Desiring Lady Caro (24 page)

He speared some of it onto a fork and held it out to her. She closed her lips around it. The smoky flavor of streaky bacon mixed with fried egg and onions filled her senses as she chewed. She sighed. Not as good as the chocolate torte, but delightful all the same. “Wonderful.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “If I feed this to you, which I’m of half a mind to do, I’ll have every other husband here in trouble.”

Her eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t look, but we’re the center of attention.”

She grinned as wickedly as she felt. “What if you fed me just one more bite?”

“You, my lady, are a hoyden,” he responded severely, but his lips tilted up and he held the fork out to her.

“I have never been called that before. I was actually a very dutiful daughter,” she said in her primmest voice.

Had she ever been so bold? No, not even when she was younger. While she chewed, she stole a sidelong glance at the room and was not surprised to see wives with their eyes narrowed at their mates, mayhap wanting attention from them that she received from Gervais. Even if he didn’t love her, he was still a very good husband.

“It must be Horatia’s influence,” Gervais said. “From what I’ve heard, she was anything but dutiful.”

“No. Even the milder stories I’ve heard put me to the blush.”

He studied her for only a moment, and Caro wished she could read his thoughts.

He glanced around. “The others are finishing up. We must leave soon.”

He wiped his lips with the serviette. Oh, what those lips had done to her as they trailed kisses down her body. But not in the common room. They’d already caused enough trouble. Placing her serviette on the table, she turned to him. “I’m full.”

Pulling the
Kasnocken
pan toward him, he ate the rest of it. “Shall we go?”

Several men glared at him as they left the room. Gervais’s countenance showed nothing, but a telltale twitch in his jaw made her realize how hard-pressed he was to keep from laughing. Those men would have a difficult time, for a few days at least.

He had to be in love with her, but how to tell for sure when he wouldn’t say it?

 

Six days later, they settled into their hotel in Ulm, once a free city, now part of the Kingdom of Württemberg. The city walls were a shambles from the sieges during the war, and an air of depression hung over the city. From their bedchamber windows, she could see the rubble.

Over the course of the week they’d been traveling, Caro had taken on the responsibilities of Gervais’s wife, as much as she could under the circumstances, conferring with Maufe over their lodgings and breakfast. Gervais still insisted on selecting their evening meal, choosing dishes he thought she’d enjoy, and finding chocolate for her. She’d never been so well cared for.

Taking her in his arms, he asked, “How long do you wish to remain here?”

Caro stretched up against him and planted a kiss on his lips. “Two nights, if that is enough time to arrange the new horses. I’ve never before been in a city so damaged by the war. It’s sad.”

“I’ll inquire about a new team this evening.” Holding him tight to her, she breathed in his musky male scent. He used no colognes or other scents. He bent his head and teased her lips open to him. When she pressed herself full length to him, he pulled out the first hairpin. “Gervais?”

“Um?” He placed more hairpins on the table.

Perhaps now was the time to tell him she loved him. “There is something I want to say to you.”

Sharp voices raised in anger rent the relative quiet. His head jerked toward the window. “Wait a minute.”

He strode over then leaned out. Soon the voices stopped.

“What was it?” she asked.

“An altercation,” he responded. “It’s fine. None of my people were involved.” He turned back to her and took her in his arms again. “Now, what is it, my dear?”

After everything they’d gone through, she couldn’t believe he still thought in terms of his servants and not theirs. Obviously, this was not the time to open her heart to him. She lowered her lids. “It was nothing. Kiss me.”

 

Antonio held his sobbing son in his arms. An ache spread over his chest as his heart broke in two. “Don’t cry, Geno. Your servants, Cappi and Donato, will be with you. If anyone mistreats you, they will bring you back.”

Geno shook his head back and forth. “Papa, I don’t want to go!”

Holding his son tighter, Antonio kissed his forehead. “The duke will not change his mind. We must accept his decision. You will come for a visit after Christmas and in summer. Now you must go.”

His grandfather was right. Geno should take his rightful place, no matter how much it hurt to let his son go. Antonio had wanted to make the trip with his son, but Nonno would not allow it. Other than burying Geno’s mother, this was the hardest thing Antonio had ever done. Damn her family for marrying her to the baron when she had Antonio’s child in her belly.

