Part 3 (1/2)
”If you enjoy it so much, may I recommend you go downstairs to the kitchen? There's plenty of crockery there.”
”Do you remember the night at Christie Park when we went downstairs for the leftover trifle? I took you on the kitchen table as I recall. You got a splinter.”
Caroline bit her lip, but he watched the flush spread to her chest and the tips of her sh.e.l.l-like ears. Yes, she remembered. He began to systematically remove his clothes, carefully folding them because he had to walk through Mayfair later in daylight . . . unless he stayed until evening . . . which he just might do.
He wondered why he'd never hit upon this scheme before. Certainly he was furious with her, certainly he wanted to divorce her, but she was right-he was a mortal man, with manly needs, and he still had a wife to a.s.suage them. Thanks to that blackguard Andrew Rossiter she was as skilled as any courtesan. She lived amongst them and there were any number of things she might have added to her repertoire. Why should he deny himself like some tonsured monk? The evil genius of it all stunned him.
He could visit Jane Street every day if he had a mind to. It was he who'd decreed that silly June 14 agenda, he who'd limited their contact by virtue of his nettlesome pride. She had begged him for another chance. Well, here it was.
Caroline had removed her nether curls for him, as he preferred once he realized it could be done. Edward took advantage of her smooth white skin by firmly pus.h.i.+ng her legs apart and dipping his tongue to part her more yielding flesh. Her bud was ripe, rigid and pink, and he set patiently to taste her. Consume her. He had never done this with Alice, couldn't imagine his sheltered first wife ever permitting him such liberties. He shoved the thoughts of innocent Alice out of his mind and concentrated on his wicked Caro, who was writhing and mewling with pleasure. Her fingertips skittered through his hair and danced across his shoulders with increasing urgency, and he knew it was time to insert his fingertip. She splintered-like the vase, like the clock-one more broken possession that could not be made whole but could be mended for a little while.
He quickly sheathed himself within her, reaping the instant benefit of her o.r.g.a.s.m. Each wave milked him, drove him deeper. For a woman who was not particularly tall, she stretched and melted like magic around his long body. He felt her everywhere, inside and out. Her eyes were shut, as though she was pretending he was just a dream. Or perhaps another lover, but it didn't matter at the moment. He would leave no doubt that she was still his. He kissed her hard so she could taste herself, nearly bruising her mouth with his insistence, and she bruised him right back, her lips and teeth and tongue frantic, her nails raking the length of his back.
His heart stuttered as his c.o.c.k erupted, the breath left his lungs, his throat constricted. He could easily die where he was, and wouldn't that teach him a lesson? One he couldn't unlearn. Caroline could kill him without even trying. He gasped and withdrew, rolling off her sweat-satined body, sucking in air in the suddenly close room.
”Are you done?”
Edward had to give her credit-now that she'd had her pleasure she sounded bored, as if she had another appointment. He wasn't fooled for a minute.
”For now.”
”I'm hungry, and you've sent the servants away,” she said peevishly, struggling to sit up. He hid his smile; it was as if her arms and legs were made of blancmange. He knew just how she felt, weak as a kitten after a tiger's attack. He couldn't decide which one of them had been the tiger. Perhaps they'd taken turns.
”I didn't have a decent breakfast, you know. The Hazletts and I had our hands full with Neddie. There wasn't time for the smallest m.u.f.fin crumb.”
”I was called away from my breakfast as well, if you recall. I thought my son was dying.”
Caroline sniffed, tucking a long red curl behind an ear. ”Nonsense! I'm sure my letter was not meant to give that impression.”
”And you claim to be a writer. I a.s.sure you your words-what I could read of them-were most alarming, worthy of a Gothic novel. It's no wonder you're so popular with the ma.s.ses.”
It was clear Caroline didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. She looked on the verge of speech but covered herself with a sheet instead.
”Why don't you get dressed and fetch us some provisions, Caro? It's going to be a long afternoon.”
”I b-beg your pardon?”
”You're hungry. I'm hungry,” he said, all reason. ”There must be something in the pantry. Last night's dessert, perchance? I know we never touched it.”
”I-you-why don't you go downstairs? It's all your fault anyway!”
”Our mutual hunger? Well, I suppose Ned is my son, although I didn't ask him to land on your doorstep foxed to the gills. And I had nothing do with the oysters.”
”Oh!” She stood up, clamping the sheet to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”Go home. Please. You've caused me enough grief. Just when I thought you were done playing games with me, you've started up another round.”
He felt the muscle in his cheek jump. ”You of all people know I don't play games, Caroline. But I do set the rules, and you'd be wise to follow them.” He ducked the pillow she threw at his head. ”Be careful what you throw next. You wouldn't want to make me angry.”
”Yes, I would! I should love to see you angry-furious-livid, wild, and ungovernable!” She looked wild and ungovernable herself, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng, her tangled hair worthy of Medusa.
