CHAPTER FIVE
A picnic with the London Lords —a small circle of the richest, most powerful young noblemen in the entire country—was an invitation the entire ton would joyfully accept then tremble and stammer through, yet Captain Tavistock Martin was remarkably calm.
Tilting her head, Caroline continued surreptitiously studying the red-haired ex-soldier chatting to Lady Westleigh. George had already mentioned that the Forsyths were treating their special guest like a prince; despite the captain’s apparent protests, he’d been lavished with decanters of brandy and whisky, leather boots and gloves, brand new sets of clothing and piles of invitations from people he’d probably only ever read about in newspapers within minutes of arriving in town. Everyone wanted to meet and congratulate the man who had heroically saved the Earl of Westleigh’s life.
She wanted to hug Captain Martin until his bones cracked, but refrained. There was a reserve about him, a watchfulness that suggested such an open display of affection would be highly unwelcome. And of course she wouldn’t want to injure him further. His scarred face and hands spoke of a suffering she could scarcely imagine.
“My dear? Is everything all right?”
Turning on her low stool, she smiled warmly at Bradford. “Fine! Fine thank you. Just enjoying a little sunshine and pondering over our new friend.”
“Such a brave chap. I say, you aren’t going to throw me over for him, are you?”
“Hardly. Although I’d adore another of those apple tarts. Lord Standish’s chef has outdone himself. Would you mind?”
“Be my pleasure,” Bradford replied, ambling away to the lavish buffet table and allowing her further observation time.
It was beyond wonderful here. The emerald-green lawns of Hastings House were immaculately manicured, the gardens were a stunning display of tasteful color. Innumerable servants discreetly ensured the bottles of wine and lemonade were plentiful, and that fragrant platters of roasted chicken and beef, freshly baked buttered rolls, cakes, pastries and sliced ripe fruit never depleted. To think, she would soon be mistress of such a place. Not nearly as large or as fine as this or Forsyth House of course, but Bradford’s town house was charming, with an enclosed garden she could envisage spending many a happy hour.
“That’s a rather contented smile, Miss Edwards,” drawled a lazy voice with a hint of Highland brogue to her right. “What can you be thinking about?”
She rolled her eyes at Thomas Reid McLeod, Marquess of Ardmore. He always looked like he’d arrived from some woman’s boudoir, his overlong copper hair slightly rumpled and his dress so casual compared to the other men. But he owned a staggeringly profitable trade and shipping empire that stretched to the ends of the earth, and he ruled it with an iron fist. People who underestimated the lanky Scot did so at their peril. “Never you mind.”
“A-ha! Secrets!”
George sat up from where he’d been sprawled on a pile of silk cushions. “Don’t even ask, my lord. What goes on in that particular head would only frighten you.”
Ardmore snickered. “Even better. Come on, Miss Edwards. Do share.”
“You might have more luck,” said Stephen from where he sat on a low chaise with the far too beautiful Flora Hartley. “If you at least offered an inducement. Shilton, withhold those tarts until the lady talks.”
Caroline tensed as Bradford sat down, trying not to wince when he smiled shyly at Flora. Every blasted male here had made calf-eyes at Stephen’s fiancée, even Captain Martin. But pelting the petite young woman with the plump, sugar-dusted pastry treats would be such a waste.
“I will never tell, Lord Westleigh,” she said a trifle waspishly. “No matter what unscrupulous methods employed.”
Captain Martin leaned forward in his chair. “You favor bribery and corruption, my lord? Say it’s not so.”
“My word, yes,” said Lady Westleigh, grinning.
“Guilty,” added Stephen with good cheer. “Inducements have saved my bacon on more occasions than I can recall.”
Yet instead of laughing with the rest of the group at Stephen’s comment, the soldier’s expression darkened to thunder and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of his chair.
“Captain Martin? Are you all right?” Caroline asked, a little unnerved.
