Almost an Angel (25 page)

"Don't you think I want this, too? I said it already. I have loved you from that first moment when you waited for me to escape from my sickbed. But, James, you are asking me to promise the impossible."

"No, Caro, I am asking you to give up your fantasies. Look at yourself." He hauled her upward and dragged her to the mirror. "Look. You are alive." He lifted her arm, pressing his hand into her wrist. "You have a pulse. You are Caroline Handren."

"No—"

"Your uncle has kept you in Boorstin so he could control your inheritance. You are not insane, and you are not going to be an angel!"

"You don't know that!" She whirled around, losing her calm as she defended against her worst fears. "And we can't change it just by wishing it weren't so."

"Wishing? Shall we speak of wishing?" He folded his arms across his chest, matching her anger with cool fact. "Has there been some great battle against Napoleon? Where is this Waterloo?"

She squared her shoulders, trying to appear as confident as he. "It will happen. I just miscalculated the dates."

"No, Caro." He stepped forward, gentling his voice even as he gripped her arms. "It will not happen because you do not know the future. You are Caroline Handren, and . . . and I love you."

She closed her eyes. Why did those words cause so much pain? He loved her. And yet, how could he? He did not believe anything about her. "James . . ." Her voice was a soft plea for understanding.

He drew her into his arms, speaking softly as if crooning to a child. "I love your imagination. I love your fantasies and your laughter and your odd way of speaking. I love who you are, Caro, but you must not give up a future with me because of a silly dream."

"A dream?” She was torn, her body tight and angry in his arms. Half of her begged for his understanding, needing his love, while the other half stubbornly demanded his trust. "I will be an angel."

"No, Caro. I am sorry, but it will not be. And, as my countess, you cannot keep speaking as if it will."

She felt her defeat as a heavy weight, pulling down her shoulders, dragging her away from him. "You have never believed me." She lifted her head, hoping to see the tiniest bit of doubt in his eyes. Hoping to see that he didn't believe himself in love with a lying little fool.

He sighed, his gaze steady and confident. "No, I never have."

She searched his face, pushing him to say it again and again. "Even on the ledge with the toad. You brought my memories back."

"Yes."

"But even then you didn't believe them?"

He shrugged, as if trying to explain something he didn't comprehend. "Those memories give you strength. They are part of you. I do not pretend to understand it, but you are at your best when you are both Carolly and Caroline. Both sides of your personality are important to me. All of it."

"So you helped me remember, even though you think they are sheer invention."

"Yes."

She shook her head, amazed at her own gullibility. "I thought . . . I'd hoped this was different. At last someone believed me, someone respected what I was doing and believed."

He lightly grazed her cheek with the edge of one thumb. "I
am
different. I love you as you are. I will allow your games and your pretense. But I cannot allow them to stand in the way of our marriage."

"James, they are not games."

He opened his hand, twisting his lingers as he cupped her cheek. "All right. They are very important to you. I realize that."

She shook her head.

He brought up his other hand, stepping closer to her, lifting her face for his kiss. "I want to marry you. Please, Caro, please marry me."

The heat of his breath warmed her lips. Her face tingled with anticipation, and her body already arched toward him, aching for the sweet heaven of his touch.

"I will never be your equal," she persisted. "You think me unbalanced."

He let his lips trail over hers with the tiniest brush of sensation. "I think you are amazing," he whispered. "I will care for you, protect you, and love you forever. I swear it will be wonderful between us. Give in, Carolly. Listen to your heart. And mine."

This was seduction at its very best. His body and his touch were only part of the appeal. He offered her everything she had once dreamed of: a man to love and cherish her, a home, wealth, and even social power to affect the world in ways she could only dream of in her first life. The price he asked seemed so small. Marriage. Commitment. And the denial of the one thing she had believed for four lifetimes. "James—"

"Marry me."

She hesitated, her heart beating painfully in her throat. "I can't."

He did not release her. His hands dropped lower on her body, moving in leisurely strokes that tormented her even as she pressed against him, silently begging for more.

"You said you love me," he whispered, his voice husky.

"I do."

"Then be with me. Forever." His hands dropped to her hips, pulling her closer, harder against him, urging her to accept him in ways that were only in the here and now, the earthbound present. "Come to me."

She couldn't refuse him. Even if meant giving up everything she ever wanted, he was here with her now, his heart and his mind focused on loving her. She couldn't think of the future or even of Heaven. She let her hands slide up his body and she melted into him.

"I love you, Caro."

"And I love you," she whispered.

