Desiring Lady Caro (16 page)

“Well—well good for you.” She backed up a little. “Go find someone who wants to catch you. I am perfectly happy and have no wish to change my life.”

He rubbed his chin and studied her for a few moments, taking in her rapid breathing and dilated eyes. She’d responded to him as if starved for his touch. “I don’t believe you.”

This time she rose to her full height, which, although much shorter than he, was not inconsiderable for a woman. “Are you calling me a liar, sir?”

“Not at all.” Lady Horatia reminded him of a hen whose feathers had been ruffled. “I just think you’re mistaken. Have you been kissing men on a regular basis?”

“I just told you . . .”

He stifled a laugh. “Yes. Yes, so you did. Which, I must say, is a relief. I really couldn’t marry a woman who went around kissing other men.”

Passing her palm over her brow, she gazed at him. “I think you must be mad. At least, this conversation is.”

Whitton caught her hand and drew her in, placing his arm back around her waist. “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

He bent his head and kissed her again. She melted into him, then seemed to realize what she was doing. Her body tensed. “No,” he said, “I was right.” Lady Horatia raised her hand to hit him again, and he caught it. “Enough of that, my lady. I’ve no intention of allowing you to make a habit of pummeling me. Particularly when you enjoyed our kiss as much as I.”

She blushed charmingly. “I did not.”

Lady Horatia didn’t seem to have changed very much since she was young. She was every bit as delightful as he knew she would be. “You’re a very poor fraud, and it’s clear you need to be kissed more often. Though you really shouldn’t go around doing it in the corridor—unless you’re betrothed, that is.”

Her lips tightened in frustration, and he thought for a minute that she’d stamp her foot.

“But I do not. I did not, and—and it’s not proper in any event, even if one is betrothed,” she said, flustered. “Besides,
you
kissed
me
.”

John pressed his lips firmly together, trying not to laugh out loud. He hadn’t had this much fun in years, perhaps his entire life. He made himself nod thoughtfully. “So I did, but you kissed me in return.”

“Humor him,” she muttered more to herself than to him. “Captain Whitton. You cannot possibly wish to marry me. For all you know, I could have many bad characteristics.”

“Such as?”

Her brow wrinkled for a moment, and then, with an air of satisfaction, she said, “I—I could be a shrew.”

“You could be,” he acknowledged. “But you’re not. Laughton would never have married a bad-tempered woman.”

George had been right about his wife. Any other lady of John’s acquaintance would simply have walked back into her chamber and closed the door. Not Lady Horatia. Once engaged, she was unable to back down and would give as good as she got. Holy Jesus, he loved her. Everything about her. In his heart, he’d known she was for him, and this was the proof.

“You still don’t know me.”

Her pretty lips formed a
moue
, and he wanted to kiss her again, but first she’d have to talk herself out.

“I could still have any number of bad habits.”

John was pretty sure he had heard about all of her foibles. He raised a skeptical brow.

She nodded, warming to her topic. “Truly I do. I’m impatient, I have a dreadful temper, sometimes I drink too much, and, oh, I am very fond of arranging things to my way of liking.”

She glanced up at him and searched his face.

He grinned at her. So far, this was nothing new.

She scowled. “Are you listening to me at all?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I’ve heard every word you’ve said. What other arguments do you have?”

“Well.” She gave him a calculating look before addressing herself to his top coat button. “I am past the age of wanting children, even if I could have them, and I have no intention of giving up even a farthing of my property. Any way, I am too old to be thinking of marriage.”

She seemed to think her last arguments had clinched it and glanced up hopefully. Lady Horatia’s hair was still a rich mahogany brown shot through with gold. Her clear complexion made her appear much younger than seven and thirty. She was exactly what he’d been waiting his whole life for. The only thing that bothered him was the lie George obviously fed her about not being able to have children.

“I have no need for offspring.” It wasn’t exactly a falsehood. His brothers would be more than happy to have their sons inherit. “I have plenty of nieces and nephews. I’ve enough wealth of my own. I don’t want yours. We may have to work through who is going to order what, though. I, too, am pretty used to having my way. However, I’m sure we can come to an accord.”

“Well then, you see, I am not the wife you . . .” She narrowed her eyes again. “What did you say?”

Captain Whitton heaved a sigh, but his eyes twinkled with humor. Horatia had the distinct sense she was losing the battle. She’d never been so confused. Her life was well-ordered, and she planned to keep it that way. She had enough responsibilities managing her servants, not to mention Huntley and Caro. She tried and failed to keep her gaze from his lips. The dratted man had so easily awakened feelings she’d thought long buried. Why did this have to happen now instead of years ago?

