Almost an Angel (19 page)

"My lord?" the baron prompted. "I am her guardian—"

"She is of the age of majority."

"She is insane. It is to me you must apply if you have interest regarding my niece."

James did not move, but his thoughts whirled. He did not know how to help Caroline, but he could not simply let her leave. And certainly could not let her go back to Boorstin. Not when he was still so unimpressed with the care she had received there.

His only choice was to stall for time.

"I do not wish her to leave before the festival." He smiled and turned to her uncle. "Surely it is not worth disappointing me over what is, after all, a trivial matter. My guests are my own, and I shall be responsible for Caroline's behavior. Do you not agree?”

The man nodded, his expression guarded. "If you insist."

"I do."

They stared at one another a moment longer, and though James had won this point, he knew his success had been costly. For all that Handren acted the clown, there was a core of shrewdness beneath the congenial exterior, and he didn't want Caroline to stay here. James had just made an enemy.

Yet Caro's happiness was worth any cost, so he simply nodded and watched as Handren quickly beat him at billiards.

"Another game, Traynern?" asked the Baron, his eyes twin points of challenge in his fat, grinning face.

James set aside his stick, his manner casual. "Not at this time, thank you. But later." He turned back to the man, his look pointed. "Most assuredly, we will play again."

That night, James could not sleep. He was on edge as he had not been since leaving the army. This was how he felt before facing death, not a household full of guests.  Nevertheless, he was so on edge that not even the Greek poets could help.

Slamming his book shut, James tossed it aside and went to his bedroom window. It was a beautiful night and the shutters were thrown wide to the breeze. Leaning out onto the sill, he allowed his senses to roam freely, absorbing the smell of a rich summer and the gentle whisper of the night creatures. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light. The moon was nearly full, its delicate glow illuminating leaf and stone alike, but his gaze was caught by the sensuous curve of a woman.

Caro?

She was alone, her back against a tree, her eyes focused on the manor. Not his room, or even Garrett's, but her bedroom and the nursery.

He should leave her to her thoughts, he told himself. She was a woman tormented by confusion. Peaceful contemplation could only help ease the chaos in her mind. Clearly, if she had wanted to speak with someone, she would have sought him out.  She must want to be alone.

Yet he could not resist. It took less than five minutes for him to dress and join her by the tree.

"Good evening, Caro," he said, feeling awkward for intruding upon her solitude.

She did not move, but continued to gaze at the manor wall. "Good evening, my lord. You are out late."

He stepped closer, wanting to touch her but feeling her reserve push him away. "I came to speak with you."

She nodded, a near silent sigh escaping her lips. "Yes, my lord. How may I be of service?”

He hesitated. "You used to call me James."

Her gaze slid lower, dropping to his feet in a deferential gesture. "I know, and I must apologize for the impertinence."

It was too much. He needed to see her eyes. He touched her, lifting her chin with the slightest pressure of his forefinger. "Caro? What is the matter?"

"Nothing, my lord." She made to move away, but he would not release her, holding her face steady as he gently rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

"Is it the festival? Everything will be fine. You are a master organizer."

She shook her head, effectively pulling away from his touch. "Mrs. Potherby is the organizer. I merely gave her the room to run."

"Then, is it your uncle? He is . . ." He struggled with his words, wondering how best to describe the man who controlled her life.

"He is a boor, I know. But there are moments when he can be kind."

James stepped closer, joining her against the tree so their shoulders touched and he no longer need see the way her eyes slid from his. She had always been so direct, her boldness one of her most charming attributes. But now she seemed to skitter away from him, if not in body, then in conversation. Always before she had announced her thoughts with every power at her command. Now he felt as though he had to draw them out of her, practically forcing her to speak with him.

And conversation had never been one of his strong suits. He looked at the starry sky and searched for something to say.

"Your uncle wished to take you to Boorstin tomorrow." He felt her stiffen beside him and was quick to reassure her. "I convinced him to let you remain at least through the festival."

"Thank you."

He waited for her to relax, but she did not. Her stance beside him was as rigid as the tree they leaned against. He turned to face her, trying in vain to see her eyes.

“Tell me about Boorstin. How were you hurt?"

She began to move away from him, but he caught her hand, keeping her nearby, if not close to him. He thought at first she would fight, but instead she held on to him, her palm cold and slick with sweat despite her calm words.

