“You must obey me. Everyone must,” Edward said. Beneath the silken tones of his voice was a hint of steel that surprised both his listeners.
Caroline stared at him in surprise, unable to suppress a slight intake of breath. Beneath her shock grew another frisson of awareness. It was a man—not a boy—who spoke that soft phrase. A man born to command.
“Now,” Edward said, continuing smoothly. “You are correct, Lord Tarlton. I expect you to spend a great deal of time with your wife and son, so we can hardly request you to memorize lines in a play. The principle actors shall be Miss Bartlett, Mrs. Pembroke and myself.”
“I see,” Caroline said coolly, already disliking the scheme. “And what play did you have in mind?”
“Romeo and Juliet.” His gray eyes gleamed with silver as he caught and held her gaze.
“The death scene, I suppose. Where you finally manage to kill yourself. ‘Thy drugs are quick! Thus with a kiss I die.’” She caught Lord Tarlton’s frown and blushed, realizing how inappropriate her remark seemed after his recent suspicions.
In the awkward silence, Lord Tarlton transferred his frowning gaze to Edward as if he expected the younger man to exert more influence over the situation.
“Perhaps that would not be the best choice under the circumstances,” Lord Tarlton said at last. “A play may not suit us after all.”
Ignoring the remark, Edward studied Caroline’s face before giving her a slow smile. It felt as if they were quite alone at the table, just Edward and her separated only by the gleaming surface of the table and a few silver candelabra.
Finally, Edward shrugged. “I still believe your wife might enjoy the entertainment. So if not that play, then another may suit our purposes better…”
“None of Shakespeare’s plays can be acted by three alone—” Caroline protested, more nervous than ever at the strangely intense look in Edward’s eyes.
“We shall improvise and cut out all the unnecessary parts.”
“How will it make any sense?” she asked.
“It shall be a pastiche and provide the sense of the play, not the entire thing verbatim. And Mrs. Pembroke can narrate background details.” Before she could answer, he snapped his fingers. “I have it, Twelfth Night.”
“I don’t—”
Lord Tarlton nodded. “Yes, indeed. While it traditionally marks the end of the Christmas season, I see no reason why we cannot have it now.” He threw his napkin to the table and stood.” And I apologize this lack of formality but I must see my wife. I am uneasy in my mind—”
“Of course,” Caroline replied quickly. “You’ve no need to apologize.”
“And we can use this time to work out the details of our plans,” Edward added, catching Caroline’s gaze.
She glanced away hurriedly, suddenly uncomfortable at being left alone with Edward. Mrs. Pembroke’s presence, even with the butler and footman continually gliding in and out of the room with soft, nearly noiseless movements, was not nearly sufficient protection.
Chapter Six
“I—” Caroline said, starting to stand as she watched Lord Tarlton push his chair back.
Edward smiled at her. “Sit, please. There is most assuredly plum pudding.”
“Elizabeth’s favorite. I—” Caroline’s gaze desperately followed her brother-in-law’s movements.
“I remember,” Lord Tarlton cut her off with an irritated wave at her presumption to know his wife’s tastes better than he did. “If she’s awake, I shall have some sent up to her.”
Caroline dared not offer any further opinion or assistance, though she frantically wanted to escape from Edward’s disconcerting presence.
Her nervousness brought forth another flash of anger at him. He had no right to practice the art of flirtation with her, particularly now when she was consumed with worry over her sister and newborn nephew. She wanted to be a family again and not the bitter, discontented female they saw when they looked at her.
They thought she was evil enough to wish harm to her younger sister. How could she convince them otherwise? Her head pounded with the effort to devise some way to prove she had only the best of intentions since her arrival.
And she had no time to fence with Edward, even to assist him in improving his skills at seduction.
As Lord Tarlton hurried out, Caroline slowly sank down onto her chair. Edward watched her with his warm, lazy smile curving his mouth.
