Just One Touch (16 page)

Her laughter trilled behind them as the orchestra struck up a waltz, and Rogan swept her off into a whirling, twirling adventure.

He was an excellent dancer, and she had already gotten so used to his touch that she was able to completely relax in his arms as he led her in graceful twirls around the room. His warm hand clasped hers with an intimacy she hadn’t expected, the hand at her waist a firm guide. His legs brushed against the skirt of her new peach silk dress, and she found herself wishing he could come closer still. The warmth of his body, his familiar scent, his engaging grin—all of it tempted her to surrender to him.

Surrender completely and totally, and learn what it was to be a woman.

“You look quite fetching, love,” he said, his eyes
gleaming with male appreciation. “I knew that color would suit you.”

“And you look quite handsome.” She sent him a flirtatious glance. “I hope I won’t have to engage in unladylike behavior should one of the other ladies in attendance attempt to catch your eye.”

“I see no one but you.” He pulled her a tad closer, holding her gaze as the heat built between them.

Ensnared by the passion that had flared up without warning, Caroline was too breathless to reply. The music seemed to fade away. All she saw was Rogan’s eyes; all she felt was his strong hands guiding her, his warm body straining toward hers. Desire bubbled up from deep in her belly.

And there was no fear.

His fingers squeezed her waist. She leaned into him on the turn, her breast brushing his arm. Tingles swept through her at the fleeting contact. One side of his mouth quirked in a knowing smile, and on the next turn he swept his hand from her waist to her hip and back again.

She glanced up at him. The same heat that rushed through her veins was reflected in his eyes.

She slid her hand along his shoulder in a deliberate caress. He responded by pulling her close against him for an instant as they twirled. Her leg brushed his. His fingertips teased the upper swell of her bottom. She caressed his hand with her thumb.

Her body hummed with arousal by the time the song ended. When the music stopped, she and Rogan stood frozen for an instant, both of them flushed, both of them breathing a little too hard. It could be said that the exertion of the dance had produced these reactions.

They knew better.

When the orchestra swung into a country dance, Caroline jerked as if awakened from a sound sleep. She met Rogan’s heated gaze for an instant, then blushed and stepped out of his arms. “If you’ll excuse me, I must refresh myself,” she whispered.

“I’ll procure you a glass of punch.” His low voice wrapped around her like an embrace.

She nodded, her mouth dry, her limbs quaking from sheer desire. Unable to speak another word, she went to seek out the ladies’ retiring room.

Dancing with Caroline had proven more stimulating than he’d expected. Before acquiring Caroline’s promised glass of punch, Rogan took a moment to step outside into the cool night breeze.

He needed cooling.

He walked out into the garden, sucking in a deep lungful of the brisk evening air, waiting for his hungry body to settle down. The seductive movements of the waltz had more than aroused him. Had they not been dancing in public, he would have been tempted to drag his wife off to the nearest bed.

Caroline was a pretty armful, that was certain. It was all he could do to remain patient and wait for the day when he could make her his. Some times were more difficult than others, but all he had to do was remember the sheer terror on her face when she spoke of her kidnapping, and his ardor faded as if he’d been soaked with ice water.

While Caroline appeared to be progressing with her intimacy dilemma, Rogan wasn’t getting very far with his other responsibility—Randall Althorpe.

How could a man so obviously deceptive, a man who had murdered at least one person to their knowledge, manage to evade the authorities for so long? Even Gabriel Archer’s initial investigation had uncovered nothing but an immaculate history, fictitious though it was. Archer had assured Rogan he was working to uncover the truth about Althorpe, but Rogan feared it might be too late. The duke was worsening, and unless they could discover how to prove Althorpe was involved, they had no chance of saving his life.

And Althorpe—the villain of the piece—would become the ninth Duke of Belvingham.

At least Caroline was safe from him now. As long as she was married to Rogan, there was nothing anyone could do to harm her.

Caroline stood frozen on the terrace. Though she had not succumbed to panic or the vapors,
her nerves were still strung to the breaking point from both the close confines of the crowd and the aching desire that had left her shaken. The cool spring night had beckoned to her, a welcome respite from the stuffy ballroom. Once she had stepped outside, the pressure lifted from her mind, and she could once more think clearly.

At least until Mirabella Aston and Felicity Winters had entered the room.

