Authors: Christina Dodd
Phillips quivered with offended dignity. The silly old sod, did he think Jude would thank him for bringing this disaster down on them?
It was time to tell his father the truth. “I never intended to marry on your command. I don’t know what megrim made you imagine I would.”
“Wha…what?” Nevett’s eyes bulged. “Has Miss Ritter made you lose all sense, too?”
Caroline made a restless motion and tried to stand up.
Jude restrained her with his hand on her arm. “Miss Ritter’s going to become the toast of London, Father. She saved my worthless life and helped me eliminate the two men who tried to assassinate Queen Victoria. She was wounded in the service of the crown.” Jude lifted her red-stained hand. “And if she would damned well marry me, I’d be the luckiest man in the world—but she won’t.”
Nevett turned an apoplexic red. “She refused you? You, the earl of Huntington?” To Caroline, he asked, “Who do you think you are? He’s going to be the duke!”
“I don’t want an earl. I don’t want a duke.” Caroline wrenched away from Jude, her cheeks red with chagrin. “I want to take my sister to France and live quietly for the rest of my days.”
While he sputtered in indignation, Nicolette told Caroline, “Genevieve is in your bedchamber waiting for you.”
“Then I’ll go to see her.” This time Jude couldn’t restrain Caroline. She rose and fled.
Nevett eyed Jude across his desk. “You, son, have some explaining to do.”
“But first,” Mum said, “Phillips, come in here.”
The butler strode in, looking so proud of himself Jude clenched his fist and stepped forward, ready to forget their age difference and punch the old man.
Mum grabbed the back of Jude’s jacket and pulled him to a stop. “Come here, Phillips.” She pointed to the place on the rug before her chair. “Right here.”
If Phillips had been smart, he would have recognized the danger signs. That was exactly what Mum had always done when she prepared to rake her sons over the coals. But Phillips strutted forward as if he’d done something grand, and stood before her with such a smug expression Jude’s fists clenched again.
“Phillips, you’ve been with the duke for many years. In fact, more years than I have,” Mum said. “So it’s with a heavy heart that I must let you go.”
“Your Grace!” Phillips’s astonishment was satisfying to see. When he saw no yielding in Mum’s expression, he turned to the duke. “Your Grace!”
Nevett stared at his young wife as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Now, Nicolette…”
She turned on him in a fury. “Husband, am I not in charge of your household?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Then I regret to tell you we must seek a new butler. This one has proved to have a regrettable tendency to undermine my efforts and the efforts of your staff.” To Phillips, she said, “You may go now and pack.”
Phillips started to speak.
“You may
go,
” Mum repeated.
He was the portrait of the offended dignity as he stalked to the door.
“Do you think that’s wise, Nicolette?” Nevett asked. “Good butlers are hard to find, and at least we know he doesn’t steal the silver.”
“There are more important things than the silver.” Mum must have really been furious, for she turned on Nevett. “Like the impropriety of reading others’ journals.”
“Miss Ritter was in my employ!” Nevett said unwisely.
“Yes, which makes my congress with her all the more despicable.” Jude placed his fists on his father’s desk, leaned over, and spoke right into Nevett’s face. “It was me you should have been shouting at, not Caroline! I’ve behaved abominably.”
“Son, you’d better tell me the whole story from the beginning.” Nevett rubbed his forehead as if it ached. “Don’t leave anything out.”
So Jude started with Michael’s murder in Moricadia, his participation in the pursuit of Michael’s killers, and his unethical use of Caroline as a distraction.
Halfway through, Nevett poured himself a brandy, one for Jude, and at a glare from his duchess, one for her.
Jude gave his father to understand that Caroline had been untouched when Jude seduced her—and he did tell them he seduced her, for to admit that she’d tied him to the bed would lead to much guffawing at his expense—and he explained her part, and his, in the capture and killing of the Moricadians.
“That explains the blood on your shoulder and the cut on your face,” Nevett said gruffly. “You might want to have them tended.”
