Patrica Rice (12 page)

Carolyn flashed him a look of irritation. "She's eighteen." Just as she had been when she had fallen head over heels for this unscrupulous rake, but again, she left the words unsaid. He knew them as well as she.

Had she turned to see Jack's face, she would have seen the fleeting look of pain he could not conceal, but she was hurrying ahead of him. He would not allow her to leave the floor unescorted, but followed in her wake.

Once, Carolyn had looked at him with the same wide-eyed dewy look as her sister possessed now. His heart pounded, but the palpitations weren't for the young girl, but for the memory of the girl he had known. Blanche's glorious smile was nearly the same as Carolyn's had been, but the eyes were more cautious. She distrusted him much sooner than the young Carolyn ever had. Jack wondered what she knew of him, but suspected it was only curiosity that kept her gaze in his direction.

He felt Carolyn's tension as the introductions were made. Even George looked at her with curiosity when she made no pleasantries but insisted that she and Blanche must repair to the powder room. The demure woman Jack had observed from across the dance floor earlier had lost her composure, and the war of emotions in her eyes was plain to see for all who looked. Fortunately for her, George was blind to the nuances of female expressions.

Politely, Jack made his excuses and departed before he could drag Carolyn off to a corner and shake her until he received some explanations. If he needed time to gather his scattered wits, so must she.

Carolyn watched with a cry in her throat as Lord John's proud back retreated. How could he be even more incredibly handsome and wicked than she remembered? She had never known him for the devil that he was until that last day, but she had just seen him looking at Blanche in the same way he had once looked at her. He wouldn't! Heaven help her, but she would kill him with her bare hands if he so much as held Blanche's little finger. Surely he was not so beastly arrogant as to believe he could win this second round by using her sister?

By the time she arrived home that night, Carolyn's head pounded with the thunder of her memories and fears. For nearly five years she had maintained her composure, playing the part of doting older sister, loving daughter, and society maiden. For five years she had refused to think of Lord Edward John Chatham.

Just as she had thought herself fully recovered and prepared to consider marriage from a more sensible viewpoint, he'd reappeared like some demon straight from hell. What was wrong with her that he could still make her feel like this after all these years? She
hated
him. How could he stir her into this writhing agony of need and chaos and uncertainty after all he had done?

It wouldn't do to ponder the thought too long. Soon, George's mother would return from the Continent, and they would obtain her approval, and Carolyn would be wedded and safe. With both her father and George to protect her, Blanche would be out of Jack's reach. There were too many other girls on the market for Jack to try his hand at another Thorogood.

Still, as she drifted off to sleep, Carolyn could not keep from dreaming of warm gray eyes and long legs striding eagerly toward her. So light those eyes had been, almost as if illuminated from within when they gazed on her. She felt them even in her sleep, warming her to the marrow.

When the enormous bouquet of impossible roses arrived early the next day, Carolyn nearly refused to accept them. Jack had been given to extravagance, even when he hadn't a ha'penny for food. She knew they had to be from him, but telling herself that there was some chance that George might have grown sentimental, she read the card. The words "I need to see you" had scarcely grazed her mind when she heard Jack's voice in the doorway.

"I told the servant not to announce me. I didn't want to be turned away again." His wide shoulders filled the salon doorway. The expensive tailoring of his deep blue frock coat emphasized the breadth of his chest and the slimness of his hips in their tight pantaloons, and Carolyn had to force her gaze to his sun-bronzed features. That was no relief, for the dizzying lightness of his eyes made her throat go dry, and her fingers longed to caress the blond streaks in his burnished curls.

The footman disappeared, leaving Carolyn clinging to the roses. Jack properly left the door open, but they both knew there was no one but the servants to hear them, and they would not interfere. She tried to pry her tongue from the roof of her mouth as she measured the astonishing knowledge that he was here, in her house, in the same room with her after all these years, but she couldn't shake her disbelief. She felt as if she were still dreaming.