“I can hardly believe Lady Jayton opened up the ballroom after so many years,” Felicity said, her high-pitched voice distinctive even from Caroline’s place on the terrace.

“Yet she did it for Belvingham’s daughter,” Mirabella replied. “Astonishing that the lady would even continue to acknowledge Caroline, much less throw a ball for her.”

“Lady Jayton is Lady Caroline’s godmother,” Felicity replied. “No doubt it was the family connection.”

“Either that or she was simply thrilled that her goddaughter had finally landed a husband.” Mirabella gave a nasty little laugh. “I thought for certain that girl would be a spinster forever.”

“One would think it would be easy for a duke’s daughter to find a suitable husband,” Felicity said. “Especially an heiress.”

“But not a
ruined
heiress.”

Felicity gasped. “Mirabella, you know what the duke said.”

Caroline moved closer to the doorway and peered into the room. Felicity and Mirabella were
gathered around a mirror, artfully refreshing their appearance.

At Felicity’s comment, Mirabella’s pretty face twisted into a sneer. “The duke would say anything to restore his daughter’s reputation. But everyone knows she was held captive by those men for days. That they did things to her.”

“No!” Felicity’s blue eyes widened in horror. “I had just heard that she was mad. Collapsed at her own debut ball, you know.”

“It’s both,” Mirabella declared. “She’s been locked away at Belvingham for years now. No doubt His Grace despaired to ever find a man to wed her.” She lowered her voice. “I heard not even the fortune hunters wanted anything to do with her!”

“Now you’re jesting!”

“I’m not.”

“Rogan Hunt must have been desperate for her fortune then,” Felicity said. “Though his own reputation is somewhat questionable.”

“The Hunts are perfectly respectable, if somewhat reckless and foolish,” Mirabella replied, her voice arch with authority. “But Mr. Hunt himself does have a tendency to cause scandal.”

“He’s all but caused one by marrying her,” Felicity said, clearly thrilled to be in possession of news that Mirabella had not yet heard. “My brother says that he married her for a horse!”

“A horse!” Mirabella’s mouth dropped open. “You’re jesting with me.”

“It’s true.” Felicity tucked a springy curl back
into place. “Mr. Hunt is trying to recreate the Hunt stables. Apparently the horse was Hunt bred.”

“How lowering,” Mirabella mused. “’Tis not bad enough to be considered soiled goods, but to have a man marry you for a
horse
is the worst sort of debasement.”

“And he elevated himself in the process,” Felicity said. “Now that he’s related to the Duke of Belvingham, he has become quite popular with the local gentlemen. They all want Mr. Hunt to train their horses.”

“I heard Mr. Hadley is furious!” Mirabella gave a little snicker. “Did you hear about his fight with Mr. Hunt?”

“What fight? When? Was there actual fisticuffs?”

“The most common sort of brawl,” Mirabella confirmed. “It was at the Hound and Horn. Apparently Mr. Hadley made comments insulting Lady Caroline’s honor—”

“What did he say?” Felicity squealed.

“Just the truth, that she was ruined beyond all repair. If her father had not been a duke, I daresay Lady Caroline would have had to find other means of surviving.”

“Mirabella!” Shock and excitement warred in Felicity’s voice. “How can you even imply such a thing?”

“I overheard my mother saying so to Lady Lorrington and Mrs. Stanhope. So it must be true.”

“Imagine, she might have had to make her living as an actress or something worse. How fortunate that Mr. Hunt came along when he did.”

“How fortunate that she has a father who can buy her a husband,” Mirabella corrected. “Come, we must get back to the ballroom. I am certain Sir Peter Warren intends to ask me to dance tonight.”

The two girls bustled out of the room, but Caroline did not go back inside. She leaned against the cool stone of the house, her cheeks hot with mortification. Was this what people said about her? Was this what they truly thought of her?

How could she not have known?

Ruined. That’s what they said. Her stomach clenched with nausea. How they must have laughed at her.

Her father had sheltered her from all the talk, had wrapped her in the silken cocoon of Belvingham Manor and protected her from the truth.

People thought her mad. Ruined so badly that not even the most desperate of fortune hunters would wed her. And they had said such things to Rogan’s face.

A choking sob escaped her throat. Dear God, Rogan. What did they say about him for marrying her? Fortune hunter at best. Madman at worst.

Yet he had defended her.

