Her eyes welled up under the blasted blindfold in the reluctant realization that the Hazletts must be in cahoots with her kidnappers. No wonder her housekeeper had been so insistent she drink every last drop of tea. Perhaps Edward’s pension had not seemed adequate to the old couple—they had put up with a great deal working for her. But she’d always thought they liked her, even when she had a temper tantrum or interfered in the kitchen.
She turned her cheek to the seat and sniffled. The texture and scent of leather was comforting. She took a deeper breath to calm herself and paused. There was something beyond the leather, something beyond the bay rum that lingered on the cloak after the kidnapper carried her like a sack of potatoes over his broad bony shoulder.
Lime
.
Caroline choked. Either her kidnapper had stolen the special formula that Floris mixed up exclusively for her husband, or she was being held captive by Baron Edward Allerton Christie. No wonder Harold had been so obstreperous. The cat was an excellent judge of character. It was she who was not.
The carriage was slowing to a halt. Caroline had been at war with herself the past few miles, wondering just how she would approach the man who kidnapped her. It was perfectly possible her nose was in error and she was not in Edward’s comfortable crested coach. It made no sense for him to snatch her en route to the house he had bought for her, unless, of course, there was no house and his carefully neutral letters over the past few weeks were nothing but big, fat lies.
Picturing perfect Edward as a rough, ungrammatical villain was a stretch even for authoress Caroline, whose imagination often ran quite wild. Why would he affect such a persona? She might have taken such fright at being kidnapped she could have had an apoplexy and popped right off to her final reward. Fortunately she was made of sterner stuff, and at the first opportunity would beat the stuffing out of whoever had abducted her, be it Edward or some sorry stranger.
It was best, she decided, to play dumb, not voice her suspicions. At some point the silken blindfold would have to come off. What kind of kidnapper used silk anyway? All the evidence was pointing to her husband, who had quite obviously lost his mind.
The carriage door opened.
“ ’Ere we are, missus. Come quiet-like. I’ll carry ye upstairs, but yer not to make a fuss and make me drop ye. ’Twould be a shame to bruise that pretty arse.”
Edward was inordinately fond of her bottom. She relaxed into her kidnapper’s arms and sniffed. Nothing but bay rum. Her fingers made a limited sweep over stiff clothing. Her kidnapper had bought a new suit for the job. Oddly enough, the criminal dandy handled her just as Edward had the morning he had carried her from the garden and made her his mistress. Caroline was nine-tenths convinced the man who cradled her so lovingly was well-known to her, but a threat nonetheless. She debated writhing in protest, but saved her strength for what might come later.
They jostled up the endless stairs of a house that smelled of beeswax and roses. There was carpet underfoot, as their ascent was hushed. It was no cave or dank cellar. Wherever Caroline was to be kept—the attic? the roof?—it pleased her nose. As she was carried down a long hallway, she counted the steps away from the staircase. It would be helpful when she escaped to know just how far she had to run.
Her kidnapper turned suddenly and the scent of flowers grew stronger. The distant bleat of lambs caught her attention. A window must be open. An open window meant it was not nailed shut. Another escape route.
The man bent and deposited her on a lovely soft mattress. He took some care shoving a pillow beneath her head, but what she really wanted was a chamber pot shoved beneath her bottom. There was no way to request it, however, as her silken gag was still in place. Caroline heard the ominous click of the door and the turn of a key. She had been deserted without a word of intimidation or instruction.
Well. She was still covered by the hot cloak, so she rolled a bit to give herself some relief. She could probably roll right off the bed in search of a surface with which to cut her bonds, but decided against it. He really couldn’t keep her like this forever.
Caroline used the time to tick off the known facts of her abduction. She thought back to the little farewell party in the hallway, remembering Mrs. Hazlett’s agitation, once again realizing she had been drugged by her own housekeeper. Wherever Caroline was, it had not taken too long from London to get there—she’d felt the warm sun on her cheek when the villain dragged her out of the carriage so it was still afternoon. But the house didn’t smell like Christie Park. Edward might have run mad, but he wouldn’t take her to his family seat with his sister and daughter in residence, would he?
Then there was Harold. Harold hated Edward. The cat had made his displeasure known behind his bars, yet that might be a normal reaction to anyone who intended his mistress harm.
She could be all wrong about Edward’s involvement. Then she remembered Hazlett’s heartfelt words on Jane Street.
And keep in mind not everything is as it seems
. If that wasn’t a weasely warning, her name wasn’t Caroline.
