My Darling Caroline (15 page)

It was an admission he didn’t make lightly, and with it she felt her heart warm as she sighed contentedly and snuggled into him.

For a long while she lay against him in quiet companionship, listening to his heart beating, his slow, even breathing. Finally, from the closeness, she drew the courage to discuss the topic they’d been avoiding.

“Your sister is lovely, Brent.”

He stiffened just slightly but offered nothing in response, so she bravely continued, turning her head to glance up to his face. “I have a favor to ask.”

He looked into her eyes.

She took a deep breath to encourage confidence she didn’t feel at all. “I’d like to have a dinner party for Charlotte and Carl. Please don’t say no—”

He cut her off with a finger to her lips.

For several seconds she watched the deep hazel-green of his eyes as they gleamed in the firelight and grazed over every inch of her face.

“Rosalyn and I had a nice dinner together, Caroline,” he said at last, the deep, rich quality of his voice filling the room.

She continued to hold his gaze, curious and unsure because the words he spoke implied a casual change in topic, and yet his tone was somber, denoting something more.

He inhaled deeply and lightly ran his finger along her lips and jaw until he cupped her face in his hand. Then amazement and wonder crept into his voice as he whispered, “And when we finished eating she came to me, Caroline. She stood directly in front of me, pointed to herself, and spelled
Papa
with her fingers. She called me her papa, then grabbed me around the neck and hugged me, voluntarily.”

Caroline beamed. “I thought it should be the first word she learned to spell.”

“I know.” He tenderly stroked her neck. “She knows who I am in her life because of you. She responds and talks to me because of you. One day she might even marry and give me grandchildren because of you. All the things I never thought could happen are suddenly possible.”

Gently he leaned over and kissed her, his lips soft and warm and tasting faintly of brandy as they brushed against hers, not passionately, but with aching sweetness, with deep, heartfelt gratitude.

Gradually, reluctantly, he pulled back, lifting his head, his eyes conveying what words could not. “You have given me the greatest gift, Caroline,” he whispered huskily, fervidly, “and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to deny you anything.”

She drew a shaky breath, her gaze never shifting from the intensity of his as she lifted a hand to run her fingers through his hair. In all of her life, she knew she would never forget this moment.

“I’m certain Rosalyn knew, even before I gave her the words, that you loved her. And I’m just as sure that someday she’ll tell you how much your caring has meant to her, how deeply she loves you.” She ran her palm down his cheek and neck, resting it over his heart. “You, my darling husband, are the most fortunate one of all.”

He swallowed hard with emotion. “Yes, I am, Caroline,” he admitted in a thick, caressing voice, “because I married you.”

She stilled. Even her breathing seemed to stop in that instant as she stared into eyes of calm, vibrant green expressing the feelings his mind wouldn’t admit and his heart couldn’t convey. She blinked several times to fight tears of joy from having him as her very own, tears of anguish from the confusion he presented in her life by his very being, but mostly tears of sorrow because she realized in that instant that her destiny was changing. At that precise moment, she understood what losing him would mean to her, and never again would she be able to go on as she had before, content with only the solitude of her plants. She was beginning to love him.

He placed his palm on her cheek. “Come to bed with me, Caroline.”

She absolutely knew to the depths of her soul that denying him this would be the greatest, most difficult decision she would ever make in her life. She needed him, but the confusion still existed. If she gave in now, her dream of a lifetime would end.

Tears she could no longer control filled her eyes. “You just don’t understand what I’m going through, Brent.”

His jaw hardened, and he gripped her chin tightly. “Tell me what it is, Caroline. What are you afraid of?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head, unable to answer. After a long moment of knowing that he stared at her with desire, confused and frustrated, he dropped his hand from her face, wrapped his arm around her head, and pulled her against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Brent sighed heavily, saying nothing as he pulled the ribbon from her hair. He held her tightly for a long while, running his fingers through the thick, silky tresses, until he felt her relax, heard her breathing slow and deepen as sleep overcame her.

Finally, as the fire died to glowing embers, he gently lifted her in his arms and carried her to her bed. The exhaustion of the day had seeped into her bones, for she didn’t stir or utter a sound when he laid her on the sheets. He turned her to her side, unbuttoned her gown and slowly pulled it down the length of her, lifting her legs to ease it from her body.

