Just One Touch (6 page)

“True.” He sat back in his chair, stretched one leg out before him. “Everything happened rather suddenly.”

“It’s Papa.” She sighed. “He’s convinced he’s dying, and he wants to see me settled.”

“So he mentioned.” He looked as if he would elaborate, then shrugged, apparently dismissing the idea. “It’s done now. I suggest we both make the best of it.”

“You don’t sound very happy.”

“Happy? No. Not happy.” His lip curled. “Manipulated, maybe.”

She frowned. “Manipulated?”

“I had no intention of taking a bride. All I wanted was a horse.”

His comment stung. “Then why did you offer for me?”

“Offer for you?” He chuckled, but the sound had no humor to it. “I told you, I wanted the horse. But your father is a persuasive man, so I got both of you.”

“He’s…forcing you to marry me?” Appalled, she rose from the settee. “Then we can’t…Tell him I’ve jilted you.” She headed for the door, tears of mortification stinging her eyes.

“Damn it.” He gave a growl of frustration, then caught up with her just before she reached the door, blocking her path with his big body. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She wouldn’t look at him, just stood there, tears welling in her eyes.

“Caroline…”

“No.” She took a shaky step back from him. “Leave me some dignity.”

“I didn’t mean it.” He held out a hand in supplication. “Please,” he murmured.

She hesitated, poised to flee.

“Caroline.” Watching her warily, he reached out and gently took her hand in his.

She looked down at their entwined fingers and tensed as if she would yank her hand away. One second. Two. But her hand remained in his.

“You can’t know how humiliating it is to discover that your father has bought you a husband—for the price of a horse.”

Rogan stared down at her bent head, unsure how to undo the damage of his hurtful words. “Caroline, I—” He stuttered to a halt, words failing him. “Curse my foul temper,” he muttered. “I’m no good with people.”

She glanced up at him, sympathy in her dark eyes. “Only horses?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Indeed.”

Her lips curved in a wry smile. “And I’ve been so long out of society that I’m not much better.”

“Quite the pair.”

“We are, aren’t we?” She sighed and slipped her hand from his, moving back to the settee. “I don’t want you to feel trapped by this, Mr. Hunt. You mustn’t feel obligated, no matter what my father said.”

He sat beside her, his knee brushing her skirt, and she scooted over to the far corner of the settee. “You are no obligation, Caroline.”

“I certainly do not intend to be.” She sighed and turned to face him more directly. “May I speak candidly, Mr. Hunt?”

“Rogan,” he corrected.

A wrinkle appeared between her brows, giving her an adorable look of confusion. “Pardon?”

“My name is Rogan. If we’re to be married, I think you should use it.”

“Rogan.” She tested the saying of it, as if it were a new kind of chocolate or a glass of fine wine. As if she were trying to decide if it was to her liking or not.

He found himself watching her mouth, waiting for his name to pass those soft pink lips again.

“Well.” She clasped her hands in her lap and sat up straight as if she were going to recite her lessons. “I would like to talk about our marriage.” She bit her lower lip. “If there is to be a marriage, that is.”

“Do you still intend to jilt me then?”

He meant the remark to be teasing, but rather than stammer and blush, she surprised him by giving him a direct—and most serious—look. “After you hear what I have to say, you may want me to.”

“I doubt it.”

She took a calming breath. “I’m certain my father must have told you about certain events in my past. I want you to know that despite what happened to me, I have every intention of making you a good wife.”

“Most comforting,” he murmured.

She shot him a look of annoyance. “I’m serious, sir. These are things that need to be discussed between us—important things that will determine whether or not we will suit.”

Chastised, he muttered, “Sorry.”

“Mr…. Rogan, please don’t make this any harder than it is.”

The strain in her voice sobered him. “I’m listening.”

She gave him a suspicious look, but then continued. “I have…problems that will affect our marriage. We need to discuss them now, before there’s no turning back.”

Pain etched her words, dissolving his amusement, his earlier bitterness. She was right; they were going to be bound together for the rest of their lives. Better to set the ground rules now.

But he couldn’t sit by and watch her struggle to utter each word of a history that clearly brought her such grief. He stood so abruptly that she gave a little squeak of surprise, then he stalked over to the mantel. “Will it help if I tell you what I already know?” he asked, staring into the fire.

