by Anna Bennett
Caroline grinned. “Yes. Besides all that.”
Delilah rested her chin in her hand, pondering the question. “He listens to me. He cares about what I think. And he makes me laugh.”
“Those are encouraging signs,” Caroline admitted.
“Yes. But that’s not all.” Delilah stood, leaned her back against a bedpost, and smiled mischievously. “Sometimes he whispers in my ear, saying things that make my heart beat wildly. It’s the most delicious, heady feeling. Have you ever felt like that?”
Caroline perched on the vanity stool and faced Delilah. “Yes.” Her whole body tingled, remembering the moments she’d shared with Nash in the park. “I think I have.”
“I know that love and desire are not the same thing,” Delilah said.
“No. They are not.”
“But perhaps they are two sides of the same coin,” Delilah said, thoughtful. “He wants to kiss me, and I hope that we’ll have the opportunity at the ball tonight.”
Caroline swallowed. She wanted to tell Delilah to be careful and guard her heart—but it would have been the height of hypocrisy. “I want you to be happy,” she said. “Just be sure that Brondale is deserving of your affections.”
“I will.”
“Good.” Caroline gestured to the beautiful silk concoction laid out on Delilah’s bed. “Shall I help you into your gown?”
“No, Molly will be in shortly. But, please stay—I’d like your opinion on which earrings to wear.” Delilah walked to her dressing table and opened her jewelry box.
“What will you do while we’re gone?”
“I’ll probably write in my journal and read.” And await Nash’s return. Last night, after their passionate encounter in the park, he’d walked her back to the house and to her bedchamber. Neither one of them had wanted to say good night, so she’d invited him into her room. He’d carried her to bed and crawled in behind her, still mostly clothed.
He’d held her close all night long, stroking her shoulders and arms. By the time the sunlight peeked through her curtains, he was gone.
But on the pillow beside her, he’d left a sprig of lavender.
The notoriously grumpy Duke of Stonebridge had snuck down to the garden and clipped fragrant flowering herbs to leave on her bed. Romantic and thoughtful, it was the sort of gesture that could melt her heart—and make it exceedingly difficult to leave when the time came.
A time that was approaching much too fast.
Molly scurried into the room, pulling Caroline from her thoughts. Upon seeing Delilah’s hair, the maid clasped her hands beneath her chin. “How lovely!” she exclaimed. “Miss Caroline, you must teach me how to do that sometime.”
“I’d be happy to,” she said, chuckling. She and Molly worked as a team to dress Delilah, fluffing, smoothing, and lacing her beautiful white gown. They helped her select her jewelry and reticule and gloves, and a half hour later, Delilah was ready.
She spun before a full-length mirror, craning her neck to admire the pretty sash at her waist and the square-cut back of her dress.
“You will steal many hearts tonight,” Caroline predicted, and Molly murmured her agreement.
Delilah’s eyes sparkled like the dazzling aquamarine necklace she wore. “There’s only one heart I wish to steal.” She tugged on Caroline’s hand. “Come downstairs with me. We can tease Nash about having to wear an evening jacket.”
Caroline swallowed, mentally preparing herself. If Nash had taken her breath away dressed as a blacksmith, the sight of him in formal attire might well make her swoon.
By the time she and Delilah reached the stair landing, he was already waiting at the bottom, looking supremely dashing, assured, and slightly impatient. He consulted his pocket watch, then looked up, meeting Caroline’s gaze.
“Good evening, ladies.”
Delilah hurried down the stairs and did a twirl for Nash’s benefit. “What do you think?”
“That you shall have far too many eager dance partners,” he said dryly, but then his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You look lovely.”
Caroline descended slowly, soaking in the scene. Delilah’s palpable joy, Nash’s brotherly teasing, the rightness of it. A wave of wistfulness washed over her. How she’d miss this.