She stifled the urge to throw her plate at him. “What parts shall we play? Shall I be Olivia and you…who? Sebastian? Or perhaps the foolish Malvolio would suit you better?”
He laughed. “I am surprised you did not offer me the role of the clown, Feste. But no, I don’t think I like the roles of Olivia and Sebastian for us—”
“Why not?” She interrupted sharply, aware of the bitter edge in her voice but unable to do anything to soften it. “She is old, as am I. Didn’t the count, Orsino, say, ‘Let still the woman take an elder than herself’.”
“So he did,” Edward agreed. “And it sounds like sage advice if one is a sixteenth century nobleman living in Yugoslavia. I confess I fail to find it particularly apt in modern Britain.”
“Surely you would not dare to criticize the great Shakespeare!” She felt unsettled, trying not to stare at Edward but unable to look away.
He seemed so relaxed and casual. Her gaze rested for a moment on his square jaw, lightly shadowed with stubble and her heart raced at his overwhelmingly masculine presence.
The boy was gone and the change frightened her. For if he was now a man, then she had become an old maid. Perhaps Lord Tarlton’s perceptions of her were true and she simply did not see herself for what she was, a bitter, jilted woman.
“Even Shakespeare has his limitations,” Edward said at last. “Shall we adjourn to the sitting room where we may comfortably rewrite Twelfth Night to suit ourselves?”
Caroline nodded and rose unsteadily, her legs shaking. Despite her desire to leave the veiled scrutiny of the servants, she was oddly tense at the thought of spending more time with Edward.
As if aware of her thoughts, he gently grasped her elbow with a firm hand. His aunt glided near and threaded her hand through the crook of his other arm.
“Tarlton has a volume of Shakespeare we can use,” Edward said.
“I’m warning you now, nephew. I have no desire to become a thespian. I shall narrate when required but I shall not take part in this…production,” Mrs. Pembroke announced as they strolled toward the sitting room.
Caroline barely heard her words. She was too conscious of Edward’s masculine presence and had to resist the urge to pull away. His touch burned through her heavy sleeve. Several times as they walked, the edge of his hand brushed her waist, leaving behind tingling warmth.
“What—” Caroline stopped and had to clear her throat when his hand brushed her side, an inch below the curve of her breast. “What roles, then?”
“Orsino for me, of course. Viola for you,” Edward said.
“She is too young—”
“You refine overmuch on the subject of age.”
“And Viola is disguised as a boy for most of the play. I will not wear breeches.”
As he led the ladies over the threshold of the sitting room, he ran his eyes over her in a calculating manner. She blushed and hurriedly seated herself in one of the wingchairs by the fire, not daring to look at him or his sharp-eyed aunt.
“You would look amazingly well in breeches,” he remarked. He looked pointedly at the sofa opposite her and gestured at a heavy book bound in dark red leather. “Come and sit here so we may both review the play.”
“You may read it to me,” Caroline replied as Mrs. Pembroke hesitated between the two of them.
“Coward,” he said with a twisted smile.
Caroline straightened and frowned.
Laying a white hand on her nephew’s sleeve, Mrs. Pembroke leaned closer to him and said in a low voice, “Charming as ever, Lord Wexley.” She flicked an amused glance at Caroline. �
�And I readily see why Miss Bartlett needed a chaperone.” Her grip on his sleeve tightened briefly. A sudden expression of love and gratitude softened her rather strong features before she said, “I’m thankful you thought of me. The holidays can be a lonely time for an old widow.”
Edward pressed his hand over hers and kissed her cheek. “It would not be Christmas without you. And I’ve never felt the need for a chaperone.”
“Liar.” His aunt threw back her head and laughed.
Watching the pair, Caroline felt her breathing hitch at their easy camaraderie. It was what she missed most since her break with her sister. At one time, shehad felt such unguarded affection with Elizabeth and she again felt hollow with longing for it.
