Julie Garwood (16 page)

“I exaggerated,” Caroline admitted. “I would like you to escort Charity and me to Paul Bleachley’s home and help us gain admittance.”

Bradford shook his head, sorry that he had to deny her. “Paul would never agree.”

“No, you do not understand,” Caroline argued. She stood up and began to pace. “In fact, it is quite imperative that Paul not know we are coming. Of course he would say no! My plan is to take him by surprise.” She stopped in front of Bradford and smiled. “It’s really very simple,” she said. When Bradford frowned anew, Caroline found herself growing frustrated. Her father would be there any minute and she wanted to get the arrangements completed before. She put her hands on her hips. “My plan,” she explained. “I am only thinking of my cousin … and Paul, too. I am doing what is best for both of them.”

That statement got a reaction. Bradford actually started laughing. “And only you know what is best for them?” he asked when he had gained control of himself.

“You are always laughing at me,” Caroline muttered,
despair sounding in her voice. She heard her father coming down the steps and rushed, “Please agree. You must trust me, Bradford. I really do know what I’m doing. It would be a considerate thing to do!”

Caroline realized that she sounded like she was begging. Her back straightened and she gave Bradford what she hoped was a firm look. “I won’t be swayed, only delayed,” she whispered. Those were Bradford’s very words to her the night before, though the subject was of a different nature.

The earl entered the receiving room and smiled. Bradford was laughing and Caroline looked quite pleased with herself.

The next hour was spent in casual conversation. Caroline’s father had no intention of leaving before Bradford, and Caroline couldn’t think of a way to get the duke alone.

Both father and daughter walked with Bradford to the entryway. “I’ll look forward to receiving a note from you,” Caroline said as a hint. “No later than tomorrow morning,” she added, “or I will be forced to make other arrangements.”

“Are you going to Claymere’s bash tonight?” the earl asked Bradford. “It should prove an interesting evening. Little Clarissa is to play the spinet and her sister is going to sing.”

Bradford couldn’t think of anything more amusing. “I’m going to wear Cook’s apron so that the viscount won’t ruin my gown,” Caroline interjected. Her father shot her a look that told her the remark was not the thing, and Caroline lowered her eyes in embarrassment. She really must learn to keep her mouth shut, she thought. Heavens, was she becoming a chatterbox like Charity, telling her every thought?

Bradford appreciated her jest. “Both Milford and I will be in attendance,” he promised even as he wondered how he would twist an invitation out of Claymere. He knew the viscount wanted to court Caroline.
He couldn’t allow it, of course. No one was going to have Caroline Richmond but Jered Marcus Benton.

“Does every party begin past bedtime?” Caroline asked her father. She yawned. The rocking motion of the enclosed carriage lulled her into a sleepy state.

“You’re an early riser,” Charity remarked. “I slept until noon and feel wonderful,” she added. “Caroline, do pinch your cheeks again. You look pale.”

Caroline complied, yawning once again.

“I believe you will both enjoy yourselves tonight,” the earl announced. “The Claymeres are a fine family. Did I tell you that the viscount’s little sisters are going to perform for us?”

Caroline nodded. She closed her eyes for the rest of the journey and listened to the conversation that flowed between her father and her cousin. Charity was in a fine pitch, since Bradford’s note had arrived earlier in the evening. The note was scrawled in a bold style and was to the point. He wrote that he would arrive at ten in the morning and would escort Charity and Caroline to Bleachley’s. His last line asked, “Is that considerate enough for you?”

Once Caroline had received Bradford’s help, she explained the situation to her father. He agreed to allow her to go, but added that she was to be back by one o’clock so that they could go to her uncle’s home for afternoon tea.

Bradford hadn’t arrived before them, and Caroline was disappointed. The viscount kept her busy and wide awake. He stepped on her toes more than once and his apologies were more painful than the injury. He simply didn’t know when to stop, and his kindness drove Caroline to distraction.

Bradford arrived just minutes before the recital began. Caroline was seated in the back row, with Charity on one side and her father on the other. It wasn’t an accidental arrangement. Caroline had forced
both of them down beside her so that the viscount would have to sit elsewhere.

