His lips were firm, insistent, and so hungry. She felt like he might devour her. But that was all right, because she wanted to devour him, too. He tasted so good, so deeply masculine. She couldn’t get enough. Still holding on to the rail with one hand, she slipped the other arm around his body—his broad, strong, warm body—and kissed him harder, opening her mouth and exploring his lips with her tongue.
He forced her back until she was against the wall, the handrail pushing into the tops of her thighs. His large, strong body pressed against hers from top to bottom, making her feel petite and feminine in comparison. They moved and swayed with the motion of the boat, but they did it together, their lips fused.
“Mark,” she whispered between frantic kisses. She let go of the handrail, unworried about stumbling now that she was pinned against the wall, and cupped his cheek in her hand. His afternoon beard scraped against her palm, and she groaned. She was touching him. Kissing him.
Finally.
This was nearly overwhelming. It was what she finally recognized as years of pent-up desire. She’d wanted him, even as a very young woman and not at all understanding what that meant. She’d always thought she’d marry Nate, but Mark had been the one she thought of when she touched herself at night.
He pulled back, breathing heavily and turning away from where her hand cupped his face. When he turned back to her, his eyes were narrow and his voice was a near growl. “How does it feel to be kissed by someone who knows how for a change, Caro?”
With that arrogant assumption, her frustration bubbled up faster than she could stop it. “What are you doing?” she snapped.
He shook his head, jaw once again terribly tight. Just then there was yet another click, and Owen Evans’s door opened. Mark didn’t move, then after a long moment in which she could feel the heat of Owen’s eyes upon them, he stepped back.
Slowly, he turned to face Owen, his hands balled into fists. Goodness, Mark was so volatile—she’d never seen him like this. She put a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down with her touch.
Owen looked Mark over, his eyes taking in everything from his expression down to his fisted hands. His brows rose, and he looked at Caro. She tried to meet his gaze head-on, to not flinch, and to keep her expression blank. She thought she succeeded mostly, but she was sure she was flushed, her lips shiny from the kiss.
Just then, the Liberty crested a particularly large wave, and they all leaned back, trying to keep their balance. Owen grabbed the handrail on the opposite wall. “Good afternoon, Lady Whytestone, Lord Mark,” he said mildly. But he kept his eyes on Caro, and they condemned her for a liar. Because, from his point of view, she’d clearly just proven herself as that kind of woman.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Evans,” she murmured. Such politesse was ridiculous, she thought. As if they hadn’t just said that to each other not five minutes ago. As if Mark didn’t know it was all a farce. With a brisk nod, Owen took his leave, turning the corner at the companionway, probably headed back to the salon to escape the tiny cabin he shared with his ailing twin.
As soon as Owen disappeared, Mark pushed her back against the wall, caging her with his arms.
“Caro,” he gritted out. “You’re driving me mad.”
Clearly, she thought tartly. He was behaving like a madman, first acting as if he were her friend, then disgusted by her, then kissing her as if he wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman.
“And you’re so damn beautiful,” he continued on a groan. “I cannot stop thinking about you.”
She understood now. “And you hate yourself for that. For thinking of me.”
“Yes!” It was a near shout.
Her lips twisted in anger.
He pushed his fingers into his hair, then gripped a clump of it, his eyes dark and intense as they raked over her. “You belong to someone else, damn it.”
“I belong to no one,” she countered.
His eyes were angry slits. “You belong to Nate.”
“Good God,” she snapped. “How many times do you need to hear this? I have no designs on Nate! I never have, not since we were children.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because Nate is my friend and I care deeply for him. I’ve known him all my life, and I want to share this amazing, unbelievable news with him. As a friend.”
Mark stared at her in disbelief. “Is that all?”
She clamped her lips together and didn’t answer. Finally, she shook her head. “No, Mark,” she said in defeat. “It’s not all.”
“What then?”
“I just wanted to get away,” she whispered, the confession heating her cheeks. “I wanted to get out of London. Out of England. Away from society… from everyone, even my servants. I’d had enough of being the widowed Lady Whytestone, of everyone’s expectations and judgments—all of it. I needed a… holiday, I suppose.”
Mark took a stumbling step back. “And you have no interest in marrying a duke?”
She ground her teeth but answered him anyhow. “No. I don’t want to marry a duke. Being a viscountess is enough, thank you. Too much, if you ask me. I definitely do not have any ambition whatsoever to be a duchess.”
“But you could marry Nate…”
“I don’t want to marry Nate! He’s my friend, Mark! Good Lord!” She felt like kicking some sense straight into his chest.
The door beside her clicked open again, and Evan Evans stuck his head out, his face pale and drawn. He looked terrible. “Oh. Sorry. I heard some commotion and wanted to make sure everything was all right.” He waved his hand weakly. “Please carry on. Don’t mind me.”
“I’m sorry we disturbed you,” Caro said. She didn’t know Evan well, but sympathy for his condition flooded through her nonetheless. “Can I do anything for you, Mr. Evans? Get you anything?”
