The Seduction of Lord Stone (13 page)

“Does that mean you take pity on your languishing admirer?” He clapped his hand to his chest, forgetting the champagne he held. Wine sloshed over his teal silk waistcoat. “Blast.”

This time her laugh was more robust and when his eyes met hers, he burst out laughing, too. “I hope you don’t expect me to moon around after you, sighing and kissing the hem of your skirt. I’d never make such an infernal cake of myself.”

She set her glass of champagne on the carriage’s step and dug in her reticule for a handkerchief. She was dabbing at the damp stain before she realized what she did. She was almost…wifely. How utterly revolting. On a dismayed gasp, she jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes softened as he caught her wrist. “No need to apologize.”

“Yes, there is,” she said disconsolately, scrunching the sodden handkerchief into a ball. He must feel her pulse race beneath his fingers. But then, after yesterday, the biggest dunderhead in England would know she wanted him. And nobody had ever called Silas Nash that. “I’m acting as if we’re intimate. It’s not fair.”

“Caro—”

She wrenched away and buried her shaking hands in her yellow skirts. “I think…I think it would be better if you and I keep our contact to a minimum in future.”

“My dear—”

“No, don’t dear or darling or Caro me. It only prolongs the torture.” She blinked back the tears that had hovered all day, even when she’d laughed at his antics. “Just let me go.”

His face was stern as she’d never seen it. With a pang, she admitted that she’d misjudged him. Beneath his apparent geniality, he was wretched. Of course he was. She didn’t discount the power of his love. It would be so much easier if she did. And the circumstances were all so impossible. A brief affair with Silas would be damaging enough. But her instincts screamed that he offered more, something important and profound and lasting—and that more would lock her back into the prison she’d escaped with Freddie’s death.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he said gently.

“Yes, it does.” Blindly she turned and stumbled away before she sacrificed everything she’d always wanted and admitted that she loved him, too.

The bedrooms in the Red Lion, the best hostelry in Kingston Upon Thames, were cavernous. When Caroline hesitantly ventured through the door connecting her chamber with the one she’d asked Hunter to reserve for West, a blazing fire and a branch of candles on a carved chest provided inadequate light.

The dusky intimacy surprised her, although she supposed it promoted seduction. Again she regretted how unpracticed she was when it came to intrigue. She’d expected to find a bright room and a fully clothed West waiting with wine and a meal. The idea that he intended to tumble her into bed with no preliminaries shrank her faltering courage to almost nothing.

The room was quiet. Fleetingly, she wondered if West was even present, until her eyes fell on the clothing slung across a carved oak chair and the damp towel hanging from the washstand. The bed was massive to fit its surroundings, and while its curtains weren’t fully drawn, the shadows behind them were thick enough to hide an elephant.

In a way, she was grateful she couldn’t see Lord West. This would be hard enough without having to look into his eyes. She straightened like a soldier on parade and stared unblinking into the gloom.

“My lord, I’m so sorry. I’ve brought you here expecting…” She stilled the shaking hands twining at her waist. She might be a henwit, but she refused to play the nervous ninny as well. She steadied her voice. “West, I’ve changed my mind. I can’t blame you if you’re angry. I’ve led you on appallingly. I’ve disappointed myself, too. But I can’t…I can’t join you in that bed tonight.”

She waited for some response, but the room remained ominously silent. She licked her lips and plowed on, but now nothing kept the quaver from her voice. “I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I can’t explain, except to tell you that I spent my year of mourning imagining a lover just like you. That fantasy has carried me further along the path to surrender than I find I can countenance. I so wanted to be the sort of woman who embarks on a wild, passionate affair with a rake. But wanting to be someone and actually being someone are two radically different things, I’ve discovered. And despite all my bold talk, I’m not that woman.”

No answer yet. He must be fuming. She couldn’t blame him. She braced to make the final confession. The words she hated to say, even in her own mind. “I’m in love with someone else, you see. I don’t want that either, but I can’t seem to change it.”

Did the man in the bed move? It was too dark to be sure.

When he still didn’t respond, she pressed on doggedly. This encounter became even more awkward than she’d expected. And she’d expected agonies beyond description.

