Whirlwind Wedding (21 page)

After several moments she shifted beneath him and he somehow managed to lift his head. He looked down into her beautiful eyes—eyes soft with tenderness that reached inside and touched his heart.

She brushed her fingertips across his lips. "You're wonderful," she whispered.

Her words flowed over him, surrounding him, and his heart rolled over.

You're wonderful.
Words he'd heard before from the lips of a satisfied lover, but this time he somehow knew they were different. Because of who said them. And because he sensed she wasn't talking about his lovemaking skills.

You're wonderful.
No other woman had ever spoken them to him and meant
him.
That
he
was wonderful. Hell, he knew he wasn't, but pleasure rushed through him just the same.

A sense of . . . what was it? . . . enveloped him. Well-being? Yes, but something else. Some other feeling he couldn't quite place enveloped him, leaving him warm and content. It took him a moment to realize what that feeling was. It had been so long since he'd felt it, he didn't recognize it at first.

It was happiness. She made him happy.

But he forcibly reminded himself that there were still unanswered questions about his wife. There were secrets about her past that she hadn't shared with him. And their marriage was only one of convenience.

But it would be so easy to believe otherwise.

Robert stood in the drawing room at Bradford Hall, his ears still ringing with the shocking news the magistrate had brought.
Half his face was blown
off, impossible to identify, but he was clearly a Runner. Wore the red vest of Bow
Street. Looks like a robbery, but we '11 have to conduct an inquest. Gave your
groom quite a turn, finding the body like that. We '11 need to notify his grace
immediately.

"I cannot imagine why a Runner would be at the ruins," Robert said to Miles, who stood near the mantel. "But whatever the reason, the entire episode has given me a bad feeling."

"Perhaps Austin knows the man," Miles said. "We'll find out tomorrow when we arrive in London."

"Yes. I've arranged for the coach to be brought around at first light. I didn't tell Mother or Caroline why we're going, but they are always eager for a trip to Town, thank God." Robert dragged his hands through his hair.

"I couldn't very well tell them Mortlin discovered a dead body in the bushes and there may be a murderer on the loose. Of course, Mother balked at interrupting Austin and Elizabeth's wedding trip, so I appreciate your inviting us to stay at your town house."

"My pleasure," Miles said tossing back his brandy.

"I'm relieved that the last of the guests, including Lady Penbroke, departed this morning," Robert continued "so it wasn't necessary to make awkward excuses to them."

"Indeed" Miles said pouring himself another brandy and downing it.

Robert stared at him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because you've practically emptied the brandy decanter in the last five minutes."

"Just a bit unnerved I suppose."

Robert nodded. "I understand perfectly." He glanced toward the mantel clock. "It's almost midnight. I'm going to retire. I suggest you do the same."

"I'll be along shortly. Good night."

The instant Robert left the room, Miles poured himself another hefty brandy. Leaning against the mantel, he stared into the flames, trying to figure out what a Runner was doing at Bradford Hall and why someone killed him. Nothing was clear other than the fact that Robert, his mother, and Caroline had to leave here until the mystery was solved. His stomach turned over. If anything happened to Caroline— He swallowed half his drink and squeezed his eyes shut. No. No harm would come to Caroline. He would personally see to it. But first he would have to survive the five-hour journey facing him tomorrow.

Five hours in a coach with Caroline. Five hours of her sitting close enough to touch, five hours of breathing in her delicate fragrance.

Five hours of pure torture.

His guts tightened at the very thought. It was one thing to avoid her in a crowd, but how the hell could he hope to pretend indifference in a carriage? And with her brother and mother looking on, no less.

Damnation, when the hell had she grown up? He'd looked at her a thousand times and had never seen her. She'd always been "Little Caroline," until that night two months ago when he'd waltzed with her.

Since then it seemed he could not
stop
looking at her. She'd fit in his arms as if she were made for him alone and no matter how hard he tried, he'd been unable to erase the feel of her, the scent of her from his memory.

He closed his eyes, picturing her in his mind. What would her beautiful mouth feel like? Taste like?

His eyes snapped open and he gulped his brandy.
Hang it! What the hell
am I thinking?
If Austin even suspected he was entertaining carnal thoughts about Caroline, he would snap his fingers and decree, "Off with his head!"

He simply had to push these insane urges aside. Caroline was not a woman to trifle with, and the "trifle" sort was what he liked best. Caroline would have a husband— and as he had no intention of being one, he simply needed to forget this madness. No wife for him, no indeed. He had no intention of being leg-shackled as his father had been to his second wife, a nagging harpy who'd made his life miserable until the day he died.

He would endure the carriage ride tomorrow and Caroline's presence in his home for several days, and then he wouldn't have to see her again until the start of the next Season, thank God. And even then, he could easily avoid her.

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in."

Caroline entered closing the door behind her.

It felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room.

"Good evening," she said joining him by the fireplace and offering him a tentative smile. "I was looking for Robert."

"He's gone to bed." He tried to force his gaze away from her, but failed completely. The fire's glow highlighted her delicate features and shiny golden hair. The memory of the feel of her in his arms washed over him again, bringing with it a heated rush of desire.

"Don't let me keep you from retiring, Caroline," he said, inclining his head in a meaningful fashion toward the door.

"Are you angry about something, Miles?"

He tore his gaze away from her and stared into the fire. Yes, he was angry. Angry for being unable to talk himself out of this unwanted, insane desire for her. Yes, he was very angry indeed.

"No, Caroline. I'm not angry."

"I don't believe you."

