Just One Touch (19 page)

When she felt the pressure that signaled the proof of her innocence, she paused, fingers curling into his chest. “Help me,” she breathed.

Barely capable of coherent thought, he gripped her hips and with one powerful thrust, tore through that virgin membrane. She gave a cry of alarm, eyes moistening with tears of pain. He froze, buried deep within her quivering body. “That’s the worst of it,” he murmured, reaching up to swipe a lone tear from her cheek.

She took in a deep, measured breath. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. She shifted slightly, her inner muscles flexing around him. He gave a hiss of pleasure, and she stopped, watching him with unconcealed curiosity. Then she did it again.

“Dear God, Caroline,” he choked.

Feminine awareness crept into her eyes. Her lips curved in a tiny smile, and she began to ride him with an unhurried pace that made all coherent thought flee his mind. He clenched his teeth, unable to take his eyes from her as she drove him mad with her sinuous movements. But soon she, too, got caught up in it. Her teasing smile faded, and her dark eyes widened as the delicious torment built. He felt the beginning ripples of her climax around him, and he helped her along with a stroke of his thumb between her thighs. She gave a high, keening cry, stunned pleasure stamped on her face as she went over the edge.

He was right behind her. One stroke, two. He couldn’t get deep enough, close enough. Then it ripped through him, and with a hoarse shout, he emptied himself inside her.

She slumped forward, melting over him like molten wax and burying her face in his throat. He raised a trembling hand to stroke her hair as the pleasure continued to wash over them in ever-slowing ripples.

Utterly content, they slipped into sleep.

Banging on the bedroom door woke them hours later.

“Bloody hell,” Rogan muttered, shoving aside the covers. He scooped his dressing gown from the floor and thrust his arms into it.

In the bed, Caroline, snuggled deeper into the pillows, her eyes only half open. “What is it?” she asked sleepily.

“It had better be death or fire,” Rogan snapped. “Or one of the horses.” He jerked open the door. Tallow stood there, his face grave.

It was death.

B
elvingham already felt like a tomb.

Rogan stood near the doorway of the duke’s bedroom as Caroline rushed to her father’s bedside. Dr. Raines stepped away from the bed as Caroline crouched beside it, taking her father’s hand in both of hers. Rogan met the doctor’s gaze, and the physician sadly shook his head in answer to the unasked question.

The duke was going to die.

Rogan let out a harsh breath. The duke was a manipulative busybody, but his motives had always been pure. Everything Belvingham had done, he had done to protect Caroline. He would miss the old man, interference notwithstanding.

He looked back at the bed, at his wife staring stricken at her father’s pale face, and knew he had to be there for Caroline when the end came.

“He’s as comfortable as I can make him,” Raines murmured, joining Rogan near the doorway. “I’ve dosed him with laudanum so at least he won’t be in pain.”

“Do you have any idea what’s killing him?” Rogan asked quietly, not taking his eyes from Caroline.

Raines gave a sigh. “None. His heart isn’t good, but that could be the result of whatever illness he’s contracted. I wish I could tell you more, but I’ve never seen the like.”

“Poison,” Rogan replied softly.

“What…are you certain?” the physician whispered back, stunned.

“That’s what the duke thought.” He looked at the doctor, knowing his own cold fury must clearly show on his face. “Can you find out?”

“I…If I am allowed to examine the body, then yes, probably.”

“Good.” Rogan glanced back at the heartbreaking tableau at the bed.

“Don’t you think you should ask me, Hunt?” a voice murmured from behind him. “After all, I will be the authority here should dear Uncle pass on to his reward.”

Rogan jerked around to find Althorpe in the doorway. The smaller man’s blue eyes glittered with malevolent victory for an instant before he turned a sorrowful gaze on Dr. Raines.

“You must be the physician,” he said with the perfect combination of grief and courtesy. “I’m
Randall Althorpe, the duke’s cousin. I take it he is not doing well.”

Raines shook his head, and Rogan wondered how he would react if he knew he spoke to the duke’s killer. “I’m sorry, Mr. Althorpe, but I don’t expect him to last the night.”

“How terrible,” Althorpe murmured. “I’m so glad I happened to be in the area when I heard the news. I might have missed my chance to say good-bye.”

“That’s right, I believe you paid a call on my wife yesterday,” Rogan said, keeping his tone as polite and disinterested as he could manage.

“I did,” Althorpe said with the barest of smiles. “My dear cousin seems quite happy in her marriage.”

“Quite,” Rogan agreed, then turned his attention back to Caroline before he gave in to the temptation to plant the bastard a facer.

“If you’ll excuse me, I should like to speak a private word with the duke.” With a polite smile, Althorpe pushed past the two men and made his way to Belvingham’s bedside.

Caroline looked up as Althorpe approached. For one instant, it was all she could do not to leap to her feet and claw his eyes out for what he had done to her father. She glanced at Rogan, and he gave her an imperceptible shake of his head. No, this was not the time and place to confront her father’s killer.

