Leslie Lafoy (21 page)

“Then I had better be putting a door or two between us,” he said, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Promise me you won’t climb back up there as soon as I’m gone.”

“I won’t.”

He cocked a brow. “Won’t promise or won’t go back up there?”

“I won’t go back up there,” she assured him. “I’ll work on the lower part of the room. Quietly. So I don’t keep you awake.”

He glanced over to the open door that led into his sitting room and, with a rueful smile, slowly shook his head. “If you get bored with demolition,” he said quietly, taking her shoulders gently in his hands and bending his head.

The brush of his lips was so soft, so gentle it staggered her senses. Never, her mind whispered as she leaned into him, never had she been kissed like this. So tender, so sweet, so deeply longing.

And then she was standing alone, swaying, trying to remember how to breathe as the door quietly clicked closed behind him. She sank down into the warmth of him left in the chair, drew her legs up and wrapped her arms tightly around them, then stared at the door until it disappeared in the haze of tears.

  Eleven  

DORA HAD BEEN RIGHT; ESCAPING THE NEVER-ENDING
flood of questions for a few hours had been just the thing she’d needed to lift her spirits. It was a perfect day. The sun was shining, the sky was a clear blue, and the clouds were soft little cotton puffs drifting lazily along overhead. Caroline paused in the shaded doorway of the sweetshop and looked up and down the hard-packed street. The village of Ryland was such a delightful change from the noisy, crowded, sooty . . . and well, largely brusque world of London.

Everyone nodded and smiled as you passed them on the street. No one driving carts or wagons or carriages was in a maniacal hurry to get anywhere. Shopkeepers were delighted to chat the time away and eager to give you whatever your merest whim lighted upon. And most amazingly, not only did they never mention the price of things, they seemed almost offended by the notion that you thought they should be paid for their merchandise.

Two hours into the excursion and she was still finding it hard to believe that such an idyll existed, much less that, for all intents and purposes, Drayton owned the
whole thing. Not that anyone seemed to resent it. In fact, everyone she’d met had had the nicest things to say about him and, to the person, they’d asked that she convey to him their appreciation for his interest in their lives and businesses. Their obvious surprise at his caring had mystified her until Dora had explained that the two days Drayton had spent in the village and visiting the outlying farms were two days more than old Lord Ryland had ever considered worth his bother.

Dora came to stand at her side, added Mrs. Gladder’s bag of horehound candy to their cache, and grasped the wicker handle of the market basket, saying, “Allow me, please.”

Caroline sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Three small bags of sweets and a few meters of ribbon are hardly going to strain my arm.”

“That’s not the point, madam,” Dora persisted as she tugged. “It’s that ladies don’t tote and carry.”

“Ladies,” she countered, “apparently don’t do much of anything except think of things for other people to do.”

Dora beamed. “Precisely, madam! Now give it over, please.”

Rolling her eyes in disgust, Caroline surrendered the basket and stepped out onto the walkway, thinking that she simply didn’t have the temperament to ever be a very good lady. Hopefully there weren’t women in London whose responsibility it was to sneak about and peer through windows to be sure that ladies were being appropriately idle. If there were . . . Well, she’d just have to spend the rest of her life at Ryland Castle. No one there clutched their heart and turned pale when she rolled up her sleeves and pitched in to see a task done.

“I think,” she began, glancing over at Dora—to find
that Dora wasn’t there. Caroline stopped and looked back. Dora stood still as a post, her mouth open, her eyes huge, and her attention riveted on the other side of the street—on two manacled men being hoisted up into the back of a wagon. Everyone around was watching, just as mesmerized as Dora.

Caroline slipped to her maid’s side and quietly asked. “Who are they? Do you know?”

“The tall one is Edgar Thompson. He’s Lord Ryland’s estate manager. The shorter one is Rudman, the granary keeper.”

“Are they being arrested?”

“It would appear so, madam.”

Well, that had been a stupid question. Of course they were being arrested. A blind man could hear the clink of the chains. “Do you know why?”

“No, madam. But judging by the look on their faces, I’d say that Lord Ryland and Mr. Haywood do.”

Drayton was there? She leaned slightly forward to look past Dora and up the main street. And then darted back, her heart pounding. She’d had no idea he could look that lethal, that hard and determined. It didn’t help any that he was sitting on the biggest, blackest horse she’d ever seen. And that he’d practically appeared out of nowhere . . . She hadn’t done anything wrong. She wasn’t in chains and being hauled away. But, God, she so desperately wanted to run. Not that she’d get very—

“Lady Caroline. Dora.”

Damn
. Caught, she forced herself to swallow and turn to face him.

Edging the horse slowly but deliberately sideways, he closed the last of the distance between them as he asked tightly, “What are you doing here in the village?”

Well, at least he wasn’t angry. But he wasn’t happy, either. She quickly touched her tongue to her lower lip and dragged just enough air into her lungs to say, “We came down to order paint and do a bit of shopping.”

He reined the huge animal to a halt, turned its hind end completely around so that her view of the arrest was effectively blocked, then considered her a long second—for the time it took for Haywood to ease around to her and Dora’s backs—before he said, “I distinctly recall mentioning to you how the daughters of dukes are supposed to go about getting things done.”