“It’s just Taff, Miss Edwards. And yes, I’m fine. I get the odd wound twinge from time to time, makes my eyes water, but nothing to be worried about.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding. “I’ve heard old wounds can be troublesome, especially when the weather changes. I think the old soldiers might be the most accurate storm predictors in the country—”
“Tell me, Captain, er, Taff. Were you injured in a skirmish?” interjected a deep voice to her left, and everyone turned to squirm under the extraordinarily cold, pale-green gaze of Alexander Langley, Duke of Southby. Taff visibly tensed, and she wanted to lean over, pat his arm and reassure him that the reaction was entirely normal. Probably even Napoleon would surrender if he ever came face to face with Southby. But just as quickly the soldier relaxed, no doubt used to frightening authority figures from his time in the army.
“In a manner of speaking, Your Grace,” said Taff easily. “I underestimated and foolishly engaged with the enemy, he assisted me over a cliff. Not my finest hour,” he finished, a rueful smile touching his lips.
“Assisted you over a cliff?” gasped Lady Westleigh. “Literally?”
“Yes, my lady. I didn’t fall all the way down so I survived. Regrettably my… comrade… wasn’t so lucky. Even though it has been a few years, the loss still affects me greatly.”
“Only natural,” said Southby, his icy gaze almost softening as he sat back in his chair and ran a deliberate hand through his jet-black hair. Never any relaxing on cushions for that rigidly proper man. “Many have died or been injured, but my brother, Colonel Lord Robert Langley, has been fortunate thus far. Perhaps you served together?”
“I don’t believe I ever had the privilege, Your Grace. But we certainly cheered his astounding bravery in Spain and pray he’ll continue to serve King and country unharmed.”
Southby didn’t answer, merely inclined his head a fraction of an inch and Caroline hid a smile. Even if you didn’t know he sat at the very pinnacle of society, you could tell at a glance he was someone important. The duke was always immaculately turned out and totally aloof, not to mention that stare which halted most men at a hundred paces. Fortunately, or unfortunately for her romantic prospects, Southby had gathered her into his lofty circle along with George, and kept a stern brotherly eye on her welfare at all times.
Not for much longer, thank heavens.
“For God’s sake, you two, we aren’t here to waste good wine on war talk,” announced Ardmore. “Only too happy futures!”
“Indeed,” said Lady Westleigh. “I’m so glad you were all able to make it here today with your very busy lives. And a special thank you to darling William for agreeing to host. One simply cannot organize a surprise gathering in one’s own home.”
Along with the others, Caroline turned and applauded ‘darling William’. The Marquess of Standish was actually Stephen’s foster brother, having been taken in by the Forsyths as a lad after his parents were killed in a carriage accident. It would be easy to dismiss the dark-haired lord as just another too-handsome, too-wealthy bachelor, except those sharp blue eyes were always watching, always assessing. Unsurprising from a man closely connected with a rather shadowy branch of the government.
Standish shrugged and choirboy grinned back. “Come now, Aunt Jane. Everyone knows you could arrange a party in a powder room if need be.”
“Well. Perhaps a very small one. But today we are here to celebrate Stephen and Flora’s engagement. I’m sure…” she broke off, looking away for a moment. “I’m sure Andrew and Gregory would have app-pproved. And joined me in welcoming Flora to our f-family. So please, let us raise a toast to…to…”
“To Stephen and Flora,” said Standish, leaning sideways to squeeze Lady Westleigh’s hand. “And those absent.”
“Hear, hear!” toasted George.
“Stephen and Flora!” chorused the guests again.
Caroline took a deep breath. Now or never. “Actually,” she said when the din calmed down. “There are two engagements to celebrate. I’m very pleased to announce Lord Shilton and I are also betrothed.”
A long moment of silence ensued and she wanted to kick each and every one of them for their wide eyes and slack jaws. For heaven’s sake, the news was hardly exceptional, and didn’t she deserve some happiness too?
As usual, Southby recovered first, rising to kiss her on the cheek and shake Bradford’s hand. “Wonderful news! My heartiest congratulations, Miss Edwards, and to you Shilton.”
Ardmore, Standish and even Taff quickly followed, but Flora and Lady Westleigh’s smiles were noticeably strained, and Stephen just stared. What the hell was wrong with them? She’d clapped and toasted their news, couldn’t they even return the courtesy?
