Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8)

by Lancaster, Mary

  Devastated, aroused beyond belief, she dug her fingers into his hair, stroked the rough skin of his face and the jagged line of his scar. She kissed him back with ever increasing urgency—though for what, where it was all leading, her befuddled mind neither knew nor cared.

  Without conscious volition, she rubbed herself against him like a kitten. When his caressing hand found her breast, she let out a moan of delight and need.

  “Christ, Caroline,” he whispered. “Have you any idea how much I want you? Here and now?” He gave her no time to reply but buried his mouth in hers once more, lifting her right off her feet in his passion.

  Beyond the study, a continuous knocking grew louder and more imperious, gradually breaking through Caroline’s haze of blissful desire. Abruptly, the knocking stopped and voices could be heard in the hall, talking loudly.

  Benedict’s lips stilled. She opened her eyes, staring into his.

  He raised his head very slowly. “I think…you might just have been saved. But damn and blast him to hell, whoever he is. Wait there. Better still, run to your room and lock the door. All the doors.” He pressed another quick, hard kiss on her mouth and released her.

  He threw open the study door and strode up the hall with his uneven gait.

  “I insist on seeing your master this instant,” came an imperious male voice. “Of course, he has not retired. The man never sleeps!”

  Caroline, who had never had any intention of obeying him in this, followed him with her heart in her mouth. She wondered if it was the man who’d fled the castle party at sight of him.

  Chapter Eleven

  She’d almost caught up with him by the time he rounded the corner into the main entrance hall.

  He swore under his breath. “Richard,” he said aloud. “What the devil do you want?”

  The visitor, a gentleman in a smart, many caped driving coat, spun around. He was a handsome man, his dark hair cut fashionably short. His face broke into a grin. “There you are, Javan, gracious as ever. Since you ask, a bed for the night would be appreciated. And a shipload of brandy. Companionship in drinking the same is optional.”

  Benedict let out a short bark of laughter and strode forward with his hand held out. “You are a glutton for punishment.”

  The two men clasped hands warmly. Caroline, relieved to see that this was a friend, would have crept away at this point, but over Benedict’s shoulder, the newcomer saw her.

  His eyes widened. Dropping Benedict’s hand, he walked toward her. “Surely not the second Mrs. Benedict?” he exclaimed.

  “No, sir, the first governess,” she replied tartly, although she softened the words with a curtsey.

  “Are you, by God?” the visitor said, his gaze raking her. Too late, she wondered about the state of her hair after those wild minutes in Javan Benedict’s arms. And, of course, she still wore Lady Tamar’s altered gown. “I never saw a governess like you before.”

  “There is not another like her,” Benedict said shortly, moving forward to stand protectively between them. “This is Miss Grey,” he introduced her, “who joined us from the Earl of Braithwaite’s household. Miss Grey, this, sadly, is my cousin, another Mr. Benedict.”

  His laughing eyes alight with curiosity, the newcomer bowed to her.

  “Javan?” came Miss Benedict’s voice from the staircase. “Who was knocking so loudly? Is someone here?”

  “No, it’s only Richard,” Javan replied.

  “Richard who?” Miss Benedict demanded.

  Richard Benedict sighed. “How quickly one is forgotten, even by family,” he mourned.

  “Cousin Richard,” Javan said dryly.

  “Richard!” Miss Benedict exclaimed. “Goodness, how are you? What brings you here? Come up and tell me everything! I’ll ring for a cold supper…”

  “What of little Rosa?” Richard asked as he walked toward the staircase with his cousin. “Is she well?”

  “Better,” Javan said. “But she’s had a busy day. You’ll see her tomorrow…unless she wants to join us? Miss Grey, perhaps you’d go and see? Bring her to the drawing room if you think she’s up to it.”

  Caroline bowed her head in acknowledgement. She was the governess. Whatever had provoked the madness in the study, it was over as if it had never been. And it never should have been. They had both forgotten themselves.