Nash’s arresting eyes met hers, and the tenderness in his expression made her throat tighten painfully. “I’m sorry you can’t join us tonight,” he said. “But one day soon, after your memory returns, I hope you’ll attend a ball—and that you’ll allow me to claim a dance with you.”
Delilah raised a brow, incredulous. “Nash! You sounded rather … charming just now. If you continue with that sort of talk, your reputation as a brooding, unapproachable duke shall be in jeopardy.”
Nash rolled his eyes. “Let’s be off,” he said, offering Delilah his arm before turning to Caroline. “Enjoy your evening.”
Caroline hugged herself happily. Because Nash’s eyes had said what he couldn’t—that he’d come to her that night. And her whole body thrummed at the prospect.
* * *
The ball wasn’t quite as onerous as Nash had feared. Lady Delacamp had been delighted to take Delilah under her wing and introduce her to the other guests, which left Nash free to escape to the far side of the ballroom. He preferred to maximize the distance between him, the dance floor, and the matchmaking mamas.
From his vantage point by the open terrace doors, Nash could enjoy his drink, keep a watchful eye on Delilah, and relish the evening breeze at his back. The brandy was fine and the orchestra tolerable, but he was really just counting the minutes till he could see Caroline.
He hoped that she’d wait up for him, but he owed this ball to Delilah and wouldn’t ask her to leave the festivities too early. She’d been beaming since they arrived, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her so happy. She deserved to be part of the social whirl, and if that meant he had to endure a couple of balls or soirees or trips to the theatre each week, then so be it. Her brilliant smile made the stuffy crowds, loud music, and small talk worth it.
Nash suspected Brondale was also partially responsible for his sister’s giddiness. Across the room, he bowed over Delilah’s hand, and Nash clenched his jaw, not inclined to fall for the gallant gentleman act. Still, he supposed it was possible that Brondale had changed, and little harm could come to Delilah as long as she remained in the ballroom. He blew out a long breath, rolled his shoulders, and took a healthy swig of brandy, pleased to see Drake in the crowd, making his way over.
“I confess I’m shocked that you’re here.” His friend sidled up beside Nash, oblivious that he drew the eyes of half the females in the room with him. Thanks to his athletic build, graying hair, and fine manners, ladies from eighteen years of age to eighty routinely flocked to him. “When I stopped by your house earlier, your butler told me where I could find you.”
The skin on the back of Nash’s neck prickled. “You have an update regarding Caroline?”
“I do.” Drake kept his expression impassive as his gaze drifted around the room. “Shall we discuss it out on the terrace?”
Nash scowled at the dance floor where Delilah waltzed with Brondale. He held her too close, and Delilah’s cheeks were too flushed, damn it. “I can’t leave my sister unchaperoned. Let’s move to the corner.” Nash gestured toward a triad of potted palms. “We’re less likely to be overheard.”
Once they’d found a quiet spot, Drake spoke. “The mysterious woman sent a note about Friday’s appointment. She said she’ll be at my office at noon and looks forward to meeting the young woman described in the ad.”
Nash rubbed his jaw, more curious than ever. “Did she sign the note?”
Drake shook his head. “No. And she didn’t bring it herself. It was delivered by a middle-aged woman in a gray cloak. I asked Herbert to trail her and see where she went, but he lost her in a crowd that had gathered to watch a boxing match.”
“Damn.” Nash dragged a hand through his hair. “At least we know she
’ll be at your office on Friday. Which reminds me,” he jested, “if we’re going to meet in your office, you really should have Herbert tidy it.”
“Over my dead body.”
Relieved to have the details of the meeting set, Nash chuckled, sipped his brandy, and looked out onto the dance floor, automatically scanning the room for Delilah’s white gown. He spotted several young ladies wearing white—but none of them happened to be his sister. “Bloody hell.”
Drake flinched. “What’s wrong?”
Nash clunked his glass on a nearby table. “I need to find Delilah.”