He handed his son to Cappi. “Take good care of him.”

“Yes, milord.”

Turning away as the servant carried Geno off, Antonio tried to stop the tears from coming. He needed something to take his mind off losing his son. “Have you received word of where Lady Caroline is?”

His
maggiordomo
sighed. “No, milord. The man was unable to find her. However, he does know where Lady Horatia is. She is traveling north from Marseille. He thinks Lady Horatia will meet with her goddaughter.”

“I agree,” Antonio said. “I will leave in two days’ time. Tell the man to expect me.”

“
Sì,
milord. Everything shall be ready.”

If Antonio couldn’t have his son, he’d have Lady Caroline. It was too much to expect him to give up both. Once his grandfather saw how much she would love Antonio, Nonno would relent and let Antonio keep her.

 

A
fter her discovery last evening that John was the new Earl of Devon, Horatia needed a plan to ferret out what the man was up to. Why would he want a wife who could not bear him children? It did not make sense. Unless—her heart thudded, making her breathless—he truly
was
in love with her. She hadn’t believed him before, but now . . . She dropped to the chair. No gentleman had ever been
in love
with her. George certainly hadn’t been. Oh, he’d loved her, but he was never
in love
with her. She’d never been in love, not even in her salad days when her friends were falling in love with dancing masters and other unsuitable men. Yet what did it mean that John so fascinated her, she engaged in madcap wagers with him? Even George had not encouraged her wilder side, at least not outside of the bedchamber.

Still, John needed an heir. She could not allow him to make such a sacrifice, even if he did not see it as one.

Horatia tapped one finger against her chin. After what happened between them, John would not believe she had no attraction to him. If she continued to turn him down, he was just the type of man to see it as a challenge. Never a good thing.

When did he plan to tell her about the earldom? Surely he wouldn’t wait until after the marriage. She shook her head. After the betrothal. Yes, that was it. After she agreed to marry him, and he told her, she could begin making him understand she was not the right type of wife for him. And since they’d be engaged to be married, she could indulge, just a little. A few kisses, some touches. No. There was no reason at all she couldn’t bed the man.

Rising, Horatia rang for Risher. “I am going down to breakfast now and may not return for a while. Take the morning, if you like, and see some of the city.”

“Thank you, my lady. Mr. Whitton is waiting in the corridor for you. He said for you to take your time.”

John was leaning against the wall, looking impossibly handsome in a coat of dark brown, white shirt, and tight buff pantaloons. Oh, Lord, his legs had never appeared more to the advantage. So strong, so muscular. The bulge of his member appeared to grow larger. Repressing a shiver of delight, she licked her lips. A temporary betrothal would do nicely.

He straightened and smiled, making the dimple appear. Horatia stifled a sigh. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, my love.” He offered his arm. “Breakfast is on the terrace.”

“I’m glad the weather is still so pleasant. I imagine it will grow cooler as we travel farther north.”

When they reached a small table set for two, he seated her and took the place opposite, signaling to a waiter, who brought a large tray laden with tea and coffee-pots, breads, jams, meats, and cheeses.

“We’ll have to make sure all the hotels we stay at have a good common dining area, so we may continue to take our meals together.”

Horatia broke off a piece of the croissant. “Ah yes. The proprieties.”

John studied her, and she wondered if she was doing anything to give herself and her idea away. He was extremely astute when it came to countering her.

But he merely asked, “What do you wish to do to-day?”

Horatia swallowed and endeavored to keep her tone even. If he suspected her subterfuge, he’d be very angry. “I would like to tour the city and decide which sights I wish to visit in the morning.” Taking a sip of the tea, she gazed at him over the rim of her cup. There was one sight she definitely planned to see this evening.

Once she’d finished eating, she rose. “Shall we go?”

He stood in one elegant, fluid motion. How had she missed that before? Her heart skipped like a stone across water.

“Horatia, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Opening her eyes wide, she answered, “I wondered if you would like to dine at a restaurant this evening. If we find one during our walk.”

“If that’s what you wish.”

He didn’t appear to be entirely convinced.

She’d had years of practice dissembling, yet he seem to see right through her ruses. She took his arm. “It is.”

