Just One Touch (7 page)

Caroline studied her future husband. “Rogan, what happened?”

He said nothing, just turned to watch the scenery pass by.

“Rogan, please talk to me.”

“What would you like me to say?”

“The truth.”

“Ah.” His lips quirked in a sardonic smile. “The truth.” He sent her a hot glance that pinned her to her seat with its power and left her breathless. “Most people can’t handle the truth, Caroline.”

“I’m not most people,” she managed.

“No, you’re different, aren’t you?” Speculation swept across his face, but then he looked away again. “Best not to start this conversation, love. My control is thin today.”

The endearment shook her on a deep, elemental level. Something had happened today, something that had brought out that untamed side of Rogan that she had sensed. He seemed…dangerous.

“I just want to be certain you’re all right. How does your hand feel?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing.” He looked down and unwrapped his hand, flexing his fingers and studying them. “I had worse than this as a boy.”

“How did you hurt yourself?”

He flicked her a glance that was both amused and hungry. “Are you certain you want to know?”

“Yes.” She held firm beneath that fierce stare. “Were you fighting?”

“Yes.” He leaned back in the seat, challenge in every inch of him. “Are you shocked?”

“No.” She bit her lip. “All right, yes.”

He laughed, a deep, sensual sound that made her insides curl with unnamed pleasure. “Sorry you offered me a ride?”

“Not at all. You’re going to be my husband. It seems to me I should become comfortable with you in all your moods.”

His lips curved into a knowing smile. “Be careful what you wish for, love. Some of my moods are not that pleasant.”

“Everyone gets cross sometimes. Even me.”

“You? I can’t envision that.”

“Just wait,” she warned, heart pounding from the predatory way he looked at her. “I can be the most shrewish of women.”

“Indeed?” He shifted, bringing his knee up against hers. “Then it will be my job to tame you, won’t it?”

“I…” She swallowed, suddenly out of her depth. “You didn’t say why you had been fighting.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“It was a matter of honor. Let’s leave it at that.”

She shifted her leg away from his. He said nothing, just kept watching her with that amused, adult gaze. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said finally.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a berry tart!” She crossed her arms. “I feel as if you’re laughing at me, Rogan.”

“Maybe a little.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Though I must say that I tend to take my berry tarts very seriously.”

She honestly couldn’t breathe. “Rogan…”

“Calm yourself, little one.” He turned his head away, looking out the window again. “I won’t pounce on you.”

“Maybe…maybe I want you to.”

His head whipped around, his eyes dark and hot. “What did you say?”

She pressed herself back into the seat, astounded by what she had said.

He smirked. “Change your mind?”

She didn’t reply, words and feelings jumbling together in nervous confusion. She could only
look at him, torn by the urge to get closer, yet held fast by the fear of what might happen if she did.

At her continued silence, he gave a brief laugh, worldly cynicism shadowing his features as he turned back to look out the window.

Fear. Once more it stood between her and a normal part of living.

She pulled a lacy handkerchief from her reticule and worried it between her fingers, casting a surreptitious glance at her fiancé. Finally she steeled her resolve and shifted across to sit beside him on the other bench.

His head whipped around in surprise. Her first instinct was to scoot away, but she made herself remain still, even when those dark gray eyes settled on her with piercing interest. Swallowing hard, she avoided his gaze and reached for his injured hand. His fingers flexed in hers, then settled as she dabbed at the blood with the feminine scrap of lace.

“Playing with fire, Caroline?” His deep voice vibrated between them, he was so close.

“Tending to my betrothed,” she corrected.

“Very wifely of you.”

This time she met his gaze. “I told you I intend to be a good wife.”

“Shall we test your resolve?” Raising his other hand, he traced her cheek with his finger. “Or would you rather I allow you to escape back to your side of the coach?”

“That rather depends on what you have in mind.”

His mouth quirked with amusement. “Don’t worry, love, I have no intention of ravishing you in a coach.”

“I…see.” She crumpled the handkerchief in her hand, suddenly wondering at the wisdom of her boldness.

“A kiss,” he said. “Perfectly acceptable for an engaged couple.” He slid his hand behind her neck.

“Just one?” she whispered as he bent closer.

“One,” he agreed. “For now.”

