Just One Touch (20 page)

“Let me help.” She looked up into his face, her big dark eyes pleading. “We can trap him, Rogan.”

He scowled. “Absolutely not. I won’t have you in danger.”

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing! According to you, Randall killed my father and brother
and
put me through the most hellish experience of my life. I need to help see him brought to justice.”

“I can’t risk you.”

“You’ll be there to protect me, but I must help.”

“No.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his eyes deadly serious. “I love you, Caroline. Don’t ask that of me.”

“I love you, too.” She nearly laughed out loud at the surprised pleasure that washed over his face. “Silly man. Did you think I could trust someone as much as I trust you, give myself the way I gave myself to you, and not love you? You saved me from a life of fear, Rogan.”

“You saved me from a life of loneliness.”

“You’ve given me hope.” With a tremulous smile, she traced a finger down the front of his robe, tenderness welling up in her despite the bitterness of the truths that had been spoken tonight. “We have each other, Rogan. No one can take that from us.”

He caught his breath as her fingers dipped inside his robe. “No one,” he agreed, and led her to bed.

C
aroline was going through the account ledgers when Malcolm Gregson came to call. She smiled with genuine welcome when she found him at the front door. “Mr. Gregson, good afternoon.”

“Lady Caroline.” He lingered in the doorway, his hat in his hands. “Pray forgive me for intruding on your grief. I only intend to stay a minute. His Grace has sent me on an errand.”

Caroline winced at hearing the title, knowing it was no longer her father’s. “That’s quite all right, Gregson. Do come in.”

The secretary glanced around. “Your husband is not at home?”

“He’s outside in the stables.” She stepped aside so that he might enter, then closed the door. “Did you have business with him?”

“Not exactly. My business is really with you.”

“Come into the parlor, and we can discuss it.”

“No,” Gregson said, stopping her in her tracks. “I really do only have a moment. Please allow me to address this matter here and now.”

When a long moment passed and the young man said nothing, Caroline prompted, “What is it, Mr. Gregson?”

The skinny secretary pulled a length of ribbon out of his pocket, and stared at it for several seconds. Then he shoved it back into his coat, stiffened his spine, and met her gaze. “Lady Caroline, I wish to return the five thousand pounds your father left me.”

“What? Gregson, don’t be silly.”

“I don’t deserve the duke’s generosity. Not after I betrayed his daughter.” His jaw worked with emotion. “I told Mr. Althorpe—I mean, His Grace—that your marriage was not yet…er…legal.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Gregson flinched at her icy tone. “I overheard your conversation with your husband in the garden that day. That you and he hadn’t…”

Caroline’s face heated. “Sir, that is a private matter!”

“I know. But Mr. Althorpe—I mean His Grace—he found out something about me I didn’t want your father to know. And he threatened to tell him if I didn’t do what he said.”

Caroline’s blood froze in her veins. “What exactly did my cousin ask you to do, Mr. Gregson?”

“Just to tell him things, pass him secrets.” He looked down at his shoes. “I lied to your father about my background, Lady Caroline. He thought I was from a fine family with a good education. But my father was a fisherman, and I learned everything I know on my own, from books.”

Caroline’s lips thinned. “My father would not have cared about such trivialities.”

Gregson’s eyes widened in earnest. “But he would have cared that I had lied to him. And then he would have dismissed me, and I would not be able to marry my dear Edwina.” He took the ribbon from his pocket and looked down at it. “But neither could I marry Edwina with funds that I did not earn.”

His true remorse touched her. “Gregson, did my cousin ask you to do anything else, give you anything for my father?”

He frowned in puzzlement. “No, nothing. Just asked me to pass on information.”

“And did you tell him anything else?”

Gregson shrugged. “Sometimes he asked questions about the workings of the house. Sometimes about the family. But now that the will’s been read, His Grace is flying into the boughs about how he was cheated of his rightful inheritance, raging about how he’s going to get it back. I don’t think he’s right, of course, but as his secretary I must do his bidding.” He pulled an envelope from inside his coat. “I am to deliver this to Mr. Tenloft. It is a letter claiming His Grace—your father—was not in his right mind when he wed
you to Mr. Hunt. And since the marriage hasn’t been…well, completed, so to speak, he plans to annul your marriage and take control of your fortune.”

“Then he is doomed to failure,” Rogan said from the doorway. He strolled into the house and bent to kiss Caroline on the lips. “My wife and I are quite legally married.”

She smiled up into his eyes. “Quite.”

