“He did. He told me so.” And I saw it with my own eyes. Twice. Once, five years ago in my wife’s bedroom.
It wasn’t Caroline who had convinced him she was unfaithful. It was the look on Andrew Rossiter’s face. Edward had seen a man deeply in love who was determined to have what he wanted. Needed. By any means necessary, such as blackmail. And then weeks ago, when Andrew came to warn him, there really had been no doubt he still had strong feelings for Caroline’s welfare.
“Well, he loved Nicky too, in his way. He tried to explain it, but I wouldn’t listen. I felt used. Disgusted. I confronted my brother. I said some horrible, hurtful things. I threw things at him. Hit him, too. Nicky never said a word. Not one. Then he went to his room and shot himself.” Her voice cracked completely.
Edward bounded up from the distant couch to hold her. She made no protest as he tucked her hair behind her ears and smoothed the tears from her cheeks. “That’s awful, Caro. But it wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh, wasn’t it? He didn’t die, Edward. He lived a week until Andrew and I killed him.” She broke away.
“No. I don’t believe you.”
“The doctor said he’d never get better. The bullet could not be removed. He was—they call it a vegetative state, Edward. He couldn’t see or hear or think. He lay in bed like he was in his coffin already, not moving. Andrew and I talked about it, then Andrew put him out of his misery.”
That was also not as unusual as she might think. “That was a kindness, Caro. Surely you see that.”
“Kindness!” she cried. “We killed him! Our selfishness destroyed him!”
“He destroyed himself, Caro. It was his choice to put a bullet in his brain. It was he who was selfish to hurt the two people he left behind.”
She shook her head. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.” She turned her gaze back to the empty street.
Edward took her hand in his. “I understand this,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to me what you think you’ve done in the past, or what you’ll do in the future. I can’t change the fact you loved the wrong man first. But you love me now. I know you do.”
Her gray eyes silvered with tears. “I destroy every man I love. I kill them off, even in my books. Look at Nicky. Andrew has been lost for years because of me. You deserve someone better. Like Alice, who’ll be quiet and proper.”
No wonder she had been so determined to be wild and provoking. She didn’t want their marriage to work, not really. To her mind she had found the deadest bore of a man to marry—a Christie carrying on the conventional Christie traditions—someone who would never stir the confusing, guilty jumble of feelings she had for Andrew and her brother. And they might have had such a marriage, one of polite strangers, if sensual sparks had not ignited between them. Edward once resented her for her incendiary effect on him and had become colder. Perversely, his coldness had only made her hotter, ever more desperate to drive him away.
They were a pair of idiots. If only they had been truthful with each other from the start. But it was never too late to tell the truth.
A feeling of blessed relief nearly overwhelmed him as his words tumbled out. “I didn’t have the same feelings toward Alice as I have for you. There. It feels good to say it. I mean no disrespect toward Alice—she will always be a part of me. She was my youth, as Andrew was yours. She gave me my children and was a wonderful wife and mother, but she wasn’t Caroline Parker. I can’t live without you, Caro. I don’t want to. I’ve tried, and it hasn’t worked.”
She snatched her hand away. “You can’t live with me either!”
Edward took it back and pressed it firmly between both palms. “Well, that’s because you didn’t read my list.”
“I read it!”
“Was there anything on it so impossible?”
“N-no.”
He felt her working her hand out of his grasp. “I’m not going to let you go, you know. Even if you haul off and kick me as you’re wont to do. I must have you teach those tricks to Allie.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m not fit to raise a little girl.”
“She’s not so little. Tops you by at least half a foot, I think.”
“Edward! You know what I mean. How can you even think of letting me near your children?”
He swept her up and down. “True. You are far too great a temptation to the boys. It wouldn’t do to have them fall half in love with their stepmother. You’ll have to wear one of those lacy caps to cover your hair and practice a stern expression. There’s not a doubt in my mind they will do something to deserve your disapproval in short order. Cambridge seems a hotbed of depravity, very different from my day.”
“Be serious. I’ve just told you terrible things. And I wrote all those horrible books and consorted with courtesans. You cannot possibly want me back in your life.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because—because you’re Edward Christie!”
“And who is he?” Edward asked quietly.
“He’s—you’re—oh, this is impossible. Go away.”
“You just don’t listen.” He put his arm around her and brought her back to the red velvet couch. “But I have the rest of my life to convince you and I’m not going to give up. You’ve had a very hard day. I think you’re too tired to run away again. So, here is your choice. You may stay here in Serena’s house for the night, or come back with me to my town house. I’m not expected back so soon, and I daresay things will not be as comfortable as they might be. Most of the staff is on holiday.”
“With pay.”
“Why, yes. Of course.”
“That’s an Edward Christie thing to do. Not many men in your position are so kind to their servants. Even your offer is an Edward Christie thing—you gave me a choice to stay here where Mr. Putney and Serena’s staff can take care of me, or I can go with you to an empty house. You didn’t have to tell me that.”
Edward was puzzled. “But it is the truth.”