By the glow of moonlight he studied her figure, dressed in only a white chemise as it clung to every soft contour of her small and delicate form. Her dark hair cascaded in long, shiny waves over her pillow. The skin on her face, neck, and arms glowed with the sheen of ivory satin, and her black lashes fell across pale cheeks as if painted by a skilled artist in long, soft, sensuous strokes.

“You’re so beautiful…” he whispered as he slowly began to run the tips of his fingers along her body. Her breasts were full and round, and through the thinness of the material covering them he could see the darkness of her nipples, inviting him to touch. Gradually, with reverence, he grazed his palm along the curve of her waist, the flatness of her stomach, his throat closing tightly, constricting his breathing as he looked down to notice at once how the thin barrier of pale linen could not completely hide the dark triangle between her legs. Slowly, very slowly, he ran the back of his hand across her hips to feel the cushion of curls covering the most intimate part of her, which she continued to keep from him.

“Why won’t you let me in, Caroline?” he whispered into the darkened, quiet room, to her silent, peaceful form.

An ache squeezed his chest, gripping him as it grew in strength. He ran his palm down the length of her leg, then pulled the quilt over her body and turned away.

He looked back to her as he stood at the door, knowing the wait couldn’t last, the ache to have her as his own couldn’t go on much longer. She made him laugh, she made him crazy, she made him proud, but more than anything, she made him happy, and in all of his nearly thirty-four years, he’d never imagined a woman would make him happy.

Chapter 16

T
he guests were beginning to arrive, taking sherry and hors d’oeuvres in the drawing room as they awaited dinner. Besides the four of them, only ten others would be present—Caroline’s sisters Jane and Charlotte and their husbands, her father and her sister Stephanie, and two friends of Charlotte Becker’s whom the lady hadn’t seen in years, and their respective husbands. Mary Anne would be absent, as she’d just given birth, and for that Caroline was almost grateful. Fourteen to entertain would be enough.

Her hands shook as she stepped into her evening gown, turning so Gwendolyn could button the back. She’d borrowed it from Charlotte and had it altered to fit her form during the last three weeks since she didn’t own any gowns quite so grand. This one was beautiful.

“Good gracious, you look lovely,” Gwendolyn exclaimed.

Caroline turned and walked to the full-length mirror to study her reflection. The final picture amazed her indeed, for she looked like a completely different woman.

The gown was a deep wine color, elegant in style with an extremely low, rounded neckline and high waist. The bodice was straight and simple, the skirt flowing to her ankles in a smooth cascade of dark silk, and the short sleeves puffed high and full. On her left arm, just above the elbow, she wore a simple band of diamonds to match the two dangling from her earlobes, and to complete the picture she wore long, wine-colored silk gloves. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d dressed so formally, and never in her life had she looked so appealing.

And it was all because she’d given Charlotte permission to cut her hair not three hours before.

Caroline wasn’t sure what had overcome her to allow such a thing, for she’d never in her life given hairstyle any thought. But her sister-in-law had pleaded with her, wanting to slice the front off just enough to cover her “rather expansive, cumbersome forehead,” as she’d put it. So, tense and reluctant, Caroline had surrendered to the woman’s decree, allowing Charlotte to cut enough of her hair to completely cover her forehead. That done, she’d curled the rest of it with a hot iron and piled it on top of her head, pinning it loosely, giving her not only height, but an aura of elegance and grace.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Caroline felt a rush of pure pleasure from knowing that she had never in her life looked lovelier than she did now. It had taken twenty-six years and a sister-in-law of only three weeks to discover that if she styled her hair by covering her forehead, she was almost beautiful to look at. Her reflection truly stunned her.

“Wish me luck, Gwendolyn,” she said nervously, turning to the door.

“You won’t need any, Lady Caroline. Have a wonderful time.”

She took a deep breath, smiled to her maid, and stepped into the hallway.

She hadn’t seen much of Brent during the three weeks his sister had been at Miramont. He woke early, took breakfast in the kitchen, and was usually gone from the house before she’d even dressed. But alas, the man, even with his consent to attend the party, wanted nothing to do with the preparation and even less to do with Charlotte and Carl. As far as she was aware, he’d only briefly set eyes on the two of them, nodding curtly and saying not a word in acknowledgment. She knew that Charlotte felt stung by his avoidance, but Carl was angered by it and refused to acknowledge Brent in return. Tonight’s dinner party would be the first time they would be thrust together for a length of time. She hoped the event would be heated enough to thaw the ice barrier between them. If this didn’t work, the Beckers would most certainly leave Miramont posthaste.

