Just One Touch (9 page)

Then her hands slipped down too far, and she
encountered something hard and hot and all too familiar.

With a cry, she ripped herself from his arms, nearly fell off the bed as she clambered to her feet.

“Caroline.” Sounding a bit breathless himself, Rogan calmly rearranged the covers with one hand while reaching for her with the other. “It’s all right.”

She shook her head frantically, covering her mouth with her hand as she fought off hysteria.

“Caroline, please.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, dragging the sheets with him as he sat up. “Don’t let it get hold of you, love. Don’t let the fear take you away from me.”

“I don’t want to, but I can’t help it.” She turned away from him and walked to the hearth. There was no fire burning, as it was early May and still pleasantly comfortable at night. She stared into the sooty emptiness of the cold fireplace, wondering if she would ever be able to live life as a normal woman.

“Maybe we should talk about it.”

“About what? That I can’t touch my own husband without becoming hysterical?” She gave a bitter laugh. “Perhaps you would have been better off with just the horse after all.”

“I wanted you, Caroline,” he admitted softly. “I just don’t think I deserve you.”

“You must be mad.” She turned to face him, her lips trembling as she struggled to hold back her tears. “If anything, you deserve more.”

He gave a deep sigh and raked both hands through his hair. “What a pair we are.”

“Indeed.” She twisted her fingers together, then caught herself doing it and dropped her hands to her sides. “What now?”

“I think we should talk about this. I think the more I know about what happened to you, the better I will be able to help you overcome it.”

“You really think I can overcome this?” She sent him a look of disbelief. “Look at me. It’s our wedding night, and I’m afraid to come near you.”

“You weren’t before.” He gave her an intimate smile. “You like my kisses.”

She looked at him, sin personified as he sat wrapped in nothing but the bedsheets, his muscular chest and shoulders bared for her enjoyment. His hair was tousled from the pillows and from his own impatient fingers, and pure wickedness gleamed in his eyes.

If ever there was a man to tempt a woman, it was he.

“I do like your kisses,” she replied. “I always want more. But it is the ‘more’ that frightens me.”

“Which is why I need to know what happened to you.”

“What about you?” she threw back at him. “What was that about not deserving me? Apparently I am not the only one with something to tell.”

His jaw tightened, but his voice remained gentle. “Caroline, you won’t distract me. If we are to
make a go of this marriage, I need to know something of what happened to you. You don’t have to tell me everything right away. Just what you are comfortable with.”

He was right. She knew he was right, but…“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“Of what?”

“If I talk about it…it brings it all back.” She took a deep breath. “And you may look at me differently. I don’t think I could bear that.”

“It’s not your fault.” He started to stand, then was jerked back by the sheets still tucked into the bed. “Blast it. Would you hand me my robe, love? I think both of us will feel better if I’m not naked while we have this conversation.”

“Of course.” She managed to control her blush as she grabbed his robe from the chair and brought it to him.

He took it from her, his eyes soft with compassion as he looked into her face. “Thank you.”

She could feel the heat from his body even a pace away, and while her mind urged her to back away, her feminine instincts encouraged her to move closer, to touch him. He seemed to sense her thoughts. His gaze settled on her mouth, and his fingers clenched around the thick material of the robe.

“Turn around,” he said hoarsely. “Unless…”

Now nothing could stop the surge of heat that flooded her cheeks. Though he hadn’t finished the sentence, the unmistakable sexual heat between
them made words unnecessary. She spun around, presenting him with her back.

Material rustled as he shed the sheet and shrugged into his robe. She imagined him standing naked behind her, tall and muscled and absolutely one of the most attractive men she had ever seen in her life. Then she remembered what had frightened her, how aroused he’d been, and the delicious pleasure curling her stomach turned to churning anxiety. He was behind her. She couldn’t see him. He was naked. He could…

“No!” She whirled to face him, poised to fight or flee.

Clad in his robe, he gave her a puzzled look. “Are you all right?”

Feeling foolish, she could only nod, the frantic emotion subsiding.

