Caroline closed her eyes and leaned her head back against plush green velvet.
The thought of Brent engaged in a heated, passionate encounter with another woman made her blood boil and her skin flush. How could he have been so irresponsible with his desires? And if he had done it once he had probably done it countless other times, with other women. Most men did, and that thought, to her utter confusion, made her desperately sick at heart.
But even after this shocking revelation, Caroline had to melt a little inside when she thought of Rosalyn, the innocent child, found lying on his doorstep with a raging fever and her husband taking her into his home. She knew of no other nobleman who would dare keep his illegitimate, abnormal, half-French, female child. It was unthinkable. Scandalous. And her husband had done this scandalous thing because Rosalyn was his responsibility, his baby.
She’d also been giving Rosalyn some careful thought during the last three days and had come to several conclusions she wanted to discuss with her husband. The girl was certainly wild and uncontrollable, but there was something else…
Caroline raised her lashes and straightened as she heard him open the door.
“Well, little one, are you ready to discuss my indiscretion?”
She held her tongue from a caustic reply to his overly casual question, her pulse racing from nervousness as she watched him approach. He’d just come from a bath, for his hair was still damp and his cotton shirt and breeches were clean and fresh, and fit him far too snugly.
She looked back toward the fire, noticeably blushing and certain he saw it. Then in the blink of an eye he was squeezing his large frame in beside her, and she settled for the closeness, knowing any attempt to move would be futile.
They sat for several minutes like that, both quiet, both watching the flames flicker in the grate in front of them, both acutely aware of the other’s presence.
Finally she was the one to break the silence. “Why do you call me little one?”
After a momentary pause, she forced herself to glance back to him, immediately caught off guard by his intense, piercing gaze as it bore into hers. He had the most marvelous eyes, so expressive, almost brown when he was angry and more dark, vivid green when he was passionate.
“Because it’s so like you, Caroline,” he revealed at last, taking in every feature of her face. “You’re such a delicate creature, softly alluring, petite. Incredibly feminine.” Caressingly, he added, “It suits you.”
The gently spoken words flooded her with a warmth she didn’t understand exactly. Never in her life had she been described in such an appealing way.
“Were you in love with her?” she whispered quietly.
The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Then he sighed and brushed her hair aside with his hand. “I had a relationship with Christine off and on for several years. Generally I enjoyed her company, but where I was concerned she was only doing her job. It was her job to please a man sexually, and she had remarkable ability.”
Her shoulders tightened with those words, and he slowly started to rub her neck with his fingers. She pretended not to notice.
“I’ve never become emotionally involved with a woman, Caroline, for two reasons.” His forehead creased in thought. “The first is that I have difficulty believing that true love actually exists, since everyone I’ve ever known has used the concept to manipulate others. I would rather never hear or say the words ‘I love you,’ because to me it really means ‘I want something,’ and is generally confused with lust. I lusted after Christine, and she felt the same toward me. Our relationship was strictly one of mutual gratification.”
Caroline was more amazed by his negativity than shocked by his candor. “I think that’s a horrible way to look at life and relationships. You’re making love some sort of…raw need rather than a feeling—”
“I felt the raw need to have sex with Christine, and that’s all,” he interjected brusquely.
She would not be undone. “But you could feel the need to have sex with any woman.”
“That’s correct.”
She sighed. “And I suppose that’s how you feel about me.”
The words had come out of her mouth before she’d truly thought upon them, and now, as she stared at the grim line of his lips, she regretted them.
“Caroline,” he began thoughtfully, gazing at her intently, “I want you in my bed and I’ve made that perfectly clear. Beyond that, I don’t feel anything more for you than any husband would feel for his wife.”
“But many husbands love their wives,” she stated defensively.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so and I don’t love mine.”
She stared at him, and he just sat there, looking straight at her, as if they were only discussing practical dinner arrangements. His words weren’t cold or bitter, just…matter-of-fact. But with that knowledge came a certain understanding that seeped through her skin and into her bones like hot summer sunshine. Brent had never been in love. For a reason she didn’t at all comprehend, that thrilled her.
Caroline smiled playfully. “Well, husband, I don’t love you either, and I promise, just so there will be no confusion where I am concerned, you will never hear the words come from my mouth.” She smoothed her skirt. “Now, you said there were two reasons, and I’d like to hear the other one.”
Brent slowly let out a long breath. From the moment he’d walked into his study to see her looking fresh and lovely in pale pink silk, her hair brushed shiny and secured with a white satin ribbon, his stomach had been tied in knots. Now, as she boldly confessed that she would never love him either, his nerves were unraveling. He should be grateful that she felt nothing more for him than he felt for her, so why all the agitation running through his mind? Since Caroline had been in his life, he understood himself less and less, and that made him angry.
Adjusting himself on the settee, he forced himself to blandly move on.
