Leslie Lafoy (16 page)

“I’ll remember it for as long as I live,” she cheerfully admitted. “And in case I failed to express my appreciation and gratitude at the time, allow me to thank you profusely now. If we weren’t being so intently watched at the moment, I’d kiss your cheek.”

“I compromised you, Caroline.”

And to think that he’d seemed to so enjoy it at the time. “Wonderfully so,” she allowed, her patience with him—with his morose sense of honor—beginning to fray. “But it was hardly a matter of forcing yourself on me and it certainly wasn’t as though I were a virgin. There’s no need whatsoever to feel the least bit guilty about it all. I applaud your gallantry, Drayton, but it’s not necessary.”

“Have you considered what would happen to your reputation if anyone were to find out about it?”

Well, considering that Simone hadn’t said anything and that Aubrey and Haywood clearly considered propriety a thing still worth worrying about . . . “If you and I don’t tell, how will anyone else ever know?”

His jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared off into the distance.

“Drayton,” she said gently, mustering all the calm and logic she could, “in all their pontificating on the rules of conduct, did your friends not mention the expectations regarding your marriage?”

“No,” he practically growled. “But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”

“Then let me prepare the ground for them. I may not have been born to the peerage, but I’ve been outside and
looking in long enough to have gleaned an understanding of the general principles involved. Peers do not marry for the love of a person, Drayton.”

“Honor requires honesty, Caroline,” he said darkly. “And the truth is that I don’t love you.”

“And I don’t love you,” she countered, wondering why he was so terribly put out about it all. “I enjoyed sex with you tremendously, but that’s a separate matter entirely. Peers don’t marry for sex, either. They marry for money, choosing whoever offers the most of it.”

“You have money.”

“So you’ve said. But it’s money you’re going to get regardless of whom I marry. There’s not one extra farthing to be had in shackling yourself to me. There is extra money, however, if we each marry others. It’s a perfectly practical, commonsense matter.”
And why you can’t see that . . .

“True, but—” His jaw clenched tight again.

“But what?”

He turned to face her squarely. “The blunt truth of the matter,” he said, his voice hard and strained, “is that I’d very much like to continue having sex with you. I also enjoyed last night tremendously.”

Well, that did explain a great deal. She blinked and smiled up at him, truly appreciating his candor.

“To such an extent,” he said softly, “that if we were alone right now, this conversation wouldn’t be taking place at all. You’d be on your back with your skirts rucked up to your waist. Prior to them being discarded entirely.”

And it was nice to know that she wasn’t the only one struggling with wanton impulses and delightful fantasies. “If our circumstances were different,” she began, trying to balance honesty with practicality as her heart raced
and her core pulsed, “I wouldn’t be all that averse to the notion of being your mistress. But since we’re both trapped in the web of social and financial expectations . . . Or opportunities, depending on how you view it . . .” She shrugged. “They say that a sign of an evolved personal character is the ability to resist temptation.”

He turned away and snarled, “I’m not that interested in evolving.”

Yes, well . . .
“Life for both of us will be considerably less stressful in the long run if we can manage it, though. We’ll simply have to keep our distance from each other and consider ourselves fortunate to have had one wonderfully reckless night together and that there are no lasting consequences for it.”

“Are you sure there will be none?”

“Absolutely.”

He looked over his shoulder and cocked a brow. “And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she assured him.

He expelled a long hard breath and then lifted his chin. “Well, then I suppose that the matter is resolved.”

“Thank goodness,” she said, offering him a chuckle that, oddly, didn’t sound as relieved as she’d intended for it to. “Shall we collect the girls,” she added brightly, in an attempt to disguise the stumble, “so that we can advance on to the glory and potential of Ryland Castle?”

Drayton nodded and turned, offering his arm. Glory, he wouldn’t bet on. But potential . . . Oh, yes, there was potential. With it all, he supposed. Not that he cared overly much about fields and crops and tenant rents at the moment. Aubrey and Haywood had staked their claims on the management of those aspects of the future, anyway. And since they were perfectly capable men . . .

He glanced down at the woman on his arm and inwardly smiled. She had the most wonderfully rational and practical way of thinking. A delight, really. And so surprising. Especially considering how it led to his being off the hook for being a complete cad. If only her logic was more than a thin veneer that didn’t do a damn thing to disguise her deeply sensual nature. Never in his life had he met a woman so honest about her own hungers, so willing to explore the depths of passion.

Evolved personal character.
Such lofty words. Such grand and noble intent. He might have believed she meant it all if he hadn’t tasted and ridden the tempest of her hungers last night, if her eyes hadn’t sparkled at the prospect of having him lay her down beside the brook and lift her skirts. No, noble and rational didn’t have anything to do with what there was between them. At least he’d been honest with her about his desires. If he pushed, just the tiniest bit, she’d be honest, too. She wouldn’t be able to do anything else.

Yes, there was definitely potential at Ryland Castle. And he was going to explore it to its fullest limits. If she didn’t want to marry him, fine. Fate had made him a duke, fate would determine how and where the affair with Caroline ended. Considering the incredible delights in having her in his bed between now and then, he could live with any consequence.