Little Clarissa turned out to be a good fifty pounds overweight. She took a long while getting ready and then began to play, again and again, until Caroline lost count of the number of beginnings. The poor girl was trying her best but that proved only adequate. Caroline closed her eyes and tried to listen. And then she drifted off to sleep.

Bradford leaned against the far wall, trying not to let his face mirror his thoughts. He vowed that if that girl began just one more time, he would leap across the audience, grab Caroline, and make for the door.

Milford entered the room, circled the group, and came to stand beside his friend. “What has you grinning?” he asked his friend in a low voice so as not to disturb the Claymere chit.

“The fact that I am here, suffering this mockery of Mozart so that I can be close to Caroline,” Bradford admitted.

“And where is she?” Milford asked, glancing around the room.

Bradford looked to the back row and then started to laugh. Several people glanced over at him and he nodded a greeting, trying all the while to regain his bored look. “She’s in the middle of the back row, sleeping.”

“So she is,” Milford whispered with a chuckle. “Smart girl,” he remarked.

Caroline slept through little Clarissa’s recital. There was a brief flurry, a slight intermission, while Clarissa waited for her sister to prepare her music.

The Earl of Braxton took the opportunity to change seats, for he was eager to hear Catherine Claymere. The viscount had promised that Catherine was quite wonderful and was gifted with a clear sopranic voice.

When Charity followed her uncle, both Bradford and Milford took their chairs. Bradford sat on Caroline’s
right and Milford flanked her left side. “Do we nudge her awake?” Milford lazily inquired.

“Only if she begins to snore,” Bradford replied. “God, she’s beautiful when she sleeps,” he said.

“Are you still getting her out of your blood?” Milford asked with lazy interest.

Bradford didn’t answer. He had thought, in the beginning, to take what he wanted and then give her up to another. That plan was displeasing now. He was saved from answering when Clarissa launched into the opening for her sister.

It was almost pleasant, until Catherine opened her mouth and began to sing. The sound was ear-piercing. Bradford was pleased by it, however, because the horrid noise jarred Caroline. She visibly jumped, grabbed hold of Bradford’s thigh, and let out a gasp.

Then she remembered where she was and what she was about. She blushed, more because she had fallen asleep than because of her odious reaction to the woman screeching like a trapped bird.

Bradford covered her hand with his, and only then did she realize where she had placed it. She pulled away, giving him a disgruntled look, and turned to immediately smile at Milford.

“Tell me your trick so that I may sleep through this ordeal,” Milford whispered.

Caroline had to lean in his direction to hear what he was saying and found herself suddenly hauled back by Bradford.

She folded her hands in her lap and ignored Bradford, staring straight ahead. Bradford stretched and before she could stop him, his arm was draped around her shoulders. She tried to shrug him off but it was a useless endeavor. “Behave yourself,” she muttered. “What will people think?”

“That I have staked a claim,” Bradford returned. His fingers began to massage the back of Caroline’s neck and she found herself fighting the heady sensation.

“Your friend lacks all manners,” she told a grinning Milford.

“I have told him so on numerous occasions,” Milford whispered back.

She knew, from the silly expression on his face, that she would get no help from him and sighed with exasperation. Then she tried to stand up and find another chair. Heaven help her, she would take a place in the front row and suffer through Catherine’s vocal fits if she had to.

Bradford wouldn’t let her move. He applied subtle pressure on her shoulders.

“I really wish to be excused,” Caroline whispered. She tried then to outstare him, thinking to embarrass him. She failed with that plan, for Bradford just stared back, grinning a lopsided grin that tugged at her heart.

When Catherine finished singing, there was a polite round of applause. Several people started to stand, including Bradford and Caroline, but then Catherine launched into another song. Everyone collapsed back into their chairs—everyone but Caroline, who took advantage of the opportunity and scooted out of the row. She smiled because Bradford was powerless to stop her.

She hurried up the stairs after asking the maid where she could freshen up. There were several people milling about on the lower floor, but the second story was curiously deserted. At the end of a long corridor Caroline found the washroom. There was a full-length mirror inside and Caroline took her time primping.

