My Darling Caroline (22 page)

He raised a brow quizzically, protectively crossing his arms over his chest. “Chocolate?”

“Mmm…You melt from my touch, but you’re sweeter, marvelous to taste, rarer and more cherished than any other delicacy.”

“You enjoy tasting me?”

She sighed loudly, shaking her head, then dropped her arms and turned away from him, walking quickly to the table to put the lid back on the box of notes he’d given her. “Only a man would be concerned with sex before love.”

“Are you telling me you love me, Caroline?”

The quietly spoken words left his mouth before he considered them, and although part of him wanted to take them back quickly or add to them in humor, the rest of him desperately wanted to hear the answer from her lips.

Slowly she raised her head, her eyes piercing his, probing for enlightenment from his nearly blank expression. Then she grinned cunningly, lifted the box, and nonchalantly walked to her desk. “You’ll never hear me say it first, Brent.”

She was alluding again to the first discussion of love they’d shared, and by doing so, purposely holding back a part of herself, an admission of feelings they both knew existed. He instantly and irrationally found himself annoyed.

“I suppose you want to hear it first from me,” he baldly retorted.

She shrugged but didn’t look up as she began stacking books into piles. “Oh, I’m quite certain you’ll never say the words, since you wouldn’t know love if it slapped you in the face—”

“Don’t push the issue, Caroline,” he interjected quickly, matter-of-factly, his voice hard and controlled.

She was visibly startled by his response, the sudden coldness in his tone. She’d only been teasing, talking jovially, and because of the inane, confusing feelings burning inside of him, she’d sparked his anger unwittingly.

But he should have known that of all the women in the world, his wife wouldn’t take his words and manner lightly.

As she pulled her body upright, back rigidly set, he watched nervousness cross her features in the flash of an instant; then she placed her hands on her hips and stared hard at him.

“Are you in love with me?” she asked in a deadly calm voice.

He wasn’t prepared for the directness of the question, and until he knew how to control every complication, until he could organize his feelings and put them into words, the only possible way for him to answer was to be blunt and take the easy way out.

“No,” he insisted flatly as his heart began to pound.

Her eyes wavered just slightly as the only sign that she was bothered by his reply; then she reached over and lifted the box of notes into her arms. “With that answer you’re not only foolishly protecting your male pride, you’re telling me I may have just conceived your child from the same type of casual, meaningless coupling you experienced with the courtesan. That thought disgusts me.” She raised her chin defiantly and turned toward the door. “You’re lying to both of us, Brent, and I have nothing more to say to you.”

There was nothing he despised more than being dismissed by a woman at her convenience. His mother and sister had done it for years, and he absolutely refused to have Caroline start with him now.

“You’ll need to stay away from the greenhouse for a while,” he coldly demanded, keeping his growing fury intact.

She stopped abruptly, turning back to him in shock.

“Why?” she asked in a slow, deep whisper.

He stood stiffly, undaunted. “Because I said so.”

For a second, the smallest second, she looked as if she could kill. “That’s it? You give me something, then take it away at your discretion with no reasonable explanation?” When he said nothing, she steadied her voice and clenched her jaw. “Isn’t that just like a man, punishing me by control because I won’t give you the satisfaction of telling you I love you first.”

His eyes narrowed to rocks of hard, freezing ice as he started to move in her direction. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything so incredibly stupid, Caroline.”

He watched her hesitate, then lose her composure completely as her body sagged, her eyes widened to pools of hurt and confusion, which in turn gave him the most unusual, dishonorable sense of confidence. He didn’t like the feeling much, but he was enraged by her audacity, words that if he considered them honestly hit very close to the truth. None of it mattered, however, because the fact remained that she needed protection without his illumination, and that excuse, at the very least, was rational.

“I’m telling you to stay away because I’m your husband, and my word is final. I don’t need to explain anything.” He stopped directly in front of her, gazing down to her colorless face. “Now you may leave.”

