Historical Trio 2012-01 (9 page)

‘Seriously,’ Dominic said.

She gave a disgusted snort. ‘As what, may I ask?’

‘Should any ask for an explanation—’ his tone clearly implied that there were few who would dare ask the Earl of Blackstone for an explanation concerning any of his actions! ‘then I will suggest that you are my widowed and impoverished cousin—so many young women were left widowed after Waterloo. That you are newly arrived from the country on the morning coach, with the intention of staying with me at Blackstone House whilst I arrange a modest household for you in London.’

‘Without clothes or a maid?’ Caro scorned.

Dominic shrugged unconcernedly. ‘An impoverished widow cannot afford to employ a maid until I arrange for one, and your trunk will be delivered later today.’

She eyed him impatiently. ‘Does the Earl of Blackstone even have a widowed and impoverished cousin?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have
any
cousins?’

‘No.’

She eyed him quizzically. ‘Any family at
all
?’

‘Not a single one.’

Caro could not even imagine a life without her two sisters in it. Admittedly she had put a distance between them now, but it had been done in the knowledge that she could return to them as soon as Gabriel Faulkner had been convinced by Diana that none of the Copeland sisters had any intention of ever marrying him.

‘Do not waste any of your pity on me.’ Dominic’s tone was laden with warning as he obviously saw that emotion in her expression. ‘Having witnessed the complications that so often attend having close family members, I have come to regard my own lack of them as being more of a blessing rather than a deprivation.’

Could that really be true? Caro wondered with a frown. Could Dominic really prefer a life derelict of all family ties? A solitary life that allowed for only a few close friends, such as Lord Thorne?

She was given no more time to dwell on that subject or any other as the coach came to a halt, a glance outside revealing a large town house in an obviously fashionable district of London. Mayfair, perhaps. Or St James’s? Whatever its location, Blackstone House was a much grander house than any she had ever seen before.

Shoreley Hall was a rambling red-bricked house that had been erected for the first Earl of Westbourne in the sixteenth century. It had been built upon haphazardly by succeeding earls until it now resembled nothing more than a rambling monstrosity surrounded by several thousand acres of rich farmland.

In contrast, Dominic Vaughn’s home was of a mellow cream colour, four storeys high, with gardens all around covered in an abundance of brightly coloured spring flowers, the whole surrounded by a high black wrought-iron fence.

‘Caro?’

She had been so intent on the beauty of Blackstone House, so in awe of its grandeur, that she had not noticed that one of the grooms had opened the door and folded down the steps, and was now waiting for her to alight. ‘Thank you.’ She accepted the aid of the young man’s hand as she stepped down on to the pavement, Dominic’s obvious wealth making her more than ever aware of her own drab and unfashionable appearance.

Vanity, her sister Diana would have called it. And she would have been right. But that did not make Caro feel it any less!

Again, she was allowed no more time for protest as Dominic took a firm hold of her arm to pull her along beside him as he ascended the steps up to the front of the house. The door opened before they reached the top step—despite it being barely past dawn—by a footman in full livery. If he was in the least surprised to see his employer accompanied by a drably clothed young woman he introduced as his cousin, Mrs Morton, then the man did not show it.

The inside of Blackstone House was even grander than the outside, if that were possible—the floor of the entrance hall a beautiful mottled green-and-cream marble, with four alabaster pillars either side leading to the wide staircase and up to a gallery that surrounded the whole of the first floor. High above them, suspended from a domed and windowed ceiling, a beautiful crystal chandelier glittered and shone in the sunlight. Caro had every expectation that the rest of Dominic’s home would be just as beautiful.

‘Would you take Mrs Morton up to the Green Suite, Simpson?’ Dominic ignored Caro’s awestruck expression as he turned to address the butler who had now appeared in the entrance hall. ‘And provide her with whatever refreshment she requires.’ He turned away with the obvious intention of passing her into the care of the servants.

‘My lord!’

He was frowning slightly as he turned. ‘What is it now?’

She nervously ran the tip of her tongue across her lips before answering him. ‘I—you recall my trunk will not be arriving until later today…’

Dominic’s frown deepened at this further delay. ‘I am sure that Simpson will be only too happy to provide you with anything that you require.’ He nodded abruptly to the attending butler before turning on his heel and striding down the hallway to where his study was situated at the back of the house.

Dominic needed time in which to think. Time, now that both he and Caro were safely ensconced in Blackstone House, in which to try to make some sense of everything that had occurred during these past few hours.

And unfortunately, he recognised darkly, he was unable to think in the least bit clearly whilst in Caro Morton’s company…

It was Caro’s indignation at the abruptness of Dominic’s departure that helped her through the next few minutes, as she was shown up to a suite of rooms on the first floor, that indignation not in the least mollified by the delightful private sitting room that adjoined the spacious bedchamber. Both rooms were decorated in a warm green and cream—the reason it was named the Green Suite, no doubt!—with cream furniture in the sitting room and a matching four-poster in the bedchamber, the latter surrounded by the same beautiful cream-brocade curtains that hung at the huge windows overlooking the front of the house and the square beyond.

Yes, it was all incredibly beautiful, she acknowledged once she had been left alone with warm water in which to wash, and a maid had delivered a pot of fresh tea to revive her flagging spirits. But the beauty of her surroundings did not change the fact that she should not be here.

Running away to London and posing as Caro Morton in order to avoid her guardian’s marriage proposal was one thing, but chancing the possibility of ever being found out as Lady Caroline Copeland was something else entirely, and had certainly never entered into any of her hastily made plans.