"It is not so evil a place. The patients are a sad and frightened lot. I give what guidance I can."

"How were you hurt?"

Her hand clenched, and he returned the pressure, trying to tell her without words that he would do everything in his power to help. "There is a man there," she said, shuddering. "A doctor or so he claims. He delights in giving pain."

"He beat you?”

She nodded. "When I would not do other . . . things." Shyly, she turned to him, her eyes imploring him. "With your help, we could make him leave. What he does is unthinkable, and yet as patients, we are powerless to stop him. If you—"

"Done."

She stared at him. "My lord?"

"Give me his name, and he will be gone. Think no more of him."

He saw the relief wash through her and was startled to realize she had been concerned about asking for so small a favor. "Thank you, my lord," she breathed.

"James. My name is James."

She smiled tremulously, and he ached to see such uncertainty in her. But she gave him the so-called doctor's name, and he silently resolved to see the man out of England, his medical credentials stripped away.

With that done, he expected at least some of her reserve to melt. But she remained aloof and the silence stretched between them once again.

"Caro," he said softly.

She flinched slightly and he turned, wondering what made her so skittish.

She swallowed. "My lord?"

"You need not go back to Boorstin at all, if you choose not to. There are . . . other options. I have money. You could go to the colonies . . ." His gut clenched at the thought of her moving so far away. "Perhaps you could find a cottage nearby. Not in the village, of course, but there is land available."

His mind was already mapping out the surrounding area, choosing a location near enough to him, but safe from the prejudice and hatred brewing in the village. But she was shaking her head, her voice firm.

"No. I will go to Boorstin."

"But—"

"At least there I can be of service to those in pain."

"Caro," he said gently, "that is for the doctors to do."

Her hand tightened against his. "You do not understand what it is like in there. I am important there. I am a minister's daughter, and I provide spiritual guidance in a way the doctors do not."

"Spiritual guidance? Caro, you are there to get well."

"No. Yes." She shook her head. "Perhaps. I only know I belong there. I am one of them, and I help them."

"You could visit them," he offered. "Daily, if necessary. You need not reside there."

"It is the only place I belong."

James fell silent, seeing the determination in her face. Still, he had to ask, he had to have her say the words. "You are decided?”

"Yes."

He sighed, feeling frustration drag at him. She had apparently found a purpose to her life, a meaning that still sometimes eluded him. He should be happy for her, and yet he could not feel anything but a great sense of loss. He reached out to touch her, to feel her skin against his palm, but she twitched away, her expression pained.

"Caro? What is it?"

"Nothing, my lord."

Suddenly, he was angry. He did not know where the emotion came from, he only knew it surged through him, filling him with a near violent energy he did not know how to disperse. It boiled within him, and he slammed his fist so hard against the trunk that the tree shuddered above them, spilling leaves and twigs.

"My lord?" Caro's voice was a mere whisper, but he could tell she was frightened, and that only infuriated him more. This was a woman who had faced down a mob, who had teased and tormented him in his own household, and yet she stood before him, "my lording" him to death, flinching at his merest touch.

"What has happened to you, Caro?" he cried, his voice fraught with emotion. "I have lost you, and I do not know how or why."

She touched him. Her fingers were shaky as they feathered across his cheek, but it was the first time she had reached out to him in days, and he felt it to his core. He stopped moving. He stopped breathing. He stopped doing anything for fear she would withdraw. But she did not, and he closed his eyes to better feel her trembling caress.

"Caro." The word was half groan, half entreaty.

"I have lost myself, James. The woman you knew, the woman who entered your house those weeks ago is gone. I think back on what she did, and it is like seeing another person." She twisted away and pointed at the wall. "Do you know I have come here every night for the last four days to stare at the side of your house? Do you know why?"

He shook his head, his throat too tight to allow words.

"Because I remember walking along the ledge there. I remember it, but I do not know why I did it. What purpose did it serve? I stare and I stare, and I cannot imagine myself doing such a thing."

"But surely you remember—"

"I cannot conceive it."

"But—"

"No!" She rounded on him, anger flashing through her eyes as James had not seen in days. "Even you know I am different. You might as well call me Caroline, because I am that timid, frightened, beaten woman now. Carolly is lost to me. I cannot find her within me anywhere."