“I did tell Phillips to summon a physician.” Jude’s various wounds were starting to ache and throb, and the blood was drying and sticking to his skin.
“I’ll go see that it’s done.” Mum rose and walked to the door, then backed away. “Caroline and her sister are leaving.”
Jude came to his feet and stared as Caroline swept past wearing a worn gown and gripping her ragged old bag. Of course. She took nothing but what she’d brought, and she didn’t spare him a glance.
Jude sank back down. He’d made a hell of a mess of things.
“Where does she think she’s going now?” Nevett demanded.
“To an inn I would guess.” Jude needed to make sure she got to a decent place, and safely.
“She’s going to take her inheritance and her sister and move to France,” Mum answered.
“How the hell does she think she’s going to do that? Her father’s not going to let her sister go. That old man’s mean as hell. If he can’t have Miss Ritter’s money, he’s not going to let her go away and be happy.” Nevett stated the facts as he saw them.
“He’s going to let her go with her sister because you’re going to tell him to.” Jude rose.
“Why would I do that? She was supposed to teach my son and heir to flirt, and she vowed she would get you married by the end of the Season”—Nevett pointed at Jude—“and I don’t see a chance of that happening. Not even to her.”
Mum sighed and looked at Nevett.
“Well!” He glared at her. “Why should I do her a favor like telling her father to let his daughters go off to France where the damned heathens live?”
“Because I ask you to.” Jude locked eyes with his father.
“Nevett will be glad to speak to Mr. Ritter about his daughters,” Nicolette gently interposed. “Now, dear boy, you should hurry and follow Caroline, or I won’t know if she’s safe, and I’ll worry.”
“Yes, Mum.” That was exactly what Jude planned to do.
It was one of the things that women want.
Less than a week later, Jude stood on the dock and watched as the ship to France weighed anchor.
Caroline was on the deck with her sister, but even from a distance Jude could see Caroline wore none of the gifts he’d sent her. Not the necklace, not the lace shawl, not the warm mantle to wrap around herself during the sea voyage. Not even a single flower from his bouquet decorated her fichu. He might know what
most
women wanted, but he did not know what
Caroline
wanted.
Time,
his stepmother told him.
But he thought that was too simple. Caroline wanted something more. All Jude had to do was figure out what.
As the ship moved away from the dock, Genevieve ran to the stern to look back at the city of London. Jude waved at her, and she wildly waved back. She had met Jude on his visits to the inn, and she had confided she liked him.
It’s too bad Caroline doesn’t like you, too, but maybe in France she’ll find someone who’s just as nice.
And that haunted Jude. He wanted to give Caroline time to miss him…but what if she didn’t? What if she fell in love with a heathen Frenchman and married him, leaving Jude to spend his days in misery and loneliness?
He got drunk one night and told his stepmother his woeful scenario and she had, without any sympathy at all, told him that he should have thought of that before he used Caroline so ruthlessly.
Obviously, Mum had been talking to Caroline.
The ship moved farther away, and Jude kept waving, hoping that Caroline would at least lift her hand.
She did not. Her gaze went past him. Grasping Genevieve’s arm, she dragged her toward the prow of the ship as if she couldn’t wait to see the last of London.
Looking around, he spotted the trouble.
Freshie watched her from the shore, his stance menacing.
With the first feeling of real happiness he’d experienced for a week, Jude took off his coat and threw it on the ground. He walked toward Freshie, rolling up his sleeves.
When Freshie saw Jude’s scowl, he started backing away, then with many a backward glance, he broke into a run.
Jude didn’t give a damn about dignity, clothing, or a gentleman’s rules. He sprinted after Freshie. He downed him with a flying tackle. With his hand on Freshie’s collar, Jude dragged him to his feet. Smiling into Freshie’s face, Jude said, “I really feel I must cure you of your regrettable tendency of stalking Miss Ritter.”
And with a few well-chosen punches, he did.
S
eldom in a woman’s life did reality match her dreams. Only twice had Caroline had that experience. Once when she arrived in sunny Aquitaine and met her loving family…and in the dark of night in Jude’s arms.