His warm, ale-scented breath brushed her cheek as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her heart skipped a beat, then settled as their lips touched.

Soft. Skilled. After that first impression, coherent thought swirled away on a wave of sensation, and her eyes slid closed.

He took his time about it, learning the curve of her mouth, teaching her how to respond with a patience she hadn’t expected. His fingers massaged her nape, and when she leaned closer, a low growl rumbled from his throat. Encouraged, she lifted a hand to his chest and let it lie there, his heartbeat thundering beneath her palm.

The carriage hit a bump, jolting them apart. With a groan, he pulled her tightly against him, burying his face in her neck. He held her like that, his arms like iron bands around her, his breathing shaky.

“Rogan.” She shifted, hoping he would release her. “Rogan, are you all right?”

He made a muffled sound, his breath hot against her throat. She wriggled again, more strongly this time, but he didn’t release her. His teeth scraped her neck.

Panic exploded. Trapped.
No! Can’t get away. Let-me-go-let-me-go-let-me-go!

A whine ripped from her throat, and she clawed at his chest, wrenching from side to side to break his hold.

He jerked his head up, startled. “Caroline?”

“Let…me…go!” she panted. Her heart raced, her breath coming so fast, she thought it would choke her. Blackness crept into the edges of her vision, and she pounded a fist against his chest. “
Let me go!
”

He relaxed his arms. “Caroline, it’s all right. It’s Rogan.”

She shoved, breaking free of his encircling arms, and threw herself across the coach to the other bench. There she pressed herself into the farthest corner and stared at him, lifting one trembling hand to cover her mouth.

He hadn’t moved. “Caroline,” he said quietly, “you’re safe. I’m not going to touch you.”

Mortification swept over her. She realized she was shaking, that tears stung her eyes. Five-year-old memories lingered in her mind like the scent of fresh blood at a fox hunt.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to hide
from the world. She had thought she could do it, could get close to him and handle the attentions of an attractive male. But no, she had panicked like a lunatic, just as she had that night at her come-out ball. Everyone had looked at her like a bedlamite that night, and she couldn’t bear it if she saw the same look in Rogan’s eyes.

“Talk to me, Caroline.”

She opened her eyes to see him looking at her with honest concern. She wanted to forget the last few minutes, pretend they never happened.

Except for the kiss. The kiss she wanted to remember.

Rogan leaned forward in his seat, his hands draped over his knees. “I need you to tell me what I did wrong, Caroline,” he said quietly. “I need to know so I don’t do it again.”

His gentleness nearly undid her fragile control. “I can’t…I can’t talk about it.”

“You have to.” Slowly he extended a hand to her. “Hold my hand, Caroline. I promise I’ll stay right here.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. Please, just forget what happened.”

“I can’t forget.” He didn’t move. “You held my hand the other night, and nothing bad happened.”

“I know.”

“I won’t scare you again, I promise.” He kept his gaze steady on hers, compassion in his eyes. “I was angry before you met me today and then
when we kissed…” He sighed, his mouth twisting with self-disgust. “When we kissed, all that anger turned into something else. I lost control.”

She glanced down at his extended hand, then back to his face. “I thought I was the one who lost control.”

“Maybe we both did,” he agreed, a gentle smile curving his lips.

“They thought I was mad, you know.”

“Who did?”

“Society. The people at my debut ball. When I collapsed, they thought I had been driven mad.”

“I don’t think that.”

She gave a disbelieving little laugh. “You must.”

“I think you’ve been hurt, and that something I did scared you.”

“You held me too tightly.” The words tumbled from her lips before she thought about it. She pressed them together.

“Then I won’t do that again.”

She let out a long breath and rested her face in her hands. “I thought I wouldn’t be afraid. I wasn’t two nights ago.”

“This isn’t something that goes away overnight. And I’m afraid that if you don’t take my hand right now, we’ll be worse off than when we started.”

He was right. She stared at his hand, and he didn’t move a muscle. Slowly she reached out, rested her palm against his. He curled his fingers
lightly around hers and left their hands entwined. She knew that with the slightest tug of her hand, he would release her instantly.

Her pulse slowed, the panic draining away. She was still wary but no longer felt the urge to flee.

