My Darling Caroline (14 page)
C
aroline fairly ran to the stables, intensely angered, stopping for breath only when she reached the front gate. She paused, listening and seeing nobody, then heard pounding from the other side of the building.
With a grim set to her jaw, back ramrod-straight, she smoothed her hair, collected herself, and marched around the structure to the north end.
He was leaning over a post, nailing something to a fence, and she stopped short when she saw him, gaping, for the man was half-naked, wearing nothing but tight black breeches and work boots.
Dark golden hair flew wildly in the breeze, falling loosely over his forehead and face, now strained with effort. Light-brown curls softly matted against sun-bronzed skin, and the muscles on his chest and arms gleamed with sweat created by pure, hard labor as he pounded large nails into the wood.
The man had an absolutely beautiful physique, firm and strong and taut. His hips were lean and narrow, and his breeches had scooted so low she couldn’t stop her imagination from blooming brightly with ideas, or keep her eyes from following the trail of light-brown hair as it gradually grew thicker and wider from his navel down to his—
“Well, if it isn’t my sweet, dirty wife, back from her walk in the woods.”
Quickly she covered her hot, flushed cheeks with her palms. Her heart sped up from nervousness, and she hoped to heaven he hadn’t noticed on which part of his rather impressive anatomy she’d fixed her line of sight.
“Have you nothing decent to wear?” she blurted. Then, because she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea about where her thoughts were leading, she quickly added, “You’ll catch your death dressed like that.”
He chuckled softly, climbed over the fence, and started to move toward her. Without thinking, she took two steps back and crossed her arms over her chest.
The smile died on his lips. “Are you afraid I’ll ravish you right here, Caroline, or do you just find sweaty men repulsive?”
His tone didn’t imply anger, just…indifference, as if he weren’t certain if he’d offended her. That bothered her.
“Nothing about you repulses me, Brent, I’ve just never seen a man look so”—she nervously flicked her wrist—“like that…before.”
Eyeing her suspiciously, he reached for a towel and wiped his face. “Like what?”
She sighed and attempted to change the subject. “I’m here to discuss something else—”
“Answer me, Caroline.” He glanced up suggestively, the side of his mouth turning up slightly. “Did you mean…strong?”
She fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable. “Of course.”
“I see…” He threw the towel on the post to his left and slowly walked toward her. “Maybe you were thinking about my masculinity as well, hmm? I am a man, after all—”
“Of course you’re a man,” she said, exasperated.
“Or maybe you find me…sexy?”
She blinked, blushing furiously, and sternly stated once more, “I’m here to discuss something else.”
“I think,” he countered softly, “I’d rather discuss the two of us while we’re all alone, while you’re standing here staring at me like a woman in need of a man, while your face is flushed from desires you don’t even fully recognize.”
He towered over her now, powerfully arrogant, eyes mesmerizing and boldly locked with hers.
“Do you find me sexy, little one?” he whispered.
“No,” she replied firmly, suddenly hot, breathless, and completely unable to move.
“Liar,” he returned thickly, positively, lifting his fingers to stroke her collarbone lightly through her blouse. “You are so sexy to me, Caroline, so bewitching. Your eyes are like dark, rich chocolate, your hair like priceless Japanese silk, and your body…” He smiled softly. “Your body is something most men can only dream of possessing. Every day I find you lovelier than the one before, and you can’t imagine how crazy that makes me.”
She couldn’t breathe, and within seconds she was trembling. “You humiliate me.”
His eyes narrowed, his body stilled. “I would never humiliate you, Caroline.”
The tenderness in his voice warmed her heart, and every part of her wanted to surrender to the moment. In seconds he’d be kissing her mouth, she knew it, and from that point on there would be no escape.
He leaned over and brushed his lips to her cheek, and gathering strength, she boldly moved to the moment of truth. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a sister?”
It took time for the words to sink in. Lots of time, really, as he stood motionless, his cheek to hers. Then, slowly, he pulled his head back and stared down at her, his jaw like granite, eyes blank and unreadable.
“I had a sister, Caroline. She’s dead now.”
She stood unruffled. “Well, then, she must have risen from the grave, because right this very minute, sipping tea in our drawing room, is a lovely woman who claims to be the former Lady Charlotte.”
The blood drained from his face.
That reaction satisfied her immensely. “And she evidently has exceptional taste in men. Her husband, Carl, is with her as well, and had I realized such dark, robust, exotically attractive men existed in America, I surely would have gone there years ago to find a husband of my own.”