His kiss was slow, leisurely. Always before there had been an urgency to their touch, a reluctance overcome by passion. But she knew he was taking no chances this time. There would be no interruption to their lovemaking, no running away or distractions. He meant to have her. Tonight. And with every kiss, every shared intimacy, he bound her to him more closely than marriage vows.

It was as if she could read his mind. She knew so clearly what he was doing. Once she shared his bed, made love, then she would be unable to leave him. Especially if she was with child.

The thought was as compelling as it was frightening. She knew his plans, knew she should refuse, but the idea of carrying his child woke a fierce longing within her. Then his hands trailed down her spine, releasing the line of tiny pearl buttons that bound her dress, and her judgment faded away.

She could not fight the needs he awoke in her. How could Heaven be so unfair?

Arching against him, she let his tongue invade her mouth as never before. She met him in the same moment: reacting to his passion, letting it stoke her own, letting it blind her to all else. His hands were deft along her back, releasing her corset and pulling a shoulder of her gown down and away, exposing one breast to his gaze.

Cool air touched her skin in a shivery caress, and she gasped as his dark gaze caught and held her. He shrugged off his coat, and she didn't move, feeling mesmerized by the look that filled his eyes.

"1 will not give you up," he whispered, and his need sunk into her bones more firmly than any vows. She saw the force of his determination even as he stripped away his waistcoat, cravat, and shirt.

Her gaze slipped to his body, drawn by the sight of his naked torso. She had touched him before, but never had she seen the dark whispers of hair on his chest. His breathing was unsteady, and his breath caught as she reached out and trailed her fingertips across him. She was fascinated by the ripple of muscle that followed her touch, and she edged her other hand along the hard planes of his body.

His only response was a soft sigh of delight. She smiled, intrigued beyond reason by the feel of him. And while she touched and tasted him, he carefully removed the pins that held her coiffeur until her hair flowed freely over his hands.

But her clothing still restricted her movement, and almost without realizing it, she shrugged it away, stepping out of the puddle of fabric to walk into his heated embrace, her stockings and slippers her only attire.

He tilted his head, intending to claim her mouth, but she would not kiss him. She whispered her plea. "I will be your mistress, James. Must you force me to give up what I know?"

He cupped her face, holding her steady as he gazed into her eyes. "You were the one who burst into my life. You forced me to open my heart. I am in love now, Caro. I will not lose you."

"But everything I have—"

"Keep your dreams, your fantasies, my love. Only marry me. Commit to me." As he claimed her lips, he whispered his final request. "Love me."

How could she not? What was eternity when compared to James? She didn't want to answer her own question, and so she let him kiss her until her senses reeled and her mind went blank. His hands found her breasts, and he teased them with consummate skill. When she moaned with desire, he swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed.

She did not resist, her mind long since numbed by his sensual assault. She did not even react when he refused to follow her down to the bed. She merely gazed at him, wondering at his intentions until he lifted her leg and began inching down her stocking.

His movements were erotic, his gaze hungry as it roamed over her, arousing her with only the intensity of his eyes. She moaned softly as he kissed the arch of her left foot. She seemed caught in a whirlwind of sensations, her body keenly aware of the slightest passage of air and the most delicate of touches. James took advantage of it all, nibbling along the inside of her legs, brushing his tongue behind her knee, exploring and opening her with his hands as no one had ever done before.

She gasped, pulling away as she tried to regain some of her reason, but he would not release her. He pressed his mouth against her, using his tongue to explore parts of her already slick with desire. She arched against him, crying out in surrender.

She wanted him. She loved him. She would give him anything.

She pulsed with an ecstasy that overwhelmed her. And still he continued. Until, at last, her world exploded.

"James!"

He pulled back, letting her catch her breath, letting her body rest while he kissed her hips, her waist, her belly.

"James." It was a whisper. A prayer. And she felt him smile against the underside of her breast.

Then he lifted his head, his eyes dark and intense. "You are mine," he said.

"Yes."

She had not realized he was naked until she felt his legs, strong and powerful, pressing against the inside of her thighs. Then his mouth found her breast, suckling first at one, then

the other, murmuring endearments as she writhed beneath him.

She had not believed her passion could be aroused again so soon, but the rough brush of his tongue pulled at her, shooting currents of fire from her nipples to her core. Her mind reeled, surrendering again as he kneaded and teased her body.

All too soon she wanted more. Running her hands along his sweat-slick body, she traced the shape of his chest, his tense muscles, his narrow waist, and the bony crest of his hips. Then she found his hard, thick penis.

As he gasped in surprise, she used her hands to tease him as he had tormented her. She used her nails to scrape along the sensitive underside while her thumb spread the tiny bead of moisture at his tip in ever increasing circles. Then she squeezed him, ever so slightly, and he moaned against her neck.