”I do so hate to disappoint you.” He folded his hands over his c.o.c.k, the act both self-preserving and calming. He was not going to rise to the occasion by temperament or temptation. ”Something simple will do. A heel of bread. Some cheese. Wine. And that dessert, if you didn't already eat it.”
The bedroom door slammed with a vengeance. Edward smiled at himself in the mirror above him. He'd forgotten all about the mirror, but would make good use of it later.
Caroline tripped down the stairs, her feet tangling in the sheet. Would Edward even notice if she fell to her death? She supposed if he got hungry enough he might come looking for her, find her broken body, step over it and continue on to the kitchen.
This new Edward-this stolid yet different, demonic Edward-was a puzzle. What was she to do with him? Did he really expect to resume his conjugal rights while they lived apart and he sought a divorce? It was cruel in the extreme. She'd tried so hard to forget him, to make a life for herself, and he was ordering her about, doing all manner of things to her that she simply could not forget. She wrapped the sheet tighter for the next set of stairs. How the Romans had managed was a mystery.
She shouldered her way through the kitchen door, wondering how she'd keep the sheet up as she foraged for food. Four sets of eyes looked up in surprise. The traitorous Hazlett was not napping, but having a substantial lunch with his wife, Lizzie, and Ben the kitchen lad. They rose in unison, talking over each other.
”Lady Christie, I hope you understand-”
”Good Lord, you'll catch your death, dear-”
”Oh! This is so romantic!”
”Gor!”
”Be quiet, all of you,” Caroline grumbled. ”I cannot fire you, Hazlett, but I want to. You have aligned yourself with him one too many times.”
”My lady,” the butler bl.u.s.tered, ”he a.s.sured me he wouldn't harm one red hair on your head! What has the villain done to you?”
”Oh, be quiet. And fetch a ham out of the larder. Make us some sandwiches. You're good at that. Find me a bottle of the most inferior wine we have. For him. Mrs. Hazlett, if I could trouble you for a cup of tea, I'd be very grateful. I need my wits about me. Ben, you are to go out to the garden immediately and forget you ever saw me in such disarray. Oh, h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, it's raining. Sit in the shed, then, until Mr. Hazlett tells you to come back in. And Lizzie, please do something with my hair. I cannot go on like this.”
Tea and hairpins and sandwiches miraculously appeared as a goggle-eyed Ben disappeared. Caroline sat silent as the three servants went out of their way to soothe her. A tray was laden and poor old Hazlett mounted the steps with it. She stood like a doll while Lizzie and Mrs. Hazlett draped and knotted the sheet so she was nearly presentable. No doubt Edward would strip her of it at the first opportunity, but at least she could walk upstairs without incident.
Steeling herself, she returned to the scene of the crime. Edward was sitting in bed propped against pillows like an eastern potentate, a sandwich in one hand, a goblet of inferior wine in the other. She supposed she was designated to be the dancing girl.
”You look very fetching in that sheet, Caro. You might even start a new fas.h.i.+on craze. Come join me.”
She raised her haughty chin. ”I'm not hungry.”
”Come, come. This was all your idea. Have a bite.” He extended his sandwich toward her.
The bread was fresh and studded with fragrant seeds, the mustard sharp in her nostrils. She could bite his pink thumb off and pretend she mistook it for ham. ”No, thank you.”
”Suit yourself. Old Hazlett made enough for an army. I'm sure we'll work up an appet.i.te and get to it later. He tells me that caramel dessert was nowhere to be found, but there's pie. I know how you like your pie.”
Oh, he was wicked. Andrew had told him about the Cherry Pie Incident and she had not denied it because she couldn't. Andrew had told him so much that day, but not the whole truth, thank G.o.d. She'd been rooted to the floor, mute, disheveled. It had been the worst day of her life . . .
Except for around midnight last night, when she thought Edward was gone forever. Now it seemed she couldn't get rid of him. And she wanted to. She did.
She collapsed on her dressing table chair. Lizzie had done wonders braiding her hair and pinning it into a rather regal coronet. She could pa.s.s for some Roman G.o.ddess, one of the obscure ones. Clementia, G.o.ddess of forgiveness, although just at present Caroline was full of righteous outrage. Sentia, who helped children develop. She'd helped Edward's, hadn't she, as best she could? And Ben, too. But never Disciplina. Caroline had been unable to control her pa.s.sions all her life.
Edward was not supposed to become her pa.s.sion, just her husband. She'd seen his sangfroid as a benefit, not a detraction, when they'd first met. True, he was precipitous in his proposal, but she'd taken the ton by storm and was very much in demand. It was only sensible that a sensible man move quickly if he wanted to secure her hand in marriage. And it was only sensible of her to move quickly and accept, before her unpleasant past caught up with her. Edward was steady, reliable, boring, living in a world very different than the one she was trying so desperately to escape. But it had taken Andrew so little effort to insinuate himself into Edward's world and back into her life. Her year of marriage had been fraught with peril far beyond the management of three obstreperous children.
”Penny for your thoughts, Caroline.”