She stared at him, fragile and lost, hugging her box of notes, letting tiny teardrops spill from her eyes onto her cheeks without notice. Then she lowered her gaze to his stomach. “You’re no husband,” she choked in a whisper, “you’re the devil.”

Her words stung him deeply, quickly turning his anger to guilt, then regret, and finally sorrow. He reached for her, but she slapped his hand aside.

Without looking at him and with remarkable ease, she lowered her body and placed the box on the floor. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Without pause, she turned and gracefully walked from the green house.

Chapter 19

C
harlotte knew she was carrying. She’d probably conceived at Miramont, the place of her birth twenty-eight years ago, but she would have her son in her home, in America, where he would grow up free of the complications of class to become anything he chose, where his future would begin with nothing more than bright opportunities and promise.

The thought made her smile as she looked over the garden, the scent of flowers surrounding her, the afternoon sun warming her back as she sat on the stone bench.

Carl should be the first to know, she decided, but she didn’t want to tell him before they sailed, for the man would become a hopeless puppy lost without direction from the knowledge that his wife who had such trouble getting pregnant with his child now finally carried his son.

She knew it would be a boy. It had to be a boy. Then maybe, if God blessed her with a girl…

Charlotte sighed, hugging her dark-gray woolen pelisse even closer to her body as she dropped her gaze to the ground.

Her only problem, and the reason she still remained at Miramont, was in smoothing relations with her obstinate brother. He spoke to her and Carl on occasion, but the talk was laughably formal and stiff. He wouldn’t put his guard down, wouldn’t relax and enjoy their presence for a second, and for the first time since she’d arrived seven weeks ago, she was beginning to fear the wounds might not heal between them before she left.

That troubled her so deeply that for the last two days she’d been brooding. Because of her sensitive mood, the emotional instability caused by her condition, Carl had practically demanded she take a walk to clear her head. Poor man. He would feel so horrible when he learned she’d snapped at him because she carried his child. Then he’d probably faint.

She laughed softly at the thought and glanced up. As if knowing he was the problem to address, her brother suddenly stood before her, blocking the sun with his large body and staring down at her as if she’d done something naughty. It certainly brought back memories.

“You find my wife’s flower garden amusing, Charlotte?” he asked easily.

She sighed, leaning back against the wall. “No, I find it beautiful, which is why I’m here. I find men amusing which, as it happens, is also why I’m here.”

“Ahh…Men.” He sat beside her on the stone bench, feet spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s a wonder any of us does anything right.”

She smiled lightly. “I can think of one or two things.”

He grinned; she could see it etched on the side of his face as he stared at the ground. He was trying to break the ice, she supposed, and this was probably a perfect opportunity to push a little, as no one else was around. She hadn’t seen or really known her brother for more than six years, but they’d been very close before she’d left, and she wanted that closeness back. He was her only brother, and still, through all the anger and hurt, she loved him deeply.

“Is something troubling you?” she inquired innocently, knowing fully well, as did everyone at Miramont, that he was definitely troubled.

He exhaled loudly. “I just—I was thinking…” He paused, then sat back and stared vacantly at the roses in front of them. “You knew she went to the greenhouse, didn’t you?”

It was Charlotte’s turn to grin, watching him struggle uncomfortably with his thoughts. “Of course I did, and had you taken ten minutes to think about it rationally, you would have figured it out as well.”

“Explain yourself,” he ordered.

She shrugged. “Love is blind.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Women, women, women…”

Charlotte almost broke out laughing from his perplexed demeanor. She’d never before seen her brother, the great Earl of Weymerth, look so confused.

“And you said those things the night of the party because you knew how I would react and what would happen between us,” he maintained awkwardly.

She sobered, softening her voice. “Yes; at least I thought I would try to make it happen.”

“Did it not occur to you, madam,” he formally charged, “that perhaps she had a lover, or was already comfortably warming my bed, and your words would only make matters worse?”

That shocked her. “Brent, a stranger could have looked at Caroline, talked to her about you for less than five minutes, and concluded without any doubt that she was a virgin.”

The lines on his face tightened, his lips thinned grimly, and she knew she was close to igniting his anger. That was the last thing she wanted to happen now.