"But she is a part of you. You are the same person. You must remember her."

Her hands tightened into fists, and he watched in alarm as tears slipped down her cheeks. "I remember nothing of her. I have tried and tried, but she is gone. You know she is gone. Even Margaret knows it."

James stared at her, seeing not her tearstained cheeks or the trembling desperation of her lips, but the anger beating just below. Carolly was within her. She was simply submerged, lost beneath the return of Caroline. The return of the sane woman, Caroline. Or—had he been mistaken all along?

He gripped her arms. "Margaret is wrong. I was wrong. And yes, even you, Caroline, are wrong. Because Carolly is within you. She is part of you. And we will bring her back."

Caroline gazed at him, and he felt her trembling ease. Her mind latched onto his determination. "How? How will we find her again?”

He gentled his hold on her, releasing one of her arms to stroke back the hair that had fallen into her eyes. "Perhaps we should begin with the ledge."

She raised her gaze to his, her brow creasing as she tried to understand. "I told you, I have thought and thought on it and have found nothing."

"Then," he said, feeling a smile curve his lips, "it is time we did more than think."

Chapter Fourteen

"You cannot be serious." Caroline looked out her bedroom window at the seemingly mountainous drop to the ground. The very thought of stepping out on the ledge terrified her. But James was relentless as he pulled her out to join him on the ledge.

"Come on. I am right here. It is perfectly safe." He shrugged. "It is much wider than it seems."

She shook her head, clutching the sill. "But I shall fall."

"I will not let you go. Do not be afraid." She felt him gently detach her left hand from the sill, wrapping her fingers around his sturdy ones. "We must walk this ledge, experience everything. Then perhaps you will remember Carolly."

She nodded, understanding his logic. "I—I am not afraid," she stammered.

"Good."

"I am terrified."

He smiled encouragingly at her. "Not as good."

"But—"

"Come. Or I shall be forced to carry you, and you know my leg will not withstand your weight."

His meaning took a moment to penetrate her fears, but when it did, she frowned up at him. "Just what do you imply, my lord?"

He grinned at her. "Only that you are as solid as you are beautiful."

"Harrumph."

"Quit stalling. Climb."

She took a deep breath then blew it out, wishing she could as easily blow out her fears. She could not, of course, and so she intended to tell his imperious lordship. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw him preparing to lift her up into his arms. And while the thought of that made her knees go weak, she knew it would be disastrous for his leg. Without another word, she scrambled out onto the ledge.

She immediately flattened herself against the wall, feeling the rough-cut stone against her palms. But as she settled there, she felt James, warm and comforting beside her. The tension around her throat eased, and she began to breathe easier.

"Smell the air. Isn't it wonderful?" James's voice was soft against her ear, and she smiled at him as she closed her eyes.

She could taste the summer on the breeze up here. The steamy heat was gone, leaving a soft whisper of wind that brought the tangy mixture of grass and pollen to her lips. She wondered if there were an apple orchard nearby, and her thoughts spilled to that burst of delight she experienced whenever she bit into the first apple of summer.

Her thoughts did not seem odd to her. She knew these were Caroline's memories, and she cherished them. Simple joys were a special part of who she was now, and she would hate to lose them as much as she regretting losing Carolly.

It was all so confusing.

"Do you remember the last time you were up here?" She felt James's hand draw her closer to him. She felt his clothing, brushing lightly against her bare arm.

"I remember being here, of course. But—"

"But not why?"

She nodded. It was like looking through a window at another person. She could see what was happening, but she could not comprehend it.

"I believe," commented James, his eyes twinkling with boyish delight, "that it had something to do with a toad." Then he lifted a green, slimy creature out of his pocket.

"Oh, James, put that thing away!"

"I will not." Faster than she could react, he snared her wrist and gently placed the disgusting creature in her hand. "We must duplicate the circumstances exactly."

"Then you should go away, for you were not with me the first time."

"Ah, but if I did that, I think you would throw the hapless toad to his death and run inside. I cannot allow that."

She twisted on the ledge, trying to not to squeeze the unhappy creature too tightly. "You are enjoying this!" she accused hotly.

"Yes," he said, sounding somewhat surprised. "I believe I am."

"James—"

"Come along," he interrupted. "Start walking."