“Caroline, I’ve been to war,” Rogan said. “I’ve seen women who’ve been…hurt…by men. I understand that it will take time—maybe a lot of time—before you’re completely comfortable with me.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

He squeezed her hand, waited until she met his gaze. “I can wait,” he said softly.

She looked down at their joined hands, grateful for his strength, willing to believe that miracles could happen.

I
t poured rain on their wedding day.

Caroline and Rogan were married in the family chapel at Belvingham. It was a small, quiet ceremony witnessed by Caroline’s father and the select members of local society who had been invited, followed by a lavish wedding breakfast at the manor house.

Rogan hadn’t bothered to invite his own family.

He stood beside his bride, wearing the new clothes that had been ordered for him from the tailor, and accepted congratulations from the well-wishers. Caroline smiled politely to everyone who congratulated her, but he could feel the stiffness of her body, sense the strain she was under. While the number of people at the wedding was much smaller than the number of guests
at her debut ball, he could tell that the crowd still made her uneasy.

During a break in the well-wishers he leaned down and murmured, “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered back, smiling at a passing guest. “I refuse to succumb to the vapors at my own wedding!”

He chuckled. “That’s my girl. After all, you made it through the ceremony.”

She glanced up at him, a vision in silver and white with a wreath of white flowers in her dark hair. “Now I just have to survive life as your bride, sir, and all will be well.”

The twinkle in her eye delighted him. “Why, Lady Caroline, are you flirting with me?”

Her cheeks pinkened. “If a woman cannot flirt with her own husband, who can she flirt with?”

Her teasing words brought forth a burst of possessiveness. “No one else.”

Her eyes widened at his tone, and she glanced away.

He frowned. “Caroline?”

She didn’t look at him. “As if I could flirt with anyone but you, Rogan. As if I could stand to
be
with anyone but you.”

Her words grabbed him by the throat. “Caroline—”

“What’s
he
doing here?” she groaned. “I had hoped he had another engagement.”

“Who?” Distracted, he followed her gaze to where a good-looking young man had just entered the room.

“Randall.” She sighed. The humor was back in her eyes when she looked up at him. “My father’s heir. I was hoping he wouldn’t come. He has a tendency to treat me like a mad aunt who should be locked in the attic.”

“That’s Althorpe?” Rogan watched with interest as the fair-haired young man made his way through the crowd toward them, exchanging greetings with the other guests as he did so.

Althorpe’s blond hair fell across his brow in the latest style, and his coat of Spanish blue denoted an excellent tailor. He acknowledged acquaintances with sophisticated charm, smoothly moving along after a moment or two of pleasantries. Yet upon closer scrutiny, his eyes never reflected the warmth of his smile, and he tended to glance about him as if measuring some sort of threat.

Rogan narrowed his eyes. Though not a tall man, Althorpe moved with the ease of someone who could handle himself in a fight, and this, coupled with the duke’s suspicions, was enough to make Rogan’s body tense in readiness as the fellow stopped before them with a charming smile.

“Cousin Caroline, you look radiant! May I offer my congratulations?” Althorpe didn’t kiss Caroline’s hand, clearly cognizant of the fact that Caroline did not like to be touched. Instead he sketched a polite bow. “And to the groom as well, of course. Hunt, isn’t it? My felicitations, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Husband, this is Mr. Randall Althorpe, my cousin,” Caroline murmured.

“Ah, Belvingham’s heir, is it?” Affecting a mien of conviviality that earned him a startled glance from Caroline, Rogan smiled broadly and shook the other man’s hand.

“Quite.” Althorpe glanced around the room. “And where is dear Uncle? I should like to greet him properly.”

“Entertaining guests no doubt,” Caroline said.

“If you will excuse me, I will seek him out.” With a polite nod of his head, Althorpe disappeared into the crowd.

“Hopefully he won’t stay long,” Caroline remarked. “He and Papa don’t get on that well.”

“A man can’t choose his family.” Senses on alert, he watched over her head as Althorpe spoke to a servant, then slipped from the room.

Noting his distraction, Caroline followed his gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” He smiled at his bride. “Tell me, why does Althorpe refer to your father as ‘uncle’ if they are actually cousins?”

“He’s always called him that. And you will not distract me so easily, Rogan. Answer my question.”