His gaze snapped over to glare at her. Looking at her proved a big mistake. Her blue eyes probed his, studying him with tender concern. Her breasts curved above her bodice and tendrils of golden hair curled in a beguiling fashion around her face. His loins clenched, and he swelled against his trousers. She was so damn beautiful. And he wanted her. God how he wanted her.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"No, of course not. I was just concerned that I'd done something to anger you."

"You haven't." He swallowed the rest of his brandy and continued to stare at her, helpless to stop himself. He knew he should stop drinking with such haste. He was beginning to feel light-headed.

Caroline watched him, her heart thumping against her ribs. On the outside she strove to appear calm, but on the inside her nerves jangled with tension and uncertainty. She'd known Robert had retired. She'd been waiting for an opportunity to be alone with Miles, hoping that he might make an encouraging move toward her, but his fierce scowl made hope of
that
outcome die a slow, withering death in her breast.

Well, she was prepared to take matters into her own hands. She'd loved him her entire life. It was time to show him she wasn't a little girl anymore.

She had nothing to lose except her pride, and she would happily sacrifice that if it meant having Miles.

"I'm relieved you're not angry with me," she remarked with what she hoped sounded like a carefree laugh, "because I wish to ask your advice about something, if you don't mind."

He didn't answer her.

"It's a rather delicate matter," she went on doggedly. "Ask your mother,"

he suggested his tone anything but friendly.

"Oh, I couldn't ask Mother about
this."
"Then ask Austin. Or Robert."

"Impossible," she decreed with a wave of her hand. She leaned forward and spoke confidentially. "They're
men,
you see."

He turned his head and stared at her. "And just what the hell am I?"

"Oh! Well, you're a man, of course," she replied not even batting an eye at his use of an obscenity. "But you're different. You're not my
brother,
you see."

Miles didn't see. Not at all. He knew he wasn't her brother, damn it. He knew it all too well. "What do you need advice about, Caroline?" he asked in a tired voice. Maybe if he humored her she'd go away and leave him in peace. Then he could concentrate on something other than her.

"I need to know about kissing."

He gaped at her in amazement.
"What
did you say?"

"I said I need to know about kissing. As you know, Lord Blankenship was one of our houseguests this past week. I have reason to believe he holds me in some affection and may offer for me."

"Blankenship? Charles Blankenship?"

"Yes."

"Has he spoken to Austin about this?" "No. At least I don't think so."

"Then what makes you think he plans to offer for you?"

"He kissed me."

"He
what?
"

"He kissed me."

"Where?"

Caroline blinked. "In the library." Miles barely held his temper in check. "I meant
where
did he kiss you—as in on the hand or on your cheek?"

"Oh. Neither. He kissed me on my lips."

"He
what?
"

"You seem to have a decided problem understanding me. Is your hearing afflicted?"

"Certainly not," Miles answered indignant. "I just simply cannot believe you'd allow him to kiss you in such a fashion."

She cocked her head to one side. "Indeed? Why? Lord Blankenship is titled wealthy, kind and fair of countenance."

"Isn't he rather
old
for you?"

"He's only two years older than you. But that isn't what I want to talk about."

"Really?" His voice resembled a growl.

"No. What I need to know is why I didn't
feel
anything when Charles kissed me. Except perhaps boredom."

Much to his disgust, a wave of relief washed over Miles. "Boredom?

Really? What a pity."

"From conversations I've had with several friends, I understand it's not necessary to feel bored when a gentleman kisses you. Apparently
some
gentlemen's kisses aren't boring at all." She looked directly into his eyes. "Is that true?"

"How the hell would I know?" He fought an urge to tug at his suddenly constrictive cravat. His damn valet had obviously tied his neckcloth too tight. And hang it, when had it become so
hot
in here?

"Are
your
kisses boring, Miles?" she asked taking a step closer to him.

"I haven't the vaguest notion. I've never kissed myself." He took a wary step backward. His shoulders bumped into the mantel, effectively stopping him from retreating any farther.

She advanced another step, then another, stopping within a foot of him.

Gazing up at him with luminous eyes, she said "Well, then, why not kiss
me,
and I'll let you know."

"That is a most improper suggestion, Caroline," he said grimly aware that he wanted nothing more than to oblige her.

She placed her hands on his shirtfront. "What's wrong, Miles? Are you afraid you'll discover your kisses induce boredom?"

He valiantly fought for control. The touch of her hands was driving him to distraction.

"Look at me," Caroline whispered.

He stared over her shoulder, silent and tight lipped.

"Kiss me," she breathed.

"No."

"Hold me."

"Absolutely not." He gritted his teeth and prayed for strength. He had to get away from her. He raised his hands and grasped her wrists, planning to forcibly move her away from him. But then he looked at her.

It proved his undoing.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and the vulnerable longing on her beautiful face all but sliced him in half. He grasped her shoulders, intending to push her away, determined to be noble, but she raised herself onto her tiptoes and flattened herself against him.

"Please, Miles. Please . . ." She placed her soft lips against his jaw, the only part of his face she could reach without his cooperation.

Her plea and her tears pierced his heart like arrows. His control snapped and with an agonized groan he lowered his mouth to hers.

God help him. Had any woman ever tasted this sweet? Felt this good?

She softly moaned his name and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. The sound of his name coming from her lips on a breathy sigh made him tingle all over.

With unhurried languor he introduced her to the art of kissing. She was inexperienced but very eager and a fast learner. When he ran the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, she did the same to him. She gasped in surprise when his tongue invaded the velvety warmth of her mouth, but within seconds she rubbed her own tongue against his, causing him to clasp her to him fiercely.

Again and again he slanted his mouth over hers, alternating between a lazy, coaxing touching of lips and a hard demanding melding of mouths and tongues.

When he finally raised his head she clung to him and buried her face against his shirtfront. "My goodness," she whispered. "That was—"