Brent’s avoidance, however, couldn’t have come at a better time for Caroline. Because of his disappearance each day, sometimes for hours, she’d been able to work in the greenhouse. It had initially taken two hours to break the lock, but once the door had been pried open and she’d stepped over the threshold, her heart had raced with anticipation. The interior was immaculate. Although no live plants existed and the soil had dried years before, it had evidently been cleaned and scrubbed before being sealed. That’s the only way she could describe it, as there were few bugs and even fewer spiders with webs to clear away. The inside had been stripped, cleaned, and sealed, as if it would never be used again.

Realistically she’d expected conditions inside to reflect the abandonment of the structure, but because the opposite was true, it had taken only a week to get it ready for planting. She’d taken two full days just to clear the surrounding area of brush so the building could receive several hours of sunlight each day; then she concentrated her efforts on the inside, filling the trays with rich soil. The hinges to open the top had been rusty and stiff, but she oiled them repeatedly until they eventually gave way, allowing fresh air and sunshine to filter through the opened glass windows. She now had a working greenhouse at her disposal, and few things since arriving at Miramont had excited her so.

The only time she saw her husband regularly was late at night when she entered his room in her nightgown and robe to have brandy with him on his settee. At first she’d been nervous, but after three or four nights it became an eagerly anticipated ritual, the most pleasant time of her day. Since the night of her birthday, though, he hadn’t asked her to stay, and deep down she knew he was hurting because she wouldn’t come to him voluntarily. She could see the longing, the confusion his eyes betrayed each evening when she left him to another night of sleeping alone.

But she would be sailing in just sixteen days. All arrangements were finalized. Instead of excitement, though, she felt profoundly sad because she knew leaving would mean a decisive, irrevocable choosing between the two passions in her life—her studies and her husband. Somewhere deep within her she wanted to stay; she wanted to love him, completely and forever. She realized that now, just as fully as she’d always known she would never be completely whole and happy as a wife and mother if she allowed botany, the greatest part of her, to wither away to nothing but a hobby. If she stayed at Miramont, always would she know regret.

And now, complicating everything and worrying her into a desperate panic, was the thought of telling Brent of her plans. She was certainly stalling, but she just didn’t know how to broach the subject, and time was running short. He cared for her, even depended on her where Rosalyn was concerned, and her scientific desires were completely foreign to him. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to explain, and she was positively sure he would never just passively grant her an annulment by request. An intense argument was bound to ensue.

In all of her life, Caroline had never felt so frustrated, so emotionally shattered and unsure what to do. But in sixteen days, the decision would be final, and all would be clear again. She had to believe that.

Brushing her turbulent thoughts and nervousness aside, she entered the drawing room. Everyone was present, and one after another, those who knew her each stopped talking in midsentence to stare at her with varying expressions of bewilderment.

All except her husband. He stood near the closed French doors, alone, staring outside and sipping a glass of whiskey. Naturally he looked handsome and perfect in dark, charcoal-gray trousers and topcoat, dove-gray waistcoat and cravat, and a white, impeccably tailored shirt. He’d combed his hair from his face, exposing the tautness of his features, the expressiveness of his eyes, and truthfully, as uncomfortable as she knew he was, he looked marvelously calm.

Slowly he turned to look in her direction as the chatter in the room slowly ceased with her entrance, and although he was in the process of taking a sip of his drink, his hand froze halfway to his lips as his gaze fell upon her at last.

She flushed deeply when he stared at her openly, raking her body up and down with a completely unreadable expression. Then he drained the contents of his glass in one gulp and set it on a side table.

Quickly, her nervousness returning as her confidence faded, she moved to make unavoidable introductions. She mingled with her guests for several minutes, stopping finally to converse with Jane and her husband, Robert Waxton. Suddenly Brent stood next to her, taking her elbow with his hand.

“I need to discuss something with you, Caroline,” he said in a deep, smooth voice.

She looked up at him, surprised and irritated that he could be so rude in the presence of company, but before she could utter a response, he’d made small excuses and practically pulled her from the drawing room and across the foyer to his study.

Once inside, he softly closed the door and turned to stare.

Her heart pounded, but she refused to drop her gaze from his. After a brief moment of silence, her impatience grew to intolerance.

“That was impolite and tactless, even for you,” she contended, hoping to sound braver than she felt.

He smirked, leaned back against the door, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you do to your hair?”