His expression suddenly contorted in rage, his eyes becoming tiny slits of dark fury, his color now returning in full form except for his lips, which were bloodless and thinned. She had never seen him like this, and for a moment she wasn’t certain whether it was because his sister had returned or because she had spoken so presumptuously about the lady’s husband. In either case, she didn’t care, remembering how she’d managed to disgrace herself completely in front of members of his family because he’d never bothered to mention he had any.
Calmly she continued. “I’m sure you’ll find this rather amusing, Brent, but because we didn’t know about each other, Charlotte thought I was a servant, and I thought she was your mistress.”
“Oh, Jesus…” He faltered, his gaze shifting quickly to the house.
Caroline laughed derisively. “I actually asked her if she carried your child, can you believe that?”
He looked at her sharply again. “You asked her what!”
She took a defensive step away from him. “I thought as beautiful and nervous as she was, she had to be your mistress. Here with her husband, I assumed she was pregnant with your child.” She sighed loudly and stated matter-of-factly, “She’s also blond.”
“Goddamn it, Caroline!” He raked the fingers of both hands through his hair in complete irritation. “Let’s get something straight before we deal with that woman and her husband.”
“That woman? That’s what you call your sister? And lower your voice,” she demanded, now fully angry as well. “Davis and the grooms will hear you shouting.”
“I don’t give a damn who hears me!” He glared into her eyes, face hard as steel. “I don’t have a mistress—I don’t want one. You’re too much trouble for that kind of complication.”
She bit her lip and glared in return.
“And furthermore, not every man desires blondes. Some of us actually prefer women who look like you. Why have you never considered that with that calculating little mind of yours?”
Color bloomed in her cheeks. “You don’t have to take your anger out on me.”
He snickered. “Why not? You’re the one who makes me angry!”
Her mouth dropped open, and at that point she truly lost every ounce of control she possessed.
“I make
you
angry? You’re the one who’s made a habit of chasing blond, beautiful women. What was I supposed to think when I walked into the drawing room looking like the plain, dirt-covered spinster you married, to find a lovely blond woman, wearing pink chiffon—which is, naturally, the color you prefer your blondes to wear while they’re clothed—nervously rubbing her hands together and telling me she wished we all knew about each other?”
Her voice grew in strength, and her eyes blazed wildly, but she no longer cared.
“Do you know what I thought when I first saw her, Brent? I thought she was the beautiful Pauline Sinclair here to discuss the child you and she had bestowed upon the world together.” She raised her palms and looked at him in feigned wonder. “How grateful I was that I hadn’t embarrassed myself to such an extreme in front of one of your lovers, but in front of your sister. A sister I didn’t even know existed!”
She’d been so engrossed in her tirade, she hadn’t noticed the change on his face. Suddenly she blinked hard and took a step or two away from him, unsure, and knowing she’d said too much, for the man practically gaped at her now with an expression she could only term as wide-eyed amazement.
Then his mouth broke out in a smile until he grinned vibrantly, the pleasure he conveyed reaching even his eyes.
“I never bedded Pauline, Caroline,” he said easily, arrogantly.
She didn’t expect that. She wanted to discuss his sister, not some flirtatious little wench he’d almost married. Gritting her teeth, she fairly seethed, “That is not the issue. I don’t give a damn who you’ve bedded—”
“Yes, you do.”
She stared at him hard, shaking her head in awe of his stupidity. “That’s the most ludicrous statement you’ve ever made.”
He laughed at that. “Do you know what I think, little one?”
“I’m tired of hearing what you think, you pompous, good-for-nothing little toad—”
He cut her off by grabbing her around the waist and pulling her hard against him. Instinctively she placed her palms on his chest to push herself away, but within seconds she knew that was a mistake. Just the feel of his bare skin and tight muscles beneath her fingers made her tingle, and the pure, musky scent of him clouded her mind so suddenly that she forgot what she’d intended to say anyway. The only thing she could bring herself to do was hold completely still and try to ignore him until he saw fit to release her.
Then he nuzzled her neck. “I adore the fact that you aren’t afraid to say anything.”
“Go to hell.”
He laughed again and lifted his head, peering into her eyes with smug enjoyment.
“I think, Caroline, that not only are you lovelier with each passing day, you are positively stunning to behold in a fit of jealousy.”
Her eyes opened wide with horror. “I’ve never been jealous of anyone in my life.”
He raised a brow cynically. “Really? Then I’m glad to know I’m the first for something.”
She pushed against him with every bit of strength she possessed. “Let me go, you asinine, arrogant—”
“Toad?”
She stopped the struggle, scowling at him, nostrils flaring.
He smiled wryly and whispered, “You’re so delightfully unconventional, I’ll bet you adore little creatures, don’t you, Caroline? Spiders, snakes, even little toads like me.”