Strolling through the ancient city, she was saddened and angered at the destruction caused by both the rebellion and the army. “Why do they feel the need to destroy what should be preserved?”

John shook his head. “I wish I could tell you. Anger at the wealth accumulated by a few, perhaps.” He led her to the lone free table at a café. “Have you changed your mind regarding remaining here for a few days? You might find less devastation farther north.”

She frowned. “I don’t yet know. I so looked forward to seeing the sights George described to me. He was here on his Grand Tour in ’83.”

A waiter came over and John ordered coffee for them both.

Horatia smiled. “There is one good thing about France. In England, I would still not be allowed in a coffee shop. Here, you may see ladies in all of them.”

John gazed at her. “Horatia, have you thought about living in England, but with a home in Paris as well?”

What was he about? She took a sip of the rich, slightly bitter coffee and considered her answer. “Whether I return to England or not, I would buy a house in France. It has become very fashionable. From what I hear, Paris is the most lively and interesting city in Europe.”

He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath. “I’d like you to come back to England with me.”

John had asked her to marry him, but this was different and inexplicably much more serious. She gazed into his stormy green eyes. “I’ll give you an answer soon.”

After he paid for the coffee, they ambled slowly back to the hotel.

“Dinner at the small restaurant down the street?” he asked as they reached the door to her chambers.

“Yes.”

He leaned forward, pressing his arm against the wall, holding her in his web. “Kiss me.”

The corridor was empty. She reached up and touched his lips lightly with hers. Licking his lower lip, she tasted coffee and salt and desire. If he opened his mouth, she’d let him take her against the wall. It was all she could do not to flatten herself against him. He raised his head, breaking the kiss, yet continued to hold her for a while longer. To-night, he’d get at least a temporary answer, and she’d have him, for a while. Until he came to his senses.

Later that evening, Horatia sat at the dressing table as Risher combed out her thick, dark curls. Horatia dismissed her maid and waited a few minutes before shedding her wrapper and donning a morning gown, in the unlikely event anyone saw her. Quietly unlatching the door, she padded softly down the corridor to John’s chambers and listened for any sign his valet was still up. Her heart pounded. Hands shaking, she reached out to try the door. So long. It had been so long and she wanted him so very badly. Surely he’d understand. She pressed the latch down and pushed. The door opened.

He stood tall, bronzed, and naked. Her mouth dried as she took in his broad shoulders and narrow waist and hips. She licked her lips. Dark curls covered his chest. Horatia’s hand twitched, wanting to run her fingers through them.

A pistol was in his hand, pointed at her.

“John!”

“Horatia!” His eyes widened. Quickly setting the gun down on a table, he strode forward and grabbed her shoulders, giving them a little shake. “I could have shot you! Why are you here at this time of night? Come to think of it, what are you doing in my room at all?”

“I came to tell you I’ll marry you.” Glancing up, she bit her lip. Would he forgive her for what she planned to do? Did it matter? She’d lusted for him since he saved her from falling on the docks. Even if he hated her, she’d be safely settled in France, far enough away from him and his wife.

Kicking the door shut, he enveloped her in his arms. He still smelled of fresh air and the sea. When his lips descended on hers, she shuddered in delight. Running her palms greedily over his back, she reveled in the strong muscles flexing as he caressed her. George had been strong and lean, but he never felt like this. John’s chest and back were hard, his stomach taut. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, soft hair tickling her as she searched for and found his nipples.

With the first lick, he moaned. She grazed the other one with a nail.

“Horatia, how does this gown come off?”

She murmured against his ear, “Buttons in the front.” She reached down, touched his already hard shaft, and stroked.

His tone roughened. “Get rid of it, now.”

Cool air wafted around her legs as he rucked her skirts up to her waist. A deep shiver shot through her as his fingers probed and fondled.

His hand held her hip as she leaned back and quickly unfastened the small pearl buttons before he decided to rip her gown apart. The printed muslin was the only thing standing between his naked body and hers. Finally the last one came loose. She shrugged out of the sleeves as he tugged on the gown. It slid off her hips and in a soft swoosh fell to the floor. Need and desire overwhelmed her. Horatia pulled his head down and kissed him with the longing of all the years of built-up denial.

