Confessions at Midnight (7 page)

Pulling the book from the drawer, she opened it to a random page.

… he sank deeper into our kiss, his tongue slowly mating with mine, an intoxicating friction that made me burn for the moment when his body would finally sink into
-

With a groan she slapped the pages shut, the sharp snap echoing in the quiet room. After drawing a shaky breath, she snatched up the book, lifted her chin and strode with determined, resolute steps toward the fireplace.

She stood on the stone hearth, clutching the book, the heat of the low burning fire warming her through her morning gown. Her mind demanded she toss the volume into the flames, yet still she hesitated.

With a groan, she lowered her head to rest her chin against the book's edge. Why, oh
why
had she read it? Before doing so she hadn't questioned her life, her decisions. She knew exactly who she was-Edward's widow. She lived a quiet, calm, circumspect existence, and while some might have considered it lacking in excitement, it suited her. Perfectly. She had her routine. Her correspondence. Her sister and friends. Her embroidery… although she had to admit that she hated embroidery.

But then she'd read this… this damnable book.

She lifted her head to glare at the offending volume. Her fingers clenched it so tightly her knuckles turned white. Now all she could think about was…
that
.

That
… and Lord Surbrooke.

She squeezed her eyes shut and an image of him instantly materialized. Not of him costumed as the dark and alluring highwayman, but as himself, as he'd been at Matthew's house party. His dark blue gaze resting on her, his lovely mouth curved in that slightly crooked grin. A lock of his thick, dark hair falling over his brow.

Her heart rate quickened and she slowly opened her eyes. Stared into the dancing orange and gold flames. And forced herself to face the truth. Her attraction to Lord Surbrooke had taken root well before she'd ever read the
Memoirs
. The seeds had been planted during Matthew's country house party, and now… now they'd bloomed into something completely unexpected. Entirely unwanted. Yet totally undeniable.

And roundly unacceptable.

God Lord, if she was to entertain an attraction to a man-something she'd honestly never considered-
why
was it him? She couldn't deny that from a purely physical standpoint he was extremely handsome, but she'd never been drawn to any man based on mere good looks. Indeed, because of her own upbringing, she tended to avoid such spectacular looking men. She'd been instantly drawn to Edward, who, to her, was extraordinarily handsome, but not in any obvious way. His looks were subdued. Understated. As was his gentle manner. She'd fallen in love with his quiet sense of humor. His intelligence and integrity. His profound kindness and amiability.

Lord Surbrooke, with his stunning looks, heated glances, and reputation as a charming rogue, was not at all the sort of man she'd ever preferred.

Again she looked at the book clutched in her hands. Even though the
Memoirs
may not have struck the match of her unwanted attraction, it certainly fanned the flames with its sensual stories, embedding steamy images in her mind. Images in which Lord Surbrooke prominently figured. Images she wanted, desperately, to banish.

Clearly, ridding herself of this book was the first step toward that end, with the second step being to avoid Lord Surbrooke. Surely that wouldn't be too difficult. He no doubt had dozens of women hanging on his every word to occupy his time. Women with whom he shared all manner of intimacies. Women he kissed passionately at masquerade balls…

A heated shiver rippled down her spine, followed immediately by a strange knotting in her stomach. An irritating tension that felt precisely like… jealousy.

Her brows snapped downward. Good heavens, what did she care if he kissed other women? Made love to them? She didn't. Not at all. Since he'd had no idea whom he was kissing last night, it had clearly been just another anonymous encounter for him, one he'd most likely already forgotten. One which, thank goodness, he'd had the presence of mind to call a halt to. Surely she would have if he hadn't. Surely, after just another few seconds of kissing, she would have pushed him away. Her annoyingly honest inner voice coughed to life and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like
Not bloody likely
. She managed, with an effort, to ignore it.

Still, a tiny, contrary part of her thrilled at the notion that she'd elicited such a passionate response from him. She hadn't known herself capable of doing so. As ardent as Edward had always been, she'd never incited such a… lack of restraint in him. And certainly not at a party. Somewhere they could have been discovered.

A wave of shame washed over her at her thoughts, which she could only label as disloyal. It was both unfair and ridiculous to compare Edward, who had been unfailingly polite and mannerly in every aspect of his life, with a man she barely knew, and what little she did know about him proved he was capable of less than decorous behavior.

Obviously the loneliness that had been plaguing her had gotten the better of her, propelling her to act in a most uncharacteristic fashion last night. While she had no intention of repeating her actions, there was no point in keeping anything that might encourage her to again step outside the cozy cocoon she'd wrapped around herself.