It was all too vexing. Despite the deep feather mattress, Caroline was growing ever more uncomfortable between the tingling of her tied limbs and the urge to relieve herself. She should at least work on removing the blindfold and the gag so she could see where she was and scream properly. Flipping face down on the pillow, she butted her head back and forth, thrusting her tongue up, biting, groaning in frustration. She managed to free one eye and immediately turned to take in her surroundings.
The square room was handsome, opulent even. The walls were patterned an old gold, the furniture dark and massive. The bed she lay on could accommodate an entire family. An exquisite floral tapestry hung on one wall, and every flat surface was covered with vases of yellow roses, with a few daisies and greenery tucked in for contrast.
Glass
vases, which could be broken, the shards used as weapons of freedom.
Caroline inched over to the edge of the bed. The carpeted floor was far away. She lay on the sort of bed one needed to mount steps to get into, at least if one was as short as Caroline. Edward would have no difficulty at all, the bastard.
What was one more bruise or bounce? Caroline slid her legs over and hoped for the best. One ankle twisted hard as she landed. She wound up on her rump rather than on her feet, which was just as well, as hopping was not her forte. Hampered by the folds of the heavy cloak, she scooted along as best she could until she came to the penwork table near an armchair by the hearth. It was an attractive piece, its turned legs and curved column easily toppable by a determined woman with destruction in mind. Using a shoulder, she knocked into it as hard as she could. As the table tipped, the vase dumped out its water and flowers but remained unfortunately intact. It was heavy lead crystal, ideal for wielding in one’s hand and cracking a skull or two, but in Caroline’s current condition, useless to her.
She growled. Then she rolled, twisted, slunk. Chairs fell, andirons clanked, chamberpots emerged from their gloom—also useless and unbelievably tempting. Caroline was shrieking beneath her silk scarf as she caterpillared around the room, leaving a trail of frustration behind her.
“What the devil?”
Edward stood in a doorway, half undressed. He was stripped of his rough tweed coat and shirt, but still wore ill-fitting trousers and boots that had never seen the inside of Mr. Hoby’s workroom. His hair was longer, his chest was bronzed, but he was definitely Edward, not a stranger who contracted kidnappings for a living. Caroline glared at him with her one eye and shrieked louder.
Edward surveyed the wreckage in the room.“Good God, Caro, stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“As if you care!” she shouted, but the words were naturally inaudible. He’d already dosed her with that vile tea and kidnapped her for heaven’s sake, and now he was more concerned about a few bumps and bits of furniture. What on earth was he planning to do to her? She gave the chamberpot a vicious kick and her toes curled in pain.
“Hold still. I didn’t plan on beginning quite this way, ” he muttered. He got down on his knees and fumbled with her blindfold. She glared at him with both eyes. Caroline hoped she was sending the very clear message she hated him above all other men.
“I’m not fool enough to remove the gag or the bindings, so you’ll just have to sit here and listen, all right?”
Caroline shook her head. No, it was
not
all right and never would be.
“I know you’re angry. I’m sorry if I frightened you. You were meant to sleep through the trip, you see. I only pretended to be some thug in the event you woke up, because I needed to buy time to get you here. You would have tossed me out of the carriage if I came to you as Edward Christie, and given me one of your little lectures. All summer you kept pushing me away. But now we’re together and we can talk like a normal couple, iron out our differences, start fresh.”
Normal! Edward was as mad as the old king, but didn’t seem to know it. He had a loopy smile on his face and appeared to think his scheme was a stroke of unsurpassed genius.
She might have to kill him to get her freedom. The thought had some appeal. It had taken her weeks to make peace with her decision, years really. No more trying to trick herself into thinking she could ever have a proper life. No more marriage. No more temptation.
No more Edward.
“I’m going to unfasten the gag. I warn you, the Hazletts and Ben will not come to your aid no matter how much of a fuss you make. I’ve engaged them for the week. They’re getting settled in and will not be on duty until tomorrow. I’m to take care of all your needs myself, but if you bite me I daresay I will not be as effective as I might. Do we have an understanding?”
Again she shook her head. A week of enforced togetherness? The summer had nearly destroyed her. She’d lulled herself into thinking love for her was almost possible, even though she knew better. What she and Andrew had done all those years ago was unforgiveable. If Edward discovered the truth—
Bad enough he thought he knew the worst. An affair with Andrew was nothing to what really happened between them.
