Just One Touch (17 page)

She arched her hips, following her instincts, her eager moans captured by his mouth. His hand coaxed her thighs apart, slipped between them.

The first inkling of alarm cut through her passion-clouded mind. She grabbed his wrist and pulled, tearing her mouth from his. “Rogan, stop.”

He froze, meeting her gaze. “Are you all right?”

“It was starting.”

“Why?”

“Where your hand was.” She knew she was blushing but didn’t care. “It makes me nervous.”

“All right.” He moved his hand to her thigh. “Is this better?”

“I think so.” She reached up and curled her hand around his neck. “Kiss me again. Chase away the ghosts.”

He bent down and kissed her tenderly, their lips clinging as he pulled back. “Better?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, shocked to discover the fear had faded.

“I want to show you what loving can be like,” he said. “But I can’t do that if I can’t touch you.”

“You are touching me.”

He gave her a very adult smile. “Not the way I want to.”

Heat flooded her face. “But if you do that, and you’re on top of me…it won’t work, Rogan.”

“Then let’s try something else.” He got off the
bed and considered her for a long moment. “Do you trust me not to hurt you?”

“I know you don’t
intend
to hurt me.” She shrugged, uncomfortable. “But part of me doesn’t believe that about any man.”

“I need you to trust me. I promise to stop if you want me to.” He grasped her by the hips and slid her until her legs dangled off the bed.

“What are you going to do?” Trying to ignore the twinge of panic, she propped herself on her elbows again and frowned as he knelt down beside the bed. “What—”

He parted her knees, lightly stroked the insides of her thighs.

“Rogan…” Her muscles tightened.

“Hush. It’s all right.” He placed a butterfly kiss on her knee, on her inner thigh.

“You’re not going to…dear Lord, I can’t even say it.” She crossed an arm over her eyes as he slowly kissed his way along her leg. Her heartbeat sped up, but she kept reminding herself that this was Rogan, that he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want him to do.

Then she felt the questing touch between her legs, and she gasped at the fleeting sensation. He came back again, another tentative caress. A keening sound escaped her throat, and she straightened her arms at her sides, fingers digging in and gripping the coverlet.

“Let me show you,” he murmured. “This is what it should be like.”

She wanted to know the truth so badly. She relaxed her thigh muscles, but her fingers gripped the blankets even more tightly. This was nothing like she’d experienced before, at the hands of the kidnappers. That had been rough and humiliating and disgusting. But this—the feather-light brush of his lips, the tender tracing of his fingers along her inner thigh—this didn’t make her cry or sick to her stomach. Once more he touched between her legs, and this time she didn’t panic.

She wanted to know.

Drawing a deep breath, she relaxed, her knees parting a bit more. Rogan smiled down at her, his hand still teasing between her legs, inspiring all kinds of unfamiliar hungers. Then he touched one specific place, a place where all the blood seemed to center, and she moaned aloud at the jolt of desire that rippled through her. One jolt fed another jolt, and her mind soon grew foggy with increasing sensation.

“That’s it, love.” He leaned closer, a satisfied smile on his face as he watched her expression. “Hold fast now.” Bending down, he pressed a kiss right between her legs.

She gave a squeal of surprise and tried to sit up. He gently urged her back again with a hand on her chest, then began to lick the most sensitive part of her body.

“Dear sweet Lord.” Caroline closed her eyes as wild sensation rolled through her in waves. His soft hair brushed the insides of her thighs as he skillfully teased her with his mouth. She had
never in her life imagined that people did such things to each other. It was so wicked. So indecent.

So incredibly delicious.

He hooked her knees over his shoulders and continued to pleasure her with tongue, lips, teeth. All the while his hands roved her body, stroking her legs, holding her hips still for his ministrations.

Pressure built. She found herself arching her hips, trying to get closer. He scooped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her to his mouth, finding the hard little bud hidden in her female folds and rubbing his tongue against it. The wonderful friction nearly pulled her out of herself, jerking her from growing pleasure to pure, demanding lust in seconds. She gave a startled cry, lost in the delightful torment, dying to reach a place she couldn’t describe. She needed something…something…

The pressure changed, his tongue curled, and her body exploded, sending her hurtling into sweet oblivion with his name on her lips.