Trying not to grind her teeth to powder, Caroline tucked her arm more firmly into Bradford’s. “Thank you all so much. We’re very happy.”
And if Stephen didn’t approve, he could take a running leap into Standish’s fountain.
~ * ~
Caroline was engaged to Bradford Shilton.
Why the news hit Stephen like a cannonball to the solar plexus he had no idea, all he knew was that she would be making the biggest mistake of her mistake-riddled life. A blind man could see they were wrong for each other, even if they were both smiling and looking rather pleased. Why would she do something as utterly illogical as marry someone she’d already refused? And when had this all happened? She’d had ample opportunity to mention it at the house party and hadn’t said a word. Neither had George, the lousy turncoat bastard supposedly his best friend.
“Stephen? Is something the matter?”
He blinked and focused on his mother, who now had the oddest smile playing about her lips.
“Not at all, Mama. Just surprised. Thought Caroline turned Shilton down a while back because they didn’t suit.”
“They say it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,” she replied sunnily.
“She’s a damned fool. I can’t believe she’s even thinking about—”
Jane bounced to her feet, shook out her dark pink gown and clapped her hands. “Excuse me, everyone! To continue the celebrations, William and I have organized something amusing. A treasure hunt! You’ll be put into pairs, then you must search for coded clues to win prizes.”
“Put into pairs,” repeated George, frowning. “We don’t get to choose?”
“Not today,” said Jane in a ridiculously merry tone. “I shall write down everyone’s names then draw them out. Once everyone has a partner the hunt will begin.”
She wrote their names on paper, tore it into small bits then dropped them all into her beaded cream reticule. After a violent shake, she pulled out two pieces. “The first pair is…Ardmore and Southby!”
Thomas sat back and chuckled. “Less embarrassing to concede defeat right now, people. His glacialness and I will wipe the floor with you all.”
Jane shot him a mock-reproving look. “Now, now. The next pair is…George and Taff!”
“Excellent,” drawled George. “Brawn and brains. Something the first lot is decidedly lacking in.”
With a suspiciously strangled cough, Jane rummaged again. “And, hmmm…Shilton and Flora! Oh, do you two mind being a pair?”
“Not at all,” said Shilton gallantly, although he had sat up and actually looked animated for the first time since he and Caroline arrived at the picnic. “It’s quite all right, Lady Westleigh, Miss Hartley and I have…met before.”
“Wonderful,” Jane replied, nodding with approval. “So that leaves, hmmm, Stephen and Caroline as the last two. Now, before we begin, here are the rules. You have exactly thirty minutes. William will give you your first clue, then the pair who find and solve the most clues after that will win the grand prize.”
“But,” added William with a stern frown, “I should mention that all instances of cheating, sabotage, mutiny and general skullduggery will be dealt with in the harshest of ways. Newgate…transportation…all nothing compared to what I have in mind.”
George groaned. “Not even a little skullduggery?”
“None,” said Jane firmly, although her eyes twinkled. “We’ll be watching like hawks. And remember, he knows all sorts of thoroughly unsavory types.”
Further mutterings sounded about the sheer outrageousness of the rules—everyone knew a little blatant bad behavior added spice to picnic games—and Stephen found himself tempted to add a few grumbles of his own as he braced his hands on his knees to stand up.
“Stephen?” came a tentative voice beside him.
He paused and turned his head. “Yes, Flora?”
“You…you don’t look terribly happy. Is it all right for me to partner Lord Shilton during the treasure hunt? I mean, I understand if you’d prefer me not too.”
Irritation burned that his fiancée felt she had to ask permission for something so trivial, especially amongst his closest friends and family. Granted he didn’t know the baron overly well, but it was hard to believe anyone so shy, quiet and utterly dominated by their mother would suddenly morph into an unscrupulous rake. Especially when Shilton’s own fiancée would be no more than a shout away the entire time. “It’s just a picnic game, Flora. I believe Shilton is gentleman enough not to abscond with you over the garden wall.”
“Oh yes, a gentleman to his toes. But only if you’re sure.”
“I, er…” but before he could finish the sentence she beamed, bobbed a curtsy and hurried over to line up beside her partner.
