An Indecent Proposition (27 page)

His arousal he’d dealt with himself, thinking of her. It wasn’t something he did often. Really, he had no need. When it came to sex, there were willing women ready to take of him.

A point he might remember later. For the moment, however, he wanted to check on his horses. He hadn’t been to the stud lately, and this coming week promised to be packed with meetings, and the hectic schedule involved wouldn’t allow much time for contemplating what the incomparable Lady Wynn might be doing.

With Derek.

No, luckily, not. It was perversely satisfying to know Derek couldn’t get away immediately. He was just as occupied with political matters. Whatever arrangements he might make with Caroline would have to be postponed for a short while.

As he ordered his horse brought around, Nicholas found he gritted his teeth at the thought of their upcoming assignation, the slight ache in his jaw a direct result. With an inner shake of his head over his reaction, he consciously dismissed her. The memory of how she’d turned him down was still fresh in his mind. There was no question she’d meant it. Neither could he blame her for not wanting scandal in her life, so . . . it was all settled. Not necessarily to his satisfaction, but settled.

Wasn’t it?

The ride to the outskirts of town wasn’t pleasant because of the wet streets from all the rain in the past few days, but it felt good to be outside nonetheless. He’d had enough of stuffy meeting rooms and the confines of his study. His stable master greeted him with a broad smile and an informal slap on the back from a beefy hand. The rank he held mattered not at all when it came to his bloodstock, for in the stable O’Brien held court like a king, his decisions inviolate, and Nicholas—after win after win—trusted him implicitly.

The stables were meticulously maintained, built of stone and polished wood, the orderly stalls in long rows, all accented by the smell of hay and oats, and just the slightest inevitable tinge of manure. It was sophisticated by any standards, worthy of some of the finest horses in Britain, and Nicholas always felt a certain peace among the animals he regarded almost like children.

“How’s Satan’s foreleg?” he asked. His current favorite was always the first one he inquired about.

“That feisty lad is right as rain. Let’s go see him, shall we, sir?” Red-haired and boisterous, O’Brien was a wizard with his expensive charges.

“And Baikal?” One of his youngest acquisitions was still an unknown quantity, but the Irishman had insisted on buying the colt for a somewhat exorbitant price and Nicholas hadn’t hesitated for even a minute.

“I can honestly say you’re going to be impressed. Did a mile in one fifty, and he’s young yet.”

“Is that right?”

The next hour was spent touring the facility, getting updates on the welfare of each animal stall by stall. It was pleasant to forget about his outside life and immerse himself in his passion.

He almost—almost—forgot, for a short while, about his other passion, until he was sharply reminded when something small, furry, and extraordinarily clumsy galloped in front of him and he nearly tripped over it.

“Sorry, Your Grace.” A young stable hand scooped up the offending party and held the wiggling animal in the crook of his arm. “He’s the rambunctious one of the lot, he is.”

Nicholas eyed the squirming puppy, but instead of seeing a pink tongue trying to furiously lick the boy’s face and a furry canine, he instead pictured a wooded glen and a very beautiful, nude woman in his arms as they lay in the lazy aftermath of exquisite erotic pleasure as he yet again tried to pry more information about her life from her.

But even then—even in the haze following an excess of carnal largesse—he’d heard in Caroline’s voice it did matter. He’d discerned something else as well. Her father had included his only child in the category of being a nuisance. Driving to York and wringing the man’s unfeeling neck held a certain allure.

But maybe Nicholas could restore that childhood dream instead.

After all, she
had
challenged him to be even more romantic than arranging an impromptu dinner on the terrace. On impulse, he asked, “Is there a litter, then?”

The young man nodded. “Six of them.”

“Old enough to be weaned?”

“Only just, Your Grace.”

Pleasantly, Nicholas said, “I’d like to see them, if I may. I have a friend who has always wanted a dog.”