But the right time would come, and Randall would pay.

“Caroline.” Althorpe cast a sympathetic glance at the duke. “How is your father?”

“Dying.” Even the most basic civility was beyond her now. She clasped her father’s hand and turned away from his killer.

“I share in your grief,” he murmured.

Liar! She nearly shouted the word, but instead she pressed her trembling lips against her father’s hand. That Randall could commit so heinous a crime and then spew polite insincerities nearly made her sick to her stomach.

The duke’s eyelids fluttered, then opened slightly. His dark eyes glittered with emotion as he saw Caroline at his bedside. “Daughter,” he whispered.

“I’m here, Papa.” She bent closer, brushed a kiss to his pale cheek. “Try not to talk.”

“Must.” His fingers tightened in hers for just an instant.

“I am here, too, Your Grace.” Althorpe took a step closer.

Outrage flared in the duke’s face. “You…no.”

“It’s all right, Papa,” Caroline said, sweeping a soothing hand across his forehead. “Rogan is here.”

His eyes flicked to her face. “Rogan?”

“Rogan,” Caroline called. “Papa wishes to see you.”

Rogan came over to the bedside, jostling Althorpe out of the way. “Pardon me, Althorpe.”

Randall’s eyes narrowed to slits, but Caroline ignored him. She reached up with her free hand
to take Rogan’s. Their fingers entwined, and her nerves steadied.

The duke stared up into Rogan’s face. “Protect…her.”

“With my life,” Rogan vowed.

The duke looked over at Caroline. His lips parted as if to speak. Then he sucked in a startled breath, eyes widening. And was still.

“Papa?” Even as his fingers fell slack in hers, she refused to believe. She leaned closer, hysteria mounting to choke her. “Papa?”

“He’s gone, love.” Rogan crouched beside her and turned her face to his. “He’s gone.”

“No.” Tears streamed down her face. She glanced over at her father’s pale, still form. “His eyes are open. He’s looking at me.”

“Allow me.” Althorpe stepped closer, reaching for the duke.

Caroline surged to her feet and slapped his hand away. “Don’t you touch him,” she snarled.

Althorpe’s hand clenched, and his expression hardened, then cleared. “You are distraught, cousin.”

“She is,” Rogan agreed, standing. “Perhaps we should all leave the room and let Dr. Raines care for His Grace now.”

The physician came forward. “Lady Caroline, will you allow me to tend to your father?”

Beyond rational speech, she could only nod. Rogan gathered her close and escorted her to the door as the doctor went to the duke’s bedside and gently closed his eyes. Althorpe lingered.

“Your Grace,” Dr. Raines said, startling everyone in the room. Caroline and Rogan froze in the doorway. They looked back at the doctor; he was looking at Althorpe. “Would you be so kind as to step outside so that I might tend to things here?”

Even Randall looked taken aback by his new title. Then a small smile curved his lips. “Of course, Doctor.”

Caroline began to sob in earnest, undone by this final proof that her father really was dead.

Caroline passed the next few days in a fog. At night she lay in Rogan’s arms, sometimes taking comfort from his mere presence, and other times she turned to him in the night, searching for the hot passion that would make the pain fade away for a little while.

Her father’s funeral took place on a damp, cloudy day. The gray sky and moist chill in the air suited her mood as she watched her father’s coffin interred in the family plot. Rogan held her hand, the warmth of his flesh her only connection to the world around her.

Althorpe, now the new Duke of Belvingham, was of course present at all the functions attached to her father’s death. His sober face fooled the local gentry who came to pay their respects, but it didn’t fool Caroline. She knew what he was, what he had done. And deep inside her, couched in grief, anger burned. And a hunger for vengeance.

The will was to be read at Belvingham by Mr. Tenloft, the duke’s man of affairs these past twenty
years. The slim, balding man expressed his sincere sympathies as Rogan assisted Caroline into a chair. On the other side of the room, Althorpe lounged, his watchful blue eyes missing nothing. Her father’s secretary, Gregson, was also present. Apparently the new duke had elected to keep the services of the eager young man. The housekeeper, cook, and butler all stood at the back of the room.

Mr. Tenloft sat behind the duke’s desk and donned his spectacles to read the will. It began with the usual monetary gifts to the servants and charities. Cook began to sob into her apron when it was revealed that the old duke had left her enough money that she could retire if she wanted.

“To my secretary, Malcolm Gregson,” Mr. Tenloft continued, “I leave the sum of five thousand pounds, that he might marry his lady and provide for her in the event the next duke chooses not to retain his services.”

Gregson’s mouth fell open in shock. “But…that’s a fortune!”

Althorpe glanced at him. “A welcome windfall, though I have already decided to retain Mr. Gregson as my secretary.”

