Julie Garwood (19 page)

“Look at me!” The demand, sounding like an angry lion’s roar, came from Paul Bleachley.

“I am looking at you!” Charity screamed back. “At long last, I might add. It’s been months since I last saw you, and each day was filled with tears and pain, Paul. I thought you were dead. Oh, I was a fool. You aren’t honorable at all, are you?”

Bradford waited to hear Paul’s answer but instead of an angry retort, he heard the crash of glass breaking. “What’s going on in there?” he demanded as he tried to move Caroline from the doorway.

Caroline struggled and, realizing that he was far superior in might, quickly changed her plan. She threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled his head
toward her. And then she kissed him, as thoroughly and as passionately as he had taught her. The distraction worked and Bradford quickly became a willing participant. His last coherent thought was that he would remove Caroline from the doorway and drag Charity from the library just as soon as he had finished kissing the woman who actually believed she could undermine his intentions.

Inside the library, Charity continued to play the woman scorned. She picked up another vase and hurled it in the vicinity of Paul’s desk. In her heart, she was plainly horrified by her actions. She wanted to weep with sorrow each time she looked at her love and saw the pain in his eyes.

Paul was forced to duck when the second vase nearly hit the top of his head. He stood up then, his hands clenching the edge of the desk as he leaned forward. He no longer tried to shield his face with his hands. “For God’s sake. Can’t you see the damage? Put on your spectacles, Charity, and look at my face.”

Charity didn’t argue. She opened her purse, dumped the contents on the table nearest her, and quickly put on the wire-rim spectacles. Then she turned, her hands on her hips, and gave Paul a long stare. “Well?” she demanded in return.

“Are you blind?” The anger suddenly went out of Paul Bleachley. He was so confused by her reaction. “I am no longer handsome, Charity. Do I have to point to each scar?”

His voice was filled with despair but Charity was heartless to it. “You vain man! So that is your trick, is it? To try to convince me that a few paltry marks are the reason you discarded me? Ha! I’m not an imbecil, Paul. Surely you could do better than that. Did I bore you? Did you find someone else? Tell me the real reason and perhaps I will forgive you.”

“There isn’t anyone else,” Paul replied, yelling again. “I can only see with one eye now, Charity. See
how the other bulges? How handsome do you find that?”

Charity was forced to grab a rather ornate arrangement of flowers and throw it toward Paul. “Then wear a patch if it bothers you,” she demanded.

“And the scars, Charity. What do I do about the scars?”

“For heaven’s sake, Paul, grow a beard.
And quit changing the topic
. We are talking about your broken promise to marry me. Vanity is not the issue here.”

Charity fluffed her hair while she paused for breath and then turned and replaced the items in her purse. She took her time about the chore, knowing that Paul was staring at her every move. “I am wearing a new hairdo and you haven’t even commented,” she remarked while she pulled the drawstring to her purse closed. “All you can think about is yourself. Well, I am only glad to know that I found out what a vain man you are now, before our marriage. I will have to reform you, Paul. You do understand that, don’t you? Or are you dense as well as vain?”

“Reform me?”

Charity caught the whisper and looked at Paul again. She saw the glimmer of hope in his eyes and knew, in that instant when their gazes held, that she had truly won. “And now, before I leave I will issue you an ultimatum,” Charity said. Her voice sounded brisk and she was pleased. She carefully put on her white gloves and began to pace in front of Paul’s desk. “You will either present yourself to my uncle and declare your intentions within a fortnight, or I will assume that you no longer love me.”

“I have never stopped loving you, Charity, but—”

“And I have never stopped loving you, Paul,” she interrupted. Her expression was solemn as she slowly walked up to the side of the desk. Paul turned to her and she gently placed her hands on his cheeks. She
stretched on tiptoes and began to place small kisses along his injured cheek. “Please don’t misunderstand me, Paul. I am sorry that you were injured. But the past cannot be undone and we must look to the future.”