Her voice dwindled to a thread. “Because…because I’m in love with another man, it’s not right to give myself to a man I don’t love.”

There. She’d set out the humiliating truth. Surely he’d speak now.

Her hands curled in her crumpled yellow skirts. This was the dress she’d worn to the picnic, although she’d changed her half boots for satin slippers. The sheer silk nightgown she’d purchased six months ago for her descent into sin remained folded at the bottom of her valise. She doubted she’d ever wear it now.

The silence extended, became oppressive. The shadows flickering against the acres of coffered ceiling turned menacing. The wind rattled the windows—the beautiful day had turned into a chilly night. A horrid thought rose in Caroline’s mind.

Had West gone to sleep waiting for her? It wasn’t particularly late, but she’d loitered like a coward before coming in. The prospect of having to repeat her excruciating little speech made her queasy.

Hesitantly, she stepped toward the bed. “My lord, did you hear me?”

The mattress creaked as the man in the bed shifted again. With a rattle, he pushed the curtains back and sat up, placing his bare feet on the floor. He set his hands flat on his powerful thighs and turned his head in her direction. Somber hazel eyes studied her from across the room.

“Who are you in love with, Caro?”

“S
ilas?”

Shock crushed every other reaction, even outrage. Caroline felt like she’d set out on a stroll to the end of the garden and landed on the moon instead.

“Yes, it’s me.” His voice held a grim note and his stern expression was familiar from the picnic.

“What are you doing here?” She remained too bewildered to make sense of his presence. “Where’s Lord West?”

“Safely back in London, as far as I know.” Silas rose, but was wise enough not to approach her. He was in shirtsleeves and he’d changed from breeches to loose trousers. With a sick feeling, she realized she’d been stupid—again. The coat on the chair was dark brown. West’s coat today had been blue.

Finally anger stirred and pushed through her confusion to become paramount. Anger and a crushing humiliation that felt like a physical blow. “So you’ve been playing with me all this time. You and West must have had a good laugh, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t find it particularly amusing.”

He looked horrified. “There’s no joke, damn it.”

“There certainly isn’t.” Hot tears stung her eyes. Compared to the enormity of Silas’s betrayal, West’s was no worse than a mosquito bite. Another sign that love was the work of the devil. “Just a pair of spoiled and spiteful boys toying with a lady the way they’d pull the wings off a fly. I thought better of you, Silas.”

Anguished regret tightened his features and he took a convulsive step toward her. “Caro, no, you mistake me.”

“I certainly have in the past,” she said bitterly. “Well, you’ve both had your fun at my expense. I’m delighted I provided such fine entertainment. Now I wish you good night.”

She stumbled back toward her room. Luckily she’d left the door open when she came in. In her current state, she didn’t trust herself to negotiate the simple mechanics of the latch.

“Caro, wait.”

“No,” she said in a constricted voice. How could he do this to her? Whatever sins she’d ascribed to him, she’d never thought he’d be wantonly cruel.

“Please.”

Despite her frantic need to hide away with her misery, something in his voice made her hesitate. He sounded much nearer. She braced for him to touch her, knowing her brittle control would disintegrate if he did. But instead, he reached past her to draw the door shut.

She stared unseeingly at the varnished wooden barrier. “You can’t trap me in here.”

“You’re free to go.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. But when she placed one hand on the door and pushed, he didn’t move to stop her. Behind her, she heard him sigh, the sound weighted with a regret that made her wonder if she’d mistaken his motives. Then she pictured him conspiring with West to dole out her favors between them and her hand fisted against the wood.

“Please let me explain,” he said softly.

“You just want to mock me,” she said thickly. She was trembling as if she had a fever. Strangely while escape lay inches away behind a stout door with a key to keep him out, she didn’t move. She lowered her hand to bury it in her skirts.

“On my honor, no.”

On a burst of hurt fury, she whirled to face him. “You owe me better than this.”

He raked a shaking hand through his thick tawny hair, and even angry as she was, she recognized his remorse. His face was pale and drawn and a muscle flickered in his lean cheek. “I do.”

