Leslie Lafoy (26 page)

“Winfield will explain our tardiness,” he offered, slowly but deliberately closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. God, she got more beautiful with every passing day.

“I really must go.”

“There’s the matter of the fee, Caroline,” he reminded her, reaching out to gently stroke her satin shoulders. “It’s not yet been paid.”

“Will you accept a promissory note?”

He whispered, “No,” as he bent his head and pressed a slow kiss to her throat. God, was there any scent more heady than sandalwood? Any scent more perfect for her?

“Drayton,” she chided on a ragged breath as her hands went to his waist. “Why you persist in being so reckless and foolish and—”

He smiled against her skin and continued nibbling his way to her earlobe. “You were saying, dear Caroline?”

“This is beyond stupidity,” she murmured, tilting her head to give him free access.

“And well into the stuff of my dreams.”

“Your dreams are wicked,” she accused, reaching up to twine her arms around his neck.

“Yes, they are. Feel free to expand on them as—” The end of the bath sheet slipped from its mooring and the
whole of it slid to the floor at their feet. “Ah, yes,” he said, sliding his hands down her bare back. “Just like that.”

She looked up at him and then slowly closed her eyes, murmuring, “We shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he agreed, brushing kisses over her lips while quickly undoing his trouser buttons, “but let’s anyway.”

The knock on the door startled them both. Caroline was already out of his arms and snatching up the bath sheet when the intruder called softly through the panel, “Begging your pardon, your lordship.”

Peltham,
he silently growled. One of the numerous footmen. As Caroline covered herself again, Drayton hauled his trousers back up on his hips and coolly asked, “Yes?”

“Winfield has asked me to inform you that Lord Aubrey’s coach is nearing the village.”

“Thank you, Peltham,” he said, watching Caroline square her shoulders and lift her chin. “I’ll be down shortly.”

“I shall so inform Winfield, your grace.”

Steam and silence hung between them and in it he was acutely aware of how deeply his body ached, of just how long the fortnight had been and how much he resented all the expectations of their lives. “Car—”

“I really must go.”

“All you have to do is walk away,” he pointed out. “Or,” he added with a smile he hoped looked more seductive than desperate, “admit that you don’t want to and enjoy the next few minutes.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer,” she said, her gaze on the floor as she quickly glided past him.

He clenched his teeth as the blast of cool air rolled the
steam around him. Damnation, would he ever learn
not
to give the woman a choice? The quiet click of the closing door set him in motion. He stripped off his trousers, threw them aside, and went to draw his bath, promising himself that the next time he found her alone was going to end every differently.

CAROLINE SMOOTHED HER SKIRTS ONE LAST TIME, THEN
threaded her fingers and stood staring blankly at the front door. God, she was tired. And the very last thing in the world that she wanted to do at that moment was to smile and play the hostess. Especially for a guest as awful as Haywood said Lady Aubrey was. What was the word he’d used? Formidable? Yes, and demanding, too. The things one did to improve a public reputation . . .

Of course all the paint and carpet and draperies and upholstery and sleepless hours would amount to nothing if her relationship with Drayton ever became public knowledge. What a tangled knot that was. She fully understood the risks in it, knew in an ever so logical way that they were courting disaster and that she’d bear the brunt of it when it happened. And despite that, she melted every time he touched her. Her mind wandered to him constantly and wove from the threads of pure fantasy the most wonderful impossibilities.

She really did need to go back to London, to put some distance between them so the temptation could fade away. The longer she stayed at Ryland Castle, the longer she played mistress and helpmate, the harder it was going to be to watch him court a true wife when the Season began. Not that she loved him, of course. It was more a matter of being comfortable with him, of enjoying his company.
And, if she were to be perfectly and bluntly honest about it, enjoying sex with him. The very idea of another woman sleeping in his bed . . .

Caroline pressed her hands to her clenching stomach and shook her head to dispel the disturbing thought. Yes, she should probably go to London. Barring such an easy escape, she at least needed more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep so that she could think straight. She could design and sew under any circumstances; it was pure instinct and long habit. But controlling her feelings and urges where Drayton was concerned was another matter entirely. The effort was all but impossible when exhaustion made his arms such a welcome haven.