She allowed one long, satisfying kiss that Paul instigated and then pulled back. Her attitude suddenly became brisk again. “Don’t you dare try to run away again. I would find you, no matter where you tried to hide. And if I don’t see you at my uncle’s house soon, I do believe I will become quite violent. You will only have yourself to blame, Mr. Bleachley.”

And with those words of warning, Charity straightened her shoulders and opened the door. She walked right past Bradford and Caroline, ignoring the startled expression on her cousin’s face as she pulled away from Bradford’s embrace, and continued until she was outside.

Caroline was more affected by the kisses she had shared with Bradford than she cared to admit. She blushed and hurried after her cousin, muttering that she was certain she had told Bradford that he could not take liberties with her anymore.

Bradford stood with his mouth open as he listened to Caroline’s ramblings. He turned when he heard Paul behind him and was amazed that his friend was smiling. What had he missed? he asked himself as he watched Paul start up the stairs to the second floor.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, frustrated because he was no longer kissing Caroline and because he hadn’t a clue as to what had been decided between Bleachley and Charity.

“To grow a beard,” Paul called over his shoulder with a shout of laughter.

Charity alternated between crying and laughing most of the way home. Caroline patted her hand and listened as she told how much she loved Paul and how he had
suffered. Bradford kept trying to get a word in, to find out just what had happened, and finally Caroline took mercy on him and explained. “I knew that if Charity showed the least bit of sympathy, Paul would turn his back on her. You gave me that clue, Bradford,” she remarked.

“I did?” Bradford searched his mind and couldn’t remember saying anything that would give her that idea.

“Certainly,” Caroline replied. “Pity would be the last thing that Paul would accept. The way he closed himself away indicated that,” she added. Her voice sounded like she was instructing a very simpleminded person.

She turned back to Charity and said, “Did you tell him that you would shoot him if he tried to run away, dear?”

“I think so,” Charity said with a nod. “Or maybe I told him I would sue him for breach of promise. I can do that, can’t I?”

“There won’t be any need,” Caroline predicted. “You just told me that he kissed you and told you that he still loved you. I don’t believe you’ll have to shoot him.”

Bradford rolled his eyes with pure exasperation. “For God’s sake. Charity couldn’t shoot anyone,” he scoffed.

“I know I couldn’t,” Charity immediately answered. She grinned and added, “But Caroline could put a hole through a speck of dust if she had a mind to. And she would shoot Paul if I only asked her.”

Bradford looked shocked, and both Charity and Caroline started laughing.

“Caroline, I will do whatever you say. I promise. You have saved my life with your plan. I will never forget your help.”

“So her plan worked to your satisfaction?” Bradford
asked Charity. “I understand the complexity of it now,” he added with a grin in Caroline’s direction. “She had you scream Paul into submission.”

Caroline looked disgruntled but Charity laughed. “You told me he didn’t have a sense of humor,” she remarked to Caroline. “I do believe he is trying to jest now.”

“By the way, Caroline,” Bradford said, “Charity may have promised not to tell your father about our kiss, but I haven’t.”

“Just what are you implying?” Caroline asked, her eyes wide with alarm.

“You will find out soon enough,” Bradford said with a chuckle. “Don’t look so worried,” he added without the least hint of remorse in his voice. “You only have to trust me.”

“I trust you as much as you have indicated you trust me,” Caroline replied with irritation. She turned to Charity and commented, “For your information, that means not at all. Bradford doesn’t trust any woman.”

Charity didn’t say a word, only looked from one to the other and then back again, wondering what had happened. The atmosphere had suddenly, drastically changed and she was confused by it.

“You will not talk to my father.” Caroline’s voice didn’t suggest an argument.

“I will.” Bradford’s voice matched Caroline’s in intensity.

“Nothing will come of it,” Caroline predicted.

“You fool yourself,” Bradford announced. “I will—”

“Don’t say it!” Caroline all but shouted the demand, sure that he was about to say that he would have her. Hadn’t he said that often enough already? And now he was about to blurt it out right in front of her delicate cousin.

“Say what?” Charity asked.

Neither Caroline nor Bradford answered. They both turned and glared at her, and Charity leaned farther back against the seat of the carriage. Whatever had she done? she wondered. And for once in her life, she decided to keep her thoughts and her questions to herself.

