The Heart Denied (23 page)

Thorne stood up and wrapped his line, tucking the hook safely away. "Here. Take my catch. 'Tisn't much, but with yours it might be worth keeping."

"Much obliged, sir." The boy tipped his cap.

"Good fishing," Thorne said with a nod. "See you at the press."

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Thorne could think of little but what the boy had told him, Caroline's arrival shoved to the back of his mind.Which of his wedding guests could be Hobbs' sister, and how was it possible? He recalled every female guest who'd stayed at Wycliffe Hall. None seemed a likely candidate. Could the boy be mistaken? It was hearsay, after all; he might have confused the facts. But only Henry or Hobbs could verify them.

And Henry was dead.

* * *

Stunning as ever, Caroline was warmer toward Thorne than he expected, though entirely proper.

The perfect actress.

Supper proved pleasant enough, but as an hour passed afterward in the drawing room, Thorne caught himself glancing at the adjoining library door. For the last three evenings, Elaine Combs had slipped into that room shortly after ten of the clock. As quiet as she was, he'd been keenly aware of her presence.

At half past nine, Gwynneth excused herself for the night. Thorne assumed Caroline would do the same, but she lingered on the velvet settee. Her posture seemed somehow languorous, catlike, and the moment the door had closed, she pounced--at least, verbally.

"You needn't feel obligated to stay with me."

Thorne's mouth quirked. "You're dismissing me?"

"'Tis of no consequence to me what you do with your time, or where you do it. This is your house. Stay or go as you please."

"Then I shall go," Thorne said pleasantly. "I've work waiting in the library."

Caroline shot up from the settee and, skirts awhirl, planted herself in front of the library doors. "You're not going anywhere, Thorne Neville."

"I'd have sworn you bade me stay or go as I pleased."

"You owe me."

"Owe you what?"

Her eyes narrowed, her bosom rising and falling more rapidly. "You know
bloody
well
what. Your behavior to me at the Townsend's was inexcusable. You'd no right to maul me-"

"Maul you?" Thorne scoffed, coming closer. "I only gave you what you wanted...what you've wanted since you first set eyes on me."

She gasped. "What a
cad
you are!"

"So I've been told. Quite recently, in fact."

"How
dare
you suggest I asked for such abominable treatment!" Her low voice trembled with indignation. She beat a fist on her bosom. "That
I,
who have just lost a dear husband, would even
think
to invite such attention from you...from
any
man!"

It was too much. Thorne's laughter rumbled up from deep within his chest.

Caroline flew at him, one arm thrown back to strike; he whipped out a hand and grabbed her by the wrist. She raised her other arm, but it too was caught with lightning speed.

She glowered at Thorne, her helpless fury finding no outlet but the tears that brimmed in the seething blackness of her eyes. "
I
hate
you
,"
she hissed, twisting and pulling in his relentless grip.

"Of course you do," he mocked, tightening his hold.

"You're hurting
me!" Her voice caught on an angry sob. "Let me go!"

"Admit it, Caroline.
Admit
it, damn you."

"What?" she cried softly, still struggling. "Admit what?"

Thorne yanked her to him, his face so close to hers he could feel his own breath; he ground his words through his teeth. "That you've deliberately teased and tormented
me, time after time, hour after hour, day after day for weeks on end. That you've done everything short of throwing yourself at me. That you want me," he said with a growl, giving her a little shake to squelch her indignant protest. "
Have
wanted me, in your bed and in your grasp from the start...admit it, Caroline.
Say
it."

"
No
!" She shut her eyes against his burning glare and shook her head. "You're wrong, I never did."

"Look at me and tell me that," he rasped.

"No," she murmured. But as he kept his unforgiving hold on her trembling arms, she opened her eyes...and whimpered at what she saw in his.

The sound deepened to a vanquished moan as Thorne's open mouth struck hers with such force that he tasted blood. Neither knowing nor caring whose it was, he crushed her against him, still holding her arms behind her bent back as he plundered and pillaged her lush mouth with a rapier-like tongue.

His fingers loosened on her wrists, then released them, one hand going to the small of Caroline's back and the other cupping her skull to press her into the onslaught of his kiss. Immediately he realized he'd underestimated her.

He sensed her arms upraising, her fingers hooking to claw at his face--and chose that moment to glide his hands up and cup the the full curves of her bodice.