A tear trickled down her cheek, and she swiped it away with an impatient hand. If the two giggling misses had heard the rumors, then it stood
to reason that everyone down in the ballroom had also heard the gossip. How many of them believed it? How many of them smiled to her face and then talked behind her back?

She really hadn’t missed society that much after all.

She closed her eyes against the welling moisture behind her lids and took deep breaths to regain control. She couldn’t go back downstairs like this—it would only confirm the rumors and give the gossips more to chew on.

She wanted Rogan, wanted his arms around her and his strength to lean on. They would leave the ball with their heads held high.

Determined, she pushed away from the wall and reentered the retiring room. She took a moment to check her reflection, but except for the paleness of her cheeks and the slight redness of her eyes, she looked positively normal.

Not at all like someone whose world had just tilted.

She pinched her cheeks in an futile effort to bring color back to them, then turned away from the mirror. She needed to return to the ballroom, find Rogan, and leave Jayton Hall as soon as possible.

She only hoped she didn’t encounter Mirabella or Felicity on the way. The notion of pulling both women’s hair out by the roots tempted her, and she had no desire to add to her reputation as a madwoman.

C
aroline was unusually quiet on the ride home.

“Are you well, love? I thought the headache was just a ruse.”

“It was.” Caroline gave him a wan smile that told him for certain that something was wrong.

Frowning, Rogan took her hand in his. “Did someone insult you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea, husband?” For an instant she held his gaze, her big, dark eyes unfathomable.

“Logic.” He caressed her hand with his thumb. “Was it the crowd?”

“Yes.” She glanced away from him. “It was the crowd.”

It sounded believable, but Rogan knew she was lying.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the house, Rogan helped Caroline out of the coach. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and slipped away from him to walk to the door. But despite her leisurely pace, he wasn’t fooled.

Something was bothering her.

He followed her into the house. “Caroline.”

She stopped just before the stairs. “Yes?”

“You’re not telling me something.”

“
I’m
not telling you something?” She whirled on him. “I believe it is
you
, husband, who is keeping secrets!”

His blood chilled. “What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me what people say about me?”

Her soft voice—so like that of a lost little girl—slipped past his hardened defenses. He stiffened. “Did someone say something to upset you at Lady Jayton’s?”

Caroline sighed and stripped off her gloves one at a time, placing them on a nearby table. “Rogan, stop answering my questions with more questions. I thought you of all people would tell me the truth.”

The weariness of her tone only deepened his feeling of guilt. “Your father and I thought you were better off not knowing.”

“My father? I should have known.” She dropped her wrap on the table with her gloves. “You didn’t think I might want to know what people really think of me before socializing with
them? That they think I’m soiled goods? That my husband married me for the price of a horse?”

Rogan narrowed his eyes. “Who said that?”

“Does it matter? The stories—true or not—are out there circulating among my neighbors. I wonder how many of them are having a good laugh at the heiress that the fortune hunters wouldn’t even pursue?”

“Caroline—” He reached out to her, but she didn’t take his hand. He dropped it, unsure what to say to her; he just wanted to make the sting go away. “You know as well as I do that facts get distorted once they become gossip. You shouldn’t give a thought to any of it.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she warned in a low voice. She looked at him, her eyes fierce. “My father has locked me away in his castle for the past five years. I allowed him to do it, to protect me from the real world. But not anymore. I’m all grown up now, Rogan, and I won’t faint at the first ugly rumor that concerns me.”

“I’ve always known you were stronger than your father allowed,” he said. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. Some of those rumors…” He clenched his jaw and stopped himself before profanity slipped past his lips. “There was no need for you to hear some of that.”

“There is every need!” she shot back. “How can I defend myself if I don’t know what’s going on? How can I hold my head up knowing that people are laughing at me behind their hands?”

“You’re right.”

His acknowledgment seemed to take some of the wind out of her sails. “I need to hear all of it, and you’re going to tell me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “So, did you really engage in a tavern brawl when Mr. Hadley insulted my honor?”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

Caroline merely raised her brows at him.

“All right, yes, I did. Hadley insulted you, and I couldn’t let that lie.”

“That was the day I picked you up in my carriage, wasn’t it?” She shook her head. “Rogan, you could have told me right then what had happened. Do you think me so soft-witted that I wouldn’t have understood?”

