Caroline had thought she knew why. Andrew hadn’t any money; she was still a viscount’s sister, no matter how disgraced. A part of her heart hoped he was off to seek his fortune so he could return for her. It wasn’t until she found Nicky’s diary that she discovered what a fool she’d been.
Nicky and Andrew had done their best to shield her from the salacious house parties, but she had half an idea of what was transpiring in the guest wing. She wasn’t deaf or blind. Sometimes she had felt like Rapunzel trapped in the tower, gazing down into the gardens as all manner of pleasure was taken publicly. Their guests came each month for a week of seasonal frivolity. It was up to her to appoint the house with every luxury, but once the carriages began to arrive, she was tucked behind her bedroom door. If they were not busy directing the diversions of their company, Nicky and Andrew delivered her meals to her, but most often trays were brought by one of the temporary maids who had been hired for the week. She could bear the loneliness for seven days, knowing Andrew would come to her after.
Caroline had found her youthful experiences useful for her novels, though the bulk of her knowledge came from her neighbors. They were perfectly willing to tell their secrets for biscuits, tea, and a sympathetic ear. Caroline had spent the past five years listening to various tales of woe and solving as many problems as she could. Lizzie was not the only girl she had helped.
But no one was available to help her, now or then. It had been a killing blow to realize, as she read Nicky’s diaries that she was not the only Parker Andrew had pledged his love to. Nicky’s darker fantasies about her had shocked her to her core. She’d put the books away, nearly burning them many times over before finally consigning them to the fire, but could not erase the words from her heart. When she felt especially pitiful, as she had the other day, she tortured herself with Nicky’s careful entries. She felt as responsible for his death as if she had pulled the trigger herself. But his words and hers were now ash, swept away by Ben the kitchen boy. Too bad her memories were not so easily disposed of.
The brass mermaid knocker startled her from her thoughts. It was probably one of the girls, arriving much too late for tea, but Caroline could use the company. Mr. Hazlett was outside helping clear up the garden party, so she opened the door herself.
“Edward!” She stared at him, quite stupid in her surprise. Realizing she must look like a booby, she dropped her eyes to the step and saw the large portmanteau at his feet. She had given it to him the only Christmas they celebrated together, his initials EAC inscribed in gilt on the leather. Raising her eyes in confusion, they landed on two carters removing trunks and boxes from a wagon on the street.
“Good afternoon, Caroline. Forgive me for not contacting you earlier. May I come in?”
“Wh-what’s the meaning of this? Did I forget something when you threw me out five years ago?”
“Just let me come in and I’ll explain everything.”
Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and heard an ominous rip. Bother Madame Dulac and her careless stitches. “I fail to see how you can explain why it appears you are moving into my house lock, stock, and barrel.”
“I have an excellent explanation, I promise you.”
“You
are
moving in?” Caroline squeaked. “You cannot! I won’t allow it.”
The men stopped shoving the boxes around and were looking very engaged in the spectacle before them. Caroline could almost hear what was going on in their heads—the great and proper Baron Christie begging admittance to a Jane Street joyhouse while the fat little doxy denied him. Edward’s lips were quite white. No doubt he was anguished by the public display on her steps before workmen and could imagine their thoughts, too. The scene would make an excellent chapter in a book, but only if she pushed Edward backward to fall flat on his arse on the pavement below.
“Caroline, we will continue this conversation indoors.”
“Indeed we will not! I told you the last time I saw you that we were through. Finished. Spent. Terminated.”
“Stop sounding like a dictionary.” He softened his voice. “
Please
, Caro. This is important.”
Caroline pointed to the men on the sidewalk. “Tell them to wait while you make your case.
Not
that I will change my mind. You must be absolutely mad to think you can come in here and order me about. Just because I’m your wife does not mean I’ll obey your every whim.”
The carters stood in open-mouthed awe. “Coo, this is better than a play,” one of them muttered quite audibly.
“Tragedy or farce?” Caroline snapped. “Don’t you two dare move an inch.” Uncertain, the men seemed to freeze where they were. “Oh, do sit down on a box or something. We won’t be long.” Caroline turned on her heel, leaving Edward in the open doorway. He followed her into her green downstairs parlor.
She threw herself onto the sofa, spreading her crimson skirts so there was no room for him to join her. “You have five minutes.”
Edward went to her drinks cupboard and poured them both a finger of brandy. She refused hers, but Edward swallowed his in one gulp.
