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“You had a long day yourself,” she soothed. “A thousand pardons, Your Grace.”
He nodded. “I was cross and tired, but that was no reason to take out my spleen upon an innocent.” He shook his head. “I had spent the previous days racing around the country trying to set my life back to rights only to feel as if it was all falling apart one ruthless stroke of fate at a time. It had nothing to do with you. I offer my apology.” Caroline gaped at him. Had he, a duke, really just apologized to a maid? What was even more shocking was that it had not felt like he had done so out of obligation. He had sounded sincere.
She might have been surprised that he had such insight, but realized that his father had had unique skill for evaluating a situation as well, even if he used the knowledge for ill gains. She reminded herself that this man was trained to be dangerous, both on the battlefield and in the ballroom. This mishap might be something that he chose to use against her in the future. That or he wished to ingratiate her towards him so that she might become less of a problem.
“Please don’t tell Mrs. Reilly that I was in here,” she begged. “I’m supposed to wait with the other servants in the kitchen until everyone has gone to bed to finish my chores, but after a day of hard work it is just so loud. I was searching for a moment of silence.” She realized just how much she missed the quiet of her former life. Everything had been moving so fast around her recently that she had not had a blessed moment to herself. For one sweet second, she had held it in her grasp. “I wasn’t going to steal it,” she said holding up the book. “Just read,” she promised. “I won’t do it again.”
“I spend most evenings in here working or thinking until the early morning hours,” he said as if that were an answer. “If you wait for me to retire before doing whatever it is that you must do, you’ll never get any rest.”
“It is your house,” she replied. It was not as if she could order him to go to sleep. Such a thought was laughable really.
“Like you, I am more at home in the quiet,” he continued. “This study has become somewhat of a sanctuary since my return. London is a lot louder than I remembered. I will be glad when the majority of the ton removes to Bath and Brighton.”
Caroline knew exactly what he meant. It had been five years for him and six since she had last been to London. The city had seemed to double in size from what she remembered, or perhaps it had simply been so long that she had forgotten the constant chaos of it. Even though she had yet to venture outside of this house, she was well aware of the hundreds, maybe thousands of people that passed by on Park Lane each day. She had become used to the quiet of the country and she supposed that, when it was not engaged in battle, a ship at sea might have been peaceful as well.
“You are welcome to read here in the evenings until the others go to bed,” he said when she had only nodded her understanding. “I promise not to spill your secret or release you from your position.” He chuckled as if he found her concern amusing, “and I’m fairly quiet if you don’t mind my company. I’d still like use of this room for my own purposes.”
Caroline looked at him with wariness. Was this a trap? Or might it simply be a kind offer so long as she did not disturb his privacy?
She could not say and her hesitation must have been apparent because he stepped away and moved back to his corner. Without a word he lit the lamp on his desk and pulled a pile of papers to him. He placed one elbow on the desk, fisted his hand, and leaned the uninjured side of his chin upon it before starting to read.
It was as if he were trying to show her that this was all that he would be doing if she chose to join him. That she was welcome to do whatever she pleased so long as she left him to his ledgers.
Warning bells went off in Caroline’s mind. He was being too kind, too gentle. She pictured his father, which was done without difficultly because they were very clearly relations, and reminded herself that the elder gentleman had been able to appear kind and accommodating too if it suited his purpose. Then, she recalled the way she had run from the room after he had shouted at her and she told herself that that beast must still be in there somewhere, waiting to take a swipe with his piercing claw.
Without a word, Caroline returned the book to the shelf and exited the study.
He did not make an effort to call her back or repeat the offer. He did not even look up as she closed the door softly behind her. She left him in the darkened study and was determined never to return.
When Carolinefinally entered their little bedchamber, she found Lizzy sound asleep. Caroline slipped out of her dress, into her nightclothes, and lay down on the mat. She felt something poking her through the thin fabric and reached beneath her to see what it was. Her hand settled into a pile of torn paper that had been hidden beneath her woolen blanket so that only she might discover it.
