CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Exhaling heavily, Stephen sat back in his chair, the padded leather’s smooth coolness a welcome balm to his bruised and battered body. “That went well.”
Caroline folded her arms and glared at him. “Don’t you dare attempt a joke. Or any more jostle nonsense. Why didn’t you tell me somebody pushed you?”
“Because I didn’t want to worry you.”
“But that person, whoever they are, tried to kill you. It was only sheer luck you weren’t brought home in pieces! A constable…the Runners…the government…need to be informed!”
“But that’s the thing. I can’t be at all sure they were trying to kill me. I don’t know if the person did it deliberately, or was trying to get out of the way of the crates and barrels…besides, I didn’t see anyone. What exactly would I say to a constable? I want to report that an unknown man or woman may or may not have pushed me in the middle of a noisy, precarious situation? There are far too many unknown variables to do any kind of reasonable analysis, Caroline.”
She snorted derisively, pacing back and forth several times before finally settling on an embroidered chaise. “Well, Mr. Mathematics, you may not see a pattern but I do. In the space of two weeks your life has been in grave danger twice. A little unlucky for one person, don’t you think?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“To my great misfortune. You’ve said some foolish things in your time, but that truly takes first prize.”
“Really? What part of my statement didn’t meet your stringent factual standards?”
“You are twisting information to suit and you bloody well know it,” he snapped. “Those poachers had no idea who I was. They merely saw the easiest of targets, a rich man with no weapons escorting several women in a secluded clearing. Besides, the two men were foolish amateurs, if I’d actually had a pistol at the time they would both be limping in the colonies for the rest of their lives. If they were true assassins, I’d be dead.”
“Stephen—”
He held up a hand. “No. Listen. As for today, you cannot be serious. How could anyone arrange a Piccadilly cart to take a corner too fast? I saw the driver’s face. He was doing his level best to avoid hitting me, even yelled at me to get out of the way. And he lost all his produce, too. Who would do that?”
But his wife wasn’t appeased. In fact she continued to glower at him, her expression the very portrait of righteous stubbornness.
“There are men who will do pretty much anything for a pile of guineas. Maybe even perform a rescue in the middle of nowhere.”
His jaw dropped. “Good God, woman, enough. I mean it. You’re starting to sound as unhinged as Mama when she talks about Gregory’s group of friends.”
“Very well then. Tell me all about this society if they are so innocent.”
Stephen picked up a pen and flipped it between his fingers. Never mind poachers and runaway carts, it was far more likely to be a blonde countess who caused his death. Haranguing him into an early grave, either that or causing his brain to explode with their insistence on feelings over facts.
“There are four remaining members,” he said patiently. “Baron Michael Kimbolton, Sir John Smythe, Lord Avery Wynn-Thorne and Major Lionel Rochland. As I said earlier, they have a number of business interests, as I do, and also undergo some admirable charity work.”
“They told you this?”
“Yes. Along with enough detail to let me know it is all absolutely above board.”
For the first time Caroline hesitated, looking down as she fiddled with a bow on her peach-striped gown. “Jane spoke of something very different. She was most concerned. No, quite afraid.”
“Exactly what did she say to you?” he asked, picking up his abandoned glass of whisky and taking a large gulp.
“That your father investigated the group and found out nothing, so he then got in touch with some friends in a discreet government department who told him all sorts of horrid stories. Late night sex rituals. Respectable girls being lured away from their families and put onto slave ships travelling to the continent and beyond. And perfectly healthy men being found dead.”
Stephen kept drinking. Even as the whisky burned a trail of fire down his throat and his stomach roiled in protest, he kept going until the glass was empty to avoid an immediate, explosive response. Christ Almighty. No wonder men like Rochland were on the irritable side, those remarks were nothing short of slander.
“Perhaps,” he said eventually, “the reason my father found nothing, perhaps all his government friends had were tall tales was because my brother’s friends and their activities are entirely innocent and praiseworthy? Did she think about that as a possible scenario? The gentlemen in question did admit to a fondness for parties hosted by Sir John Smythe, but no word on bloody crosses, chants or virgin sacrifices.”
“What about the missing girls?”
“There are no missing girls. Gregory instigated a program to rescue unfortunates from the streets of London:—lightskirts, criminals and orphans. Fed them, clothed them, taught them their letters and numbers then helped them escape by ship to a new life in places like Brussels or the colonies. The other Society members are merely carrying on what he started.”
Caroline finally looked up, her cheeks bright red. “Really?”
“Really.”
“But Jane…she sounded so…so convinced.”
“I need to say something about her.”