“Yes. In all the years I’ve known you, Edward, you’ve always been truthful. Too truthful sometimes. Except for the time you plotted and pretended to be a wicked kidnapper. I made you turn against your nature. You didn’t do the right thing, the sensible thing.”
“It seemed right and sensible at the time. Felt good, too, except when you unmanned me in the carriage. I got you into my clutches, didn’t I?”
“You did. But why?”
“I told you at Bradlaw House. You were unreachable any other way.”
“No, Edward. I know why you kidnapped me. Why do you want me? I’ve done nothing but make us both unhappy.”
“You’re right.” Despair washed over her face at his words. “You just said I always tell the truth. It is a fact that when we lived together, you did everything possible to poke and pick at me. Being with you was unsettling, like snuggling with a rabid hedgehog.” He was gratified to see her lips twist for a second. “You incited the children to riot—”
“I just wanted them to have some fun,” Caroline interrupted.
“Well, yes, that’s one way of looking at it. But Christies believe fun is overrated. Didn’t you hear? Ah, I believe you did hear. You thought marriage to me would be most unexceptional, like sailing on a smooth, glassy sea, the wind barely moderate. Bland as blancmange. Dull as ditchwater. Absolutely no fun at all.”
“You were the first man to propose,” Caroline said tartly.
“Yes. It seemed the prudent, practical thing to do to ask a woman I’d known four days to marry me. That, my dear, was not at all Christie-like. In fact, that was the beginning of your corruption of me.”
“I suppose I forced you to think with Little Edward.”
“I hope you don’t think of him as little. He would find that most offensive.”
“Stop trying to charm me! It’s not like you! You’re supposed to be all stiff and grumpy.”
“I can attest to the stiffness. A minute in your presence and I am granite. I can demonstrate if you wish.”
“I agree. That’s why I made up the list.”
Caroline groaned. But she didn’t rise and flee upstairs, or ring for Putney, or look to throw any of Serena’s rather hideous bric-a-brac. Edward felt hopeful for the first time in days. Their past was spread out before them like a torn and tattered blanket. They could mend it if they tried.
“Caroline, you asked me why I wanted you. I can tell you honestly that I don’t know. You’re not convenient. I can’t control you, or myself when I’m around you. You cut up my peace. You make me ache. I have every expectation that all my hair will turn gray or even fall out if you come back to me.”
Caroline bit her lip to prevent her smile. “Edward, I have given you the opportunity to make a pretty romantic speech. Is this your best effort? Pain and baldness?”
“I am not a romantic, Caro. I am a Christie, and as such I’m not used to declaring my affections. Perhaps I need lessons. But I have feelings for you, and you alone, as impossible and obstinate as you are. I would not kidnap any other woman.”
“That’s something, I suppose. It would be a chore to keep finding other women trussed up in your carriage or your bed.”
“You will be the only one trussed up in my bed—if you wish it.”
“I do.” She sighed. “But I don’t deserve you.”
“Rubbish. Caroline, the past is the past. Every bit of it. Every mistake you’ve ever made—every mistake I have made—cannot be undone. But we would not be who we are without them. I expect we will make more mistakes in the future. It won’t be so awful if we make them together.”
She shook her head. “Christies don’t make mistakes.”
Ah! He had her now. “Then we are in agreement.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything!”
“Oh, but you have. Christies don’t make mistakes. I am a Christie. I want you. Therefore, it is not a mistake to want you, because Christies don’t make mistakes. You can’t argue with that. It’s logic.”
“Love isn’t logical.”
“No, it isn’t,” Edward said soberly. “I love you, Caroline. I never knew what love was until the night in your garden when you said we were done. It’s come late for me, but not too late for us, I hope.”
With three little words, Edward discovered that kidnapping, jewels, and logic were completely superfluous to winning back his wife. Christies always told the truth, and if he said he loved her, it must be so. Inconvenient, impossible, but true. She melted into his arms and wept on his shoulder. His coat was ruined already. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket.
Caroline blew her nose in a most unromantic fashion. “You love me?”
“I’ve just said so, haven’t I? What do you think all this has been about?”
“Take me home, Edward. To Christie Park.”
“Tomorrow, at first light. Tonight you’ll rest right here.” He cupped her upturned face and kissed her. “Do you suppose Serena has a mirror on her ceiling too?”
“We cannot make love in Serena’s bed!” Caroline said, horrified.
“Christie House it is then. Putney!”
The butler materialized as though he’d been standing inches away from the door. “Yes, my lord.”
“Thank you for assisting my wife earlier. I am deeply indebted to you.”
“I was only doing my job, my lord.”
Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of bank notes. Putney looked as if he might swoon, but managed to accept them with alacrity.
“There is the matter of a vase, Edward,” Caroline said contritely.
“Have Miss Serena send me a bill. I will take it out of your allowance, Caro. Your pin money will dwindle down to nothing if you do not rein in your temper.”
Caroline lowered her eyes. “Yes, Edward.”
“Do not think for a minute you are fooling me with this submissive act.”
Caroline chewed a lip. “No, Edward.”
Edward threw up his hands. “It is definitely time to remove you from Jane Street. You’ve gone mad, or I have.”