Gregson’s shoulders sagged. “I’m glad to hear it. I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

“You were afraid,” Caroline said. Rogan’s expression darkened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she laid her hand on his arm, silencing him. “Please do keep the funds, Mr. Gregson. Despite what you did, you were a loyal employee to my father for several years, and I do believe he would want you to have it.”

“Thank you, Lady Caroline.” Gregson bowed, his face the picture of relief. “I’m glad my foolishness will have no dire consequences. And I would like you to know that I intend to resign my post immediately.”

“Gregson, no!”

“I must, Lady Caroline. I cannot remain after the way I betrayed your father.”

“Oh, Gregson,” she whispered sadly.

“Before you speak to the duke,” Rogan suggested, “might I suggest you deliver your letter first? This way Althorpe will find out through legal means that our marriage cannot be an
nulled, and you will not be implicated for coming to us with the truth.”

“An excellent suggestion. I will do that, Mr. Hunt.” Gregson bowed to Caroline. “Lady Caroline, it has been an honor to serve your family. I will miss you.” He nodded at Rogan. “Mr. Hunt.”

“Gregson.” Rogan nodded right back. “Good luck.”

“Thank you. Good day.” Gregson donned his hat and then slipped at the front door.

Caroline glanced at her husband. “That was well done of you, husband. I thought you would have torn the lad to bits.”

Rogan shrugged. “I’ve been practicing self-control. Besides, it will be more fun to watch Althorpe squirm when he realizes this tactic will not work.”

“You are truly a clever man.”

Days later, Randall Althorpe, Duke of Belvingham, crumpled up the letter from the solicitor and threw it into the fire. Then he grabbed a small figurine from his desk and threw it in as well. It smashed in the hearth, sending sparks flying.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

There was only one thing to do now. In order to regain what was rightfully his, he had to get rid of Rogan Hunt.

And any other loose ends that might bring about his downfall.

Rogan was unfastening his trousers when his wife burst into his bedchamber.

“Rogan, I found it!” She clutched one of the account books to her chest, her eyes wide with excitement.

Rogan raised a brow and glanced down at his half-fastened trousers. “I didn’t realize it was lost.”

She jerked to a halt, wisps of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her mouth fell open. “You…I…That’s not what I meant, you wicked man!”

He burst out laughing, something he hadn’t done in a long time. “The look on your face was priceless!”

A blush burned her cheeks. “You’re a devil, Rogan Hunt.”

“I’m sorry, love.” He came to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “What did you want to show me?”

Her piqued expression cleared, and her face once more grew animated. “When we first went over the accounts, you told me that you had lost some funds. Well, I found them.”

“What? Where?”

“It was a mathematical mistake. See? That number for the purchase of the feed is not an eight but a three. You thought that money lost, but it’s right here.” Eagerly she flipped the pages of the book, showing him this column of numbers and that one, chattering an explanation all the while.

Watching her, Rogan felt his heart tighten in his chest. She looked so excited, so thrilled to be able to help him. He loved her more than he ever thought possible, and he had never expected to feel this way again.

She glanced up and caught him staring. “What’s the matter?”

“You are my heart,” he said simply and touched her cheek.

Her face softened. “And you’re mine.”

He slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her into his kiss, tenderness all but choking him. She leaned into his body, and the book fell to the floor with a thud as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He lifted his mouth from hers. “You dropped your book.”

“So I did,” she murmured, not taking her eyes from his face.

He rested his forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Her scent enveloped him and made his heart lighter. “Thank you for fixing that for me. My accounts are in much better shape since you took over the ledgers.”

Caroline beamed up at him. “I’m happy to help.”

“Are you?” He kicked the book aside.

“Rogan! That book is the key to your business, you know.”

“Never mind that.” With a wicked gleam in his eye, Rogan pulled her into his arms. “Has it escaped your attention, wife, that I was in the middle of undressing when you burst into my chamber?”

She cast her glance over him. “My goodness, indeed it has.” She tugged on the tail of the untucked shirt, her fingers inches away from where his trousers were unfastened.

“That was quite rude of you.” He watched her face, fascinated by the flickers of curiosity and hunger in her expression. “I believe you owe me an apology.”

She slid him a seductive glance. “I’m sorry, Rogan.”

“Not good enough.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I must demand restitution.”

“Tell me what I can do,” she breathed and stroked whisper-light fingers along his waist.

He arched a brow at her even as his body responded enthusiastically to her touch. “You’re a forward chit, Madam Wife.”