"But . . ." He crowded close to her, and she took a step out of necessity. "I am out on this ledge. Why must I walk?"

He leaned close to her, tickling her ribs as he urged her forward. "Because you are returning the toad to Margaret."

Carolly squirmed away, moving another couple steps as she evaded James's mischievous fingers. "Margaret's bedroom is on the other side of the wing," she said, her voice trembling with laughter.

He grinned. "Yes, but you did not know that."

"I do now."

"It does not matter."

"James—"

"Go!"

So she walked, and he followed. In truth, the ledge was quite wide. There was even room to lie down if need be, but all she could think about was the cobblestones of the walkway below. If they fell, they would both be quite hurt.

Yet somehow she felt safe. James was with her, still holding on to her left hand. In her right, she kept the toad quiet, if not exactly content.

Suddenly she stopped, realizing this trip was much too easy. "Where is the ivy?" She heard James's chuckle and turned to look at him. "You had it cleaned off!"

"Well, you never actually promised not to walk along here again. I could not have you breaking your neck simply because I neglected a simple gardening task. Now there is plenty of room."

She tried to frown at him, but her sense of humor was returning. "You said it would serve me right if I plummeted to my death."

"And so it would," he cheerfully agreed. "But that does not mean I shall allow anything of the kind."

Finally she smiled at him, her heart warming with his words. He would not let anything happen to her. He'd been looking out for her all along. "And the nursery window?" she asked.

"Unlatched."

She grinned. "You have thought of everything."

His smile faded, and his face fell into shadow. "What about you, Carolly? Have you thought of anything? Have you remembered?”

Caroline frowned, trying to assess herself in a vague, unfocused way. She felt the same as always, but was she Carolly or Caroline? "I don't know."

"Relax. Enjoy the beautiful night."

"But..."

"Hush."

She frowned. "James . . ."

He silenced her by placing his forefinger on her lips. "Do you remember that other night?” he asked, sending a shiver of delight down her spine at his husky whisper.

“I—”

"Shhhh."

She could not disobey him, not when his eyes were so commanding, so deeply mesmerizing that they seemed to hold her still even after he removed his finger from her lips.

"Close your eyes."

She did.

"What do you remember of that night?”

"I remember inching along the ledge, that poor toad wiggling in my pocket."

She felt his fingers, long and sensuous, slide around her hand and the hapless amphibian. She relaxed her hold, thinking he would take the toad, but he didn't. Instead, he guided her arm downward and together they placed the creature into her pocket.

It was a simple movement, but her eyes were closed, her senses inflamed. She felt the long stroke of his thumb along her wrist and the slight pressure of his knuckles against her thigh as they maneuvered the creature. She gasped in reaction, especially when he lingered there, one hand against hers, the other pressed intimately high on her leg.

She felt her nipples contract and a fire begin low in her belly, but she couldn't move, not even when he withdrew his touch with deliberate slowness, taking the time to stroke her body gently, erotically.

"James . . ." she whispered.

"What else do you remember?"

She opened her eyes. "I remember seeing you in the moonlight." She reached up and touched his hair, ruffling it so it fell over his forehead. "You looked so dashing that night with the silver moonlight in your hair. I imagined you my own personal pirate come to whisk me away."

He didn't move, and Caroline wasn't even sure he breathed, but she didn't stop. Suddenly, she seemed fascinated by the smallest details of his face. She traced the harsh angles of his cheeks, eased the worry lines creasing his forehead, and even trailed along to the tip of his aristocratic nose.

"I thought I had never seen anyone so handsome."

Her fingers found his lips, caressing the edges until he opened his mouth ever so slightly and she could feel his heated breath.

"I think I first fell in love with you then."

She felt his breath catch, and she knew she had surprised him.

"Do not be alarmed," she whispered, lifting her other hand to join the first. "I know you cannot marry me—a minister's mad daughter. But I wanted to say it. Just once."

He raised his fingers to hers, touching her hands with the same care she lavished on him. "That is not true . . ."

This time she stopped his words with her forefinger. "Shhh. Don't say what we both know will never be."

"Carolly—"

"You are an earl. You cannot stoop so low as—"

"I care nothing about biddies. Tongues will wag whatever I do." His tone was forceful, almost angry, but she did not draw away.

"Yes, I suppose they will. And you would never let that sway you. But what about our children?"