“I didn’t know.” Rogan swept a hand through his hair, exasperation biting at him. “You seemed so fragile. I didn’t want to unnerve you.”

Her lips thinned. “I’m growing very tired of everyone telling me how fragile I am.”

“I did what I thought was right.”

“You were wrong.” She began to tick off on her fingers. “Let me see…there was the rumor that you married me for a horse, which we know is true.”

“Blast it, Caroline, you know there’s more to it than that.”

“And people are saying that even the fortune hunters didn’t want me, but you got your horse and a better social standing by sacrificing your bachelorhood.”

Her sarcastic tone stung. “Now wait a minute—”

“They speculate that my kidnappers ruined me, that no decent man would want me, even with my fortune.”

“That’s bloody well not true,” he burst out. “You’re a beautiful woman with a good heart. Any man would want you.”

“And do you?” Her lips curved in a blatantly seductive smile. “I’m a bride who has yet to be bedded, husband. What do you suppose people would say to that?”

The sexy lilt in her voice and that slow, warm glance set his blood humming. That peach silk evening dress looked about as substantial as tissue paper, and he struggled with the urge to peel it from her body. “Are you asking me to bed you, wife?”

“Maybe you should.” She lifted her chin, though her fingers twisted amid her skirts. “At least then I would feel as if I were a proper wife.”

“I would be more than happy to accommodate you,” Rogan said, trailing a finger along her bared shoulder. “But you know there are reasons why we have not yet consummated this marriage.”

“I know.” She took in a shaky breath and glanced down at his finger where it traced patterns on her skin. “Your patience is truly magnificent.”

“I’m not nearly as patient as you think I am.” He crowded her back against the table, then
nipped at her neck. “I want you more than I want to breathe,” he rasped, lost in the taste of her.

“Don’t squash me against the table,” she gasped, pushing at his hips even as she leaned her head to the side so he could continue to nuzzle her neck.

“I won’t.” Before she could blink, he lifted her and seated her on top of the table, putting them practically nose-to-nose. He grinned at her. “Better?”

“Interesting.”

He chuckled. “It’s about to become even more so.” Dipping his head, he placed a kiss between her breasts bared by the low neckline of the gown.

She made a squeak of surprise and gripped his arms. “Rogan!”

“Patience, love.” He laughed again and nuzzled his nose against her breast. She jerked backward with surprise, jostling his head, but he knew he had affected her, had felt the hard little nipple poking his cheek.

“What are you doing?” she panted. “We’re supposed to be having a quarrel.”

“We’re done quarreling.” He cupped her breast through the dress and regarded her with searching eyes.

“Good heavens, what are you doing?”

“Making love to my wife.” He tugged on the neckline of the dress until one small, creamy breast popped out. She went to cover herself, but he grasped both her hands in his and held them
fast to the table. Then he ducked down and teased her hard little nipple with just his lips.

“Dear Lord.” Her head fell back, and she unintentionally arched into his mouth. He licked the pink, pebble-hard nub, then began to suckle.

“Rogan!”
Breathing hard now, she halfheartedly tried to pull her hands from his. “We must stop. What if someone comes?”

“Who? Grafton and Tallow are abed, and your maid awaits upstairs.” He grinned up at her like a pirate, and she could feel her resolve melting. “You wanted to be treated like a woman, didn’t you?”

“You’re a devil,” she muttered. “A wicked, wicked devil.”

“Just a man.” He traced a string of kisses up to her throat. “A man who very much wants to take his wife to bed.”

“I don’t know—”

“Let’s find out,” he interrupted, desire roughening his voice. “What say you, Caroline? Are you ready to be a wife?”

“Are you going to lie to me anymore?”

He chuckled against her skin. “You are a very single-minded woman. No, I won’t hide things from you anymore.”

“Then I’d like to try.” She pulled her hands free and cupped his face, looking into his eyes. “I want this, Rogan. I just don’t know if I can—”

“Shhh. Don’t fret about it. We’ll do what we can and work with the rest.”

“But I don’t think I can—”

He placed a finger over her lips to silence her. “Hush, love. Relax and let me teach you. I promise we’ll stop whenever you say.”

She hesitated only for a moment, then nodded.

With a low growl of triumph, Rogan scooped her into his arms and mounted the staircase.