She didn’t have to pinch her cheeks to give them color now. Bradford had taken care of her pale appearance, just by being there, she thought. He caused her to blush inside and out!

Caroline opened the door and found the hallway dark. Someone had smothered the candles that led the way to the steps. She thought it odd and cautiously
made her way down the hallway. She had just reached the top of the stairs when she thought she heard a muffled noise behind her. Caroline began to turn, her left hand casually resting on the bannister, when she was suddenly propelled forward.

There wasn’t even time to scream. She literally flew through the air and frantically tried to grab hold of the railing.

She forced herself to turn, bounced against the railing with her elbow taking most of the impact, and then landed with a thud on her bottom. One of her shoes got caught in the hem of her gown, tearing it, but that wasn’t as much of a concern as the terrible rip in the neckline. She had done that to herself, she realized, when she instinctively grabbed her elbow to stop the pain from the first landing. Her fingers had somehow gotten caught in the ribbon threaded through the bodice.

Caroline sat in the middle of the steps, her hair in wild abandon around her shoulders. She rubbed her elbow, aching from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her legs were trembling but she forced herself to stand, holding on to the bannister with one hand while she tugged at the top of her gown with the other.

The only salvation to the horror was that no one had seen her. The pain slowly receded, though she still felt as if a thousand hands had just finished beating her. And then anger took hold. Caroline turned, groaning when the movement caused her pain, and looked up at the top of the stairs. It was a long way up. She could have broken her neck! And then it all settled into her brain. Someone had
wanted
her to break her neck.

It was Bradford who found her. When Caroline hadn’t immediately returned to the drawing room, he had begun to fidget until Milford was giving him looks of disapproval. “What’s keeping her?” Bradford muttered. He considered then that she might have been
waylaid by some eager suitor and that thought propelled him to his feet. He stepped on Milford’s shoes and didn’t pause to address his rudeness.

Curious now, Milford followed along, trying not to wince openly when Catherine Claymere hit a high note.

“What in God’s name …” Bradford stood at the bottom of the stairs, his face a mask of confusion. She looked as if she had just come from a rather vigorous romp in the hay. The only thing missing from her disheveled appearance was straw clinging to her hair. And, he thought with cynicism, the man she was romping with.

He knew he was jumping to conclusions but there she stood with her bosom more out than in, and a torn gown that did indicate mischief. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. And yet …

Caroline watched the play of emotions cross Bradford’s face. She decided that both he and Milford had stared at her long enough. She wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and noticed then that Milford had his hand on Bradford’s arm. Why, it almost appeared that Milford was actually restraining him!

“True gentlemen would not gawk. They would offer a lady in distress some assistance,” Caroline said with as much haughtiness as she could muster.

Bradford was the first to move from his stupor. He jerked Milford’s arm aside and started up the steps. “Let her explain, Bradford,” Milford insisted in a furious whisper as he followed along. He took the time to grab one of Caroline’s shoes which was in his path.

Bradford tried to school his features but he was so angry that he knew he couldn’t pull it off. All he wanted was to get his hands on the man who had done this, and soon! He took his jacket off and had it settled over Caroline’s shoulders in bare seconds.

“Who was upstairs with you?” Bradford asked. His voice was deceptively calm. Caroline looked to Milford, hoping he could explain his friend’s strange
behavior, and saw that Milford was giving Bradford a worried glance.

Bradford grabbed hold of Caroline’s shoulders. His face radiated his fury. Catherine Claymere’s voice strained through the doors, escalating in volume.

“We’d better get her out of here before the Claymere chit winds down. Those are desperate people in there, just waiting for a chance to escape.” Milford tried to lighten the tension in his friend and thought it a good idea to get both of them outside before Bradford let loose his anger.

Caroline turned to Milford, ignoring Bradford’s grip. “What does he think has happened?”

Milford shrugged his shoulders while Bradford swung Caroline up into his arms. “Tell Braxton that Caroline has torn her gown and that I am seeing her home.” His voice was curt and didn’t brook any argument.