Just One Touch (21 page)

“Dear God!” Caroline thrust aside the blankets.

“Stay here,” Rogan commanded, heading for the door.

“But—”

“I don’t want you hurt.” With a last look of warning, he slammed out of the room.

Caroline stared at the closed door. “I don’t want you hurt, either,” she murmured. Then she went to her room to dress.

Rogan raced for the stables. Fire blazed, lighting up the night, and smoke curled into the sky. A shadow followed by a horse ran out of the burning building. Grafton.

“How many left?” Rogan shouted.

“Five!” Grafton called back, racing away from the blaze with the spooked animal.

Rogan charged into the burning building, brac
ing his arm over his mouth to keep from inhaling the smoke. He saw Destiny, her ears rolling back and forth as she pranced in panic. He pushed toward her stall.

His foot hit something; he stumbled. He looked down and saw Colin crumpled on the floor.

“Hell of a night to get drunk,” he muttered, bending over his brother. “Colin, get up, you lazy sot.”

His brother didn’t answer, didn’t move. He clapped a hand on Colin’s shoulder and shook. His brother’s head lolled, and it was then he noticed the lump near his temple.

Someone had coshed him over the head and left him to burn in the stables. The fire had been set deliberately, Rogan had no doubt about it.

A simple stable fire had turned into attempted murder.

“Colin!” He grabbed Colin’s limp arm, dragged it around his shoulders. “Colin, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Cursing beneath his breath, he got to his feet and started dragging his unconscious brother toward the door, the screams of the trapped horses stabbing him like a thousand swords.

Tallow appeared in the doorway, raced for a nearby stall to release the animal locked in it. Rogan left him to it, dragging his brother out into the cool night air.

“Rogan, what happened?” Caroline came running up, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders.

“I told you to stay inside,” he growled. “But since you’re here, see to Colin while I get the horses.”

Caroline fell to her knees beside her brother-in-law while Rogan raced back into the stables.

Hours later Rogan stood looking at the charred ruins of what had once been very fine stables. They had managed to get all the horses out unscathed, but the buildings were a loss. Only the simple miracle that Grafton had been coming back from a late night at the tavern and sounded the alarm had prevented him from losing everything; the horses alone were worth a fortune.

Not to mention his brother’s life.

Caroline came up beside him and laid a hand on his arm, silent as she looked at the smoldering ruins of his dreams.

“How’s Colin?” he asked quietly.

“Dr. Raines says he’ll be fine as long as he stays in bed for a couple of days.” She buried her face in his arm. “Had he been trapped in there, he would have died.”

He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I know.”

She turned distressed eyes to his. “He regained consciousness for a few moments and insisted on talking. He said that whoever hit him called him by
your
name.”

Rogan’s jaw clenched. “The bastard.”

Caroline jerked back in surprise. “Colin?”

“No. Your cousin.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest his conclusion, then slowly closed it. “Of course,” she said. “If something happens to you, he can get to me.”

“And your fortune.” He squeezed her to him in a one-armed hug. “That’s all he’s ever wanted, Caroline, was money.”

“The things he has done to get it are unconscionable.” She gazed out over the destruction. “He must be stopped, Rogan.”

“Don’t worry.” He dropped a kiss at her temple and stared out into the smoking night. “He will be.”

M
alcolm Gregson gathered his courage around him. The knowledge he possessed sickened him, as did his part in recent events. Reaching into his pocket, he clenched his fingers around the tiny vial, then dropped it, appalled at his own thoughts.

How could he contemplate such an action? But contemplate it he had, enough that he had purchased the instrument of his potential damnation. Did he now have the courage to use it and right the wrong he had helped to perpetrate?

Perhaps.

But not today. Cursing his own cowardice, he knocked briskly on the door to the duke’s study and entered when bid.

The new Duke of Belvingham sat behind his
desk, papers strewn before him. He glanced up. “What is it, Gregson?”