And Caroline thought she had never felt more admiration for Edward than she did at that moment. His excuse to invite his aunt may have been the need for a chaperone for Caroline but the reality was, he was giving his aunt the best holiday gift he could, the gift of a warm welcome, a good meal and love.
“Miss Bartlett,” Mrs. Pembroke said, turning toward her. She waved her hand toward the narrow sofa. “You must sit there. I am chilled to the bone and would be privileged if you would allow me the chair by the fire.”
“Of course.” Caroline nodded and stood. As she neared Edward, her heart pounded.
“And nephew, after you have seated the young lady, do be so good as to order the after-dinner sherry. Perhaps that will bring some warmth to these old bones.” Mrs. Pembroke seated herself and arranged her skirts comfortably around her.
“Certainly. And come, Miss Bartlett. You are perfectly safe.” Edward held out a lean hand.
Her body automatically obeyed his peremptory tone. She started toward him before pausing again a yard away. “I—”
“Sit, Miss Bartlett. Do not lose your nerve, now.”
Refusing to show her disquiet and anger with him, she sat on the edge of the sofa. He went to the door and called to one of the footmen. He gave orders for Mrs. Pembroke’s sherry before returning. Eyeing Caroline’s stiff form, he smiled wolfishly before sitting down as far away as the sofa would allow.
Caroline let out a breath and relaxed fractionally. In companionable silence, they waited for the butler to bring the sherry. When the silver tray and crystal decanter of golden sherry finally sat on the low table between them, Edward poured a small amount into each fragile glass and handed them around.
After one small sip of the burning liquid, Caroline set hers aside. Mrs. Pembroke delicately drank her portion and handed the glass back to her nephew. With a wink at Caroline, he refilled it and restored the glass to his aunt.
Mrs. Pembroke sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile on her lips. “This is lovely.”
“I’m so glad you could join us,” Caroline said impulsively. “I’m very grateful to you.”
“Dreadfully short notice but what could I do? My nephew was desperate.” She closed her eyes and took another, long sip of sherry. “Now why don’t you two children argue among yourselves and leave me to this quite acceptable sherry?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Edward said, grinning at Caroline.
She batted his arm, feeling quite like she had of old when he was but a lad of sixteen and tried to take advantage of her good nature. For the first time in two years, she felt accepted and happy.
Edward picked up the volume of Shakespeare and leaned closer to her before flipping open the book on his knees. With him so near, she could not ignore his presence. The very air warmed with his scent, a mixture of bay and some other subtle smell that made her long to slide closer and rest her head on his shoulder. She wanted to let his warmth envelop her so she could forget everything for a few moments.
She wanted to laugh and feel young again in his arms.
“Caroline?” he asked, his voice soft.
“I beg your pardon?” she replied in confusion.
“You were daydreaming.” The knowing gleam in his gray eyes told her he knew better.
He understood her only too well and that knowledge made him doubly dangerous.
“Just tired, I suppose.” She rubbed her temple, aware again of the thread of a headache winding slowly and tightening around her nerves as she tried to maintain the pretext of stiff formality. “So I shall be Viola—how am I to dress decently for the part?”
“Must you be decent? We only have your closest family as our audience. Surely, a pair of breeches would be acceptable.”
“I cannot! You would be—” She turned to look at him, shocked at the suggestion.
When she glanced at Mrs. Pembroke, the lady’s eyes were closed and she was half hidden within the wings of the high-backed chair.
Edward was right. His aunt did enjoy her sherry.
Caroline stiffened and transferred her gaze to Edward.
His face was inches from hers. His eyes gleamed dark gray with such intense focus that she caught her breath.
He stared into her eyes and moved closer. His mouth hung an inch from hers. She could not look away, couldn’t move or breathe.
Surely, she thought irrationally, I should close my eyes.
His eyes remained open, locked on hers while he moved still closer. She could feel the heat of him melting into her stiff limbs. One of his hands touched the side of her face. His fingers slid along her jaw until he could cup her head and tilt it, all the while watching her, gauging her reaction.