Caroline returned to herself slowly.

Rogan lay beside her on the bed, head propped on one hand while the other hand rested on her thigh. He was smiling. “Are you back, love?”

“Good heavens.” She blinked at him, trying to bring him into focus. “Is that what all the fuss is about?”

He chuckled. “Quite.”

“Oh.” She frowned at him. “You’re still dressed.”

“I know.” His mouth curved in a lopsided grin. “I thought it was safer, so I wouldn’t get carried away.”

“Carried…?
Oh
.” She flicked a glance toward his lower body. “Are you…well, all right?”

“Are you?”

“I am…I don’t know what I am. Barely coherent, that’s for certain.” She rolled onto her side to face him, casting him a speculative look. “I meant, did you—” She made a sound of exasperation. “I don’t think you felt what I did.”

“Not quite.” He traced a finger along her nose. “I very much enjoyed watching you, though.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. Don’t you want to…um…finish things?”

He stilled. “Do you?”

She opened her mouth to say yes, then hesitated. “I don’t know. I thought I was ready.”

“We can try.” He reached for the fastening of his pants.

Caroline grabbed his hand. “No. No, I don’t think it would work.” She blew out a long, shuddering breath. “Panic again. Apparently I’m all right as long as you remain properly dressed.”

“Well that certainly throws my plans out of kilter.” He smiled as he said it, but Caroline didn’t smile back.

“I want to share your bed, Rogan. I truly do. But this reaction of mine—I’m afraid I may never get past it.”

“You will.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry about me, love. This isn’t the first time I’ve been frustrated, and I doubt it will be the last.”

“But I don’t want you to be frustrated.” Gathering her courage, she stroked her palm down his chest. “I want you to feel the way I did. Men do feel that way, don’t they?”

“They do.” He put his hand over hers, held it fast over his heart. “One step at a time, love. Perhaps you should think about going to bed.”

“I should, but I don’t want to.” She curled her fingers against his chest. “I want to sleep in your arms again.”

He gave a rough laugh and sat up on the bed. “That would be dangerous, sweet wife. Best you retire to your own bed, before I forget my good intentions and ravish you now.”

She started to laugh, then saw the gleam in his eye and realized he was only half jesting. She jerked into a sitting position, then flushed as her shift sagged around her waist. She tugged at it, trying to cover her breasts.

“Let me help.” He assisted her with turning the garment around—it was on backward, having shifted from rigors of their embrace—and she managed to get a strap pulled up over one arm. Before Rogan tugged the other into place, he leaned forward and took her exposed nipple in his mouth, suckling just long enough to make her insides melt again, before releasing her and slipping the strap up her arm.

“Rogan.” Her body hummed, and she gave him a look that begged for more and promised retribution all at once.

He just grinned at her, the rogue, and helped her get her dress back on. Once she was fully buttoned and hooked, he handed the hairpins to her. “I’m not much of a lady’s maid,” he said with a grin.

She closed her fingers around the pins, studying his face for some sign of torment or frustration. “Are you certain you don’t want me to stay tonight? I enjoy sleeping in your arms.”

“Caroline.” He stroked his fingers along her arm. “If you stay I will have you naked and under me before you can say no.” He looked directly into her eyes, letting her see the hot lust that simmered in his. “I want nothing more than to be inside you, love. And until you want that as much as I do, until you crave it more than food, more than air—until you want it so much that none of your fears can possibly stop the inevitable—that’s when it will happen. I don’t want you frightened of me.”

“I’m not frightened of you.” She leaned in and kissed his lips, then smiled. “I’m frightened of me. Good night, Rogan.”

“Good night, love,” he replied, wondering as he watched her leave the room how much cold water might be found in the kitchen at this late hour.

C
aroline clicked her tongue at Melody and urged her to a trot with a tug of the lead rope. The gray picked up her pace, trotting smoothly in a circle around the paddock.