Gregson resisted the urge to reach again for the vial in his pocket. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

“Get to the point.” Althorpe held up a paper and squinted at it.

“I am giving my notice, Your Grace.”

Althorpe looked up with a start, then slowly lowered the paper he had been reading. “I don’t believe I heard you aright.”

Gregson winced at the menace underlying the lazy tone. He glanced at the cup of coffee at the duke’s elbow, then jerked his gaze back to his face. “I am giving my notice.”

Althorpe leaned forward. “And why would you contemplate such a thing?”

“I—I—” Gregson swallowed hard.

“You heard what Hunt said to the good doctor,” Althorpe finished with a penetrating stare. “Didn’t you? Come, admit it. I saw you standing outside the room.”

Malcolm contemplated lying, then opted for truth. “Yes.”

“And do you suspect I am the guilty party?”

“I choose not to take sides.”

“Yet you tender your resignation.”

Gregson shifted nervously. “I thought it best.”

Althorpe stood. “Have a care, Mr. Gregson. You yourself played a part in this.”

Gregson’s face flushed. “To my everlasting shame.”

Althorpe laughed. “Little did you know. Come,
Mr. Gregson. Did you not bring Uncle his pipe in the evenings?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then ’twas you who administered the herb that made dear Uncle so ill.” Althorpe laid a hand over his heart, his face a mockery of grief. “Every time dear Uncle smoked that pipe, he took a step closer to St. Peter.”

Gregson gaped. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“’Tis a rare Chinese herb that is deadly when smoked.” Althorpe chuckled. “Have no fear, Mr. Gregson. I’ve burned the rest of the tainted tobacco. No one will ever know.”

“
I
will know!”

“But
you
brought him the pipe every night.” Amusement plain on his face, Althorpe reached for one of the discarded papers. “Accept it, Mr. Gregson. You killed the Duke of Belvingham.”

“No,” Gregson whispered, horrified.

“And that is what I shall say—grief-stricken, of course—should you attempt to tell anyone the truth. And who will they believe, a mere secretary who lied about his background? Or the Duke of Belvingham?”

His heart sank as he realized he was trapped. Once more he thought about that vial in his pocket. Once more he resisted the temptation.

“No more talk of giving notice,” Althorpe said. “Even if you did somehow escape England, my informants will track you down. Now be a good fellow and fetch me more coffee, will you?”

And as Gregson turned to obey, he thought longingly of justice.

Caroline sat in the study with the accounts spread across the desk. Carefully she tallied up a long column of numbers, then sighed at the total. The fire had done tremendous damage, and would cost a pretty penny to fix.

Thank God for her inheritance.

She looked up as Rogan entered the room, his expression sober, his every step weary. “Were you able to salvage anything?”

“We got most of the saddles, some of the tack.” He sank into a chair, fatigue slowing his movements. “We’re going to have to replace everything else, right down to the last lead rope. Damn it!” He pounded a fist on the arm of the chair.

She rose and came to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “At least we have my inheritance.”

“Our one stroke of luck.” He reached up and covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Like it was lucky that your father died.”

“I know what you meant.” With her free hand, she toyed with the ends of his hair.

“How’s Colin?” he asked.

“Dr. Raines has confined him to bed with a concussion. I checked on him about a half hour ago, and he was sound asleep.”

“Good.” He leaned his head back into her touch, closed his eyes. “I was afraid he might be seriously injured.”

“He’ll be fine. But what about you? Have you eaten? The sun’s gone down, and I don’t recall seeing you come in for luncheon.”

“I didn’t. There was too much work.” He tugged her hand from his shoulder to his lips. “And now that you’ve reminded me, my stomach is about to revolt.”

“Mrs. Cox left a cold platter for you.”

“Anything sounds good right now.”

“Then let me go, and I’ll fetch it.”

His lips quirked. “I don’t want to. I rather like you here with me.” He pressed another kiss to her palm.

“You have to eat, Rogan.”