She sat on a sun-warmed boulder not far from her family’s chateau and watched as Genevieve romped up and down hills and around trees with two fat golden-haired puppies. Her sister and the puppies were very much alike with their gamboling grace, and Caroline thanked God for the haven her family provided for her and her sister.
In the three months they’d lived there, Genevieve had blossomed. She’d shot up two inches; she was now taller than Caroline. She’d filled out and showed the promise of beauty. Already the neighbor lad showed interest in her and watched her with worshipping adolescent eyes. But as she told Caroline, “I’m not interested in a man. They just make you unhappy. Right?”
Caroline had been forced to agree, for here she was, living the dream she’d dreamed for more years than she could remember, and all she wanted was Jude. Jude, with his intense blue eyes, his rawboned hands, the wounds he had suffered for his brother, for justice, and for her. Jude with his talented kisses and the passion he shared so brilliantly. As time went on, she forgot about the way he used her—dreadful man!—and instead recalled the way he looked at her, as if she were his one true love.
She tried to remind herself that he’d used her, but honesty forced her to admit; he wasn’t like her father or Lord Freshfield. Yes, Jude had used her, but it had been in a—she hated to acknowledge it—a good cause. And he couldn’t have told her what he was doing, for that would have compromised the venture and perhaps destroyed his chance for revenge against his brother’s killers. She’d heard his explanations, but she hadn’t known it in her heart. Now she did, and she wondered what would have happened if she’d stayed in England and accepted his proposal.
Caroline laughed aloud when one of the puppies went romping up the hill, tripped on his feet and came tumbling down. Genevieve chased him, picked him up, and kissed his slobbery face. “Ohh, Genevieve.” Caroline shook her head, but she didn’t remonstrate. Genevieve would tell her that a dog kiss was better than a boy kiss any day, and Caroline would be forced to agree—for Genevieve.
Pushing back her bonnet, Caroline lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. For her, only a Jude kiss would do.
Yet he would forget about her. He was the earl of Huntington, with a hundred debutantes from whom to choose. Caroline had tortured herself imagining him in love with a simpering young lady who was like…like she’d been four years ago during
her
Season.
Childish little twit.
“Hey, Caroline!” At the top of the hill, Genevieve bounced back and forth while the dogs frolicked around her. She pointed down at the winding path. “Somebody’s coming!”
“Who?” Caroline stood. Whoever it was hadn’t yet rounded the curve.
“This man. He’s really handsome! He’s coming around the path! He’s carrying flowers!”
Caroline had the feeling Genevieve was shouting at him rather than at her. Carefully, Caroline pulled up her bonnet and brushed the wrinkles out of her simple blue skirt.
“He’s glaring at me! He’s changed direction. He’s walking toward me!” Genevieve started giggling so hard Caroline thought she would burst. “I’m running away…!” She leaped like a goat down the other side of the hill and out of sight.
Caroline found herself standing stiff and straight, breathless and staring down at the spot where the path emerged from behind the copse of leafy trees and wondering if by some chance…“Jude,” she breathed.
He looked better than she remembered, which was almost impossible because she remembered a fabulous man stuffed with every perfection. He was tall. He was powerfully built. Each strand of his brown hair shone. Most amazing, he was impeccably dressed.
He stopped when he saw her, and he stared as if he needed to fill himself with the sight of her.
She liked that sensation very much. She didn’t like the irresistible urge to move toward him, to wrap herself around him, to melt into him and be one with him. The air between them heated, grew rich and stormy, and it seemed that lightning sparked on this sunny day.
But she’d learned her lesson. She’d given her body and her heart and received nothing but a patronizing marriage proposal in return.
Some women might call a proposal from the earl of Huntington no small thing, but it wasn’t marriage she wanted from him. It was…everything. With a composure that was absolutely false, she walked toward him and extended her hand. “My lord, how good to see you.”
He dropped the flowers. He reached for her hand. And with a confidence that should have made her bristle, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her.
And she realized it wasn’t confidence, but need. An all-encompassing, desperate need to claim and taste and reaffirm.
