Lord of the Rakes (31 page)

“He’s cut off my allowance until I come to my senses,” Philip said. It was not what he wanted to say, but his thoughts were so tangled, he could barely sort out any words at all.

“Don’t worry about that. He’s not the one who manages the books.” Owen sipped his drink. “How are you?”

Philip ran his hand across his scalp. “I’m getting a fresh look at all of us,” he said to the bottom of his glass. “And I can’t say I like what I see much, at least on my side. I don’t know how you’ve stood it.”

Owen took another sip of the whiskey and then set both glass and book aside. “To tell you the truth, it was always you I felt bad for. I had my studies, and my correspondence, even this great storm anchor of an estate. But you, Philip, you had nothing to really throw your heart into. Not even all those women.”

The idea that Owen had been feeling sorry for him would take a great deal of getting used to. “You might have said something,” Philip muttered.

Owen lifted one brow. “Would you have listened to me if I had?”

“No.” Philip chuckled. “Probably not.” He paused. “You must hate him.”

But Owen just shrugged. “He’s in pain, and he’s afraid. I forgave him a long time ago.”

Philip turned. He looked Owen square in the face. “Can you forgive me?”

Slowly, Owen climbed to his feet. He walked two steps forward, and put his hand on Philip’s shoulder. “You’re my brother, Philip. Of course I can.”

For the first time in his life, Philip wrapped his arms around his brother in a powerful embrace and he knew, also for the first time, that he had finally come home.

My Dearest Caroline,

I am happy to report that my family business is successfully concluded. I am returning at once to town, and you. I expect to find you ready and waiting to receive me.

Your faithful,

Philip Montcalm

C
aroline carefully folded the letter and tucked it into her writing desk. She was smiling. Beaming. She could not help herself. Philip was returning to her. Her heart quickened. He had been gone less than a week, but it felt like a year. Thankfully, there had been Fiona and Emma to keep her company, and plenty of wedding preparations to throw herself into. Fittings and tea with her fellow bridesmaids, as well as last details of assembling and packing Fiona’s trousseau, filled up Caroline’s days. Balls and concerts had helped pass the long nights and tired her out enough that she was able to drop exhausted into her bed and sleep. But she did not sleep deeply, or dreamlessly. As soon as she closed her eyes, she seemed to enter a breathless fantasy world of phantom touches and promises. She wanted Philip back, body and soul.

But even better than the wedding plans and new friendships was how all the fears that had burdened her for so long were beginning to recede. Mrs. Warrick had not reappeared since the day. Fiona and Emma said the rumor flitting around the drawing rooms was that the lady had left for Bath. Lewis Banbridge also remained out of sight. But best of all, the days came and the days went, and there was still no letter from Jarrett.

The longer that particular silence stretched out, the easier it became for Caroline to believe in Mr. Upton’s reassurance that the trust truly was unbreakable. The more she believed this, the easier it became to see herself staying in town, and staying with Philip. She even spoke with Fiona about how to manage the society maze with Philip at her side. As she had hoped, Fiona had a wealth of sound advice. She had been worried, of course, because Fiona would be going away on her wedding trip and would not be there during the first critical days when Caroline might be seen with the Lord of the Rakes. But Emma stepped right in, promising she would help Caroline in every particular.

But even with the support of her friends, Caroline still woke from heated dreams of Philip’s body to a miasma of doubt. Did she really believe that when Philip returned all her troubles would dissolve and leave behind nothing but days filled with companionship and nights of wicked passion? What if having Philip beside her only meant living in a new kind of fear? She might find herself holding her breath again, only this time, instead of waiting for Jarrett to burst in on her, she’d be waiting for the day when the light faded from Philip’s eyes.

Caroline looked down moodily at the social correspondence on her writing desk. She had a stack of new cards to enter into her visiting book. Then she must dress and lunch, and be ready for Fiona and Emma to arrive. There were calls to be returned this afternoon and a dinner with the Westbrooks this evening. But she did not want any of it. She wanted to be here the instant Philip returned, as he instructed. Caroline shook her head and laughed at herself. Really. What had happened to the cool, controlled woman she had resolved to be? She was gone and gone almost past recalling. Philip had rendered that vision of herself impossible.