The footfall on the stairs behind her put an abrupt end to her reverie. She looked over her shoulder and watched him descend, realizing that no amount of rest was going to change the fact that Drayton Mackenzie was devilishly handsome. Or lessen the impact of his rakish, confident smile and twinkling eyes. No, distance was the only thing that could possibly save her from herself.

“You look lovely, Caroline,” he said as he came to stand beside her.

She swallowed down her heart and managed to get just enough air into her lungs to demurely say, “Thank you.”

“And the house is beyond beautiful,” he added, absently shooting his cuffs. “I owe you a huge debt.”

“No,” she countered, chuckling, “you owe London fabric merchants a huge debt.”

He grinned as his gaze went to the front door. Or—more accurately—to the sidelights and the sliver of the world visible through them. His smile faded a bit as he cocked a brow. “Good God,” he muttered. “Ten pounds says she has
H.M.S. Aubrey
painted on her stern.”

A ship? Well, Lady Aubrey certainly wasn’t a petite woman in any sense of the term, but to characterize her as a ship? Caroline shook her head, admonished, “Be nice,” and drew a breath that wasn’t nearly as steadying as she’d hoped.

“She’s looking at the house and curling her lip,” Drayton observed, his voice low so as not to carry to the footman waiting by the door.

“So did you when you first looked up at the sign over my shop.”

“I was going for the effect. Trying to be duke-ish, you know.”

“You were obnoxious.”

He leaned close to whisper, “I’d be willing to meet you in my room, get down on my knees and offer you my sincerest apologies.”

Apologizing? That’s what he was calling it today? Her pulse racing, butterflies flitting excitedly around in her stomach, she said, “Here she comes. Please behave yourself.”

“I’d rather be apologizing,” he countered as the footman opened the door. “I’m sure you’d be pleased by my efforts.”

The mere prospect delighted her body. Her core hot and pulsing, she locked her knees, hoped Lady Aubrey thought the flush in her cheeks was from the excitement of receiving a guest, smiled, and said cheerily, “Welcome back, Lord Aubrey,” as the man escorted his mother across the threshold and into the foyer.

Aubrey visibly winced, but didn’t look at her. His mother did, though. To arch a carefully drawn brow and then pointedly look away. “Mother,” Aubrey said, bringing her to a halt in front of Drayton, “I have the pleasure
of introducing my friend Drayton Mackenzie, the seventh Duke of Ryland.”

“Your grace,” the woman said, bowing her head and dropping into a deep curtsy that really was amazingly graceful for a woman of her size and advanced age.

Drayton stuck out his hand and helped her rise, saying gallantly, “Welcome to Ryland Castle, Lady Aubrey. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” As soon as the woman was fully upright he released her hand to take Caroline by the elbow. “May I present the eldest of my wards, Lady Caroline Turnbridge.”

God, she didn’t know what to do. As weak as her knees were, if she attempted even a small curtsy, she’d topple over and embarrass herself completely. And it didn’t help matters any that the woman was appraising her as though she were a . . . a . . . well, a prize ship ripe for seizing. “Welcome, Lady Aubrey,” she said, managing a tiny polite smile. “We deeply appreciate your willingness to undertake our social education.”
Heaven knows I need it.

“Then allow me to point out, Lady Caroline,” she said crisply, “that it is inappropriate to greet a male guest as informally as you did my son upon his entry.”

Oh, God. If this is how it’s going to be
. . .
Be gracious. Don’t embarrass Drayton.
She locked her knees again and lifted her chin. “Thank you. I obviously have much to learn. Would it be appropriate to offer you some refreshments now? Or should I offer to show you to your room so you might freshen yourself first?”

“The latter, Lady Caroline.”

“If you’d come this way, please,” Caroline said, turning and gesturing broadly toward the stairs. Apparently something—God only knew what—in that wasn’t up to
snuff because Lady Aubrey sighed quietly, smiled thinly, and nodded for her to precede her.

They had reached the second floor and were turning to the left when Aubrey’s mother said, “You have so very much to learn. I only hope that a week is long enough.”

Caroline tamped down the jolt of excitement and worked to sound disappointed when she asked, “A week? Will you be leaving us so soon?”