“Actually, I believe I should find your father.”

She laid a hand on his arm, smiling in a way that didn’t erase the suspicion in her eyes. “We can look for him together.”

“Unnecessary.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “The bride should stay here to greet the guests.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Rogan, what’s going on?”

“Business, that’s all.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Before she could say another word, he slipped away through the crowd.

“Good morning, Uncle.”

The duke jerked with surprise at the sound of Randall’s voice. With shaking hands, he shoved the settlement papers for Caroline’s marriage into his desk drawer and slammed it shut. Given his heir’s fairly calm demeanor at the moment, he didn’t think the volatile young man knew about the money he had settled on her. “Althorpe. I don’t recall your name on the guest list.”

“A sad oversight, I’m sure.” Still smiling that amiable smile, Randall sauntered into the room. “And how is your health, Uncle? Well, I hope.”

Though his heir’s tone remained solicitous, the duke caught the knowing gleam in Althorpe’s eyes.

“I’m certain you would know better than I.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Prowling around the room, Althorpe ran a finger along the back of a chair, studied a painting. “You know, when I inherit I think I’ll redecorate this room in a dark green. What do you think?”

“I’m not dead yet, you—”

“Temper, temper,” Althorpe chided. “We wouldn’t want your heart to give out now, would we?”

“Is that what comes next?” Despite the weak
ness of his limbs, Belvingham got to his feet. “Is that what will finally kill me, you hell spawn?”

Althorpe widened his eyes in apparent distress. “Uncle, how can I tell such a thing? Am I a soothsayer?”

Rogan stepped into the room. “Good question. Are you?”

Althorpe swung around, clearly surprised to see the bigger man in the doorway. “Ah, the happy bridegroom. I was simply trying to calm my uncle’s fears. His illness addles him sometimes. It’s so very distressing.”

Belvingham grabbed a small, heavy statue from the desk. “I’ll show you addled!”

Rogan strode across the room and took hold of the statue, placing it on the desk. “Calm yourself, Your Grace.”

“My thanks, Hunt.” Althorpe touched the diamond stickpin at his throat. “I fear the duke is overset.”

Rogan assisted Belvingham into his chair, then turned to face Althorpe. “It’s not good for His Grace to overexert himself.”

Randall’s brows rose. “Certainly you don’t blame me for my uncle’s rantings.”

“Did I say that?” Rogan gave a small, menacing smile that drew a startled look from the other man. “I was merely cautioning you not to upset the duke.”

“Are you threatening me, sir?”

“That depends.” Rogan placed his hand over
the statue he had just taken from Belvingham. “Is it working?”

Althorpe’s eyes narrowed. “You assume much.”

Rogan shrugged. “My bride would be displeased to know that her father was upset by your visit, Althorpe.”

“And you must keep the lady happy, I suppose.” Randall’s mouth curved in a condescending smile. “As long as Uncle holds the purse strings, at any rate.”

“You young whelp!” the duke snarled.

Rogan took a step closer to Althorpe, the desire to knock the supercilious smirk off his face nearly more than he could resist. “Leave my wife out of this.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither giving an inch. Finally Althorpe broke the contact, reaching for his pocket watch and flicking it open with his thumb. “I do believe I am late for an appointment,” he said, his tone heavy with ennui. “I only stopped by to extend my felicitations to the bride and groom. Good day, Uncle. Hunt.”

Rogan gave a short nod but said nothing. He watched Randall saunter out of the room, then turned to look at Belvingham.

“Don’t be fooled,” the duke said, sagging back in his chair. “He appears charming, but he’s a murdering bastard.”

“I believe you.” Rogan went to the doorway
and watched as Althorpe strode down the hall. “I admit, I wasn’t certain before. But I believe you now.”

“The ramblings of a sick old man?” Belvingham snorted. “I wouldn’t have believed me, either.”

Rogan swung away from the doorway and back toward the duke. “That man is dangerous.”

“I suppose it takes one to know one.” Belvingham shifted in his chair, winced. “You see then why I was concerned for Caroline.”

“I do. Does she know…?”

“No! And she never will. I won’t have her frightened. Hopefully her marriage to you will be enough to keep her out of Althorpe’s reach.”

