Leslie Lafoy (29 page)

With no signs of an answer stumbling from the recesses of his mind, Drayton shook his head, muttered, “When in doubt, don’t,” and deliberately laid it aside.

REVELING IN THE SOLITUDE, CAROLINE ATE THE LAST
two biscuits on the tray, washed them down with tepid tea and then set her cup and saucer on the cart. Fighting off a huge yawn and sternly telling herself that she didn’t have the luxury of time for a nap, she rose to her feet and turned to face the parlor doors. Mrs. Gladder had said fifteen rooms would be sufficient for twenty guests. Fifteen divided by seven was . . . was . . . God, her brain was so overwhelmed, so tired that she couldn’t even do simple arithmetic.

She closed her eyes, trying to see the problem on an imaginary slate. Two, with some left over. Two rooms a day on average. Possible. If they worked and slept in carefully orchestrated shifts, if there weren’t any surprises or problems. But all it would take was one thing going wrong and the chances—

“Is teatime over already?”

Drayton.
She opened her eyes to find him standing halfway between the door and the tea cart. “Yes,” she said, giving him all of a smile she could muster as she moved toward him. “Would that it never have happened at all.”

“But it had to, sooner or later,” he replied, his smile soft, beckoning. “And you established yourself as the mistress of Ryland Castle without direct insult or bloodshed. I’m very impressed.”

“You didn’t do at all badly yourself,” she pointed out as she stopped in front of him.

“I rather enjoyed it.” His smile slowly faded as his gaze searched hers. “I suppose,” he said quietly, almost sadly, “you’re off to strip wallpaper and tear down more curtains.”

She nodded. “And roll up rugs, dress down beds, and organize the painters and paper hangers.”

“Do you ever think of me as you race hither and yon?”

“Never.”

One dark brow cocked upward. “Really,” he drawled.

She knew what he was going to do and, in defense of her good judgment, it did suggest that she step beyond his reach and then bolt for the rear of the house. But she chose not to listen to it, chose not to run from the momentary comfort and pleasure he was offering. As his arms slipped around her waist, she stepped into him, twined hers around his neck and tilted her face up for his kiss.

His possession was no less thorough, no less melting for its gentleness. A spark ignited in her core and instantly grew to a hunger that burned in every fiber of her body, that moaned in frustration as he lifted his mouth slowly from hers and whispered, “Do you think of me?”

“Constantly,” she whimpered as he kissed her eyelids. “Most inappropriately.”

“Where are Aubrey and his mother?” he asked, laying a burning trail of kisses to her ear.

“Walking the gardens.”

“Where’s Dora?”

“Guest wing,” she supplied breathlessly, her body aching.

“I promised myself,” he said, easing back and deliberately taking her arms from his neck, “that I wasn’t going to give you a choice the next time I found you alone.”

“But you are?” she asked as her mind cried,
I choose you.

He nodded. “Your bed or mine.”

Her heart soared. “Right now?”

His grin was instant and went from ear to ear as a wicked light danced in his eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I’m willing if you are. Would you prefer the floor, the settee, or on the tea cart?”

“Not here!”
On the floor or the settee. The tea cart rolls.
“I meant going upstairs now.”

“I like the idea of right here.”

Oh, God, so did she. Tremendously. “They’ll come back at any moment,” she said, her heart racing and core pulsing. “Our gardens aren’t very big.”

“Then it’s your bed or mine. Decide.”

“Yours.”

“Just for the sake of appearances,” he said, grinning as he released her and stepped back, “I’ll give you a minute’s head start.”

She nodded and turned. And had taken all of three steps toward the promise of satisfaction when she heard familiar voices in the foyer. She stopped dead in her tracks, her heart twisting and her spirit withering.

“Son of a—”

“Bitch,” she quietly finished for him as tears welled along her lashes. Through the shimmer she saw the two dark shapes step into the frame of the parlor doorway. Not daring to look back at Drayton, she dragged a ragged breath into her lungs and willed the tears to dry.

“Lady Caroline,” Mother Aubrey said, “a woman’s reputation is her most valuable possession. As the sponsor of your formal presentation and the coming Season, I must insist that you never let yourself be found alone in the company of a man. Not that I am in any respect implying that your behavior is untoward, your grace.”

“Of course,” he said tightly. With, no doubt, a formal, perfunctory little bow.

“Lady Caroline, perhaps now would be a good time to introduce me to your sisters.”

Caroline nodded, forcing a smile on her face and her feet to move. It didn’t do any good to resent Lady Aubrey, she reminded herself as she led the way to the schoolroom. Neither did it accomplish anything to resent the expectations and requirements of her new life. No, the only useful purpose for her anger was to use it to shore up her resolve to find a way around it all.

  Fifteen  

CAROLINE SCRUBBED HER HANDS OVER HER FACE AND
then blinked at the yardage computations again, hoping that they’d make sense this time. They didn’t, not any more than they had any other time she’d stared at them in the last five minutes. She expelled a long, slow breath, trying to collect her mind and make it focus on the task at hand. It refused, again.

God, if only the imaginings weren’t so good. Her pulse had been skittering for the last two hours. Her entire body ached from the strain of it, and deep in the center of her chest there was a bubble of something that felt almost like panic. Common sense had insisted that it would go away if she forced her attention outside herself. It had also promised that her fantasies would fade away, her heart would slow, and she’d get a great deal of work done. So far, common sense had been ladling out of a crock.