Drawing a resolute breath, she crouched before the fire and slowly extended the
Memoirs. Let it go
, her mind urged.
Toss it in
. It was the right thing to do. Her better judgment, her common sense, knew it.

A knock on the door startled her and she jumped to her feet. A guilty flush scorched her, although she wasn't sure why, and she quickly shoved the book beneath the brocade cushion of the settee. "Come in," she called.

Nelson opened the door, then approached her bearing a silver salver upon which sat a calling card. "You've a visitor, my lady," the butler said, extending the polished tray.

Carolyn picked up the card, looked at the neatly printed writing. Her heart performed a quick acrobatic roll then settled into a rhythm of hard, fast beats.

Good God, what was
he
doing here
?

"Are you at home, my lady?"

Carolyn swallowed. "Yes. You may show Lord Surbrooke in." The words somehow came out of her mouth in spite of the fact that they were the exact opposite of what she knew she should be saying.

Nelson inclined his head then withdrew. The instant he quit the room Carolyn dashed to the mirror hanging on the far wall. And barely bit back an
Ack
! of dismay. No need to pinch her cheeks to give herself some color-the crimson blush staining her skin made it appear as if she'd stuck her face in an oven. Good heavens, even her eyes appeared a bit red, not to mention somewhat swollen, courtesy of too much crying and too little sleep. Or perhaps it was just a reflection from her glowing cheeks.

She pressed her lips together and frowned. What difference did it make what she looked like? Why, none at all! She had no desire to impress Lord Surbrooke. None at all.

Footfalls sounded from the corridor, and with a gasp she hurried away from the mirror. Halting in front of the fireplace, she barely had time to smooth her suddenly damp palms down her gown when Nelson appeared in the doorway.

"Lord Surbrooke," he announced. After a quick bow, he stepped aside and Lord Surbrooke moved into the opening. And Carolyn's heart performed another tumbling roll.

Heavens, the man looked far too appealing by half. As always, he was immaculately groomed. From his midnight blue cutaway jacket that perfectly matched his eyes and accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, to his snowy white shirt and cravat that fell in a perfect waterfall knot, down to fawn breeches that hugged his muscular legs, to his mirror-shined black boots.

He walked slowly toward her, and Carolyn could do nothing save stare, rendered mute by the predatory grace of his movements. Heavens. He walked well. Danced well. Kissed… extraordinarily well.

Heat raced through her and she barely managed to keep from fanning her hand in front of her face. Watching him made her feel as if she were standing next to a blazing hearth.
You
are
standing next to a blazing hearth
, her inner voice reminded her.

Relief raced through her and she moved several steps away from the fireplace. Of course she was. No wonder it was so warm in here. It had absolutely nothing to do with her visitor.

Over Lord Surbrooke's shoulder she vaguely noticed Nelson pulling the door closed. If she'd had her wits about her she would have called out to him to leave the door open, but it appeared she was fully witless. And speechless.

Lord Surbrooke halted, leaving a respectable six foot distance between them-one she felt distressingly tempted to lessen.

He said something-she knew because his lips moved-but his words didn't penetrate because the memory of their kiss inundated her with such intensity, all she could hear was her heart beat thudding in her ears.

There… his lips were moving again. Those beautiful, masculine lips that looked so firm and felt so wonderful. Those lips… those lips… dear God, she'd completely lost the entire thread of the conversation. Not to mention her mind.

Snapping her gaze away from his mouth, she looked into his eyes then cleared her throat to locate her missing voice. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I was afraid it might be too early to call. Thank you for seeing me."

"Actually, you aren't my first visitor of the day."

"Oh?" His gaze sharpened with interest. "Would your other visitors have been Mr. Rayburn and Mr. Mayne?"

Carolyn nodded. "Yes. They've visited you as well? They mentioned they intended to interview all the party guests."

"They left my home not long ago. A terrible, shocking thing, Lady Crawford's death."

"Dreadful. I hope they catch the killer quickly."

"As do I. But until he is apprehended, you must take extra care. Do not go anywhere unescorted."

"It is not my habit to do so."

"Good."

Silence fell between them. She cast desperately about in her mind for something to say, a difficult task, for the sight of him in her drawing room somehow emptied her mind. And in spite of the room's spacious size, his presence seemed to reduce the area to no larger than a box.

It was he who finally broke the quiet. "Am I interrupting anything?"

She suddenly recalled what she'd been doing when Nelson announced him-preparing to toss the
Memoirs
into the fire. Her gaze darted to the settee and dismay washed through her. The edge of the book protruded from beneath the cushion.

"Nothing," she said quickly. And perhaps a shade too loudly. "You're not interrupting anything. However, I'm curious as to why you're calling."
Yes, please tell me. Quickly. Then leave. So I can start forgetting all about you
.

A smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. "May I sit down?"

No. Tell me then leave. And quit smiling
. "Of course." She indicated the wing chair, but instead he settled himself on the settee. Directly over the
Memoirs
. She stared at the cushion in alarm… alarm that melted into chagrin as she realized her gaze was now riveted on his groin. His absolutely fascinating groin.

She sucked in a quick breath and lifted her eyes. And found him studying her. In a way that made that it clear that she'd been caught staring. At his fascinating groin.

Good God. This visit had barely begun and already it was a disaster. At least it couldn't get any worse.

Pulling herself together, she sat at the opposite end of the settee and managed to say in a perfectly composed tone, "What did you wish to see me about, Lord Surbrooke?"

"I wanted to give you something." He held out a glass jar sealed with wax, filled with an amber colored substance.

Carolyn stared at the offering in surprise. Where had that come from? Clearly he'd been holding it all along and she hadn't noticed.
Because you were so preoccupied staring at his lips. And eyes. And fascinating groin
.

She accepted the jar and held it up to the light. "It looks like honey."

He smiled. "Probably because it
is
honey. From my own bees. I keep a number of skeps at Meadow Hill, my country estate in Kent."

"I… thank you," she said, unable to keep the note of surprise from her voice. "I'm very fond of honey."

"Yes, I know."

"You do? How?"

"You mentioned it during one of our conversations at Matthew's house party."

"Did I?" she murmured, far more pleased than she should have been that he'd remember such a minor detail. "I don't recall."

"I wished to give you something, but wasn't certain what it should be. But then you said you'd prefer a gift that reminded me of you. And honey reminds me of you," he said softly. "It is the exact color of your hair."

Her brow pulled downward. Surely she hadn't said anything so… forward to him. "When did I say that?"

He reached out and lightly touched a tendril of her hair. The intimate gesture stopped her breath. "Last night. On the terrace." His gaze seemed to bore into hers. "Galatea."

She actually felt the blood drain from her head, leaving nothing save a buzzing sound in her ears. Good God. Had she, less than a minute ago, believed this visit couldn't get any worse? Yes, she had.

Obviously she'd been very, very wrong.

D
aniel watched the color leach from Carolyn's face and his jaw tightened. She was clearly stunned, and not in a delighted way. Disappointment washed through him, followed immediately by a tight grip of jealousy. And something else he couldn't quite name other than to know it made his heart feel as if a piece were torn from it. Based on her reaction, she hadn't known it was him she'd kissed.

Damn it, who the bloody hell had she thought the highwayman was? He didn't know, but was determined to find out. Before he could ask, however, she moistened her lips, and that flick of her tongue distracted him. He hadn't quite recovered when she asked, "How did you know Galatea was me?"

"It wasn't difficult. The way you hold yourself. The curve of your chin. Your laugh. You are… unmistakable."

For several long seconds she studied him through those beautiful eyes that reminded him of a cloudless summer sky. Then, without saying a word, she rose and moved toward the fireplace. After setting the jar of honey on the mantel, she kept her back to him and appeared to stare into the flames.

"How long did you know it was me?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated. His pride-dented by the fact she hadn't realized he was the highwayman-demanded he not admit he'd known her identity all along. That he hadn't guessed until after they kissed. If she were any other woman, the falsehood would have slipped from his lips without a qualm. Seduction was nothing more than a series of intricate games-games he knew very well how to play. Just as he knew very well how to keep his own counsel and reveal as little as possible of himself to his lovers. In games of love, information was ammunition. The man who gave a woman too much risked getting shot.

But with this woman, the lie caught in his throat, refusing to be spoken. For the sake of his battered pride, he even coughed once in an attempt to dislodge the falsehood, but it refused to budge, leaving him with only one option: to tell her the unvarnished truth. Completely uncharacteristic, but there was simply no other alternative. He didn't quite understand
why
he felt this way, why he had no choice in the matter, and damn it, he detested feeling so confused. But as this was the hand he'd been dealt, he had no choice but to play it. Bloody hell, no wonder he'd never cared for card games.

He stood, then crossed to the fireplace, stopping directly behind her. The faint scent of flowers rose from her skin, teasing his senses, and he drew a deep breath. God, she smelled good. Like a garden on a sunny day.

His gaze riveted on the nape of her neck. That column of creamy skin, flanked by a pair of honey-colored tendrils artfully loosened from her upswept hair, looked so soft, so vulnerable. And so damn touchable.

"I knew it was you the instant I saw you," he admitted softly. Unable to resist, he reached out and touched a single fingertip to that tempting bit of skin, relishing the discovery that it felt as velvety as it looked.