When he lifted her, she wrapped her legs around him.

“Horatia, my love, it’s been a long time for you. Slow down a bit. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She knew she was already wet for him, and she wasn’t waiting any longer. “I’m not an innocent. Take me, take me now.”

John had a very good idea how experienced she was and thanked God he wouldn’t have to bother with a virgin for a wife. Still, it’d been many years for her. Walking to the bed, he placed her in the middle of it and followed. He tried to kiss her slowly, but her lips were hungry and demanding. When he thought to ravish her with his tongue, she caught it and sucked. The sensation was so exquisite, he groaned. Lightning coursed through his veins as he struggled to keep up with her, give her the pleasure she gave him. He’d never had such a woman. Reaching down, he stroked her curls and rubbed the small nubbin buried within. She made a sound between a moan and a soft growl. When he inserted his finger into her sheath, it was hot and sodden, like silk to the touch, and tight. “You may need some time. Let me—”

She arched up and gave a sharp noise of frustration. “No, I am ready. I need you inside me now.”

“Very well. But we do this my way.” John entered her slowly, withdrew, and entered again, giving her sheath time to stretch. Horatia met him thrust for thrust, moaning deeply. What had George called her? His houri. John believed it. And now she was his.

He plunged deeply, possessing her, branding her. Horatia shook and cried out. She convulsed around him so strongly he couldn’t withdraw to push again. His heart pounded and a roar filled his ears. With a groan, he spilled his seed and collapsed next to her. For the first time in his forty-two years, he’d been taken by a woman instead of the other way around.

He must have slept, for when he opened his eyes, the sky was softening as it did before dawn. Horatia, a warm bundle of woman, slept soundly next to him. He studied her soft, plump curves. Magnificent breasts that begged him to taste led to the soft indentation of her waist flaring out to beautifully rounded hips. She was what men called an armful. He wondered how much sleep she required and how long they had until the hotel began to awaken. John gave into temptation and took one rosy, pink nipple into his mouth. Honey couldn’t have tasted sweeter. Horatia sighed and pushed toward him. As he caressed her other breast, it became heavier in his hand.

By the time he’d finished, Horatia was writhing under him. Her body flushed.

“John.”

He hoped she didn’t mind that he’d started without her. “Are you all right?”

She reached down and guided his shaft to her entrance. “I will be.”

Some sort of primitive need to show her who was in charge surged through him, and he plunged into her. Horatia rose up and gripped his shoulders before biting one as she came, milking him so hard he had to push her down to stay in her. He held her close as she kissed the mark she’d made.

“How bad is it?”

Her lips moved to his neck and nibbled. “There is no blood. It should be fine in a day or so.”

He made a useless attempt to smooth her hair and then he had to ask, “Are you always like this?”

She stilled. When she spoke, her tone was tentative. “Why do you want to know?”

What had he done to upset her? He feathered kisses on her neck. “I’ve never been ravished by a woman before, and I’d like to know if it’s something I can grow used to.”

Her laugh was low, sultry. “I’ve always enjoyed love making. With you, it is deeper, more primal. Yet it may also be because it has been so long for me.”

He gave her his affronted look. “I hope it’s because you can’t resist me.”

She studied him soberly before meeting his eyes. “Perhaps.”

“You should go back to your room soon. At the next hotel, I’d like our chambers to be closer together.”

“I think they should connect. I’ll have La Valle make the arrangements.”

Smiling, she kissed him with an open mouth, slipping her tongue in to caress his. She was a siren. His siren. Yet this surprised him. “Am I understanding you correctly? You intend to tell your major domo we’re sleeping together?”

Horatia frowned. “Of course not. I’ll tell him we are betrothed. He’s French. He’ll figure it out on his own. Does that bother you?”

He didn’t want anyone thinking badly of her and wondered how soon they could marry. “Not in the least.”

Two days later, they made their way north, stopping at Orange to see the ruins of a Roman theater and an old Roman arch. By the time their caravan arrived in Valence five days afterward, he’d abandoned his horse for his sensually abandoned betrothed, who insisted no one would know what they were doing. Of course, the way the coach normally rocked on some of the roads, she may be right. “What sights are we viewing here, my love?”