Getting up from his chair, he walked around the desk and sat next to her on the chaise. To his surprise, Caroline shuffled over and scooted onto his lap. Instinctively he tensed at the unexpected intimacy, but when she flung an arm around him and buried her face in his neck, all soft, warm, citrus-scented woman, he decided in the circumstances he’d allow it. Just this once.
“What do you need to say, Stephen?”
“Mama has been through a lot in the past few years,” he began, not wanting to reveal the true extent of his mother’s private grief, all the days she refused to eat, get dressed or bathe, the hours of wrenching sobs behind locked doors he’d had to force open. “I thought after her initial breakdown she was able to manage her grief, but lately I’m not so sure. The things she has been doing and saying…you know she is leaving for Westleigh Park tomorrow?”
Caroline’s gaze narrowed. “Yes.”
“Don’t give me that look, it’s for her health. Not a punishment, but to help her rest and get better. I’ll arrange for an excellent doctor to care for her, soon enough she’ll be back to her old self and more than welcome to return to London and prop up the merchant economy.”
“But how do you know for sure she is wrong?”
“You said yourself there is no evidence to suggest what she believes is true. None at all. And it’s a measure of the men involved that they haven’t taken legal action against those spreading such vicious lies about them. Look, I’m going to see their offices at the docks in a few days’ time. Come with me and meet them. You’ll see for yourself how legitimate and civic-minded they are.”
Caroline tilted her head back and looked at him, her jade eyes huge. God, but his wife really was an extremely attractive woman. “You mean it?”
“Yes, I mean it,” Stephen replied, finding himself cupping her cheek in a brief caress. Bloody hell. He needed to end this before he turned into a complete milksop and started spouting sonnets. “Now get out of here and leave me in peace. Go visit your mother or that book-loving friend of yours, the redhead.”
“Louisa Donovan.”
“That’s right, Louisa. Doesn’t she need to find a decent husband? George needs a rich wife, I’m sure they would be perfect for one another.”
Caroline burst out laughing as she climbed off his lap and shook the creases from her gown. “Please. Lulu’s got so much money there are noblemen crossing seas and queuing for miles to marry her. Besides, I wouldn’t wish the Cretin on my worst enemy, let alone my dearest friend. For the sake of your continued health I won’t mention your suggestion of a decent husband to her.”
“Good. I’m rather fond of my health.”
“As am I. Finding another husband taller than me would be entirely too difficult.”
He laughed and leaned carefully back on the chaise, feeling the tension in his body ease away for the first time all day. “Until dinner, then, my lady.”
“As you wish, my lord,” she replied pertly, sauntering away. Then she pivoted, hurried back and kissed him lingeringly on the lips before bolting out the door.
Stephen yawned and stretched, rubbing his mouth in an attempt to remove the stupid grin from his face. Obviously Milksopville was far, far closer than he realized.
Damned infernal woman.
~ * ~
“All right. Tell me everything about marriage, Lady Westleigh. No, strike that, I’m only truly interested in the bedchamber parts. You may proceed with enough graphically detailed description to turn my hair white, it’s an entire hour to Aunt Edith’s town house.”
Caroline stifled a grin as she arranged herself on the luxurious pale brown leather carriage squabs opposite her best friend. Instead, she schooled her features into what hopefully might pass for a matronly frown. “Soil the ears of an innocent, Lulu?” she said severely. “I think not. Your dear mama will have the honor of enlightening you on that particular subject matter at the appropriate time, not me.”
“Ha. You mean spend five minutes circling the issue with scarlet cheeks and averted gaze right before I’m shoved in my new husband’s direction. I honestly don’t know how my parents managed to conceive me. I think Papa handed Mother a jar of his, ah, you know what, and instructed her to pour it in the right place.”
“Lulu!”
“Ugh. Thank you for the remarkably accurate rendition of the dulcet tones I hear on a daily basis. Except if you really wanted to be precise, you would have cried ‘Louisa Eleanor Donovan! Can’t you be a lady for just one minute! Oh, Mr. Donovan, I wash my hands of her, I really do.”
“Your mother calls your father Mr. Donovan?”
Louisa nodded. “Yes. It is my firm belief she doesn’t actually know his first name.”
“What does he call her?”
“Dear. As in yes, dear. No, dear. Three bags full, dear. Come to think of it, perhaps he doesn’t know her first name either. Maybe I’ll do them a service at dinner tonight and make some long overdue formal introductions. According to the family bible she is Margaret and he is Bertram.”
“Bertram?” said Caroline, shaking with laughter. “Oh dear. I’d probably prefer Mr. Donovan as well. Never Bertie and Peggy?”
“Good heavens no. But cease trying to change the subject. You were going to reveal all the swoon-worthy particulars about the marriage bed.”
