The Unexpected Marriage Of Gabriel Stone. Louise Allen
for your illicit correspondence, is she?’ The earl moved away towards a writing desk and Caroline realised that she had been holding her breath. A hasty glance at his back made her shiver. He was far too large and male and animal to be so close to. Whenever she had seen him before it had been across a ballroom floor at a safe distance and there his dark hair and the slight carelessness of his formal evening attire had been attractive.
This near, in the same room with him, his casual disregard for the niceties of fashionable male dress and grooming was shocking and more than a little unsettling. His hair was thick, slightly waving, rumpled as though he had run those long fingers through it. His face was shadowed by dark stubble, his neckcloth was pulled askew and his collar had been opened, exposing the base of his throat. He smelled of brandy and smoke and something faint and musky and his eyelids drooped with a weariness at odds with his drily intelligent voice. She wondered what colour his eyes were. Dark blue, brown?
At a safe distance he had attracted and intrigued her. The gossip about him was both titillating and arousing to a well brought-up young lady and she had fed her fantasies with it. Of course, she’d had no expectation of finding herself within ten feet of the object of her lurid imaginings. Aunt Gertrude, her chaperon, would have hysterics at the thought that Caroline might actually speak to Gabriel Stone.
His reputation was shocking and yet no one accused him of being vicious. He was amorous, said the whisperers, dangerous to a lady foolish enough to risk her heart with him and he was far too good at cards for the health of anyone reckless enough to cut a deck in his company, but Caroline was not hazarding her allowance. Nor her heart, she told herself. In the shock and anger of discovering just what Papa had done last night, Lord Edenbridge had seemed like the answer to her dreams—amoral, unconventional, sophisticated and possessed of his own particular brand of honour. The man had disturbed those dreams often enough, so surely the bargain she was proposing would not be so very unpleasant to go through with, given that one had to lose one’s virginity some time, to someone? Lord Woodruffe’s stomach wobbled over the top of his breeches. She shuddered. I will not think about Woodruffe. Think about this man. Nothing about Lord Edenbridge wobbled physically, nor, apparently, mentally.
Caroline gave herself a mental shake. ‘I do not have any illicit correspondence,’ she said. ‘But Miss Fanshawe is a friend.’
‘Not much of one if she is encouraging you to come here.’ He pulled back the desk chair for her.
‘She has no idea what I am doing.’ Caroline eyed the pen stand warily. She was not at all certain she knew what she was doing herself. It had seemed such a good idea at nine o’clock that morning. ‘What should I write?’
‘Whatever you feel covers our agreement.’ The wretched man had a perfectly straight face and his eyes beneath those indecently long lashes were veiled, but she suspected that he was amused.
‘Very well.’ She dipped the nib and began, choosing her words with care. She was not, whatever he thought of her, completely reckless.
I agree to pay Lord Edenbridge the price agreed upon the arrangement of my betrothal.
Caroline Amelie Holm
June 1st, 1820
She sanded the paper with a hand that shook only a little and pushed the note towards him. ‘Will that do?’
‘Admirably discreet.’ He folded the paper and slid it into his breast pocket. ‘This will reside in my safe, most securely.’
‘Of course.’ Strange that she had total confidence in his discretion and his honour—in keeping this a secret, at least. He would not be bragging in his clubs that he had made a conquest of the retiring and virtuous Lady Caroline Holm. Would he?
‘Why do you trust me?’ he asked abruptly, the question so near to her thoughts that she stared at him, wide-eyed, convinced for a moment that he could read her mind.
‘I have no idea,’ she confessed. ‘Only my own impressions and the fact that everyone says how shocking and ruthless you are, yet you are never accused of dishonourable behaviour.’
‘It is easy enough to be honourable if one is never tempted.’ His voice was dry and his smile held little amusement. ‘I confess that it is a novelty to be trusted quite so implicitly, Lady Caroline.’
The heat that had been ebbing and waning throughout this entire outrageous interview swept up her cheeks at the thought of what tempting this man might involve. She was innocent, certainly, but not ignorant. ‘Obviously I have not tempted you beyond reason, my lord, given the very businesslike way we have concluded our bargain.’
‘I did not say that I am not tempted, Lady Caroline.’ He took her hand, raised it to within a hair’s breadth of his mouth and held in there for a moment. His breath was warm, his fingers firm. She braced herself for the brush of his lips.
‘How did you come here?’ Lord Edenbridge asked, releasing her without the slightest attempt at a kiss. He walked to the fireside and tugged the bell pull.
‘In a—in a hackney.’ Damn him for making me all of a flutter, for making me stammer. For disappointing me. Behind her the door opened and she bit back any more stumbling words.
‘Hampshire, find the lady a hackney with a reliable-looking driver. Good day, Lady Caroline. I look forward greatly to the announcement of your nuptials.’
Her last glimpse of the earl was of him pulling his neckcloth free and beginning to unbutton his shirt. Caroline did not deceive herself, her brisk walk down the hallway was as much a flight as if she had run.
It had seemed such a good idea at the time. It had seemed the only idea at the time. Caroline took her place at the dinner table and wondered if the sinking feeling inside was guilt and shame or...anticipation. More likely, she thought as she made herself sip her soup, it was all three plus very sensible fear at what would happen if her father found out what she had been doing that morning.
‘Something wrong, Caro?’ Lucas, her elder brother, glanced across at her.
Her father, who was unlikely to notice anything amiss with anyone else, short of one of the party spontaneously combusting, ignored them. He had always been self-centred and selfish and she had given up years ago expecting any parental warmth and attention. She just prayed that Lucas would find a wife soon, someone who would stop him becoming just like his father.
‘This soup is a trifle salty. I must speak to Cook about it.’ Apparently her face did not convey the depth of her feelings, for Lucas merely nodded and went back to discussing with their father a planned visit to Coade’s Artificial Stone Manufactory in Lambeth in pursuit of statuary for their latest landscape project.
She had noticed before that once her father had sustained a major loss he would stop gambling abruptly. It was as if the bubble of gaming fever that had built up in him had been pricked and he was back to normal, until the next time. At least he did not continue throwing good money after bad for very long, but the irrationality of his behaviour, the wild swings of mood, were an increasing worry.
‘What new feature are you planning, Papa?’ she asked as the soup plates were cleared.
‘A hermitage. I will adapt the Gothic chapel that is already almost complete. The position where the path through the plantation has the view of the small lake is more suitable for a hermit’s cell than for a church.’
‘A hermitage there would be very dramatic and atmospheric,’ Caroline observed dutifully, not adding and damp. That location faced north and the trees dripped moisture on to the mossy bank. But years of experience had taught her what to say to keep her father happy.
‘Finding the hermit may take some time,’ he commented, gesturing impatiently for Lucas to add more of the capon he was carving to his plate.
For a moment, despite all her years of experience with him, Caroline thought her father