Cavendish Brothers 02 - To Enchant an Icy Earl (6 page)

Good heavens! Calista had, on numerous
occasions throughout her two-and-twenty years, wished very much to
cosh her siblings, each of them in turn, over the head with a
wooden post—but she never would have actually done so. Would Lord
Fordingham? Or perhaps the more pertinent question in this
situation was would Mr. Cavendish? Either way, this was beginning
to sound as though they had more than just a minor sibling squabble
separating them.

She snapped her jaw closed and forced
her eyes to stop bulging from her head at his pronouncement. Had he
brought her to his home as a means to prevent a physical
altercation with his brother?

Just as she was preparing to ask him
what, specifically, had come between him and his brother, the
wheels of the carriage ran over a rut in the road. The force of it
knocked her backward slightly. It jostled Lord Fordingham in a
similar manner, and he reached out his hands to prevent himself
from falling into her—but in the process, one of his hands landed
upon her ankle.

His hand was warm in the chilled
air—almost hot, even—in direct contrast to the demeanor he
presented to the world. And it was rather large. It rested upon her
far longer than either of them required in order to resituate
themselves upon their respective benches. Lord Fordingham looked
down at where his hand lay over her ankle, and his breathing
increased to the point that she could see his chest rising and
falling. And then, in painstaking fashion, he lifted his hand
away.

The simple touch had been enough to
send her heartbeat fluttering, much as his kiss last night had
done. Calista took a moment to calm herself, trying to slow her
breathing and settle her thoughts. “Is there any way I might assist
you? Perhaps I could speak with Mr. Cavendish—”

“
My brother is not the
cause of our problems,” Lord Fordingham interrupted forcefully.
“Far from it, actually. I am the problem.”

His tone held a note of finality, but
his words only caused Calista’s curiosity to grow. How had he
caused such an insurmountable chasm between himself and his
brother? And why? If one doesn’t have family, what does one truly
have in the end? No amount of money or possessions could ever
replace love.

She braced herself to push through
with her questions no matter how much resistance he put up against
her. “Isn’t there someone within your family who could help to ease
your way with Mr. Cavendish?”

His eyes turned near black and glassy,
and his lips pressed together in an icy line before he turned away
from her to look out the window. “We have no other
family.”

Calista refused to be deterred. “A
good friend, then? Someone who cares about you both.”

“
You seek the impossible,
Miss Bartlett.”

“
It doesn’t have to be
impossible.”

And then, for what must be the first
time in their brief acquaintance, he let out a mirthless laugh.
Even that bit of levity felt unnatural coming from him. “I can
assure you, it is more impossible than the sun rising in the west
and setting in the east.”

“
Why?”

“
Why?” Lord Fordingham
faced her again. He seemed genuinely perplexed by her question,
with a line creasing between his brows where they’d furrowed
earlier, and his eyes softening just slightly.

A strange desire to reach across the
empty space between them in the carriage and touch his face pulled
at her. It was a near miracle that she resisted. “Why are you so
certain no one can help to repair the rift between you and your
brother?”

Then he did laugh, a full and cold
sound that left her trembling. When he looked upon her, it was with
unfeeling, hardened eyes. “You misunderstand, Miss Bartlett. What
is impossible is finding anyone on this earth who cares for me.
I’ve run them all off.”

She’d never heard a man more sure of
anything in her life. Calista should pity him—a man so seemingly
cold and callous that no one in his life remained. Yet pity was the
furthest thing from her mind as she watched him.

He was not as frigid as he might
appear—there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that a living, beating
heart resided in his chest. That his chest housed a passion so
intense it could scorch.

Calista had experienced at least some
small piece of that passion firsthand.

So instead of pitying him, she looked
him straight in the eye with a challenge. “You’re wrong. There is
at least one you’ve not yet succeeded in running off.”

Disdain dripped from his tongue as
surely as rainwater dripped from his boots when he said, “Oh? And
who, pray tell, is this paragon of virtue who would suffer me any
longer than absolutely necessary?”

“
Me,” she
whispered.

As the word drifted over her lips, the
carriage jostled unnaturally. It pitched forward at an angle,
tossing Calista forward and to the side.

Lord Fordingham’s arms shot out, and
he caught her. He tugged her to his lap as the carriage careened
forward at an anomalous angle. They still hadn’t come to a stop,
and it felt as though the carriage might flip over in its entirety.
Despite the panic coursing through her veins, and in spite of the
great, heaving breaths she was forced to take from her fear,
Calista felt utterly and thoroughly safe. Secure, even. His arms
held her tight, a resolute determination in his fear-stricken
eyes.

When finally the carriage came to a
stop and they had not plunged fully over, he drew the palms of his
shaking hands over her hair, her face. “You’re all right? Tell me
you’re unharmed.”