“Was I indeed?”
“Come on, Caro, I know you’re dying to. There is a disgusting air of smugness about you that tells me his lordship is not altogether clueless in the art of love.”
“Er, well…” she mumbled, practically feeling the smile slide from her face as she instead fixed her gaze on the cobblestone streets whooshing past outside.
The art of love.
Now that was an interesting way to phrase it, considering Stephen’s actions of the night before had very little to do with love. Even if it had been beyond spectacular. What on earth was she supposed to say? My husband is indeed talented and generous, oh, did he use his fingers and lips and tongue to great effect. However afterwards he fled the room and this morning the house without so much as a word, ripping my heart to shreds. And if that pattern continues, I don’t…I don’t know how long I can pretend I understand and accept it when I want so much more. Like this afternoon when I brazenly leapt onto his lap in the library and wound myself around him like a kitten. I could have stayed like that forever and when he cupped my cheek I nearly cheered. But he doesn’t enjoy or want that kind of intimacy. How fast he sent me away made that perfectly obvious…
“Caroline Emily Edwards.”
She tsked. “Forsyth. Caroline Emily Forsyth. Part of the whole marriage malarkey, you get yourself a new surname. It’s quite lovely actually, no longer being associated in any way with Sir Weasel of Helltown.”
“Well pardon me, I’m sure. But I couldn’t give a tinker’s toot about the surname aspect, much as I can appreciate the joy in leaving that rotten carbuncle behind. Marriage bed. Now. Or I will tie you to Aunt Edith’s chair and instruct her to shriek hymns while repeatedly embedding her heels into your shins and pelting you with dried fruit.”
“You really are a terrible, terrible person.”
“So I’ve been told. Now, Lord Westleigh visited your chamber or did you visit his?”
Caroline sighed in defeat. “He came to mine.”
“And then you played a rousing game of whist to discard items of clothing?”
“Lulu! I worry about you, I really do. Where did you hear such a thing?”
“The stable boys have extraordinarily interesting conversations when they don’t know I’m there. So a card game? Or did he just disrobe you then and there?”
Her cheeks began to burn. “No disrobing games. He, er, kissed me for a while.”
“Kissed you where?”
“My neck.”
“And? What else?”
“Touched me.”
Louisa beamed. “Now we’re talking! Touched you where? Was it nice?”
“Various places,” she replied stiltedly, turning her head to concentrate fiercely on the changing landscape outside the carriage window. Buildings were becoming more sporadic now and the road far more rutted and bumpy. “And yes, it was very nice.”
“Oooh, I can imagine. I’m officially jealous. And afterwards he asked you very politely to join him in bed for a spot of marital relations?”
“He didn’t ask. He picked me up and carried me.”
Louisa let out a long whistle. “Lord Westleigh just moved up a notch in my estimation. What next?”
“Do we really have to discuss this?”
“Most certainly.”
“He, er, removed my nightgown.”
“Ha! Tore it right off, didn’t he! Go Lord W, you good fellow. Well, you’ve got to be pleased when your husband cannot wait to bed you, I guess.”
“Indeed,” said Caroline through gritted teeth, her cheeks now hot enough to boil water. Obviously she wasn’t nearly as worldly as she thought; no wonder mothers hemmed and hawed during ‘the talk’.
“And then Westleigh rang for some cold water to put the fire out in your cheeks?”
“You’re the one interrogating me with extremely personal questions!”
Louisa regarded her with wide, too-innocent eyes. “Knowledge is power, Caro dear. So after his lordship made short work of your nightgown he…?”
“Not right away. He kissed and touched me some more first. And before you ask, yes it does really hurt the first time a man, ah…”
“Invades your castle? Ploughs your field?”
“Good grief, Lulu, you really need some new reading material.”
“What can I say, they’re a guilty pleasure. And I require some balance from the scientific tomes which offer nothing but ‘part A’ and ‘slot B’. So, post the great deflowering did he hold you in his arms and croon lullabies? Feed you cake and champagne while promising the moon and the stars? Did you wake up and watch the sunrise together before indulging your rampant animal lusts all over again?”
Caroline stared at her hands, trying not to wince as her fingernails left half crescents in her palms. Then she looked up and laughed gaily. “Don’t be ridiculous! Why would I want to share a bed with my husband all night? Naturally I immediately sent him packing after the fact so he could snore, roll, perspire and steal the blankets in his own bed, and I could enjoy a good night’s sleep.”
Louisa drooped in disappointment. “Oh. I’ve heard some married couples sleep in the same bed. I thought perhaps—”
“Well you thought wrong. Only very poor people do that. It’s nothing to do with how they feel about one another, and everything to do with economics.”