She looked to her lap, conceding. “Perhaps that’s not true. I probably noticed because I’m a woman and was once in her—”

He cut her off by taking her hand and squeezing it.

“Thank you,” he whispered gruffly.

That so surprised her she instantly felt the urge to cry. “You’re my brother,” she quietly affirmed.

She clung to his hand, both of them silent, and after taking a minute to put a grasp on her tumultuous feelings, and knowing instinctively the man had approached her because he needed her advice as a woman, she decided just to be candid, bringing the issue front and center as delicately as she could.

“Caroline loves you as much as you love her, and I’m quite certain that somewhere inside that thick head of yours, you know that. What you need to do now is admit it to yourself, then go and tell your wife.”

He stood abruptly, and slowly, stiffly, started pacing the ground in front of her. “She hasn’t spoken to me in two days, Charlotte. That hardly seems a shining example of love.”

She sighed, confident that Caroline avoided her brother because of a conflict over the greenhouse, since the woman hadn’t gone near the structure in that same length of time. That, she reasoned, would be the only item of importance to cause such a gigantic rift between them almost overnight, but she was unwilling to pry. If he so desired, he would eventually give her the details.

“You know, Brent,” she disclosed, becoming somber, quiet, “four years ago I didn’t speak to Carl for twenty-two days because he shot the cat at a party one night and gambled away the ruby brooch you gave me for my sixteenth birthday.”

She heard him grunt in annoyance, but she continued before he could utter a caustic reply.

“It was the only thing I carried to America that held any value or deep personal meaning, and in the blink of an eye it was gone.” Grinning suddenly from the memory, she added, “He had to practically give one of his silly little ships away to get it back for me, but he did because I didn’t sleep in the same bed with him for almost a month. I’ve never seen him so scared.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile once more, and that gave her encouragement. “The point is, I forgave him eventually, as I’m certain Caroline will do. And I’m just as certain Carl and I will spend our lives forgiving each other for this or that because the word
forgiveness
, as I’ve learned so well through the years, is just another word for
marriage.
”

He stopped pacing and looked down in contemplation, pulling a petal off one of the pale yellow roses at his fingertips.

“She bred these.”

“I know, they’re lovely. They should be dormant now, but I suppose it’s been a rather warm winter.”

“It’s her gift, Charlotte, not the weather,” he countered firmly, proudly. “Caroline can make anything grow.”

She waited a moment to see if he would add anything.

When he didn’t, she decided to gather her courage and be direct. “You didn’t tell her about Mother, did you?”

“No,” he answered in a whisper.

She leaned forward, intrigued, as she was nearly certain this was at the heart of the troubles in his mind. “Can you tell me why?”

He pivoted back to face her, actually looking into her eyes for the first time since approaching her in the garden. “You can’t guess?”

She shrugged. “No. I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t.”

He raised his arm and forcefully threw the rose petal into the wind as if skipping stones on a lake.

“Carl is a decent man, Charlotte,” he quietly stated after a moment of strained silence. “He’s intelligent, hardworking, honorable from what I know of him, and he seems to care for you a great deal. He’s made you a good husband.”

She couldn’t for the life of her decide where that came from, so she simply continued to look at him, puzzled and admittedly a bit dubious.

His expression turned to one of embittered amazement. “You don’t understand, do you?”

She shook her head.

He strode back to the bench and sat beside her again, looking once more to the roses. “All this time you thought I wanted nothing to do with you because you ran off and married an American, a man you assumed I despised on principle.” After a quiet, hesitant moment, he said gravely, “But the truth, Charlotte, is that for six-and-a-half years I’ve wanted nothing to do with you, have treated you as if you never existed, not because you left me and married an American, but because you left me period.”

Her mouth went dry as she gaped at the side of his face in stunned silence.

