The Seduction of Lord Stone (8 page)

No, it was Caroline or nobody. God help him.

He sighed heavily and went in search of a dustpan and brush. He usually had an assistant working with him. But a few days ago he’d sent Mr. Jones on holiday, appalled to see how enthusiastically the earnest young man had grabbed the chance to escape his temperamental employer.

Yesterday Helena had tried to talk to him about his mercurial behavior. He’d snapped her head off, too. And Dobbs had taken to lurking in the dressing room to avoid his irascible master.

At this rate, not only would Silas have no Caroline to love him, he’d have nobody at all. Right now when even breathing seemed hardly worth the effort, that didn’t sound such a bad outcome.

He was on his knees sweeping up the jagged shards of orange pottery when he heard a soft footfall. Helena must have decided to venture into his cave to offer more advice. His sister wasn’t noted for her prudence. He wished to hell she minded her own business.

“Helena, for God’s sake…” he growled, but when he looked up, it wasn’t his sister hovering near a bench packed with beakers and buckets and the detritus of the botanical-minded gentleman. “Caroline.”

If he’d ever been optimistic enough to imagine that their time apart weakened his longing, one glimpse of her and he knew better. Even understanding she wasn’t for him, even understanding she’d given herself to another man, his breath caught with pleasure. The morning sun through the roof lit her like an angel in stained glass. Except she was no angel. She was beguilingly, intriguingly human.

At their last meeting, they’d quarreled. He’d known at the time that his apology had been inadequate. He’d acted like a boor. These days he always acted like a boor in her presence. When all he wanted was to cherish her and place his heart at her feet and beg her to love him.

A tongue-tied boor. Damned if he could come up with another word to follow that reverent murmur of her name.

He took too long to realize that she appeared equally dumbstruck. Awkwardly he stood, shoving the dustpan onto the untidy bench. He wasn’t dressed for social calls. People usually left him alone to get on with his experiments. That counted double recently when his temper was so unpredictable. His shirt was old and stained and the nature of his work meant dirt. He wiped his hands on his sides, but he was humiliatingly conscious of black fingernails and grime on his skin. He bet bloody West could come through a tornado without picking up a speck of dust.

“Good morning, Silas,” she eventually said, twining her hands in her dark green skirts. She glanced down. “You’ve…you’ve had an accident.”

“I’m bungling everything lately.”

Once she’d make some teasing response to that. Now she licked her lips nervously and avoided his eyes. He bit back a groan. That flicker of a pink tongue made his blood simmer. “What are you doing here, Caro?”

She raised a hand to fiddle with her rich brown hair, tortured into some elaborate style with plaits and green ribbons. His fingers—his dirty fingers—itched to pull that soft mass down around her shoulders. “I called to see Helena and she told me you were back.”

“Yes, but what are you doing
here
?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” The blue eyes she raised were dull with unhappiness. She returned to twisting her skirts.

He squashed his automatic yen to comfort her. To hell with her. What right had she to be unhappy when she lay in Vernon bloody Grange’s arms?

Standing so close without touching her became too tempting. Silas bent again to brushing up broken pottery. He hoped she didn’t notice his unsteady hands. But if he kept looking at her, he’d grab her and kiss her and God knew what else. Any chance of keeping a civilized gloss on their dealings would vanish.

The silence hung heavy with things unspoken. He wondered if he should sign up for the Horticultural Society’s camellia collecting expedition to China. With any luck, some despotic mandarin would take a dislike to his waistcoat and chop off his head. He couldn’t bear to stay in England and see Caro happy with another man.

Except now he disposed of the shards and wiped his hands on a towel and took the time to study Caro, he realized that her turmoil went deeper than this passing moment. In fact, she didn’t look in much better state than he did.

This wasn’t the glowing creature who had knocked society for six earlier in the season. Knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, he caught one of those restless hands. “Stop tearing at your frock. You’ll make a hole in it.”

Her hand jerked, but she didn’t pull away. She spoke in a rush. “I’m sorry for the things I said after the Oldhams’ ball. I was horrible to you.” She misunderstood his frown and plunged on. “Perhaps you don’t remember. It’s more than a month ago, after all.”