Dressed in a frail muslin of sprigged lavender, her hair tied in loose curls at the crown of her head, she had the grace and the startled velvet eyes of a gazelle. A hint of lavender scented the air around her, speaking of springtime and wildflowers and the beauty of an English rose. Jack could not take his eyes away, and all his carefully prepared speeches disappeared in a misty haze of yearning. For five years he had dreamed of this. He still could not believe he was so blessed as to find her unmarried. His hands actually shook as he reached to set the roses aside.

"We need to talk, Carolyn. I have so much I want to say to you, I don't know where to begin. I caught you by surprise last night. I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things I said. I had been listening to George sing your praises until I wanted to plant him a facer. That's why we have to talk. I want another chance, Carolyn. Will you listen?"

She flushed hot and cold hearing that deep, seductive voice again, feeling it wash over her with lingering promises of passion. She hated him for doing this to her again. She was old enough to know better. He had no right to come here and disturb her life all over. She wouldn't let him. She steeled herself against the impassioned plea of his voice, refused to see the pain and hope in his eyes. He deserved to suffer for what he had done. It was her turn to hand out pain.

"Get out, Jack," she told him coldly, meeting his eyes without flinching. "If I never see you again, it will be too soon. If you ever dare perpetrate this underhanded trick again, I will have the servants bounce you out on your ear. You may take your vulgar flowers with you when you go. Try them on some poor cit who is desperate for a title. Don't ever try them on me again."

She swung around and started for the far door. Stunned, Jack could utter no word of protest. In all these years of envisioning this scene, he had never imagined the coldness of her reception. Too many hot summers, he thought wryly as he felt the chill of the unheated room begin to take over and shudder through him. He heard the door close after her, and still he could not move. He kept waiting for the blessed numbness that came with time, but it eluded him. He shook as if with fever.

He had expected anger at worst. Carolyn could be docile and patient and loving and understanding, but when she felt threatened, she retaliated with a temper that left scars. He could still feel the sting of her words from that night they had parted. They had lingered under his skin like some insidious poison for years. Those torn pieces of heart she had thrown at him had bruised as if they were stone, but her words had caused permanent damage. He had feared she would never forgive or forget, but never had he thought it would be like this.

She had meant it when she said he would never know her heart again. The woman who had just left this room had no heart. That was what he had sensed missing last night. All that loving, trusting innocence he had known had disappeared, bricked up behind a brittle facade of composure and disinterest. The Carolyn he had known had ceased to exist.

Aching as if with cold, Jack turned and retraced his steps to the front door. The roses lay forgotten in the icy salon.

* * * * 

Blanche watched as her older sister paced the library, ostensibly in search of some volume of verse appropriate for the valentine they were making. It had been days since the ball where the man with the broken nose had made his appearance, but Carolyn's complaint of the headache had kept them confined indoors ever since.

Blanche had little reason to object, since her suitors were overflowing the salons with their flattering lies of missing her, and flowers spilled over the furniture as reminders of their attentions in her absence. The social whirl was amusing, but she had spent most of her life in her father's country home and knew well how to entertain herself without need of constant attention. Her concern was more for Carolyn.

Blanche had learned nothing about Lord Edward John Chatham from discreet inquiries of her callers, but she had found his abandoned flowers and note in the salon the day after the ball. That Carolyn had refused to appear in public ever since was serious cause for concern. She had never seen Carolyn troubled or discomposed.

The time Alice had fallen from the tree and broken her arm had thrown the entire household in an uproar, but not Carolyn. She had directed servants, comforted Alice, and had everything calm before the physician arrived. Even their mother's death had not caused this withdrawal from family and friends. Carolyn had grieved terribly, but she had been the mainstay of the family throughout that tragic period. She had not bolted herself behind closed doors and refused to come out.

"Perhaps I shall write a poem of my own," Blanche suggested to divert her sister's attention from pacing. "Am I allowed to make personal allusions in poetry?"