  Nine  

NO NEATLY CLIPPED HEDGE LINED THE DRIVE, NO OVER
-flowing flower pots framed the front steps. No drawbridge, no moat, no turrets—smoldering or otherwise. Just nine yellowish stone boxes with windows, the largest of the boxes in the center with four others of varying sizes and styles attached in a line on either side. There was a crenelated edge on the front façade of the main part of the house, though. Which, Caroline supposed, was how Ryland Castle had been named way back when. Back when there had actually been a loose layer of crushed shells on the driveway, before time, wheels, and feet had packed them into the dirt and made it all as hard as a rock.

She stood on the drive and tried to keep her mind on the moment. The butler’s name was Winfield. The housekeeper’s name was Mrs. Gladder. Both were sixtyish, round, short, and white haired. Thank God he wore trousers and she a dress; otherwise it would have been nearly impossible to tell them apart at a glance. They stood at the head of a pack of shabbily dressed servants assembled in front of the house for the new master’s arrival.

Caroline nodded through the introductions as Aubrey had instructed, and then accepted the housekeeper’s
invitation to follow her inside. With Simone and Fiona following hand in hand, Caroline gathered her skirts, summoned a smile she hoped looked at least marginally confident, and walked through the parting mass of servants and up the steps. The foyer was a huge space of white-marbled floors, whitewashed plaster walls, and a smallish chandelier with crystal drops hanging high overhead. And not another thing. It echoed—cold and hollow—as they made their way across it to the central staircase.

It was a wide mahogany and carpeted sweep that led gracefully up to the second floor. The very edges of it testified that at one point, probably the day they’d laid the shells on the drive, it had been a beautiful floral carpet. A dark blue background with peach and sage and just a touch of a dusty blue to accent it all . . . But inside those edges countless footsteps over the years had worn the pattern to a dull, rather brownish and sad blur. Caroline added a new carpet to her list, right behind hedges, stone urns, and lovely plants.

“Lord Ryland advised us of the ages of his younger wards,” Mrs. Gladder said as they reached the top and headed down the left wing. “It’s been a good thirty years since the schoolroom has been in use and I’m afraid that we’ve all become a bit behind the times in knowing what supplies are needed to properly fit it out. If you’ll prepare a list, the supplies will be gathered as soon as possible.”

“The needs are basic enough at this point to be considered timeless,” Caroline assured her. “We will need to secure, as soon as possible, the services of a governess and suitable tutors for the girls, though.”

“Yes, of course. Mrs. Miller has graciously agreed to leave her retirement to be of service until Lord Ryland can arrange for more permanent help in the schoolroom.”

Retirement? Aside from Mrs. Gladder and Winfield, none of the other staff had looked old enough to be anywhere near the point of having their days and nights to call their own.

“Stairs are a tad difficult for her, so I hope that you’re not offended that she wasn’t on the drive for your arrival.”

There was nothing like the discomfiture of being stared at by twenty-four people all at once. Twenty-five might well have pushed her over the edge of silent endurance. “Not at all,” Caroline said, wishing that all of the servants had taken their cue from Mrs. Miller.

The
very elderly
Mrs. Miller, she amended as she entered the schoolroom in Mrs. Gladder’s black bombazine wake. “Please don’t get up,” Caroline hastened to say, stepping past the housekeeper to place a restraining hand on a rail-thin arm.

“Thank you, dear, it’s most kind of you to be concerned,” Mrs. Miller replied, smiling and gaining her feet anyway. “But at my age one often moves just to see if one still can. And while it’s something of a morbid curiosity, it does tend to pass the hours.”

“I’m Caroline,” she said, chuckling, liking the tall and sharp-eyed, sharp-witted old woman. “And these are my sisters,” she added, stepping to the side to present them. “Simone and Fiona.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Miller said softly, looking Simone up and down. “You will have some care for the advanced age and exhaustion of my heart, won’t you, dear?”

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Miller said with a bright smile. A bright smile she immediately turned on Fiona, saying, “I suspect, little one, that I’m about to lose Mr. Whiskers’s heart to you. He’s in his traveling basket in my room, too
angry with me for putting him in it to come out. I suspect that you could talk him into joining us, though. Would you be willing to give it a go?”

“A kitty?”

Caroline blinked and suppressed the gasp of happiness. Fiona’s voice was such a small and breathy sound. But it had been real words, the first deliberate ones Fiona had uttered since she’d joined their odd little family.

Mrs. Miller beamed and leaned slightly down. “A rather underfed one at the moment, I’m afraid. He’s just come to live with me and it’s my mission to make him fat and lazy and utterly content. You will help me, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Fiona whispered, letting go of Simone’s hand and heading for the open doorway.

“Oh, you’re good,” Simone said in quiet reverence as their sister disappeared from sight. “Really good.”

“Do remind yourself of that,” Mrs. Miller countered, standing straight again, “when you begin to think that I’ve gone completely dotty.”

As Simone and Caroline chuckled, Mrs. Gladder softly cleared her throat. “Might we leave the young ladies in your able care, Mrs. Miller? I’d like to show Lady Caroline the rest of the castle.”

Caroline caught the quick, fiery look Simone threw her way. “Lord Ryland has promised Simone her choice of rooms,” she said to the housekeeper. “Perhaps we could see to that task before we undertake a tour of the public rooms?”

Mrs. Gladder arched a brow. “It’s customary for the children to have rooms adjoining the schoolroom.”

“And it may well be that one of them will be entirely to Simone’s liking,” Caroline countered, smiling thinly and
recalling Aubrey’s advice on the proper handling of dissent. “But she’s been promised her choice and a choice she will have.”