When she didn’t answer, he turned to look at her. She was staring at him, her beautiful dark eyes alight with hope and relief. “Caroline?”

“Yes,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to her hands. “Please.”

Since she was clearly uncomfortable, he began to prowl the room, putting distance between them. “I know you were kidnapped when you were fifteen. I know it…affected you…to the
point that you felt incapable of having a London Season. You came home to Belvingham and have stayed here all these years under your father’s protection.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Your father has told me some of what happened to you.” He took a chance and glanced over at her. She sat with her elbows resting on her knees, her face buried in her hands. “You and I will have to talk about it at some point.”

“No!” Her head jerked up, her expression panicked.

“Not this moment,” he reassured her. “But eventually.”

The alarm faded from her expression to be replaced by resignation.

“We have time, Caroline. All our lives.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. When she did speak, her voice was so low he had to strain to hear it.

“I do need time, Rogan. If you can…if we can get to know each other better…maybe then we can have a…a normal marriage.” She stumbled over the last words, a maidenly blush sweeping across her cheeks.

Desire stirred, awakening his hunger with a roar. The thought of sharing a bed with her ensnared his senses, seducing him. “Is that what you want?”

She looked at him, her dark eyes shimmering with longing. “Yes.”

He took a step toward her.

She held up a hand. “But not yet. I need—”

“Time,” he finished, halting. He curled his hands into fists. “I understand.”

“I know it’s not fair,” she began.

“No. It’s fine.” He walked to the other side of the room, perused a painting of one of her ancestors without really seeing it. “We’re strangers.”

“Yes. But—”

He turned back to face her. “But?”

She stood up. “You saved my life.”

He gave a chuckle. “You did some damage yourself.”

She flashed him a self-conscious smile and took a step toward him, her hands clasped. “We went through adversity together. We have a bond.”

“We do.”

She approached him slowly, looking for all the world as if she would run screaming if he so much as flinched. He didn’t move an inch, though with every step she took toward him, his body tensed even more.

She stopped in front of him, twisting her fingers again. She had her lower lip between her teeth, and apprehension filled her eyes as she looked up at him. Maintaining the eye contact, he slowly reached out and pulled her hands apart, leaving one of them resting harmlessly in his.

She made a little sound, of surprise, of alarm, of desire—he couldn’t tell. She looked as if his slightest movement would send her running.

“Caroline,” he murmured, “what do you want?”

She let out a slow, shuddering breath. “I want to stop being afraid.”

“That won’t be easy.” Inch by inch, he turned his hand until it lined up with hers, palm to palm, their fingers entwined.

She glanced down at their joined hands. “I know. You’re just holding my hand, and I want to run and hide.”

“We can stay just like this.” He crooked a smile at her. “No need to summon John Footman.”

She cast a startled glance at the door. “I’d forgotten he was out there.”

“I hadn’t.”

His wry tone startled a giggle out of her. She covered her mouth with her free hand, her soft brown eyes dancing with mischief.

Unable to resist, he stroked a finger down her cheek. “You should laugh more often,” he murmured. She froze like a doe scenting danger, and he dropped his hand back to his side. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s all right.” She cleared her throat. “You just surprised me.”

“I like to touch you.” He glanced down at their hands, then met her gaze with a warm smile. “You’re beautiful.”

“I’m not…I…oh, bother!” She took a deep breath, then looked him right in the eye. “I would like you to promise me that you will stand completely still.”

He raised his brows. “All right.”

She bit her lip again. “I mean it. Please don’t move, or this won’t work.”

His blood stirred to life again. “You intrigue me, sweetheart.”

“Goodness.” She blinked, flustered, a delicate pink flushing her cheeks. “Please, Rogan.”

“Very well. I’ll behave.”

She sent him a sidelong glance that made him want to carry her to the nearest flat surface, but he kept his word and remained still. Keeping a wary eye on him, she took a step forward—a step that nearly brought her flush against his body. His fingers tightened on hers.

She gave a squeak of alarm and stepped back again.

“No, don’t go away.” He relaxed his grip on her fingers. “I didn’t move, did I?”

“No.” She looked down, let out a weary sigh. “You didn’t.”

“You surprised me.” He tugged on her hand so that she’d look at him. “I’m not moving, Caroline.”