Dressed in her oldest riding habit, Caroline surveyed the mare’s progress with satisfaction. She had worked with Melody each day, gaining the horse’s trust after her abuse. Taking Rogan’s advice, she had retrained her from the beginning, going back to rudimentary exercises. The horse had quickly progressed, and Caroline had had a chance to evaluate how well trained the animal was. She was a fine mare who had fallen victim to abusive owners. She doubted Peterson had been the first.

As with Caroline, the physical wounds had healed, but the emotional ones still festered.

But she appeared to be making progress on the emotional front. She clicked her tongue again, sending Melody into a swift canter. Her encounter with Rogan last night had been a revelation. The terror that had once gripped her seemed a mere shadow, easily pushed aside. Rogan had shown her that sharing their bodies could be beautiful and moving, not necessarily scary and humiliating. Her father was right: she had thought she knew what sex was all about, but it turned out she didn’t know anything at all.

She was rather glad Rogan had gone to attend to some business today; looking into his eyes after what they’d done together gave her a tendency to blush. Yet at the same time, she felt beautiful and female and found herself daydreaming at odd moments about the kisses they’d shared.

Footsteps crunched on the dirt surrounding the paddock. With a sigh of annoyance, Caroline turned, saying, “You gentlemen know not to approach me when I’m working with Melody.”

But it wasn’t Grafton or Tallow standing outside the fence.

“Randall, what are you doing here?” She called out a command to halt Melody’s canter and reeled in both horse and rope as she hurried to the fence. She searched Randall’s expression for any hint of dire news. “Heavens, is it Papa?”

“Dear girl.” Randall cast a disbelieving eye over her shabby attire. “Can your husband not
spare a bit of coin to dress his wife properly?”

She pulled up short. “Bother my wardrobe! Is Papa all right?”

Randall’s brows came together. “I assume so. I haven’t seen him today.”

“So he’s all right then.” She let out the breath she’d been holding. “When I saw you here, I thought—”

“Oh, dear girl!” Randall shook his head and gave her a pitying smile. “You thought I had come with bad tidings.”

“I did.” She managed an answering smile. “I’m glad I am mistaken.”

“Still, this isn’t exactly a social call. I haven’t come to talk about your father, Caroline. I’ve come to talk about your husband. About your marriage.” He gave her a sad, solemn look. “And the news may yet be dire indeed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Perhaps we should go inside.” Althorpe glanced from Caroline to the gray and back. “And I would recommend tea at such a time.”

“I’ll see to it. Just let me put up Melody.” She called softly to the horse, soothed her nervousness with caresses. “Randall, Melody is afraid of men, so please back away from the gate.”

With raised eyebrows, Randall did as she asked. She led Melody into the stables and tended to her most basic needs, then hurried back outside. Randall waited where she’d left him, his arms crossed, his expression impatient.

“Come inside,” she said. “I’ll ready the tea tray.”

She settled Randall in the parlor, then went into the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea. Mrs. Cox, the cook who came three days a week, had made a batch of lemon biscuits, and she took some of those as well when she brought the tray back to the parlor.

“Ah, biscuits,” Althorpe said, helping himself to two and setting them aside. “Shall I pour?”

“If you would,” she replied, afraid her trembling hands would cause her to drop the pot.

Her cousin poured tea the way he did everything else: with a refined elegance that gave him a bit of a haughty air. She had never really felt comfortable around Randall, and sitting alone with him in the parlor, waiting for him to impart what might be bad news, was not helping matters.

Finally they each had a cup of tea and some biscuits.

“Caroline,” Randall said. “I hope you will take what I am about to say in the best possible context, as one concerned relative to another.”

“Good heavens, Randall, what’s wrong?” Caroline set down her teacup with a little clink, unable to keep up even the pretense of drinking.

“I hope you won’t consider me too presumptuous, but I’ve come upon some information about your husband’s history of which you may be unaware.”

A chill ran through her as suspicion reared its head. Why would Cousin Randall, who for most
of her life had considered her either an inferior female or a veritable lunatic, suddenly develop such concern for her welfare?