She gasped, her knees buckling. All at once she was clinging instead of pushing, clawing not his face but his back and shoulders, as she met the demands of his mouth in full measure, her heart beating wildly beneath the breast overflowing his right hand.

He had just caught her to him by her waist, when his eyes caught something else entirely--the soft glow of firelight beneath the library doors. He went stock-still.

Caroline opened her eyes, the naked hunger in them turning to hurt pride as she saw Thorne's transformed expression.

His hands slid down her arms. He turned his back on her and, pacing to a window, drew the back of his hand across his mouth--a futile effort to erase his folly. He turned swiftly at the sound of her brief, mocking laughter.

"And you wonder I should call you a cad," she taunted, her voice husky with unspent passion. She touched trembling fingers to her bleeding lip.

"No," he said hoarsely, and shook his head. "I don't wonder in the least."

He turned back to the window and waited, then heard the door latch release and catch. Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, he released a long breath and stared hollowly at his reflection.

He hardly recognized it.

* * *

Elaine looked up at the library mantel clock again. Apparently she was to have no company this evening.

And as quiet and respectfully distant as her companion would have been, she felt his absence with a depth and an ache that left her nearly ill.

"What a greasy, despicable man," Gwynneth muttered as the coach lurched forward on the road to Northhampton.

"Who?" Caroline demanded, halting her fan mid-stroke.

"The Earl of Whittingham. He and my father have come calling, after a fortnight in London doing heaven knows what. Which is why, when Thorne suggested I take you into Northhampton and shop for the day, I leapt at the chance to escape." Gwynneth shivered. "How that man looks at me with those beady black eyes, as if I were a prize thoroughbred on the block and he about to bid! Thank Providence they are leaving tomorrow."

"Did you say...Whittingham?"

"Yes, I--why Caroline, you are white as a sheet. What ails you?"

"Turn the coach 'round."

"Pardon?"

"Turn it 'round or I shall be sick on the spot."

Once inside the Hall, Gwynneth ordered an herbal concoction and some broth and took her friend up the service stairs. "Stop fussing," Caroline said. "'Tis nothing, I'll be fine in a day or so. Give your husband my regrets at supper."

Seeming delighted to learn Caroline was visiting and disappointed to be deprived of her company, Radleigh praised "the Widow Sutherland's" attributes to the earl. Lord Whittingham expressed polite regret at missing an introduction to the legendary society maven.

Radleigh retired early, and as Gwynneth followed soon after, Thorne found himself alone with the earl--all according to plan, he suspected. His suspicions were shortly confirmed. With little prodding, Lord Whittingham admitted that he had, "only because of a long acquaintance with Radleigh," recently provided additional capital for the viscount's gaming pursuits.

Thorne's expression turned stony. "I thought I'd made myself quite clear, my lord. I asked you, in the interest of your old friendship with my father, not to loan money to Radleigh again."

The earl shrugged. "I tried to discourage him, but he was certain luck would be with him at the tables. I had accompanied him"--he leaned forward and lowered his voice--"to a certain establishment the evening before...perhaps you know of it, the lovely home of Madame Claire DuFoire? All Radleigh's idea, of course." Lord Whittingham settled back in his chair and smiled crookedly. "One of Madame Claire's young protégés read his fortune in a teacup. Puffed him up a bit, you might say, in more ways than one." The earl chuckled, then sobered. "Alas, after a couple of wins, Lady Luck departed."

"Just how much damage did she leave behind?"

"Four-thousand seven-hundred sixty-three pounds."

Thorne arched his brow. "In one evening?"

"Over several evenings. Very persuasive Radleigh is, as you know. I happen to have the receipts with me."

"I thought you might. In my study, sir, if you please."

Thorne's study stayed ominously quiet but for the crackling fire and the scratching of his quill. Keeping the note in hand, he withdrew another document from the drawer. "You'll take no offense, I trust," he said as he handed the latter over to Lord Whittingham, "to my requiring your signature on this agreement I've prepared. Read it at your leisure. I've the entire evening if necessary."

"What's this?" The earl eyed it with obvious suspicion.

"Only your pledge that you will no longer serve as my father-in-law's moneylender."

Lord Whittingham reluctantly traded his signature for Thorne's note of payment.