“No, no.” He gave her a pained smile. “I’m actually feeling a bit better.”
“That’s good,” she said, though it was difficult to believe, given his countenance. “But please knock on my door if you need anything. I’m right next door.”
He gave her a watery smile, then stumbled a bit as the boat pitched beneath him. A moment later, he shut the door.
Caro looked at Mark. His eyes had never left her in the entire conversation with Evan. She sighed. “Come into my cabin, Mark. We need to talk.”
“Yes. We do.”
She drew out her key, then opened the door for him before slipping in behind him. The room was dim thanks to the dwindling light outside. She removed her cloak and hung it, then sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the bench chair that was built into the wall beside the basin for him.
He didn’t sit. Instead, he kept his hand fisted in his hair and paced the room. The space was so tiny, he could only take two long strides before he had to turn around and march in the opposite direction. Finally, he stopped in front of her. “Are you telling me you never wanted to marry Nate in the first place? I thought—”
“No, no,” she said tiredly. “That’s not it at all. I wanted to marry him. Desperately.”
“It was what he planned for. He dreamed of making you his wife for so long I cannot remember a time when he didn’t.”
“I know. His dream was the same as mine.”
“But then you married Whytestone instead.”
She stared at him. None of the disgust she’d seen in his expression earlier showed on his face now. All that was there was a deep confusion.
She’d have to tell him everything. Looking down at her clasped hands in her lap, she felt the stinging behind her eyes. She’d shed so many tears about this over the years, from the moment she was told that she had to marry George. But now she managed to contain them.
“Do you remember that last time you came home and we met on Nacama Hill? I’d just turned seventeen that day, and the two of you were teasing me about it.”
Mark nodded. “I remember.”
“My father had told me earlier in the day that he’d promised me to a
man I didn’t know. A much older man. It didn’t matter that he was thirty years older than me, and it didn’t matter that I’d never met him. The fact that he was a viscount rendered all those other things inconsequential.”
She grimaced. “They expected me to be excited that I was to marry into a title. Of course I wasn’t. I wanted to marry Nate. That was the plan. It had been our plan for years, and I’d always simply assumed that it would come to pass. But when I told this to my father…” She swallowed hard and said in a low voice, “He laughed at me. He said that was a ridiculous, fantastical notion. That I was seventeen years old and I needed to stop being a silly chit and realize that a match between Nate and me could never happen. Nate was too poor. He was nothing, my father said. Not my equal, not even close.”
“You didn’t tell us any of this that night.”
“I know. I didn’t tell anyone for months. I was hoping I could talk some sense into my parents. I was embarrassed to repeat what my father had said about Nate. I didn’t want him to hear that—that other people thought of him that way.” She shuddered. “It was awful. It made me so angry. And the bitter irony of it was that my father had lost everything at the gaming tables and was deeply in debt. We were in desperate straits, Mark, far worse than Nate and his mother ever were.”
“No,” Mark breathed, his eyes wide. He’d never known that. Few had. Her father was very effective at fooling everyone but his creditors.
“Whytestone agreed to pay off my father’s debts if I married him.”
Mark sank down on the bed beside her. “Jesus, Caro.”
“Every day, my father pounded into me the importance of my marriage to that man. He said I needed to do it for him. For Mama’s health and for Louisa’s future.” Her younger sister, Louisa, had thought it was marvelous that Caro had been promised to a viscount. She told Caro how jealous she was, that if she were old enough, she’d marry Whytestone herself. “Just think of it,” she’d said dreamily, “a viscountess.”
Caro wasn’t interested in becoming a viscountess. She’d have rather been Mrs. Hughes. “Nate was my best friend, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what was happening. I hoped to somehow manage to avoid the marriage, and I didn’t want to hurt him unnecessarily. Then Nate went away to join you at Cambridge.”
“You should have told him before he left. At the very least, you should have written to one of us about your predicament,” Mark said.
“For a long time, I truly didn’t believe they’d force me to marry him. I thought I could handle it on my own.”
“That’s my Caro,” Mark murmured. “Always thinking she can manage anything on her own. Always so independent.”
“And then the worst happened. My father was arrested in London.”
Mark hissed out a breath.
“Whytestone was the one who came out to Gloucestershire to inform Mama and me of the arrest. That was when I finally met him. He took me alone into my father’s study. I was terrified. Whytestone didn’t bother with platitudes or attempting to woo me. Instead, he told me in a cold voice that if I married him within the month, he’d take care of my father’s obligations, and he would be set free. Otherwise, he was headed to debtor’s prison until we sold the house and every asset we possessed in order to pay off his debts.”
Mark stared at her, aghast. “You had no choice.”
She nodded and spoke so low she could barely hear her own words. “I could not be responsible for rendering my family homeless.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek. Mark put his arm around her and pulled her against his body. She sniffed against him, trying to stem the tide of tears.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I was stupid. Stupid and young and afraid and ashamed. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I could see no other solution. I had to rescue my father.”
“And you let us believe you married Whytestone for the money and title.”
“I did though!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you see? Not for the title, but I certainly did marry him for the money.”