And now that she thought about it, why would Rogan feel the need to engage an investigator to look into Randall’s past? Something was going on between the two men, and in typical overprotective fashion, Rogan had told her nothing about it.

Her growing anger with her overbearing husband steadied her nerves. Randall was here now, his face the picture of gentlemanly concern. Now was her chance to learn what Rogan was hiding from her.

“I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?” Randall said, apparently attributing her silence to feminine sensibilities.

Caroline gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m afraid you did startle me. I cannot fathom what ‘history’ you refer to, cousin.”

“I was afraid you might not know.” Randall sighed and gave her a sympathetic look that she found hard to believe. “Your husband’s volatile temper is well known all through the area, Lady Caroline.”

She dropped her gaze to her teacup in mock modesty, masking her sudden interest in his words. “I’m certain you don’t heed the loose tongues of gossips, Randall.”

“Normally no.” He leaned forward in his chair, the picture of earnest concern. “But my own sources have confirmed the rumors. Caroline, I’m afraid for you.”

She gave a little laugh, all the while noting his every flicker of expression. “Rogan has treated me very well, cousin. You worry for naught.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree. Are you aware that while your husband was at war on the Continent, he killed a woman?”

Having heard the story from Rogan’s own lips, she was unsurprised at this revelation, but she gasped anyway. “How can you say such a thing to a new bride, sir?”

“I do hate to be the bearer of ill tidings, cousin, but I fear for you. My contacts tell me that Hunt supposedly loved this woman, yet he killed her during one of his rages. I can’t help but fear what he would do to his gentle wife.”

“Thank you for your concern, Randall, but there is no reason to fear for me.”

Randall looked down at his hands. “There is more, but if you do not believe me about this, how will you believe the even more incredible tale I wish to relay?”

“I don’t disbelieve you,” she said. “I just don’t think I am in any danger.”

Randall raised his brows. “Forgive me for disagreeing, cousin, but I believe you should be on your guard.” He paused, his expression reflecting some sort of inner struggle. “Caroline, may I be honest with you?”

“Of course, Randall. I prefer honesty.”

“It’s no secret that Hunt married you because you are an heiress.”

“I suppose that had something to do with it.”
She gave him a gentle smile. “It’s done all the time, you know. A destitute man marrying an heiress is hardly illegal.”

“No, it isn’t.” Randall suddenly jerked to his feet and began to walk about the room, his hands behind his back. “This next piece of news is so disturbing that I hesitate to relay it.”

“Honesty,” she reminded him.

“Very well.” He stopped pacing and faced her, his expression grim. “Caroline, I fear Rogan has poisoned your father.”

“What!” She set down her cup and saucer with a clatter and rose to her feet. “What nonsense is this?”

“It’s not nonsense. Your father is dying, Caroline. He was a vigorous, healthy man before this mysterious illness laid him low in a matter of weeks. Rogan is a known killer, and I believe he is hastening your father’s death in hopes of increasing your portion of the Belvingham fortune.”

“You’re mad. Rogan would never hurt my father.”

Randall stepped closer to her, locking her gaze with his. “Men would do many desperate things for money, my dear innocent cousin,” he whispered.

A tremor rippled through her. There was something in Randall’s voice, in his eyes, that drew all her defenses into play. “But poison, Randall?” Her voice broke, and she turned away from him.

Dear God, could it be? It would explain the suddenness of Papa’s illness, the confusion of the
physicians, the rapid decline of Papa’s strength. But Rogan?

“No,” she whispered. “No, it can’t be.”

Randall came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Dear cousin, I know this is a shock to you.”

“Yes,” she choked out. Tears welled in her eyes despite her will to stop them. Someone was deliberately trying to kill her father. Murder him.

But it wasn’t Rogan.

She turned back to Randall, not even bothering to hide her distress. “I’d like to be alone now, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you understand.”

“Are you certain?” He peered into her face, his eyes watchful and concerned. “Shall I call someone for you? Your maid perhaps?”