"This is the second and last of these," Thorne warned. "Be advised that if Radleigh persuades you again, you'll find a suit on your hands."

"Beg pardon?"

"A lawsuit, my lord. I would bring you before the magistrate on charges of pandering, as well as for breach of contract."

"You would do no such thing!"

"Try me."

"Pandering?" Lord Whittingham's chin folded on itself as he drew back incredulously. "You'd be obliged to expose your father-in-law as a drunkard and a gambler, incapable of holding his own estate. Would you bring such infamy on your wife's family?"

"If it keeps you from bleeding me dry."

For a long moment the two men stared at one another, then Lord Whittingham blew out a sigh. "Well." He slapped the arms of his chair. "You are your father's son, I've no doubt of that."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

Lord Whittingham snorted, rising from his seat. "You'll excuse me, then. The hour grows late, and we must leave tomorrow."

"'Tis unfortunate you can stay no longer," Thorne said pleasantly, and rose to bow.

"Indeed," was Lord Whittingham's surly reply as he strode from the study.

* * *

Jerking awake, Thorne heard it again--a scream he recognized all too well.

He sprang from the study settee and ran into the great hall, then bounded up the stairs three at a time. Gwynneth met him in the gallery. She stood back as he pounded on Caroline's door.

"
Damnation
, Ashby, let me
in
!"

Again the scream sounded from within. Thorne rammed the door repeatedly with his shoulder. The old oak splintered under the stress. With two more teeth-gritting shoves, the latch and bolt hung useless.

Cowering in a corner, hair in wild disarray, Caroline clutched pieces of her ripped shift together at a shoulder. "Thank God you've come!" she cried, then pointed a quaking finger at the drapery folds between the bedchamber and the sitting room.

Thorne froze. Lord Whittingham had just stepped out from behind a velvet panel.

"What on earth...?" Gwynneth began, and then cried out, "Thorne, no!"

But his fist had already smashed into Lord Whittingham's face.

Blood sprayed from the earl's nose, while his lips split against his teeth. With surprising strength, he lunged at Thorne with a well-placed body punch, then found himself pinned to the floor.

"What," Thorne growled into his guest's florid face, "in bloody, blazing
hell
are you doing in these chambers?"

Lord Whittingham only wheezed and groaned, helpless beneath a knee-lock and the iron hand at his throat.

"
Answer me,
damn you!" Eyes blazing, Thorne tightened his grip on the earl.

"My lord." Gwynneth sounded shaken. "The man cannot speak while you're strangling him-"

"He's lucky I haven't slit his worthless throat," Thorne snarled, nevertheless relaxing his hold a bit. Lord Whittingham coughed, one hand under his dripping nose.

"Wet this." Thorne glanced about the room as he whipped a linen handkerchief from the earl's breast pocket and gave it to Caroline, whose wrapper now concealed her torn nightclothes. "Where the devil is that maid of yours?"

"I...I don't know...she was to spend the night on the chaise. She was here when I fell asleep-" Caroline broke off, but Thorne heard her whispered curse.

"I'll see if she's gone topstairs," Gwynneth said hastily, and fled the chamber.

Caroline wet the handkerchief at the washstand and held it out gingerly to Thorne, then withdrew a safe distance.

"Your visitor seems reluctant to talk," he told her grimly. "Suppose
you
tell me what the illustrious gentleman had on his mind. Did you let
him in?"

"Of course not! I was sleeping, though not very soundly, and I heard a noise. I opened my eyes, only to see
him
standing over me...God's teeth, what a fright!"

Thorne stood up without bothering to extend a hand to Lord Whittingham, who was still nursing his bleeding nose. "Did he hurt you?" he asked Caroline in a tight voice.

"No, but if I hadn't wakened when I did..." Eyes wide and brimming with tears, Caroline bit down on her swollen lip.

Thorne dragged his gaze off that ripe, forbidden fruit that he himself had bruised just hours ago. He turned on the earl, who was lurching to his feet. "I'll have the rest of this bizarre story from
you
, sir. How did you enter these chambers?"

"The door was unbolted," Lord Whittingham grumbled. "The missing maid, I suppose."

"And what the devil were you thinking when you let yourself in?" Thorne demanded, more incredulous by the second. "Were you sleepwalking? Did you somehow confuse my home with the brothel?"