“Dutch courage?” she asked contemptuously.
Edward set the glass down. “Andrew Rossiter came to see me.”
Caroline felt her stomach knot. “You’ve come to terms with him about the divorce then?”
“No. He is not assisting me in any way. In fact, he’s leaving the country. But he overheard something that troubled him enough for him to come to me, and I am troubled as well.”
She didn’t know what to make of the way Edward dismissed the divorce so casually. It was as if he didn’t care about pursuing it any longer. He must have something else planned with that wretched Will Maclean. “Well, what has got you in such a tizzy?”
“We believe your life is at risk, Caroline.”
“I beg your pardon?” Caroline watched his face for any sign of a joke. There was nothing but firm resolve.
“I think it may be Pope and Douglass who are moving against you, but really, it could be anyone whom you’ve libeled in your books. There is a plot afoot to kidnap you. And worse.”
“W-worse?” Caroline stammered.
“A death threat, my dear. Apparently you’ve made enemies. It may have all been drunken talk, but I’m not willing to be so cavalier when it comes to your safety.”
The only man she had truly maligned in her books was pacing magnificently before the empty grate in her parlor. “Jane Street is guarded. I am perfectly safe.”
“The watchmen are only here at night. I got past the gates this afternoon, didn’t I? Those carters outside could be hired ruffians come to box you up in one of the trunks. Drop you right into the Thames.”
“
Earrings from the Earl
,” Caroline said absently. She had used that very plot device once as the Edward character bobbed out to sea only to become fish food.
“I met with an investigator earlier today, a Mr. Mulgrew. He comes highly recommended. You’ve heard of the Egremont case, I expect. He and his agents will discover who is behind these threats. In the mean time, I will move in here. When I’m in Parliament, my valet Cameron will see that the house is secure. He served with honor on the Peninsula and knows his way around a pistol.”
Caroline was reeling. She supposed she had no objection to taking in Edward’s man—with a gun!—as a precaution but she couldn’t possibly allow Edward to move in. Even if it were little more than a closet, this Cameron fellow could share young Ben’s room on the third floor, but where would Edward sleep?
“This is ridiculous. There must be some mistake.”
“Don’t be stubborn. Even Marburn agrees with me that something needs to be done.”
“You’ve spoken to Garrett?” Caroline was incredulous. To her knowledge, they had never spoken before. Edward would never give Garrett the time of day unless the situation was serious. Or at least he thought it was. How she would have liked to be a fly on that wall.
Edward nodded. “He was present at my meeting with Mulgrew. If you are a target, then he may be as well.”
“I don’t understand this at all. Perhaps you should start from the beginning.”
Edward sighed. “I am paying those men by the hour, Caroline. At least let them unload the cart.”
“This is not the time to think of your pocketbook! If you must be so cheeseparing,
I’ll
see to it they get their wages and send them back where they belong.”
Edward ran a hand through his perfect, brushed-back hair, then gave a little smile. “Very well. I was at the breakfast table this morning. Kippers. Eggs. Stewed fruit. Toast and
The Times
. Just the usual. Do you want to know what I was wearing?”
Good Lord. He was making a joke. “Stop it!”
“Full of orders today, I see. Rossiter came to see me. He’d been up all night worrying about you. I have no doubt that what he heard disturbed him greatly—he was genuinely upset. Last evening he was at a party and overheard two men talking. My name was mentioned in conjunction with the term ransom. From the words used, it is unlikely that any other female attached to me was the object of this crime except for you, but I’ve taken steps to protect Allie and Beth. Mulgrew will get the guest list to help us narrow down the conspirators. You can figure out which of the gentlemen you’ve pilloried and we’ll take it from there.”
Caroline felt the blood drain from her body. If anything she’d ever written in her silly books resulted in harm to Allie, she’d never forgive herself. “Edward—” Her voice broke.
“Here. I know this is a shock. Drink your brandy.”
Caroline obediently swallowed from the glass Edward held to her lips. Her hands shook too badly to take it from him.
“I never meant to cause any harm.”
“I know. From what Marburn said, you’ve been scrupulously careful, flattering most of the men you’ve based your characters on. Really, the only aggrieved parties he could think of were Pope and Douglass. And me, of course,” he added wryly.
“But Pope’s book came out months ago! Why would he be so desperate to hurt me now?”