Still she hesitated.

“Come, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You have me curious now.”

“All right. But please stay still.”

“Now that I know what to expect, I can do that.”

She stepped close to him again, but this time he maintained control. Then she stretched up on tip
toe and brushed a kiss over his cheek. “Thank you for saving my life, Rogan.”

His heart pounded with the urge to pull her closer, to taste that sweet mouth. But then she jerked her hand from his and fled the room, leaving him hungry for more.

S
he had kissed a man.

Caroline watched the countryside race by as her carriage—accompanied by three armed outriders—sped toward the village. She was on her way to visit with Mrs. Trenton and also to check on Denton, but her mind was far from her charitable works.

She pressed her fingers to her lips. She had kissed a man and then run away like a schoolgirl. What must he think of her? Did he realize it was the first time she had voluntarily done such a thing? Did he understand the significance of it? She thought that he did, but Rogan Hunt was a hard man to read.

There was a hunger inside him, something almost predatory in the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. It frightened her.

And excited her.

She closed her eyes and slumped back in the carriage seat. Whenever Rogan was around, her emotions swirled and churned until she couldn’t tell one from the other. Everything female in her jumped to attention whenever he entered the room. He was so handsome, so male. Strong, powerful, a man who lived by his own rules.

Yet there was a wildness about him. Something untamed that rode him like he rode that black stallion of his across the countryside. Passion, certainly. She’d seen—and felt the evidence of—his passions last night. He’d kept it under control so as not to frighten her, but part of her longed to see that uncivilized side of him, to experience the unleashed ardor of a fully aroused Rogan.

Anxiety rose up, quickened her breathing, yet the visions of her imagination continued to tantalize. Ever since her cousin Regina had gotten married last month, her cravings for a normal life had increased. There were obstacles, yes. But the longing remained.

Even beyond the fear.

She was tired of hiding, tired of being afraid. She felt like one of those sparrows who periodically flew blindly into the glass window of her father’s study and ended up dazed or dead on the ground below. She had no intention of rushing forward, of knocking herself senseless, even metaphorically. Rogan was right; they had all the time in the world to learn each other.

And if last night was any indication, there was reason to hope that with his help, she’d find that open window and fly right through.

“What are you talking about?” Rogan frowned at Zachary Wiggins, the merchant from whom he bought his household supplies. Once more he tried to hand the man the money. “How can the account be settled? I have the money right here.”

The little man smiled, giving him the look of an ingratiating weasel. “Not to worry, Mr. Hunt. Your future father-in-law settled the account yesterday. May I offer you congratulations on your upcoming marriage?”

“My future—” Rogan bit back an expletive and forced a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Wiggins.”

“Always liked Lady Caroline,” Wiggins commented.

“I am the luckiest of men.” Folding his money, he shoved the wad of bills into his pocket. “Good day to you, Mr. Wiggins.”

“Good day, Mr. Hunt.”

Rogan made his way through the village, visiting every tradesman to whom he owed money. The story was the same everywhere. The duke had taken it upon himself to pay all of Rogan’s debts.

And when he reached the tailor, he discovered that not only had Belvingham settled his account, but he’d purchased a new set of clothes for Rogan to wear at the wedding.

“I have your measurements, of course,” jolly Mr. Fitzhugh said. “The suit will be ready in time for your marriage to Lady Caroline.”

“Thanks,” Rogan muttered and left the shop.

He strode down the street, nodding as people called out congratulations to him. Blast it all, had Belvingham hired a town crier to announce the news?

It was bad enough that he had been forced into marriage through obligation, irritating enough that Belvingham had insisted on arranging and paying for everything to do with the wedding without so much as consulting Rogan. But for Caroline’s father to take it upon himself to handle Rogan’s personal financial matters—that was outside of enough.

A man had pride, and Rogan’s was rapidly being worn away by the force of the duke’s arrogant interference.

“I say there, Hunt!”

Rogan stopped just outside the Hound and Horn as a foppishly dressed gentleman descended from a carriage in front of the bustling inn. Bloody hell, but this day just got better and better. “Beardsley,” he acknowledged through gritted teeth.

Lord Beardsley brushed some road dust from the sleeve of his coat and sent Rogan a coolly arrogant look. “I heard you’re marrying Belvingham’s daughter.”

