Julie Garwood (25 page)

His fingers found her then and Caroline thought she would die from the pleasure he forced on her. His breathing was harsh with desire. “I’ll never get you out of my blood, Caroline. I can feel you tremble, love.” He kissed her again while his fingers stroked the moist softness that beckoned him.

He sought only to give her pleasure, to show her a portion of the excitement and passion they would share together, and knew he had to stop. He was losing his control.

Bradford groaned and rolled over onto his back. He
clasped his hands behind his head and took several deep breaths and tried to think of something other than the warm body next to him. “We will be married this Saturday.” His voice was harsh but he couldn’t control it. He was angry, but only with himself.

Caroline felt like she had just been thrown into a snowbank. She only wanted to wrap her arms around Bradford and beg him to continue his lovemaking.

She knew she had to remove herself from the temptation and quickly scooted off the bed. Her legs were trembling and she had to hold on to the poster. “I don’t understand how you are able to do this to me,” she admitted. Her voice sounded weak. Bradford watched her, saw the confusion in her gaze, and smiled.

“Your passion matches mine,” he told her. His voice was soft and gruff. “And you aren’t sophisticated enough to control it or use it against me.”

“Like your other women?” Caroline’s voice was deceptively calm. Bradford wasn’t fooled by it, saw the fire in her eyes. She was thinking about killing him again, he surmised with a sigh. He sat up just in time to catch the boots Caroline threw at him, and tried once more to placate her, thinking to himself that the damnedest things upset her.

“I haven’t had any other women,” Bradford stated. He meant to continue, to tell her he hadn’t touched any other female since their fateful encounter on the isolated country road. But Caroline turned her back on him while she put on her robe.

“The letter, please,” he asked again.

She walked over to her wardrobe and took the letter from its hiding place. Then she slowly walked back over to Bradford and handed it to him.

There was a knock on the door. Caroline’s eyes widened. “Get off my bed,” she whispered a little frantically. She brushed her hair back from her face and hurried over to the door, her trembling fingers giving her trouble with the lock. She finally managed to
open the door to find the Earl of Braxton, dressed in his nightshirt, robe, and slippers, standing there with a bewildered look on his face.

“Oh, Papa, did we wake you?” Caroline’s voice shook and she thought she was going to faint from embarrassment. She turned and found Bradford right behind her. Both his boots and his jacket were back in place and Caroline said a prayer of thanksgiving for that.

“Good evening,” Bradford said to her father. His expression was bland, and Caroline realized he wasn’t at all concerned over being found in her bedroom. The man must certainly be used to this sort of thing, she thought with building fury.

“Good evening?” Caroline echoed with disbelief. “Bradford, is that all you can say?” She gave him a fierce look and then turned back to her father. “Papa, it isn’t at all what it appears. You see, I wouldn’t go downstairs and he”—she paused to give Bradford a quick glare—“was so stubbornly insistent that—”

Bradford interrupted her comments by taking hold of her and dragging her to his side. “I will handle this,” he remarked in an arrogant tone. Caroline looked up at him and then back to her father. Poor Papa! His expression had gone from bewildered to furious and was now decidedly confused again.

“I would appreciate a few minutes of your time, Braxton, if it isn’t an inconvenience at this late hour.”

The earl gave a curt nod. “Give me a minute to dress,” he stated. “I’ll meet you downstairs directly.”

“That would be fine, sir,” Bradford said when Caroline’s father continued to stand there. He waited, applying gentle pressure on Caroline’s shoulder, a subtle hint for her to keep silent. The earl started down the hall and Bradford closed the door.

Caroline was so upset over her father’s reaction, his look of disappointment, that she only wanted to cry. “Bradford!” She sounded like a screeching hen.

“What the hell have you done to your hair?” Bradford took Caroline into his arms and kissed her.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Caroline said as she pushed against his chest. “You’re getting me off balance again and I won’t have it. We still haven’t settled anything! I haven’t told you how despicable you are. We are completely unsuited to each other. You are—”

He kissed her again and her puny struggles didn’t deter him at all. Only when her struggles ceased did he soften his mouth, his hold on her. “Caroline, you look terrible. Haven’t you been sleeping? Get into bed now, you need your rest.”