No, she’d not make any of this easy for him or her wretched, betraying servants. Whatever they had planned, she was an expert in sabotage.
She chomped at his fingers for show, then uttered her first words in hours. “I must relieve myself. Untie me, or we both shall be sorry.”
Edward raised a damnably elegant eyebrow. “Is this a ruse to escape?”
“Do you want to wait to find out? It won’t be long.”
That
was the mortifying truth. Caroline could not believe she was having a discussion about such a thing.
Edward reached into his ugly trousers and pulled out a lethal-looking knife. “You must promise not to run away.”
“I made promises to you once. I shan’t do so again.”
Edward snorted as he sawed through the rope at her ankles. “You had no intention of ever obeying me. Or honoring me or loving me. Our marriage was based on the flimsiest of foundations. It’s time we set ourselves on a different path. We’re older now, wiser.”
“La la la,” said Caroline. If her hands were free, she’d stick her fingers in her ears.
“You
will
listen to me. I’ll make you.”
“Do you intend to keep me a prisoner? For how long, Edward? How did you wriggle out of your duties to the king’s business anyway? I thought all peers had to be present in Parliament for the Bill of Pain and Penalties.” A Bill of Pain and Penalties indeed! If her hands were not still tied, Edward would feel the full weight of her wrath as lead crystal rained down on his head. She had exceptional aim from years of practice. “I’ll show
you
pain, my lord, and you’ve not begun to pay the penalty for kidnapping me.”
“See here, Caro. I haven’t harmed a hair on your head, although it could do with a good brushing.”
“I’ve been drugged! Blindfolded! Tied up, threatened, and scared out of my wits!”
Edward cleared his throat. It must have discomfited him to talk in such a villainous, ungrammatical way. “It was necessary. I know you too well.” He avoided her feeble kick and moved up to her wrists.
“You don’t know me! You know nothing! And I hope the king throws you in jail, if not for kidnapping me, then for leaving the trial.”
“He won’t. I told him I had a death in the family.”
“Yours, I hope, because I am going to kill you!”
Edward put the knife back in his pocket. “Really, Caro, now who is threatening whom? If you want to be untied, you’ll have to change your tune.”
“This is unconscionable. You know I have to—oh, good Lord. Please hurry, Edward. I won’t do anything.” For now. But as she said, she’d make no more promises to him.
Chapter 17
“I am not afraid,” Tatiana brazened. “Do your worst, my lord.” His obsidian eyes glittered as brightly as the knife he held.
D
espite her shrieking, the fiend had tied her right back up again. He left off the blindfold and gag, removing the dark cloak before he set her back on the bed. He dragged out a large copper tub from the adjoining room, then paraded back and forth shirtless with pitchers of steaming hot water. The sheen of perspiration on his muscled torso was quite gratifying, but she was not about to express any admiration. No matter what provoking thing she screamed at him from her perch, he ignored her, though his cheek muscle jumped at every word. He had taken a vow of silence, but at a cost. She had no such compunction, and would harangue him until her tongue fell off.
“Edward, I demand that you let me go on to Dorset. There
is
a cottage in Dorset for me, is there not? With a charming garden as you described? Hollyhocks? Hydrangeas?”
He poured the water into the tub. His ill-fitting pants slipped, and she caught a glimpse of his bare backside before he hiked them up again. He’d overlooked something critical in his grand plan—a pair of braces.
On his next return, she queried, “How did you persuade the Hazletts to be in league with you in this criminal enterprise? It must have cost you a fortune. A pity, for the money will not be of any use to them in jail.” She said the last in her loudest voice, just in case they were hovering in the hallway. Her loudest voice, however, wasn’t very loud—she’d hollered herself quite hoarse. Even from across the room, she could see the cotton batting in Edward’s ears. Of course he wasn’t responding, vile vermin that he was.
Why waste her breath when she could plan her escape? There were still three vases to throw, although the rest of the furniture looked impervious to breakage. Edward had tramped on and crushed the flowers on the carpet with his inferior boots, releasing their perfume. Under other circumstances, she would find the atmosphere impossibly sensual—a half-naked man toiling on her behalf, a well-appointed room in a remote country house (she was up high enough on the giant bed to see out the open window—nothing but rolling meadow and distant sheep), a bed large enough to contain any acrobatic activity she could dream up. But if Edward Allerton Christie the Elder had designs upon her battered and bound body, he was to be sorely disappointed.