“No, thank you. I’ll just go up to my room. Please forgive me.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be foolish; you’ve had a shock. I’m only sorry my news has brought you to this end.”

“It’s not your fault, Randall. You were only doing what you felt was best.”

“But if there’s anything I can do—”

Someone cleared a throat. “Am I interrupting something?”

Caroline turned to see Colin standing in the doorway of the parlor. She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Hello, Colin. I didn’t realize you were coming to visit today.”

“I’m not visiting, I’m staying for a while.” He sent a hard look at Althorpe. “And who’s this?”

“This is my cousin, Randall Althorpe. Randall, this is Colin Hunt, Rogan’s brother.”

“Ah. The master of Hunt Chase, I take it?”

“As a matter of fact.” Colin came into the room, his canny dark eyes on Caroline’s face. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing.” Caroline tried to smile at him. “I didn’t know you were coming, so I’ll need to have the maid air out the other bedroom—”

“It can’t be nothing,” Colin said, cutting her off. “You’re crying.” He cast a narrow-eyed glance at Randall, looking very much like Rogan in the process. “Has this fellow upset you?”

Althorpe stiffened. “I brought news of her father. Family business,” he added meaningfully.

“I’m family now.” Colin caught Caroline’s gaze. “Bad news, I take it?”

She nodded, words jamming in her throat.

“The duke isn’t doing well,” Randall said. “We fear he will not be long for this world.”

“I was just going upstairs,” Caroline whispered.

“You do that,” Colin said, his voice gentle. But the look he sent Althorpe was not. “I’ll see your cousin out.”

“Thank you,” Caroline whispered.

She fled the room before the tears came in force, leaving the two men glaring at each other.

It was nearly dusk before Rogan arrived home.

His meeting with Lord Traversleigh had proven most successful. His Lordship would be deliver
ing two horses in the next couple of days for training, and more than that, he seemed interested in purchasing the first foal when Rogan began breeding Destiny with Hephaestus.

Between the money from Caroline’s dowry and what Lord Traversleigh planned to pay him, he could begin to purchase stock for his new breeding line. Everything was falling into place.

He walked Hephaestus into the stables. Grafton and Tallow had no doubt gone to have their dinner, and Rogan enjoyed the simple pleasure of removing his horse’s tack himself. As he brushed down the stallion, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Your wife had company while you were gone,” Colin said.

Rogan stopped and glanced at his brother, who leaned in the doorway of the stall. “If you were talking about anyone but Caroline, that remark would lead me to some interesting conclusions.”

“Her cousin Althorpe, was here.”

“Althorpe?” Rogan set down the brush and turned his complete attention to his brother. “What happened? What did he do to her?”

“Just brought her some bad news about her father.” Colin frowned as Rogan swiftly locked the stall and pushed past him to head for the house. He hurried after him. “What’s the matter?”

“What did he say?” Rogan didn’t slow his pace. “What did he say
exactly
?”

“He said he brought bad news about her father.”

“The duke is dead?”

“No, I don’t think so. Otherwise I doubt she would have been up in her room all this time.” Colin caught up with Rogan and kept pace with him as he headed for the front door.

“No, she would have gone with haste to Belvingham.” Rogan went into the house and glanced into the parlor. She wasn’t there.

“She went upstairs, Rogan, and I don’t think she ever came down again.”

Rogan paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. “Thank you, Colin,” he said without turning. “I think it’s better if I do the rest alone.”

“I understand.” Colin glanced up as well. “I didn’t like the look in Althorpe’s eyes, brother.”

“What look?”

“Let’s just say I’ve seen friendlier eyes on a snake. Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks.” As Colin left the house, Rogan began to climb the stairs.

The quiet knock at her door startled Caroline.

“Caroline?” Rogan said. “May I come in?”

She rose slowly from her seat near the window and went to the door. When she opened it, Rogan was standing there, concern etched on his handsome face. She stared at him for a long moment, then turned away, leaving the door open.

He followed her into the room. “Caroline?”

She turned back to face him, folding her arms across her chest. “Rogan. How was your meeting with Lord Traversleigh?”