My Darling Caroline

by Adele Ashworth

  “I should leave. It’s already getting light,” she heard herself saying, feeling strangely detached.

  “Don’t.” His features turned serious as he reached up to place his palm on her cheek. “You belong here.”

  He’d pushed the sheets and blankets down to his waist once again, and the sight of his muscled chest only inches away did nothing to sedate or reassure her. She looked down her body, uncertain of her position and grateful she still wore her robe and nightdress.

  With a calmness she didn’t realize she possessed, she slowly sat up. “I really have to go. The servants—”

  “—can go to hell,” he finished for her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back down beside him.

  That made her nervous. “Brent—”

  He put his finger to her lips to silence her. “We need to talk, little one.”

  His words were gentle but firm, crisp but arousing to her ears. She had the incredible urge to touch him as her eyes once again strayed to his chest, to the bronzed and down-covered muscles and cords of strength only inches away. He must have noticed where she fixed her gaze, for at that moment he took her hand in his and placed it between his exposed nipples.

  Her eyes shot back to his face. He was watching her closely, but his lids had narrowed. She felt stunned and unsure of what to do, knowing she should pull away. But with all her logical reasons for avoiding physical intimacy, she couldn’t bring to an end the emotional responses overwhelming her.

  “It’s all right Caroline,” he comforted in a deeply smooth voice. “I want you to touch me, and you can stop when you like.”

  Green orbs pierced her mind and soul, mesmerizing her. She was reacting rather than thinking, but at that moment she daringly wanted to feel.

  Slowly, her head resting on his pillows, her body once again warm beneath his blankets, she began to run her fingers through the curls on his chest, her eyes never leaving his. His jaw tightened, and his breathing became shallow, but he didn’t move to touch her in return. He lay perfectly still, content in simply watching her. And finally, when she drew her thumb across his nipple and circled it slowly, he succumbed to the feeling and groaned softly, closing his eyes.

  The intimacy entranced her. Her body ignited from one simple touch, from only looking at him and feeling his response to her fingers on his solid, male form. She felt both powerful and delicate, in control and yet swirling into a maelstrom of delight she didn’t at all comprehend.

  Bravely she lowered her palm to his stomach, stroking the smooth, taut lines, her hand now beneath the blankets. He was so firm, so strong, everything she’d imagined. And when at last her fingers found his navel, she knew without any doubt that he was completely naked beside her and had undoubtedly been so all night. If she lowered her hand any further she would be touching him as intimately as wives touched their husbands. The thought both scared and thrilled her, and she nearly yielded to the desire.

  She stopped the movement of her palm, and he opened his eyes. For a long moment they stared at each other, oblivious to the outside world, dark velvet brown melding with blazing vivid green. He said nothing, just gazed at her with stark desire, untamed arousal, his head only inches from hers.

  Through it all she was captivated, her mind telling her to run, her body unable to move. The ache was so great, so overpowering, she could think of nothing but the promises of passion to come, of what he would feel like towering over her, taking her, embedding himself inside of her.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he slowly reached for her palm, raising it to his lips, softly kissing the tender skin on her fingers, her wrist. Then without hesitation, he once again lowered it and gently placed her hand on the most intimate part of him.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath, but beyond that he didn’t move; his eyes never wavered from hers. She was in another world, her heartbeat staggering, breathing shallow, mind unfocused yet clear with newfound wants. He felt like hot, satin-covered marble to her fingertips, and with desires she didn’t know she could ever feel, she closed her eyes and touched him, picturing in her mind the perfection of that which she could only see with her hand.

  Slowly she began to move her palm, her fingers, up, then down the front of him in slow form. She licked her lips and leaned her head back, marveling at the strength he possessed in just this one area of his body. He was long and thick, wonderful to touch. She grasped him firmly, her knuckles brushing against coarse, springy curls as she continued to explore the length of him. Gently she placed the pad of her thumb on the tip, circling it once, and that’s when he touched her arm.