  Silently, she hurried past them, upstairs and along the passage to the schoolroom.

  *

  For Javan, just at first, it almost felt like his military days again, dealing with several crises at once. His blood, already on fire from holding and kissing Caroline, flowed faster, and he had to think on his feet. But of course, there were no enemies here but his baser instincts, and no one was going to die.

  The intrusion of Richard at that precise moment had seemed unbearable, and he had truly considered sending him about his business, before shame brought him back to his senses. It was true he’d come here to escape everyone who knew him, but Richard was more than family. He’d been his friend for as long as he could remember.

  So, while Marjorie chattered and fussed over her order for a cold supper to be set up in the drawing room, he pulled himself together and found he was glad to see Richard.

  As for Caroline…this between them had been building all day. All week. Since he’d first seen her, really. God knew there was more to the attraction than being too long without a woman. She was not simply any woman who’d seemed to notice him. She was not even simply a beautiful woman—although today in her fine gown with her hair in that softer style, she had shone. He had not been the only man who’d noticed, either…

  But there was something about her that had got under his skin. Her stillness that seemed to radiate calm and comfort. Her wit, the way she understood his jokes… And the way her breasts rose and fell when he came near her. She was not frightened and she was not indifferent. There was passion in her he longed to explore, for she excited him as no woman ever had.

  As if his thoughts had drawn her, she walked into the drawing room with Rosa, who ran at once to Richard. Clearly, she remembered him with affection. Richard caught her and swung her high into the air as he’d done when she was tiny, and Javan couldn’t help smiling.

  Caroline—he couldn’t think of her as Miss Grey any more, not after she’d kissed him like that, caressed him with her delectable little body—turned to go.

  Stay!

  Fortunately, he didn’t bark the word aloud. To everyone else, she had to appear merely Rosa’s governess. Even though there had never been anything mere about Miss Caroline Grey.

  “Oh, don’t leave, Miss Grey,” Marjorie said. “Stay and drink tea with us and have a little supper.”

  She looked around, as though searching for a place at the back of the room, as far away from everyone else as possible. And yet, Javan knew she’d occasionally kept Marjorie company here—only when Marjorie requested it, of course, she never presumed. No doubt experience and humiliating accusations of encroachment had taught her that. Or perhaps it was just her character. She gave everyone room and yet would always be there when needed. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that, but he did.

  In the end, Rosa ran back to her and dragged her by the hand to sit with her on the sofa closest to her uncle.

  Javan walked to the cabinet and poured two generous glasses of brandy. “So,” he said, handing one glass to his cousin and clinking it with his own. “What brings you out into the middle of nowhere, Richard? Apart from the sudden desire for our company, of course.”

  “Like you, old boy, I’ve bolted.”

  “From what?” Javan asked, amused.

  Richard wrinkled his nose. “Marriage,” he said distastefully.

  “You’re married?” Marjorie squeaked.

  “No, thank God, that’s why I’m here, looking for cover.”

  “Is she so ferocious?” Javan mocked.

  “Never met the woman and never want to,” Richard assured him with a shudder. “It’s the whole i
dea that appalls me. I’m a young man with wild oats still to sow.”

  “You’re three and thirty years old,” Javan pointed out. “Past time to get an heir, for I certainly don’t want to be Bart.”

  Caroline’s head lifted, and her mouth opened as if she was about to ask what he meant. Then she closed it again.

  “Baronet,” Marjorie explained kindly. “Richard’s father, Sir George Benedict, is head of the family. Javan always called him Uncle Bart because when he was a child, he once saw a letter addressed to Sir George Benedict Bart, without the proper punctuation. Richard is his only son and heir.”

  “I shall one day be Cousin Bart,” Richard said flippantly. “But I have no intention of producing baby Bart just yet.”

  “Take your medicine like a man,” Javan advised, throwing himself into the chair beside Marjorie. “And don’t be put off by my experience. Some people have quite pleasant marriages, I believe.”