“I think we both need a drink.” He moved to the other side of the room and poured two glasses of whiskey. He held one out to her. “Here, drink this—-but slowly. It will settle your nerves.”

She came over to accept the glass and took a tentative sip. The liquor burned her mouth and throat like fire. She choked, holding the glass out to him as her eyes teared. “I don’t think I’ll have any nerves left after that.”

He chuckled and set the glass on the table, then tossed back his own drink without so much as a ripple of discomfort. “That’s the point.”

She swiped the moisture from her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her breath felt amazingly cool
after the heat of the whiskey. “If I’m not calm, at least I’m numb.”

“I know this is hard for you.” He rested his hands gently on her shoulders. She tensed for an instant, but then realized that he left the touch light so that she knew she could move away if she wanted to. “But I can’t avoid hurting you if I don’t know what happened.”

“I know.” She rested her forehead against his broad chest, took comfort from the strong beat of his heart. He swept a soothing hand through her hair. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

Caroline began to pace the room, and Rogan sat down in a nearby chair. He leaned forward, elbows resting loosely on his knees, granting her his full attention.

His intent male focus unnerved her, especially since his current position made the neckline of his robe gap open, granting her a tantalizing view of his bare chest. She looked at the fireplace, at her feet—anything to avoid those shrewd gray eyes. “Where do you want me to start?”

He gave her question a moment’s thought before he replied, “I know you were kidnapped. Tell me how it happened.”

“I was out with my governess. She was escorting me to my friend’s home when the men attacked our carriage.”

“And where did this happen?”

“At Chiverton, one of my father’s estates just outside London.” She shivered, hugging herself
as the dark memory swept through her. “Papa told me he would have sold the house after that if it hadn’t been entailed.”

“How many men were there?”

She shrugged, the image of that day still indelibly carved in her mind, bitterly flavored with a young girl’s terror. “Two, three. I’m not certain. More than one.” She took a shaky breath. “One of them shot Miss Sawgrass. Right in front of me.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached out a hand to her, but she shook her head and stepped away.

“I’m all right.” She regained control and continued with her story, still not looking at him. “Someone put a sack over my head, and they tied me up. Then one of them put me on a horse and rode behind me. It seemed like we rode forever.”

“And then what happened?”

She shrugged. “They tied me up and sent Papa a ransom note.”

“Caroline.” His chiding tone grated.

“What?” She spun to face him, knowing that he knew there was more to it. That it hadn’t really been as simple as that. And she hated that he knew, that he would make her put words to what they had done to her. “That’s what happened. They locked me in a closet, so now I’m afraid of the dark. They murdered my governess in front of my eyes, so I did whatever they told me.
Anything
they told me.”

He stood, never taking his gaze from her face. “Anyone would have done the same. They were ruthless men, Caroline.”

“Well then.” For some reason her breath was coming in pants, and her heart pounded as if she’d run for miles. When he stepped toward her, she turned away, not wanting him to touch her. To look at her.

“There’s more to the story,” he said quietly.

Her muscles tensed. She crossed her arms tightly as if she would hold back the scream that threatened to burst from her chest. “Bow Street found me, and Papa came to get me. He saw to it that the men were sent to prison for their crime.”

“Prison?” His eyes grew cold. “I would have killed the bastards with my own two hands.”

She glanced back at him, startled that his thoughts so closely echoed hers. “I wish you had been there then.”

He clenched his fists and moved away. “Tell me the rest.”

Her throat closed up. “I can’t.”

He spun back, his eyes fierce. “You must.”

“No.” She swept both hands through her hair, clenched it tightly between her fingers before letting it fall around her shoulders again. “Don’t ask it of me.”

“Damn it, Caroline!” He hurled his whiskey glass into the empty grate. She flinched as it shattered. “Are you so much a coward? Are you going to let them win?”

“Coward?” She stared at him in stunned disbelief. “How can you call me that? I’m still alive, am I not? They didn’t kill me. They didn’t best me
because I did everything they wanted, and that’s why I’m still alive.”

“Are you?” He raked a contemptuous gaze over her, his lip curling in a sneer. “You exist, Caroline, but you don’t live.”