It was not a part of her plans now, either. Just because Dominic had chosen to bring her here, supposedly for her own protection, did not mean that she had to remain. As such, she would escape at the first opportunity—

‘I would seriously advise against it…’

Caro was so surprised to hear the softness of Dominic’s voice behind her that she almost dropped the cup she had been nursing in her hands. As it was, some of the hot tea tipped and spilled over her fingers as she turned to find him lounging in the open doorway of the sitting room. ‘Advise against what, may I ask?’ she demanded crossly even as she placed the cup back in its saucer before inspecting her scalded fingers.

‘What have you done now?’ The concern could be heard in the deep timbre of Dominic Vaughn’s voice as he threw something down on a chair before striding across the bedchamber towards her.

She turned to glare at him at the same time as she clasped her hands tightly together behind her back. ‘What have
I
done?
You
were the one who startled me into spilling my tea!’

‘Let me see your hands.’ Those silver eyes glowered down at her even as he reached behind her to easily pull her hands apart before bringing them both forward for his minute inspection.

Caro’s protest died in her throat as she saw how pale and tiny her hands looked as he cradled them gently in his much larger ones. He was also standing far too close to her, she realised a little breathlessly, the light from the candelabra giving his hair that blue-black sheen as he bent over her so attentively, his strong and handsome face appearing all savagely etched hollows and sharp angles in the candlelight.

‘Why are you here, Dominic?’

‘Why?’ He could no longer remember the reason why as he felt his response to the way she spoke his name so huskily; his chest felt suddenly tight, his arousal stirring, rising, inside his pantaloons. ‘It was certainly not with the intention of hurting you,’ he murmured ruefully as he lifted her hand to sweep the moistness of his tongue soothingly over that slightly reddened skin, even as he looked up and held her gaze captive.

‘I—it was an accident.’ Her lips were slightly parted as she breathed shallowly.

‘One that would not have happened if I had not startled you,’ he apologised ruefully as he continued to stroke his tongue against her silky soft skin.

The slenderness of her throat moved convulsively. ‘I—I believe my hand is feeling better now, my lord.’ But she made no effort to release her fingers from either Dominic’s hand or the attentions of his lips and tongue.

She tasted…delicious, he recognised achingly as he placed delicate kisses between each individual finger, a combination of lightly scented soap and the natural saltiness of her skin, the trembling of her hand as he held it gently in the palm of his an indication of the pleasure she felt from his caressing attentions.

Dominic’s thighs ached now, throbbed, his arousal more engorged and swollen just from the eroticism of kissing Caro’s fingers than he had ever known it to be under the ministrations of the most accomplished of courtesans.

She had removed her bonnet and cloak since he’d last seen her, several golden curls having escaped the confinement of the pins designed to keep them in place, those curls shining like the clearest gold in the mellow candlelight. Her eyes had grown dark and misty, her cheeks slightly flushed, the full swell of her lips slightly parted as if waiting to be kissed.

She snatched her hands from his now before stepping back, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘I believe we are already agreed that I have no intention of ever becoming your mistress, my lord.’

Dominic drew in several deep and controlling breaths as he acknowledged he had once again fallen under the sensuous spell of this woman. A woman who refused to tell him anything about herself other than her name—and he suspected even that was a fabrication!

He gave a slight shake of his head as he straightened. ‘It would appear, Caro, because Butler and Jackson make no effort to hide their admiration of you, that you are under the misapprehension that every man you meet must necessarily be as smitten as they are,’ he drawled mockingly.

Caro’s cheeks flushed a fiery red at the accusation. ‘Of course I am not—’

‘Perhaps that is as well.’ He looked down the length of his arrogant nose at her with those pale and glittering eyes. ‘I assure you, my own jaded tastes require a little more stimulation than the touch of a woman’s fingers—moreover, a woman with an eye for fashion that would surely make even a nun weep!’ That silver gaze raked over her critically.

Caro had no idea why, but she felt that he was being deliberately harsh with her. Not that this green gown was not as unbecoming as the brown one she had worn the night before, because she knew that it was. But that had been the purpose in buying them, had it not? Besides, Dominic had not seemed to find her gown so awful when he’d made love to her earlier! ‘I chose my gowns to suit myself, my lord, and not you,’ she said calmly.

‘Your choices are deplorable.’ His top lip curled. ‘I will arrange for a dressmaker to visit you later today. Hopefully she will have some suitable day dresses already made that can easily be altered to fit you, but you will also need to choose some materials for an evening gown or two.’ He scowled. ‘If I must have you as a guest in my home for the next few days, then I can at least ensure you are a decorative one.’

‘I am your unwilling guest, remember?’

Dominic shrugged. ‘Your reasons for being here are not important—what is far more pressing is not having the delicacy of my senses constantly offended by your drab appearance, even for the short time you will reside here!’ He was being deliberately cruel, he knew. Because he had not cared earlier, or even a few minutes ago, how unbecoming Caro’s gown was, or even who she might be; he had only been interested in the alluring curves of the silken body he knew lay beneath that gown.

Those sea-green eyes sparkled up at him angrily now. ‘You are offensive, sir!’

He looked completely unaffected by her annoyance. ‘If you choose to find the truth offensive, then who am I to argue?’ He turned to walk over to the door, coming to a halt halfway across the room as the garment he had thrown on the chair earlier drew his attention. ‘In view of your earlier reticence, it occurred to me that you might feel uncomfortable asking Simpson to find you something suitable in which to sleep, and so I brought you this.’ He indicated the white robe draped across the chair.

The thought was a kind one, Caro acknowledged—the offhand method of bestowing that kindness was not! Any more than she appreciated having Dominic Vaughn arrange for a dressmaker to call on her here later today. ‘I cannot possibly—’ She broke off abruptly as she recalled this man’s scathing comment earlier when she’d stated what she could and could not allow. ‘I am afraid, where my gowns are concerned, that your “delicate senses” will just have to continue to be offended, my lord!’