Sense & Sensuality: Caroline's After Dark Georgian Romance (The Gravesmeres Book 3)

by Alicia Quigley

  Sense & Sensuality

  Caroline’s After Dark Georgian Romance

  By Alicia Quigley

  Text copyright © 2014 Alicia Quigley

  All Rights Reserved

  I dedicate Caroline's story to Doris E. Belle Isle, my business manager’s mother, who recently passed away. She and Caroline had in common a great sense of humor, a quick wit and a fierce sense of duty to family. While the similarities in their stories diverge in the way they ultimately find their own peace, my friend assures me that his Mom is happily reunited with his Dad, the love of her life. I cannot help finding a sense of joy in that reassurance. As per his Mom’s wishes: Go hug your loved ones extra close and celebrate the life you have with them. I know I will be doing that and hope you will be, too.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Prologue

  Candles guttered in the sconces of the gaming room as servants returned for the third time that night to replace them with new tapers. The walls were covered with mirrors that reflected the light, along with the images of the richly dressed gentlemen intent on the dozen tables at which hazard, faro, and other games of chance were being played. A tall gentleman, his dark, unpowdered hair tied back with a bow that matched his dove grey coat and breeches, threw the dice, and laughed as they rolled to a halt.

  “I win again,” he announced, as the other gentlemen at the table groaned.

  “Either you stop or I do, Gresham,” said one of them with a grimace. “You have the devil’s own luck tonight.”

  “Someone has to win, Valmaccia, and as you say, this is my night. But I’ll cease tempting fate for now.” Tristan, Baron Gresham pushed back his chair and stood, surveying the other tables. The usual motley assortment crowded the gambling club; young noblemen on the Grand Tour, inveterate card sharps and other adventurers living by their wits, Italian and European aristocrats, and a few Englishmen, enjoying a respite from the British climate, or like him, living down scandal. A number of the famed Venetian courtesans hovered nearby, their painted faces and revealing gowns bathed in the light of the reflected candles.

  This late in the evening it was clear that many of those present were deep in their cups. A waiter approached Tristan to refill his wine glass, just as a lady, her dress leaving little to the imagination, moved closer and touched his shoulder. He shook his head at them both, a hint of distaste crossing his features as he surveyed the dissipated scene, followed by a blank gaze, as though he contemplated a distant place.

  He turned back to the table. “Conde, have you had enough yet?” he inquired of the gentleman he had spoken to previously. “Will you join me on my walk home?”

  Valmaccia looked up from the dice he had just thrown. “You do not appear to have bequeathed me your luck,” he remarked, “so joining you seems to be an excellent notion.” He too stood, and soon after they walked out of the gaming room and into the hall, where the staff provided them with their capes and hats as they departed. They strolled out in to the warm Venetian night, a bright silver moon hanging in the sky, its light reflecting off the dark water of the canals.

  “Will you be attending the Duchessa di Parma’s masquerade ball two days hence?” the Conde asked as they walked.

  “I intended to,” responded Gresham. “But I find myself tiring of Venice. I have been visited lately with the oddest longing for home.”

  Valmaccia shuddered. “You are most unfortunate to be tied by the heart to the damp, chill winds of England rather than the hills of Italy, and the scent of rosemary on a sunny breeze. But the call of the land cannot be ignored.” There was a pause as the pair walked on, Gresham clearly sunk in thought.

  “Will the memories of your English society have faded?” Valmaccia inquired obliquely.

  “Society’s memory is always short,” Gresham snorted. “The Duke of Gravesmere will of course still be angry that I attempted to seduce his wife, but his immaturity and absurd mishandling of his young bride was nearly as much to blame as my mischief making. I can return; no doors will be closed to me to me, nor will I be blackballed in the clubs, and the Duke will not wish to revive the tittle tattle of two years ago. The Duchess has been delivered of a healthy son, and I hear that they are far happier than many a married couple.” Gresham gazed off into the distance. “I wonder how his sister does,” he added.

  “His sister?” asked Valmaccia in a puzzled tone.

  “Oh, Gravesmere’s sister, the widowed Countess of Eskmaine,” replied Gresham absently, as a beautiful blonde face with a perceptive green gaze rose in his mind’s eye. “She helped to put a stop to my scheming in the most elegant way. A woman deserving of respect, indeed.”

  “I have known you nigh on a decade now, Gresham, and I cannot recall you speaking of another woman in this way,” ventured Valmaccia.

  “No doubt that is because I have never encountered another such as she,” said Gresham. “Lady Eskmaine, in my experience, is unique.”

  “It sounds as though you have unfinished business with the Contessa, my friend,” remarked Valmaccia.

  “Perhaps I do,” responded Gresham slowly.

  “Is she very beautiful?” the Conde inquired cautiously.

  “Very.”

  “And does the very beautiful English Contessa also have unfinished business with you?”

  “The Countess of Eskmaine keeps her own counsel. I doubt she will show her hand to me willingly.”