T
HE FOLLOWING WEEKS WERE FILLED WITH DINNER PARTIES
and balls, the days taken up with perpetual visits. Caroline visited Uncle Milo, as the marquis insisted on being called, every other afternoon, and grew quite fond of him. Uncle Franklin, the marquis’s younger brother by a good ten years, was usually there. He resembled his brother in looks but his eyes weren’t as warm. He was more restrained in his manner. Caroline sensed a certain strain between her two uncles that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. They were very polite to each other but there was a distance between them too.

Franklin was handsome, with dark brown hair and hazel-colored eyes, but there was a coldness about him that Caroline found a little unnerving. His wife, Loretta, rarely visited the marquis, and Franklin explained time and again that his wife had many social engagements. Her presence was sought after by most of the
ton
, Franklin had boasted. Caroline couldn’t help but wonder just who the seekers were, for she had yet to see Loretta out and about at any of the evening affairs she had attended.

The Earl of Braxton began to escort Lady Tillman to some of the special gatherings and Caroline was pleased, even though she didn’t much care for the woman. It was good to see her father enjoying himself. He deserved to be happy, and if Lady Tillman turned
out to be what he wanted, then so be it. She wouldn’t interfere.

The incident at the Claymeres’ residence faded in significance as time went on. Caroline was thankful that she hadn’t confided her thought that someone might have pushed her, for now she accepted that it was all her overactive imagination. She had only been clumsy and exhausted.

But while she no longer considered herself in jeopardy from an unknown assailant, she was feeling extremely threatened by the Duke of Bradford. The man was driving her to the brink of despair.

She felt constantly off balance. Bradford escorted her to all the affairs and never left her side, making it most clear to any man who came within shouting distance that she belonged to him. She didn’t mind his possessiveness, nor the arrogant way he dragged her off into corners and kissed her until she was quite senseless with desire. What totally confused her was her increasing response to him. Her physical response alarmed her, for all the man had to do was look at her and she felt her knees go weak.

Bradford had told her that he wanted her, and she had scoffed at him. Yet now, after spending so much time with him, she wanted him too. She was miserable every time they were separated and was furious with herself over it. What had happened to her control, her independence?

At least she had admitted to herself that she loved him. He, on the other hand, had never mentioned the word. Desire was only a portion of the reason she missed him when he wasn’t at her side. The man certainly did have his flaws but he had his attributes as well. He was kind and generous to a fault, and had a strength of character that Caroline found unbending.

But he was also a devil! Oh, she knew what he was about, what his “game” was. Every time he kissed her, the look in his eyes was victorious. She wilted in his
arms and was sure that he smiled over it. Was he waiting for her to admit that she wanted him?

Just thinking about her situation made her nerves expand to the breaking point. She would never tell him she wanted him until he told her he loved her. And if the Duke of Bradford was intent on games, then Caroline would play one of her own.

Charity, on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier or more content. Paul Bleachley had duly arrived and presented himself to the Earl of Braxton and was now officially courting Charity. He was sporting a black satin eye patch that made him look most daring and was also growing a beard.

Caroline liked Paul. He was a quiet man with an easy smile and she could tell, just by the way he watched Charity, that he loved her and cherished her with all his heart. Why hadn’t she settled on someone as pleasant and mild as Paul? She found herself envious of her cousin’s relationship with the sweet-tempered Englishman and wished that Bradford would look at her the way Paul looked at Charity. Oh, Bradford did a fair amount of looking, but his gaze was very physical, and she didn’t think he was cherishing her at all.

Braxton had decided that he would give a dinner party and had invited twenty guests. Included in the list were Caroline’s uncles, the marquis and Franklin, and Franklin’s wife, Loretta, Lady Tillman and her daughter, Rachel, and, much to Caroline’s silent objection, Rachel’s disgusting fiancé, Nigel Crestwall. Bradford and Milford had also been invited, as was Paul Bleachley. It would be an early dinner, in deference to the marquis, who tired easily, and those with a stronger constitution would then depart for the opera.