What on earth did he expect her to say to that? He was an idiot if he thought she would simply give way to his male prowess, his enormous ego.
She closed her eyes and quietly muttered, “I don’t love you, Brent, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She expected him to laugh sarcastically, outrageously, or even release her without incident, but nothing happened. After several agonizing seconds, she opened her eyes to his once more, and the intensity of his gaze unnerved her. He grasped her chin, lifting it to take in every feature, every soft contour of her face, and she couldn’t for the life of her pull herself away. Then, without a sound in response, he lowered his lips, gently brushing them back and forth against hers.
Caroline knew she needed to temper the magic immediately, before it consumed her. If he kissed her fully, embraced by his strength, she would crumble and he would win.
“I don’t love you,” she insisted urgently, turning purposely from the touch of his mouth.
He paused, released her chin, and slowly raised his head.
She dropped hers, unable to look him in the eye, and hoped he would take her withdrawal from his kiss as an affirmation of her words instead of cowardice and confusion, which, she had to admit, was really what it was.
For a moment or two he said nothing, then he sliced the tension in the air with a voice both pensive and reserved.
“I wasn’t suggesting you do, Caroline, but I think you want to believe it so badly you’re trying to convince yourself.”
She gave an acrid laugh. “Don’t worry, Brent. I’m not the kind of brainless female who would ever present you with the awkward moment of confessing my love and expecting you to respond in kind. I’m not romantic by nature, and you’ve made your position perfectly clear.”
She felt his body become tense, then rigid, and slowly he released her. She backed away, and when she finally drew the courage to look at him again, she found him watching her with a face completely void of expression.
Coldly he said, “As far as the guests are concerned, you may treat them as you like. I have no intention of acknowledging them, but I will permit them to stay at Miramont for the time they need to find lodging elsewhere.”
Turning and walking to pick up his tools, he added over his shoulder, “I need to get dressed. There’s a sudden chill in the air.”
Without a second glance in her direction, he disappeared behind the stables.
I
t took Caroline nearly thirty minutes to gather the strength to face Charlotte again, and nearly as much time to persuade the lady and her husband to stay at Miramont as her guests. They were reluctant, naturally, and Charlotte, though she had expected that her brother wouldn’t see her, couldn’t begin to hide the disappointment in her eyes. That made Caroline all the more adamant. These Americans were her relations now, and she had every right to know them.
The three of them met for dinner in the large dining room, dressed for the occasion and carrying on as if it were a state function. Brent was noticeably absent, taking dinner with Rosalyn in the nursery, but Caroline put her best face on in an attempt to feign disinterest. She refused to allow the man to ruin the evening simply because he wasn’t there.
The talk was trivial during the first course, but by the time they’d completed half the main course, she began to feel annoyed at the superficial chatter and took it upon herself to get to the heart of the matter.
Patting her lips with her napkin, she sat back and asked, “Would you mind telling me why Brent won’t speak of you, Charlotte?”
The woman glanced up quickly, eyes widening as she swallowed dryly. “It’s…complicated.”
“I’d really like to know,” Caroline returned matter-of-factly.
Charlotte gazed at her for a long moment, unsure and obviously considering her words, then threw a quick look to her husband, who had stopped eating and was watching her speculatively as well. Finally she sighed in concession, placed her fork on her plate, and folded her hands in her lap.
“Brent and I have always been different from each other, Caroline. He’s six years my senior, quiet and reserved where I am talkative, a brooder where I am a socializer. As there were only the two of us growing up, he became my silent protector around our mother, who had her nose into everyone’s business, especially mine. He resented the way she attacked me for little things—my hair, dress, speech. Brent loved me as I was and wanted me to be happy. Mother wanted me to be a perfect model of social grace, to become everything she never was.”
Charlotte rubbed her hands together nervously and looked blankly at her unfinished plate of pheasant and wild rice.
“Seven years ago, my brother and mother found a man for me to marry.” She laughed caustically. “I think it was probably the only thing the two of them had ever agreed on in their lives. The man was a viscount, likable, powerful and well respected. But he was also forty-two years old, homely, widowed with three young children, and plainly after a respectable woman who could become an instant mother.”
Caroline had to interrupt. “I cannot believe my husband would force you to marry someone so obviously inappropriate, could be so insensitive to your wishes.”
Charlotte shook her head. “You don’t understand. To Brent, the man wasn’t inappropriate. He represented stability, companionship, respectability. To him, the match was legitimate and proper, and provided me with the means to leave Miramont. He truly believed he was securing my future while helping me escape my mother the witch.”
