Just One Touch (12 page)

She nodded.

He took her mouth again, and she stretched up to meet him with arousing eagerness, parting her lips obediently at his urging. He swept his tongue into her mouth, the taste of her clouding his senses like fine whiskey. Silently he taught her how to kiss him, and she was an apt pupil, learning quickly what he liked.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were panting.

She touched a finger to his damp mouth. “Oh my.”

He licked her fingertip. “Indeed.”

She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, a seductive curve to her lips. “I didn’t panic.”

“Progress,” he said with a grin.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Kiss me again, Rogan. Make my head spin.”

He sucked in a breath. “Are you certain you want to continue this in your father’s garden?”

“Why not?” She traced her fingertip along his lip. “Perhaps that’s why I’m so relaxed.”

“You think yourself safe?”

“I suppose so.”

He chuckled. “My darling wife, if you only knew how many passionate assignations occurred in gardens.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re teasing me.”

“I assure you, I’m not. Many an illicit affair has started with an innocent walk in the garden.”

She bit her lip and pulled back a step, wariness flickering across her face.

“No, it’s all right.” He gave an impatient sigh. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Now you’ll think I intend to have you on that stone bench over there.”

“What?” she yelped, casting a panicked glance at the bench.

He laughed despite his state of frustrated arousal. “Calm yourself, love. I have no intention of consummating our marriage in such a manner. Come back into my arms and let me hold you.”

She cast one last, disbelieving look at the bench and then stepped back into his embrace. He folded his arms loosely around her so that she knew she could walk away, and rested his chin on top of her head. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Aside from my father, there’s no one else I trust at all.” She snuggled against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “There are times you make me feel like a normal woman, Rogan.”

“At first I thought we were completely wrong for one another,” Rogan said. “But now I wonder if we could ever be right for anyone else.”

She made a soft noise of agreement, then said, “Rogan?”

“Yes, love?”

“Do you really think we’ll be able to consummate this marriage?”

He hugged her to him. “I do. When you’re ready.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “And I hate being scared.”

“You have more reason than most brides to be afraid. It’s all right.” He tipped her face up to his with a finger beneath her chin. “I want you to want me, Caroline.”

“Part of me does already. But the other part—”

“Shhh. I know.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Don’t fret about it. You’ll tell me when you are ready.”

“I’m so glad I married you,” she murmured. “We’ll make it work.”

He pulled her close to his heart, where she belonged. “We will.”

“I
want to be a good wife to you,” Caroline said. Her hand lay tucked within her husband’s much larger one as he led out of the clearing and through the maze of her father’s garden. The sensation of his warm, strong fingers encircling hers gave her a feeling of security—and made her feel very feminine. “While I will take over the running of the house, I thought perhaps I might also manage your ledgers. I’m quite good with numbers.”

“I have no objection.” Rogan glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. “I have no love for those books.”

She found herself smiling back as warmth swept through her. Dear Lord, he was handsome. “I’m more than happy to help you make your business a rousing success.”

Before he could reply, they heard a cry of alarm, followed by the sound of something large crashing through the shrubbery. Instantly Rogan settled into a fighting stance, shoving Caroline behind him with a sweep of his arm. She didn’t argue, gladly seeking the shelter of his big body and bracing herself with a hand on his back as she peered around him.

“Who’s there?” Rogan demanded. “Show yourself!”

There was silence for a long moment, then the slow crackling of something moving through the flora. A moment later, Gregson broke through the hedge, twigs stuck to his hair and coat.

Caroline came out from behind Rogan. “Gregson!”

The secretary straightened his spectacles, a sheepish expression on his thin, handsome face. “Good afternoon, Lady Caroline.”

“Good afternoon indeed!” Caroline planted her hands on hips. “Gregson, I know you must obey Papa’s orders, but…skulking about in the bushes?”

Gregson flushed and glanced at Rogan, who folded his arms and glowered. The secretary cringed. “I heard you coming and didn’t want you to see me. I knew you’d be displeased.”

“Quite so.” Caroline shook her head. “Papa really must learn to leave things be. You may tell my father, Gregson, that my husband and I have resolved our quarrel.”

“Yes, Lady Caroline.” The young man bobbed
his head in acquiescence, then cast an uncertain look at Rogan.

Rogan curled a lip in disgust. Gregson blanched, and Caroline nearly giggled.

“I’d best not catch you following us again,” Rogan warned. “I don’t care what the duke told you.”

“O-of course not, Mr. Hunt.” The secretary gave a quick bow and scurried off down the path.

“Rogan, I do believe you have intimidated Mr. Gregson,” Caroline mused, laying a hand on her husband’s arm.

He made a noise that might have been a grunt or a chuckle and tucked her hand more firmly into the crook of his arm. “Your father is a martinet, Caroline.”

She sighed. “I know. He means well.”

“He doesn’t trust me to take care of you.”

She smiled up at him. “I do.”

The annoyance faded from his gray eyes. “I’m glad.” He began to walk, escorting her down the path as gracefully as any courtier. “When did you want to look at the accounts?”