Rogan sat down in a chair by the duke’s desk. “Do you think he means to harm her?”

“I don’t know.” Belvingham slouched back in his chair. “Questions were raised during the investigation into her kidnapping, questions that to this day remain unanswered.”

“You believe Althorpe was behind that?”

“There is no proof. My heir is careful to keep his hands clean of such messes. But given recent events, I cannot help but wonder if that incident was Randall’s doing as well.”

“If he is capable of murder, the kidnapping of a young girl would be child’s play.” Rogan clenched his jaw. “But Caroline isn’t a child any longer.”

“With me out of the way and a clear path to the
title, I don’t expect that he would have done any worse than to marry her off to some reprobate or, worse yet, wed her himself to get his hands on her fortune.”

“He can’t touch her now.”

“No.” Belvingham closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh of relief. “My daughter is safe.”

“And she’ll stay that way. That I promise.”

It was her wedding night.

As the carriage stopped before the tiny manor house, Caroline studied her new home. It looked cozy and private, a far cry from the palatial estate she had called home these past twenty years. She would share this house with Rogan, live with him as his wife.

He opened the door to the carriage and hopped out, then turned and extended his hand to her. “Welcome home, Caroline.”

She took his hand, and a jolt swept through her. His fingers were so warm, his smile intimate. Her stomach did a little flip-flop. He did understand, didn’t he, that she wasn’t yet ready to become his wife in truth? That she couldn’t yet share his bed?

She stepped down from the carriage, and he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. As he led her to the door of her new home, her heartbeat sped up, and her breathing grew shallow. What if he expected to consummate their marriage tonight? What would she do if he forced her?

She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. She had to
believe that he would give her time to work through her fears. They had talked about it, hadn’t they? But she remembered that afternoon in the carriage, when he had seemed a different person, a dangerous man. When her fears had reared up and sent her scrambling from his arms.

How could this possibly work?

“Caroline.” His soft voice drew her attention to his face. Suddenly she realized that they stood on the doorstep of his home and that her fingers clutched his arm with enough force that he could no doubt feel her nails digging into his flesh even through the material of his coat. Mortified, she loosened her hold.

“Don’t be frightened, love.” He gently placed his hand over hers before she could withdraw it. “I know you’re not ready.”

“Not yet,” she whispered, her muscles relaxing in relief. “I wasn’t certain if—”

“We talked about this, remember? I’m not going to force you. We have the rest of our lives to get used to each other.”

“Thank you.” She mustered up a smile, lost for a moment in the tenderness that softened his gray eyes.

He leaned close to her ear. “I’ll be satisfied with a kiss good night.”

His suggestive whisper sent a shiver of desire through her. Aroused and confused, she felt her face grow hot even as her flesh prickled with awareness.

He chuckled, clearly satisfied with her reaction to his flirting. “Come, my blushing bride. Welcome to your new home.” He opened the door and gestured for her to enter first.

Caroline tentatively stepped inside, and Rogan couldn’t suppress a surge of possessiveness. Though he had fought it, this lovely, dainty lady was now his wife, and he couldn’t be sorry. He would protect her from Althorpe and anyone else who threatened her.

Even himself.

He closed the door behind them and hung up his hat as Caroline peered into the snug little parlor. Then she whirled around, eyes wide and face pale. “Rogan, there’s a man in there!”

Rogan grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her behind him as he stepped into the parlor doorway. He recognized the intruder at once and bit back a curse that would certainly have blistered his new bride’s tender ears. He’d hoped to avoid this for some time, but he should have known better. He narrowed his eyes as he noted the way the dark-haired intruder relaxed beside the fire, legs stretched out before him as he helped himself to Rogan’s favorite whiskey.

The handsome fellow looked up as Rogan entered, then gave a charming smile and raised the glass in salute. “And here he is, the lucky bridegroom. Good evening to you, Rogan.”

Rogan didn’t move from his position in the doorway. “What are you doing here, Colin?”

“Can’t a man stop by and wish his brother happy on his wedding day?” Colin got to his feet in one sleek move and tossed back the last of the whiskey, then set the empty glass on the mantel. “Of course I realize it’s more appropriate to offer my felicitations at the wedding; however, I fear my invitation must have been misplaced.”

“You might find it on the manure pile.”