“They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Things have not been easy for him of late. His position in society is tenuous at best. Most decent people cut him.”
“As they should! He’s a horrible, horrible man.” Caroline shuddered, remembering the night Lizzie came to her.
“Until we know the precise nature of the threat against you, it’s best if you limit your activities. I can escort you when necessary.”
The thought of Edward looming over her everywhere she went sent a little thrill through her, not that she went out much anymore. “But your valet can do that.”
“So he can if he must. But I would prefer to see to your safety myself. You are my wife, Caroline.”
“Just for the time being.”
Edward looked away. “About the divorce—”
“Just one disaster at a time if you please! I’ll allow you to move in until we get all this nonsense settled. It shouldn’t take more than a few days for your Mr. Mulgrew to do his detecting. But I will not share a bed with you again, not ever. I want that to be very clear.” Caroline hoped she sounded resolute. All she really wanted was to be enveloped in Edward’s arms. Feel his wiry strength. Smell the lime of his aftershave.
And not simply because she was afraid of this amorphous threat. Perhaps she should be, but she wasn’t. She feared herself. She wanted Edward as she always had, and he would break her heart as he always had. He needed to be kept at arms’ length if she were to move forward with her life—if she had a life to live.
Oh, she was being melodramatic, worthy of one of her featherbrained heroines. Surely her life wasn’t really in danger. Andrew might have gone to Edward as some sort of deranged joke. He’d always had a very odd sense of humor, although Nicky’s death had changed him irrevocably.
She could put up with Edward for a day or two. Perhaps even as long as a week. And then—
“I’ll let Mrs. Hazlett know you’re staying for dinner.”
Edward smiled. “And breakfast, too.”
Chapter 12
Henrietta hung shackled to the walls of the dungeon, each hopeless cry echoing on the damp walls like the laugh of The Devil.
H
e was an idiot. He could have hired a hundred men to protect Caroline. But no. Instead he was sleeping on the floor beside her bed.
Of course, he wasn’t
sleeping
. How could he when every sigh, every stretch, every shake of the covers reverberated in the bedroom like a shotgun. And her scent—jasmine and clean skin and Caroline—was driving him absolutely mad. He was as hard as the floor.
After a relatively civilized supper, he had every hope of joining her in bed under that intriguing mirror. There were times during dinner when Edward thought Caroline was actually flirting with him over the filet of Dover sole and baked figs. She had changed into another low-cut red dress, and damn if the color was not growing on him. The contrast between its ruby brilliance and the pearl of her body was entirely entrancing. She had swept her coppery curls up with garnet clips and needed no rouge or lip salve on the warm August night to lend her color. Edward had lost his train of thought several times while he basked in her beauty.
When the time came to retire, Caroline had handed him a pillow and a sheet and invited him to sleep on the little couch in her upstairs purple parlor. Unless he wished to triple-up with Cameron and the kitchen boy in the attic, she had suggested sweetly. Edward had tried to oblige, but he was a long man and the couch was short. It didn’t take any time at all before he was tapping on her bedroom door, reminding her he could better protect her if they were in the same room. Caroline had pointedly pointed to the floor.
So he was wakeful and woebegone. She had the audacity to be asleep, gently snoring. He didn’t remember her snoring during their marriage, but then he’d rarely spent the entire night in the same bed with her. He had taken his pleasure—an unseemly amount of pleasure—then retreated to the propriety of his own rooms, just as all men of his station did. If he had ever noticed Caroline’s disappointment as he untangled himself from her arms, he had shut it out of his ordered existence and gone about the business of being Baron Christie. No Christie had ever allowed himself to become the victim of his animal nature, and apart from Edward’s precipitous proposal, he had managed to confine Caroline’s power over him to the hours bracketing midnight. The last weeks of their reacquaintance on Jane Street, he’d been so sated he’d actually slept right through to morning. But he was definitely dissatisfied tonight, in need, in agony. The thought of Caroline, fragrant and warm, so very close above him, was enough to keep every inch of him alert—his cock in particular.
Punching down the pillow, he rolled away on the carpet, snagging his nightshirt under him in a bulky lump. After a few seconds of frantic tugs, all was smooth again, but certainly not comfortable. The French windows were open to the night air of Caroline’s garden, and its perfume joined with hers to permeate his senses and make sleep impossible. Edward pulled himself up and stepped onto the little balcony overlooking the walled yard, wishing he had a cheroot or brandy to soothe his nerves. His nightshirt tented comically in front of him.
