, she was a simple shop girl with very little means. A shop girl who was pretty enough to catch the eye of a wealthy, dashing viscount. It was a charming little love story, to be sure. Like I have always told you. But what you don’t know is that your poor grandmother was terrorized by all of society for her love when she submitted to my father’s advances. Although my father did right by her and married her when she became pregnant, society only ever saw an uneducated shop girl who had whored herself to an aristocratic man. It didn’t matter that they were in love. That only made it worse. I was always so angry with her for constantly hosting my father’s family who would dine with us one moment, only to scurry out of our home and speak of her to others about how much of a whore she was.”

  Her mother’s voice quieted. “I was sixteen when she died. Less than a dozen
people called on us with condolences. It was more than I could bear. Not even the lowest archbishop in the county, whom she openly revered, went to her funeral. Even in the grave, she was humiliated. I swore, in her honor, to never submit to what society wanted of me but rather pursue only what I wanted. I let passion guide me, as opposed to common sense. And I will admit, it wasn’t always a good thing. I ended up doing things I shouldn’t have. But at least I remained true to myself. Although I had repeatedly disappointed and horrified my father, by claiming my independence and working in the same shop my mother had, I never allowed others to lead me or terrorize me.”

  Caroline lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder and met her gaze.

  Those blue-green eyes brightened. “When I met your father, at a Covent Garden party, I was wrangling my way out of a situation with a man who was aggressively trying to take me home with him despite my protests. It was probably the first time in my life I felt I was in a position of harm and I panicked, asking for help, but men there only laughed it off and cheered the man on to take me home. And even though your father was surrounded by a gaggle of women, and could have easily turned the other way like everyone else had, he jumped over the sofa separating us, came through the crowd and knocked that man clear across the room with one swing. He casually leaned over the man still laying on the floor and said, ‘Piss yourself. Because sadly for you, sir, she has already promised to come home with me.’”

  A smile lilted her words. “And I did go home with him. We were inseparable ever after. Your father knew he wasn’t the first man I was with. He knew that I cherished my independence above all else. He knew, but he accepted that about me. And that was why I accepted him and his women and his way of life. We learned to love each other in the best way we could within the confines of a society that didn’t understand our passions. We often failed each other, and I found myself with others, and he with others throughout the years, despite our marriage, but we tried. And I don’t think that is something you have ever recognized Caroline. Your father was a good man. He wasn’t perfect. But he didn’t have to be. Because I wasn’t.”

  Tears blinded Caroline and she couldn’t breathe knowing that her parents had, in fact, found acceptance in each other when there was none to be had by others. “I didn’t know how you two had met. Why did you never tell me?”

  “You never asked. And the silly thing that I am, I never thought to say it. One forgets to impart things they should when the years go by.” The dowager released her and after a moment asked, “Did you retain your virginity?”

  Caroline quietly admitted, “No. I confess I did not. And sadly, Mama, I must also confess that he and I are at an end. I ended our association shortly after it happened.”

  Her mother’s features twisted. “Oh, Caroline. Surely it isn’t the end. It can’t be. I know what you feel for him.”

  Fighting back the hysterical emotions that wanted to burst through her calm façade, Caroline swallowed. “What I feel doesn’t change what is. At the time I thought I was doing what I needed to do to claim him. To ensure no one, not even Alex, could deny us. A part of me knew it was wrong, but when he and I were finally alone in the silence, a form of peace I had never known overtook me. I was...I was overwhelmed in his presence. I wanted to love him and be everything to him. And for a few glorious moments, even as I bit through my own pain, for he was anything but gentle, I believed I was everything to him.”

  The dowager stared. “So what happened?”

  Caroline was quiet for a long moment. “He wasn’t there for me. He was there for another. And I didn’t know about it until after I had given myself to him. It was…it was humiliating. So I…I ended our association.”

  “Oh dear God.” Her mother placed a hand to her throat and turned away, shifting toward the scattered invitations strewn across the floor. She turned back, lowering her hand. “I suggest we not tell your brother. I don’t think he would take this well.”

  That was understatement. After the death of her father, her brother had turned down the street better known as sainthood. “I don’t think he would, either.”

  Her mother paused and pointed to the sash at her waist. “What is that?”

  Caroline’s hand drifted to Gifford’s letter. She sighed, realizing she had forgotten it was still at her waist. She slipped it from her sash. “It’s from Lord Gifford. He sent it to Alex.”

  Her tone sharpened. “And why do you have a letter in your possession that is addressed to your brother?”

  The worst had already been said. In her opinion, this was nothing. “I didn’t want Alex to see it. I planned to burn it.”

  “Why? What does it say?”