There was a scratching at the door. Caroline turned to see Mrs. Ferriday enter. Her attendant looked unusually pale.

“Why, Mrs. Ferriday.” Caroline closed her desk. “What is it?”

“Your pardon, my lady . . .” Mrs. Ferriday stammered.

Before she could finish, Jarrett pushed his way into the room.

Caroline rose to her feet. It was reflex. She was unconscious of any thought in the matter. Her mind was too busy trying to block out the sight of her brother. It was not possible Jarrett should be standing here. He was not standing here. He had decided to leave her alone. He was not taking off his tall hat and dark, caped coat to toss at Mrs. Ferriday while barely glancing at her. He did not dismiss Caroline’s attendant or fold his hands behind his back or stare down his beak of a nose in complete disapproval.

He did not speak until Mrs. Ferriday closed the door.

“Good afternoon, Caroline,” he said.

“Jarrett,” she breathed. “What do you want?”

“You mean how did I find you?” The corner of Jarrett’s thin mouth twitched. “We both have Mr. Banbridge to thank for that.”

I should have known. I should have known.
Caroline sank back down into her desk chair. She remembered the way Lewis had looked at her, calculating the cost of her gown and ornaments with his mercenary eyes. Lewis hadn’t gone to Calais, as everyone thought. He’d gone to inform on her to Jarrett.

But she’d been too busy being relieved that she did not have to worry about meeting Lewis in public anymore. She had used that fact to help build the happy dream of London and freedom, and Philip.

The dream that was crashing down around her. Caroline pressed her face into her hands

“Yes, you may well hide your face,” said Jarrett sternly. “Considering the amount of trouble and embarrassment you’ve caused.”

Anger burned bright and strong, and Caroline found herself able to meet his cold gaze. “I have done nothing wrong!”

“Except take up with this Montcalm fellow.” Jarrett dropped into the other chair. “My God, Caroline, how could you? Even I know his reputation!”

“If you don’t care for the way I conduct myself, why don’t you just disown me?” she cried. “Declare to the world I’m no sister of yours and refuse to speak of me ever again!”

“You have no idea how much I wish I could,” he replied coldly. “But I remind you, yet again, I swore a solemn oath to our father on his deathbed that I would care for you.”

Caroline’s cheeks burned. “I release you from that oath, Jarrett. As you see, I am perfectly capable of caring for myself.” She spread her hands, indicating the neat, comfortable room.

“I see no such thing,” Jarrett answered, not even bothering to glance about him. “And as my oath was not to you, you have nothing to say in the matter. Anyway, I’ve not come to argue. I’ve come to take you home.”

“I will not go back with you,” said Caroline flatly.

“You will when you’ve heard what I have to say.”

Caroline’s heart froze in her chest. Jarrett’s mouth twitched again as he reached into his coat pocket and drew out some folded documents.

“You will not believe it, but I have no wish to take this step,” he said. Caroline thought he would hand her the documents, but he kept hold of them. “I never would have come but for Banbridge. He had many things to say about your dissipated carryings-on—”

“He lies!” she shouted.

“You can say that so decidedly? Without even knowing what he’s said? My goodness, Caroline, one might think you had a guilty conscience.” Jarrett turned the papers over in his pale fingers. “But true or not, I knew I had to act. Fortunately, my solicitor has given me the means.” Now he laid the documents down on the coffee table. Caroline stared at them, as if they might rise up and strike her. They were wrapped in red ribbon and sealed in red wax, just like so many of the legal documents that Mr. Upton brought her, but she could not tell what they might be.

“Those are commitment papers,” said Jarrett. “For you.”

The world swam in front of Caroline’s eyes, and for a moment she thought she would actually faint.

“I see you understand what I’m referring to. As your nearest male relative, I can have you committed to care on the word of two doctors. Once they have declared you incompetent, your money and property fall under my control, as does your person.” His voice turned ice cold and remorseless. “I have the men ready, should they be needed. They are fully informed of your history, and our mother’s,” he added, enunciating each word clearly and deliberately.

He’d done it. Jarrett had found the loophole, the one sure way to take her money, and her freedom. Her brother meant to become her jailor in truth.

Horror filled Caroline, robbing her of breath and strength. “Why?”