She suffered the same compulsion and answered him with everything that was in her, her hands clutching him, exploring the outline of his shoulders and absorbing the warmth of his body…until they broke apart for lack of air.
“The flowers.” His heated blue eyes explored her face, seeking everything she’d refused him before. “I dropped the flowers.”
“I know.” She admired the passion that inspired such impetuosity.
“But I’m here to give you everything a woman wants.”
“Are you?” She smiled. She liked that, too.
“My governess says flowers are very important to women. Caroline.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m dying without you. You have to come home and marry me.”
“Do I?” She drew away a little. “I
have
to come home and marry you?”
“No. No, of course not.” He backtracked, a big, arrogant man who was far too sure of himself. “You’ll do as you like, as you have done for years because I know you can take care of yourself. But here’s the trouble.” He tried to look pathetic. “I can’t take care of myself.”
“Really?” She liked his bent.
Getting down on one knee, he picked up the scattered bouquet. “Yes. I can’t sleep. I’m not eating. I’m wasting away.”
“You look good to me.”
“Do I?” He looked up at her with a half smile, and she knew he realized how the sunshine caressed his hard features and how irresistible she found him.
“Tell me more about how you can’t take care of yourself.”
Still on bended knee, he offered her the flowers. “All your good work in rehabilitating me to be acceptable in society is for naught.”
“Why’s that?” She took the collect of broken daisies and battered chrysanthemums.
“I’ve developed bad habits. I don’t like to dance with any lady but you. I spend too much time at the zoo looking at the lioness.” He pasted an expression of sorrow on his silly, enticing face. “Worst of all, I talk to myself, because without you by my side, there’s no one who understands me.”
She was charmed. “Get up, you fool.”
He made an offering on the altar of her womanhood. “I beat up Freshie for you.”
She waited for the familiar rush of terror associated with Lord Freshfield’s name. But she felt nothing. Sometime during the last months, she’d grown to believe she could handle Lord Freshfield.
Well. It was clear why. If she could step into the middle of a battle and disarm a man of his sword, she could handle anything. “Did you hurt him?” she asked Jude.
“Both eyes were swollen shut and he lost a few teeth. His ear will never look the same…” Jude rose and dusted off his knees, and the expression in his eyes was deadly. “He should never have tried to fight back. That just made me mad. Or rather…madder.”
“Good.” Caroline offered no false charity to Lord Freshfield. “I hope his looks are ruined so he can never beguile another young lady.”
“Since the duke and duchess of Nevett have taken to cutting both Freshie and his ghastly wife, I think I can safely assure you his influence on the ton is over.” He glanced around. “Is there someone to whom I should apply for your hand in marriage?”
“My grandfather, and you’re assuming I’ll consent.”
Jude dropped to his knees again. “Please, Caroline, marry me. I can offer you nothing more than my fortune, my title, and my unworthy self, but—”
She started strolling back up the path toward the chateau.
He scrambled to his feet and charged after her, pulling to a halt directly in front of her so she had to stop and look at him. “—But I promise to be a good husband to you, and massage your charming feet and care for you in every manner.”
“What manner would that be?” His expression told her exactly in what manner he meant. She watched his hands open and slowly reach for her; she felt the slide of his arms across her back. He tilted her into the crook of his arm and kissed her. Once more the blossoms scattered at their feet.
This time the first frantic edge was gone from his need. He took his time, layering kiss after kiss on her lips and her cheeks, teasing her with his tongue, stroking her spine with his hand until she stretched onto her toes to push closer to him. She had missed him, dreamed of his warmth, his scent, his touch. Now she reveled in the pleasure of his proficiency and wondered at the slight tremor that shook him. He was like a starving man given the merest tidbit from the table; he wanted the whole feast.
His kiss deepened until she forgot the singing birds and the golden sunshine and knew nothing except the dark inner world swirling behind her closed eyes. All that existed was desire, his and hers, uniting them in one need. No matter how far apart they lived or how much she tried to deny it, they yearned to be one, and neither of them would be satisfied until they were joined.