“Really? But one of my cousins said she and her husband sleep in the same bed every night, and they are very well off.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, drop it would you!” Caroline snapped, her end limit reached. “It’s all different with the aristocracy. They have traditions and rules you’ve never even dreamt of and they won’t give an inch. You simply have to accept them whether you like it or not.”
“Such as taking a mistress? Do you think Lord Westleigh will?”
At the thought of Stephen with another woman, maybe even that revolting Beecham creature, crippling pain surged through her body and she shuddered.
“I don’t know,” she said hoarsely, the words dragged from a dark emotional abyss via a sand-dry throat. “Perhaps, gentlemen often do when their wives are with child, although some have a mistress all of the time. Set them up with a house and carriage and so forth.”
“Humph. If my husband behaved like a barn tomcat, I’d cut off his man parts and serve them up on a silver platter with brandy sauce and almond flakes.”
The tiniest of smiles tugged at Caroline’s lips. “Lulu, if you keep up with comments like that no lord will ever come near you let alone marry you.”
“A cunning plan, is it not? I think I shall be a charming eccentric who conducts experiments, pens sumptuous prose about field ploughing and indulges in affairs with dozens of non-aristocratic men. When they grow dull I’ll send them away with a smile and a pocketful of guineas. They’ll beg me to reconsider, write letters, sing odes beneath my window, but alas, it will be all in vain.”
“This plan has a giant flaw. You are not in the slightest bit charming. And have you considered how tiresome middle of the night warbling might get?”
Louisa frowned. “A valid point. Imagine if I got a male version of Esther Hartley.”
“Like George for example.”
“Indeed. Being forced to hurl myself from a balcony just to escape the wretched assault on my ears does not sound like fun. I’d better ensure all potential lovers aren’t of a musical persuasion.”
Caroline tilted her head as the carriage came to an abrupt halt outside a large but elegant red brick manor. “You really don’t want to get married?”
“Good heavens, no,” replied Louisa, making a face. “As you know, Mother is insisting I marry a nobleman. And while I’m aware not all lords are frightful, your husband for example seems quite tolerable, most are. Quite frankly, the thought of being some middle-aged bacon-brain’s chattel while he lavishes my money on gambling hells and trinkets for his bit of muslin, does not encourage me to tread that path.”
“What about children?”
“Perhaps I’ll start a school. Or an orphanage. That will no doubt quell any maternal urges I might have had. Now, much as I appreciate your efforts in stalling, Aunt Edith is waiting for us. When I told her you were coming along she promised to arrange a large jug of her special lemonade.”
“The one that makes your tongue hurt, eyes glaze and stomach cry for the rest of the day?”
“The very same,” Louisa said sweetly, as a footman helped her out of the carriage.
Caroline fixed a smile on her face. “I can hardly wait.”
~ * ~
“Initially I thought it was just me she wanted to put in a wheeled chair for the rest of my life, but Aunt Edith also kicked a footman, two maids, the vicar, and his eldest daughter. It seems she maims entirely without prejudice. As for her lemonade, I believe it could be used to remove paint. Lulu and I were both near-hysterical during the ride home our stomachs hurt so much.”
Stephen chuckled, more at his wife’s valiant attempts to lighten the mood around the table than the actual story. Bless witchy Aunt Edith, her viciously out of control limbs and toxic lemonade, wherever she was, because her antics were definitely assisting a rather awkward dinner. Despite numerous courses of perfectly prepared food served with several worthy wines, his mother and Taff were being decidedly and rather annoyingly quiet.
After a few more hasty mouthfuls of roasted beef, his mother settled her knife and fork together and slid her chair back. “Excuse me. It’s been rather a long day, I think I’ll go and read a while. Do you need any more herbal mixture from Mrs. Conroy, Stephen?”
“No. No thank you,” he replied, too-heartily, like some drunken jolly uncle. “Enjoy your evening, Mama, I’ll see you in the morning before you go.”
Jane inclined her head and left the room.
Mentally willing Taff to make an equally hasty exit, Stephen drummed his fingers on the table. He was well over dinner now and they actually had a night free of engagements. By God he was going to make the most of it.
“More vegetables, Caroline?” he said politely.
“Oh no,” she replied, with a bright smile. “I couldn’t eat another bite even if I wanted to.”
Excellent.
“Then perhaps I might see you in my library directly,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Ah. Of course. Certainly.”
“Thank you. Good evening, Taff. Sleep well.”
Stephen heard a murmured response, but merely nodded and left the dining room, pausing beside the bottom of the staircase in the ground floor foyer. Minutes later Caroline hurried out in a flurry of hitched-up supper gown and clicking heels, only coming to a halt when she saw him propped against the banister.