  “Well then, I suppose that the pull of your ancestral acres - or perhaps the lure of something far more delightful - will keep you from the Duchessa’s masquerade. Shall I offer her your apologies when I see her? She is very fond of you and will miss you sorely, as will all the women of Venice,” the Conde said.

  Gresham laughed, an oddly light-hearted sound from one so cynical. “Yes, by all means, do let her know that I am sorry to disappoint her. I think that the next ballroom I enter will be in London.”

  “I regret the loss of your company. When will I see you in Venice again?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gresham. “Next year perhaps, when the English winds blow chill again.”

  “And will you be alone?” asked the Conde slyly.

  “You are as curious as a monkey, my friend,” said Gresham. “I have no notion what the next months will bring - it is like a roll of the dice. I only know that, for now, England is where I must go.”

  “I wish you luck in your endeavors,” said Valmaccia. “I think the lovely Contessa will have to be very cautious around you.”

  “Or I around her,” murmured Gresham.

  The two men strolled off into the scented Venetian night.

  Chapter 1

  Caroline Ansley, Countess of Eskmaine, sat on a satin-covered, spindle-legged chair in the ball room of Devonshire House,
fanning herself and gazing with a hint of scorn at the assembled crowd. Despite the beauty of the room and the elegance of the throng, she was bored. Perhaps, she reflected, she had spent one too many Seasons in London. Surely there was something more amusing to do than dance, pay afternoon calls, and ride in the park.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone approaching, and turned her head to see Viscount Barford hovering nearby, a determined look on his face. She sighed. While he was a pleasant young man, Lord Barford’s pursuit of her over the past few weeks had left her cold. He was several years younger than Caroline, and clearly found her, an attractive and wealthy widow, intriguing. Unfortunately, she had no patience for his labored platitudes.

  “Lady Eskmaine, I am delighted to find you here,” said Lord Barford. He bowed low, and availed himself of the opportunity that offered to eye the neckline of her gown, which revealed the swell of her breasts. “Would you honor me with this dance?”

  Caroline hoped she didn’t look as impatient as she felt. “I’m sorry, my lord. I am not dancing tonight. I - I have a headache, and am only waiting for my brother, the Duke of Gravesmere, and his wife to be done, so that we can return home.”

  Disappointment was reflected in the young man’s eyes, but he bowed politely. “Some other time soon, I hope,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” said Caroline repressively.

  Lord Barford moved away, and she looked after him with a tinge of regret. She could have been more pleasant, but he clearly was enamored of her, and she had no desire to entangle someone so susceptible. If she had danced with him, no doubt there would be gossip the next day of a possible match. A young widow needed to be careful of the watchful eyes of Society.

  There was movement next to her, and, with a flurry of turquoise silk, her sister-in-law, Allegra, Duchess of Gravesmere, sat down in the adjoining chair.

  “Good heavens, Caroline, why are you sitting here alone?” Allegra demanded. “It is a lovely evening and so many amusing people are present. I know I just saw Lord Barford asking you to dance; surely you can’t want to mope away the entire evening.”

  Caroline shook her head at her irrepressible sister-in-law. No one would know to look at Allegra that she was the mother of a one-year-old son. The woman fairly glowed with energy, her deep blue eyes shining against her porcelain skin, out-competing for attention even the three large plumes and turquoise ribbons trimmed with pearls that adorned her artfully dressed curls.

  “I’m sorry, Allegra. I’m bored, though I don’t know why. As for Barford, I have no desire to encourage him to think that I have an interest in him.”

  “Why not?” Allegra sounded exasperated. “You’re young and beautiful, Caroline. Just because you are widowed, you act as though you are one hundred years old, hunchbacked and lame, and have no desire to ever talk to a man again.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” responded Caroline. “I have plenty to do taking care of the estates for Jonathan, who won’t inherit for many years. Why would I want a man hanging about?”

  “Surely you miss…well, surely you miss - intimacy,” said Allegra.

  Caroline raised her eyebrows. “Intimacy?” she asked, though she knew precisely what Allegra was talking about.

  “Yes, intimacy.” Allegra’s gaze searched the ballroom until it came to rest on her husband, Adam, Duke of Gravesmere. A spark lit in her eyes as she gazed at his slender figure and handsome face. “I know I would miss it dreadfully if I were deprived of Adam’s…attentions.”

  “Yes, well, you and Adam are quite an unusual couple,” said Caroline. “Not all of us are as lucky as you.”

  “I know you were very fond of your husband; Adam has told me, so don’t try to convince me otherwise.” Allegra put a gentle hand on Caroline’s arm. “Truly, I wish you would have the same happiness Adam and I have. You must promise me you will try harder to meet people and be pleasant to gentlemen who have an interest in you. I hate to think of you wasting your youth and beauty. Besides, there are so many men in desperate need of your undoubted management skills. They will be happier and wealthier, if none the wiser, and you will not be bored.”

  Caroline laughed at the truth of Allegra’s final remark, and smiled warmly at her sister-in-law. It was odd to have Allegra counseling her; the younger woman had, over the years, needed a great deal of advice from Caroline.