His words struck like a blow to the chest. Her breathing hitched as raw emotion roared into a blazing inferno. “You know nothing about it.”

He stepped closer, thrusting his face near hers. “Then tell me.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” She shoved at his chest with both hands, sending him back a pace. “Shall I tell you how they touched me? The disgusting things they said?”

“Yes.” Unfazed by her outburst, he watched her, the ferocity fading from his expression.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “They gloated in detail about the things they wanted to do to me. Fondled themselves while they talked. One man even…he showed me his male part.” Revulsion rippled through her.

“Caroline.” He reached for her, his voice gentle, his eyes softening with compassion.

She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me. Shall I tell you more? Would you like to hear the details?”

“That’s enough for now.”

The tenderness in his voice splintered her control. The words tumbled from her lips, shrill and defiant. “That one man, he used to do things to me when the others weren’t looking. Grab my
bottom, pinch my bosom. One day he held me down, touched me. Made me touch him…made me tell him how much I liked it. And I did it. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“You mean did he force himself on me?” She gave a little laugh made harsh by hysteria. “They stopped him. But if you’re keeping a list, Rogan, add ‘Don’t hold down Caroline’ to it.”

“Stop,” he whispered. The distress in his eyes nearly made her knees buckle.

But she couldn’t stop.

“You wanted to know, Rogan, and I’m telling you.” She came closer to him, driven by some violent emotion that she couldn’t even name. “In their sick little game, they told me how to please a man. Made me repeat the instructions until I was physically sick. It meant I got to live.” She slid her hand beneath his robe and caressed his chest. “I can show you what I learned.”

He closed his fingers around hers and gently moved her hand away. “Don’t, Caroline. It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right!” She jerked her hand from his. “Nothing they did was all right!”

“I know.” He tried to gather her close, but she resisted.

“They broke me. They turned me into a whore.” She curled her hand into a fist against his chest.

“You’re not a whore.”

“Why did they do that, Rogan?” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she pounded her fist against his shoulder. “Why?”

“They were evil men.” He tried again to gather her into his arms, but she shoved him away.

“You don’t understand. You can’t understand how helpless—” A deep wrenching sob shook her, and she clung to him, gripping his robe in her fists. “I don’t want to remember,” she whimpered.

Rogan squeezed his eyes shut, torn to pieces by her pain. He cuddled her close, keeping his hold loose enough that she knew she could walk away at any time, yet tight enough that she didn’t crumple to the floor. He stroked her hair with a hand that trembled. “Shhh. It’s all right.”

Her only answer was another of those gut-ripping sobs.

He didn’t know what to do for her. Yes, he’d been harsh in an effort to get her to face her fear. But he hadn’t expected this. Never this.

He cradled her in his arms, torn between the need to console her and the rage that burned inside him. How could anyone have ever done such a thing to someone so pure of heart, so innocent? He wanted to track the men down and kill them all personally. Painfully.

Caroline made a soft sound of protest and shifted in his arms. He realized he was squeezing her too tightly and immediately loosened his hold. She settled against him again, limp as a dishrag, the emotional storm spent for the moment.

For both of them.

He glanced around the room, looking for someplace to sit. They couldn’t just stand in the middle of the room indefinitely. His gaze settled on the bed, and he hesitated for a moment. Then he made the decision and scooped her into his arms.

She didn’t protest. If anything, she cuddled closer to him, even when he sat on the bed and settled back against the pillows with her on his lap. He stroked her hair and murmured soothing nonsense in her ear, and she snuggled into him, one hand against his chest and the other curled beneath her cheek. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Sleep claimed them, bringing peace at last.

C
aroline came awake slowly, conscious of the toasty comfort of the bed and a feeling of being well rested and safe. She shifted, stretching her limbs lazily, and only then realizing that she wasn’t alone in the bed.

She stilled, her senses coming instantly alert. A large, warm body lay snugly against her back, curved against hers as if they were two spoons in a drawer. The heavy weight of a male arm rested around her waist, and a large hand splayed over her abdomen. The spicy scent of a man’s cologne tickled her nose even as she became aware of the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back.