“Now who’s not listening?” he retorted. “I just told you I don’t need either children or your money.”

“We cannot continue to discuss this in the corridor.” She turned to go. His hand stroked her from neck to waist. The shiver of desire that coursed through her almost made her knees buckle. Oh no. Even with George, that had never happened. Swallowing, she fought to bring her errant body back under control, when all she wanted to do was lean into the rogue. “I shall leave you now.”

Captain Whitton took her arm. “I’ll escort you.”

Glancing up at him, her mind warred with her senses. What was going on? “Why?”

His eyes seemed to grow warmer. “I’ll explain over tea. Shall we go to my parlor or yours?”

She knew exactly what would happen if they were alone. He’d have her skirts up in a matter of seconds, and she’d probably help him. She’d never wanted a man before like she did Captain Whitton. “I am not going to any private parlor with you.”

“Come with me, then,” he said. “I know a place where you’ll feel safe.”

Captain Whitton led her down the stairs and out to a large terrace where several tables were situated in a garden-like atmosphere. After selecting a small table near the wall in the far corner, he pulled out a chair for her and motioned for the attendant. “Tea for two.”

The waiter bowed and hurried off.

Horatia reminded herself to breathe and finally succeeded in calming herself. As long as she didn’t look at his lips, she’d be fine. Or his dimple. Or his . . . that was quite enough. She pinched herself hard on her leg. “Now, Captain Whitton, I consider myself to be a reasonable woman, but none of this makes any sense.”

He rubbed his chin for a few moments and studied her. “I suppose I could blame it on the
Sucooua
.”

She shook her head, thinking that she’d not heard aright. “The what?”

“The witch on Dominica.”

H
oratia couldn’t believe what he’d said. “What do you mean, a witch?”

The dimple popped out—God help her—and he grinned. “It’s common to visit the
Sucooua
. They give advice and readings. She told me I kept the woman who would be my wife close to my heart.”

It must have been all the sun he had been exposed to or too many days at sea. The man was definitely mad. “I fail to understand how you could have kept me close to your heart when I’ve been in Venice for the past sixteen years.”

He pulled out an ornate gold pocket watch, opened it, then handed it to her. All the air in her body left in a whoosh. It was a miniature taken of her when she was sixteen. When the match with George had been proposed, her father sent it to him. Her hand trembled. “How—how did you get this?”

Closing one eye, he studied her as if to decide how he’d answer.

“It was George’s. We shared quarters in Kingstown. One of the maids found it after he’d left.” He kept his gaze on hers. “I wrote him, asking where I could send it. He told me to keep the watch and give it to him when he saw me again.” The captain pointed to the portrait. “That doesn’t do you justice.”

She stared at the miniature. “After we married, George ordered another. Still, I fail to see how you could know me from a picture.”

Captain Whitton had actually carried her portrait all these years. Her chest ached. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to women of her age. She picked up the cup of tea that had arrived and tried to force a sip down her suddenly tight throat. What was she to do? She could not allow his actions to affect her plans. There had to be something she could say to convince him that she wasn’t the right woman for him. She had Caro to care for. At the moment, Horatia’s life was complicated enough without adding a lover to it.

“It was more than the miniature,” he said. “George wrote to me until he died. Most of his letters included something about you.” Captain Whitton leaned over the table toward her. “Lady Horatia, I fell in love with you a long time ago.”

“I was much younger then. I’m older now.” Though apparently not any wiser. She passed a hand over her forehead. This wasn’t happening. He belonged in Bedlam. She belonged there as well for just listening to him.

His lips tilted up crookedly. “I expect you are. So am I.”

“Be that as it may,” she said, trying to regain control of their conversation, if she’d ever actually had it. “Even if you are correct, and you do know me, the fact remains that I, sir, do not know you. And I will not . . .”A slow blush rose in her cheeks as, belatedly, she thought about her husband’s letters and what they could have revealed. With those George considered to be close friends, he had not been the most circumspect of fellows.

“You could get to know me.” The captain’s green eyes held a hopeful look. Almost like a puppy’s. Except puppies did not gaze at one as if they’d like to devour one whole.

Her lips were suddenly dry. She licked them. This was not going well at all. Though why she could not bring herself to just stand and walk away, she didn’t know. “I am leaving in a few days. I am afraid there will not be sufficient time.”

“I have no immediate plans. I could travel with you,” he suggested.

Oh Lord
. Closed carriage, his lips, his hands . . . An ache of desire made sitting uncomfortable. “I cannot possibly countenance traveling in a coach with you.”

Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of tea. “No, that wouldn’t do at all. I can’t abide being cooped up.”

This was clearly a trap. Captain Whitton had more moves than the old Romany who fooled people with the shell game. “What are you proposing?”

“I shall ride on horseback, and you will agree to take walks and dine with me.”

Perhaps he was not
totally
unreasonable. Strolling, dining, his hard body. She wasn’t going to be able to sit here much longer. “Just until Nancy?”

“Yes,” he replied. “If you cannot bring yourself to marry me by the time we reach Nancy, I’ll agree to go my own way.”

No, no, no. How was she going to stand being in such close proximity to him every day for more than two weeks? “Very well.”

She rose and held her hand out to shake on their deal, but instead he took it and brushed his lips softly across her knuckles, his warm breath a whisper against her fingers. Her hand trembled, and when she tried to snatch it back, he held it.

His gaze captured hers. “We must agree on complete honesty.”

Straightening her back, Horatia gave him her most offended look. “Of course I shall be honest with you.”

Drat the man
. She needed to get out of this somehow. Away from him before her knees gave way with a lust she hadn’t known in years, perhaps not even then.

“Good,” he said. “Then we have a deal.”

When he released her, all the heat in her body left with him.

“Indeed,” Horatia said. “Be ready in three days’ time at eight o’clock in the morning, sharp. I shall not wait.”

“A punctual woman. I will be ready.” His countenance was serious, but he had a twinkle in his eyes.

“Very well.” At least she had some time to attempt to recover her senses, both physical and mental. She glanced at the captain as she rose, and got the impression he found her amusing.

“But you’ll see me before then . . . at dinner this evening.”

This evening?
Panicked, she cast her mind back over their deal. She’d set no time to begin the getting-to-know-him phase. Hoisted with her own petard, as George would say. “Very well, we will dine together this evening.”

In two steps, Captain Whitton was beside her and had possessed himself of her hand, which he placed on his arm. “I shall make the reservations in the dining room. It wouldn’t do for you to be alone with me in a parlor.”

Horatia’s jaw almost dropped. After practically ravishing her in the corridor,
now
he was concerned about propriety? Perhaps it was because she’d refused to be alone with him earlier. The scent of him, fresh like the ocean, wrapped around her. She had never before wanted a man this badly. “It’s all right, I don’t mind. We may dine alone.”

As if he could read her wanton thoughts, his disapproving green gaze speared her. “No. That would not be advisable.”

By the time they got to her chamber door, and he lifted her hand from his arm, she thought her body would crumple to the floor from yearning. When he reached around her, she raised her face, ready for the kiss that was coming. But it didn’t. He knocked on the door.

If she could just have him once, she’d be over this madness. She was a widow, after all. She was allowed to have an affair. One could even say it was expected.

He bowed and lifted her trembling fingers to his lips. “I shall do myself the honor of fetching you at seven of the clock.”

“Thank you. I shall be waiting.” He squeezed her hand and another jolt of lust shot through her. God, she was going to kill him.

Once inside, Horatia collapsed on a chair. Every nerve in her body had been set for the feel of his hard, warm mouth, and he’d left her frustrated. Yet she had too much to do to add a man to her life right now. “Oh, Risher, what a scrape I’ve got myself into, and I cannot see my way out of it.”

Risher shook her head. “Well, my lady, it’s like the old master used to say. You run headlong into things without a thought. What have you done now?”

 

When John had escorted Lady Horatia back to her chambers, he caught her casting him sidelong glances. Her gaze simmered with barely suppressed desire. He resisted the urge to smile. George had written that she would be just the woman for John, but George was going to marry her any way. At the time, John was a second son, trying to make his fortune, and in no way an eligible marriage prospect. Well, he wasn’t young anymore, nor was he ineligible. Horatia was going to be his.

He’d seen the moment she realized she had trapped herself. Beautiful, bright, and reckless. He’d kissed her trembling hand and resisted the urge to take her lips again. He’d never had such a reaction to a woman, nor had a lady ever responded to him the way Lady Horatia did. Her whole body seemed to simmer with desire. The portrait hadn’t prepared him for the person she was. She was so much more, so alive and passionate. As much as he wanted her, to taste her, to have her beneath him, an affair was not the answer. She’d promise to marry him before he bedded her.

As John entered his chamber, his valet, Smyth, glanced up. He’d been with John since he’d left Oxford and made his way to the West Indies. The valet had been an incongruous figure aboard ship, never quite fitting in with the rough crew, but respected nonetheless.

