"How did you gain entrance?"
"I simply walked in. How would you suppose?"
"Have you ever heard of knocking?"
"Why would I? You've told your butler to refuse me."
"Yes, I have. You can't keep coming here!"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You'll be caught. There'll be a big fuss." "Maybe I don't care if there's a fuss." "Yes, you do."
"I'm about to be married," she reminded him, the news like a punch in the gut. "No one's concerned as to where I am or what I do."
"That doesn't mean your father wouldn't have a fit if he knew."
She closed the door, sealing them in. "My wedding is set for March fifteenth."
Her citing of the date was extremely distressing, but he couldn't figure out why it would be. Blandly, he inquired, "Is it so soon?"
"Four weeks away."
"It certainly is."
"Have you any comment on the situation?" "What would you like me to say besides congratulations?"
"Would you imagine I'll be happy with Mr. Shelton?" "Since when did your kind ever marry for happiness?"
"My kind"? Honestly, Ian, where do you get your absurd notions?"
"From status-conscious snobs like you."
She shot a reproving glare. "So what is your opinion as to my pending nuptials? Will my union with Mr. Shelton be one long romantic adventure?"
He couldn't see any reason to lie. "No. It will be quite awful."
She chuckled, though miserably. "You've always been so brutally frank. It's a most infuriating trait."
"I aim to please."
"Were you aware that Mr. Shelton is thirty-five years older than me?" "Is it that many?"
"My mother claims the age difference is a boon." "How could it be?"
"She says I'm nervous and fickle, and I'll benefit from his steadying presence." "Your mother is an idiot."
"It's two in the afternoon," she mentioned, switching subjects, "and you aren't dressed." "No, I'm not."
"You're falling apart. What's happened to you?" It was a question he'd asked himself a thousand times.
"You can't keep visiting," he scolded. "Why not?"
She marched to the sideboard, and he watched— flummoxed—as she passed up the food, but helped herself to some of his uncles' whiskey.
He was aghast. "Have you become a drunkard?"
"I don't believe so. Why?"
"Whenever I see you lately, you have liquor in your hand."
She grinned. "I have, haven't I?"
"Yes, and I don't like the transformation."
She shrugged. "I don't care."
Her reply aggravated him, which was silly. His primary criticism of her had been that she was too cautious. Now, as she was spontaneous at every torn, he was irked. Why couldn't he be glad?
She approached the table, and just as he assumed she'd sit in the chair next to him, she snuggled herself onto his lap.
"Caro!"
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"I'm sitting on your lap."
"You have to stop being so forward."
"Why?"
"Because ... because ..." "Aren't you the one who urged me to be more impulsive?"
"Well... yes."
"I've merely decided to heed your advice, and I'm giving my passionate character free rein. What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong with it? I'll tell you what's wrong with it. It's... it's ..."
"I missed you," she blurted out.
He'd missed her, too, but he'd never admit it. "That's as may be, but it doesn't imply that you can—"
She kissed him! Directly on the mouth!
Her fingers were in his hair, her breasts pressed to his chest. His body reacted as vehemently as could be expected, his cock rising to the occasion, and he was so conflicted.
He'd always desired her, and she was throwing herself at him. Why not catch her? What objective was served by restrained conduct?
He couldn't conceive of a single one.
She'd begged him to ruin her, though he was positive she wasn't serious. She was unhappy and fretting over her marriage, but he was sure—when push came to shove—that she'd go through with it. She simply needed to feel more secure as to her marital obligations, and a few evenings earlier he'd given her a hint as to what would be required. Why not continue with his lessons?
When he was working so hard to establish himself as a bounder and roue, what could be more fitting than to seduce the very prim and proper Lady Caroline? He could go some distance down the sexual road, without actually deflowering her.
If they were discovered, what was it to him? Apparently, she was prepared to risk her reputation, and she was the one who had everything to lose. With the exception of his new relationship with Jack, he was possessed of so little that mattered. If she was eager, shouldn't he oblige her?
So far, he'd dawdled like a statue, unwilling to join in, and his anatomy made the choice that his common sense couldn't render. He seized control of the embrace, pulling her nearer, as he caressed her shoulders, hair, and back. He clasped her hips, situating her delectable bottom so it was nestled to his inflamed loins. With each shift of her torso, she rubbed across his phallus, making him groan, making him ripple with lust.
"You've taught me something about myself," she murmured. "What is that?" "I adore kissing."
"I can tell."
"I think I have a knack for it, wouldn't you agree?"
"Oh, yes. You definitely have a knack."
With a renewed fervor, he captured her mouth, and he was stunned by how natural it seemed to dally with her. He felt as if he'd been kissing her forever, as if he'd been created specifically for kissing her and no other purpose.
Goaded to recklessness, he draped her over his arm and nibbled down her neck, to her bosom. He fought with the bodice of her dress, then eased a breast free. He licked the aroused tip, as she arched and struggled against the potent stimulation.
"Oh, Lord, yes," she breathed. 'Touch me just like that! Don't stop!"
"You've become a wanton."
"Do you mind?"
"Not a whit. I find it quite grand."
He'd often suspected that she was an inferno of buried passions, and he was delighted to be proved correct. How lucky he was to have stumbled on her when she was ready to misbehave!
He sucked on her nipple until her hips started to flex, then he reached down and pressed on her mons with the heel of his hand, but the gesture provided scant relief.