“Yes, of course that would be the question,” Jarrett sneered. “Why on earth would any reasonable man fear for the safety of his sister who has spent her life with her head being stuffed with stories by his mad mother—”

“She was not mad!” Fresh anger blazed, and Caroline welcomed it. Anger brought strength and cleared her mind so she could fight back. She must not give way now, because now she truly was fighting for her life.

But Jarrett just snorted. “Oh, no, of course Mother was not mad. She just wept in her room for days on end. She just tore through the house laughing over some fresh whim, with, may I add, her worshipful daughter at her heels.”

“She was bored, and confined, and heaven only knows what the doctors were feeding her. Half the time it was laudanum and strong brandy! It would addle anyone’s wits. And our father—”

Jarrett surged to his feet. “Our father did everything he could to look after her, and keep her away from scandal and trouble!” he roared. “He wrecked his own health and spent a fortune caring for her and keeping our family name respectable! And what is there to show for it?” He loomed over her. “A daughter with no more morals or sense than the mother. A daughter
I
am chained to for the rest of our lives because she cannot be trusted!”

Caroline rose to her own feet. She would not face him cowering like a little girl, although she felt as weak as water. Her brother’s anger embodied all her fears, and she did not know what to do. She had run away before, but now there was nowhere left to go.

“I am prepared, Caroline, to give you more choice than you have given me,” said Jarrett, but she heard the tremor in his voice that came from the attempt to control his fury. “I will write the doctors and tell them we have no need to move forward, on one condition.”

“What is that?” Caroline whispered.

“That you return home and marry Lewis Banbridge.”

“Lewis!” Lewis with his greedy eyes and his false laugh. Lewis, who was willing to use and be used by Mrs. Warrick to try to separate her from Philip. Who was waiting somewhere now to hear the outcome of this terrible scene, to discover if he had won the gamble, and the fortune, and her body.

“He understands the situation and is prepared to make sure you have the supervision you so clearly require.”

Caroline’s thoughts reeled violently. How had their lives come to this cold, remorseless moment? “You expect me to willingly exchange my brother the jailer for my husband the jailer? Never.” She clenched her fists. “Never!”

“Very well, then.” Jarrett shrugged, as indifferent as if she had refused a day’s outing. “Since you will not see reason, my path is clear.”

“Why would you want to be so cruel?”

“You think I
want
this?” shrieked Jarrett. “You think I wouldn’t prefer to have a life of my own, a family of my own!” Caroline’s head jerked up. “Did you ever stop to think what you have done to me? That I might yearn for freedom? For love? But what woman will attach herself to a man, however titled, if it means entering into a family with a madwoman who must be forever chaperoned and supervised?” He took one step toward her, and another, and another, and Caroline saw his chest heaving from the force of his pent-up anger. “If it was up to me, you little whore, you could go to the devil in whichever way you chose, but I
promised
—”

Jarrett never finished the sentence. The door burst open, and Philip strode in.

“P
hilip!” cried Caroline. But Philip wasn’t paying her any attention. He was focused entirely on Jarrett.

“I don’t think I know you, sir,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Jarrett drew in on himself. His face became closed and still, but not calm. All his anger showed in his hard eyes as he slowly looked Philip up and then down.

“Well, I know you,” Jarrett said. “Philip Montcalm. Lord of the Rakes. How interesting to find you might be well known enough on these premises that you may come and go at whatever hour you please.” Jarrett’s contempt showed entirely in his voice. His face remained placid though paper white as he turned to Caroline. “So, sister. This is what you’ve done with your money and independence. Father was right. You’ve been in London less than a month, and you’ve already begun your whoring.”

Before Caroline could speak a word, Philip grabbed Jarrett by his lapels and slammed him hard against the wall.

“No one speaks to Lady Caroline in that way,” Philip informed her brother with terrifying calm as he pressed his forearm against Jarrett’s throat. “You will apologize.”

Caroline’s ability to move returned in a rush. She sprang forward, clutching at Philip’s arm. “Philip, stop!”

But Philip paid her no attention, and pull as she might, she could not loosen his grip. He held Jarrett in place without flinching or yielding.

At last Jarrett croaked, “I apologize.”

Philip backed away slowly, letting Jarrett down one inch at a time. “Now get out.”