"
Thorne
!" Gwynneth stood slack-jawed in the doorway. "
Please
, mind what you're saying! I couldn't find the maid," she told them. "Caroline, haven't you some notion where she's gone?"

Caroline's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I've a notion, all right. You might try the stables. Her head has been turned more than once by your stable master."

Gwynneth's face drained of what color it had, but Caroline had no time to wonder as Thorne broke in impatiently. "My lady, have Byrnes wake William, and then send him to the stables to inquire...no, on second thought I'll go myself--
after
our guest accounts for his actions."

If the Nevilles had been incredulous over the earl's behavior up to now, they were utterly stunned when he turned his beady eyes on Caroline and said with a sneer, "Well,
Mistress Sutherland
, shall we tell our host of our past acquaintance?"

Caroline drew herself up to her considerable height and gave Lord Whittingham a scathing look before meeting Thorne's stare. "This blackguard," she said with a shudder, "was once my husband."

Gwynneth gasped and made the Sign of the Cross. Thorne nearly did the same. "This," he said hoarsely, "is the perverse tyrant of whom you told me in London?" At Caroline's reluctant nod, he fixed Lord Whittingham with a glare of fast-building fury. "I suppose that, in your twisted mind, prior claim on the lady gives you the right to enter her chambers uninvited?"

"Lady!" Lord Whittingham seized on the word, then cackled like a crone. "She's
anything
but a lady, Neville, mark me."

More than his words were marked, as Thorne's fist undercut his jaw and sent him sprawling and sliding across the polished wood floor, where Lord Whittingham's skull met the plaster wall with a satisfying "thunk." Thorne turned to Gwynneth, who stared at him with hollow eyes. "Take Caroline to your chambers for the night."

"Very well...but then I shall accompany you to the stables."

He scowled. "What for?"

"Ashby is a woman," Gwynneth said, looking pale but resolute. "If you must confront her, I think it best I be there."

"Very well," Thorne muttered, "but be sure Caroline fastens the bolt on your chamber door. And put on some proper clothing." When the women had gone, he turned a jaundiced look on Lord Whittingham, who had struggled to his feet and was gingerly feeling his jaw.

"You needn't worry, I'll take my leave now," the earl said nervously. "I'll just wake Radleigh-"

"You will not go near my father-in-law. Not now, and in the interest of your good health, never again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Quite." Lord Whittingham indicated the door with a jerk of his head. "By your leave."

"Mine and everyone else's," Thorne said sharply. "I'll see you off myself."

* * *

"Hobbs, open the door."

Nothing sounded from within. Thorne glanced over his shoulder. "I think it best you wait here, my lady."

"I am a grown woman, my lord."

"A frightened one, I'd say, from the tremor in your voice. Get behind me, then."

He knocked sharply and listened again. This time he heard feet shuffling on the plank flooring. Someone drew the bolt, and the door slowly opened a crack.

Blinking in the light of the tallow candle he held, Tobias Hobbs ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Aye, M'lord?"

"Send the girl out."

"The girl, my lord?"

Thorne knew Gwynneth had moved out from behind him when he saw Hobbs' eyes shift and widen. "Ashby," Thorne said curtly. "Send her out, she's needed by her mistress." He was amazed to see Hobbs' cheeks turn ruddy. Perhaps bringing Gwynneth had been wise. Her presence seemed to embarrass the stable master.

The door shut again, practically in Thorne's face. Loud whispering ensued from the other side. Gwynneth looked about to faint. No doubt her morals were highly insulted. Thorne had no time to muse further as the door opened again and Ashby appeared with a sheepish expresion on her pretty face, her employer's shawl clutched tightly about her shoulders.

After leaving his ashen-faced wife in care of Byrnes, Thorne sent Caroline's maid topstairs to face her mistress' wrath. Back in bed, Thorne tried to sleep, but found it impossible after something struck him like a thunderbolt. When he had told Caroline about Lena, he had mentioned that Lena's father's pet name for her was Maddie. If indeed Caroline and Lord Whittingham were once married, why had Caroline failed to react? She was too bright not to have made the connection.

Then she must have known all along. The perfect actress, indeed. Thorne felt his anger rising. To think that he'd felt like such a cur for his behavior in the drawing room! He'd even planned to apologize at the first opportunity.