“Smyth,” John said, “I require a table for two in the dining room this evening. Lady Horatia Laughton will be joining me.”

Smyth bowed. “If you will trust me with the menu, my lord, I shall make all the arrangements.” When John nodded, his valet turned to go and then stopped. “If I may add, my lord, I’m very happy for you.”

John raised a sardonic brow. “Don’t be happy yet. We’ve a long trip to Nancy to get through before I know if she’ll agree to be my wife. And no ‘my lording’ me. I don’t want her to know yet.”

“Yes, sir. Fortunate thing we did not journey all the way to Venice and have to retrace our steps.”

“You have a point. One could call my meeting with her fortuitous.” John walked over to the small sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy.

It bothered him that Laughton, the randy old goat, had apparently allowed Horatia to believe she was the reason there were no children of their union. John knew better. During all the years Laughton lived in the West Indies, there’d never been even a hint that he’d actually sired a child, though he’d supported a few just to keep up appearances. John tossed back his brandy, welcoming the familiar burn as it ran down his throat. Convincing Lady Horatia to marry him was going to be a challenge. One he looked forward to.

 

“Caro, why are you crying?” Huntley held her gently and stroked her hair, which Nugent had tied back with another pink ribbon.

“I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this.” Caro sobbed against his shirt.

He sat on a chair and lifted her onto his lap and murmured to her, “Tell me what it is you don’t understand.”

“Why I still don’t feel well, and I cry all the time.”

He wished he could will her to get healthy faster, so she wouldn’t be so miserable. First the marchese, then the influenza, and now her slow recovery, and he was helpless to do more than what he was already doing. “You don’t cry all the time.” He smiled. “I rarely see you weeping. You’re just not as fit as you’d like to be.”

“I suppose you are right.”

“If the doctor allows it, and you agree,” Huntley said, “I’d like to remove to Innsbruck to-morrow. It’s flat there, and the air is not quite so thin. Perhaps then you can take some gentle walks to increase your strength.”

Caro leaned her head on his shoulder. “Yes, I’d like to go for a walk. Even a short one.”

A knock came on the door and Nugent showed the doctor in. He bowed. “Good afternoon,
Herr Graf
. How is her ladyship to-day?”

Huntley tucked in a bit of Caro’s woolen dressing gown that had gaped open. “I think the fever is gone for good, but her ladyship is still very weak.”

Dr. Benner nodded and examined Caro while Huntley continued to hold her on his lap. “My lady, you are improving, though not as quickly as I’d like. My lord, what are your plans?”

“I’d like to travel to Innsbruck as soon as possible,” Huntley said.

“
Ja
. That might be a good idea. It is not so cold, and I can refer you to a colleague of mine.”

“Would it be possible for me to go for short walks?” she asked.

“Once in the city, yes.” Dr. Benner grinned and wagged his finger at her. “But you are not to overdo it.” He glanced at Huntley. “Do you have a hotel in mind?”

“The Goldener Adler.”

“
Ja
,
ja
, it is a very good hotel. I shall write you a note for Herr Doktor Hans Grunner.” Benner bowed. “It has been a pleasure, my lord, my lady.”

“If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll come with you.” Huntley picked Caro up and deposited her gently on the bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, my dear. I want to give the orders for our move.”

“You won’t be long?”

He tucked the featherbed around her, trying to make her as warm and comfortable as he was able, before placing a kiss on her lips. “No, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

When he reached the door, Huntley looked back at Caro. Her forlorn expression almost made him return. It was clear she needed him now, but what would happen when she regained her strength, both physical and mental? He could not allow her to pull away from him. Even if he wasn’t sure if he loved her, she was his, and would always be his. Closing the door behind him, he entered the adjoining parlor where Benner sat at the desk, writing. Maufe hovered nearby.

“Maufe,” Huntley said, “please advise the hotel and the rest of the staff we leave in the morning for Innsbruck. Also, make arrangements to pay the doctor.”

Bowing, his valet responded, “Right away, my lord. I take it this means her ladyship is better?”

“She will be.” Huntley lowered his voice. “Maufe, there is no reason for her ladyship and I to have separate chambers while she is so ill.”

If his valet had any thoughts on the matter, they did not show. “As you say, my lord.”

After receiving the letter from the doctor and thanking him for his care of Caro, Huntley turned and re-entered the bedroom. Caro glanced up at him and smiled. He quickly undressed and slid in next to her. “Time to rest, my love.”

She curled in against him and gave a small, satisfied sigh. “The bed is so cold when you’re not here.”