He frowned, but there was a dreamy look misting his eyes. "Our children," he echoed.

"How long before you would look for madness in them?"

He stilled, and she knew she was right.

"You would be forever looking at your children, your sons especially, afraid that the slightest play, the most harmless prank, was a symptom of my madness. It would be horrible for the child, and it would rip you apart."

"No." His voice was thick with denial, but she saw the panic in his eyes.

"It would destroy us and our children."

"I would love them."

"Yes, but you would doubt them, too. What child can live with that?"

"I . . . I cannot lose you Carolly." His voice was a soft cry for help.

She lifted his face, kissing him tenderly. "You can't lose what you never had. I am to be an angel, James. I am not meant to live here on Earth."

He searched her eyes, his expression dazed. "What?"

Suddenly it all came flooding back, rushing into her mind with the force of a whirlwind. Carolly had returned. Carolly the wild, impetuous, vibrantly wonderful pre-angel soul became part of her again. And she laughed out loud with the sheer joy of it. "I remember!" she cried. "I remember all of it!" She spread her arms wide, lifting her face to the shimmering glory of the full moon on a clear summer night.

"Carolly!" He grabbed her, pulling her back against the wall. "You will fall."

She turned in his arms, feeling happiness fill her soul. "I am whole again, James." She grinned at him, leaning close to his face. "Thank you," she whispered.

Then she kissed him.

It was meant to be a chaste kiss. A touching of lips to share joy and to show appreciation. But as she lifted her mouth to his, as she inhaled the rich masculine scent of him and felt the hard muscles of his arms tighten around her, her body began to respond in ways that had nothing to do with angels or God. Her body reacted as a woman desperately in love.

She initiated the kiss, and as their mouths touched she surrendered. His mouth slanted over hers in bold demand, and she released a small sound of surprise. It was as though he captured that sound, taking it and her within him as he pulled her deep into his embrace.

Her head fell back as he kissed her. He pushed her against the wall, flattening her between stone and his lean form, and she reveled in the hard press of his body. Her hands traveled up his chest, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath her fingertips as he abruptly pulled off his coat and tossed it aside.

"James—"

But even that soft word was not allowed to escape. He would not release her mouth, would not withdraw his kiss, and all too soon she found her own hunger matching his. She stretched upward, letting her hands roam through his hair, drawing him to her. She arched into him as he ground his pelvis against her.

His hands left her face to stroke her neck, slipping apart the buttons on the front of her gown until he could plunge a hand into the vee he created. Her shift stretched taut, and she was grateful when it finally ripped open.

She was exposed then from the waist up, and James was free to let his fingers roam over her breasts. His hands were large and strong, their caress rough as they chafed her delicate skin, but the sensation was beyond erotic, sending bursts of fire coursing through her blood.

He pinched her nipples, rolling them with his thumbs, and she cried out in ecstasy. She felt more of her buttons slip free as her gown slipped past her shoulders, pinning her arms down by her sides. She couldn't move. She could only drop her head backward, silently begging him for more.

His mouth left hers, trailing down her neck to kiss the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. His hands cupped her breasts, lifting them higher as his mouth found one pebbled tip. He drew it into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before abruptly shifting to the other. The sensation of his kiss on one side while cool air brushed across the other left her moaning with hunger.

Her knees weakened, and he thrust his thigh between her legs, crushing her in a way that forced all reason from her mind. She spun in a maelstrom of sensation, her only thought to continue.

She began kissing him as she could, whatever she could touch. She shrugged off the restraining sleeves of her gown to finally touch him. She pulled at his shirt, slipping her hands

inside to run through the dusting of curls across his chest. Her nails found the flat disks of his nipples, scratching lightly as he gasped her name.

His touch slipped to her waist, tugging at the gown, inching his fingers lower, toward her womanly core. She moaned in response, already opening for him.

Then he stopped, his muscles tightening beneath her fingertips as he took a small step back.

"James?” Her voice was a whispered plea, but he shook his head.

"We cannot do this here." He glanced behind him, and she slowly recalled their location on the ledge. Below them, the garden remained bathed in moonlight, above them tiny wisps of clouds played hide-and-seek through the stars.

It was a beautiful sight. A night made for lovers. But they were on a ledge, and she was naked to the waist in full view of God and man.