Caroline’s eyes opened wide.
Charlotte smiled faintly. “Brent hasn’t told you much about her, has he?”
She frowned. “Nothing actually, although Nedda mentioned she was lovely.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and shook her head with pure disgust. “She was exquisite to look at, but on the inside she was cruel, conceited, demanding, and treated Brent and me as if we had the plague. Her social life meant everything, so socially we were expected to be perfect, always on display, supporting her position as a beautiful woman with perfect children. Publicly, she petted and complimented us; privately, she threatened, belittled, and beat us with a riding whip whenever we managed to displease her, which was frequently. When my brother was finally able to physically defend us against her, the beatings stopped, and that’s when she became verbally abusive, calling us names, telling us what horrid, inept people we were, how we’d ruined her life.”
She looked up through vivid blue eyes, sparkling from candlelight and filled with sadness. “I think that’s why Brent is so quiet, why he mistrusts people as he does, especially women. Growing up was a miserable experience for both of us, but probably more so for him because he felt such responsibility for me. The weight on his shoulders, I realize now, had to have been extraordinary.”
Caroline swallowed with difficulty, thoroughly shaken. Of course Nedda wouldn’t have told her such intimate details about her husband’s childhood and family, for that would surely have been overstepping the boundaries of propriety. But an abusive mother? Sadly, it explained so much about Brent’s nature, why he spoke so bluntly, wanting to get everything out in the open as if waiting for a negative reply. It explained why he chose such a dangerous profession of isolation, why he spent his free time in the quiet companionship of his horses, his disbelief in romantic love, and his deeply felt, unconditional love for Rosalyn.
Gradually she was beginning to understand the man, and with that she felt profoundly moved as she thought of the sad, lonely boy who grew up with a sister he felt bound to protect and a mother who humiliated him.
Caroline took a sip of wine in an attempt to contain her emotions. “If he cared for you so much, why does he now treat you as if you don’t exist?” she softly asked seconds later.
“She married me,” Carl bluntly revealed, sitting back in his chair.
She looked from one to the other. “I don’t understand.”
Charlotte gave her husband a small, loving smile. “I refused to marry the man chosen for me. Brent and I had several rows over it actually, but in the end I won, though not without devastating consequences. My brother had agreed to the marriage; betrothal papers were signed and a wedding date set. Two weeks before I was to walk down the aisle, I packed my bags and I left. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I knew I needed to go as far away as possible, and in my own naive way the only place I could think of was America. So I sold some expensive jewelry in London and booked passage. Three days after we sailed, I met Carl, who happens to be one of the owners of the company that builds the wretched ships.” Her face puckered and she shivered. “To my complete mortification, he saw me heaving over the side, and because he felt sorry—”
“Desperate, sweetheart,” he muttered with a satisfied smile.
Charlotte blushed, fully grinning at him. “Because he felt
sorry
for me he took me…uh…under his wing, and three months after arriving in Rhode Island we were married.”
Caroline picked up her fork and thoughtlessly toyed with her food. “I suppose my husband felt awkward explaining your disappearance to the viscount.”
Charlotte scoffed. “I don’t think Brent would ever feel awkward about saying anything to anyone.”
She paused for a moment, then leaned toward her to continue, sorrow coloring her voice. “My brother will not acknowledge me to this day, has returned every letter I’ve ever sent him unopened—and I’ve written him once a month without fail for the last six years—simply because he’d found me a respectable, socially adequate English husband, and instead, I ran off and married an American. That’s it. To him I’m dead.”
Caroline was incredulous. “That’s ridiculous,” she mumbled, looking from the woman to her husband, who now stared at his wineglass, twisting it with his fingers.
Charlotte smiled and shook her head. “Not really. Brent is above everything else an Englishman, Caroline. He adores his country, his heritage, and would give his life for the Crown. The man he’d chosen for me was an English viscount who met my needs socially and financially; therefore, I should have been happy. In his very practical mind, my brother now views me as the daughter of an earl who threw everything away when she left and married, not someone she deeply loved, but someone whose family had rebelled against his king.”
Of course her husband would see only the practical reasons for marriage and not the emotional ones, Caroline mused. To Brent, marrying for love would be silly, illogical, and completely beside the point.
“How long will you be in England?” she asked after a quiet moment of contemplation.
Carl sat back and pursed his lips. “A little more than two months. I need to attend to some business in the city.” He shook his head firmly. “But as much as my wife wants to see her brother, we won’t stay here unless his high and mighty lord of ignorance decides to acknowledge us and grace us with his presence—”
“Carl!”
Caroline burst out laughing.