“Wasn’t she with Brondale earlier?” Drake asked. “The one who made that vulgar wager about being the first to bed a—”
“Check the main entrance for me, will you? I’m going to look out on the terrace.”
Drake gave an understanding nod and strode off, proving that while he was a damned good solicitor, he was an even better friend.
Nash stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed for the terrace as fast as he could without alarming anyone. If Delilah happened to be in a compromising situation, he didn’t need scores of guests following him outside to witness the spectacle.
At last, he stepped out onto the flagstone terrace, finding it darker than expected. A sitting wall surrounded the large patio, and lanterns had been placed several yards apart on top of it, but much of the terrace remained in shadows, where it was too dark to see anything but silhouettes.
Along the north wall, one couple sat close, leaning their heads together. He strolled over and coughed loudly, sending a man and woman—not Delilah, thank God—scurrying back inside.
He was making his way to the opposite wall when Delilah approached, Brondale at her heels. “Nash, is that you?” Even in the dim light, he could see the deep blush staining her cheeks.
“Go inside,” he ground out, shooting a death glare in Brondale’s direction. “I want to talk to him.”
She nervously glanced around the almost deserted terrace and placed a palm on Nash’s chest. “There’s no reason for you to be upset. We came out here one minute ago for no other reason than to escape the noise.”
Nash gave a skeptical grunt. “Inside,” he repeated. “I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
Brondale smiled bravely at Delilah and gestured toward the ballroom doors. “Go. I’ll be fine,” he said, his delivery less than convincing.
Delilah lifted her obstinate chin. “Very well, but do not allow my brother to persuade you that we have done anything wrong. If escorting a young lady onto a moonlit terrace for a stroll is a sin, then I daresay he has committed much worse.”
Nash flinched. She had a point. He remembered the promise he’d made to himself and to Delilah. He’d give her room to make her own decisions—and maybe even a few mistakes.
But in the meantime, he could have a word with Brondale. And strike a little fear in his heart.
Delilah held her head high as she glided back into the house, leaving him alone with Brondale. Nash’s fists involuntarily clenched, and he had to cross his arms to keep himself from hoisting the blackguard by the collar.
Nash stepped forward till his chest was only an inch from Brondale’s. “I know about your wager,” he said through gritted teeth. “Whatever scheme you have to seduce my sister will not work. You don’t care about her, and I won’t let you hurt her.”
Brondale chuckled nervously. “The bet is just a farce. I don’t deflower virgins for sport.”
“Glad to hear it.” Nash casually cracked his knuckles. “If that’s true, you should go directly to the club and strike the wager from the book.”
The scoundrel frowned and shifted his eyes toward the ballroom like he couldn’t wait to escape the terrace. “I can’t undo the bet. It’s a matter of honor.”
Nash gave Brondale’s shoulder a satisfying push, almost daring him to throw a punch. He’d have loved an excuse to start an all-out brawl. “If you had any honor, you wouldn’t have made the bet in the first place.”
“That sort of thing is done all the time,” Brondale retorted.
“Maybe. That doesn’t make it right.” Nash counted to ten in his head before continuing. “Let me tell you what I know. You’re up to your ears in debt, and creditors are knocking down your door. You’ve slept with half the widows and married women in this town. And while my sister isn’t your usual type, you think she’s just naïve enough that you’ll be able to seduce her, win your vile bet, and force her into marriage. But you underestimate her. She’s too smart to fall into your trap. I’m telling you right now. It will. Not. Happen.”
“We’ll see about that,” Brondale said with a sneer. “You might be surprised to learn that your sister was the one who suggested we repair to the terrace.”
“You’re despicable,” Nash spat. “If you harm Delilah, I’ll meet you at dawn.”
The color drained from Brondale’s face. “You’re as mad as they say.”
Nash arched a brow and smiled menacingly. “Don’t test me,” he said, before turning on his heel and returning to the ballroom. Delilah was on the dance floor with another partner, but her eyes darted around the room as though she were looking for him and Brondale. When she finally spotted Nash, he gave her a tight smile.
