“Why did you say you were?”
“Initially, so that I could give Horner an excuse for my intervention in your affairs.” This drew a brief snort from her. “Afterward, it seemed prudent to continue the charade. An engagement was the best defense against the very powerful feelings you arouse in me. I had every intention of continuing my courtship of your cousin, so my attraction to you was insupportable.”
“I’ll acknowledge feeling the same way. I’m afraid I find you hard to resist, Castleton.”
“Thomas, Caro, please.”
A little bubble of joy pushed its way up through the weight of disbelief that the Duke of Castleton wished to marry her.
“What changed your mind?”
“Quinton, I’m afraid, is correct. Word of our recent sojourn together is bound to get out.”
The bubble popped. “Fear of what people will say has always seemed to me to be a remarkably poor reason for two people to be joined together for a lifetime. Don’t worry on my account. My life has been a scandal for years.” She exaggerated, true, but she wanted to be sure Thomas knew what he was getting and yet still wanted her.
“Since the Fitzcharleses have lived without causing any stir, since our admittedly scandalous beginnings, I think we can rub through. Once we are wed and have lived in the country for a few years, no one will even remember.”
“Only two nights ago you talked about matrimony as a means of increasing wealth and influence. I can bring you neither.”
“Wealth, no. But I am a man of means. We shall do very well. As for influence, your father was brother to the Earl of Camber, and you were born a Brotherton. You certainly don’t lack for noble blood and connections.”
“No, merely common propriety. I’d be nothing like the kind of duchess Anne would make. Oh, goodness, Anne. I cannot steal my dearest cousin’s suitor.”
“I don’t believe Anne wishes to marry me. We are patently ill suited, and it’s for the good of both that I came to my senses. Even if you refuse me, I shall not offer for your cousin.”
“I’m happy for that reassurance. I would hate to think that every time I got into a scrape that angered you, you were wishing you’d married her instead.”
He interpreted her statement as consent, or near enough, for he came over to her chair and knelt in front of her, lifting her clasped hands in both his and softly kissing her knuckles.
“I could never regret wedding you,” he said. Her heart skipped a beat. “And with my help, you’ll have no trouble regulating your conduct and becoming every bit as fine a duchess as Anne could be.” She gasped. “At least you won’t wish to dig up my arable lands in search of broken Roman tiles.”
Whatever the object of his little joke, it failed to amuse. She snatched away her hand, stood, and escaped his dangerous proximity, almost stumbling as she pushed past him.
“You expect me to change!” she cried. “And that is why our marriage could not work. You are His High-and-Mighty Grace the Duke, and I am the same Caro who eloped to Gretna Green with a mad boy. We will never suit.” She cut off an attempted interruption. “Even if I could be the kind of duchess you want, I wouldn’t want to be. As for your flattering offer, I fear it is nothing but condescension. You don’t really want me as I am.”
Thomas gaped at her, unable to believe she’d turned him down!
He had spent much of the night awake, struggling with doubts that threatened to tear him apart. Following his conscience, doing the “right thing,” had never presented much difficulty. The temptation to misbehave had never challenged his powers of resistance.
The minute Quinton made his appearance at the racecourse, he’d realized he was living in a fool’s paradise if he expected his little adventure to remain a secret. As a gentleman, he owed Caro marriage. But as the head of his family, a good marriage was a duty so ingrained that to give it up was like scraping away a layer of skin. And as a brother, he couldn’t forget the necessity of providing for the twins.
Complicating the decision were his own wishes. As the night progressed, he gave up trying to deceive himself.
He wanted Caro. He wanted her forever. And that made him doubt his moral judgment. When he placed the competing arguments in the balance, his own desires were like the thumb of a dishonest shopkeeper, slipping into the balance to weigh the outcome in his favor.