"Caro. My Caro . . ." His legs trembled along her thighs, even as he remained apart from her.

She raised her legs, edging her heels along the rough texture of his calves until she gripped him, urging him to a deeper union.

But still he held back, though the restraint made his breathing ragged. "Be sure of being mine," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Once done, I will not release you to God Himself."

She smiled, letting her fingers glide upward to his narrow hips, guiding him as she drew him closer. "I am yours."

Then he thrust into her, and she cried out in sudden pain.

He held himself still, deeply imbedded within her as she bit her lip, confused and startled.

She was a virgin?

"The worst is over, my love," he whispered. "Trust me."

"I do," she answered. And as they lay still, completely entwined, the pain receded, buried under a delicious feeling of fullness.

"Caro," he breathed.

She smiled, loving the sound her of name on his lips. "I love you," she whispered.

Then he began to move, his rhythm slow at first, careful not to hurt her. But all too soon, she urged him to increase his motions. His thrusts became faster and harder. She met his force with her own power, accepting it, yielding to it, multiplying it.

Nothing had ever felt so right.

He was hers.

She was his.

"Yes!"

They shattered together, their world exploding outward into the infinite. They danced among the stars. They were everything and everywhere. And when the rush receded, their consciousness returned to earth and reformed as one.

They were one. Vows and ceremonies meant nothing. In every way that mattered, they were married.

James collapsed beside her, his face the picture of ecstasy, of exhaustion. And of victory.

She settled into his arms, curled into his side as she listened to the steady beat of his heart mingling with hers. They were alive. Together. And she would never become an angel. The dream of four lifetimes had been swept away. It must be. There was no way Heaven could take her now. Was there?

He pulled her close to him, kissing her deeply. She fitted herself to him, finding more than delight at his side. She found joy.

Chapter Eighteen

Carolly woke when he left her early the next morning. James was ever cautious of her reputation, even when the rest of the world already thought her his mad mistress. She only smiled and watched him dress, desire sparking within her again. If it had been up to her, he would have remained with her in her bed for the rest of the morning and probably the rest of the day, if not the week. But he was steadfast. He gave her one last, lingering kiss, then slipped away.

She remained in bed, her daydreams filled with gorgeous gowns and wedding plans. But before long, her pleasant thoughts were interrupted by bells. Church bells ringing and ringing and ringing.

Something momentous had happened.

Hope, excitement, and a quivering fear trembled within her. Could it be? Was it? Waterloo? Anxious to discover the truth, Carolly dressed quickly, running downstairs at an unseemly pace. She found James seated in the breakfast room, frowning at bright day just outside the window.

"What has happened?" she asked.

"I cannot imagine," he answered, but his frown deepened.

She tried to catch his eyes, but his thoughts were obviously on the bells which continued to ring. They were too far from the church for the sound to be irritating. For Carolly, it was a fitting sound for the happiness that continued to bubble inside her.

"It is rather merry, don't you think?" she asked. "Sort of like chimes, only clearer." She found it surprisingly easy to control her curiosity. After all, she had made her choice last night. She would stay with James. Heaven could wait. Waterloo or not, she was too happy to be distracted by bells.

James, on the other hand, seemed profoundly disturbed. He stood up, crossed to the window, and stared out toward the village.

Carolly sighed. There was nothing for her to do but settle down for breakfast. She knew how anything mysterious obsessed James almost to the exclusion of all else. This was just one of those times, and she resigned herself to waiting out the course of events in silence. James's remaining guests had not yet stirred from their beds, so she was not likely to have any other conversation until James decided to return to the present.

It would be part of being married, she decided with a grin. No doubt she had her own peccadilloes he would have to suffer in silence as well.

Yet Carolly had no more than stepped to the sideboard when Margaret burst through the door. "Have you heard? Isn't it wonderful?" The girl launched herself at Carolly, wrapping her arms tight around Carolly's waist. "I knew you were right. I just knew it!"

"Mags—"

"Margaret!" James's voice cut harshly through the child's enthusiasm. "Please, have some sense of decorum. You are a young lady."

But Margaret remained undeterred by her uncle's sharpness.  She merely spun around, taking Carolly with her as she jumped toward her uncle. "It is truly wonderful! Carolly was right!"

"Do not imagine things that cannot be true," James responded repressively. "Just because of bells, doesn't mean—"

"You are just sour because you did not believe her," said Margaret. Then she twirled around again and faced Carolly. "But I did. I believed you the whole time!"

"Wait, wait!" cried Carolly, laughing despite James's darkening features. "What has happened?”

