Lord of the Rakes (9 page)

F
iona had already spent months assembling her trousseau. This had not dimmed her enthusiasm for shopping in the least. Although Caroline intended to purchase a new wardrobe when she reached Paris, Fiona persuaded her that she needed at least some new things for her time in London. Caroline did have to acknowledge that much of what she owned was either country-plain, or several seasons out of date. Fiona also pointed out that Caroline should become acquainted with at least some of London’s better modistes. They, in turn, could furnish her with the names of those dressmakers in Paris who were the first stare of fashion.

Caroline found herself forced to agree this was a sensible outlook. So she and Fiona spent the afternoon in the sitting rooms of various dressmakers and milliners. They perused pattern cards and discussed the merits of satin or velvet ribbons, as well as the comparative virtues of antique as opposed to new lace. New dresses quite naturally required new gloves, fans, and shoes, so a thorough exploration of the shops in Bond Street was also called for.

Caroline had been afraid the purveyors of London fashion would be put off by her current countrified and made-over clothing. Appearing beside the thoroughly respectable and well-financed Fiona Rayburn, however, did wonders to ensure an enthusiastic reception. That welcome became even more fulsome as it became understood that Caroline’s own purse was full enough to allow her to accompany any orders with immediate partial payment.

She was even more grateful for the distraction caused by the bustle and Fiona’s energetic presence. It helped keep her mind off the fact that the day was wearing on and evening approaching. Evening and nighttime and ten o’clock, the hour Philip had promised to come to her. And she still was not entirely certain what she meant to do. She knew what she wanted to do. She had all her reasons lined up neatly in her mind, and yet uncertainty remained.

Finally, the carriage reached Caroline’s door and the packages not left to be delivered later had been unloaded into the arms of Mrs. Ferriday and Nancy, the new parlormaid. Caroline climbed out and turned to say farewell to her friend.

Fiona seized her hand and pressed it. “Caroline . . . whatever you do decide about Philip Montcalm and whatever comes of it . . . you know I will remain your friend.”

“I never doubted it for an instant, Fi,” she replied. They both of them meant exactly what they said. At the same time Caroline knew Fiona was hoping hard to hear her say she’d changed her mind, that she would not be seeing Philip Montcalm this night, or any other night.

Her friend’s hope combined with her own doubts to haunt her as she let Mrs. Ferriday help her out of her walking costume and into a simple green-and-white housedress with a gold wrapper to protect against drafts. It remained with her as she toyed with the excellent dinner of roast partridge stuffed with raisins and new potatoes that Cook had created.

It had not left her by nine o’clock, when Caroline told Mrs. Ferriday she could go to bed and would not be wanted anymore that evening.

“Are you sure, my lady?” Mrs. Ferriday asked.

Caroline thought of Philip before she answered. She thought of his smile filled with promises. She remembered the sweet ache that filled her when she kissed him, and the breathtaking sensation as his tongue parted her lips. She thought of the thrill that sang in her blood as she felt her wrist bound to his hand, and of the power of his body, and how he invited her to touch, to trust, and to take.

“Yes,” she’d answered then. “I’m sure.”

But now that she stood at her window, watching for Philip’s arrival, Caroline found all her doubts had returned, in force. It was exasperating. Why could she not make up her mind? She wanted to experience flirtation, passion, excitement—all the things she had been denied while she remained trapped in her father’s house. Given that, beginning her career as an independent lady with an English gentleman was perfectly reasonable. After Fiona’s wedding, she planned to leave for the Continent. There, the men were said to be far more sophisticated and sensual. It was advisable to have at least some experience at managing her own passions before she met them.

But if Caroline were honest with herself, she did know what the problem was. It was not simply that Philip Montcalm was a stranger, or a notorious rake. Neither was it that she ran the risk of absolute ruin if anyone besides Fiona found out he had visited her after dark. It was that she didn’t know for certain she could manage her passions.

Caroline had expected the feelings that resulted from physical relations with a man to be pleasant. She’d even suspected they might be strong, but not like this. The feelings Philip Montcalm aroused in her were enticing, overwhelming, and bewildering all at once. Just being near him threatened her ability to control thought and action. When he touched her, when he kissed her, all idea of her restraint was driven right out of her.

But it was more than that. Philip had proven himself to be undeniably attractive to her, and shown that he could command her sensual obedience with the softest of whispers. Inexperienced she might be, but Caroline had wit enough to see this combination was dangerous beyond description. She did not mean to put herself in any man’s power ever again. If she could not maintain control of her body’s passions, how could she maintain control of her new life and freedom? Could she truly risk the temptation Philip Montcalm represented?

This was the fear that lingered all through the slow evening in her quiet house as she moved about her room and the spare bedroom. It stayed beside her now as she laid her palm against the cold window.
It seems I am not done with standing and staring after all,
she thought with a rueful grin. Rain drummed against the glass and turned the lights of the other houses to dim white blurs. The carriage traffic had thinned. The few pedestrians crossing the cobbles were men in a hurry, with heads bowed and coats wrapped close.

Will he even come?
she wondered as she looked out at the rain and those anonymous figures.
What will I do if he doesn’t?

What will I do if he does?

 • • • 

It was not a night conducive to romance.

The day had been interminably slow and dull. Then the rain had begun around the dinner hour and showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Philip pulled his sodden hat farther down his head and cursed his decision to walk these last few blocks. He had not wanted to risk his carriage being seen and recognized near Lady Caroline’s door. Now he found the rain going a fair way to drowning his spirits along with his boots.