“And I distinctly remember mentioning how boring I found the whole notion,” she countered, hating that she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. It so diluted any pretense of defiance.

He cocked a brow and quickly glanced past her. “Where’s the carriage?”

“We didn’t bring it. We walked down from the castle. It’s a very short walk and a beautiful afternoon and—”

“We’ll take you back,” he said crisply, shifting the reins into his right hand and extending his left. “Haywood, if you would be so kind as to assist Dora.”

“It would be my extreme pleasure. The Honorable Cyril Haywood at your service, miss.”

“ ‘Honorable’ is a courtesy title, Dora,” she said, putting her hand in Drayton’s, not having the slightest idea of why other than he’d commanded it.

“I do wish everyone wouldn’t feel compelled to mention that fact.”

Dora giggled as, his gaze dark and guarded, Drayton leaned down, threaded his fingers through Caroline’s, and quietly said, “Turn your back to me.”

She did, the movement drawing her closer to the horse
and Drayton’s arm over her shoulder. There was a quick creak of leather and then she was gasping, clinging to the certainty of the iron band clamped around her midriff as she flew upward. In the next heartbeat she was planted, still and secure, high above the world and firmly in the circle of Drayton’s embrace.

She looked down at her lap, exhilarated. It was almost like sitting with him in a chair. But better because she was so much more closely fitted to him. Shifting ever so slightly to smooth a wrinkle out of the backside of her skirt, she settled her shoulders against his chest, and drew her right leg just a tiny bit higher so that her hips nested perfectly between his thighs.

“Comfortable?”

She thought she heard a smile in his voice and she looked up at him over her shoulder to be sure. It only flirted at the corners of his mouth, but it danced in the depths of his eyes. “Yes, thank you,” she admitted, tucking her hands around his forearm as the animal beneath them started forward. “I’ve never been on a horse before.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

She didn’t have to see his face to know that he’d cocked a brow and that he was giving her one of his lopsided smiles. Let him be amused; she was enthralled. Oh, this could so easily be the most scandalous, wanton thing she’d ever done. The warmth and strength of Drayton’s body pressed against hers—or hers pressed against his; it changed back and forth with the gentle rock of the animal’s gait as it ambled up the road . . . Either way, it felt good. Surely there had to be a way to make love on—She softly cleared her throat and forced herself to think of something else.

“Is there a problem in the village, Drayton?”

“Not at the moment,” he answered easily, “but if one develops, I’d rather you not be in the midst of it.”

“Do you know why those men are being arrested and taken away?”

She felt the tension shoot through his body half a heartbeat before he answered coolly, “They’re thieves. And I’ve pressed formal charges against them.”

Given who the two men were . . . “And the mystery of the low crop yields is solved.”

“Yes, but until the evidence is presented in court, there could be resentment in the village. Not that I honestly expect any, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. You’re not to come down here again unless you speak with me about it first, understood?”

“Yes,” she agreed, seeing his concern and appreciating both that he wanted to protect her and that he was trying not to be heavy-handed in doing so. He’d really come a remarkably long way since the moment he’d walked into her shop and pronounced,
Your life has changed, be deliriously grateful
.

“Thank you for not being obstinate about it.”

“I may be stubborn from time to time—”

“From time to time?” he asked, his silent laughter rippling all the way through her.

“All right, most of the time,” she allowed. “But I’m not reckless.” The words had no sooner left her mouth than she knew she should have swallowed them whole.

“If we were alone on this path, my dear Caroline,” he said, casually slipping a finger between two of the lower buttons on her bodice, “I’d prove you wrong.”

She’d dared him; of course he’d taken it. It wasn’t in his nature to pass up opportunity. And it wasn’t in hers
to pretend that the feel of his skin against hers was unpleasant.

“You’re supposed to call me a cad, Caroline,” he said softly, lightly drawing his fingertip over her abdomen. “And then insist that you’d fend off my unwanted advances with every last measure of your strength.”

Yes, she knew that. “It seems to me,” she replied, closing her eyes and savoring his touch, “that the first lie would only be compounded by the second.”

He shifted behind her, twisting slightly. “Your heart’s racing,” he whispered against her neck. “I can feel it.”

She melted into him, her bones softened by the heat of wanting, her will weakening with every step the horse took, with every deliberate brush of his fingertip. Common sense struggled to rally, but its arguments weren’t at all persuasive—not when balanced against the promise of desire.

Drayton glanced up to measure the distance between them and the house. And cursed his timing and his luck. They were not only too close to take the seduction any further at the moment, but Mrs. Gladder was standing on the steps, shading her eyes with her hand and watching their approach. It took most of his self-control not to groan in frustration, the rest of it to straighten in the saddle and put his hand on his thigh. He was still trying to think of an excuse that could bring them alone together once they were inside the house when his housekeeper gathered her skirts and dashed down the steps to meet them.

“Lady Caroline! The fabric is here!” she exclaimed, startling the woman in his arms back to reality and crushing any possibility of an afternoon interlude. “And it’s from heaven itself! Come see what a wonder your Miss Durbin is!”

She gazed up at him over her shoulder and gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m afraid that my duties call, Drayton. Thank you for seeing Dora and me safely home.”

At least she looked sorry about it. There might still be hope. “Stay right where you are,” he instructed, his teeth clenched as he reined in the horse and swung down from the saddle.