He savored her quick intake of breath, as well as the slight tremor that ran through her. "I was completely aware it was you I spoke to," he continued, lightly trailing his fingertip along the gentle curve of her nape. "You I danced with." He stepped forward until his front lightly grazed her back, and brushed his lips against the skin his finger had just explored. "You I kissed."

She went perfectly still, indeed, it seemed she'd ceased breathing, and grim satisfaction filled him. Excellent. It was a sensation he understood all too well, and it was entirely her fault. Every time he so much as thought of this woman, the sensual images she inspired made it feel for several seconds as if his lungs forgot how to work.

His arms slid around her waist, and holding her lightly against him, he dragged his lips along her neck and inhaled… slowly, deeply, steeping his senses in the soft, floral scent of her. The delicious and almost painfully arousing sensation of holding her in his arms. And as happened every time he was near her, his finesse fled, leaving him struggling to keep from simply snatching her against him. Backing her against the nearest wall. Or bending her over the nearest chair. Or tossing her on the nearest settee. Or just dragging her to the floor. Anywhere to put out this damnable fire that roared through him every time he touched her. A flame that burned even hotter now that he'd tasted her.

The effort not to give in to the craving had him damn near shaking, and he briefly closed his eyes. Forced himself to pull himself together. For God's sake, he'd barely touched her. Never had he experienced such an overwhelming need to have any woman. Still, his inner voice warned him not to move too quickly with Carolyn, lest he scare her off again as he had last night.

Leaning back, he gently turned her until she faced him. One look at her heightened color and languorous expression left no doubt that she was as affected as he. Thank God. Because the next time he kissed her she was damn well going to know it was him doing so.

He reached out and lightly stroked his fingers down her soft cheek. "Who did you think kissed you last night?" he asked, voicing the question that had ceaselessly reverberated through his mind. Hating that he had to ask it.

She studied him with an indecipherable expression, and he dearly wished he could read her thoughts. Then, as if recalling that they stood so close, that his hands rested on her waist, she eased away, putting several feet between them. A space he had to force himself not to erase.

"A dashing highwayman," she finally said. "I'm afraid I got caught up in the excitement and anonymity of the masque and…"

Her voice trailed off and she shifted her gaze to the fire. Although disappointed that she hadn't known or guessed his identity, he was vastly relieved that she at least hadn't named another man.

"And you gave in to your desires?" he suggested softly when she remained silent.

She shook her head. "No. I made a mistake."

She turned toward him, and for the first time he realized that her eyes bore traces of redness around the rims and faint smudges beneath. Signs of a restless, sleepless night. And perhaps even tears. The thought of her crying filled him with an ache he couldn't name. Brought to life a need to comfort and protect-a need he hadn't felt for a very long time. A need he'd thought long dead.

It required all his will not to reach for her. "It wasn't a mistake," he said, his voice quiet yet implacable.

A look of resolution and something else-anguish perhaps?-flickered in her gaze and she lifted her chin. "I assure you it was, Lord Surbrooke. I didn't mean-"

"Daniel."

She hesitated, then continued, "I didn't mean for things to go as far as they did. I shouldn't have accompanied you-the highwayman-onto the terrace. I can only reiterate that I made a mistake. And ask for your forgiveness."

"I assure you there is nothing to forgive." No longer able to stop himself, he stepped closer to her. He wondered if she'd back away, and was pleased when she stood her ground. "I suppose I should apologize as well, but I'm afraid I can't. I'm not sorry. Indeed, my only regret is that you left so abruptly."

She shook her head. "Lord Surbrooke, I-"

"Daniel. Please, call me Daniel." He smiled, hoping to coax one from her in return. "After last evening surely we are on a first name basis. At least I hope so…
Lady Wingate
?"

When, in spite of the exaggerated questioning tone in which he uttered her name, she didn't issue the invitation he hoped, he added, "At least I hope so… my dear
Lady Wingate
?"

Encouraged by the slight twitch of her lips, he continued, "My extremely lovely, very dear
Lady Wingate
?"

The barest whiff of amusement entered her eyes. "How long you do intend to continue in this vein?"

"For as long as it takes… my extremely lovely, very dear, and greatly talented
Lady Wingate
."

She cocked a brow. "Greatly talented? Clearly you've never heard me sing."

"No." He clutched his hands to his chest in a dramatic pose. "But I'm certain the sound rivals that of angels' voices."

"Only if angels' voices sound like out-of-tune squeaking carriage wheels."

He made a
tsking
sound. "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to disparage my friend-the extremely lovely, very dear, greatly talented, and highly amusing
Lady Wingate
."