All seemed quiet on Jane Street and in the houses beyond. Here and there a flicker of candlelight indicated someone else was as wide awake as he was. Night jasmine, planted not for its beauty but its fragrance, lay below, its pale yellow blooms faint in the bright moonlight. The only sound came from the Marquess of Conover’s garden fountain two doors down. It splashed like a regular rainfall, possibly soothing someone, but not Edward.
He had heard in his club that Conover was getting married again, to some childhood friend. The man had wandered across the world for a decade. Perhaps this new wife would keep him home, steady him as Alice had done to Edward, providing him with a well-ordered household and dependable affection.
Not like Caroline. While her dinners were served on time, one never knew what mad dish would be under the covers. She collected cookery books much as some women collected porcelain figurines, nearly forcing his cooks to quit with her interfering ways, both in town and in the country. Edward had finally forbidden her from the kitchens to protect his staff and the assault to his stomach.
Caroline was all spice—ginger and hot pepper, curry and cardamom. She kept an herb patch in the city—leaves of something exotic had seasoned his soup tonight. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the tiny Eden she had created below to blanket out the rest of London. He tensed as a rustle came from bushes, but it was only Caroline’s cat. Harold had taken one look at Edward earlier and decided to spend the night outdoors. The cat’s green eyes glowed up at him in disdain, then disappeared into the shrubbery.
Shunned by the cat. Shunned by Caroline. He supposed he deserved it. Edward felt rather useless. The safety of Jane Street’s inhabitants was assured by the hired watchmen who stood armed at the gates with their list. Leaving his man Cameron there by day was more than likely enough to protect Caroline, but Edward had not been content with that solution. He wanted to see Caroline again after the abysmal weeks of staying away.
Devil take him. He was damned no matter what happened. Had been damned from the moment Caroline Parker stepped beneath the chandelier in all her crimson glory at Lady Huntington’s ball.
“Edward? What’s the matter? Is someone out there?”
She whispered, but he heard her anxiety. He had frightened her by simply standing at the window thinking too much. “No, Caro. Everything is fine. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, you
would
choose to sleep on the floor instead of the couch.”
“I’d much rather be in your bed,” he mumbled.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.” He heard her strike the flint and the bedside candle flared along with her laughter.
“Good heavens. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen your hair so disordered.”
Edward ran his hand through his straight dark hair. He was in desperate need of a haircut. “Cameron can give me a trim tomorrow before I leave for Parliament.”
“I could do it. I used to cut my brother Nicky’s hair.”
“Well, you won’t cut mine. I wouldn’t trust you near me with a pair of scissors.”
Caroline chuckled. “I’m no Delilah. And I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head. Or hurt you anywhere else.”
By God, he wished she would hurt him. What he wouldn’t give for her hands to be all over him, nails raking, fingers probing. Her sleep-honeyed voice alone was making him crazy. “I’m going below stairs for something to drink. May I bring anything back to you?” He watched her stretch into the pillows, her full round breasts straining against the filmy material of her nightdress, the dusky pink of her nipples visible. He suppressed a groan.
“I’ll come with you. I know I shouldn’t be hungry, but I am.”
He’d always been amused by Caroline’s appetite. She was not one of those pale, dainty things that minced their food into bird-like portions. During their marriage, he sometimes thought she’d gone without food during her youth and was making up for it. She could make a banquet of apples from his orchard, hitching up her skirts and climbing the tree herself. Her choice of outlandish dishes, her love of vibrant color, her childlike enthusiasm to try new things—they should have warned him from the first. She was entirely unsuitable. Cheerfully unsteady. He’d made them both suffer for his thoughtless lust.
For that was all he felt, wasn’t it? Pure lust—with a dash of territorial protectiveness to keep what was his safe. For she
was
still his, at least in the eyes of the law.
“Suit yourself,” he said gruffly. “I can’t stop you.”
“No, you can’t.” She bounced out of bed, the candleholder wavering in her hand and casting gobliny shadows in the room. “It is still my home, for as long as I live, at least according to those papers Will Maclean drew up for you. Tenancy for life. Very generous terms for a fallen woman like me, according to him. He was quite put out about it as I recall. But,” she said, a mischievous smile on her face, “perhaps you want this mysterious duo to kill me off. I imagine you’d get a pretty penny for the house if you sold it.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’d not give up the comfort of Christie House and find myself on your dusty floor if I wanted you dead.”