Hearing she’d given herself to West? He’d carry that scar until his dying day. “I remember,” he said in a low voice.

“You were kind when I was ill.”

“Don’t be a goose, Caro. As if I’d leave you in the lurch.”

She glanced at him quickly, too quickly for him to interpret her expression. “I know. And instead of being properly grateful, I said some stupid, mean, untrue things.”

Suddenly he was extremely interested. “What sort of things?”

Her hand tightened on his. How lowering for this notorious rake that the touch of her hand was more powerful than the most daring caress from any other woman.

“I lied to you.”

Her voice was so muffled, he leaned in to hear. Her scent drifted toward him. Familiar. Exotic. Alluring. Lemon soap. Warmth. A hint of sexual musk that had every hair on his body standing up. “Did you?”

“Yes. West and I aren’t lovers. He hasn’t even kissed me.”

Anger had Silas flinging away until he couldn’t see her. The bitter memory of his despair this last month strangled any relief he might have felt. Anyway, what was there to be relieved about? Her plan to take West to her bed hadn’t changed. This confession gave Silas a short reprieve, nothing more.

“Why in Hades are you telling me this?” he grated out, curling his hands hard over the edge of the bench. Otherwise he was likely to grab those slender shoulders and give her a good shake until she started thinking straight.

“You were so angry with me. I knew you didn’t approve.” Her voice developed an edge. “Although what I do with West is none of your business.”

“The devil it’s not.”

“I shouldn’t have come,” she muttered. “I’d hoped we could be friends again. I hate the way that lately everything we say feels like a bullet fired from a gun.”

“I’ll wager talking to West is easier.” He cursed the words the minute they emerged, and he turned to apologize—again. But her devastated expression choked him to silence.

“Why do you say such things? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“And of course, you always know better,” he snapped.

She squared her shoulders and regarded him like something slimy eating his seedlings. “I don’t know what’s got into you lately, Silas. I came here with nothing but good will, and now I want to clout you with a flowerpot.”

He sucked in a breath, but it wasn’t enough to stop him saying the last thing he wanted. “Perhaps it’s too late for us to find common ground.”

When her eyes darkened with renewed hurt, guilt stabbed him. “I’m truly sorry if you feel like that. Perhaps I should go.” She veered toward the door with a clumsiness he’d never seen in her before, not even when she’d been near collapse at the Oldhams’ ball. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Lord Stone.”

Bothered him? She drove him absolutely insane. “I suppose you’re going to continue with this absurd pursuit of West. You know, if he wanted you, he’d do the running.”

“Perhaps he’s a kinder man than you and he’s giving me time to make up my mind,” she said in a muffled voice.

“Like hell he is.” He lunged after her and seized her arm in an implacable grip, all his honorable intentions about letting her choose her own way dissolving to ash. “In the meantime, while West dawdles, you’re going without kisses. That just isn’t good enough. A woman like you needs kisses. Lots of them.”

She trembled in his hold. “Silas, let me go.”

His grip firmed. “No true friend would want to see you deprived.”

“What—”

He caught a fleeting glimpse of eyes shooting sapphire fire before the barely leashed beast inside him overpowered the last shreds of restraint. On a surge of furious triumph, he swept Caro up against his body and his lips crashed down onto hers.

H
eat like she’d never known before engulfed Caroline. Forbidden excitement streaked through her. Good sense went up in flames as her temper and desire rose to meet Silas with equal fervor. She was lost to the storm raging between them. Anything beyond this moment faded to insignificance.

With sizzling intent, his mouth moved on hers, demanding participation. Helpless to resist, she parted her lips, sighing surrender. He dragged her closer and his tongue dipped into her mouth, making her shake with reaction. She moaned and curled her arms around his neck.

With a suddenness that left her bewildered, he jerked free. Ruthlessly he hauled her arms down. Then his hands circled her upper arms, hard enough to hold her, soft enough to feel like a caress. He glared down at her as if he hated her.

“Slap me. I deserve it,” he said roughly.

She fought to find her balance. The abrupt end to that fiery kiss left her reeling.

“Curse you, I should,” she hissed as her lips tingled for more kisses. She felt so torn—until this moment, she’d had no idea he even wanted to kiss her.