“But not in the way we thought.”
“It didn’t matter,” she said miserably. “It happened, and both of you hated me for it. I really couldn’t blame you, could I?”
“But…” Mark shook his head. “Caro. I said terrible things to you. Things you didn’t deserve.”
“Maybe I felt I did deserve them,” she whispered. “On some level, at least. Nate left England because of me.”
“Yes, but if he’d known the whole story, at least he would have understood. At least he wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
They were silent for a long moment, then Mark whispered, “I misjudged you. You were very young and in a terrible predicament. As your friend, I should have been there for you. Instead, I blamed you. I treated you abominably.”
She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against his chest as he stroked a gentle hand up and down her back.
“My father made me promise to tell no one about his shame. He said if word got round, our entire family’s reputation would be ruined. Somehow, he and George were able to stop the creditors from gossiping about what had happened.”
“And you felt you couldn’t tell anyone the truth about your marriage.”
“I couldn’t tell anyone. He made me swear not to. And he still expects me to keep that promise. So please don’t tell Trent, Mark. If the Duke of Trent found out, my father would be destroyed.”
“Of course I won’t. There’s no reason he needs to know.”
She sighed with relief. “Thank you.”
Mark stroked her back, wondering how on earth she could still want to protect her father after he’d forced her to marry George Whytestone for his own gain. But that was family loyalty, he supposed. His own family was loyal to a fault, though no one in his family had ever done anything so vile. Still, he and his siblings would protect each other at any cost.
His gut clenched as he thought of his own secret he hadn’t shared.
She pressed her cheek tighter against him. “Mark, you know I have no interest in Owen Evans, don’t you?”
He sighed. “Yes. I know.”
“I never did.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you accuse me—?”
“I was being an idiot,” he interrupted. “I was jealous of the way you smiled at him. That was all.”
“Perhaps I flirted without knowing,” she said, frowning. “I am unused to having male friends, you see.”
“Why is that?” he asked. “Your two best childhood friends were male, after all.”
“Yes, they were. But we were children, and things are different when you’re a child.”
“That’s definitely the truth,” Mark muttered. He curled a strand of her jet-black hair around his finger. “After I left to school, did you and Nate ever…?” He left the rest of the sentence dangling. She’d understand what he meant.
She sighed. “No. To be honest, I never even thought that way about him. I considered it later and decided he might have been being a gentleman, but ultimately, that spark wasn’t there. Not like it was with—” She broke off suddenly.
“With me?” Mark asked quietly.
“Yes.”
He swallowed. “Caro, coming home from school was harder every time. You were turning into such a beautiful woman. I wanted you badly, and I felt so damn guilty about it, knowing you were Nate’s and not mine. I felt as if my feelings betrayed both of you.”
“So by the time you were seventeen, you only came home that once? That was because of me?”
“It was.”
“Oh, Mark.” Her arm wrapped around his torso, and his body, already sensitive and on edge with her touching him like this, leapt to attention. “We were so foolish and young. So new and green to the world. We didn’t understand anything.”
“That’s true.”
“I lied to myself.”
“We lied
to each other.”
She nodded. “I wanted Nate and I loved him… but I loved you, too, you know. In… a different way.”
He laughed softly. “Why? We argued incessantly.”
“We still do,” she pointed out.
“I have a feeling we’ll argue less now.” Now that his understanding of why she’d done what she’d done ran so much deeper.
“Perhaps. But I have a shameful secret to admit,” she said softly.
“What’s that?”
“Well, sometimes I enjoyed our arguments.”
He laughed softly.
“No one would quarrel with me the way you did. Quarreling with you made me feel… I don’t know… alive, I suppose. Strong, too.”
“Strong? Why?”
“I think just knowing I could spar with you, on your level…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It just felt so good.”
He was smiling—and that felt good. He realized he’d hardly smiled for a long time. But he felt like a great burden had been removed from his shoulders.
“Caro,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, “you’re one of a kind. I know no other woman like you.”
“Is that a good thing?” She pulled back her head to look up at him.
“Yes, it’s good. Very, very good.”
They smiled at each other. He wrapped his arms around her, gently drawing her closer.
And then he kissed her again.
Chapter Six
A moment of panic overtook Caro. Finally, she and Mark had come to an understanding. Finally, she felt like he accepted her. After years of hating her, he’d finally decided that what she’d done to Nate hadn’t been entirely her fault.
And now he was kissing her, his warm, soft lips coaxing hers apart. What did this mean for them? Having carnal relations with Mark would change everything… again.
But the way he held her, the way he kissed her, went under Caro’s skin. Her blood started to speed through her veins, her body grew warm, an ache developed between her legs. She wanted this. She wanted Mark.
She was willing to risk it.
Caro had been married for years, but it had been a loveless marriage, and she was unused to being kissed. She’d never been kissed the way Mark kissed her now. His lips were tender, soft. He took his time, his movements slow and sensual. Caro sighed into his mouth, her eyes closing as she sank into the gentle pleasure he offered her.
An Affair in Autumn Page 5