  “I think you know what it says, Mama. And I blame myself. I didn’t mean to open myself to his advances.”

  The dowager snapped out a hand. “Give it here, if you please.”

  Caroline groaned and held it out.

  Her mother regally took the letter and unfolded it. Holding it farther away from herself, given she didn’t have her spectacles, she pursed her lips and quietly read it. She paused, her lips parting. Glancing up, she asked, “Do you intend to accept what clearly appears to be an offer?”

  Caroline lowered her chin. “I’m not exactly in the mood to consider it.”

  The dowager folded the letter and tucked it effortlessly into her own sash. “We aren’t burning his letter. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Her eyes widened. “Mama, please. Please don’t give it to Alex. Please. He would push me into accepting it, and I—”

  “Caroline. Listen to me.” Her mother held her gaze. “Given you and Caldwell are at an end, you may want to consider accepting Lord Gifford’s offer. After all, what if you are pregnant?”

  Caroline felt her cheeks turn to fire remembering all too well how Ronan had pulled out and openly pleasured himself with his hand outside of her. And in full view. She was hot just thinking about it. “Uh…no. I’m not. No. That isn’t possible. Ronan didn’t…”

  An arched brow went up. “Are you certain? Because he could have dribbled.”

  Caroline almost smacked her hands against her eyes so she didn’t have to look at her mother. “For heaven’s sake, Mother!”

  “What?”

  “As if I wish to discuss whether Ronan dribbled or not.”

  Her mother rolled her eyes. “You are clearly not my child if you speak so coy. Pregnancies happen, Caroline, whether you take pre-cautions or not. How do you think I ended up with five children? You think I wanted five? Ha. Your brother’s head was anything but small. Which is why you had better be prepared to involve a man in your life should that happen. Lord Gifford is an excellent match. He is kind, amiable, well to do and would be able to offer you and your child a far, far better life than Lord Caldwell ever could.”

  It was obvious who her mother wanted her to marry. And it sure as spit wasn’t Ronan. Caroline fisted her hands to keep them from trembling. “It isn’t a possibility. And even if it were, I would never let a man take me to be his wife whilst I was pregnant with another man’s child. That is wrong, Mama. Wrong.”

  The dowager tutted. “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t tell Lord Gifford. The man already has four children, dear. He might be far more understanding than you think.”

  Caroline stared. “I am not having this conversation with you.”

  “And who else will you have this conversation with?” The dowager smirked. “Do you want to hear something amusing? Something that will make you appreciate not being part of Caldwell’s family?”

  “I dare not ask.”

  Still smirking, the dowager leaned closer. “I found out from Hughes a few days ago that he intends to marry Madame de Maitenon.”

  Caroline’s eyes widened. She knew that name all too well from the gossip columns. It was a woman Caroline had always secretly wanted to meet. “The courtesan?”

  “Yes. The courtesan. If you had married Caldwell, you, she and I would have been family.” An exasperated laugh escap
ed the dowager. “Can you imagine what this family would have turned into? Being what we already are?”

  Caroline blinked. Madame de Maitenon was the epitome of more than high fashion and scandal, she was also the epitome of real independence. An independence Caroline had always envied. Madame de Maitenon chose what she wanted, when she wanted it and how she wanted it without caring for society or its restrictions. And the woman planned to give it all up? For a man? “Is she in love with Lord Hughes? ‘Tis the only reason I could think of that would prompt a woman of her caliber to do such a thing.”

  Her mother shrugged. “Who knows. Hughes keeps going on and on about it, but knowing the woman the way I do, as I have had the pleasure of meeting her on a few occasions when your father was still alive, I highly doubt it. The woman is incredibly busy brewing a scandal the size of Pompeii. You would never believe what I heard.”

  When her mother referred to Pompeii, it meant the scandal would shatter London’s core. This she had to hear. Caroline leaned in. “I need a diversion from my own pathetic life. Do tell.”

  “The woman is opening a very exclusive school to educate men on the topic of love and seduction. It opens in two weeks.”

  An astounded loud snort escaped Caroline. She smacked a hand over her mouth to keep herself from doing it again. “While I genuinely think every man ought to go,” she said from behind her hand in disbelief, “what man would go?”

  “The ones who understand they have a problem.”

  Caroline dropped her hand to her side, rolled her eyes and grouched, “As if men understand they have a problem. All they seem to think is that we are the problem.”

  The echoing shout from the butler resounded somewhere down the corridor, followed by a female shout that did not belong to any of her four sisters or the governess.

  Caroline caught her mother’s gaze.

  In exact unison, they gathered their skirts and dashed out into the corridor, and kept on dashing until they arrived at the scene of the commotion.