Pull away! Say something!
But she said nothing. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think until she felt his lips touch her mouth. Her eyes closed. She gasped, or sighed, she wasn’t sure which. Then the hand holding her grew harder, more insistent as he pressed against her, making her senses swim.
She wanted the moment to last forever. Her hands rose to grip his lapels with the need to bring him nearer. He tasted of salt and wine and desire so intense she melted against him.
Then the grip on her neck loosened. He drew away, his breathing harsh. As he studied her face, she stared back, flushed and afraid. But there was no triumph in his expression, only intense concentration as if he too, fought his own internal battle for mastery.
A glance toward Mrs. Pembroke told her that the drowsy lady was not the least bit concerned about her nephew’s behavior. Her head rested in the embrace of the chair’s wing, her eyes were closed and a smile bowed her plump, lower lip.
Caroline let out the breath she was holding and cleared her throat, striving for normalcy.
She had to remember this was merely flirtation for him, practice for the Season to come later that spring.
None of it was for her benefit.
As the tense silence stretched out between them, she sighed and said, “I wish you wouldn’t tease me. It’s Christmas—nearly the new year—and neither of us seems able to obtain what we most desire. And I, at least, face the prospect of another dismal year of whispers and sympathy. Please don’t make it worse.”
* * * * *
The kiss profoundly disturbed Edward. He had not anticipated the intensity of his reaction or the frisson of excitement at stealing it while his aunt sat drowsily in her chair by the fire. Certainly, he was attracted to Caroline. He had intended to make her his wife and had not made that decision lightly. But the touch of her lips made him aware of a hitherto unforeseen vulnerability in his carefully laid plans.
For now, he realized what was truly at stake if he failed to convince her. And the outcome was far from sure in this dangerous game.
He glanced at her. She held her face averted and clutched her fingers nervously. Their embrace had affected her as strongly as it did him but that did not guarantee him success, especially considering her unhappy remark.
She didn’t trust him.
And he suddenly knew how precarious his position really was. He had well and truly given his heart for a lifetime to a woman who might not accept it now, or ever.
The men and women in Edward’s ancient, illustrious family were famous for falling deeply in love only once. For some, it had bee
n an unutterable tragedy when the object of their affection either did not return their affection or died too young.
Surely, he would not be one of those, doomed to look elsewhere for duty’s sake and face a bleak, arid future.
Edward took a deep breath and sat back, the volume of Shakespeare nearly forgotten on his knees.
If he was to win Caroline, he would first have to aid her in her quest to achieve a reconciliation with her family. And he could only hope she did not still cherish some affection for Tarlton. If she did, then most assuredly, his gamble was already lost.
He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him and he didn’t like it.
“Miss Bartlett—”
Her hand flashed up to her mouth and she leaned forward slightly to smother a laugh. “Miss Bartlett?” she repeated in a broken voice.
“I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly.
She was laughing at him? Laughing?
“You owe me more than an apology,” she said. “It was boorish of you to practice your skill at flirtation with me when I was distracted and at my wit’s end over how to prove I love my sister. And then to call me ‘Miss Bartlett’ as if we had just met at church is beyond comprehension.” Despite her obvious attempt to sound angry, her words were ragged and breathy with laughter.
Then he remembered her giggling when they were children when she was overly tired or nervous. Perhaps she was nearer to the breaking point than he imagined.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a softer voice. “But you’re mistaken. I practiced my skills long ago on others in order to impress the one who really matters.”
Another nervous half-laugh escaped her. “Then all those others should have warned you that you your skills are far from perfected.” She paused as a flicker of pain darkened her large, brown eyes. “Or perhaps you already realized that and merely seek to refine them further at my expense. In any event, it hardly matters. I-I have other matters to consider.” Her voice drifted away tiredly. “And quite frankly, I don’t know what I am going to do. How can I possibly change minds already convinced? They think the worst of me.”
A Cotillion Country Christmas Page 16