“I am.”

“Congratulations. Lady Caroline is far above the touch of a man of your social station.”

Rogan bared his teeth in a smile. “It’s a love match.”

“Indeed? No wonder the duke arranged for a special license then.”

Rogan stiffened. “Her father is ill, Beardsley.”

“Ah.” Beardsley gave a superior smile. “That certainly explains the haste. You wouldn’t want the gossips to believe it was for some
other
reason.”

Rogan leaned closer. “No. I wouldn’t.”

Beardsley didn’t flinch, merely stood there with that patronizing smile on his face. “Would you care to join me for a drink, Hunt? I’d like to discuss that hunter of mine with you.”

Surprised, Rogan backed down. “I thought you sent that horse to Hadley.”

“I did. Now I want to send him to you. Let’s discuss it inside.”

“All right.” Curious despite himself, Rogan followed him into the taproom.

It was amazing, Rogan thought later, how much a man’s consequence could change when he was marrying the right woman.

Sitting by himself at the table Beardsley had vacated an hour ago, Rogan stared into his latest tankard of ale and contemplated the unusual turn of events.

Beardsley wanted him to train the spirited
hunter he’d purchased at Tattersalls some months ago, a horse he’d sent to William Hadley, another local breeder who, unlike Rogan, had no unpleasant family history to detract from his reputation as a fine horse trainer. The horse Beardsley had sworn Rogan would never work with—ever.

All that had changed, but not because Rogan had proven himself the better horseman. No, it had changed simply because in three days’ time, he would be related by marriage to the Duke of Belvingham.

He swallowed some ale, hoping to wash away the bitterness that suddenly lingered. He should be a happy man. Not only was he marrying an heiress, but her family connections would help to better his business dealings. Any other fellow would be buying rounds for his friends at such news.

But the situation irritated him like a rock wedged in a horse’s shoe.

He had not changed. He was still the same man with the same skills. Only because he would soon be wedding Caroline did his neighbors and business connections look at him differently. Not because he excelled at what he did. Not because he attempted to rebuild the famous Hunt line from nothing. Not even because he had left his life of drinking and brawling behind him.

Suddenly, because he was marrying a duke’s daughter, he was good enough to do business with, whereas he had not been considered so before.

He lifted his tankard again, only to have it knocked out of his hands. The cup hit the wall with a clang and splattered ale all over the occupants of the next table.

“You bastard!” Hadley stood over him, his lean face taut with rage.

“New travels quickly.” Rogan swiped a dribble of ale from his face. “Beardsley only left here an hour ago.”

“He wasted no time. His men are even now moving King Charles to your pitiful establishment.” He slapped his hands flat on the table and leaned forward, nearly nose-to-nose with Rogan. “How much did it cost your new father-in-law to steal Beardsley’s business from me?”

Rogan stilled. “Belvingham has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t he?” A resentful smirk swept Hadley’s face. “It seems you’re suddenly the golden boy, while the rest of us, who’ve worked long and hard, are left in the dust. How many more horses are going to disappear from my stables, Hunt? Who else will your new papa-in-law pay to change trainers?”

Rogan shoved to his feet, the chair screeching backward to slam into the wall behind him. Silence descended on the taproom.

Hadley straightened, but he didn’t back away. “What’s the matter, Hunt? Don’t like the truth?”

“I prefer the truth. I’m still waiting for you to tell it.”

Hadley gave a harsh laugh. “Pretending that
the duke has nothing to do with this, Hunt? Come now. We both know that your reputation is what’s prevented people from bringing you their business. It’s clear to me that your new relatives are smoothing your way to success with gold.”

“I’m a Hunt. That’s enough of a reputation for most people.”

“A drinking, whoring Hunt? A wastrel of the first order?”

Rogan clenched his fist at his side. “A Hunt of Hunt Chase, Hadley. My family’s reputation with horses goes back to the Conqueror.”

“Yes, your family history is impressive,” Hadley sneered. “Of course, that was before the Irish branch of the family inherited.”

Rage simmered, awakening the beast. He tamped it back. “I’m sorry you lost the business, Hadley. Now do us both a favor and leave.”

“Or what?” Hadley stepped closer to him, deliberately crowding him. The other man’s eyes burned with hot emotion.