“Not on your life,” Caroline replied. He had her firmly anchored against his chest and she was speaking into his jacket. “I’m going downstairs with you. God only knows what you’ll say to placate my father. I have to be there to defend myself.”

Bradford’s answer to her demand was to pick her up and carry her to the bed. He dropped her in the center and pushed her down on the pillows. “I’ll take care of everything,” he said in a soothing voice. There was a sparkle in his eyes when he added, “Trust me.”

He kissed her again, a quick brotherly peck on the side of her cheek, and then walked over to the door.

“Bradford, this isn’t finished,” Caroline called after him.

Bradford opened the door. His back was to her but she could hear the smile in his voice. “I know, my sweet. It’s about time you understood that.”

Caroline was off the bed and running before Bradford had the door closed. “You won’t tell him about the letter, will you? He’ll send me back to Boston if you do. I won’t have him worried,” Caroline stated emphatically.

Bradford shook his head and let his exasperation show. He started down the hall when Caroline had a sudden, horrible thought. She grabbed Bradford by the
edge of his jacket. “If he demands a duel, don’t you dare agree.”

Bradford didn’t answer her. He continued walking, with Caroline trailing behind. “And just what am I supposed to do?” she asked. She realized she was still pulling on his coattail and immediately let go. The man was making her act like an imbecil.

She simply had to get hold of herself, she thought, even as she heard herself repeat her question. “Well, what am I to do?” She was referring to the letter and her father’s wrath but couldn’t form the explanation in her brain to tell him so.

Bradford was taking the steps two at a time while Caroline watched him, clutching the top of the bannister rail. “You might try growing your hair before Saturday,” Bradford called over his shoulder.

All the bluster went out of Caroline with Bradford’s ludicrous remark. She sat down on the top step and put her head in her hands. What in God’s name was happening to her? She needed to be in control, she told herself. She needed order in her life. She would straighten this mess out, she told herself as she made her way back to her room.

So he was once again in her life, she thought with a sigh. It was a mixed blessing, having him pursue her again. Her heart was glad for it but the logical, unemotional part of her knew that the problems continued to exist between them. Unless she could find a way to teach him how to love, how to trust her enough to give her his love, then the future looked bleak indeed.

She believed that she was nothing but a pretty bit of goods to Bradford. How long would the attraction hold him? How long before he grew bored with her and turned to someone else? He had called it a game, and Caroline was beginning to believe that was all it was to him.

She couldn’t marry him yet. She wanted to share her
life with a man who would love her when the beauty had faded, when wrinkles of time lined her face.

It wasn’t an impossible dream. Her uncle Henry and aunt Mary loved each other more now, after years together. And Charity and Paul Bleachley loved the same way. Caroline remembered that Bradford had believed that Charity would turn her back on Paul because he was no longer handsome.

She didn’t know if she could change his attitude. He had been raised in a superficial society where looks seemed to count above all else.

What kind of marriage would it be? Would she begin to fret over her appearance, worry about her figure, her clothing? Would all that she had always considered insignificant become uppermost in her mind? Dear God, would she change so much that she would start to giggle and swoon at the drop of a hat, like Lady Tillman?

Caroline shook her head, trying to stop the ridiculous notions rambling through her mind. She got into bed and tried to sleep. At least, she consoled herself, she had admitted that she couldn’t marry him. “Until he is suitable,” she whispered the promise into the darkness. And then she cried herself to sleep.

I
T WAS A BEAUTIFUL WEDDING
. A
T LEAST THAT WAS WHAT
everyone kept telling Caroline as she stood in the reception line next to the man she had just exchanged vows with, the man she had just promised to love and cherish until death did one of them part.

Caroline was thankful that the ordeal was finally over. She had given up fighting the inevitable the day before, when she, Charity, and her father had traveled to Bradford Hills. It had been decided that the wedding would take place there so that tradition would continue. Bradford’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all been married in the mansion.