  “Caroline…”

  She opened her eyes. His expression was grim, eyes glazed.

  “No more.” He breathed deeply. “I need you to stop unless you’re ready for me to touch you.”

  His voice was strained and barely audible.

  Her chest ached with emotion, her body for completion, wanting to feel his hands touching her, caressing her, his mouth on hers, kissing her as he’d done before. She stared at him for what seemed like hours, her hand still resting firmly on him, until she found the courage to speak her mind instead of what was in her heart. “I can’t…”

  He closed his eyes to her softly spoken words, drawing her hand back to the safety of his chest, trying to regain control.

  Caroline closed her eyes as well, allowing reason to force its way into her mind, feeling his heart beating hard beneath her hand, his warmth seeping through her fingertips. Part of her wanted to break down and cry, so touched as she was from his gentleness, from the honorable way he held himself back for her. He deserved so much better, so much more than she could ever give. Suddenly she recognized within herself the first flicker of danger in truly losing herself to the power of a man.

  She opened her eyes again to find him watching her, fighting tears until they overwhelmed her.

  “Don’t cry, Caroline,” he soothed, wiping his thumb across the wetness on her cheek. “It will happen when the time is right.”

  She shook her head but couldn’t reply.

  He smiled, grabbed her around the waist, and hugged her against him, her head tucked under his chin, hands and breasts flattened against his chest, her toes rubbing the coarse hairs on his legs.

  Timidly she whispered, “Sometimes you can be wonderful.”

  He lifted her face to his. “Only sometimes?” Brows pinching thoughtfully, he added, “Come to think of it, that’s quite a compliment. Women have called me many things, but I don’t think even one has ever called me wonderful.”

  She wiped her eyes and grinned bashfully. “Good. I’d like to think I’m the first for something in your life.”

  Smiling, he said, “You could start by sleeping with me like this every night. That would be a first for both of us.”

  “I cannot imagine why you would want that, my lord. Many a nobleman would sell his wife to the lowest bidder for the comfort of sleeping alone—”

  He stifled her words with a firm kiss to her lips. “Perhaps if I found you a nag, I would feel the same way,” he said gruffly, seconds later. “But I find you adorably sexy and I despise being alone in such a large bed while my sexy wife sleeps in the next room.”

  Her heart fluttered again. “Nobody would ever use that word to describe me.”

  He grunted. “Caroline, the day we met in your father’s house my first impression of you was not that you were plain, or old, or…unattractive. I found you incredibly alluring. From the moment you opened your mouth and spoke in that sultry voice of yours, you’ve had me erotically entranced, and you keep me in that uncomfortable state just by speaking to me daily. You are the sexiest woman I have ever known in my life.”

  She stared at him, stunned, and that made him chuckle.

  “Believe it or not,” he teased, “I even find you sexy clothed like a nun as you are now.”

  “I’m not clothed like a nun, this is a nightdress—”

  “It’s ugly and leaves everything to my imagina
tion.”

  “As well it should,” she scolded.

  “My imagination is not that good, Caroline.”

  “I’m certain it’s adequate.”

  “Take it off and let me have a look,” he suggested devilishly.

  She gaped at him and blushed furiously. “Don’t be absurd.”

  Suddenly he shifted his body to climb onto her, grinning wickedly, pinning her beneath him while his palm slowly moved under her gown and up her leg to rest on her thigh.

  She looked at him as if he were a naughty child. “Brent…”

  He stroked the smooth skin of her leg and leaned in to nuzzle her neck. “Maybe you can just provide me with a tantalizing peek of your legs, then?”

  “No,” she asserted in a teasing voice that startled even her.

  Slowly he raised his head in contemplation. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen any part of you below your two rather large, shapely—”

  “That’s enough,” she interjected through an amazed laugh. “If you continue to carry on so indecently, I shall never show you any part of me above my ankles.”

