It was. It had the peaceful beauty Caroline preferred, and more than once she’d considered selling the town house in London and buying a lovely secluded place just like it.
“His Grace wished for me to tell you that if you’d care to use Tenterden Manor at any time, you will always be welcome.”
More than a little surprised, Caroline wasn’t sure what to say.
Mrs. Sims gave a small brisk nod. “Told me you miss the country, my lady, and you’re to visit whenever it suits you. I hope you’ll consider it now and again, when the city bothers you.”
The thoughtful gesture made tears spring to her eyes. If she didn’t already feel like weeping stupidly over his departure, this did it. One chance remark and he’d remembered it.
His virtuosity in bed aside, that was what truly had her undone. Whether it was part of the bet or not, he acted as if he cared how she felt about things.
If she wasn’t doomed before, she certainly was now.
Caroline blinked and cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Sims. That is very generous of the duke. Another visit sounds wonderful.”
He’d had a restive journey home; the meeting he had to attend was first thing in the morning, and really, the last thing he needed was the news his mother was in residence. Nicholas adored her, but she also had no compunction about trying to interfere in his life. Travel-weary and a little disgruntled, he strolled into the informal drawing room and essayed a smile. “Good evening, Mother.”
“Nicholas.” She rose from an embroidered settee and crossed the room to offer her cheek with gracious poise. It was a richly furnished room, with Turkish carpets, a scattering of comfortable chairs in the style of Louis XIV, and some artwork that could grace a museum wall. His mother suited the surroundings, always regal, always polished and perfect with her dark hair upswept, able to command attention with both her beauty and her poise. Her elegant bearing contained a canny mind, and she often surprised and discomforted him with her insight. He was well past the age when he needed guidance from his mother in certain areas of his life. Unfortunately, those were exactly the areas she was most interested in.
She wished to see him married and settled, and though they didn’t precisely argue over it, the point came up often enough to exasperate him.
With dutiful affection, he kissed her and then straightened. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I arrived this afternoon. Althea is with me. The children stayed in Kent with their nanny. She’s upstairs changing for dinner and Charles is going to join us. He’s been in London for three weeks and she missed him. It is why we are here.”
So his mother, his older sister, and his brother-in-law. It seemed now he’d be dining
en famille
rather than as he’d imagined. He glanced at the clock with what he hoped wasn’t obvious dismay. A quiet evening with dinner at his club was out of the question now. “It sounds delightful.”
“Yes, you look delighted, darling.” The Dowager Duchess of Rothay cocked her head a little in amused reproach. “I take it we’re interfering in your plans. You needn’t stay and eat with us if you don’t wish. I realize we didn’t inform you of our impending arrival.”
His disquiet had nothing to do with any plans, but more so with one very lovely young woman who had occupied his thoughts all the hours home. Had Caroline chosen to stay? His feelings on that were decidedly mixed. He could clearly picture her sleeping in the bed where they’d shared so many hours of pleasure, and it made him restless.
Why? He wasn’t sure. Usually he left and didn’t look back.
“I don’t have specific plans, but I just got here as well. I’ve been out of town.”
“So I understand.” With shrewd insight his mother gave him a quizzical look. “Who is she?”
“What makes you think there’s a she? I have a dozen reasons to leave town and do so often enough.”
Silently, she regarded him with thoughtful inspection.
Lord, this was not what he needed. Were all females so perceptive or was it just mothers with their sons? He smiled and shook his head. He was a grown man and disinclined to discuss the matter, especially since Caroline was the subject. “I am not going to comment. How was your trip?”
“It was fine.”
At least she accepted the dismissal, though he had a feeling the discussion was far from over. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before he excused himself. “I’ll be delighted to have dinner with two of my favorite ladies and you know I like Charles. Just let me change. I’m a trifle dusty. The carriage didn’t appeal to me this afternoon and I chose to ride.”
He bowed politely and went upstairs, finding the familiar confines of his bedroom at least a little soothing. His valet, alerted to his arrival, was ever efficient and waited, saying, “Good evening, Your Grace. Hot water will be up shortly.”