“I believe any emotional involvement between a man and a woman grows over the years to more of what I would call a…feeling of mutual attachment. I don’t for a moment believe it slaps a person in the face—one day you’re not in love, the next day you are. People who say they’ve felt that are feeling it between their legs.”
He watched her cheeks pinken, proving his next point.
“I’ve never felt any attachment to a woman because no woman has ever wanted to be close enough to me for the length of time it would take for this kind of attachment to grow. Women generally find me abrasive and tactless and not to their liking.” His expression clouded ever so slightly, his voice softening.
“In any case, I never loved Christine, and when Rosalyn appeared on my doorstep, alone and unwanted, I felt an indifference toward the woman I’d never felt before, although her decision in returning the child to me was, naturally, very practical. She’s a courtesan, not a mother, so Rosalyn is probably better off here.”
Softly she mumbled, “Would you ever go back to her?”
He relaxed, a smirk growing on his mouth. “Now why would I want to do that when I have you to fulfill all my needs, my darling Caroline?” Leaning very close, he asked playfully, “Would it bother you if I did?”
“I don’t care what you do, my darling husband,” she countered with thick sarcasm. “Just as long as you leave me out of your torrid affairs.”
He reached up and clasped her chin, eyes blazing as he whispered, “You are my next torrid affair, sweetheart.”
Caroline shook her face free of his grasp, stood swiftly, and walked forward three feet to the grate. She couldn’t continue to look at him or be so close, now quite certain that her thoughts would betray her, that her pounding heart would be heard above the soft, cool summer wind outside and the crackling fire at her feet. And she couldn’t deal with this kind of intimacy between them right now. She needed to change the subject.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Rosalyn, Brent?”
He sat quietly for a long moment before he answered. “I don’t
know. At the time of our rather rushed marriage it didn’t seem important—”
“Didn’t seem important?” she cut in loudly. “You have a sordid affair with a French prostitute, creating an illegitimate daughter who lives with you, and you didn’t think it important enough to tell your wife?” She shook her head, dumbfounded. “Didn’t it occur to you that you were being a bit deceptive?”
His jaw clenched, she could actually see it, but he didn’t move his gaze from the directness of hers.
“I didn’t mention my daughter’s existence,” he disclosed, “because I understood your reluctance to be here, with me, and I felt I should give you time before I mentioned you were now the mother of an abnormal little girl who spends her days running wild and causing trouble.”
She waited, then softened her voice a little. “Why didn’t you tell me during breakfast the morning before you left? I asked you frankly if you had any children—”
His curt laugh cut her off. “Caroline, you were teasing me—”
“That’s absurd. I am not a woman who teases a man she hardly knows.”
He eyed her speculatively. “You specifically said children from another entanglement, meaning marriage, and since I’d never been married before, I believe I was truthful in my answer that morning.”
She scoffed. “I hardly think so. You evaded the question purposely and craftily, and I’m certain I looked the fool in front of Nedda and Davis.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and casually sat back. “Neither Nedda nor Davis thinks you’re anything of the kind, and I know they both thought I was unfair in keeping this from you. They like you very much.”
She braced herself. “Are there any more?”
“Any more what?”
“Children,” she nearly shouted in frustration.
“No,” was his smooth reply. “But I intend to change that situation soon.”
She peeked out at him from the corner of her eye. “Are you sure?”
He smiled faintly. “Absolutely. On both counts.”
She could think of no solid retort to effectively counter his brash innuendos, and after a moment she turned to regard the small clock on the mantel with keen interest, mesmerized by the swinging pendulum in front of her.
“I care about my daughter more than you can imagine, Caroline,” he professed quietly. “She’s part of me and in many ways, even with her unfocused mind, she’s very like me. I hope that over time, you’ll grow to care for her as well.”
She couldn’t think about that. She didn’t want to care for any of them enough to give her heartache when she finally had to leave for America. So, pushing that from her mind, she realized this was her opportunity to move on and discuss the problem at hand.
“I’ve had some thoughts about Rosalyn, Brent,” she said with forced confidence.
He expelled a long breath. “I’m anxious to hear them.”
Caroline turned to look him squarely in the eye. “Is she trained?”
His eyes narrowed. “Trained to do what? She’s not a dog, Caroline.”
“Of course she’s not a dog.” Her cheeks flushed. “I mean, is she trained to relieve herself properly or does she need to be changed?”
He showed surprise at her question, but not embarrassment. “She can generally take care of her own needs. Why do you ask?”
Caroline became serious, pausing to gather her thoughts. Her assumptions about her new daughter were becoming clearer.
Dauntlessly she said, “It seems to me that a four-year-old child who can take care of her own private needs, manipulate an adult by moving her possessions from one room to another, be cunning enough to purposely hide my shoes in the blue room—”
“She hid your shoes in the blue room?” he asked through a small, almost prideful laugh.
She looked up sharply. “You’re not listening to what I’m saying, Brent.”
He sobered a little. “Then what exactly are you saying?”
Quickly she blurted, “That I don’t think she’s all that sick in the mind.”