“I am going.” Jarrett picked up the papers from the coffee table and put them into his pocket. “But I have told you what will happen, Caroline. And you know I never break my word.”

He marched out, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Caroline couldn’t move. She had turned entirely to stone. Not even the feeling of Philip’s hands on her shoulders turning her to face him could revive her.

“Caroline, are you all right? What did he say to you?”

Anger, driven hard by fear, brought her back to herself in a rush.

“You had no right to interfere!” she cried. She faced him but she could not see her lover. She saw only the end of her world brought by Jarrett and made worse, so much worse, by Philip’s interruption.

Philip recoiled as if she’d struck him. “He called you a—”

“Yes, I heard him, thank you. Now he thinks I’ve taken up with a violent man, maybe even a drunkard, and he’s going to . . . going to . . .” She pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle the sob that choked her.

“What has he threatened?” Philip reached for her again, but she retreated. It was agonizing to see the bewilderment that overcame him, but she could not risk his touch. If he touched her, she would embrace him, and if she embraced him, she might never let him go, no matter what damage he had done.

“Caroline,” Philip whispered. “What’s happened?”

She gripped the mantelpiece. She still could not breathe. Her balance was beginning to falter. Without support, she would fall. “He’s going to have me declared incompetent,” she said. “If I don’t marry Lewis Banbridge.”

She watched as understanding sank into Philip and revulsion rose to meet it. “That is ludicrous. He can do no such thing.”

“Can’t he?” she snapped. “Jarrett is my closest
male
relation. He’s Earl Keenesford. What if he tells the doctors his sister has taken up with unsuitable men and is exhibiting loose and wayward behavior and is clearly in need of male governance? If he brings up the example of . . . of my mother, who . . . who . . .”

Philip took a step toward her, but with visible effort drew himself up short. “He won’t do it,” he said steadily. “It would destroy his reputation as well as yours.”

“But he’s already done it. He had the papers with him. He told me either I marry Lewis, who has so charitably agreed to keep me strictly supervised, or I will be declared mad.” The world was spinning. Nothing made sense anymore. For a moment Caroline felt insanity truly had come to claim her.

“Caroline . . .” Philip came to her, his hands closed over her shoulders. He turned her to him, gently but firmly. “Caroline, I’m sorry. I never should have left you alone.”

Her first sensation was one of complete relief—a golden, floating peace like the one that came over her after she had climaxed under Philip’s hands and body. He was here, with her. For one brief moment her body would tell her nothing except that all was right. Caroline longed to fall weeping against Philip’s shoulders and let him hold her. But she couldn’t. She must not look at him even. If she looked at him, she would be tempted, seduced. She would lose the nerve she needed to make her escape. She had known the danger, and she had ignored it. Now, it might be too late.

For a moment it seemed even Philip understood. “There’s only one solution,” he said.

“Yes. I have to leave. Now. At once.” Caroline pulled herself out of his arms and crossed swiftly to her desk. “I need to write the bank, and Mr. Upton. I must take everything I can. Turn it into gold, or notes. Transfer the bulk to a French bank. I can do that, I think. I—”

“No, Caroline,” said Philip. “You must stay. Marry me.”

“What?” Her head snapped around to stare into his storm-blue eyes.

He was smiling tenderly at her. “It’s not the circumstances I would have picked to make my offer, but nonetheless. Marry me. Once we’re married, your brother has no standing in the eyes of the law.”

Caroline did not let him finish. She pulled herself from his hands. “Get out.”

“Caroline . . .”

“You assume because I . . . because we’ve been in bed together that I have no choice but to give you the rest of my life!”

“Listen to me, Caroline. I . . .”

She would not listen. She pressed her hands over her ears so she could not hear another word. It didn’t matter what he had to say. He had already said enough, and she had no intention of letting him spin another web of glib and seductive words. How could he stand there and say she should imprison herself with him, with
anyone,
after he had heard Jarrett’s threats?

“I thought you understood!” she cried. “I thought you understood that I would draw my own lines!”

Philip drew back. She watched as the confusion of his expression changed, as confusion bled slowly into pain. “You’re upset. That I do understand.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m upset. I’ve had my freedom threatened by my brother and my lover within the space of an hour. But heavens, women aren’t supposed to get upset! Only madwomen are upset by a marriage proposal. Perhaps Jarrett’s right. Perhaps I am mad.”