Well. Obviously he was quite surplus to requirements. Either that or somehow in the past twenty minutes he’d miraculously discovered the right way to soothe her nerves. Flora had apologized for her reaction to his kiss in the carriage, saying he’d just surprised her. She had even shuffled close and rested her hand on his sleeve while they travelled here today. But it still felt damned awkward between them, and in all honesty he was starting to wonder how the hell they would get through a wedding night. He might not be a fan of public displays of affection but all bets were off in the bedchamber, and he’d always hoped his wife would match him. At least long enough for several children, anyway.
Stephen sighed. How perfect his compatibility chart would have been, if only he could have included a ‘thoroughly enjoys being naked and looks forward to indulging in frequent, scorching sex’ column.
“A-hem. While I hate to interrupt this all-important wool-gathering, your lordship, the rest of us would like to begin the treasure hunt sometime this year.”
He glanced up at his partner’s sarcastic tone and sighed again. “I’m vastly disappointed it was only temporary, Caroline.”
“That what was only temporary, Stephen?”
“You directing your scorn at someone else for a change. Almost makes me wish the Bruce girls were here right now,” he said as they received their first clue. A full half-hour in each other’s company would no doubt be problematic, but at least he’d have the opportunity to find out exactly when she had lost her mind.
Caroline shuddered. “Don’t even joke about them. I had a terrible dream the other night, all seven held me prisoner in a cottage and they were cutting my shoes and putting treacle in my hair.”
“Treacle? Come on, they might be a little intense but surely no woman could be that evil.”
“Ha! And here I thought you knew at least a little bit about the fairer sex.”
“You’re absolutely right. I thought, for example, that if a lady turned down a marriage proposal because she had serious reservations about suitability, she didn’t inexplicably change her mind a few years later and say yes.”
Her expression chilled. “Emphasis on the years later, Lord Westleigh. People change.”
“Really? Because you haven’t. And although I only know Shilton casually, I don’t believe he is staggeringly different from when he first proposed either. So how is it going to work?”
Ignoring him, Caroline bent to where a scrap of paper had been tucked under the arm of a small cherub statue. She unrolled it, read the short message and frowned. “It’s some sort of mathematical code. Here.”
He scanned the text and the answer popped into his head. “We need to walk twenty-seven paces in a northwest direction.”
“Well I never. You can be useful.”
“So I’ve been told. But you haven’t yet answered the question.”
“Haven’t I? Oh dear. Perhaps I missed the announcement of the royal family, all other peers and an entire government perishing to put you in charge of everything. Twenty-seven paces. Let’s go.”
“Caroline,” Stephen snapped, even more annoyed with her attitude. “Marriage is a serious business.”
“My word! And all this time I thought it such a lark. Mama and Sir Malcolm make it look especially fun.”
Stephen stilled and took a deep breath. “Is that why you’re doing it?” he asked, evening out his tone. Were both twins acting slightly deranged because something awful was happening at home? “To get away from your stepfather? If you had funds you and George could just leave, set up a house somewhere. Or you could use one of mine. I’d be happy to pay for staff—”
“Oh. My. God. No, Lord Westleigh, we don’t want your blasted money.”
“Don’t let stubborn pride do the talking.”
“Arrgh! You are such a…a…an obnoxious skunk! My pride has nothing to do with it. Why is it so hard for everyone to understand that I am happy with my choice? A kind, generous, titled man has offered the opportunity to be mistress of my own home. To be a baroness. A wife and a mother. I am willing to do whatever it takes to make it work.”
“Ah. That explains your dress,” he muttered, staring derisively at the high-necked, long-sleeved yellow gown she wore.
“There is nothing wrong with my dress. Bradford likes me in yellow.”
“He needs a quizzing glass then, you look like an unpeeled banana. No red-blooded man in the world would be inspired to help create the children you say you want.”
“Well. At the critical point, I wouldn’t be wearing it, would I?” she snarled and Stephen froze as an image imprinted itself on his brain.