The rattle of keys announced Mrs. Gladder’s return to the sewing room and the arrival of a much appreciated distraction. “And?” Caroline asked as the housekeeper came to her side.

“The last of the wallpaper is down and being hauled out for burning. The walls are being painted in three rooms
and repapered in three more. The rest are in varying stages of being cleaned and aired and readied for either paper or paint.”

Fabulous news. All of it. Which really bordered on being too good to be true. “Was there any plaster damage in removing the paper?”

“Only a slight bit that will be fully repaired before the hour is out and sufficiently dry to paper over in the morning.”

“Then we’re ahead of schedule.”

Mrs. Gladder smiled and very sweetly said, “Yes, we are.”

“Just as you predicted,” Caroline allowed, chuckling and relieved that it was all going well enough that she could admit that her fears had been unfounded. Why she wasn’t thrilled and delighted by the situation, though . . .

“You should be dressing for dinner soon, madam.”

Dinner with Drayton. Unfortunately also with Aubrey, and his mother. “I really don’t have the time for such things.” She looked back down at the drapery sketch and the measurements. “For the life of me, I can’t calculate the yardage on these jabots.”

“We’ll manage it without you.”

No doubt better and more quickly; her total contribution this evening had been to simply take up space in the workroom. “It’s a terrible thing to be dispensable, you know.”

“You are hardly unneeded, madam,” the housekeeper assured her. “But I truly believe that you would be better served to play the hostess for an hour or two.”

“Which would be your polite and indirect way of saying that one must defend the rules once they’ve been established?”

Mrs. Gladder smiled. “One should never surrender the field either too soon or too confidently.”

“Point taken,” Caroline said, nodding. Gathering her skirts in her hands, she headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I reasonably can.”

“There is no need to hurry, madam.”

Well, yes there was, but it didn’t have anything to do with paint, wallpaper or draperies. If she hurried, she might find Drayton in his room dressing for dinner and willing to be sidetracked for a few minutes. If she had to go through the next few hours trying to suppress the bubble in her chest at the same time she had to make polite conversation with Lady Aubrey . . .

“Just in case,” she said, pausing on the threshold and looking back over her shoulder. “Could you come to the parlor around ten with a question of some sort?”

The housekeeper smiled knowingly. “One that requires you to leave it to make a considered appraisal of the situation.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gladder. You’re a godsend.”

As the woman chuckled, Caroline resumed her course. She managed a sedate pace all the way to the front of the house and even up the staircase, but once her foot touched the upstairs carpet, anticipation broke through the dam of reserve. Her skirts fisted in her hands, she dashed down the hall to her room. Two seconds after closing the door behind herself she was standing in the doorway of Drayton’s.

His clothes—the ones he wore when out riding—lay in a neat heap at the foot of his bed, a soggy bathing sheet atop them. The woodsy scent of his shaving cologne lingered in the air to taunt her. Fighting back a wave of frustrated tears, she turned on her heel and went back to her
own room to get ready for what she knew was going to be the most miserable evening she’d ever had to endure.

THE FLASH OF BLUE AT THE EDGE OF HIS VISION BROUGHT
Drayton’s attention up from the glass of whiskey in his hand. Caroline. Coming down the stairs. God, he had the fondest memories of that blue satin evening gown. He glanced over at the mantel clock and then back to Caroline, wondering just how adventurous she was feeling. Not very, he guessed, noting the tilt of her chin and the thin line of her mouth as she crossed the foyer and headed toward him. Then again, with the proper plying, cajoling, temptation . . .

He met her at the threshold, handing her his whiskey and saying, “You look like you could use a good bracing.”

She glanced at the amber spirits for a second and then up at him. Something—anger? frustration?—sparked in her dark eyes as she arched a brow. Her lips parted. And then she drew a deep breath and deliberately looked away to ask, “Where are the others?”

“Still dressing for dinner,” he supplied, trying to fathom her mood. “You missed passing them on the stairs by less than a minute.”

“What? They’ve left us unchaperoned?”

Resentment. And so tense she was close to tears. “For at least the next fifteen minutes,” he assured her. He had two ways to go; the first would leave her thinking he was a kind and sensitive man and the second leaving her not thinking at all.

“If only it were twenty,” she said morosely, taking a huge drink of the whiskey.

As she gasped and shuddered, Drayton smiled and stepped behind her. “As inspired as I’ve been the last few
hours,” he whispered against her ear as he reached around her to cup her breasts, “I can do quite a lot with just ten. Would you like for me to prove it?”

“This isn’t wise,” she murmured, leaning back into his chest.

Nibbling her earlobe, he asked, “But it is ever so enjoyable, isn’t it?” as, beneath the satin, her nipples hardened to tease his palms. He kissed his way down to the creamy curve of her shoulder, delighting in the sanction of her soft sighs. Sliding one hand under the edge of her bodice, he caught a hardened nub between his fingers. His other hand slipped down over the flat of her midriff to the hem of the ruched panel. “Tell me how much you want me to stop.”

“I should.”

“But you can’t,” he told her, moving back to her ear as he continued to tease her nipple with one hand and began to open the hidden buttons with the other.

She moaned quietly and melted closer against him. Turning her head, she grazed his lips with hers and raggedly whispered, “The doors. Someone could see us.”