The soft admission of wrongdoing made her stomach clench. “I never want to see you or Lord West again. You are both beneath contempt.”

Silas’s shoulders slumped and he turned away to collapse into a chair. “I’ve made such a hellish mess of all this.” His eyes, dull with regret, focused on her. “Don’t blame West. This is all my doing.”

“He told you of our rendezvous.”

“No, he didn’t.”

She frowned, backing against the door, although he didn’t budge from the chair. “Then how did you know I’d be here? You didn’t follow me from Richmond. You arrived at the inn before I did.”

The guilt in Silas’s expression intensified. “I stole your note before West read it.”

She’d taken a step toward him before she remembered that he was the enemy. “But how?”

Silas ran his hand through his hair again and his gaze settled on her with a bleak resignation that, despite everything, made her want to take him into her arms. “You’ll loathe me.”

“Probably,” she said, while her rage evaporated drop by drop. With each second, it grew more difficult to believe that his wretchedness stemmed from a nasty prank gone awry. She missed her anger. It lent her a strength she feared she was going to need. “Silas, tell me.”

He firmed his jaw. That little muscle in his cheek still danced. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a joke. He looked as austere as a funeral. “I went to West’s house last night to challenge him for you.”

“You went—” Caroline needn’t have worried about her absent anger. Her breath escaped with an indignant huff. “The devil you did. I don’t belong to either of you and I don’t appreciate being the subject of asinine male contests.”

Gloomily he examined the rush matting covering the floor. “I knew you’d hate it.”

She shifted closer. Mere feet now separated them. “What on earth did you think to achieve?”

One elegant hand made a dejected gesture. “I know it’s mad. I know if you really wanted West, I could beat him to porridge and it wouldn’t make a jot of difference to the outcome.” He settled a blistering gaze upon her. “But you’ve driven me insane ever since I met you, Caro. Have an ounce of pity for a poor fellow out of his head with unrequited love.”

She really didn’t want to soften. She really, really didn’t. All his palpable misery and declarations of love didn’t alter his unsuitability as a temporary lover. Yet her traitorous heart swelled at his grudging admission. When she’d met Silas, he’d been such a model of common sense and gentlemanly behavior. She dared any woman alive to resist feeling flattered to know she’d turned that self-sufficient rake into this wreck.

“Something’s definitely unhinged you.”

His relentless gaze drilled through her. “Love. It’s a confounded disaster.”

She couldn’t argue. She’d suffered a few unhinged moments herself. She folded her arms in front of her to try and hide how she was shaking. “Go on. You may as well tell me the rest.”

Silas’s lips turned down. “West laughed at me, told me I was an idiot.”

“He was right.”

Silas ignored her remark. “He might have been less amused if he knew I’d broken his trust and read his mail. Worse, stolen it so he never knew you’d written to him.”

“That was low,” she said, trying to summon appropriate disgust. Silas’s love must be mighty indeed if it drove him to such lengths.

He buried his face in his hands. His voice emerged as a muffled undertone. “The worst of it is I’d do it again.”

“If I mean to have West, I’ll have him.” She struggled to sound like that might still happen, when she knew the moment for taking Vernon Grange into her bed had passed, if it had ever existed at all.

Slowly he raised his head and for the first time, his eyes held a speculative glint instead of an ocean of self-castigation. In an instant, the balance of power in the room shifted, like an earthquake beneath her feet. Her fingers clenched in her skirts as icy trepidation slithered down her spine. Any advantage that his confession had given her now disappeared.

His regard was penetrating. “Yet it seems you don’t want him.”

She swallowed, cursing that Silas had heard her pathetic ramblings. “You make too much of what I said in the grip of temporary panic.”

He definitely came back to himself. His hands curled over the arms of the chair and he sat straighter. “You didn’t sound panicked.”

“Never mind that.” Nervously she saw that she’d ventured close enough for him to catch. She retreated a shaky step and stood shifting her weight from foot to foot. “You’ve behaved disgracefully. What did you imagine would happen when I discovered you in West’s place? That I’d just smile and shrug and throw myself into your arms?”