Part 3 (2/2)

Her hand shook as she wiped away a tear. ”I am tired, Edward. I didn't sleep a wink.”

”Tsk, tsk. Didn't sleep. Didn't eat.” He patted the bed. ”We'll rest a while. Come here, Caro. Now.”

Because she had no righteous outrage left, she went.

Chapter 5.

”This contract is illegal,” she sputtered. Her mama had taught her to read before she was forced onto the streets to lead her life of sorry sin.

”So, sue me,” Lord Grant grinned. ”I'll have you, and have you now.”

-The Viscount's Willing Victim.

She lay curled up like a child beside him, her hairpins scattered on the pillow. Idly he toyed with her braid, losing his fingers in the red silk as he unraveled it. It was a sin to confine hair like that, and words were inadequate to describe its color-not t.i.tian nor auburn nor russet nor ginger. His own Boudicca, although not precisely tall or terrifying.

They'd slept several hours, and slept only. She had been truthful admitting she was tired, as was he. Perhaps because he'd gone so long without sleep he'd made an irrevocable mistake taking her to bed again, but he wasn't sorry. Yet.

Tomorrow he would go to his old friend Sir William Maclean's chambers to hammer out what needed to be done to end the marriage. Will would know what to do, and do it quietly until it was necessary to unleash his rapier-like tongue. A bill of divorcement before Parliament was not a light undertaking; it truly might be years before the thing was settled. Edward had the letters, but the d.a.m.n things were undated, so getting Rossiter on board was imperative. Ironic that his entire future was in the hands of such a man. Rossiter would have to be sued, but Edward was well aware it would be he who would wind up paying the damages to himself. He had a severe dislike for the man, whom he kept tripping over in the most unlikely social situations. Rossiter was no better than a male courtesan, stylish and sleek, always looking to advance himself. Caroline had been foolish in the extreme when she gave her virginity to him without sufficient payment.

Edward looked at his sleeping wife, her face smoothed of artifice. He had hoped her to be an innocent when he married her, but was not too terribly disappointed to find she was not. She did her d.a.m.nedest to cry out and feign ignorance on their wedding night, but Edward was not a complete innocent himself. There had been his virginal, hesitant Alice, and a few other women besides. It had seemed important to Caroline to continue the fiction that he was her first, so he let it go. She had been five and twenty after all, living a shockingly unsupervised life with her ramshackle brother in the wilds of c.u.mbria, never coming to town.

Town went to them. Certain elements of it, at any rate. Nicholas had been a viscount with a tumbledown estate and a penchant for sin; his parties had been legendary, reaching even Edward's staid ears. But her brother was dead and Caroline had seemed eager for a new life. If Edward had not been thinking with his c.o.c.k for the first time in his life, he would have seen how wrong she was for him and his children. But he couldn't think then, and now he was thinking too much.

She sighed and stirred, and he drew her closer. Her eyes flew open, black lashes bent and tangled from their encounter with the pillow. ”Oh, it is true.”

”What?”

”You're here. I thought it was a dream.”

Edward chuckled. ”Yes, I am every maiden's fantasy.”

”I'm hardly a maiden.”

Edward thought it safer not to comment. Her s.e.xual experience had proved to be one of her few virtues.

She squirmed in his arms. ”When are you going home? I need to write. I have a deadline.”

”I'm sure you'll find some way or other to placate Garrett.”

She pushed at him harder, but he didn't release her. ”You will never think the best of me, will you? Garrett is a friend, a business partner, no more.”

”But he would like to be something more, wouldn't he? He's rich. I suppose you could call him handsome. I wonder why it is you've suddenly become so proper.” He watched her flush and felt her nails dig into his chest.

She sent him an equally piercing look. ”I never mix business with pleasure.”

”Ah, so you'd sleep with a stranger. Or perhaps an old acquaintance.”

”Or an old husband,” she said tartly.

”Touche.” He let her go. The shadows had deepened; it was nearing dusk. They had slept much longer than he thought. Any acrobatics in front of the mirror would have to be postponed. She left the bed in an instant and wrapped herself back in the garish robe.