Enlightenment had come close to dawn. He could have everything. He could wed Caro Townsend and fulfill his duty to his family. It would simply require a little contrivance on his part. He came into the interview on edge, from shortage of sleep and anxiety about the future. The result was a degree of arrogance in his proposal that Caro, perceptive creature that she was, had noted.
When he’d entered the room, she’d stood infinitely desirable in her white muslin, the red curls framing her piquant face, her golden eyes huge and filled with the passion with which she attacked life. He couldn’t wait to propose and hear her say yes, so that he could sweep her into his arms and call this rare and wonderful creature his.
He’d said the wrong thing, and now she was slipping away from him. He’d thought she would be flattered, honored by his offer to make her a duchess. But Caro was ever unpredictable. It was part of her charm. He needed to find the words to persuade her to say yes.
“I do want you as you are,” he said, leaping to his feet. “From the first time I saw you, I’ve wanted you. I came into the room at Conduit Street and thought you were Anne Brotherton. It was a sore disappointment when I learned you were not.”
“You thought I was Anne and liked the look of me?” His revelation pleased her. He searched his mind for other persuasive anecdotes. “I wanted to kill Horner. At the Pantheon, at the Soaneses’, and at the inn. I want to kill any man who touches you, and I want to be the only one who has the right.”
Her flight had been arrested. She stood just a few feet away, her eyes softened from fiery disdain to dawning pleasure. He went to her, took her hand, and this time she didn’t pull away.
“I had to kiss you. Even though I knew it was wrong and might be the only time. I had to kiss you because I wanted to taste your lips once. Once, to remember for the rest of my days.”
“You didn’t say a word afterward.”
“What could I say? That I regretted the best moment of my life?”
He would have raised her hand to his lips, even taken her into his arms, but she escaped again, skipped away like a skittish foal. “It won’t do, Castleton, you know it won’t. You think you want me. I believe you want me. But I shall disappoint you, and you will end up hating me.”
“Never!”
“I want to believe it, you have no idea how much. Convince me, Thomas. Tell me why our marriage would not end in disaster.”
Thomas looked into his heart, not something he was in the habit of doing. What did he think? What was it she needed to hear? Some instinct he had never known he possessed told him this was a moment for truth. She would never believe idle flattery, easy words of praise. He needed to find the words that would speak from his soul to hers.
“I’ve always done my duty,” he began, speaking slowly as the sentences formed in his brain. “From the day I could understand, I was taught what it meant to be Duke of Castleton, how the responsibility for the future of the family and those who depend on us must always be my first concern.”
Caro stood utterly motionless, her eyes fixed on his mouth as though reading something from the way he shaped the words.
“I won’t burden you with the details,” he continued, “but most of what I do is laid out for me, not because it is my choice. I don’t wish to complain. I don’t complain. Fortune has gifted me with position and wealth that few men ever achieve. But my life is also prescribed in narrow paths. Most of what I do, what happens to me, is not what I choose to do but what I must. I thought my marriage would be the same, until I met you. Now I have decided to be selfish, to make my own choice. For once in my life, perhaps the only time, I have made an important decisi
on with regard only to my own wishes. I want you for my wife, Caro. I want you not because it suits the ambitions of the Fitzcharleses but because of my own needs. I want you for myself alone, not for any other reason.”
Her eyes met his, and they were shining, and he saw that they were filled with tears. This was good, wasn’t it?
“Do you love me?”
“I think I may,” he said slowly. “I’ve never been in love, so I can’t be certain.” He wouldn’t express extravagant devotion that he might not feel. “For once in my life, I want something for myself,” he said again.
An age passed during which her eyes grew ever larger and brighter. “Yes, Thomas,” she said. “I will marry you.”
He could hardly comprehend the words until a blaze of joy gripped his chest. Caro Townsend, with all her wit and warmth and beauty, would be his. His to possess. His to bed. His forever.
But triumph was underlain by a less blissful emotion. Fear. Somehow, the gods would make him pay for his selfishness.