“Are you mothering me, love?” He grinned up at her, a spark of mischief lighting his otherwise dispirited eyes.

“I’m just taking care of you. Isn’t that what a wife is supposed to do?”

“It is,” he agreed, then startled her by tugging on her arm so she tumbled into his lap. He chuckled at her squeal of surprise. “Perhaps you can take care of me from there.”

“You’re a madman,” she declared, laughing, and tried to rise.

“No, you don’t.” He pulled her back into his arms. “Why don’t you sit here and tell me how your day went.”

She gave him an arch look. “I helped Mrs. Cox plan the week’s menus, cleaned out the spare bedroom, and went through your correspondence. I also worked on the accounts for a while.”

“Quite a busy day. Perhaps we both need to relax.”

“I need to fetch your dinner.” She squirmed in his lap, trying to wiggle free.

A new spark entered his eyes, one she recognized well. “Or perhaps we need to play.”

“Rogan, you must be starving!”

“I am,” he said with a leer and buried his face in her neck.

She giggled. “You know I’m ticklish there!”

His muffled “I know” was all she got in the way of response. Then he started kissing beneath her ear, and the air left her lungs in a rush. “Rogan,” she breathed, her eyes sliding closed with pleasure.

“Yes, love,” he murmured and drew her into a sweet, searching kiss.

She forgot about the fire, forgot about the account books, forgot about Rogan’s dinner. Her hands slid around his neck as if drawn there, and she clung to him, drowning in the delight of his hands and mouth.

He murmured soft compliments in her ear as his hands swept over her body, lingering on her curves, teasing the sensitive spots he had come to know so well.

She arched into his touch, and when he slid a hand up her leg, under her skirt, she moaned.

With a wicked smile, he pulled the pins from her hair, letting the beautiful dark mass tumble around her shoulders. He gazed into her eyes, and his grin slowly faded to be replaced by a
more serious expression. Tenderly he swept a stray curl behind her ear. “Caroline, I could lose everything I have tomorrow, as long as I still have you.”

“Oh, Rogan.” This time
she
kissed
him
, so overcome with emotion that she didn’t have the words to express it.

He clasped her to him and eased them down onto the floor. Caroline found herself on top of him as he leaned against the base of the chair, his hair mussed from her passionate fingers, his hollow-eyed face lit by a bright, loving smile. He pulled her to him, kissed her again with her hair falling down around them in a silken curtain.

He plucked at the fastenings of her dress. She gasped when she realized his intention and pulled back, uncertain. “Rogan, we’re in the study!”

“No one’s here. Grafton and Tallow have turned in for the night, my pesky brother is confined to bed, and Mrs. Cox has gone home.” He buried his face in the hollow of her throat, sending a quiver of delight through her body. “We’re all alone.”

“But—”

“I need you, love.” He pulled back so she could see his face. Hunger and melancholy warred in his beautiful gray eyes. “I
need
you.”

She cupped his face. “Oh, Rogan.”

“Don’t deny me, love.”

“No.” She shook her head, kissed his lips. “Oh, no.”

He took over the kiss, deepening it. Caroline gave herself over to his hands, tugging at his clothing even as he pushed hers aside. He took her nipple in his mouth, and she tangled her fingers in the hair on his chest. Urgency swept through her, built as passion coursed through her veins. His hands and mouth were everywhere, driving her higher. When he slipped his fingers inside her, she dug her nails into his shoulders and threw her head back with a deep, throaty moan.

That sound seemed to snap his patience. He jerked open his trousers, positioned her over him, and pulled her down, sinking into her warm, willing flesh.

She quivered with pleasure, finding the rhythm with the encouragement of his hands on her hips. He grew more demanding, and she rode hell-for-leather, matching his deep thrusts with her own movements. He slipped his hand between them, stroked her most sensitive spot, and in moments she was clenching around him with a loud moan, her body shuddering as the climax ripped through her.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he groaned, then buried his face in her shoulder and thrust hard and fast, his own hoarse cry echoing hers as he found his own release.