"At this rate, by the end of the day I'll bear more titles than the entire royal family combined."

"I'm certain that's correct, my extremely lovely, very dear, greatly talented, highly amusing, and extraordinarily intelligent
Lady Wingate
."

She shot him a half-exasperated, half-amused look. "It has clearly escaped your notice, my lord, that I am endeavoring to maintain a bit of propriety between us."

"Daniel. And no, it hasn't escaped my notice." He grinned and waggled his brows. "But clearly it has escaped your notice that I'd like to you stop."

"I believe even a blind man could see that. Yet I'm also endeavoring to politely extricate myself from an embarrassing situation. In a way that will allow us to forget our lapse in judgment last night and continue to enjoy the easy camaraderie we established at Matthew's house party."

"Is that truly what you think last night was? A lapse in judgment?"

"Yes. And one I've no intention of repeating." The words weren't said unkindly. Indeed, he could easily read the apology in her eyes, the plea for understanding.

The problem was, he didn't understand. Nor did he want an apology.

"Can you tell me why?" he asked, his gaze searching hers. "It was clear you enjoyed our kiss as much as I did."

Crimson rushed into her cheeks, and he marveled that a woman over thirty, one who'd been married, could still blush. "That makes no difference."

"I disagree. There is an attraction between us. One I've felt for… quite some time."

Surprise, and something else, flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it. "You have?"

Since the moment I first saw you. Ten years go
. "Yes. And it's something I'd like to explore further. Unless… are you saying I'm incorrect? That the attraction is all one-sided?"

Her blush deepened. "Any woman with a heartbeat would think you very handsome-"

"I don't care about what any woman would think. I only care about what
you
think."

"Surely my opinion regarding your attractiveness isn't important, my lord."

"Daniel. And actually your opinion is very important to me." His lips twitched. "Although I really just want you to agree with me."

She gave a surprised laugh, which she attempted to cover with a cough, and he noted that she appeared a bit more relaxed. A whiff of mischief danced in her eyes. "You wish for me to agree that you're attractive? Surely you realize how conceited that makes you sound."

"No. I'm hoping you'll agree that there's an attraction between us. And that you'd like to explore that attraction as much as I would."

She immediately sobered. Pressing her lips together, she averted her gaze. Then drew a breath and faced him again. "I'm very flattered, but-"

Reaching out, he gently pressed his fingers to her lips. "Why don't we leave it for now at 'I'm very flattered?'" He flashed a smile, one he prayed didn't looked as forced as it felt, then lowered his hand. "I find that statements that follow the word 'but' are generally not very encouraging."

"But that is just the point. Although my actions of last evening may understandably indicate otherwise, I do not wish to encourage you."

"Me in particular? Or gentlemen in general?"

"Gentlemen in general. But especially not you."

He winced. "Ouch. That loud crash you just heard was my manly ego smashing to bits."

She reached out and briefly laid her hand against his upper arm. If he'd been capable of levity, he would have laughed at the fissure of heat that raced through him at the innocent gesture. "You misunderstand me. I say especially not you because… I like you. I don't want to hurt you."

He quirked a brow. "Do you intend to cosh me with an iron skillet? Or perhaps a fire poker? Heavy rock? Shove me down the stairs?"

Her lips twitched. "Of course not."

"Then I fail to see how you could possibly hurt me."

She turned to look at the painting above the mantel, and he followed her gaze. Edward smiled from the canvas, his handsome face frozen in time. A life-sized ghost captured in oil paint.

Daniel pulled his gaze away from the painting to look at her. "I see. You've told me about your devotion to Edward, your wish to never remarry, and I understand." But though he claimed to understand and didn't begrudge Carolyn her feelings, he simply couldn't comprehend that profound depth of love. The sort that owned one's entire heart and soul. "You're afraid that because your heart isn't free, you'll hurt my tender emotions."

She moved to face him, then nodded. "At the risk of sounding horribly full of myself, yes. I've no desire to hurt either of us."

"At the risk of sounding horribly full of
myself
, I do not allow my tender emotions to enter into any of my liaisons." He gave her a quick grin. "Indeed, history has shown that I'm quite lacking in tender emotions, so you need not worry. And like you, I've no desire to marry."

She raised her brows. "What of your title?"

He shrugged. "I suppose I'll have to get leg-shackled someday, but I've no intention of considering it until I'm in my dotage. If I happen to cock up my toes before the deed is done, I have two younger brothers."

Another layer of crimson washed over her cheeks, and he had to fist his hands to keep from cupping her face between his palms and kissing her until neither of them could catch their breath. "You're suggesting we have an affair."