She had slept in Rogan’s arms the entire night.

She shifted, inch by inch, trying to slide out from underneath his arm. He grunted in his
sleep, tightening his grip around her and pulling her back against him even more closely than before. His warm breath played across her neck, and his fingers flexed on her belly before he settled back into sleep.

Well, mostly.

There was one part of him that seemed to be very definitely awake, if the hard ridge pressing against her buttocks was any indication.

Panic rose, and she quivered like a rabbit caught in a snare. What if he awoke? What if he—

She jerked her thoughts to a halt, heart thundering, breathing shaky. She had spent the night in Rogan’s arms, and he had not taken advantage of the fact. She needed to cling to that simple truth.

Once more she tried to slip out of his hold, but he groaned and buried his face in her neck even as his hand slid upward from her stomach. He cupped her breast through her nightgown, teasing her nipple with his thumb, sending an unexpected wave of pleasure through her.

Dear God, now what?

“Rogan.” She tried to jab him with her elbow, but the dead weight of his arm made such a move impossible.

He pinched her nipple between his fingers, then gently squeezed her breast in his big hand and shifted his hips so his hard erection pressed into her bottom. Her breathing hitched. Her heart pounded in her ears. Need rose like a flame, burning through her limbs with undeniable demand.
Her reaction startled her. Scared her with its intensity.

“Rogan, stop.” Flooded with mind-spinning desire, she struggled to pull away. “Please.”

He muttered something in his sleep and nuzzled her neck, his fingers tracing her pliant flesh with experienced skill.

She closed her eyes as hot pleasure swept over her. What was happening to her? How could she feel so good and yet be so afraid? What kind of woman did that make her?

“No!” She grabbed his thumb, jerked it backward.

He gave a bellow and yanked his hand away. “What the—Bloody hell!” He rolled out of the bed and stood for a moment with his back to her as he adjusted his robe.

Slowly she sat up in the bed, clenching the covers around her. “You were asleep,” she whispered.

He bowed his head, his shoulders tense. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”

“A little.” Her heartbeat slowed. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

He gave a hard laugh. “Part of me did.”

She didn’t know how to answer that, so she said nothing. He clasped his hands behind his head and took several deep breaths, clearly trying to get his unruly body under control. As she watched him struggle, she gathered her courage. “Does that happen a lot?” she asked quietly.

“Does what happen a lot?” He lowered his arms and shook them out.

“That.” She could barely get the words out, and she knew her face burned with embarrassment. She knew much about horses but nothing about men. And she knew he would tell her the truth. “Your…er…male part.”

He spun around to face her, astonishment plain on his face. “Did you just ask me what I think you asked me?”

“Dear Lord, don’t make me say it again.” She hid her flaming cheeks in the rumpled sheets.

“No, it’s all right.” She felt the bed dip as he sat on the edge of it; then he tugged the sheet away from her face. “Caroline, I don’t mind your curiosity.”

“Pretend I said nothing.”

He stopped her when she would have ducked beneath the covers again. Taking her chin in his hand, he turned her head so their eyes met. “It’s a natural condition for a man in the morning.”

“Oh.” Even as she took comfort in the fact that he hadn’t been trying to take liberties, a curious sense of disappointment flickered through her. “Then it wasn’t something I did.”

“No.” He smiled reassuringly.

She pulled away from him and slid off the opposite side of the bed. She kept her back to him for a moment and ran a hand through her tangled hair as she collected herself.

“Caroline, are you all right?”

“Of course.” She turned and gave him a smile. “Thank you for answering my question.”

He stood slowly, eyeing her with concern. “What’s the matter?”

Afraid he would see the confusion in her eyes, she glanced toward the sunlight streaming through the window. “It’s morning. Did you have plans today?”

“Never mind my social calendar. Something’s bothering you.” He came around to her side of the bed.

She turned away before he could reach her and headed for the door. “I think I’d like to ride this morning, so I’ll just go see if Marie—”

His fingers closed over hers on the door latch. “Tell me what’s wrong, love.”