She really was a remarkable young woman, and he’d been unfair to her. Not tonight, because Brondale truly was a cad. But for the last five years, Nash had been determined to keep her in a cocoon, solitary and safe. And he couldn’t keep holding on to her so tight—not unless he wanted to lose her completely.
As he watched her twirl around the dance floor, her blond hair shining in the candlelight, his throat constricted. He wished Caroline were here; somehow, he knew she’d understand the odd combination of brotherly pride and dread that filled his chest.
They’d only been apart for a few hours, but he missed Caroline.
Couldn’t wait to see her tonight.
Chapter 20
“It may be of interest to note that representations of the male anatomy in classical art, while quite beautiful, are notorious for their disproportionately small depiction of a certain appendage.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Tap, tap. The knock at Caroline’s bedchamber door woke her from a light sleep.
“It’s me,” said a muffled voice in the corridor outside.
Nash. She rubbed her eyes and smiled to herself. “Come in.”
“Did I wake you?” he asked, closing the door softly behind him.
“I might have dozed a little.” She stretched sleepily. “How was the ball?”
“It could have been better.” He gestured toward the edge of her bed. “May I?”
She nodded and moved her legs to make space for him. “Tell me what happened.”
He sat beside her, the low light of the lamp illuminating the sharp lines of his face and the weariness around his eyes. “Brondale and Delilah went out onto the terrace alone, and I lost my temper.”
“Oh no. Please say you didn’t hurt him.”
“I wanted to,” he admitted. “But I didn’t.”
She exhaled, relieved. “That’s good.”
“I apologized to Delilah again,” he said flatly. “But she barely talked to me on the ride home.”
Caroline shot him a sympathetic smile. “Maybe her mind was elsewhere.”
“Maybe,” he said, skeptical. “All I know is I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” She reached for his hand, tingling from the slight pressure of his fingers grazing her palm.
“I saw Drake at the ball tonight too. The woman who responded to our ad is going to meet us at his office on Friday at noon.”
“That’s … wonderful.” But it was also a reminder that her time with Nash would soon come to an end. She’d spent an hour that evening looking through the newspaper for positions she might apply for. There was one for a companion that sounded tolerable, and another for a lady’s maid. She’d be fortunate to land either one of them.
“Two more days,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “We shouldn’t waste a minute.”
Without saying a word, he released her hand, locked the door, and took off his clothes. She watched, mesmerized as he shed his starched cravat and formal jacket and tailored trousers—the trappings that made him a formidable duke. But underneath it all, he was sinewy muscle and hard flesh and primal male. Underneath it all, he was Nash. Hers.
His heavy-lidded gaze raked over her as he stripped down to his drawers, which did little to hide the hard length of his arousal. The knowledge that she could affect him so made her body thrum.
He turned the lamp a little lower, then lifted the corner of the sheets and slid into bed, reaching for her. His warm hand cruised over her bare hip then froze. “Jesus, Caroline. If I’d known you were naked under here earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to form a coherent sentence.”
She chuckled and tangled her legs with his. “You’re doing pretty well right now.”
He cupped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “There’s something so right about this—about the two of us together. No matter who you are and no matter where you go when you leave here, I know we’ll find our way back to each other.”
Her chest squeezed. “I hope so.”
She brushed her lips over his, in the tenderest of kisses. He speared his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.
With his mussed hair and sleepy eyes, he looked younger—almost vulnerable. “Tell me you feel it too,” he murmured, nipping at her shoulder.
“I do.” Her limbs had turned to jelly, and she tingled from her head all the way to her toes.
He slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her body against his. Slowly, thoroughly, they explored each other. He cupped her bottom and stroked the backs of her thighs. She ran her hands over the lean muscles in his shoulders and back. They twined their legs and moved together till they were both breathless with longing.