Chapter 14
Thomas had found the right words to dispel Caro’s doubts. If he wanted her for such a selfish reason, it must be for herself as she was, not as he wished she would be. Lord knew, she’d never wished to be a duchess nor hold the kind of exalted position her mother’s ambitions had sought on her behalf. All she’d ever wanted was to be happy with a man she loved. She’d had that with Robert, right until the end.
She was glad Thomas wasn’t sure he loved her. His sweet, blunt, persuasive words had picked at a knot deep in her heart. What would happen if he unraveled it was too frightening to contemplate. Too painful. About one aspect of marriage to him she had no doubts. The sooner they shared a bed, the better she would feel.
“You have made me the happiest of men,” he said. He spoke formally, probably embarrassed by the passionate way he’d spoken before. The expression of emotion didn’t come easily to Lord Stuffy. If he couldn’t do it with words, let actions speak. Another kiss, to start with. She tilted her chin hopefully and took a step forward.
“Let me assure you, Caro, that I will do my utmost to be a good husband. I don’t pretend to be a brilliant man, but I would never treat you with anything but the greatest respect; nor need you fear I shall stray.”
That was good. Not straying meant bedding her, which moved the conversation in the direction she wanted. She could definitely do with a little less respect at this particular moment.
“You need never doubt my care for your welfare.”
She wouldn’t have to worry about debts anymore, and it would be agreeable to have some new clothes. But . . .
“My welfare would be greatly improved by your kissing me,” she broke in.
He stared at her for a moment, his lips expanding into the rare smile that softened the serious cast of his features and never failed to weaken her knees. “I would hate to be derelict in my duty,” he said, and gathered her comprehensively into his large embrace.
It was an even better kiss than the first one. The room was warm and free of wind, the carpeted floor firm underfoot and lacking in mud. The guilt of kissing her cousin’s fiancé gave way to the new and glorious knowledge that she could kiss Thomas whenever she wanted. He was hers.
And then there was the happy fact that they both wore fewer clothes. Without heavy topcoats, she was able to enjoy the press of his body against hers. Her bare hands delineated broad shoulders, moved down to trace the contours of powerful arms she’d admired so often and longed to touch. The pressure of his fingers through three layers of muslin at her waist ignited nerves that shot down to her lower belly. She felt his burgeoning interest match her own and was possessed by an aching, unbearable lust like nothing in her experience.
An attempt at speech elicited an incoherent protest as his lips reclaimed hers, seizing her mouth with ruthless thoroughness until she was nothing but a mindless assemblage of burning flesh and bones with but one instinct: to take him inside her. Now.
Returning his kiss with equal fervor, she started to claw at the buttons of his waistcoat and breeches, without much success since her fingers could gain no purchase with scarcely a hair’s space between their bodies.
Then she was free. He stepped back, holding her by the shoulders at arm’s length.
“We have to stop,” he said, chest heaving.
“Why?”
“It’s daylight, and we are in Mrs. Quinton’s drawing room.”
“I don’t think we’ll be disturbed, but just to make sure, I’ll lock the door.” She turned the key and hurried back to him. “Where were we?”
“If we continue as we were going on, I don’t trust myself to treat you with the respect you deserve. It would be wrong for us to anticipate our wedding vows.”
Caro saw that he was quite serious. While his sentiment touched her, it didn’t please her. They hadn’t come close to discussing a wedding date, but she was pretty sure ducal marriages involved tiresome documents and much haggling by solicitors. Their marriage might not be for weeks or months, and as far as she was concerned, waiting even a day to become lovers was a waste of time.
“I want you, Thomas. And I trust you. I don’t want to wait.”
“You do me too much honor. I must not abuse your trust by giving in to my very strong desires.”
What about my desires? she wanted to demand. She reminded herself that her future husband was a conventional man. He thought he was being a gentleman by controlling his lust. Well, she’d just have to see about that.