  “You’re not going to throw me to the wolves, are you?” Richard asked.

  “Not as long as you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here.”

  “How are my aunt and uncle?” Marjorie asked.

  As the conversation flowed, Rosa’s head began to droop slowly onto Caroline’s shoulder.

  “I think I should take her up to bed,” Caroline said quietly.

  “Come back for supper,” Marjorie said brightly, for the servants were bringing in an array of dishes as Caroline gently woke Rosa and urged her to her feet. Javan knew she wouldn’t come back.

  *

  When he entered his daughter’s room, as he did every night, he caught a whisk of peach silk as Caroline vanished into her own bedchamber.

  The soft click of the latch echoed in his mind. He sat on the edge of Rosa’s bed and she took his hand, smiling happily. Rosa was ready to face life again. He rather suspected life had found him, too.

  The figure of Marcus Swayle swam before his eyes, all smiles and charm as he’d greeted Lord and Lady Tamar at the castle…until he’d seen Javan.

  Javan was grateful for that hasty retreat. Thank God, Rosa had been elsewhere at the time. He hoped to hell the bastard had abandoned Blackhaven, for he wouldn’t have the poisonous little toad spoiling the life he’d only just begun to enjoy.

  Rosa was fast asleep in no time. Detaching his hand, he stood and walked to the passage door, carefully not looking at the one connecting to the governess’s chamber. And yet, as he limped down the passage, he couldn’t help pausing at her door. She was in there, alone, and she wanted him. Perhaps she heard him, knew he stood there unmoving, swamped by temptation.

  He could take her. He could give her a night of joy, oh but he could, and his own would light up the heavens.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. She was no lightskirt, and no sophisticated lady protected by her husband’s name either. But she was a lady and she deserved marriage, or at the very least, an unsullied reputation in order to maintain herself. He could only give her the latter.

  Determinedly, he walked on.

  When he reentered the drawing room, he knew Marjorie and Richard had been talking about him. It was inevitable.

  “Is she settled?” Richard asked lazily.

  “Out like a light,” Javan replied. “I expect Marjorie’s been telling you of our full day of company—our first such since we came here. And I think it’s been good for her. Only…” He took the glass Richard thrust into his hand and sank into the chair by the fire. “I might as well tell you both at once. Marcus Swayle was at the castle.”

  Marjorie’s eyes boggled.

  “Sophia’s lover?” Richard said, stunned. “Good God, what brought him here? Did he track you down?”

  “That was my first thought, too,” Javan admitted, “though I can’t think what good it would do him. Besides, he looked so stunned, so appalled to see me that he bolted. It seems to be merely some unlikely, not to say unkind, coincidence.”

  “What was he doing there?” Marjorie demanded. “He is not some friend of the Tamars’ surely?”

  “They are friendly people,” Javan said impatiently. “Were they not, we would not have been there. Swayle didn’t look well. I suspect he’s here to drink the waters.”

  “You can go together,” Richard said flippantly. “Wouldn’t that be a cozy party?”

  “Not once I’d run him through or strangled him to death in public,” Javan retorted. “And so I shall avoid him. I want to be sure you know to do the same. On no account must he come anywhere near Rosa.”

  “You think he’s fond of her?” Richard asked doubtfully.

  “No.” Javan knocked the brandy down his throat. “I think he hurt her.”

  *

  “And what of the governess?” Richard asked. It was much later and they had begun on a fresh decanter. Marjorie had long since left them to it.

  “She is good for Rosa,” Javan said. “In more ways than simply educating her.”

  “Is she good for you, too?”

  Javan curled his lip. “Stupid question.”

  “Is it? My dear fellow, I could cut the tension between you like a knife. What’s more, when I first arrived, she looked very like a girl who’s been thoroughly kissed, if not tumbled.”

  Javan jerked the glass to his lips. “Don’t ever repeat that. She’s untouched by me or by anyone else, I’d wager.”

  “Ah, then she is good for you.”