In the end he chose the wild one who had literally crossed his path, and though it looked more like a mop of hair than an actual dog, he had to admit the creature was endearingly affectionate and enthusiastic. He should know, for he was forced to ride back through London holding on to the damned thing, and at the point when it piddled on his formerly immaculate breeches, he wondered if he wasn’t nothing more than a sentimental fool.

He confirmed that suspicion with a wish that he could be there to see Caroline’s face when it was delivered. But that was impossible, and to desire it made him more idiotic than even the act of carting some mongrel halfway across the city indicated.

To give the hapless footman who opened the door credit, he kept his expression schooled as Nicholas gratefully deposited the dog in his arms and said, “See that it’s fed and bathed and I’ll give you an address to deliver it.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

He paused a moment, Lady Wynn’s quest for discretion coming to mind. The ducal crest on the side of his carriage was out of the question. “Take a hired hack, if you will, and leave my name out of it. The lady will guess it is from me.”

“Of course.”

Smiling, he went upstairs to bathe and change. He might smell like horses and dog piss, he thought with inner sardonic humor, but it had actually been a satisfying afternoon.

 

There was no question he’d been waiting.

No, she could adjust that observation. Spying.

Caroline had little choice but to let Franklin take her arm as she ascended the steps, for he’d appeared like an apparition out of nowhere. If she wasn’t sure the notion was ludicrous, she would have accused him of loitering in the alley by the town house, anticipating her return.

“How fortuitous we should arrive at the same time,” Franklin murmured, escorting her to the door. “I’ve called on several instances, but I understand you’ve been visiting a friend in the country.”

Visions of that
friend
came to mind. Dark windblown hair, a sinful smile that both dazzled and captivated, a lean body that covered hers as they moved together in the oldest communion possible between a man and a woman. Was Nicholas a friend? Actually, yes, she did think of him that way, his sexual prowess aside. When she considered it, she’d probably talked to him more in those five days than she had to any other person in the course of her whole life. It was his fault, because he’d seemed interested in what she had to say.

“Yes, I was with a friend.”

If the clipped tone of her response bothered the new viscount, he didn’t show it. Those familiar Wynn family features, angular and defined, revealed nothing about his feelings. All too well she recalled that same quality in her late husband. Once she’d understood what Edward really was, his physical appearance held absolutely no appeal whatsoever. A monster was a monster, no matter what face it wore.

Though to have to offer the politesse made her feel a very real flicker of irritation, she said, “Won’t you come in?”

“I wouldn’t have called if I hadn’t have anticipated I would.”

The smooth smugness in his tone annoyed her more than ever, but several years of marriage to his even-more-overbearing cousin had taught her a great deal of self-control. She hoped her smile was as remote as she willed it to be. “Of course. This way, my lord.”

“I fully know the way. At one time, I imagined this residence would be mine.”

His words were said with supposed humor, but Caroline remembered well how much of her inheritance she’d surrendered to the solicitors who’d argued her bequest was legitimate.

There were no illusions. He was not a friend, but at least his vindictiveness was a great deal less overt than Edward’s had been. When she settled opposite him in the formal parlor and rang for refreshments, she sat silent, waiting for him to state the purpose of his visit. He had one: of that she had no doubt.

Franklin stared back, his pale eyes unreadable. “You look lovely, Caroline. Your visit must have done you good.”

“Thank you.”

“I have always appreciated your beauty, you know.”

His calculated interest did nothing but make her skin crawl. Her time with Edward had taught her that a man could desire a woman in a carnal way and have absolutely no affection or kindness toward her.

When she didn’t reply to the comment in any way, a faint smile curved his mouth. He sat in causal repose, as usual elegantly dressed to the point of being dandified in a peacock blue coat, his pristine cravat sporting a diamond stickpin, fawn breeches tucked into polished Hessians. “Let’s be frank. You distrust me after the disagreement over the disposition of my cousin’s estate. I think I have made it clear I wish to settle it between us.”

“We needn’t ever discuss it again.” It was a neutral thing to say. The truth was, she suspected Edward had disliked Franklin because they were a little too much alike.