  “I know you have my best interests at heart, my dear, but you must allow me to make my own way,” Caroline answered. “But I will try my best to follow your advice; you may be right that I am not being fair to myself.”

  “Then promise me you will dance with the next gentleman who asks you!” Allegra challenged her.

  “I can’t do that,” protested Caroline. “I have no idea who that might be.”

  “That is why you should do it! You have become far too staid, Caroline. I never before thought of you as dull.”

  “I am not dull!” protested Caroline.

  “Then dance with the next man who asks you!” repeated Allegra. “For me? Please?”

  “Very well, you tiresome child.” Caroline laughed. “If that means you will leave me alone.”

  Allegra smiled warmly. “Since I have won, you have earned your solitude.” She looked up and saw Adam was looking around the ballroom. He saw her, and their eyes locked across the vast space. “Adam wants me, I must go. But remember, the next man who asks!”

  Caroline sighed. “Yes, I remember. Now, go to your husband. Really, the two of you are positively tiresome.”

  Allegra hugged her briefly and rose, her skirts again billowing about her. “We are, aren’t we?” She disappeared and was next seen going down a reel with her husband, Adam, hands locked, and a smile on both of their faces. Caroline shook her head, but allowed a smile to cross her lips. It was good to see them so happy after the trials they had been through.

  A deep voice cut through her thoughts. “How pleasant to see you again, Lady Eskmaine.”

  Caroline hesitated. The voice was familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place it; it made her both uncomfortable and oddly excited. She turned her head, and her eyes widened as they took in the tall, slim man standing over her, exquisitely garbed in a suit of burgundy silk, his waistcoat a delicate biscuit shade, embroidered with an elaborate pattern of dark green relieved with gold stitching . An amused expression covered his handsome face.

  “Lord Gresham,” she breathed, as her fan slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers and fell unheeded to the floor.

  “The very same.” The man bent gracefully and picked up the ivory-handled bauble, returning it to her with a bow. “Your fan, my lady.”

  Caroline took it from him, being careful not to touch his fingers. “Oh. Thank you,” she murmured as she gazed up at him, and he smiled, his amusement at her befuddlement apparent.

  “Whatever are you doing here?” Caroline asked as the silence between them lengthened. “I thought you were on the Continent.” Even to her own ears her voice sounded peevish.

  “I was. But I found my heart yearned for England’s shores,” Lord Gresham responded. He waved one elegant hand. “My home, my family, that sort of thing.”

  “Nonsense,” snapped Caroline. “As long as you can drink, gamble, and wench, you are doubtless happy anywhere.”

  The insult left him unfazed. “Perhaps. But it had been so long since I had drunk or gambled in England, that I felt the need for change - and for an English wench.” He smiled at her, a slow smile that made her uncomfortable, and his eyes lingered on the neckline of her dress. For the second time that evening Caroline cursed her modiste for talking her into such a low-cut gown.

  “Don’t let me stop you from finding one,” said Caroline tartly. She gestured at the glittering throng. “I’m sure there are at least a dozen women here who would gladly succumb to your renowned, if somewhat shopworn, charms.”

  “Ah, yes.” Lord Gresham nodded. “I saw your delightful sister-in-law is here.”

  Caroline’s hand tightened on
her fan. “I’m afraid she will be impervious to you, so you needn’t waste your time. Adam and Allegra are more in love than ever.”

  “Are they? How tiresome of them. And so unfashionable. But then, she always preferred her husband to me, something I never understood.”

  “A blow to your pride?” asked Caroline.

  Lord Gresham bowed slightly. “A blow indeed.”

  “You deserved it.”

  “Probably.”

  The silence between them once again grew thick, and Caroline hunched one shoulder impatiently. “Pray, don’t let me keep you from finding your wench,” she said. “I have no idea why you persist in hanging about me.”

  Lord Gresham smiled warmly, making his face breathtakingly handsome. Caroline blinked in surprise.

  “I came to ask you to dance,” he said. “I saw you reject poor Barford a few minutes ago, but perhaps he was too young for you. I thought you might be convinced to accept a gentleman closer to your own age.”

  “Closer to my age?” snapped Caroline. “Barford is three and twenty, and I am barely five years older than he. You must be at least five and thirty, my lord.”

  “I stand corrected,” he replied meekly. “Then perhaps you, as a young woman, would take pity on an elderly person such as myself and dance just once with him?”

  Caroline glared up at him, exasperated. What made a rake of Lord Gresham’s caliber imagine that a respectable widow would expose herself to the gossip that would inevitably arise if they were seen dancing together? Or that, even if she cared not about her reputation, she would ignore the past enmity between him and her family? She opened her mouth to give him a sharp set-down, but then an impish thought occurred to her. Allegra had made Caroline promise to dance with the next man who asked her. It would teach her sister-in-law not to tease her if she did exactly what she had promised.

  She mustered a winning smile. “I would be happy to dance with you, Lord Gresham,” she said.

  A hint of surprise crossed his previously impassive countenance. “How delightful - and how unexpected,” he said and held out his hand.