  “That isn’t the point, is it? I would certainly not be good for her. Change the subject, for God’s sake.”

  Richard gave an annoying, lazy smile, but at least he obeyed. “Very well. What is to do in the neighborhood? Apart from drinking water and very excellent brandy?”

  “I believe these are the town’s chief claims to fame. How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Until marriage with me is farthest from my would-be-bride’s mind.”

  “Have a heart, Richard. She can’t be more in favor of this than you.”

  “Are you saying I’m not a good catch?”

  “I’m saying you’re a deplorable catch. I’m sure she’d cry off if she only met you.”

  “I missed you, Javan,” Richard said affectionately.

  “I know. And incidentally, if you’re in Blackhaven, I too am Mr. Benedict.”

  “Not Colonel,” Richard said carefully.

  “Absolutely not Colonel.”

  “Could we demote you? Just to distinguish you from me?”

  “No. For Rosa’s sake, I want no connection to the scandal.”

  “I doubt anyone remembers it now,” Richard said casually. “It was a long time ago in the world of gossip.”

  “I’m not prepared to take the chance, not until she’s older and would understand.”

  “She may understand more than you think, Javan. It’s hard to tell when she doesn’t speak.”

  “Well, her excellent governess has a plan for that. My money is on her.”

  “So is mine,” Richard murmured, though in connection with what, he did not reveal.

  *

  With so much going on in her mind and heart, Caroline could not sleep late as she’d been kindly bidden by Miss Benedict. Instead, giving herself a brisk, no-nonsense talking-to on the subject of her employer, her duties and her own foolishness, she rose at her usual time. Having washed and dressed in her Sunday gown, she peeped in on Rosa, who still slept peacefully. Caroline hesitated only a moment before going alone to the kitchen for breakfast.

  “No Miss Rosa today?” asked Williams, who appeared to be heading outside with a hunk of bread and butter clutched in one large hand.

  “She’s still fast asleep after her adventurous day. Williams, if Mr. Benedict is awake, could you ask him if I might walk into Blackhaven this morning to go to church?”

  Church was just what she needed today. Mr. Grant, the vicar, had a way of lifting one’s mood, of encouraging one to do better without judging one’s past.

  “You’d have to run, not walk, Miss,” Williams said doubtfully. “Tell you w
hat, though, if you don’t mind the cart, I’m driving a few of the servants to church. You could come with us. He won’t mind, if you don’t.”

  “That would be ideal,” Caroline said warmly. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be leaving in about half an hour,” Williams said, nodding as he clumped out the door.

  “Do the family never go to church?” Caroline asked Nan the kitchen maid. She hadn’t had the courage to ask before.

  “No, Miss, not that I know of. They’re good people but keep themselves to themselves.”

  That much, Caroline already knew.

  Since she only possessed the one cloak and bonnet, she retrieved them from the hallstand by the side door, and then wondered what to do with herself for the next thirty minutes.

  It was, she supposed, an ideal time to work a little on Mr. Benedict’s book, He would not be up and about, and if she worked on it now, she could avoid doing so later when he was in the same room. Avoiding him would be sensible for the next few days at least.

  The study door stood open, so she walked in.

  Mr. Richard Benedict stood by one of the glass cabinets, examining the samples. Impeccably dressed in buff pantaloons and a blue superfine coat, with a dazzlingly white cravat intricately tied about his throat, he looked far too fashionable for the over-casual household of Haven Hall.

  Caroline halted in surprise.

  He glanced up with a quick smile. “Miss Grey. Good morning.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “If you seek the master of the house, he is not an early riser like you and me.”

  “Oh, I am aware, sir. I came to work on some copying I have undertaken for him, but I shall come back another time.”

  Richard waved one expansive arm. “No, no, feel free. I am just curious as to what he’s been doing with himself this last year.”

  Caroline draped her cloak and bonnet over the back of her usual chair and sat down at the desk, opening the notebook. She reached for her pen.