My Darling Caroline (10 page)
He smiled knowingly and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “When you are ready, Caroline.”
With that, he turned and walked out of the garden.
S
leep was impossible. Cold wind and rain had been building in strength throughout the day, now blustering against her bedroom windows in torrential waves. It was going to be a long and dreary night.
Caroline sighed restlessly and turned onto her back. Her room was in almost total darkness, the fire banked hours ago. From time to time she glanced at the door—the only barrier, useless as it apparently was, between her and the man she’d married—watching carefully for signs of his intrusion.
Since he’d left her standing in the garden early that morning, flustered and shocked at her own behavior, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but him—his words, his caressing voice, hands, mouth.
Oh, God, he had sucked her tongue. He had actually sucked her tongue, and she’d brazenly allowed him to do it. She would never, in a hundred years, consider sucking a man’s tongue for the pleasure it would give him. Yet each time she thought of what they’d shared that morning, swirls of charged heat started from her belly and radiated through her body, converging in a fire between her legs.
She covered her eyes with her hands, snuggling down deep beneath her blankets, mortified and wanting to remain there for the rest of her life.
Yes, of course she wanted him in a base, physical sense. She was a woman, and he was a man. Perfectly natural. It was also a given that nothing in her life had ever felt so perfectly marvelous. But to know he crept into her room to watch her at night made her so ill at ease she could hardly think straight. All day she’d tried to digest the meaning of why he would do such a thing, and in the end she couldn’t fathom a reason beyond his physical needs. That left her panic-stricken.
She turned her face to the window, watching as thick rain pelted against the glass, listening to the ferocious gusts of wind. And it was because of the clamor of the outside storm that she almost missed the noise.
Caroline sat up quickly. She waited for a moment, then heard it again—the same sound coming from her husband’s bedchamber that she’d heard her fifth night at Miramont.
Throwing back the covers, she stepped onto the cold floor, the contact drawing a shiver from her body. She rapidly donned her robe and slippers, then walked to the adjoining door.
For a long moment she heard nothing but silence. Then the thrashing began again, disturbed and unnatural. Her first thought was fever, although that seemed unlikely. Brent had been in perfect health just that morning. No, more than that, he’d been a prime example of pure, hard, aroused masculinity, and with such a vivid image flashing through her mind, it took everything in her to bravely place her hand on the knob, turn it gently, and slowly open the door.
His room appeared lighter than hers, his fire not yet completely extinguished, and when she looked to the bed she saw his large form outlined in shadow. For a minute she only stared, shocked as she watched him thrash so violently under his blankets, his head jerking from side to side.
It was a nightmare. He was having a savage nightmare, so controlling, so deep, he thrashed around in his bed without waking.
He’s afraid of something.
Concerned, fascinated, she tiptoed to the side of his bed. His blankets were pushed down to his waist, exposing bare chest and arms, fists clutching the sheets to his sides, muscles in his neck and stomach fiercely knotted, skin damp and gleaming with perspiration…
Suddenly he was speaking in French.
Caroline jumped back and stifled a gasp. He moved wildly, his voice gravelly as he spoke in a language of which she had limited knowledge and little understanding. He arched his body, straining against the sheets, and at that point she knew she needed to do something.
She took a deep breath and reached out to touch his arm.
His skin felt tight and clammy to the touch. With an attempt to stop his head from shaking, she stretched across his chest and placed her palm on his cheek.
That’s when he grabbed her wrist.
She nearly screamed. He did it for her.
“Caroline!”
He sat up, his eyes opened wide with horror and fear, his breathing erratic and fast.
Her mouth went dry, and suddenly she was shaking uncontrollably from the cold building inside of her.
“Caroline,” he mumbled again, pulling her toward him.
She allowed herself to be led, her mind confused, her body now freezing. She swallowed in an attempt to regain her voice, her composure.
“I think you were dreaming,” she whispered roughly.
He clutched at her in desperation, drawing himself against her as she stood next to him, shaking as he buried his head in her breasts. “Oh, God, Caroline, don’t leave. Don’t leave.”