“You’ve made one of me.”

“And a good thing.” He curved his hand around her neck. “Kiss me, minx.”

She stood on her toes to reach his mouth, pressing her small, feminine body against his. He dragged her closer with a hand on her bottom, the kiss leaping from playfulness to hot desire in the space of a second. She moaned in the back of her throat, meeting him mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue.

Passion flared, and she gave herself into his hands.

His fingers plucked at the fastenings of her dress as she shoved greedy hands up under his shirt and stroked his back. He buried his face in
her throat, nipping and sucking on the tender flesh as she clung to him, knees weak. He stripped the dress down her arms, trailing his mouth down over the smooth slopes of her breasts above her chemise. The dress fell forgotten to the floor.

Caroline’s eyes slid closed, and she clung to him, trying to stay upright. How was it he could so easily melt away her every defense? He took one step backward, then another, edging her toward the bed. She went willingly, unafraid.

Rogan had given her this, freedom from the fear. He’d taught her to be a woman, to trust him. To love him.

He pushed the straps to her chemise down her arms, and she helped him strip the fragile garment from her body. His eyes darkened as he gazed at her.

She reached out and tugged at the shirt. He helped her strip it off him, and she eagerly tangled her fingers in the hair on his chest as he took her mouth in a hard kiss.

He tipped her back onto the bed, parting her thighs to cup her moist heat. She shuddered and reached for him, running her hands along his muscular arms as his fingers stroked her to readiness.

Then her hands fell limply to her sides as her head spun and she surrendered to the demanding desire that swept through her. He bent forward to take her nipple in his mouth, sucking strongly as his fingers continued to torment her. She gripped
the coverlet with white-knuckled hands, lifting her hips into his touch.

“Please,” she whispered, clinging to the only English word that still made sense to her.

“Please what, love?” he murmured against her flesh.

With a soft cry of need, she arched her hips even more as his thumb found a particularly sensitive spot. “Please.”

“What do you want?” He pulled back to watch her face as she began to writhe. “Tell me.”

“You,” she managed, grabbing his trouser leg. “Just you.”

He left her to strip off his trousers, and she gave a whimper of protest. But then he was back, edging the blunt head of his erection against her aching flesh. “I’m here, love.”

He scooped her knees over his elbows and leaned on the bed, opening her and pushing inside in the same smooth movement. She moaned as he filled her, deeper than ever before.

“That’s right, love,” he whispered, closing his eyes as her feminine flesh embraced him in welcome. He began to move, slowly at first, her legs still hooked over his elbows.

“Rogan,” she moaned, tilting back her head as arousal swept through her. “Please, please, please—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, losing himself in the delicious heat of her. “Come with me.”

“Yes-s-s-s,” she whispered, giving herself up to the pleasure of having him inside her.

Words faded. Hands clung, and lips moved in silent supplication as the need grew hotter and hungrier by the second. She thought she would die if he didn’t go deeper, harder, faster. Then he did. Somehow he did. The spark grew, burst into an inferno. She tightened her inner muscles around him, keening her pleasure with abandon.

As she melted around him in climax, he slowed and bent to kiss her lips. “I love you,” he murmured.

She nodded, beyond speaking, her body still vibrating with the power of their coupling.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, then suddenly thrust in earnest, wildly, eyes shut tightly and face taut with hunger.

She gasped, clung to his arms as he worked toward his pleasure. Then he groaned, expression twisted as if in pain as the peak of his release tore through him.

He remained poised there, muscles straining. Then he slumped over her, sweaty and sated. She ran her hands over his damp back and smiled, feeling every inch a woman. Then suddenly it struck her.

“Rogan!” She nudged his shoulder. “Do you realize I’m lying here beneath you, and there’s no sign of panic?”

He muttered a sound of assent.

She poked him harder. “Rogan!”

“No more ghosts,” he murmured sleepily.

“Yes,” she whispered with wonder. “No more ghosts.”

Much later they moved beneath the covers of his bed and fell into deep, satisfied slumber.

Shouting woke them from a sound sleep. Befuddled from sleep, Caroline struggled to make sense of the sudden chaos even as Rogan jumped from the bed and grabbed his trousers.

Then the jumbled shouting from outside sharpened into one, coherent word. “Fire!”

The screams of panicked horses split the night amid the cacophony of urgent human voices. Rogan grabbed his shirt and thrust his arms into it, his face grim, then shoved his feet into the nearest pair of boots. “The stable’s on fire.”