Her heart lurched. He’d used the endearment before, but after last night, it seemed to mean more. God help her, was she besotted?

“Nothing’s wrong.” Gathering her courage, she stood on tiptoe and gave him a wifely peck on the cheek. “I assume you have a suitable mount for me?”

He frowned at her but didn’t push the matter. “Your father sent Destiny over last night.”

“Lovely. I’ll see to breakfast then.” With a falsely cheerful smile, she darted into her room and closed the door, leaving him staring after her.

With the horse thundering beneath him and the wind whipping through his hair, Rogan finally felt somewhat normal as he rode across the
fields with his new bride. He let Hephaestus have his head, the landscape whooshing by in a blur of green trees and grass. Destiny kept pace with Rogan’s black stallion, and Caroline threw back her head and laughed with pure joy as they galloped hell-for-leather.

Rogan glanced over at the happy sound, entranced by the vitality of his young wife’s face. Her brown eyes sparkled with happiness, her cheeks flushed from the vigorous exercise. A skilled horsewoman in her own right, she moved easily with the pace of the animal, unafraid of what lay ahead.

She’d never looked more beautiful. Or more desirable.

They galloped over the rise and headed for the main road that led to town. They had no particular destination in mind, just enjoyed being together. As their horses’ hooves touched the road, an equine shriek split the air. Hephaestus tossed his head and lost his even gait for a moment, shuffling in agitation in response to the unknown horse’s scream. Destiny reacted in similar fashion, prancing backward and forward in indecision, ears flickering, tossing her head in distress.

The high-pitched screech came again. Caroline glanced at him, and Rogan nodded his head. In unison, they both spurred their mounts forward in the direction of the unfortunate animal.

Minutes later they came upon a scene that horrified both of them. A fellow—gentry from the
look of him—stood at the side of the road. He had tied his mount to a tree and was beating the animal with vicious cuts of his crop. The horse shrieked again, trying to free its head, which was trapped low to the ground so it couldn’t see what its owner was doing. Blood flecked the horse’s fine gray coat.

Caroline pulled up on Destiny, frozen by the torture the man inflicted on the animal. Rogan rode up practically on top of the man, then slid off Hephaestus before the horse had even come to a stop. As the black pranced out of the way, Rogan reached out and grabbed the abuser’s wrist with one hand while wresting the crop away with the other.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” the unknown man demanded, whirling to face Rogan. “Give me back my crop immediately!”

Rogan grabbed the man one-handed by the throat and slammed him against a tree, the crop clenched in his other hand. “Only if I use it on you first.”

“Rogan!” Caroline cried.

“Are you mad?” the fellow croaked.

“You’re the madman, beating a helpless animal like that.” Rogan slapped the crop against the tree, inches from the man’s face. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do the same to you.”

“No! Stop!” Freed from her shock, Caroline quickly dismounted and rushed over. “Rogan, let him go!”

“Not until he answers my question.” His eyes glittering with anger, he shoved his face close to the stranger’s. “Come now, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take this crop”—he slapped it against the tree again, making the fellow flinch—“to
you
.”

The man tried to answer, but apparently couldn’t get the words past the fingers clenched around his throat. His face was turning an alarming shade of red, and he clawed fruitlessly at Rogan’s hand.

Caroline slipped around so she could see her husband’s face. The rage in his eyes scared her right down to her toes, and her heart pounded so loudly she thought he could hear it. “Rogan, please let him go.”

“Did you see what he was doing to that animal?” he demanded, his voice low and feral.

“I see what you’re doing to
him
.” She reached out a shaking hand and stroked it down his sleeve, poised to flee should he turn his fury on her. “Please, Rogan. For me.”

He flicked her a sidelong glance, then suddenly flung the man away from him. The fellow staggered away from the tree, coughing.

“I’ll check on the mare.” Rogan stalked toward the horse.

Caroline took a moment to breathe deeply, closing her eyes and willing her pulse to return to normal. Her heart thundered and her hands shook, and she was certain her knees would give
out at any moment. But she’d managed to divert Rogan’s attention, and that was all that mattered.

She would think about the consequences later.