“Tonight perhaps,” Caroline replied, sweeping her skirt out of the way of a prickly rose bush. “Right now I’d like to stop in the village to see Mrs. Trenton and her new baby on my way back home. My father tells me she’s been asking to see me. Then I’ll return home and check on the gray. I’ve decided to name her Melody. What do you think?”

“I think I don’t want you going to the village alone.”

“Aren’t you coming home?”

“I need to have a few words with your father. Business. I’ll be along soon.”

“In that case, my father can send a number of men to accompany me.”

“Hmph. I’m not certain your father’s men can be trusted to bring you home to me.”

She squeezed his arm, casting him a glance of warm affection. “But you can trust me. I’ll come home to you, Rogan.”

A slow smile curved his mouth. “You’d better.”

Rogan saw Caroline on her way, tucked into his coach with her maid and three armed escorts riding alongside. As soon as she was gone, he turned and went back inside the manor house.

He wanted a word with Belvingham.

He found the duke in the study where he’d left him. Belvingham ignored him when he strode through the doorway, as he was intent on giving instructions to Gregson.

“Give this to Roberts,” the duke said, handing the young man a note. “He’s the steward there. Tell him he’s to do nothing with the sheep until you examine the flock.”

Gregson slowly tucked the letter away in his coat pocket. “But Your Grace, I know nothing about sheep!”

The duke chuckled. “But he doesn’t know that.
And if Roberts is cheating me, he’ll be intimidated by the fact that I sent a sheep expert like you to handle this matter in my stead.” He clapped a hand on Gregson’s shoulder. “I have faith in you, Gregson. I expect you back in two days’ time.”

The young assistant looked vaguely ill as he turned away, and his pallor increased as he noticed Rogan standing just inside the room.

“Ah, Hunt,” the duke said. “Do come in. Gregson was just leaving.”

The secretary hurried out of the room, and Rogan sent a hard stare after him.

“A problem with one of my other estates.” The duke sat back in his chair and produced a handkerchief, which he used to dab at his perspiring face. “One of my stewards thinks that because I am ill, I am also stupid. He’s trying to cheat me. And no man cheats Belvingham.”

“So you sent your assistant to sort it out.” Rogan took a chair across from the desk, folding his hands across his stomach. “The way you sent him to spy on Caroline.”

Belvingham shrugged without a hint of remorse. “I look after my daughter, Hunt, no matter that she is a married woman now. I will do anything to keep her safe.”

“In that we agree, Your Grace.” Rogan’s lips twitched in a reluctant grin. “I pity your poor steward. He should be lucky it is only Gregson you are sending to handle the matter.”

“I can’t travel, or I would go myself. I would so
enjoy confronting the cheating bastard myself.” The duke shook his head. “This illness is draining the life from me, Hunt. I fear I’m not long for this world.”

“Unless we can stop Althorpe.”

Belvingham gave a sigh and rested his head against the back of the chair. “The greedy snake is clever, I’ll grant you that. He manages to never be around when trouble is brewing, so suspicion never falls on him.”

Rogan raised his brows. “I’m suspicious of him.”

The duke laughed, a rusty sound that sent him into a fit of coughing. Rogan got up and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard, then handed it to him. The duke nodded a thank-you and sipped at the water, getting his cough under control.

Rogan didn’t bother to sit again. “Where does Althorpe live? What does he do with his time? Who are his friends? I need to know more about this man if I am to protect you and Caroline from him.”

“Caroline must be your priority,” Belvingham commanded. “I’m an old man, and I’m sick. I may die, but Caroline will surely suffer if Althorpe gets his hands on her.”

Rogan’s mouth thinned. “He won’t.”

“He’s a ruthless bastard,” the duke insisted. “I would do anything to keep her from his clutches.”

“Perhaps you should tell me everything you know about him.” Restless, Rogan began to wander about the room.

“He’s a distant cousin and my heir now that Stephen is gone.” Belvingham clenched his hands on the arms of his chair. “Curse his black soul!”

“Stephen.” Rogan looked up at a painting of the duke’s son. “Tell me how he died.”

“It was eight years ago.” The duke crushed his handkerchief in his hand. “Before Caroline’s abduction. Stephen was home from school. Althorpe had offered to take my son and his friend fishing.” His mouth trembled, and he pressed his lips together in a thin line. “We were told it was an accident, that he had slipped on the bank and struck his head on a rock when he fell into the water.”

“What about Stephen’s friend?” Rogan turned back to the duke.

“Albert Westing, my neighbor’s son, witnessed the accident. I’m told Stephen died instantly.”

“Where is Albert now?”

“Dead.” The duke reached for his water again. “The lad got shot in a duel. It was his deathbed confession that made me aware of Randall’s perfidy. Apparently Albert had witnessed the bastard hitting Stephen over the head and pushing him into the pond. He owed Althorpe money and was too afraid to speak up.”

“Too bad. His testimony might have stopped Althorpe and prevented our current difficulties.”

“Don’t I know it,” the duke muttered bitterly.