Caroline clung to him, misgivings fluttering like butterflies in her stomach. What if she wasn’t ready? What if she grew distraught? Perhaps teasing Rogan into bedding her had not been the wisest course of action. She wasn’t even sure why she’d done it. The words had just spilled from her mouth.

He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing, kissing and caressing her all the way. She clung to his neck, her fingers twisting tightly together. She was both nervous and hungry for him, excited to be treated as a proper wife rather than an invalid. She wanted to be able to give something to Rogan, something only she could give.

He stopped outside his bedroom door, then bent and kissed her until her head spun. By the time he managed to push open the door, desire had flushed most of her doubts from her mind.

He laid her on the bed, stroking his hand down her throat and chest, coming to rest on her belly. She could only watch him and try to remember to breathe, while delicious feelings swamped all thoughts and reason from her mind.

“I want to undress you, love,” he murmured. “I want to see all that lovely fair skin of yours.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. The look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. He wanted her, and the knowledge sent a thrill shooting between her legs. Her body erupted to life, and she reached up her arms to him.

He knelt one knee on the bed, his gray eyes so dark with need that they looked black. He coaxed her to sit up, bringing her closer for his kisses as he worked the fastenings of her dress. The peach silk gaped away, and he tugged at the low neckline until both her breasts and her shoulders were bared to his gaze. He stroked one soft mound and then the other, kneading gently with his fingers while he made her dizzy with kisses.

By the time he peeled the gown off her arms, she was too hot and hungry to protest. All she wanted was for him to touch her—anywhere, everywhere. His slow, tender caresses didn’t trigger any of her horrible memories and instead eased her into the strange new world of desire with barely a murmur of protest.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

She felt beautiful. He tugged the dress down and off, leaving her clad in just her thin shift. The straps of the nearly transparent garment dangled down her arms, and her breasts lifted softly above the rest of it where it bunched around her middle. He stroked his fingers down the slope of one pale mound, the brush of his fingers against her bare skin making her more and more aware of her body. Her limbs felt strangely heavy, and time seemed to slow. Her blood ran like fire through
her veins, despite the steady, almost leisurely beat of her heart.

He took one of the pins from her hair. She helped him, pulling free the pins and ribbons until her hair fell in tangled curls around her shoulders. He made a low sound of approval and buried his face in the dark mass.

She stretched her arms up, feeling alive and female and gloriously powerful, then lay back on the bed. Her lips curved in a feline smile as he stood there looking at her, desire plain on his face. “Do you intend to undress, husband?”

His eyes narrowed at her seductive purr, and he began to strip off his coat. “Absolutely.”

The power of Woman rushed through her as she noticed his hands were shaking. How odd that such a small female could shake the control of such a strong man. But she could see it in his trembling fingers and fierce expression, hear it in his harsh breathing.

Testing her wiles, she shook out her hair and leaned up on her elbows. His eyes immediately drifted to her naked breasts, and he fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat. Thrilled with the results of her little experiment, she caught his eye and slowly licked her lips.

He stopped undressing, arrested by the movement. “Caroline, what are you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Waiting.” She let her head fall back, her hair brushing her shoulders. Then she settled back into her former position and gave him the tiniest
smile. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

He yanked at the waistcoat, buttons flying everywhere. She laughed, a throaty, seductive sound even she didn’t recognize. He tossed what was left of the garment to the floor and jerked at the knot of his neck cloth.

“Shall I help you?” She climbed to her knees on the bed and reached for the cravat. Her shift slipped down a little more and caught at the curve of her hips.

He placed his hands on her waist, bare flesh to bare flesh, and tilted his head back a little. “Be my guest.”

The unfamiliar feeling of strong hands around her middle sent another jolt of excitement shuddering through her. Biting her lower lip, she struggled with the knot of his neck cloth. His fingers flexed around her waist—once, twice. She finally jerked the cloth free and dropped it to the floor.

“Caroline.” He swooped down and claimed her mouth in a hot kiss that made her brain shut down completely. All she could do was cling to his shirt and fly with him.

As if she had turned a key, his passion erupted. His hands swept over her body as his mouth engaged hers in a lusty tangle of lips and tongues. He tugged at the shift, shoving it up around her hips and leaving her lower body exposed.

“Rogan—” His kiss stopped her words, and her thoughts spun away. He eased her down onto her back, still kissing her, one hand stroking over
her from neck to knees. He lingered at her belly, leaving his large, warm hand there for long moments.