"Waterloo!"

Carolly gasped and clapped her hands. “Truly? Oh, I am so pleased. Now all those soldiers may come home at last." Then she clasped Margaret's hands and pulled her to a seat at the table. "Come. Tell me all the details."

“There are no details," said James, his voice hard and cold. "Margaret only guesses." Then he lifted his teacup—as if that ended the discussion.

"I am not guessing!" retorted the child, turning back to Carolly when her uncle refused to acknowledge her. "Cook heard it from her niece who came in from town this morning. I heard her tell Mrs. Potherby and Wentworth."

James set down his cup with a click that clearly voiced his disapproval. "It is all nonsense, Margaret. You were confused. Carolly's Waterloo is only a fantasy."

"It is not!" returned Margaret, her words angry. “Tell him, Carolly. Tell him it is true."

Carolly hesitated. James had made his position clear last night. He did not want her making her "delusions" public. And, as his wife, she needed to accommodate him—especially with a household full of guests ready to spread the tale to London. Still, she could not deny that Waterloo probably had happened. She could think of nothing else to account for the bells and Cook's niece's news from town.

"I . . ." she began, glancing at James's angry countenance. "I think we should wait for the paper." She turned to James. "Perhaps we should send for the London newspaper. I am sure it will explain all the commotion." And prove once and for all she wasn't delusional, she thought with a grin.

"Uncle James has already sent for it," Margaret piped in. "He always does."

Carolly nodded, giving Mags a warm smile. "Well, then, all we need do is wait."

She resolutely turned toward her breakfast. Margaret chattered away at her side. The girl was thrilled that Carolly and James were to be married. She had heard it first thing this morning, of course. But she'd known it would happen ages ago. And wasn't the ball fabulous? She had peeked through the window for almost an hour. Cook had outdone herself with the food. And the gowns were gorgeous. None like Carolly's, of course, but Margaret couldn't wait until . . .

Suddenly, Carolly was laughing. "Heavens, Mags. Take a breath."

"Oh, but I am so excited! Miss Hornswallow is to be married as well!"

Carolly stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"Baron Lansford proposed to her last night, and she accepted."

"Are you certain?" Carolly asked.

"Absolutely. I overheard them in the garden." Margaret grinned until her uncle cut in, his voice stem and repressive.

"And what were you doing in the garden, miss?"

The child flushed a dusky purple, flashed Carolly a grin, then scrambled out of her seat. "Well, I best be getting back to my lessons. I will see you later, shan't I?"

Carolly grinned, amazed at Mags's bright spirit. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had been little more than a sulking lump two months ago.

"Carolly?” Mags prompted.

"Of course I'll be here, sweetheart. I guess I'm going to be your mother now."

"Oh, it will be wonderful!" enthused the girl. "I shall be your bridesmaid, and we shall have the most beautiful gowns. And Uncle will be the most handsome man alive, and—"

"I believe you mentioned studies," interrupted James.

Margaret grimaced, then dropped a quick kiss on Carolly's cheek before she dashed away.

Carolly laughed, her spirits fully restored despite James's glower. "She's going to be a handful in a few years," she commented, inordinately pleased at the thought.

"She is a handful now."

Carolly turned to James, wondering at his foul mood. Surely he didn't regret last night, did he? She took worried bites of her toast, then finally dredged up the courage to ask, "James, do you wish perhaps to withdraw your offer? I understand if you've changed your mind about marrying me." She wouldn't, of course, but she had learned there were some things one had to accept gracefully.

She waited in silence, closing her eyes when the moment stretched to minutes. Her heart beat faster and faster within her; then she jumped as she felt a hand gently lift her chin. She opened her eyes to see James poised above her, pulling her upward into his embrace.

"James?” Her voice trembled as she stood.

"Nothing between us has changed. And I could never regret last night. Ever." He sealed his statement with a kiss. It was powerful, intense, urgent, and Carolly responded with the same fire James always seemed to ignite within her.

Then he pulled away.

"It is just these damned bells." He wandered to the window, his frown back in place.

Carolly watched him for a moment, seeing the rigid set to his shoulders, the concentrated stare as he scanned the lawn for some clue, and she felt the first tiny shiver of misgiving. "Are you afraid that it truly is Waterloo?" she asked.

"Do not be ridiculous."

She stepped forward, searching his face for some hint that she was wrong. But all she could see was his clenched jaw and the determined focus of his eyes. It was as if he tried to force the truth away by the power of his will alone. "You are afraid," she breathed. "You have had it in your mind that I am delusional—"

"What?"