He spread his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Indeed we do if it is a source of discord between us. After all, we are family and I do not want to shirk my responsibilities toward you. As I have pointed out before, I’m your nearest male relative and it is my right to have some say in your life.”

The tedious theme was not one she wanted to talk about again.

“We are merely cousins by marriage. It’s hardly a close tie and not a blood one at that. Besides, I have my father.”

“I’ve spoken with him.”

She stared, shocked at the presumption. “What?”

Franklin merely looked back, his face impassive. “Of course. You already know I am concerned about you. His position is that the day you married Edward and became a Wynn, his obligation to you was over.”

Obligation. It stung to think her parent would put it that way, but unfortunately she could imagine him saying exactly that. Caroline could feel her hands clench into fists in the material of her gown, crushing the fragile silk. She consciously relaxed them. “I am a grown woman and a widow. I do not require help financially nor do I need protection from anyone.”

He merely looked amused in his cold way. “Every woman needs protection. Since your mourning is over, more than one man has approached me on the subject of offering for your hand.”

It made her furious to think that not only did he arrogantly assume he could interfere, but others did as well. “How kind of you to screen my suitors for me.”

He didn’t blink an eye at the dripping sarcasm in her tone. “Your future concerns me. You are too young to be unwed.”

“In your opinion only, my lord. In mine, my age gives me the freedom to wait and decide if I should ever want to marry again.”

“Your position on the subject is progressive, my dear, but—”

“My lady?”

The interruption to the rising argument made them both glance at the doorway. Norman, fastidious and tidy always, stood there, looking comically aghast. In his hands he held what appeared to be a riotous ball of brown fur. “Forgive me, but this was just delivered for you. The man who brought it said there was no note, but you would know the source of the . . . er . . . gift. What shall I do with it?”

For a moment Caroline was speechless, staring at the puppy in her butler’s hands, its woolly wiggling body shedding hairs on his neat waistcoat. Even as she wondered who on earth would send her such an unusual gift, the truth came in a flash like lightning in a summer cloudburst.

Nicholas.
During one of those lazy, divine afternoons, her head pillowed on his bare muscled shoulder, the fragrance of water and grass and earth around them, she remembered confessing how, as a child, she’d always wanted a dog but been refused. It wasn’t like she wanted to talk about her childhood, but he’d managed to coerce out of her more details than she had ever told anyone. Maybe it was his wayward charm, or maybe it was the catharsis of finally telling someone she felt held a genuine interest, but she’d found herself confessing small things like the thwarted desire for a pet.

She wanted to laugh with delight over the gesture.

She wanted to burst into tears at the same time; she was so touched.

Caroline rose and went over, taking the small creature from Norman, who looked grateful. Two soulful dark eyes looked up at her, and what passed for a stubby tail wiggled frantically. A tiny pink tongue began to swab her hand.

She fell in love for the second time in her life. “Oh my, isn’t he adorable?”

Norman, who liked the household to run in a sedate, orderly manner, looked doubtful over the new addition. “If you say so, my lady.”

Franklin said in a peevish tone, “Who the devil would send you a mongrel?”

Since the truth would hardly do, she didn’t answer. Instead she bent and set down her newfound friend, who promptly scampered under an embroidered settee and then emerged a moment later to run back to her and plop at her feet. It gave a short bark, as if asking for approval for that wondrous feat. She gave it, bending down to stroke one downy ear. “I’ve never had a pet.”

“It’s a rather presumptuous gift, if you ask me.”

Caroline laughed at the appropriate choice of words. She couldn’t help it. The gorgeous and sensual Duke of Rothay was presumptuous to a fault, but in this instance, his gesture touched her heart with inexplicable deep emotion. Had he sent her diamonds, she would have thought him generous and romantic, but this was truly a splendid thing, for it meant he’d listened to more than just her words when she told him of her childhood disappointment. He’d heard what lay beneath the detached speech and small shrug.