Finally, he set her away from him and stood, chest heaving, eyes smoldering.
And she…she suspected she looked as maddened and as reckless. She looked down at the bright, beautiful flowers that had formed the carpet for their passion. She had to think. She had to be sensible
now
, or she would take his hand and lead him into the trees. “I will definitely take that into account when considering your suit,” she said breathlessly. She walked around him and down the path. He joined her, and they walked side by side, not looking at each other, but with awareness stretched tightly between them. When she could speak, she said, “I must warn you, my grandfather harbors no love for the English, and if I don’t insist on having you, he’ll refuse.”
“I beg your pardon. You’ve had your way with me. It would be unchivalrous of you to turn away from me now.” He gave a huge, phony sniff.
“I suppose that’s true.” She slid a glance toward him. “Are you increasing?”
“Are you?” he shot back.
“No.” She was delighted to see his face fall.
“I had hoped…” His teasing mien vanished.
“What had you hoped?” she asked curiously.
“I had hoped that, if I couldn’t prevail any other way, you would have to marry me.”
“I see.” She stopped walking. She faced him, and his seriousness brought a like response in her. “I’ve been thinking about what happened between us.”
“Good. I’m glad I’m not the only one in constant torment.” He checked her expression. “You were in constant torment, weren’t you?”
“Not quite constant. But I wondered what it was about you that seduced me when no other man could interest me.”
“Did you discover the reason?” he asked with a very real curiosity.
“I decided I gave myself to you because I thought you were the most masculine man I’d ever met. You didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought of you. You wore what you wanted. You adopted silly mannerisms and prattled on fashion and France. You ignored the people who laughed at you and behaved as you wished. I knew you weren’t stupid. But I didn’t realize you’d donned a mask. I thought you were simply your own man. So when I discovered the truth”—she squeezed her fingers together in remembered anguish—“I was the stupid one. All my life, I had been the pretty girl who was not too bright—then it seemed true.”
“Not too bright?” He separated her hands, opened them and stared down at the thin, white scar where the sword had bitten into her palm. “We were together for a fortnight. My father, my stepmother, everyone in society had seen me for months and didn’t realize the truth.”
“When I’d been here for a while, when the hurt wasn’t quite so new, I thought of that. And besides, who would guess? What a stupid plan! Dress like an idiot, act like an idiot so the Moricadians would confide in you.”
“It was a stupid plan,” he said meekly.
Something—time, or just having him there with her—must have restored her lost sense of humor, for she shoved at him. “I suppose you’re going to point out it worked.”
“No. No, that I’m not, for it didn’t work. Not without a lot of help from a singer who paid with her life and another lady who damned near got herself killed.” For one moment, she glimpsed the bared teeth of a highly annoyed man. He looked rather like the lion at the London Zoo—ready to rend and tear. But when she looked again, he was merely a man, standing there accepting her scolding. “It occurred to me that you had no reason to accept my proposal, for I didn’t tell you the advantages of marriage for you. Stupidly, I thought you knew.”
“What would those be?” She found herself unable to look him in the eyes; the sparkle of his affection was too strong.
“Nothing more than a man who worships you for your courage, your intelligence, and your kindness. After I came back from Moricadia, I thought I’d never really see the sunlight again, never hope again, but you healed me. You made me look to the future. Caroline, you must marry me, live with me, bear my children.”
She couldn’t tease him anymore. There was only one place she longed to be, and that was with him. She slid her arms around his shoulders. She knew the answer, but still she asked, “Why must I marry you?”
He smiled at her, kissed her again, a warm, passionate, gratifying kiss. “Because, my darling, you’re my one true love.”
As the ship cruised close to its London dock, Jude watched Caroline lean over the rail and crow in delight. “Your parents came to meet us!” She waved vigorously at the couple standing so still and staring so hard. “What do you suppose they’ll say about us spending our honeymoon in
France?
” She pulled a long face as she said the word, knowing full well what Nevett’s father thought of everything to do with the French.