Caroline spread across a four-poster bed, her long blonde hair loose from its usual chignon, and lush curves encased in a tiny scrap of lace-edged, jade-green silk to match her eyes. Except the delicate fabric wouldn’t survive a long, slow arch of her back, just jaggedly frame the pouting pink nipples aching to be sucked and the hot, wet center desperate to be teased and stroked and filled by him…
Him? Not Shilton?
Shock surged through Stephen and he felt a fraction dizzy, as when she’d fallen against him at the Bruce’s ball and caused his body to harden in record time.
Oh hell.
~ * ~
She’d done it again.
Just when it seemed her foot couldn’t be rammed any further in her mouth, Caroline would go and surprise herself. Of course nakedness and the creation of children were entirely appropriate topics of conversation for a betrothed woman to be talking about with someone else’s gentleman at a picnic. Even if she had known said gentleman for a long time.
Thank heavens Bradford hadn’t heard her comment, he would have run screaming for the hills. Or Flora, who knew how possessive she might be or what creative vengeance fantasies lurked under that shy smile and sweet disposition. For heaven’s sake, she’d even scandalized the unflappable Stephen Forsyth, his wide eyes and clenched jaw made that perfectly obvious, and no one could call him a prude by any stretch of the imagination.
Mortification scorched her cheeks and she fought the urge to run and submerge her head in the swirling waters of the nearby marble fountain. Clearly behaving like the future Lady Shilton should was going to be a piece of cake.
“Twenty-seven paces. Northwest,” Stephen suddenly rapped out, and Caroline nodded quickly, unable to even look him in the face now.
He strode away and she trailed behind, more than happy to concentrate on counting the minutes until this day could be over. It had started well enough. Bradford had collected her in a beautiful lacquered-wood carriage with butter-soft leather squabs, and during the journey he’d asked for permission to kiss her. The kiss had been soft, gentle yet still very nice, and she’d felt rather happy as he smilingly escorted her to the breathtakingly lovely Hastings House gardens. But then came her giant slice of humiliation pie, right in front of Taff, a near-stranger, too.
Caroline shivered and glanced over to where the man stood deep in conversation with George. He was an enigma, this Captain Tavistock Martin. While she was still sincerely tempted to throw herself at his feet and pledge eternal service for the rescue, the black expression and chair-grip she’d seen after the bribery and corruption comment inexplicably made her wary. Almost the way she felt around Sir Malcolm, like turning her back or saying too much would be a very foolish thing to do. Her reaction seemed quite ridiculous, because despite his odd insistence they call him by his first name, Taff had been nothing but smiling, deferential, and courteous towards the entire party. But still, it was safe to say she wouldn’t be accompanying him to any secluded spots anytime soon.
Abruptly Stephen came to a halt, causing her to crash into his back. Or at least her breasts did, her nipples immediately tightening as they pressed and rubbed directly against the unforgiving solidness of his powerful frame. She almost groaned at the sensation, even through layers of clothing.
Imagine if it were skin on skin…
He jerked away. “For God’s sake, Caroline, watch where you’re going!”
Oh, for the earth to open and swallow her up right now. Why couldn’t she stop her traitorous body from responding to him? He’d made his abhorrence perfectly clear on multiple occasions, yet an accidental touch left her panting, while a proper kiss from her fiancé resulted in mere pleasantness like eating a slice of her favorite cake. “Excuse me,” she snapped, “you were the one who stopped in the middle of the path.”
“That is because we have reached our destination. The next clue should be somewhere just…ah, there we are.” Stephen crouched next to a small shrub, holding the foliage to one side while he reached in and pulled out another piece of paper to read. “This one’s a riddle.”
“Really?” Dropping down beside him, she peered at the text, her interest thoroughly piqued.
“Hmmm. ‘I travelled across the sea and land, to win another’s uncertain hand. I did my duty, provided an heir, but still the rumors taint the air. A ‘delicate investigation’ — no truth found, is there still a chance I’ll wear the crown?’
Caroline scoffed. “Far too easy. Our exalted future king’s most beloved wife.”
“I don’t believe Mrs. Fitzherbert does a lot of travelling.”
“Sssh!” she hissed, smacking him on the arm. “Someone might hear you.”
“All right. Let’s talk about the Princess of Wales then. I wonder if she’ll finally come to some arrangement with the Regent and withdraw to the continent. Italy perhaps.”