“A few of my friends will be joining us then,” the older woman explained. “It is my hope that you will present well to them at that time. Your entrée into society this coming Season could be eased considerably by their positive recommendations.”

“Oh,” she said as a torrent of resentment and frustration flooded over her. “How many guests should I prepare for?”

“For how many guests should I prepare,” Lady Aubrey corrected. “And ladies do not engage in the preparations. They instruct their housekeeper to see to the necessary arrangements. Twenty, I should think.”

Caroline stopped dead, her heart hammering against her ribs and her stomach heaving. “Twenty people?”

“I believe,” Lady Aubrey said coolly as she, too, came to a halt, “that is what I said.”

“Does that count include their servants?”

“Of course not.”

Oh, Lord, she was going to faint. Or worse, cry. She swallowed and dragged in two deep breaths before she had the wherewithal to ask, “How long will they be staying?”

Lady Aubrey gave her another of her strained smiles. “One does not ask such questions, Lady Caroline. It is
considered rude to imply that guests are ever expected to leave.”

They could be here forever. Twenty people. And if each brought just one servant . . . Add in a coachman and a footman and figuring that some of them might deign to make the trek two to a carriage . . . Sixty. Sixty people to be housed and fed. But it could just as easily be seventy. Or even eighty. Her chest tightening with burgeoning panic, she moistened her parched lips and asked, “If you don’t know when people are coming or going, how do you plan ahead for meals?”

“The staff is ordered to prepare for half again the number in residence and make adjustments as your guests’ plans evolve from day to day.”

“I see.” Not that it was a pleasant vision by any means. The amount of food it would take to feed that many people for just a couple of days was staggering. Was there enough in Ryland Castle’s storehouse to feed them even that long? When it ran out, where would they get more?

“
What
is
that
?”

Caroline cringed and then turned to follow the woman’s horrified gaze, half expecting to see a giant rat dancing a jig on the hall console. “
Who,
Lady Aubrey,” she corrected as her blood heated and her panic evaporated. “My sister Lady Simone.”

As Simone continued to happily fence with an imaginary opponent on her way toward the schoolroom, Lady Aubrey stammered, “Is she . . . she . . . ”

“Wearing trousers?” Caroline finished for her. “Yes. She’s never worn dresses and is having a bit of difficulty in making the transition to more feminine attire. This way to your room, please.”

“You allow her a choice?”

“Simone can be quite dangerous if provoked,” Caroline explained, leading the way down the hall and—not at all nicely—enjoying the woman’s distress. “It’s wise—not to mention much safer—to offer suggestions and bribes from a good distance and hope she’s in an accommodating mood.”

“Under no circumstances,” Lady Aubrey pronounced regally, “should she be allowed out of the schoolroom while you are entertaining guests.”

“I’ll see that Mrs. Miller is instructed to tie her up.”

“Is instructed to see that she is bound,” Lady Aubrey corrected, apparently unaware of Caroline’s sarcasm. “To end a sentence with a preposition is a glaring indication of a lack of proper education.”

Just get through this and get away.
“I’ll bear that in mind and make every effort to sound as educated as possible. I wouldn’t want any of Drayton’s guests to—”

“It is either ‘Lord Ryland’ or ‘his grace’ or ‘his lordship.’ Never his Christian name.”

“Of course.”

“While we are on the subject of proper grammar, Lady Caroline, I must point out that a lady does not use contractions in her speech. To do so is considered a sign of a lazy intellect.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” she said tightly as they reached the former violet room. “I shall bear that in mind also.” She opened the door and pushed it wide as she stepped aside, saying, “This will be your room, Lady Aubrey. I hope you find it comfortable. If you require anything, please let me know when you come down for tea.”

“I will,” Lady Aubrey said as she swept across the threshold.

I’m sure of it.
Caroline didn’t pull the door closed, didn’t offer a parting comment. She didn’t trust herself to do anything but walk away. As quickly as she could without breaking into a dead run. A week of Mother Aubrey’s constant criticism, followed by a possible eternity with twenty of her nearest and dearest friends . . . How very quickly and unexpectedly Paradise had become Hell.