He was decidedly unimpressed. “Caroline, I’m her father—”
“A child who can think ahead, plan her actions, and manipulate an adult is rational,” she interjected with newfound strength. “She has a rational mind, and causing trouble is the only way she can think of to get attention.”
“You’re implying she hid your shoes and tore your books to get your attention?”
“No,” she stated firmly. “I think she did those things to get your attention.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so, Caroline. If she were rational she wouldn’t cause me grief. Your theory doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense if you consider that she’s a typical little girl who hasn’t seen her beloved papa in a very long time, and when he does return for her he has taken a wife. Now suddenly she has to share the one person she loves the most with someone else.”
She watched him lean forward and place his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. He looked more than skeptical, which in turn made her almost fierce in her attempt to convince him. Bravely, standing directly in front of him, she forced him to look up to her. He would see reason.
“Brent,” she slowly began, “has it never occurred to you that Rosalyn’s only problem is that she cannot hear?”
He sneered. “Of course she can hear.”
She smiled faintly. “I think you should consider that she can’t.”
She expected him to laugh, or dismiss her notions completely, but instead he lowered his gaze, thoughtfully pondering the statement she had posed.
“What makes you think such a thing?” he finally asked.
Caroline wiped the back of her hand across her brow. “Well, she never utters a word, and three days ago, when I found her in the stables, she didn’t hear me come in. I think she was sleeping, but even someone in a very deep sleep would have heard me, or the horses, or the wind and rain when I opened the door. She heard nothing.”
He shook his head skeptically.
“If you think about it, it’s not implausible,” she persisted. “If she is a perfectly balanced little girl, she should be able to speak. I’ve concluded she’s perfectly balanced and yet she does not speak. In nearly all cases where people do not speak, they also cannot hear.”
After a moment of staring at the rug beneath his feet, he admitted quietly, “I don’t think it’s ever occurred to me.” He looked at her again. “Don’t you think Nedda would have noticed, though? She’s the one who’s practically raised her.”
Caroline shook her head. “I think Nedda probably did more taking care of her needs than raising her. I’m sure she fed her, changed her, cuddled with her, but she isn’t her mother—and you were gone much of the time, were you not?”
He nodded negligibly.
“I think, under those conditions, the only person who would have likely noticed she was deaf would have been her mother, someone keenly aware of a problem from the beginning. You and Nedda probably noticed she was different when she matured and didn’t learn to communicate with speech. By then she was communicating the only way she knew how, and the two of you accepted it as a problem with her mind.”
She lowered her body onto the settee. “I think she either was born deaf or lost her hearing with the fever she had when she arrived here. I know that fevers in children sometimes do that.”
He stood quickly and began to pace the room. “Children who cannot hear are usually placed in institutions, are they not?”
She refused to look away. “Sometimes. I would say nearly always, in the case of the underprivileged. Where the nobility are concerned, that decision would be strictly up to the parents.”
“I see.”
He stopped and faced her squarely, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread apart like a soldier ready for battle. He looked formidable and intimidating. She knew what was coming.
“Well, I absolutely refuse to have my daughter pla
ced in an institution. It would tear us both apart. I’d rather she stay here for the remainder of her life and live as she is now, in my care.”
Caroline melted. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
His brows shot up. “Indeed.”
She rubbed her hands together in her lap, choosing her words cautiously. “Brent, Rosalyn is not stupid or insane, she is deaf. I would like your permission to teach her to communicate.”
He was taken aback by that. She could see it in his eyes. Then his lids narrowed as he began sauntering toward her.
“If she can’t talk or hear, Caroline,” he asked suspiciously, “how do you expect to accomplish this?”
Her expression became grim. “She can learn associations between objects, to move her lips to form words, to use gestures for meaning, to write. The possibilities are endless, I should think.”
He said nothing for a moment. Then Caroline raised herself until she stood only inches away, taking his warm, large hand in hers and squeezing it gently.
“I think Rosalyn is as quick-minded as any child her age,” she said passionately. “And if you allow her behavior to continue as it is now, if you only feed her and clothe her and let her run wild, you’ll be cheating her. She’s a beautiful girl and she deserves a better life than that.”
He stared at her for a long moment, taking in every feature of her face. Then slowly he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist, lingeringly, making her knees weaken and her breath quicken. She tried to pull away, but he held tightly, the corners of his mouth turning up to form a lazy grin.
“You’d do this for us, little one?” he asked softly.
The intimacy entranced her. “I’ll do it for Rosalyn.”
He continued to watch her, clasping her hand, eyes darkening with intensity. Then without warning, he leaned in to brush his lips against her temple, and the suddenness coupled with the gentleness of the action made her powerless to his touch.
“If your ideas work,” he intimated with a feathery kiss to her cheek, “I’ll have to thank you”—kiss—“personally”—kiss—“and completely.” He ran his tongue from her jaw to her ear, gently sucking the lobe.
My Darling Caroline Page 8