“Stephen? I thought—”
“Come with me.” Taking her arm, he led her up the stairs. Although perhaps half-dragged might be a better description.
“What is wrong? Are you angry about something?”
“No,” he said, hearing the gruffness in his tone, but unable to moderate it as intense need coursed through his body. It was her own fault anyway, prancing around the countryside for bloody hours instead of a short visit with Louisa. And since when had this town house been so goddamn huge? It had never taken this long to climb a few flights of stairs before.
“Are you sure? I…oh…” she finished pleasingly breathless when he pulled her into a shadowed alcove and kissed her, enjoying the wine-rich tartness of her mouth as he dipped and swirled his tongue inside. Sliding a hand down Stephen cupped her backside, pressing her firmly against him until her hips perfectly cradled his growing erection. Then he turned her around and trailed his lips along her slender neck, her chignon hairstyle giving him unrestricted access to the soft, sensitive skin. When he’d had his fill he reached around to cup her full breasts, sliding his hands into the bodice of her gown to tease and pluck her already rock-hard nipples.
Caroline gasped. “Not here, someone might see. Bedchamber.”
Scooping her up, he carried her the last few steps to the countess’ bedchamber, fumbling with the doorknob before practically shoulder charging the door down to get inside, and placing her in the center of the room.
Slowly, so slowly, even though controlled movements were nigh on impossible, he removed her gown, stays and chemise until she stood naked before him, her cheeks flushed pink but her gaze steady.
“Go lie on the bed,” he said roughly.
She smiled, a downright wicked siren’s smile, and obeyed. Draping herself across the bed with legs splayed, enough to see damp blonde curls, and back arched so her lush, lush breasts were prominently displayed.
God. So beautiful.
Stephen yanked off his cravat and boots, his trousers, shirt and waistcoat swiftly following until he was as naked as she. Feeling like some sort of wild predator, he stalked toward the bed and knelt between her long legs.
“Well, Lord Westleigh,” she teased, stroking his arm. “Now you have me here, what on earth are you planning to do with me?”
He drank in the sight of her, until finally, unable to resist a second longer he trailed dawdling fingers down her body, around and around but not touching her hard nipples, along her flat stomach to her heated core. Even now her sweet musky scent was teasing his senses, but a little dampness wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted her so wet the moisture would trickle down her thighs and soak into her sheets.
“Patience, wife,” he replied, running a light finger back and forth across the tight curls covering her mound, making her shiver, knowing full well it wasn’t anywhere near what she really wanted.
Leaning down, he blew softly to part the pale hair, revealing slick, pink flesh beneath.
“Stephen. Excuse me, but what do you think you are d…doing?”
In answer, he gently parted the soft folds and lashed her clitoris with his tongue.
Caroline screamed.
Stephen tsked. “That simply won’t do.”
Clamping one hand over her mouth, he dragged his tongue up and down her core. Soon all he could taste and smell was her musky sweetness, and utterly intoxicated, he licked harder, then fastened his lips around her swollen clitoris and sucked, penetrating her dripping channel with two fingers to heighten the pleasure as she bucked and writhed and ground herself against him.
Seconds later she climaxed with a muted cry of ecstasy, drenching his hand and mouth with hot cream. Grimly satisfied Stephen licked his lips, savoring the taste of her. Then he repositioned himself, bracing on his elbows to take one pouting nipple into his mouth as he slid his stone-hard cock inside her tight, wet heat. It was almost indescribable, the way her body clamped around him like a velvet glove. Nothing had ever felt so damn good, with anyone.
Until she tilted her hips, sucking his cock in even deeper.
“Caroline…” he growled, his breath hissing between his teeth at the perfection of the sensation. Instinctively his hips jerked back and rammed forward, again and again, setting up the kind of friction guaranteed to make him lose his mind.
“Please,” she gasped, wrapping her legs tighter around his hips as her nails dug into his back. “More.”
Faster and faster he thrust into her, circling his hips and plunging deep until she arched and came again, her shaking, spasming body demanding a complete response. And he did, damn how he did. A loud groan tore from his very depths as a violent climax took hold, his seed spurting inside her in long streams before he collapsed, utterly spent, in her welcoming embrace.
“Mercy, wife,” Stephen muttered, not sure he would ever find the energy or inclination to move from this spot.
Caroline laughed breathlessly as her fingernails drew light, swirling patterns on his lower back. “Never.”
His lips twitched and he nipped the side of her neck for such insolence.
Bloody hell.
Even for a man of his experience, tonight had been absolutely, undeniably…
Unforgettable.