“Caroline, I will not let you talk like this.”

She nodded, torn between the desire to laugh and the need to scream. What came out was a brittle, icy, amazingly calm retort. “And so it begins, all the little commands, all the daily requirements. I should have seen it. You’re just like the rest. You can’t tell the difference between a woman’s body and her life! You like the one, you take the other.”

“That is unfair, and you know it.”

“I don’t know it,” she spat back at him. The venom in her words was rotting her own heart even as she spoke. But she had to throw this poison. She had to make him leave. Having him here was killing her, because she could run from the whole world, but not from the tenderness in Philip’s eyes. “How could I know it?”

“Because you love me, Caroline. As I love you.”

“You are very good at seeing into other people’s minds, Philip. With such a talent, I wonder you don’t go on the stage.”

There it was, the flicker of anger. She watched him, all but praying for that flicker to grow into flame. If he would get angry, truly angry . . . if he would storm out, she could manage. She could hold fast to what must happen. But he had to get angry. He had to hate her and leave her so she could leave him.

But that flicker of anger did not grow. It vanished beneath understanding, and pain. Pain she had caused. Caroline gave a sob and wrenched herself around, clutching the mantel with both hands. She heard Philip’s footsteps. She knew he could move without a sound, but now he deliberately let his steps fall hard on her carpet so she would not be startled when she felt his warmth at her back, and heard his voice less than an inch away.

“You don’t mean this,” he said. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the mantel all the harder. She could not turn. She must not. “I know you don’t. I know
you,
Caroline. But I will go, since you have asked me to.”

The marble bit into her fingers, but Caroline did not turn around. She did not turn as she heard his footsteps on the carpet and on the floorboard, or as she heard him open the door, and close it again. She would not let him see the tears streaming down her cheeks. She would not let him see the way her mouth shaped his name, over, and over again.

She could not let him see how her heart was slowly and finally breaking in two.

 • • • 

Philip drifted into the foyer, scarcely aware of his own movements. When he had entered the house, his only thought had been to kneel down in front of Caroline and ask for her hand, beg for it if necessary. Then he’d heard the shouting, and he’d burst in on the scene between her and her brother.

Now he was back in the foyer, ordered away by the woman he loved. The echo of her pained words beat against his thoughts and against his heart.

“Oh, Mr. Montcalm!” Caroline’s maid appeared, wringing her hands. “What is to be done!”

“I don’t . . .” Philip breathed. Then he shook himself. It took a moment, but he forced his eyes to focus on the woman in front of him. It took a moment, but he found his voice as well. “You’re Mrs. Ferriday, aren’t you?”

The woman nodded. “I have to go in to my lady at once. She’ll want to run away. She won’t be able to see any other way out. You must help her, sir. I don’t know . . . entirely what passed between them. But I know she loves you. She’s just afraid.”

“Of course she’s afraid.” Philip drew his nerve together. The momentary paralysis had shattered. Now his mind was racing ahead. He had to help Caroline. That was what mattered. The rest of it, the insults she’d hurled, the way in which she’d rejected him, that would be dealt with later. “Listen, quickly. I’m sure this matter between your mistress and her brother has to do with the family scandal. Do you know what it was?”

Mrs. Ferriday shook her head. “It was before my time, and I’ve never been able to find out the details. But I believe you are right.”

“All right. We’ll have to resort to drastic measures. Do you know where
he’s
staying?”

Mrs. Ferriday’s eyes brightened at once. “If he ever comes up to London, he stays at the Crowne.”

“Excellent. Now, whatever happens, you must keep your lady busy. Let her believe you are helping her flee. You’ll be hearing from me shortly, and you must make sure she reads whatever letter I send. Do you understand?”

Mrs. Ferriday clasped Philip’s hands and shook them with a strength he would hardly have suspected so mature a woman could still possess. “You may depend on me, sir.”

Philip leaned forward and planted a swift kiss on her wrinkled cheek. “I know I can.” He grabbed his hat off the foyer table and started out the door.

His way was clear. He knew exactly what he must do. He would just have to hope Caroline would forgive him for it one day.