Nicholas nodded. “Thank you, Patrick.”
Diffident and earnest, with thick red hair and a freckled complexion, the young man hurried to pick up each item of clothing as it was discarded. “I trust you had a pleasant trip.”
More than pleasant actually.
“It was . . . satisfying.”
Satisfying. It seemed an appropriate word choice.
The real question was, would he stay satisfied?
Caroline had clearly refused him further contact, so he had no choice.
He had to admit, he wasn’t used to it and it chafed. However, he was an experienced man and realized she’d gotten under his skin in an unusual way. The conclusion had become crystallized as he’d ridden away from Essex, the vivid image of how sweetly she’d kissed him before he left embedded in his mind, her slender arms around his neck, her soft mouth warm and receptive.
It had been one devil of a good-bye kiss. Was it his imagination that she’d clung to him for just one fraction of a second too long before they broke apart?
Shaking off the memory, he quickly bathed and dressed, going downstairs to find his brother-in-law had arrived already. Charles Peyton was ten years older with an affable disposition and a keen mind. Nicholas wasn’t sure exactly what he did for the War Office, but he knew he was highly regarded in all circles and suspected the secrecy meant something to do with military intelligence.
“Nicholas . . . good to see you.” Peyton wandered over with a glass of claret and gave him a bland look over the rim. “I understand you’ve been out of town.”
“For a little while,” he confirmed, since apparently it was common knowledge. Then, as Caroline’s seductive image rose starkly in his mind, he murmured, “Not quite long enough.”
“Does this have anything to do with your little competition with Manderville?”
Why he was surprised anyone could guess so easily, he wasn’t sure. Especially Charles, who was as sharp as a honed rapier. “Are people still discussing that idiotic moment?”
Charles chuckled, his pale blue eyes full of sympathetic humor. “Oh, indeed. Your precipitous absence without explanation has not helped quell the rumors.”
“I was gone all of five days and I don’t owe anyone an explanation, by God.” Very rarely did he feel his privileged status made him immune to the same rules that governed those of lesser rank, but in this he did. Why should he account to anyone for his whereabouts? England got quite enough of his time as it was.
“I didn’t say you did. But everyone wants to hear the grand announcement of the results.”
“I’m glad you find this amusing.”
“To a certain extent,” his brother-in-law admitted with a twitch of his mouth. “Allow us long-married men to live through your exploits, won’t you? There are more speculations on who might judge your unorthodox contest than there are on the outcome. Quite a fair amount of money is being wagered on your little contest.”
“Well, hell,” Nicholas muttered, careful to make sure his mother didn’t hear the profanity.
“Ah. Quite.”
With Charles, that could mean anything, and Althea’s arrival in a swirl of violet silk, lustrous pearls, and expensive perfume stopped the conversation cold.
He gave a silent prayer of thanks at the interruption, hoping no one noticed Caroline’s absence coincided with his own unexplained trip and suspected the truth. They wouldn’t, he quickly reassured himself. Not of the reputedly cold, disdainful Lady Wynn.
She was safe enough.
Chapter Seventeen
A
nnabel gazed out the rain-streaked glass at the view of the wet street, the occasional splash of a passing vehicle coming over the persistent sound of the downpour. A glowering sky sat just above the rooftops. “I’m afraid I’m spoiled. Our weather has been so fine I almost forgot how dreary it can get.”
“You do seem quieter than usual this afternoon, my dear.” Alfred smiled at her. “I am glad to hear it’s the weather and nothing else is wrong.”
If he only knew. Everything was wrong.
Everything.
According to Derek, Alfred had noticed the tension. Worse still, he had
confronted
Derek about it.
She looked at her fiancé and wondered why she was having doubts. He looked the same as usual, elegantly dressed in the latest fashion, his boots polished to a high sheen, his chestnut hair brushed neatly back from a face that, while not handsome precisely, was certainly very nice looking. The same brown eyes, the same nose, the same mouth, but instead of being reassured by his presence, for some insane reason, Annabel was shaken from her conviction this upcoming marriage was what she wanted.