She wasn’t certain she
would ever be simply
all right
again, because she feared she might be falling
head over ears in love with this intractable, unfathomable,
thoroughly overprotective man.

Nevertheless, she said, “Yes, I’m all
right,” just before his lips moved towards hers with intensity of
purpose.

This time, there wasn’t even so much
as a niggling doubt in Fordingham’s mind that fear was the emotion
coursing through his body at a seemingly impossible
pace.

He feared that any harm
could have come to Miss Bartlett, the one person in this world who
would dare make such a bold claim as to care for
him
, of all
people.

He feared that he would do something
to prove what an imbecile he remained, and in the process wedge an
impassable chasm between them as he’d already done with his brother
and anyone else who had once been part of his life.

He was desperately afraid that she’d
spoken something less than the truth when she’d declared she cared
for him.

There was more than merely fear,
however. Fear moved like ice through his veins, slow and infinitely
fragile, but there was also something warm. Something grander than
the fear, something broader and more all-encompassing. Something
that led him to kiss her again as he’d done last night.

The kiss only served to warm him more.
He slid his tongue over her lips, pressing for entry until she
wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Fordingham lost all
semblance of self-control and slid his hands possessively over her
torso, his fingers coming to rest just beneath the full swell of
her breasts. That only led her to draw closer to him with a sigh
floating between her lips. He took advantage of the brief opening
and moved his tongue inside, reveling once again in the sweet taste
of her. Sherry this time and not orgeat, as that was what he’d
served at supper.

His moment of revelry only lasted so
long, regrettably.

The door of his carriage flew open,
allowing the watery deluge inside at an impossible pace because of
the dangerous angle at which they were resting. Fordingham
immediately pulled himself away from Miss Bartlett’s delightful
kisses, only to discover a man’s frame filling the
opening.

“
I would ask if everything
was all right, but I can see such a query is unnecessary,” a man
drawled.

Fordingham struggled to focus his
eyes, and then belatedly recognized the Earl of Montague as the man
who’d interrupted them. Why was Montague here? And why had
Fordingham lost his control for long enough to be caught with an
unmarried lady in a compromising position?

This was not how he’d wanted any of
this to take place.

Miss Bartlett’s eyes flew open and she
tried to remove herself from his lap, but Fordingham put his hands
upon her waist and held her still.

There was no cause for panic. Montague
was a reasonable man and an honorable one, to boot. Indeed, he
might be the most noble of all the gentlemen of Fordingham’s
acquaintance—a consolation, however small.

Fordingham gripped Miss Bartlett’s
waist gently, lifted her free from his person, and moved her back
to her bench before acknowledging the earl. “We seem to have a
broken wheel, Montague.”

The younger man lifted a brow in
something akin to derision, a wave of brown hair dropping low over
his brow until his eyes were nearly obscured from view. “And the
broken wheel has caused you to lose your senses and compromise a
young lady, Fordingham? But of course it has. Certainly, it all
makes sense to me now.”

“
A young lady who happens
to be my betrothed,” he countered. “We were on our way to her
brother’s home to finalize the marriage contract.” Not that that
had been his intention tonight—but it wasn’t an altogether bad
plan. He’d already informed Marston of his intentions, after all,
and suggested the viscount draw up a marriage contract.

Fordingham ignored the scandalized
widening of Miss Bartlett’s eyes and the sharp intake of her
breath. “Do you have your carriage with you? Perhaps you could be
so kind as to aid us in returning to her brother’s
home.”

Montague scowled.

“
If you assist us in
returning to Marston’s home, you can make certain that Miss
Bartlett’s reputation remains as pristine as it ever has been, that
her virtue remains intact.”

That seemed to be enough to earn
Montague’s cooperation. He nodded briefly and reached a hand in
toward Miss Bartlett. “Come. Lady Montague awaits in my carriage
and will wish to coddle you senseless for having a carriage
accident in the middle of a deluge.”

“
Is Lord Fordingham
terribly romantic with you, Miss Bartlett?” Lady Montague took a
sip from her teacup before settling it back upon its saucer. Her
chocolate-tinted eyes fairly sparkled as she leaned close to
Calista, her voice dropping to a more conspiratorial tone than
she’d previously used.

There was no reason at all for either
of them to keep their voices low. As soon as they’d arrived at
Marston House, Louisa had escorted Calista and Lady Montague into
the drawing room to join Penny and Miranda. In the same instant,
Hibbert had taken both Lord Fordingham and Lord Montague into the
study to meet with Devlin.

Then Louisa, upon recognizing that
this visit might not be coming under the most auspicious of
circumstances due to the grim expression Lord Montague had borne,
had rushed Penny out of the drawing room (no small feat, given
Penny’s delighted exclamations over their having been caught alone
together in a broken-down carriage—but, thank heavens, at least
Miranda had already retired for the evening, claiming a headache)
and sent a maid in with tea.