“And that was eight years ago.” Rogan prowled around the room again, his mind working through the intricacies of the past. “What about Caroline’s kidnapping?”

“As I said before, Althorpe had to have been behind it. Damn him!”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. And one wonders if he tried again, more recently. I believe Mr. Docket still holds the surviving kidnapper, James Black, in custody. Perhaps I should have another word with the blackguard.”

“Yes,” Belvingham agreed. “Maybe he’ll be more forthcoming this time and tell you who sent him. If not, make him.”

“Be certain I will. Back to Althorpe for a moment. Who were his parents? Where was he educated? Any and all details about this rogue will only help in stopping him.”

“His father was a vicar, and his mother was the daughter of a respectable merchant. While his parents weren’t wealthy, they weren’t poor, either. Both of them are dead now.” The duke stared at the ceiling as if trying to organize his thoughts. “These days he spends much of his time at the fringes of the fashionable set, and he’s enamored of horses and gaming. He’s had his greedy eyes on Belvingham for a long while now.”

“Who are his friends?”

“Some of the young bloods from respectable families. Oh, he’s a smart one. Never steps a toe out of line. No one would ever suspect him of any wrongdoing.”

“Everyone has secrets. I will discover his.”

Belvingham laughed. “Good luck to you, Hunt. Don’t you think I’ve tried to dig up some juicy morsel with which to blackmail him? But there’s nothing.”

“There’s always something.” Rogan glanced at his father-in-law, a grim smile on his face. “And I’ll find it.”

“I just told you there was nothing. Unless you can convince Caroline’s kidnapper to confess that Althorpe sent him, my heir will continue to get away with his villainy.”

“No, he won’t. I’ve hired an investigator by the name of Gabriel Archer. If anyone can discover the truth about Althorpe, it’s him.”

“No!” Belvingham objected. “No one else can know about Althorpe. I fear for Caroline’s safety if he discovers we’re investigating him.”

“He won’t. Archer is the best. I’ve already sent word to London, and he’s accepted the job.”

The duke thrust a finger at him. “You’d do better to concentrate on protecting Caroline instead of chasing the impossible.”

“I fully intend to protect my wife.” Rogan folded his arms across his chest. “And I don’t need your interference to do it.”

“My interference!” The duke sat straight up in his chair, outrage firing in his dark eyes. “You young pup, you have no idea the kind of influence I have, sickbed or no!”

“I know that you try to manipulate people. You manipulated me and our entire wedding until
things went along to your satisfaction. But now Caroline is
my
wife, Belvingham, and I will protect her.”

“And who will protect her from you?” His frail hands clenched the arms of the chair. “She came flying back home in tears because you had quarreled. She’s a fragile young woman, Hunt. I thought you knew that.”

Rogan clenched his jaw. “There were no tears, and married couples quarrel. It’s perfectly normal. She’s just so used to you protecting her from every splinter and scrape that she ran to you out of habit.”

“You dare to criticize me?” The duke half rose from his chair, then thudded back down again when his weak body could not match his ire. “Damn you to hell, Hunt! You don’t know what she was like after those bastards finished with her.”

“I do,” he replied quietly. “She told me.”

Belvingham’s mouth fell open. “She told you?”

“I know you meant to keep her safe,” Rogan continued, “but there comes a time when too much safety becomes dangerous. She had you to protect her. Now you’re ill, and she has no more inkling of how to go on in the world than a newborn babe.”

“That’s why I married her to you.”

“And I will watch out for her.” Rogan cast another glance out the window. “She’s precious, but not helpless. She needs to learn that.”

The duke peered closely at his son-in-law.
“Good Lord, Hunt, have you fallen in love with her?”

Rogan gave a jerky shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just know I don’t intend to let anything happen to her. And that means going after Althorpe.”

“He’s a snake, and a poisonous one at that!”

“Then the best thing I can do is cut off his head before he bites anybody else.”

Belvingham gave a reluctant chuckle. “I admire your confidence, Hunt.”

Rogan came around and sat in a chair near the duke’s. “Besides discovering Althorpe’s secrets, we need to discover how he is poisoning you.”

A look of defeat shadowed Belvingham’s face. “I’ve tried. Cook brings my meals directly to me herself, straight from the kitchen. Only Gregson is allowed to fetch my brandy at night. I don’t know how the bastard is doing it.”

“Well, if he’s careful to keep his distance, that means someone near you must know something,” Rogan said.

“I trust my staff implicitly,” the duke protested.

Rogan’s lips curled in a cynical smile. “The facts speak for themselves, Your Grace. Someone in your household had to have helped him. And you and I are going to discover who it is, before it’s too late.”

Malcolm Gregson sat in the corner table in the common room of the Duck and Crown, his untouched ale before him. Lips pressed in a tight
line, he pulled out his pocket watch yet again to check the time.

“Where the devil is he?” he muttered.

He glanced around the tavern. No one paid any attention to him, and that was the way he liked it. He closed the watch with a snap and tucked it away in his waistcoat pocket. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tattered length of ribbon, stroking it between his fingers.