Bradford had seen to all the arrangements while Charity and the earl had taken care of the announcements and invitations. Now, as she glanced around the beautiful ballroom, Caroline was amazed that it had all gone so well. Everyone looked immensely pleased. Everyone but Caroline. She was still having difficulty sorting it all out.

Bradford had placated her father the night of their encounter, and the next morning the earl had announced that he was thrilled with the match. Caroline tried to point out that there wasn’t going to be any match but her father absolutely refused to listen to reason. She remembered that he had asked her if she loved Bradford and she had been foolishly honest enough to admit that she did, and from that moment on, he turned deaf to her arguments.

There wasn’t anyone she could turn to for help. And Charity drove her to distraction. Caroline wasn’t allowed out of the house and therefore couldn’t escape her attention.

Madam Newcott and three jittery seamstresses worked night and day on her wedding gown, right there in the house, and Bradford had employed two burly-looking men to see to her protection. Caroline’s father never commented on it and she wondered what he was thinking. She wasn’t at all convinced that the guardians were there solely to see to her protection either. She wouldn’t put it past Bradford to instruct them to keep her from running away. The thought had entered her mind, and she fantasized about returning to Boston more than once. Life had certainly been less complicated then.

Caroline hadn’t met Bradford’s mother until she was settled in the magnificent home called Bradford Hills. She was in the bedroom assigned to her, changing for dinner, when a dignified woman entered. She was taller than Caroline and elegantly dressed and walked with the bearing of royalty.

Caroline hastily pulled a robe from the closet, put it on, and then tried for a dignified curtsy while the duchess studied her.

“Are you carrying his child?” the duchess asked with such briskness in her voice that Caroline was jarred by it.

“No.” Caroline didn’t elaborate. If Bradford’s mother was rude enough to ask such a question, then she would return the rudeness.

The two stared at each other for a long minute. Caroline noticed that the woman’s eyes were the same color as Bradford’s. She had deep wrinkles around the corners, telling Caroline that she was a woman who smiled often.

“Don’t let him cower you,” the duchess decreed. She
sat down in one of the stuffed chairs and motioned for Caroline to take the other.

“I’ve never cowered in my life,” Caroline remarked as she sat down across from her soon-to-be mother-in-law. “I’m not sure I even know how.”

“He always was impatient. When he settles on something, he wants to see it through immediately.”

Caroline nodded. The briskness in the woman’s voice no longer offended her and she found herself smiling. “He’s not only impatient,” Caroline said, “but overbearing and arrogant as well. I think that you should know we’re ill-suited for each other.”

The duchess smiled, seemingly unaffected by Caroline’s honesty. “You actually don’t want to marry him?” she asked.

“He doesn’t love me,” Caroline acknowledged very matter-of-factly. “And he doesn’t trust me. A sad start, wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps, if you would speak to him, he might reconsider?”

“Nonsense, child. He obviously wants you or he wouldn’t marry you. My son never does anything he doesn’t want to do. It’s up to you to make him love you, not that it is really necessary.”

“To love isn’t necessary?” Caroline asked, showing her confusion.

“It’s a solid match, that’s the important thing,” the duchess returned.

She stood up then and walked over to the door. “I believe my son has chosen well.” And with that pronouncement, she left the room.

“Caroline! Are you daydreaming on your wedding day?” Charity was pulling on her arm to gain her attention. “Only think of it, you are a duchess now.”

Caroline wasn’t aware that Bradford had turned from his conversation to hear Charity’s enthusiastic remark. She shook her head and replied, “No, I’m
Bradford’s wife first. That is quite enough to deal with now.”

Bradford smiled, pleased with her comment. Milford appeared, making a formal bow before Caroline, and took hold of her hand. The sapphire ring that Bradford had placed on her finger glittered in the candlelight, drawing Bradford’s attention, and he felt a wave of satisfaction overtake him. The ring was proof that she belonged to him.

When Milford had finished with his congratulations, he said, “Will you forgive me for breaking my promise?”