"That I make up stories, and they become too real to me. But now it may be that I am right. That everything I have told you is correct, and you can't handle it."

He shifted, moving his body so he faced her more fully. His gaze remained steady and firm, almost as if he intended to force her to agree with him. "You cannot see the future, Carolly. I thought we established that last night."

She shook her head, fear rising in her throat. "No.
You
established that. I . . . I merely went along with it."

He grabbed her, gripping her arms almost desperately. "Carolly—"

"Your newspaper, my lord."

James's reaction was immediate. He dropped Carolly's arms as if she were poisonous, his entire attention drawn to the paper that Wentworth placed facedown on the table. "Thank you, Wentworth. You may go."

The butler's gaze flicked rapidly between her and James, no doubt memorizing the scene before he bowed and withdrew. Carolly didn't move.

"Don't touch it, James," she warned, her voice flat and hard. "Not unless you can accept that I was not wrong."

He ignored her, as she knew he would. Carolly watched him, her world suddenly moving in slow motion. He walked around the table and reached for the paper. Then he opened it. She heard the sharp intake of his breath as his eyes slowly widened and he began to read. She even saw the slight tremor in his arms as his hands began to shake.

She didn't have to see the words to know. Waterloo had occurred. Napoleon was vanquished. Wellington was a hero.

She was totally sane.

What a morning after, she thought with rising hysteria. No flowers. No good-morning kisses. Just the firm belief that she was daft despite mounting evidence to the contrary. What kind of man wished for his wife to be crazy?

"How did you know this?" His voice was harsh and uncompromising.

"I have already told you that."

He whirled toward her, his face contorted. His confusion made him angry. "Are you some sort of spy?"

She gaped at him. "A spy?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she said, "That's right, James. I'm a French spy sneaking about in Staffordshire predicting Napoleon's humiliating defeat. Too bad my carrier pigeon died, otherwise the grand emperor would have known to go to Spain."

James's hands clenched, crumpling the newspaper. "How could you have known this?"

"How could you not know it?" She bit her lip, fighting back tears. "You say you love me, and yet you could not accept the truth I spoke all along."

"You are not what you said!" he roared.

She nodded, her tears flowing freely despite her efforts to restrain them. "Yes, I am." She angrily wiped her tears away, her hands shaking with emotion. She loved him. She had given up everything for him, and yet, despite all they had between them, he couldn't accept who she was.

"You'd think I'd have learned by now," she said bitterly. "After so many lives I should know  people can't accept anything outside of their little realities."

He looked away from her as if shielding himself from the sight. "I cannot discuss this right now. I need to think."

"Think? You need to think?” She stepped forward, her hands clenched. She beat the table between them. "How are you going to explain this, James? What other logical explanation will you find for this? For me?"

He shook his head, still turned away from her. "I do not know, but I will find it."

She stared at him, seeing his averted face, hearing the ragged edge to his voice as he fought with her reality. She didn't even wait to see the end. She knew she would lose.

"Fine, James," she finally said, each word hard. "You go think. Go reason and plan and find some way to fit me into your little world." She whirled around, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" His voice was as harsh as hers had been.

She spun back, glaring at him. "I'm going to church, James. I'm going there to pray for my sins. And then," she said, taking one step closer to him, "I'm going to decide if I ever want to come back to you."

She left, whipping past Wentworth to storm out the front door. Her steps didn't slow until she sailed past the circular drive and was firmly headed toward the church bells. Her feet pounded the ground, beating out a rapid tempo of hurt and frustration.

He had turned away from her! He couldn't even look at her.

She clutched at her chest and tried to suppress a sob. Then she gave up the struggle, letting her tears flow freely as she stormed her way toward town.

It wasn't until she was half a mile down the road that she realized she had been a fool. Not about James, but about her departure. She had left so impetuously, she hadn't stopped to think. She had no money, no transportation, and she hadn't even changed her slippers to boots. Each pebble, each tiny rut in the road ate away at her thin footwear until very soon she would have nothing but her bare and bleeding feet.

She sighed, feeling the weight of her existence as never before. Would she ever be able to toss it aside in favor of angel wings? Would she forever be doomed to fighting human misconceptions, and her own rash stupidity?

Kicking a stone out of her path, she winced at the pain it brought. At least the day was warm. And she was fully dressed, except for her absent corset. The villagers would not harm her, especially since they were probably in a good mood after her festival.

She resumed her dogged path toward the church, wondering what she would do now. She doubted she could still become an angel. Despite James's reaction this morning, she still felt bound to him. She loved him. Despite his rigid nineteenth century mindset, despite his arrogance and his formality, despite everything, she still loved him.