“To my daughter, Lady Caroline Hunt, I leave the rest of my personal wealth, totaling approximately three hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds—”

“What!” Althorpe leaped to his feet. “What nonsense is this, Mr. Tenloft?”

The solicitor peered over his glasses at Althorpe. “It is no nonsense, Your Grace.”

“But three hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds? That’s practically the entire financial value of the estate!”

“Indeed.” Tenloft’s mouth tightened, and he looked at Caroline. “Lady Caroline, while your father’s titles and estates pass to your cousin with the entailment, you should know that the duke’s personal wealth was not part of that entailment.” He turned back to Althorpe, who had opened his mouth to speak. “This three hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds is the personal wealth of the former Duke of Belvingham, and as such it can be distributed to his discretion. In this case, he chose to leave it to his only surviving child. Or, rather, her husband, as the law dictates that he will have control of the funds.”

“Impossible!” Althorpe glared at Rogan. “How am I to run these estates without adequate finances?”

“The lands draw a modest income that will serve to provide for their care and maintenance,” Tenloft said. “If you are frugal, that is.”

“Frugal!”

The solicitor straightened the papers before him. “This concludes the reading of the will.”

“It concludes nothing!” Althorpe glared at Caroline and Rogan. “This matter is not finished.”

“It is,” Tenloft said, meeting Althorpe’s gaze without flinching. “This will is completely legal and has been witnessed and filed in the appropriate manner. You will not be able to overturn it, Your Grace.”

“We’ll see about that.” With a sneer, Althorpe stormed from the room.

“Did you know about this?” Caroline glanced at Rogan in her mirror as she sat at her vanity table, brushing her hair.

Clad in his dressing gown, Rogan closed the connecting door behind him. “Yes, your father told me.”

“So my inheritance was yet another reason to wed me.”

“No. I originally refused his offer.”

“Indeed?” She set her brush down, her gaze never leaving his reflection. “Then how is it I am your wife?”

“Do you really want to talk about this now?”

“Actually, I do.” She turned in her chair and regarded him. “Why did you marry me, Rogan? I know it was my father’s doing, but you don’t strike me as a man who is easily intimidated.”

“I had no intention of marrying anyone. I didn’t want to let anyone that close to me. You know why.”

“Isabel,” she mused. “And your rages.”

He took a step closer to her. “I wanted you the minute I first met you. But you had been so hurt already, and I didn’t want to put you in danger. Besides, how could a second son ever hope to win the daughter of a powerful duke?”

“So you didn’t marry me for a horse. You married me for three hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds.”

“I married you because I wanted you.”

She rolled her eyes, cynicism drowning out the constant throb of grief. “Rogan, please. We’ve always been truthful with one another.”

“I’m being truthful.” He took her by the shoulders, yanked her out of the chair. “Caroline, I’ve always wanted you. Damn it, woman, I fell in love with you.”

“What?” She goggled at him, so stunned by his confession that she nearly forgot to breathe.

“I love you,” he repeated, stroking a hand through her hair. “I didn’t want to, fought it even. But it happened anyway. I can no more stop loving you than I can stop breathing.”

“Heavens,” she whispered. Her heart warmed and expanded, practically bursting from her chest. She couldn’t stop staring at him. “You love me.”

“I will protect you,” he vowed. “From villains, from Althorpe, even from myself.”

“I don’t need protecting from you,” she said, her insides melting like hot butter. “But my cousin…” Anger and grief twisted her features, hitched her breath. “We cannot let him get away with this.”

“I know.” Rogan cupped her face and kissed her. “But there’s more about your cousin that you do not know.”

“What?” She pulled back from him, searched his face. “I thought we no longer kept secrets from each other.”

“Come sit down.” He tugged her toward the bed, but she dug in her heels.

“No, you sit down if you need to, Rogan. I want to hear what you have to say.” She folded her arms. “I keep telling you I’m not some meek little miss.”

“No, but you’re not as brave as you think you are, either.”

“Just tell me what you know. I’m tired of secrets.”

Rogan sighed, and she watched the indecision play over his face. Finally he said, “Your father believed that Althorpe was responsible for the death of your brother. And for your kidnapping.”

“What?” Though she had expected bad news, his revelations still shocked her. “Randall killed my brother? And he…Good Lord.” She lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. “Good Lord, he did that to me. Hired those men. Monster,” she choked out.

“I suspect he’s been trying to clear his way to the title and the Belvingham wealth for some time now. Killing your brother so he could become the heir, kidnapping you for money. Your father found out about it.”

“So he killed Papa.”

“Yes, he did.” Rogan gathered her close as her eyes grew damp with tears. “But your father saw to it that he didn’t get what he wanted. He didn’t get the money, and he didn’t get you.”

“But he’s the duke now.” She clenched her hands in Rogan’s robe. “I want him to pay for what he’s done, Rogan. I know you’ve been working on it.”

“I hired Gabriel Archer to assist me. If there’s
anything shady about Althorpe, Archer will uncover it.”