  “Then you would consent to letting me suck your toes?”

  She didn’t know whether to be shocked or break into laughter. “You would do that?” she asked in wonder.

  He grinned again. “Of course.”

  She glanced at him skeptically. “It sounds disgusting.”

  “But it feels marvelous.” He sat up a little and wrapped a lock of her hair around his fingers. “There are lots of places on your body I will suck and kiss and caress, Caroline, and it will all feel marvelous. I promise you that.”

  Had he not been speaking so lightly, she might have jumped off the bed. But he was teasing her unashamedly, and she found herself enjoying it immensely.

  Mouth twisting slyly, she sat up as well, leaning toward him to whisper huskily, “And I suppose you’ll tell me next there are places on your body you’d like me to suck. Am I right, Brent?”

  She giggled at the sight of his reaction, his suddenly bewildered expression.

  He groaned, rolled his eyes, and fell back hard against the sheets. “Go on, before I lose what control I have left. We need to talk, but we’ll do it later.”

  She stared at him, unsure and not entirely ready to leave the comfort of his company.

  He gave her a mischievous smile. “You’d better leave now, Caroline. I’m about to stand up, and you know exactly what I’m wearing.”

  Before the words had completely left his mouth, she scrambled to her feet, grabbed her slippers, and raced from the room.

  Chapter 11

  Brent had suggested they go for a walk, the two of them and Rosalyn, and Caroline couldn’t argue that. The sun had shone all morning, and what dampness remained from the previous night’s showers had finally given way to a lovely autumn afternoon, beckoning even the most reclusive souls to stray outside and take in the freshness, the sweetness of wild roses and heather.

  After bathing and spending an hour in attempted communication with Rosalyn, Caroline had sat at her writing desk in the parlor for the better part of the morning, preparing a list of suitable foodstuffs for tea. Her sisters Jane, Charlotte, and Stephanie would be visiting Miramont for the first time that afternoon, and she wanted everything to be perfect. Mary Anne, poor thing, was in the last stages of pregnancy and couldn’t make the trip, which was fine with Caroline. She didn’t need Brent so obviously reminded of his need for an heir.

  The day was beautiful and warm, and the two adults strolled side by side in silence, Brent carrying a blanket under one arm, Rosalyn running in circles around them. They reached the top of a grassy hill overlooking the house, where he spread the blanket, sat heavily upon it, and pulled Caroline down beside him.

  For a long while they sat peacefully and quietly together, watching the child jump and play and pick flowers.

  “You’ve done the impossible with her,” Brent acknowledged at last. “I never thought I’d see the day when she would be clean and beautiful and play like a normal child.”

  Caroline smiled, drew her legs up under her peach day gown, and wrapped her arms around her knees. “She’s a smart little girl. She just needed a little push in the right direction.”

  He turned to her, watching the side of her face. “She didn’t learn to calm down and play normally all on her own, Caroline. Because of you, Rosalyn hugs me now, holds my hand, waves to me. For the rest of my life I will be grateful for the wonderful thing you’ve done for us.” He lowered his voice. “How do you feel about her?”

  That caught her off guard. “Feel about her?”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “I want to know what your feelings are for Rosalyn. It couldn’t have been easy to learn your husband had an illegitimate daughter, and frankly I’m surprised you handled the situation so easily.”

  Caroline shrugged, stalling. How could she explain that her feelings didn’t matter when she would be leaving them soon to pursue her dream?

  Finally she said softly, carefully, “Because she’s an innocent child, I care about her a great deal. But since there’s nothing I can do about her illegitimate birth, it doesn’t bother me. Your past is your own, Brent.”

  He shook his head, amazed. “I’ve never known a woman like you, Caroline. You’re so different with regard to me and my past affairs, not caring at all that I had sexual relations with someone before you. Most wives would complain endlessly, or bitterly, or snivel foolishly for days.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I don’t know whether to be thankful or bothered by the fact that you’re so incredibly unruffled by it all.”