Would she even be there? She might easily have changed her mind, or have never truly meant to admit him to her house at all. Perhaps she only wanted a moment with the Lord of the Rakes to confide to her diary and the women of her set, whoever those might be.

Philip cursed his cynical mind, and the rain, for giving rise to these unworthy thoughts. If Caroline did not open her door, it would not be for any reason so shallow and self-serving. He remembered her deep eyes, her open laughter, her honesty. Whatever she decided, the choice would come from that same honest heart.

Philip stepped into yet another puddle and cursed again. He squinted at the house numbers. The rain and zealous servants had extinguished most of the lamps beside the doorways. Was that number ten, or number eleven? He couldn’t tell. Had he come the right way at all?

Then he saw a flash of firelight overhead. It came from the second floor of the house in front of him. There, silhouetted by the flickering warmth, he saw a woman holding back the drapes so she could look down into the street.

It’s her.

 • • • 

It’s him.
Caroline’s breath caught in her throat as the man lifted his face toward her window. She could not see his features clearly, but she did see him lift his hand to his breast and bow.

It was Philip. It must be. His gallant gesture made her smile. The doubts and fears that had crowded around so closely eased back, just a little. As she watched, Philip sauntered up to the gate that led to her narrow back garden. He looked sharply left and right and swung his long legs over the gate as neatly as any schoolboy.

He was heading for the back door so that he would not be seen entering her house from the street. That was considerate of him. But then, he’d probably done this sort of thing dozens of times. Perhaps hundreds.

Now you’re just being silly,
Caroline told herself as she took up the lamp.
It could not be hundreds
.

And yet, as she made her way downstairs, she could not help picturing Philip in a crowd of beautiful women. All of them reached out to stroke and caress him, but he made his way effortlessly among them. He held out his hand for her, and only for her. The vision left her heated and short of breath as she pushed open the door to the cold, dark kitchen.

But when Caroline reached the back door, she hesitated yet again. She cursed herself as rudely as she knew how, but the hesitation remained. The moment she opened this last door, she would place herself entirely in Philip Montcalm’s power. He could destroy the thin veil of her reputation with a single word spoken at the wrong time.

But there would be no second chance with him, she felt certain of it. Philip would not come again. He might test her willingness, but he would not chase her. She could not have said how she knew this, but she was sure of it nonetheless.

If she wanted to experience what passion Philip Montcalm had to offer, all she had to do was open the door. If this was folly, if she wanted to escape and sacrifice the chance of passion to keep the certainty of freedom, then she simply had to leave it closed.

With one trembling hand, Caroline reached out. The latch was cold beneath her fingertips. Slowly, she undid the lock and opened the door.

And there was Philip. The lamplight caught in his golden hair and the soft smile on his sculpted face sent sparks of desire dancing beneath her skin. Caroline backed away, almost involuntarily. Night air blew in around him, pressing her wrapper and housedress tight against her belly and thighs. Raindrops scattered from Philip’s caped coat as he stepped across the threshold. More drops scattered from his tall hat as he swept it off and bowed.

She opened her mouth. After sending Mrs. Ferriday to bed, Caroline had rehearsed an entire series of light bons mots for this moment. But Philip lifted his hand and laid one finger against her lips. His glove was cold from being out of doors. Caroline inhaled the scents of leather and rainwater. Her heart beat like a drum at this impertinent, intimate touch and yet all she did was close her mouth, the better to brush her lips against his finger and brighten the vivid longing that even this small touch aroused. It was also sensible to remain quiet at this moment, Caroline realized, as Cook and her girl were asleep in their rooms nearby, an arrangement Philip would surely be familiar with from his experience entering through other back doors. This thought dimmed the fire in her just the smallest amount, but Caroline simply nodded her understanding. Philip lifted his hand away, but not before he traced the line of her mouth while his face glowed with approval and delight.

He held out his hand for her to take. Caroline laid her palm against his, savoring afresh the strength of his hand as he wrapped his fingers securely around hers. He looked inquiringly toward the dark interior of the kitchen, and Caroline blushed. Of course, he was waiting for her to show him the way.

It was another step from which she could never retreat. Another point where she could choose to stop all this madness and turn Philip away. Fi was right. She did not have to throw herself off this particular cliff to be happy, to remain free.

Caroline drew Philip’s hand closer and led him into her home.

If she’d intended to stay in town, Caroline never would have dared to set up an independent establishment. She might be of an age at which one was normally considered an old maid, but money changed the perception of a woman’s desirability, and thus changed the requirements for chaperonage. Mrs. Ferriday’s presence was at best a fig leaf of propriety. Fi was indeed correct when she said Caroline’s arrangement would not sit well with the matrons who ruled society for long. But as she meant to leave right after Fiona’s wedding, Caroline had decided to take the risk and rent a house in a good, although not eminently fashionable neighborhood.

A flight of narrow steps led up from the kitchen to a green baize door. Despite his Hessian boots, Philip’s tread was absolutely silent as they passed under the threshold and into the tiled foyer. Anticipation, curiosity, fear, doubt, excitement, all these emotions and more warred in Caroline’s breast as she moved toward the graceful main stair.

“Wait,” murmured Philip.

Caroline turned. They had paused at the point where the moonlight shone through the transom window above the front door. Painted light and cold shadow remade the flesh-and-blood Philip into some spirit from an ancient tale. In that moment he appeared as a beautiful demon, come to tempt the unwary woman foolish enough to stand alone in the moonlight with him.