Putney cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’ve gone mad together, my lord. May I send for your carriage?”
“I’ve a poor old horse tied up out there. If you can have somebody see him home to Christie House, I’d be obliged. My wife and I will walk home. If you’re up to it, Caro.”
“Yes, Edward.”
He waited until they were on the sidewalk, then swept her up in his arms.
She yipped like a startled Pekingese. “Edward! What are you doing?”
“Carrying you home, my love.”
“Put me down at once! You can’t carry me through the streets of Mayfair in broad daylight! People will talk! And I’m too heavy!”
Edward kissed her forehead. “You are not,” he lied. “And let them talk. I want the world to know that Baron Christie has found his baroness and will never, ever let her go again.”
Caroline relaxed in his arms. “Yes, Edward.”
Caroline’s acquiescence was bound to be short-lived, but he had a pretty good idea what to do with it for the next few hours. All he had to do was not drop her on her beautiful white arse. He thought, on the whole, he was absolutely up to the tasks ahead.
Chapter 24
And they lived happily ever after.
—The Baron’s Bride
Edward picked up the grubby letter from the tray, broke its seal and uttered an oath.
Caroline knew the rules. No talking at the breakfast table. She spread more marmalade on her toast, focusing on the pattern of the silver spoon. It was quite lovely, with tiny lilies of the valley entwined with some indefinable flower. She returned it to the jam pot and took a bite.
Edward looked as though he were choking on his own toast, which lay untouched on the plate before him. She wouldn’t ask about the contents of the letter. It was enough just to sit with him in Edward’s—their—lovely breakfast room at Christie Park. The room hadn’t needed much in the way of redecoration, just some drapes, plants, and new pictures on the wall, so it was the first one she’d tackled. She’d be poring over wallpaper and fabric patterns for the rest of the house later with her sister-in-law Beth and was itching to get started. She took a large swallow of tea.
“Hell and damnation!”
Still, Caroline said nothing. The rules really were not so onerous. Edward was most particular about his morning routine, although he’d altered it recently to spend it—and the previous night—in her bed. Their bed. One of her rules. He still kept his old bedroom, of course, but seemed to wander into it only to keep Cameron busy.
Perhaps the letter was about the children. Alice was upstairs terrorizing her new governess, but the boys could have achieved most anything to set their father off. They were very busy sowing their wild oats at Cambridge. Entire fields were sprouting up, even if it was October. Caroline waited.
Beth didn’t have her scruples. “Good Lord, Edward, what is it? Caro and I are dying of curiosity.”
Edward looked up, straight into Caroline’s eyes. “This is from Andrew Rossiter.”
Caroline felt the pleasant air suck out of the room.
“He writes to tell me that he is dead, and wishes me to facilitate the transfer of his bank funds so I can purchase him a house on some Scottish island. Oh, and I’m to hire him an Italian-speaking governess.”
“Andrew is d-dead?”
“Not in the strictest sense. It seems he got into a spot of trouble and needs to go underground. But for all intents and purposes, the man we knew as Andrew Rossiter has gone on to his reward, wherever that might be.”
Caroline felt momentary relief. A tiny part of her heart would always belong to Andrew, but Edward had staked a larger, truer claim. “But why is he writing to you?”
“Because he saved your life.”
“He did not! You did! Actu
ally,” Caroline said, reflecting, “I saved it myself.”
“Well, he’s taking credit and wants a favor in return. Apparently his other acquaintances are unreliable.”
“You are certainly reliable,” Beth said stoutly. “Christies always are.”
“Yes, well, this is one task I’m going to parcel out to my man of business. I can’t go traipsing about Scotland. I’m on my honeymoon, and will be for the foreseeable future.” He gave Caroline a quick grin and put the letter in his pocket.
“I wonder what happened.” Caroline peeked up through the tangle of her dark lashes, but Edward was already reading the newspaper.
“Better that you are not aware of the particulars.” He put a finger on his place in the article and gave her a stern look over his spectacles. “There seems to be some danger involved. As far as you know, your old friend is still in Italy. If you hear of the accident, you will be as shocked as anyone.”
“What accident?”
“That’s enough, Caro. Let me finish my breakfast.”
Silence resumed, broken only by the sound of cutlery and the delicate mastications of two Christies-born and one Christie-by-marriage.
If she wanted to, Caroline was sure she could get the whole story out of Edward in bed. But she’d have to get him back into it first.
She rose from the table unsteadily. “I-I’m not feeling quite the thing. I need to go upstairs.”
And suddenly it was true. She felt light-headed. Her stomach roiled with bits of bread and egg and tea. How dreadful it would be if she lost her breakfast in the breakfast room. Caroline was sure no Christies were ever so imprudent to be sick in the potted palm.
Edward turned a page. “It won’t work, Caro. You’ll not worm anything more out of me.”
“Edward!” said Beth. “Look at her! She’s green!”
“I am?” Suddenly she felt green. The color of boiled cabbage or one of those nasty garden slugs. The pattern on the new curtains undulated like a stormy sea. Edward caught her before she fell.
“Beth, send someone for Dr. Wyatt!”
Mistress by Marriage Page 27