”Really, Edward, since we are to be lovers, you'll need to give me some sort of schedule. I do have a life, you know.”

”I'll have to consult my calendar and get back to you. I should think four or five times a week should do the trick.”

”Four or five times!” she screeched.

”Oh, all right, more often if I must.”

She simply stared at him openmouthed as if he'd grown an additional p.e.n.i.s.

He was gratified that he'd robbed the famous author of words. ”We'll settle for six. Thursdays off, since that's your entertaining day. You might be too fatigued from all the gossip with your neighbors, and I prefer you to be fully responsive.”

”You-you-I will not, I can not give six nights a week to you!”

”No one said anything about nights. There are tedious social events I must attend before I leave for the country. As I said, I'll consult my schedule and write down the dates and hours. You'll still have plenty of time to write your books. And it won't be for very long, not even a month. We'll see how I feel in the fall when I return from Christie Park.” He waited for her to say something, do something, throw something, but she stood absolutely still. ”That's that, then. As it happens, I have an engagement this evening. And I suppose I should check up on Ned and give him a piece of my mind.” He rose and began to dress, keeping an eye on Caroline in case he had to parry an attack. But she was curiously, disconcertingly pa.s.sive. Her silence unsettled him more than he liked to admit. He was used to her tirades of temper. He'd seen more than enough of them in the year they were married.

Once he had tied his cravat to his satisfaction, he kissed her quickly on a pale cheek. ”Good-bye. I'll be in touch.” He had nearly reached the bottom stairstep when he heard a remarkably vile curse and a satisfying crash. Something wooden this time, he thought. No doubt he'd find out what it was the next time he came to call.

”h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation!” She heaved the carved jewel box against the wall. There was an explosion of topaz and pearls, amethysts and aquamarines, a diamond or two. Caroline was disgusted. Her room looked like a battle zone. The sheets were still balled in a corner and she'd already cut her foot on a Meissen fragment from the earlier vase mishap. She'd been fond of the jewel box, too, a long-ago Christmas gift from her brother. He'd teased her that she'd have a proper place for her paste jewelry, and that one day their fortune would improve and he'd buy her something real. Her gemstones were real now, if mostly inexpensive, but her fortune was as lamentable as ever.

She limped back to the bed, not having the energy to strip it again. Edward's spoor was everywhere. She'd better get used to it. Apparently he would be tormenting her on a daily basis. Except for Thursdays. She let out a howl and threw herself facedown on the pillow.

There came the tentative tap on the door. Poor Lizzie. Caroline had made a dreadful mess, and it wasn't fair to make her maid pick up after her. ”I'm all right. Go away, Lizzie.”

”Are you sure, Lady Christie? It sounds-it sounds as if something broke again.”

”You mean I broke something again. You might as well enter, but don't say I didn't warn you.”

The blonde maid opened the door a crack. ”I've seen worse. I think.”

”Oh, G.o.d. What am I going to do?”

”Well, first, you should put your slippers on. Your foot is bleeding on the bedding,” Lizzie said sensibly. ”Then you should gather up your jewelry, because I'm not to be trusted. I might abscond with that sapphire choker. I've always been fond of it.”

Caroline grinned in spite of everything. She loved it when Lizzie showed some of her old spark. She had been a delightful, mischievous girl before Pope had beaten the daylights out of her.

Caroline climbed off the bed, scooped up the necklace and handed it to Lizzie. It was not from Edward-she had bought it herself to celebrate her first year as an author, and the stones were not so very large or valuable. ”It's yours.”

”Oh, Caroline-Lady Christie, no! I couldn't take it from you! And where would I wear it anyway?”

Caroline tucked the necklace in the pocket of Lizzie's ap.r.o.n. ”You won't always be my maid, Lizzie. Someday you'll have jewels again, and furs, and a fine gentleman to see to your comfort.”

”Now you're writing me into one of your stories. Not everyone gets their happy ending.”

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