Caroline carried the scraps to the hall where she might look at them in the light, but the knot in her stomach told her that she already knew what they were.
Her letter.
It had been torn and left so that there could be no mistaking that it had not been sent; that it would never be allowed to be sent; that she would never be permitted to have a letter leave this house no matter how neatly disguised.
Someone was reading the servants’ mail, she realized, and she still had no idea who it might be.
CHAPTER13
Lady Lydia paid her first visit to the duke two days later and Caroline supposed that her conversation with Lord Robert had made it safe enough at least to serve the tea. The other maids were disappointed, but Caroline had decided that she would rather face the gentleman than wash another chamber pot. One of the servants had been feeling ill these past few days and she simply would not do it.
Caroline felt sorry for the socialite who seemed to be trying so hard to force herself to fall into easy conversation with the duke. No matter Lady Lydia’s best effort she stumbled every time that she happened to look at his face.
Whether the duke had noted his betrothed’s stiffness or the way that her eyes lingered on his arms or his shoulders, anywhere but his face, he did not let on. Once, when Caroline was setting their cups and saucers down on the table between them, she saw the lady’s eyes drift to his hands as if still searching for an actual piece of the duke, and not his clothing, that she still found appealing.
Lady Blackwell had gritted her teeth and turned to stare out the window instead. Her voice had been cheerful and her conversation light, but her stature was anything but.
Caroline had chanced at glance down at the duke’s hands and noticed another long scar on the back of the hand nearest her that disappeared into the cuff of his jacket. Was there no part of him unscathed? What on earth had he been through? And how could Lady Blackwell look at such markings on the man that she loved and view them with aversion rather than an overwhelming urge to soothe away his pain? Was that not what love was? Caroline might not care for the duke, but even she could see that there was more to the gentleman than his scars. Certainly, Lady Lydia’s longstanding affection could help her to look beyond the mar if a stranger were able to do so. Lady Blackwell at least had the memory of the man before the injury. Caroline felt an upwelling of righteous indignation on his behalf. She wanted to shake the lady until some sense rattled around in her empty brain. Was there any inch of this man’s body that wasn’t mangled with hurt? She felt a blush rise to her neck at the inappropriate image that rose to mind, of the fact that to answer that question she would have to see a man, this man in particular, naked. Caroline pushed that thought aside, chalking it up to pure feminine innocence that would rise any time the suggestion of nudity was made. She was only embarrassed that the thought had occurred in the first place. It was uncouth to wonder about anything more than could be seen by the casual eye. It was likely that Lady Lydia had considered the very same thing and perhaps that was what had made her uncomfortable.
Caroline had straightened and caught the duke watching her. She would have bet her entire fortune on the fact that he had noted Lady Blackwell’s reaction, noted that Caroline had seen it as well, and followed Caroline’s gaze to the offending scar. Why did he have to be so observant? And how was he so casual about what had transpired? She felt a flush rise again. Oh Lord, she hoped that he had not seen the first. Hadn’t seen it, and had not gleaned what kind of untoward thoughts might have had such a result. She told herself that he had not, but this time she would not bet her fortune on it.
Weeks passedand Caroline could not continue to avoid Lord Edward. She crossed paths with him when she was collecting his dinner plates from his room. She had thought that he had departed, but it seemed that he had returned to retrieve something and just in time to catch her unawares. She did not think he had followed her, did not deign him so low that he would be crass enough to take advantage of the knowledge that she would have to enter his bedchamber. But it seemed that she was wrong. She was finding, she noted with a wry twist of her gut, that she was wrong more oft than not these days. Oh, how she longed for her own life where she knew her place in the world. With her father, everything was easy and quiet, and others had to answer her questions rather than demanding answers from her or ignoring her as if she were nothing more than a dormouse.
“Ah, Emily, you have been avoiding me these past weeks,” Lord Edward crooned, coming up behind her and lacing his hands around her waist. She could feel him pressed up against the entire length of her back and she balked. “Don’t you worry in the least,” he said, “I don’t bite.”
“But I do!” she exclaimed, turning in his arms and shoving him away.