Rogan gave him a hard stare. His own temper had begun to boil, but the last thing he wanted was a fight in a public establishment. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

“Me?
I’m
making a fool of myself?” Hadley laughed. “I’m not the one marrying soiled goods.”

Rogan grabbed the other man by the lapels of his coat. “Apologize, Hadley. Now.”

Hadley smirked. “Everyone knows the truth,
Hunt. Why else would Belvingham marry the girl to a nobody like you? Because no one else would have her, that’s why.”

Rogan shoved the man into the next table, sending patrons scattering. “I shall have to demand satisfaction, Hadley, unless you apologize at once.”

“Pistols at dawn?” Hadley chuckled as he regained his footing. “Come now, Hunt. That’s not our style.”

“Your apology,” Rogan ground out.

Hadley glanced around at their interested audience. “Very well. I apologize for calling your future bride a whore.”

Gasps rose up from the crowd. Rogan fought back the urge to beat the sneering bastard to a pulp. He turned away.

“Thought you wanted the truth,” Hadley called after him.

Rogan swung around and smashed his fist straight into Hadley’s lying mouth.

The other man flew backward and shattered a table to bits as he landed, unconscious. Blood trickled from his mouth, but he lay still.

Rogan rubbed his knuckles, temper still simmering, and looked around the taproom. “Would anyone else like to make a derogatory comment about my future wife?”

Silence met his challenge.

Without another word, he strode away, the crowd parting before him. He paused to hand the innkeeper a wad of bills. “For the damage.”

Jenson nodded, his eyes wide. With one last warning look at the patrons, Rogan left the inn.

Having discharged her duties to both her coachman and Mrs. Trenton, Caroline sat back in her carriage. Her last errand had involved visiting the local modiste to be measured for her wedding dress. Mrs. Denworthy had her measurements, but she had wanted Caroline to try on the basted garment so as to make sure it fit perfectly for the most important day of her life.

As she had stood there in the white and silver wedding dress, the magnitude of it all had finally hit her. Come Friday, she would be a married woman. Her life would change forever.

She didn’t know if she was ready for the change.

She glanced out the window, then sat up straight as she noticed Rogan storming down the street. He looked neither right nor left, merely forged ahead with the intense concentration of the soldier he had once been.

And his hand was bleeding.

“Dear God,” she murmured. Her first instinct was to duck inside the carriage and pretend she hadn’t seen him. In what wickedness could he have indulged to cause such an injury? But then she remembered her resolve to take back control of her life. This man was going to be her husband. She would face him no matter what his mood or state.

“What is it, my lady?” her maid, Marie, asked.

“I see my fiancé.” Caroline stuck her head out the window and signaled to one of the outriders to stop the carriage. The equipage jerked to a halt a moment later, and Caroline leaned forward and opened the door. “Mr. Hunt!”

At first she thought he hadn’t heard her, but then he stopped and looked over at her, surprise flickering across his stern features. He didn’t move for a long moment, then slowly he began to approach the carriage.

“May I offer you a ride, Mr. Hunt?” she asked as he reached her.

“My horse is at the livery.”

“I can send one of my men to retrieve it.” He didn’t say anything, just watched her with that implacable expression. “Your hand is bleeding,” she said finally, keeping her voice low.

He glanced down and flexed his hand, as if surprised to find it still attached to his body. Then he reached into his coat for his handkerchief and slowly wrapped it around the split knuckles.

“Rogan.” He glanced up, and the ferocity in his eyes startled her. “Come into the carriage.” She gave him a little smile. “I feel safer when you’re with me, especially after my last trip to the village.”

He gave a jerky nod, and she sat back in her seat as he climbed into the carriage. Marie scurried to sit next to her mistress, leaving the entire second bench free for Rogan. He settled into it,
stretching out his long legs, his face expressionless except for his blazing eyes.

The carriage seemed much smaller suddenly, the intensity of the emotions emanating from Rogan filling the small space with heat. Gooseflesh rippled along her arms.

“Marie,” she said, “please ride with Billings. And send one of the outriders to the livery to reclaim my betrothed’s horse.”

“Yes, my lady.” Casting a wary glance at Rogan, the maid scrambled from the carriage, closing the door behind her with a snap. The equipage rocked as she climbed up beside the coachman, and then they were on their way.