She slumped across him, and they sat there for long moments, hearts pounding in tandem, his shaking hands stroking her perspiring back.

Then his stomach growled, loud and long.

Caroline giggled, and he joined her, his laughter muffled against her throat. “I think I’m still hungry,” he said.

“I can’t see how that could possibly be,” she purred, which set them both chuckling again.

“I need to eat,” he said finally, raising his head. His eyes looked clear and bright, the shadows from before completely banished. “And afterward, I want you to take a ride with me.”

She glanced at the night-darkened window. “At this hour?”

“I enjoy riding at night.” He playfully patted her bottom. “And so do you, apparently.”

She blushed beet-red, her mouth opening and closing but no words escaping. Finally she swatted his shoulder. “Wicked man!”

“I am,” he admitted. “But I still want to ride with you in the moonlight, love.” He swept her back in a lazy caress. “Please.”

She couldn’t refuse him anything when he looked at her like that. “All right,” she agreed, and leaned forward to kiss him.

They galloped over the moonlit fields like a couple of children on holiday. Caroline rode Destiny, the only other horse who could possibly keep up with Hephaestus. She and Rogan alternately raced each other and galloped in tandem, both of them laughing and throwing teasing taunts back and forth.

They were just heading back to their home
when a shot rang out through the night, followed by a woman’s scream.

Rogan glanced at Caroline, clearly concerned, but then more shouting ensued, and with a look of grim determination, he turned his horse in the direction of the fracas. Caroline pounded right behind him.

They discovered the source of the ruckus very close to their own home. A coach was stopped in the middle of the moonlit road, where two ruffians had apparently stopped it. One was unfastening the horses, and the other held a pistol pointed at a man and a woman. As they drew closer, Caroline recognized the man as Malcolm Gregson.

Rogan thundered down on the man with the pistol. The fellow looked up at the sound, but before he could aim the weapon at this new threat, Rogan kicked it out of his hand and sent it skidding beneath the coach. Gregson dived after it, as did the other villain.

Rogan pulled up on Hephaestus and dismounted. He grabbed the second brigand, who had scrambled beneath the coach, by the back of his coat and flung him aside, allowing Malcolm to grab the pistol.

Some yards away, Caroline sat frozen in fear, the tableau before her reminding her too forcibly of her own recent attempted kidnapping. Now, as then, Rogan engaged one highwayman in a fistfight, punches flying and bones crunching. The other miscreant made his way toward the petite
blond woman who stood petrified near the coach.

“Stay away from her!” Gregson cried, pointing the pistol at him.

The villain lunged, grabbing the girl. She cried out as he swung her in front of him as a shield. “Go ahead and shoot,” the brigand taunted.

Gregson didn’t waver, but his young face revealed his indecision.

It was the despairing whimper of the girl that galvanized Caroline. She kicked Destiny into a gallop and charged the fellow holding the girl.

She had only a moment to enjoy the highwayman’s look of astonishment before she raised her riding crop and brought it down on his face with all her strength.

The fellow howled and released the girl, who darted behind Gregson. The young man curved one protective arm behind him as if to shelter her, the other hand holding the pistol steady on the cursing, injured villain.

Caroline pulled up on Destiny and surveyed the scene. Rogan had subdued the other highwayman and even now dragged him over to stand with his bleeding cohort. He took the pistol from Gregson, pointing it at the two criminals. Dismounting, Caroline hurried over to her husband.

He glared at her as she came to his side. “What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?”

She jutted her chin at him. “Helping.”

“You could have been killed.”

“So could you.”

“I want you safe.”

“I want you safe, too.”

“Damn it to hell, woman!” Rogan raked his hand through his hair, bleeding knuckles and all, yet kept the pistol aimed steadily at the highwaymen.

“Stop cursing, Rogan. There’s a lady present,” Caroline said mildly, then walked over to Gregson. “Is everyone all right?”