Well, now she knew, and the knowing was dangerous. If she had any sense, she’d scurry out of this greenhouse as fast as she could run. But confused and unsure, she lingered. Her pride had crumbled so low that right now, she almost didn’t care if he kissed her in anger or pity or passion. She’d take anything as long as he didn’t leave her teetering and dizzy on the edge of this chasm.

“Then do it.” He still looked half mad.

She had no idea what he wanted. To send her away? To throw her onto one of those cluttered benches and toss her skirts up? The wanton image of Silas thrusting inside her made her belly twist with such anticipation, it felt like pain. A whimper escaped her as she fought the need to pull him down and kiss him until he satisfied her ravenous hunger.

“Caro, for God’s sake…” His eyes were black and lightless. Deep lines extended from the corners of his lips to his nose. A muscle jerked erratically in one cheek. He looked close to shattering. After one little kiss.

She sucked in a deep breath and felt her senses expand. Silas smelled different today, his familiar male scent mixed with earth and plants. The combination was heady, made her mouth water. He smelled wild and primitive, not like the man who drank tea and traded witticisms in his sister’s elegant drawing room.

She read arousal and shame in his strained features. Right now, he wanted her, and he despised himself for it. His hands tightened and his eyes focused on her lips with such searing attention, it felt like another kiss.

“You have no right to manhandle me.” She straightened and stared back at him, imperious as a queen.

“No.”

The universe of despair in that one low syllable astonished her. The blood pounding in her ears muffled rational thought, but in some dusty corner of her mind curiosity stirred. He wasn’t acting like a man in love with another woman.

“Then release me.”

Immediately she was free. She staggered and fumbled for the bench behind her. For a giddy second, she wondered if her knees would hold her up.

“Lord, Caro, forgive me,” Silas said bleakly. “I’m a barbarian.”

“Yes, you are.” And she’d had absolutely no idea. What else was hidden under his polished exterior?

“Slap me.”

“I’d love to.”

He closed his eyes and stood still as a post. She stiffened her spine and drew back her hand. Her heart beat so fast, she felt lightheaded. Outrage fed frustrated desire. She couldn’t precisely say why. It wasn’t because he’d kissed her. Perhaps it was because this whirlwind of emotion and hunger couldn’t take them anywhere, shouldn’t have brought them this far. Swirling, unsatisfied cravings had her at their mercy. She hated how the force of her love left her powerless.

“Do it,” he said through his teeth as she hesitated. His features tightened, but he made no attempt to defend himself.

Very well.

As Caroline swung toward him, the air swished under her hand. Only at the last instant did she slow the blow. Gently as a bird alighting on the grass, her palm landed flat on his cheek and curved to shape his face. That dear, dear face.

When she offered tenderness instead of violence, shock whipped his eyes open. She didn’t know who moved first, but she was crushed against him, his arms were lashed around her, and their lips collided with blind ardor.

This kiss was unlike the first. The rage had gone. The passion burned white hot. It was completely outside Caroline’s experience, for all that she’d been married ten years. This was fire and lightning, and astoundingly carnal. Open mouths joined, tongues slid and twined and danced. She’d never forget Silas’s taste as long as she lived. With shaking hands, he caught her head and held her as he plumbed every inch of her mouth. She felt devoured, seized, ravished. And she adored each moment.

Eventually when the heat between them threatened to melt her into a puddle, he wrenched away. He stared down at her, his expression tormented. She shivered with fear and excitement. She’d never in her life imagined that she could drive a man mad with lust. Yet apparently she had. However unfamiliar she was with seduction, she couldn’t mistake that he burned for her. All the time, her bewildered mind kept repeating, “But this is Silas.”

Fury flared in his eyes, turning them brilliant gold. He gripped her shoulders. “How the hell do you
dare
to kiss me like that, then say you’re going to West?”

Her eyes narrowed as the sensual mist swiftly receded under the force of his demand. Right now, she didn’t want to think about West or what she wanted in the future. She didn’t welcome this reminder that she’d chosen another man to be her lover. “You know, Silas, sometimes discretion is the better part of valor.”