It was Derek’s fault. She blamed him entirely, and when she thought about the other night when he’d climbed into her bedroom through the window, she was utterly furious.
How dare he ruin her happiness?
I love you.
Needless to say, she didn’t believe him, and even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. He was not the type of man who would be faithful, and she was not the kind of woman who could be married to someone who wasn’t. That was the end of it.
Not that he’d mentioned marriage anyway. Derek Drake wasn’t the type to offer honest marriage to any woman. All he wanted was the transient use of women’s bodies. From that one devastating kiss a year ago she knew he was attracted to her, and she suspected his impetuous invasion of her bedroom and subsequent declaration stemmed from the notion he couldn’t have her.
Because there was no way on earth she would be so foolish as to believe he was sincere.
“. . . hardly crossed the street before he stumbled and fell headlong at her feet. What are the odds of that?” Alfred chuckled, the heavy signet ring on his finger winking as he lifted his cup to his mouth.
Annabel blinked, realizing she hadn’t been listening to the anecdote, and a sense of guilt compounded her already churning emotions. “That
is
amusing,” she said in a dismal attempt to pretend she’d heard what he’d said.
“It truly was at the time.” Alfred set aside his tea and regarded her with a steady gaze she found disconcerting. “But I can tell you are not in the mood for frivolous little stories. Would it be best if I called another time?”
“No,” she protested. Then, after a moment, she sighed. “Maybe it would, my lord. May I offer my apologies for being such poor company?”
“None needed, my dear, you know that. We will be married for many, many years and I imagine we’ll both have our fair share of adverse moods.”
Many, many years. Somehow, that didn’t help her dilemma. Before they were even wedded, here she was sitting and thinking about another man. Devil take it, she didn’t
want
things to be this way.
Alfred stood. “I’ll call for you tomorrow morning and if the weather improves, perhaps we could take a short drive.”
The gloomy weather matched her current mood
exactly
. Annabel nodded.
Her fiancé came over and took her hand, lifting it to his lips, just brushing the backs of her fingers with his mouth before releasing it. He said, “Until tomorrow, then, my dear, and I hope whatever is blue-deviling you gets resolved. If there is anything I can do, you know all you have to do is ask me.”
That long-ago fateful moment in the library was certainly part of the problem. Inspiration seized her. She stood up suddenly. “Kiss me.”
Alfred looked unaccountably startled. “Annabel, we are in the drawing room. I hardly think—”
She tilted her face up and asked in what she hoped was a soft persuasive tone, “Don’t you wish to?”
“Yes . . . well, yes, dash it, of course, but the only reason we are relatively alone is because Thomas trusts me to remain a gentleman.”
He was right, and the door stood wide open for any passing servant to see them, plus Margaret could come bustling in any moment, but Annabel didn’t care. If there was anything she could do to erase that plaguing memory, she was willing to take the risk. Besides, they were supposed to be married in a few months. Surely no one would be that scandalized.
“A kiss is hardly a horrible breach of conduct. Not when the woman is going to be your wife.” Since her bow in society, she’d learned quite a bit about the art of flirtation and she gazed up at him from under the veil of her lashes with as much provocative invitation as she could summon.
In turn, he stared at her mouth and then put one hand very lightly at her waist. “I suppose you’re right.”
Kiss me. Make me forget that first kiss, make me forget him. . . .
When he lowered his head, she shut her eyes and waited, her breath fluttering in her throat.
Unfortunately, it was over all too quickly. All he did was press his closed lips against hers for the space of two, maybe three heartbeats, and then he stepped back.
This time the earth didn’t shatter. This time—with the man she’d agreed to marry—the kiss was quite a pedestrian experience. He smiled in his usual earnest way, looking vaguely triumphant. Annabel did her best to conceal her crushing disappointment. It was one thing to ask for a kiss; it was quite another to tell him he’d hardly acquitted himself well. Naturally, he was a very proper young man, so he would never coax her mouth open and ravish her with his tongue and lips in a sinful bewitching way that left her weak-kneed. What had she been thinking?