“It never occurred to you that by leaving impulsively you would be handing me to the Lady Maude on a platter. I had to bear the brunt of her criticism and enmity because you were her precious jewel, and she believed to her soul that your departure was my doing, my fault.” He sat forward, elbows on knees as he gazed blankly ahead. “I could never do anything right in her eyes—you know that already—but when you left, she turned on me in the most vicious way of all by refusing to look at me or speak to me civilly from that moment on. When you left, I had nobody.”

Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know,” she mumbled.

“Well, now you know,” he retorted sharply.

He paused uncomfortably, then turned to her, his gaze impassioned, voice oddly subdued.

“You were all I had, Charlotte, and when you walked out of my life, I felt as if someone had ripped my heart from my chest. You were the only person who’d ever loved me for who I was, and suddenly you were gone to the other side of the world. I don’t think you’ll ever be able to imagine how I felt the morning I realized you had run away.”

Those words cut her to the core, forcing her to come to terms with honesty as she stared into his pained hazel eyes. Through all the years apart, not once had she considered herself the sole reason for his bitterness, his resentment. She’d always assumed it stemmed from Carl and his parentage, his family untitled, born and raised in the colonies. But maybe, as the light of understanding embraced her now, that was simply an excuse. It had been much easier during the last six years to believe she was dead to Brent because of her husband rather than because she’d wounded him deeply just by leaving.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last, shakily, hoarsely, finally failing to hold her tears in check as they fell onto her cheeks.

“Don’t cry about it now,” he urged through a sigh, sitting fully erect and wiping her tears aside without thought to the contrary. “I’ve had years to come to terms with everything, and I realize now that the man I chose for you to marry wasn’t exactly appropriate for your emotional needs.” He smiled and softened his voice. “I just wanted you to be happy, Charlotte, and if you think about it, you found happiness and escaped the Lady Maude in one irrational action. It took me years to do both of those things.”

He was trying to be delicate with her, to keep her from feeling guilty, and that was so like him. She’d never known anyone more filled with a sense of duty than her brother, and of course she should have considered that over the years as well. Brent had always, from the day she was born, felt honor-bound to protect her from their mother, from the outside world, asking only for appreciation and love in return, and she had practically shoved that in his face one stormy night nearly seven years ago when she packed her bags and left Miramont.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands as understanding and then compassion gradually filled her. “This is really the problem, isn’t it? You’re afraid of losing Caroline.”

The whispered words were barely audible in the cool winter wind, but she knew he heard them because his features softened and he dropped his gaze.

“You’re afraid she’ll leave you, and that’s why you never told her about Mother, why you kept the greenhouse from her. I’ll bet you never…” She hesitated, eyes widening with growing awareness. “I cannot believe you never told her—”

“I’m going to tell you something, Charlotte,” he interjected calmly, “something I’ve never admitted or discussed with anyone.”

He drew a long, steady breath, his gaze never straying from the cold, dark ground.

“I have lived nearly thirty-four years, and most of those years have been filled with bitterness, self-doubts, disappointments, and periods of extreme loneliness. But through it all there has been one thing in front of me out-shining the ugliness and filling the void, and it hasn’t been my advanced education, or the intensity of my work, or the strength and beauty of my prized horses, as any one of those things would be for most men.”

He turned to peer into her eyes, his voice suddenly deep and passionate with his disclosure. “The greatest joy, satisfaction, pride, and—this is the absurd part—the greatest peace I’ve ever known in my life, have come from three truly beautiful females—you, Rosalyn, and Caroline. You now have a life in another land, and one day Rosalyn might leave Miramont, even England as well. It’s her life and it’s ahead of her.”

He dropped his voice to a harsh, fierce whisper. “But Caroline is mine, Charlotte. She is the one beautiful woman I intend to have by my side to adore for the remainder of my life. I’m so completely adamant about this I refuse to have you or anyone divulge things that could plant seeds of anxiousness and regret—”

“You’re being selfish,” she cut in directly.

He stiffened and looked back to the roses. “Maybe. But losing my wife is unthinkable to me. I will never take the chance.”

Charlotte stared at him, love and sympathy melting her heart, knowing his fear was probably irrational but understanding it nonetheless. With a very deep breath for strength, she placed her hand on his arm.