A sound behind her reminded her they weren’t alone. She turned to face the horse’s abuser. “Are you all right?”

“He’s insane.” Still choking, the fellow thrust a finger in Rogan’s direction. “I’ve half a mind to report him to the magistrate.”

“Then report yourself as well,” Caroline retorted. “Only a monster would beat a horse like that.”

The fellow stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Madame, you have cheek, I’ll grant you! Your husband just assaulted me, and yet you call
me
a monster?”

“My husband doesn’t abuse helpless animals.”

“No, just his fellow man.” The stranger gave her an arrogant look down his thin, pointy nose. “Might I inquire as to your name, madame?”

“I am Lady Caroline Hunt, daughter of the Duke of Belvingham,” she replied in her haughtiest voice.

The fellow paled. “Belvingham’s daughter?” he whispered.

“Not to mention my wife,” Rogan growled, walking back toward them. “See that you keep a civil tongue in your head.”

Caroline turned and placed herself between her husband and the stranger. “Calm down, Rogan. Raging is not going to settle this matter.”

He flashed a lethal, white-toothed smile. “It
would settle it for me.” He made to go around her, but Caroline stepped in front of him and planted her hands on his chest.

He stopped mid-stride and stared down at her fingers against his dark blue coat. “Caroline, get out of the way.”

“No.” She made herself look into his eyes, those beautiful gray eyes that were currently alight with a wild gleam that made her mouth go dry with anxiety. Her heart started pounding again. “I’m not moving.”

He lowered his face so their gazes were even. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The low tone made her stomach lurch with uncertainty, but she didn’t dare relent. “Then don’t hurt me. Tend to the mare, and let me deal with this gentleman.”

“The mare won’t let me near her.” He sent a glare over her head. “The blackguard’s traumatized her.”

The lanky gentleman puffed himself up, but Caroline sent him a look that made him close his mouth before making things worse with an insult. “What do you mean, Rogan?”

“I mean she won’t let me near her. I can’t see to her injuries. She’s in some kind of shock.” He scowled at the man behind her.

“She won’t let
you
near her?” Caroline pursed her lips. “That can’t be good.” She glanced at the stranger. “Mr.—I’m sorry, I don’t believe you introduced yourself.”

The mare’s owner blinked his watery blue eyes at the change of subject. “I am Mr. Jerome Peterson.”

“Jerome Peterson,” Rogan repeated slowly, as if committing the name to memory.

“Did you hear what Rogan said, Mr. Peterson? You’ve so terrorized your mount that she won’t let anyone near her.”

Peterson’s expression grew sulky. “The bloody animal won’t listen. What else was I supposed to do?”

Rogan reached around Caroline and prodded the man in the ribs with the crop. “Watch your language in my wife’s presence, Peterson.”

“Apologies.” Peterson withdrew a handkerchief and wiped his face. “I won this mare in a game of chance, but it’s the worst horse I’ve ever had. It won’t obey any of my commands, don’t you see?”

“Beating a horse into submission never solved that particular problem,” Rogan snarled. Caroline kept her hands firmly on his chest, and while he made no move to lunge, she could feel his powerful muscles flexing beneath her hands.

“Oh?” Peterson looked down his nose at Rogan. “And I suppose you are some sort of expert on horse training, sir?”

“I am Rogan Hunt of Hunt Chase,” Rogan informed him through gritted teeth.

Peterson paled. “A Hunt of Hunt Chase?” he repeated weakly. “Ah…then you do know something of horses.”

“Something,” Rogan agreed, tapping the crop against his boot in an impatient rhythm.

“Now, Rogan.” Caroline moved one hand to his arm, stilling it. “Mr. Peterson, perhaps we can make a bargain.”

“A bargain?” Peterson repeated.

“What bargain?” Rogan asked, narrowing his eyes at his bride.

“Mr. Peterson won this mount in a game of chance, husband, and clearly he is unhappy with the animal. Perhaps we should offer to buy the horse from him. This way he gets his winnings in a form that is more palatable to him…” She sent Peterson a diplomatic smile. “And you and I get another mare for our stables.”