The pleading, the raw and unmistakable fear in his voice, persuaded her to do the irrational.
“It’s all right,” she soothed, sitting beside him, cupping his head with her palm. “I’ll stay.”
She felt him begin to breathe easier, his arms relax behind her. She kicked off her slippers and crawled in beside him, holding him as she snuggled down under his blankets.
She cradled his head against her chest, gently combing her fingers through his hair, giving comfort through her touch, enjoying the warmth of his large body against her smaller one. He hadn’t said another word but he wouldn’t release her, wouldn’t let go, and finally, as his breathing slowed and deepened, and the wind and rain quieted to nothing more than sprinkling against glass on a cold autumn night, she closed her eyes to the serenity of sleep.
Caroline stirred and slowly opened heavy, sluggish lids to the dimness of the room and the sight of deep hazel eyes watching her from only a foot away.
She was in his bed.
He smiled, resting his elbow on his pillow, his head in his palm as he took a lock of her hair to lace through his fingers.
“Do you know what my greatest desire is, Caroline?” he asked in a low voice.
She couldn’t speak.
His gaze brushed over her face slowly, caressingly, before it once again locked with hers.
Deepening his smile, he whispered, “My greatest desire is to wake up every morning for the rest of my life with you beside me as you are now, to see your hair flowing over my pillows in dark waves and your face looking soft and beautifully sensual.”
“I should leave. It’s already getting light,” she heard herself saying, feeling strangely detached.
“Don’t.” His features turned serious as he reached up to place his palm on her cheek. “You belong here.”
He’d pushed the sheets and blankets down to his waist once again, and the sight of his muscled chest only inches away did nothing to sedate or reassure her. She looked down her body, uncertain of her position and grateful she still wore her robe and nightdress.
With a calmness she didn’t realize she possessed, she slowly sat up. “I really have to go. The servants—”
“—can go to hell,” he finished for her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back down beside him.
That made her nervous. “Brent—”
He put his finger to her lips to silence her. “We need to talk, little one.”
His words were gentle but firm, crisp but arousing to her ears. She had the incredible urge to touch him as her eyes once again strayed to his chest, to the bronzed and down-covered muscles and cords of strength only inches away. He must have noticed where she fixed her gaze, for at that moment he took her hand in his and placed it between his exposed nipples.
Her eyes shot back to his face. He was watching her closely, but his lids had narrowed. She felt stunned and unsure of what to do, knowing she should pull away. But with all her logical reasons for avoiding physical intimacy, she couldn’t bring to an end the emotional responses overwhelming her.
“It’s all right Caroline,” he comforted in a deeply smooth voice. “I want you to touch me, and you can stop when you like.”
Green orbs pierced her mind and soul, mesmerizing her. She was reacting rather than thinking, but at that moment she daringly wanted to feel.
Slowly, her head resting on his pillows, her body once again warm beneath his blankets, she began to run her fingers through the curls on his chest, her eyes never leaving his. His jaw tightened, and his breathing became shallow, but he didn’t move to touch her in return. He lay perfectly still, content in simply watching her. And finally, when she drew her thumb across his nipple and circled it slowly, he succumbed to the feeling and groaned softly, closing his eyes.
The intimacy entranced her. Her body ignited from one simple touch, from only looking at him and feeling his response to her fingers on his solid, male form. She felt both powerful and delicate, in control and yet swirling into a maelstrom of delight she didn’t at all comprehend.
Bravely she lowered her palm to his stomach, stroking the smooth, taut lines, her hand now beneath the blankets. He was so firm, so strong, everything she’d imagined. And when at last her fingers found his navel, she knew without any doubt that he was completely naked beside her and had undoubtedly been so all night. If she lowered her hand any further she would be touching him as intimately as wives touched their husbands. The thought both scared and thrilled her, and she nearly yielded to the desire.