“Thank you.” She infused her speech with a spurious meekness he’d surely find unbelievable once he knew her better. “Would it be very distressing for you to sit beside me on this sofa and put your arm around me?” She sat down and patted the seat. “Like that, yes. I find your touch so very comfortable.” She snuggled up to him, tucked her head into the curve of his arm, and stretched her arms about his waist. “I hope we won’t have to wait too long.”
Not long at all if she had her way.
Thomas hadn’t thought it possible to want Caro more. He hadn’t thought it possible to want any woman this much. But he tamped his raging lust and concentrated on enjoying her presence in his arms and the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer to make her his. He’d make damn sure the lawyers didn’t linger over the red tape.
Her hair tickled his nostrils, silky and lightly scented with some pleasing lotion. He stroked the slender shoulder beneath the light material of her gown. He was almost choked with astonished joy that this exquisite creature had consigned herself to his care. He wanted to lavish her with the protection and esteem that he sensed she’d lacked in her previous marriage and that she certainly never had from her friends. Robert Townsend had been a wastrel. Thomas wanted to teach her what it was like to be treated as she deserved.
“I have no wish to delay the wedding,” he said, playing with her short curls, tracing the whirls of her perfect ear with a forefinger. “I shall speak to Quinton about settlements.”
“I am my own mistress.”
“It’s better if you have a man to act on your behalf. Unless you have a different connection, on your mother’s side, perhaps, whom you’d like me to deal with.”
“Certainly not my brother, and no one else,” she said, and idly undid the bottom button of his waistcoat. He should stop her, but the sensation of her hand caressing his stomach through his shirt was pleasurable. Inevitably, its proximity to his cock had its effect, especially since he was already half-aroused, his normal state in Caro’s presence and exacerbated by their recent kiss. But nothing that he couldn’t control, no urge he couldn’t defy.
She raised her head, continued her slow exploration, and whispered, “You are very strong.”
“Not really. Though I do spend as much time riding as I can spare.”
“Did you buy the gray mare?”
“Yes.”
“She’s beautiful. Tell me about her.”
He’d barely begun to describe Grey Flyer’s breedi
ng when he realized she’d unbuttoned his entire waistcoat and was untying his neckcloth. She cut off his protest. “Go on about her dam.”
He let himself be persuaded because he yearned for the touch of her hand on his bare skin. It was all he’d imagined, her fingers caressing his neck, collarbone, and upper chest.
“By Lord Sackvile’s stallion High Flyer out of Hyacinth.” Her fingers now tugged at his shirt, freeing it from his breeches. “I forget who owned Hyacinth.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her hand hovered at his waist. He longed and dreaded for it to drop lower. “Tell me about the mare’s sire,” she said, and laid her palm over his cock, which leaped to urgent attention, straining against the light buckskin to seek her touch.
He was a bad man.
“I saw Grey Phantom race once.” Although he wouldn’t swear that was indeed the name of his new filly’s father. Blood was rushing south from his brain, extinguishing restraint and sense in its journey. He closed his eyes and strove for control. “At Epsom. At the Derby meeting. Or perhaps it was Ascot. He won by several lengths over an impressive field.” Usually he was good at remembering the details of an exciting race. “I can’t remember who else was running that day.”
“And was he a very large stallion?” she said, and clasped his cock in her bare hand. He hadn’t even noticed her unbutton his breeches, and he nearly exploded on the spot.
“Caro.” He could barely croak. “What are you doing?”
“I would think that was obvious. I’m seducing you.” His cock stood proud amid a nest of white linen, and he watched with fascination as her small encircling hand worked it up and down. He shuddered.
“Why?”
She let him go and struggled out of his arms. Don’t stop! cried his feverish brain. But he didn’t say it. This was wrong. Next thing he knew, she’d hiked up her skirts and straddled his lap.
“You may be prepared to wait, but I am not. I haven’t had a man in two years.”
The Importance of Being Wicked Page 15