Carolyn clamped her fingers into her palms and pulled together her distraught nerves. She was being ridiculous. After what she had said, Jack would never cross their portals again. There really was no cause for concern. Blanche was a sensible girl beneath her frivolous romantic fantasies. She would listen to reason should the opportunity be needed. Mouthing these platitudes to herself, she forced a serene smile.

"What personal allusions can you make when you don't know to whom the card will go? An 'Ode to His Shining Eyes'?"

Blanche grinned in appreciation of this sign of Carolyn's returning humor. "I can refuse to come down until someone meeting the description arrives. It's only the first man I see that day that counts. I shan't have to see anyone if I don't wish."

"Horrible child, that takes all the fun out of it. What if we had no servants? You would have to answer the door and accept the first man who entered."

"I should sneak around and see who it was before I answered. If it was someone unacceptable, I should just pretend I was not at home. I'll not give my favors for a year to a man with no wit to appreciate them."

"You are spoiled beyond redemption." Carolyn inspected the lacy creation of ribbons and paper that Blanche had painstakingly put together. "It is quite good without a poem. Do not give them any ideas." She set the heart down and squared her shoulders decisively. "It is a pleasant day. Would you care to accompany me for a stroll in the park?"

Blanche shuddered at the thought. Carolyn's idea of pleasant weather was a day without rain. Never mind that icicles still hung from the eaves. And
stroll
translated as a fast gallop on foot through deserted lanes at a hideously early hour, when there was no one to notice them. It did not strike Blanche as a particularly elegant way to spend the morning.

At Blanche's blunt refusal, Carolyn shrugged and went in search of her wrap. She had been confined inside for too long. She needed exercise to disperse these nervous fits and restless urges. A bruising horse ride would be more suitable, but that was not permitted in the crowded city parks and streets. A brisk walk would be just as beneficial.

Fetching her resigned maid to accompany her, Carolyn wrapped in a blue velvet pelisse lined with a fur that nearly matched the color of her hair and set out.

The last patches of snow were disappearing into the grass, and icicles were dripping rivulets from bare tree limbs. The Serpentine still held patches of ice glinting in the sunlight, and Carolyn turned her mind to the beauty of the day. It felt good to stretch her muscles and breathe fresh air again. She had been quite childish in hiding from the ghost of her imagination.

A bright red ball bounced across her feet, nearly causing her to trip, but she was adept at eluding such objects. With four younger siblings underfoot at various times of the year, she had learned to keep a tremendous store of patience. With a smile at this simple pleasure, she turned to find the runaway ball and return it to its owner.

With the object firmly in her gloved hand, she sought the youngster who had thrown it. To the side of the road and down a slight embankment stood a tiny figure garbed head to foot in warm furs and velvet, her pitch-black hair streaming out from a fur cap framing a strangely tawny face. She held back shyly, not willing to come forward to retrieve her toy from a stranger.

"Shall I throw it to you?" Carolyn offered, content to be playing at simple childhood games for a time.

When the girl nodded timidly, Carolyn heaved the ball toward her mittened hands. They caught the ball with an adeptness that signaled she had frequently played this game.

As the child smiled and clasped her ball, a dark figure unfolded from its relaxed position against a tree trunk and came forward. "Thank the lady, Amy."

The voice smote her with the swiftness of a rapier, and Carolyn stepped backward instinctively. "Jack!"

Only then did the top-hatted head lift to peruse her. Gray eyes shuttered, and a leather-clad hand reached for the small shoulder of the child. "Carolyn." He nodded warily.

An awkward silence fell, of which the child showed no awareness as she held out the ball. "T'ank you, m'lady," she lisped carefully. "Will you play?"

As shaken by Jack's presence as by the dilemma of the child's appearance, Carolyn could make no reply. Dazedly she tried to orient herself, to find some perspective to approach the situation, but she could not. She only waited in bewilderment for Jack to rescue her.

Caught unaware, Jack, too, had difficulty surmounting a meeting that he had never anticipated. He had never intended to keep Amy a secret, but there had been no opportunity to mention her. His fingers squeezed his daughter's shoulder reassuringly as his tongue summoned some form of polite introduction.