She stopped the movement of her palm, and he opened his eyes. For a long moment they stared at each other, oblivious to the outside world, dark velvet brown melding with blazing vivid green. He said nothing, just gazed at her with stark desire, untamed arousal, his head only inches from hers.
Through it all she was captivated, her mind telling her to run, her body unable to move. The ache was so great, so overpowering, she could think of nothing but the promises of passion to come, of what he would feel like towering over her, taking her, embedding himself inside of her.
As if sensing her thoughts, he slowly reached for her palm, raising it to his lips, softly kissing the tender skin on her fingers, her wrist. Then without hesitation, he once again lowered it and gently placed her hand on the most intimate part of him.
She heard his sharp intake of breath, but beyond that he didn’t move; his eyes never wavered from hers. She was in another world, her heartbeat staggering, breathing shallow, mind unfocused yet clear with newfound wants. He felt like hot, satin-covered marble to her fingertips, and with desires she didn’t know she could ever feel, she closed her eyes and touched him, picturing in her mind the perfection of that which she could only see with her hand.
Slowly she began to move her palm, her fingers, up, then down the front of him in slow form. She licked her lips and leaned her head back, marveling at the strength he possessed in just this one area of his body. He was long and thick, wonderful to touch. She grasped him firmly, her knuckles brushing against coarse, springy curls as she continued to explore the length of him. Gently she placed the pad of her thumb on the tip, circling it once, and that’s when he touched her arm.
“Caroline…”
She opened her eyes. His expression was grim, eyes glazed.
“No more.” He breathed deeply. “I need you to stop unless you’re ready for me to touch you.”
His voice was strained and barely audible.
Her chest ached with emotion, her body for completion, wanting to feel his hands touching her, caressing her, his mouth on hers, kissing her as he’d done before. She stared at him for what seemed like hours, her hand still resting firmly on him, until she found the courage to speak her mind instead of what was in her heart. “I can’t…”
He closed his eyes to her softly spoken words, drawing her hand back to the safety of his chest, trying to regain control.
Caroline closed her eyes as well, allowing reason to force its way into her mind, feeling his heart beating hard beneath her hand, his warmth seeping through her fingertips. Part of her wanted to break down and cry, so touched as she was from his gentleness, from the honorable way he held himself back for her. He deserved so much better, so much more than she could ever give. Suddenly she recognized within herself the first flicker of danger in truly losing herself to the power of a man.
She opened her eyes again to find him watching her, fighting tears until they overwhelmed her.
“Don’t cry, Caroline,” he soothed, wiping his thumb across the wetness on her cheek. “It will happen when the time is right.”
She shook her head but couldn’t reply.
He smiled, grabbed her around the waist, and hugged her against him, her head tucked under his chin, hands and breasts flattened against his chest, her toes rubbing the coarse hairs on his legs.
Timidly she whispered, “Sometimes you can be wonderful.”
He lifted her face to his. “Only sometimes?” Brows pinching thoughtfully, he added, “Come to think of it, that’s quite a compliment. Women have called me many things, but I don’t think even one has ever called me wonderful.”
She wiped her eyes and grinned bashfully. “Good. I’d like to think I’m the first for something in your life.”
Smiling, he said, “You could start by sleeping with me like this every night. That would be a first for both of us.”
“I cannot imagine why you would want that, my lord. Many a nobleman would sell his wife to the lowest bidder for the comfort of sleeping alone—”
He stifled her words with a firm kiss to her lips. “Perhaps if I found you a nag, I would feel the same way,” he said gruffly, seconds later. “But I find you adorably sexy and I despise being alone in such a large bed while my sexy wife sleeps in the next room.”
Her heart fluttered again. “Nobody would ever use that word to describe me.”
He grunted. “Caroline, the day we met in your father’s house my first impression of you was not that you were plain, or old, or…unattractive. I found you incredibly alluring. From the moment you opened your mouth and spoke in that sultry voice of yours, you’ve had me erotically entranced, and you keep me in that uncomfortable state just by speaking to me daily. You are the sexiest woman I have ever known in my life.”
She stared at him, stunned, and that made him chuckle.