Their talk that last night in the garden should have put an end to any hope of reconciliation. Despite the tender kisses, despite the scorching heat between them, they had agreed any further contact would be impossible. Caroline couldn’t be his mistress, and certainly not his wife. Clearly Edward had forgotten and lost his sanity, but she was determined to remember and keep hers, for both their sakes.
At last he seemed satisfied by the volume of water. He sat down and wrestled off his boots, peeled off his stockings, stood up and dropped his horrid pants. Caroline shut her eyes, but not before noticing he was aroused beyond reason.
She waited in rigid resignation for him to carry her to the bath. Instead she heard a splash.
She cracked open one eye. He was scrubbing his armpit with his lime-scented soap, whistling.
Whistling
! She tried to shriek, but croaked instead.
“You know,” he said conversationally, as if she were not tied up like a rabid dog, “I’ve become a terrible creature of habit. Some find the scent of bay rum pleasant, but give me my own lime cologne. My playacting the villain was as much torture for me as it was for you. I itch all over. I’m going to have Hazlett burn that suit.” Water sluiced down his brown chest, beading on his nipples.
He lathered his bristled face and unkempt hair. This new, unimproved Edward confused her. He had never shared so intimate an act as bathing in front of her, except for the one time she’d barged into his dressing room and slipped into his tub uninvited. She’d made him like it in the end, but he was a man who thrived on a strict routine, and she was usually an unwelcome interruption. She had spent their year of married life weighted down by his continuous disapproval.
“Bastard.” Caroline’s old sense of humiliation fluttered to the surface. Perhaps he’d get soap in his eyes and go blind, she thought sourly.
He leaned back and poured water on his head, slicking back his long dark hair until every beautifully chiseled plane of his face was revealed. Then he pulled the wet cotton from his ears, tossing it among the flattened roses on the floor. “Did you say something?”
Caroline bit her tongue.
“This bath is so refreshing. I find travel arduous in the best of circumstances, don’t you? You know, the water is still hot.”
Caroline tasted blood.
“The tub is large enough for two. If you like, we can share it. Get the road dust off.”
Caroline
would
like. She found herself furiously jealous of Edward’s liquid display. “Will you untie me?”
“Unnecessary. I believe I’m perfectly capable of washing you. Everywhere.” His smile was purely satanical.
“Absolutely not then.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Caro. I know how you like your baths. Do you remember the morning you surprised me in my bath at Christie Park?”
God, he remembered. Or could he read minds? “You were appalled at the disruption of your daily regimen. And your old valet—what was his name? The one before Cameron—couldn’t look me in the eye for months.”
“Well, as I said, it was a
surprise
. Poor Melrose didn’t expect to find us in such a tangle when he came to barber me.”
“I wish he’d cut off your—” She snapped her lips shut.
“Pardon? I must have water in my ears.” He shook his head like a glossy spaniel.
“Nothing. Edward, while I appreciate your effort to get me in your clutches, I don’t want to be clutched. I made that perfectly clear several weeks ago.”
“I know what you said. I don’t agree anymore. We may not be ideally suited to each other, but I’m sure we can find some common ground with a little work.”
“The only time we’ll find common ground is when we’re both buried under it in the family plot. I assume there’s still room for me at the churchyard?”
Edward looked a bit sheepish. They once had a discussion about her eventual placement. As an ever-organized Christie, he had dispassionately informed her of her future. Edward was to be the jam husband to his two wives’ bread. The headstone was already in place, just waiting for the requisite dates. In Edward’s case, Caroline hoped it would be
soon
.
“We have decades to go before we need worry about that, I trust.” Edward rose from the tub, glistening like a pagan god. He bent, took the knife from his discarded pants and dripped across the carpet.
“You’ll ruin the rug.”
He glanced at the long water stain and the broken flowers. “I’d say it’s already ruined. Bradlaw won’t like it.”
“We’re at Bradlaw House?” Hope jumped in her heart. She’d been there before, but never upstairs. A small garden party had been held in their honor after she and Edward came to Christie Park to escape the gossip when they were first married. Lady Bradlaw had been all that was kind, conducting her through an exquisite parterre garden. Lord Bradlaw, a friendly, jolly sort, was a neighbor and one of Edward’s oldest friends. Caroline never understood how such a warm, animated man could cope with the block of ice that was Edward.
He looked warm enough now, and a wave of her own heat suffused her cheeks. Edward loomed over her, deliciously wet and naked, the blade of the knife glinting in the sunlight. “Ah. You’d never manage a bluff in a game of cards—your expression betrays you utterly. Don’t get any ideas. Tom and Susannah Bradlaw are still in town waiting on the king’s pleasure. They can’t help you run from me.”