She was beginning to comprehend the pleasures of the flesh, so she knew what her body craved, and he was elated to give it to her. However, they were lounged in a chair in the dining room. He wasn't positive if Jack and Rebecca had departed, and he had no clue as to the location of any of the servants. Someone could walk in on them, and while he wasn't concerned over being observed, he was certain she'd be mortified.
He drew away and straightened her clothes, then he stood her on her feet, and he stood, too.
She frowned. "What are you doing? We can't quit!"
"Let's go up to my bedchamber."
"Will we engage in the sorts of activity we attempted the other night?"
"That was my intent. I'm hoping to have my wicked way with you."
"Then by all means, let's go to your bedchamber."
As if they were adolescent sweethearts, he linked their fingers and led her toward the hall. She'd grown so brazen that she willingly followed, content to leap off any cliff he suggested.
He grabbed for the knob and opened the door, when he literally bumped into Rebecca.
Suddenly and without warning, he was positioned between his mistress who was extremely jealous and Caro who was ... was ... Well, he couldn't describe what she was. The scene was hideous, and he hadn't a clue how to wiggle out of it.
Like a beast, he stepped away from Caro, pretending no heightened affection. It was the only satisfactory resolution, but still, he could feel her stiffen, could sense that she perceived the insult.
"I thought you'd left," he said to Rebecca, struggling to sound casual.
"I was curious if you'd like to..." Rebecca paused as she saw Caro. Her gaze narrowed, her brain whirring as she tried to deduce what Caroline's presence indicated. On the spur of the moment, he couldn't devise an acceptable response.
"What are you doing here?" she asked Caro.
"I might ask you the same question," Caro rejoined, "but then, we both know the answer, don't we?"
Rebecca's hot temper sparked. "I have every right to be here if I wish. Ian and I have an understanding."
"Ian and I have an understanding, too," Caro maintained, being deliberately enigmatic.
Rebecca gasped and shifted her malevolent glare to Ian.
"Explain yourself," she demanded.
He had no idea why he was meeting with Caro, couldn't justify it to himself, and most especially couldn't justify it to Rebecca.
"It's not what you think," he pitifully asserted.
"Isn't it?"
"We're old friends," Caro chimed in, imbuing the comment with too much innuendo. Where had she obtained this aptitude for feminine wiles?
"What are you doing sniffing around Ian?" Rebecca challenged. "Be gone! At once!"
"I'm not ready to leave."
"Ladies," Ian interrupted, "if I might—"
"Shut up, Ian," they snapped in unison.
"Ian," Caroline kept on, regal as any princess, "I'd like to finish our discussion. Would you arrange to have Mrs. Blake escorted out?"
Rebecca scoffed. "As if Ian could order me to do a
n
ything! I'm a widow and—as opposed to you—I'm permitted to act however I please."
"I'd forgotten you were a widow in mourning," Caro mused. She rudely and critically assessed Rebecca's bright red gown.
"I'm sure it will come as a surprise to someone as pious and perfect as yourself," Rebecca retorted, "but I'm not in mourning. My late husband was a violent boor and not entitled to any lingering respect from me."
"Actually"—Caro was giving as good as she got— "I'm not surprised in the least. How many husbands have you killed? Five? Six?"
"Now you've done it," Ian muttered.
"I didn't kill any of my husbands!"
"That's not what I hear."
"Is it my fault they keep dropping dead?"
"You always seem to be with them when it happens. Some of us find it a tad too coincidental."
"I don't know why they keep dying!"
"Don't you?"
Caro stared her down, appearing greatly harassed, immaculate, and without fear of harm. She regarded Rebecca as if the ferocious, incensed woman were a queer bug that ought to be squashed.
"Jack!" Ian called. "Jack! Are you here? Come help me!"
Shortly, Jack hurried toward them, and in an instant, he discerned the awkwardness of the situation.
"Rebecca," he said, "why don't I see you home?"
"I don't need a boy to show me the way," she fumed, her livid gaze locked on Caro's. She spun and stormed out, halting at the last to hurl over her shoulder, "Lady Caroline, I wonder if Mr. Shelton knows where you are."
Caro was unperturbed by the threat. "Why don't you speak with him? I'm positive he'd be eager to chat with an individual of your stellar character."
For a split second, Rebecca looked as if she might engage in some of the homicide for which she was so notorious, so Jack blocked her and dragged her away.
Ian watched them go, yearning to trot off after them. At the moment, he'd like nothing better than to be relaxing in a gentlemen's club and enmeshed in an amiable game of dice. He'd be surrounded by sane, rational men, the company of whom he enjoyed and understood.
The dust settled, and Caro broke the jarring silence. "Well, that was unpleasant." "It certainly was. I'm sorry." "Are you?" "Of course I am."
The ice queen had returned with a vengeance. She was coldly furious, but only a person who knew her intimately—such as himself—could detect it
"In the past," she charged, "you castigated me because I held my tongue in ugly circumstances, or because I was calm in the middle of discord. Were you implying I should be more like Mrs. Blake? Is she the sort of female you relish?"
There were a dozen replies he could make as to why he persisted with Rebecca. He liked her fire and sass, her spirit and audacity. She was wild in life and wild in bed, and in light of his current attempts to regularly offend others, it was enormously entertaining to observe as she thumbed her nose at Caroline's society, but he doubted Caroline would appreciate any candor on the topic.
"I've known her a long time, Caro," he quietly stated.
"Have you?" She smiled the frosty smile that could set grown men to trembling. It was her mother's smile, her aristocrat's smile, her wealthy, spoiled earl's daughter smile.