She reached up and stroked his cheek. Her fingertips were warm and gentle. Edward felt as if five butterflies had landed, causing his skin to tingle. “Poor thing. I’m sure the floor is not dusty. Mrs. Hazlett would permit no such thing.”
“Hmpf.” He wished she’d drop her hand. He wished she’d drop it lower. He stepped backward. “What do you suppose she has in the larder?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. She’s quite immune to my suggestions.”
“A wise woman.”
Caroline swatted at him. “How can you say that? I’m quite a good cook, you know. I taught myself after a bit of trial and error. Just because you never eat anything but dull and bland and boring fare—”
“Are you calling me dull and bland
and
boring?”
She shrugged. “Dull and boring—I’m repeating myself, aren’t I? Not very accomplished for a wordsmith, but it is very late and I’m very tired. You must admit you are not one bit adventurous when it comes to your palate.”
For an instant, Edward remembered how she tasted when he kissed her smooth pink inner folds. Sweet. Tangy. Undeniably Caroline. He wondered if she had allowed her nether hair to grow back in the time they had parted, and wondered too if she would ever permit him to taste her there again. His mind in a fog, he bumped into a table in the hallway.
“Watch your step. If you fall, you’ll wake the whole household.”
Edward concentrated on navigating down the stairs. He’d concentrate on another deadly sin, gluttony. He’d torture himself watching Caroline eat, licking her lips and fingers, biting into some juicy morsel with relish. He shivered as they reached the landing.
“You aren’t cold, are you? I vow, I’ve never experienced a hotter summer.” Tempting tendrils had escaped from her strict braid, and she pushed them behind her ears. She had not donned a robe for their late night snack, so her ripe body was on display under the sheer nightdress. Edward was certain she must be aware of the image she presented, saucy and sweetly disheveled. Caroline was deliberately setting out to make him the sorriest man in England.
She flitted around the kitchen, lighting lamps which only illuminated her near-nakedness. He’d had the sense to put on his dressing gown, which at least disguised his rampant manhood from her too-knowing silver eyes. It was hotter than hell, but he belted the robe tighter.
“Now, let’s see. You said you were thirsty. Ale or wine? Or perhaps tea? I could put the kettle on.”
The thought of hot liquid vying with his hot blood was too much for the summer night. “Just water, if you please.”
She set a tumbler and a jug before him. “See? Just as I said. Dull. I keep a very good cellar. Some wine might help you sleep.”
Some wine would loosen his tongue. Loosen his resolve. There was something to be said for the watchful tension he felt in Caroline’s presence. He shook his head and poured a splash of water into the glass. As he drank, he examined her pert backside as she assembled a plate at the sideboard. It resembled the peach she balanced on the scalloped edge. “You will join me, I hope. I’ve fixed enough for two.” She placed the little feast beside him and dragged a chair closer.
It was simple fare—two thick slices of bread, a wedge of cheese, a cluster of grapes, two figs, and the golden peach. Caroline popped a deep purple grape in her mouth and sighed. “Almost as good as wine. I forgot it. There’s a half bottle left from our dinner in the pantry. Would you get it please? And a glass, too.” She ripped a corner off her bread with determination and held it under her nose. “There’s nothing I love so much as the smell of fresh bread.” She smiled up at him and extended the chunk to his mouth, brushing it against his lips. “Isn’t it divine?”
Edward had no choice but to eat it. It was damn good bread. Caroline nibbled on another piece topped with a sliver of cheese and offered him the same, the ribbon tie of her nightdress slipping down her shoulder. She leaned forward seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was losing what little clothing she had on. From his height advantage, her breasts were impossible to conceal from his starved gaze. No amount of food would quell that particular desire. Once he finished chewing, he reared up quickly from his chair to fetch the wine. He was glad to escape, glad to get away from the sinful bread and cheese and his entirely enticing wife. If bread and cheese had that effect on him, what would happen if she served him oysters? He knocked his forehead into the cabinet in an attempt to draw his blood upward.
“Edward? What was that noise?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’m just clumsy tonight.” Grasping the bottle of wine and a goblet, he returned to the kitchen and poured them a healthy tot. Caroline was in the midst of a fig, its jewel-like center glistening in the lamplight. Her tongue darted across her lower lip to catch a sticky wayward seed. He downed his wine in one swallow.