She made a gorgon-face at him. Let him understand
that
. She wouldn’t need the Bradlaws’ help. At least she knew where she was, and how to get back to London. She held her breath as the knife came perilously close to her heart.
“Go ahead. Stab me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Hold still.”
Caroline waited for him to cut the ropes again.
Ping ping ping
. The cherry-red buttons of her spencer bounced to the floor.
“What are you doing?” she rasped. The buttons had been fashioned to resemble little rosebuds and she had been very fond of them.
Edward frowned. “I’m not sure a knife will do. I’ll be right back.”
Hell and damnation.
He was back with a large pair of shears before she could count to one hundred.
“I’ll have you know this outfit cost a fortune!”
“I’ll replace it.” Mercilessly, he cut the sleeves of her jacket straight down her arms. He balled up the fabric and it joined the rest of the mess on the Bradlaws’ carpet.
“You are a fiend,” Caroline said behind clenched teeth. Much worse than her old neighbor Charlotte’s lover Sir Michael Bayard.
“I’ve got to hurry. It wouldn’t do for the water to get cold. You might catch a chill.”
“I hope
you
catch lung fever!” She flinched when his hand snaked under her bodice as he cut the red kerseymere skirt down to the hem. She was left in nothing but rope and her chemise and stockings. Her half-boots had been removed long ago after the series of kicks.
Edward grinned. “No corset?”
Caroline would not dignify the question with an answer. As she had been travelling alone, it had seemed simpler to dispense with the contraption. Her destroyed carriage dress had been constructed with special boning at her direction.
Snip snip snip.
Despite the warmth of the afternoon sunlight, her nipples contracted as her chemise gave way to air. Edward’s hands trembled as he unfastened her garters. He had put the scissors down somewhere, but unless he untied her hands, he was safe.
For the time being.
She wondered how he’d get the stockings out from under the rope, but then he gripped her heels and cut the bonds. She lay still as death as he folded each stocking down with agonizing precision, his knuckles brushing her leg with each fold. Raising one limb, he massaged the pins and needles away with his warm, strong hands. Up and down, up and down, his fingers squeezed and released perfect pressure on the soles of her feet, her calves, the back of her knees. She forgot she was free to kick him as he swept up her inner thigh. His forefinger wandered just where she wanted it to. To her shame, she was wet and eager for his touch. Then he seemed to remember that the water temperature was no doubt cooling as her betraying body flared in heat.
“Can you walk or shall I carry you?”
“Carry,” she whispered. She was too languid to step across the minefield of blossoms and cut clothing. He scooped her from the mattress and climbed into the tub, nestling her in his lap. His erection teased her cleft, but he made no move to insert himself in her aching hollow.
Her hands bound as if in prayer, she leaned against him as he covered her with his scent, the soap slick against her back and buttocks. Edward smoothed the bar over her hip, then swirled it around each breast until her nipples were stiff and rose-pink between the bubbles. She was his canvas as he painted every inch of her with froth, sliding back and forth over her sensitive skin. Her anger was slipping away as it always did when they were twined together. She closed her eyes and sought a fragment of sanity, but it eluded her as she fell deeper under his fluid spell.
His soap-filled hand stroked downward to her belly, then lower to her swollen clitoris. She opened her legs to him, desperate for more. He used a hard corner of the lime-scented cake in place of his fingers, rubbing with dedication until she drowned in sensation, his lips at her throat, his thumb at her breast. As she raised her hips in cresting orgasm, his cock sheathed itself in one deliberate thrust.
At last
. He filled her as she shuddered around him, rising and falling, heedless of the water splashing over the rim, heedless of anything but his hard cock and hands on her hips lifting her from bliss and then back down. She was branded by his ownership everywhere as he embedded himself deep within her. His ragged breath tickled her neck, his teeth grazed her shoulder. The dark damp hairs of his chest curled against her back as his hand cupped her mound to keep her tight and taut against him as he emptied himself. She glided from wave to wave, helpless to find a shred of objection, to find a shred of
anything
that might pass for thought. She would be indignant later, make him sorry later, leave him later.
Later would come all too soon. For now she was content to be fitted to him in perfect harmony, her heart skipping as his cock pulsed inside her. The water had lost its warmth, but she was hot and heaving in his arms, reluctant to seek comfort anywhere else.