  Slowly she pulled her gaze from his and looked out over the meadow. It annoyed her to know that his former relationship with the courtesan did bother her a little, but she wanted to keep that hidden from his penetrating stare. “I suppose if ours were a love match it would matter a great deal, and I would indeed be upset by such an indiscreet liaison. Since ours was a marriage of convenience, I must accept you as you are, knowing that my feelings for you and your daughter must remain rational and unencumbered by your complicated past.”

  She turned to him then, noticing how quickly his jaw had tightened, how his eyes had thinned to hazel slits. She faltered a little but continued anyway. “I simply meant that if we loved each other, my feelings would be different from what they are now. I would probably be very jealous of Rosalyn’s mother.”

  “You’re implying that jealousy and love go hand in hand,” he stated sardonically.

  She gave him what she thought was a comforting smile. “Yes, usually. Probably always.”

  He grunted and glanced back to Rosalyn, watching her pick wildflowers and gather them into her arms. “Well, Caroline,” he said blandly, “regardless of some elusive feeling women choose to call love, I intend to keep a sharp eye on your whereabouts from this moment on. Not only will I not permit another man to lay claim to any part of you, I don’t know what Rosalyn and I would do without you in our lives.”

  Although he had said it lightly, his words, oddly enough, made her feel both joyful and discomfited. She tried to smile as she wiped a stray piece of hair from her cheek.

  “I’m sure you’d manage. You managed before.”

  He drew his leg up once again and rested his arm across his knee. After a quiet moment he turned his head back to her and gazed into her eyes. “We didn’t manage before you, little one, we barely existed. Rosalyn was lost in her private inner world, and I was lost in mine.”

  She noticed at once how his features betrayed his emotions. He looked troubled, intense in his thoughts, his expression scarred with pain from a past unknown to her.

  Without thought, she raised her hand and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “This is about last night, isn’t it?”

  He expelled a deep breath, his eyes turning solemn. “There are some things I need to tell you, Caroline, most of which aren’t pleasant. As my wife, however, you have the right to be informed about them.”

>   She nodded.

  He wiped his palm over his face, then said bluntly, “For the last six years I’ve been employed by British intelligence.”

  She gaped at him, nonplussed, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “During the first nineteen months, I worked my way deep inside the French government until I moved in top circles as a different person from the one you married, appearing sophisticated, cunning, arrogant. Quite French. Those who knew me never suspected what I was because I went through years of intense training before I left for the Continent, becoming all things French, speaking the language perfectly, acting the part impeccably, knowing the history and culture as if they were my very own. I was sent to France expressly for the purpose of infiltrating Napoleon’s military, to become one of them, which I managed to do flawlessly.”

  He grasped her hand, intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed gently, waiting for her to look him in the eye. When she did, he gave her a comforting smile. “I worked in France on and off for six long years, moving from here to there, depending on the political climate.” He paused, unsure, then whispered, “You married a British spy, Caroline.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed and utterly incredulous, for nothing in her life had ever shocked her so. He held her gaze, watching her intently as if waiting for response or reaction, but she couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

  The breeze picked up, blowing loose hair across her face. Gently he lifted his hand and brushed it aside, taking the time to run his fingers down her cheek.

  “You could have died,” she murmured at last.

  He pursed his lips. “True enough. It’s a dangerous occupation, and had I been discovered in France I would have been hanged.” He shrugged and lightened his tone. “Or more likely guillotined.”

  “Oh, God…” She felt sick, her head suddenly reeling.

  “Try not to concern yourself with it, Caroline,” he soothed. “That part of my life is over.” He glanced back to his daughter. “Nobody in the world has needed me as Rosalyn does, and it took the fighting at Waterloo and a horrible three days of hell for me to understand exactly how much.” He dropped his voice to a faint whisper. “And how much I need her.”