“What?” the man blurted, intolerant. “Calling him that in front of his wife shows no more disrespect than he’s shown in turning from the only family he has.”
“He has his wife and daughter, darling, and he’s done without me in his life for six years.”
“You know about Rosalyn?” Caroline asked, surprised.
Charlotte smiled, her lovely blue eyes soft with understanding. “Nedda writes me several times a year to keep me informed. I know about his beautiful child and her problems, what Reggie did to Miramont while Brent was at war. I’m sure she even wrote me about you, but we’d probably sailed before the letter had a chance to reach me.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Please don’t tell Brent, Caroline. He would forbid Nedda to write, and I’d like to keep what little correspondence I have between us intact.”
Caroline glanced from the woman to her husband, then back again as she nodded, sobering a little, thinking. Quietly she announced, “I think we should have a dinner party.”
Charlotte’s expression was dubious, but Caroline would not be discouraged.
“We’ll invite my sisters and their husbands, and friends of yours if you’d like. It doesn’t need to be an enormous occasion, just a comfortable gathering.” She breathed deeply, adding confidently, “He can hardly ignore you at a party he’ll be forced to attend.”
“Can you talk him into it?” Charlotte whispered.
She shrugged. “I’ll certainly try.”
As exhausted as she was, Caroline wanted to talk to her husband, and as disturbed as it made her feel, she also felt the confusing need to simply see him, be with him.
She stood at their adjoining door and knocked twice, feeling suddenly foolish and certain he was asleep, since it was just after midnight. To her surprise, though, he spoke almost immediately.
“You don’t need to knock, Caroline.”
His quiet arrogance convinced her to straighten her shoulders and enter with her chin in the air. But the tension and anger drained from her at once when she saw him, all the feelings of compassion filling her as she tried to imagine the complications of his past.
The room was dark save for a blazing fire in the grate. He sat on the small settee in front of it, staring into the flames. His shirt was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and he held a half-filled snifter of brandy in his hands. As he heard the rustle of her skirts upon entering, he raised the glass to his lips, took a full swallow, then glanced in her direction.
“I see you dressed for dinner.”
He sounded sullen, tired, and slowly she walked toward him, doing her best to answer him lightly. “Is yellow a color you prefer only on ladies with red hair? Pretty soon, Brent, you’ll tell me you prefer dark-haired women to wear nothing at all.”
He chuckled softly and looked into the amber liquid, twirling the glass in his hand. “I’ve considered that.” He moved to his right slightly. “Come and sit with me.”
That was all she needed to hear. Walking quietly to his side, she gazed down at him for a moment, then sat beside him on the soft cushion, slipping her shoes off, and pulling her legs up and under her gown.
For several minutes they watched the fire in silence, Caroline feeling warm, relaxed, even peaceful in his presence.
“You’ve had a long and interesting birthday, haven’t you, little one?”
“Mmm…More than you can imagine.”
He took her hand in his and lightly caressed her fingers, back and forth, with the pad of his thumb. “Would you like a brandy?”
Smiling, she gently captured his hand and raised it to her lips, kissing his palm delicately just once. That action seemed to surprise him, which made her smile widen.
“I had two glasses of wine with dinner,” she replied softly. “And it’s late.”
He looked back to his glass and took another sip. “Wine will make your head ache, but brandy will help you sleep.”
She cocked a brow. “That sounds like a statement made by a man who would know.”
He smiled and leaned his head back against the settee, still holding her hand but staring once again into the flames. “I have brandy every night, sitting here in front of the fire, Caroline,” he said quietly. “It helps me relax so I sleep better. It’s one of the many things about me you still don’t know.”
She turned her gaze back to the hearth as well, watching the flickering blue and orange light, listening to each crackle and hiss as the heat of it filled the room. He was right about that, at least. There were many things about the man she’d married that she didn’t know and probably never would until she became completely intimate with him. And being with him intimately, she had to admit, was becoming more and more difficult to avoid as time passed.
The thought made her shiver. He evidently felt it, for at that moment he pulled his hand from hers, reached over, and drew her up against his chest.
“Have a sip, Caroline. It will warm you on the inside.”
She hesitated, then took the glass from his hand and swallowed a mouthful of the burning liquid, rich and full-bodied. Licking her lips, she handed the snifter back to him, watching as he drained the contents and placed the glass on the side table. That done, he pulled her closer against him, both arms circling her waist, and she willingly rested her head on his chest.
“This should become a habit,” he suggested thoughtfully, staring once again into the flames. “We should take brandy together every night like this, just the two of us.” He lowered his voice. “I’m tired of being alone, Caroline.”