She rubbed her gloved hands together nervously. “Your sister made me cut it.”

He cocked a cynical brow. “Really? Did she hold a pistol to your head to force you to do it, Caroline, or did she sit on top of you to keep you still while she sliced it herself?”

That made her fume. “I don’t particularly like it either, but Charlotte thought, in her own sweet, naïve way, it might make me look a bit more appealing. Obviously she was wrong—”

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her against him before she could blink, holding her tightly, possessively.

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you tonight, little one?”

She gave him a most sarcastic glare. “I can’t imagine that a man with a mind the size of a worm’s would have any thoughts whatsoever.”

He grinned rakishly, his eyes narrowing to dark green slits as he pulled her so close to him that her breasts flattened against his waistcoat.

Before she could consider his intentions, his lips were upon hers, firmly, eagerly, his embrace hot as fire as he kissed her deeply. As always, she opened for him, allowing his tongue to invade her warmth in search of hers, wrapping her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair, pulling his head as close as she could. He ran one hand up and down her back, and the other he placed against her bottom, caressing her in small, slow circles, until the blood raged through her veins and her breathing became raspy.

Seconds later he released her, gently, lifting his head slowly to gaze into her eyes once more.

“I suppose you must be right, Caroline,” he admitted huskily. “I must have the mind of a worm since I’ve been married to you for nearly four months, and not until tonight, when you walked into the drawing room, did I realize I’d married a voluptuous, ravishing beauty. I don’t think I’ve ever been so astounded in my life.”

She stared at him, incredulous.

“And just in case you’re wondering, sweetheart,” he added, placing his fingers inside the top of her gown and running his knuckles back and forth, “I think this color is stunning on you.”

“It’s Charlotte’s,” she mumbled, wide-eyed and knowing it was an incredibly stupid thing to say.

His smile broadened. “Being blond, I’m sure burgundy makes her look pale and sickly.” He glanced down to her bosom. “And I’m sure she never filled it out quite so nicely.”

That made her blush. “What a presumptuous thing to say about your sister.”

He grinned wickedly and pulled the material as high as he could to cover her breasts. “It’s also too low.”

She looked at him bravely, defiantly. “Well, I’m wearing it now and I refuse to change.”

“Just don’t fall out of it, Caroline.”

She stared into his eyes for a moment, then said shakily, “I think we should return to our guests.”

He exhaled deeply, his expression becoming serious as he reached up to cup her hot, pinkened cheeks. Quietly he said, “I just wanted to clear the air about who exactly you belong to, Caroline, so there wouldn’t be any confusion this evening. Not every man takes the marriage vows as literally as I do, and since several of them will be ogling you tonight, I wanted to take a minute to remind you that you’re mine. That’s all.”

He dropped his hands, grasped her elbow, and opened the door. “And now that I’ve put color in your cheeks, my lovely wife,” he added blandly, “let’s go and eat. I’m starving.”

For nearly two hours they ate, course after course. Her husband sat at the opposite end of the table from her, which, although keeping him at a distance, allowed him a straight view and the ability to stare at her throughout the meal. Caroline talked mostly to Stephanie, who sat next to her, discussing trivial things like her upcoming nuptials to the Viscount Jameson. Then suddenly the room quieted as her father cleared his throat and addressed her husband.

“You’ve done an excellent job with the estate, Weymerth,” he commended smoothly.

Brent looked squarely at the older man. “Indeed, thanks to your daughter.”

“And what a marvelous job you’ve done decorating, Caroline,” Jane offered sweetly, buttering more bread. “Miramont is lovely from room to room.”

“Anyone can decorate a house,” Brent carried on casually, leaning back in his chair to study his wineglass. Then he glanced across the table at her again, twirling the stem with his fingers as he softened his voice. “I was talking about the finances.”

With that, everyone stopped eating at once, turned their heads, and stared at him—including Caroline, who now couldn’t breathe as a huge bite of plum stuffing lodged itself in her throat.

The room seemed still as death until Gavin, her sister Charlotte’s husband, shook his head and found his voice before the others managed to do so. “What on earth would any woman know about finances, Weymerth?”

Brent smiled. “I wouldn’t know about other women. I do, however, know that my wife has a firm grasp of numbers, and because she’s better at keeping the books, I asked her to do it. She’s done a perfect job so far and in fact found several thousand pounds I’d managed to lose on paper simply because my mastery of mathematics doesn’t compare with hers. What takes me hours, she can do in minutes.”