“Withdraw? Pah. Kick up her heels and enjoy herself I hope. Deserves it after all the nonsense.”
“My, my, does Shilton know about your reformist bent?”
Her lips tightened, all amusement gone. “So it’s fine for Prinny to be married and flaunt his married lovers here, there and everywhere, but his wife must behave like a nun even after doing her duty? Ridiculous.”
Stephen shrugged, and she quelled the urge to slap him. Again. Men.
“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “people should just stick to marrying someone they are compatible with. Take me, for example—”
“Oh, you’re absolutely right. We should all sit down, rank each other and fill out compatibility charts to choose a spouse.”
“Better that than leaving it to chance.”
“Rubbish. May I remind you that you aren’t even wed yet? Your wretched chart may have missed all sorts of things, you and Flora could be ready to poison each other’s coddled eggs in weeks.”
“Very much doubt that. It’ll only take her a few weeks to fall madly in love with me then it will be more about managing her desire to spend every waking moment in my company,” he finished blandly, his lips twitching.
Caroline shook her head. “You really are a very sad, deluded man. No wonder Prinny frequently invites you to tea.”
“Steady on. I went once, that was enough. I had nightmares about lace and pink silk for weeks afterward.”
“Pfft. Everyone knows you secretly crave more lime, periwinkle and fuchsia. Actually, I wager all your jokes about the Havenhurst’s drawing room were forced. You want a purple and orange drawing room more than anything in the world.”
“I’m unmasked,” he said with a grave mien. “Flora’s going to decorate my library in those inviting shades and then we’ll often invite Esther over for hours of pianoforte duets. It will be splendid.”
“That does sound heavenly,” Caroline agreed. “But meanwhile, there is the next clue to find, so if you could desist blathering like an unhinged debutante for just a minute, I shall figure out where Caroline of Brunswick leads us.”
Stephen winced and clutched his chest. “Stabbed me through the heart that did. Poor Shilton, hope he enjoys his collar and leash…ow! Kindly remove your heel from my boot. With care though, I prefer all bones and sinew to be left inside the skin.”
“Uh-oh. What did he say to necessitate a foot crushing, Caro?”
Startled, she looked up, her cheeks heating at George’s mocking words. Especially as Taff stood next to him, his gaze as intent as a man assessing a purchase at Tattersall’s. Had he overheard their plain-spoken banter too?
“It’s hard to recall,” she said swiftly. “Lord Westleigh says so many foolish things in any given hour. But why are you here? I thought you were treasure hunting by the fountain.”
“Game over,” replied George with a long, theatrical sigh. “Ardmore and Southby won. I believe Southby raised an eyebrow and all clues leapt from their hiding places into his hand.”
Stephen snorted as the four of them made their way back to the picnic area. “Sore loser. He’s a man, like the rest of us.”
“I don’t know about that. There are men, and then there are men,” said Caroline in a loud voice, hoping to hide the unease she felt walking alone next to the limping Taff. George and Stephen were several steps ahead now, politeness had forced her to slow her stride to match the injured guest’s.
“Such quick wit, Miss Edwards,” Taff said, smiling at her. “But cruel toward poor Westleigh. You must be very, very close to tease each other so.”
“Well. He’s been my brother’s best friend since Eton,” she replied uncomfortably. “I guess you could say we’ve grown up together.”
“Ah. Perhaps town isn’t so very different from country then.”
Caroline frowned. “Excuse me?”
“It’s very convenient when such a beautiful woman is close at hand. Tell me, were you willing the first time? Or did Westleigh take you by force?” he finished softly.
Shock held her utterly immobile. “Captain Martin,” she began icily, her palm itching to slap his face for the filthy insult, to her and Stephen. “I—”
“Now I’ve offended you. Forgive me, Miss Edwards that was unspeakably rude. It seems I have much to learn about town manners.”
She glared at him suspiciously, but his expression was so contrite, so earnest, she practically felt her hackles retract. “Very well. I hope you enjoy your stay in London.”
“Oh, Miss Edwards,” he said, inclining his head. “You may count on it.”