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He seemed ready to vehemently deny her words and then stopped himself. He assessed her discomfort. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. His voice was husky as if he had been just as ready to give himself over to the pull of the moment as she had been. “I suppose I’ve always hoped that a lady would understand me so completely.” He cleared his throat and turned looking out at the falling leaves again. “Perhaps one day she will,” he said, but the words felt like a lie.
Caroline could not say whether he had thought about her claim to his motivations and decided that he did, in fact, agree or if he had merely told her what she needed to hear to ease the tension of the moment. Either way, she was grateful.
With a swift curtsy she excused herself from the room and was glad for the mindlessness of the hours of work ahead of her. She yearned for the distraction.
That had been too close. She had come far too close to letting him in when what she needed to be doing was keeping him firmly out. Or better yet, getting herself out of this blasted house. Caroline felt more desperate than ever to find her way home. Perhaps some part of her had wanted to stay for Robert, but she knew now, that was a fool’s errand. She shook her head with incredulity at her tumbling thoughts. She had to escape.
Lizzy had called the house cursed and Caroline had laughed at her. Now, she was beginning to believe. Perhaps it was. In the past months there had been a turnover of seven maids. In a household this size, Caroline did not know any of them. Nonetheless, she did not believe they all took other employment; not when the household of a duke was a coveted job. She needed to get back to her own life.
CHAPTER16
Lord Robert must have been as shaken by the encounter as Caroline because he was not in the study the following evening. She had decided that it would have made things all the more awkward if she did not maintain the ease of their friendship, had wanted to show him that despite the heated moment, nothing needed to change between them. It had taken the entire afternoon to steel her nerves. Now it seemed that the effort had been for naught.
Caroline had picked up her most recent book of interest when she found her mind unable to focus on the tale, thrilling as it may be. Her gaze wandered the room. It felt empty without one hulking presence to accompany the silence. How strange that she had first ventured to this place in search of isolation, but now found herself lonely and bereft.
“He is allowed to be busy,” she muttered to herself as if her brain might listen if physically told that such a thing was perfectly within reason. Missing one evening here or there meant little in the grand scheme. It was not as if he owed her his time. It was not as if they had a standing appointment, or as if a maid even had the right to expect such a thing. No, he may have been called away on an important matter. He might have received an invitation to some ball or dinner. She was shocked to admit that she had nearly forgotten that such things existed having had her own hours overflowing with chores and mere survival. That was it, she decided, he must be at a ball with Lady Lydia and his brother. The thought sent a wave of pain through her, but she shoved it away. It was no wonder that the house had been over-quiet this evening, she told herself.
It was at this moment that her ashen eyes lit upon the duke’s desk that sat nestled in the corner, facing the door and with a large arched window at its back.
A pile of his outgoing letters sat haphazardly in the center of the desk as if he had been too hurried to post them. She imagined that on the morrow he would scoop them all up without a thought and off they would go. Her heart leapt in her chest.
Nobody would dare to check the duke’s letters, would they? Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? If Caroline happened to slip one of her own amongst his pile, she doubted anyone would be the wiser. She could get a note to her father and be free of this townhome by the end of the following week. Relief flooded through her at the thought.
She made her way over to the desk, pulling the curtains closed before she turned to the task at hand. Her heart beat in her chest so loud that she was afraid that Mrs. Reilly would come running and demand what in heaven’s name is that pounding?
Her hand trembled as she grasped the quill pen, its vane still smooth as if it had only been used once or twice, else the duke was a very careful writer. She inspected the hollow shaft, a fresh cut. She unscrewed the bottle of ink and dipped the tip into its black depths. She noted the location of the blotting powder, procured herself a single piece of the duke’s personal stationery, and began to write.
She had only meant to pen a line or two but the sense of assurance that this letter would go undiscovered made her bold. She told her father as much of the tale as could be managed in a few paragraphs. She expressed the importance of rescuing “Lady Kate” and added “the dear friend who departed with me that very day that I removed from Gravesend Manor.” She told him that the house was not safe and that he should trust no one, not even the duke himself and certainly not his brother, Lord Edward.
She felt a pang of guilt as she wrote those words but found that they were necessary. It would be best for her father to barge in with the law and grab her up rather than send notice and there be a chance that she was squirreled away to some other location. She signed the letter with nothing more than C.G and set the words to dry.
She had been distracted in her folding of the letter and the lighting of the small candle that sat below the wax spoon.
When a hand grasped her wrist and spun her away from the desk, she had little time to take in anything save that which was at eye level, the wide chest of a man that loomed above her.
“What do you think you are doing?” the duke demanded. Caroline felt all of the color drain from her face. The door must have been left ajar for she had not heard him enter. Her wrist remained in his grasp in such a way that she was easily restrained but she noted that he was careful not to harm her.
“I…” she stammered. She shook her head. There was no excuse that a maid would have for going through his things, and yet, she wanted him to trust her. She willed it so.
Caroline straightened her back and stared up into his eyes, no sign of fear or subservience had a place in this moment. “I’m sending a letter,” she declared with a level of authority that caught him off guard.
“With my stationery and seal?” he asked. She had hoped that he would be intrigued or perhaps bemused so that she might attempt to persuade him to allow it, but it seemed that he had erred firmly on the side of betrayal.
After evaluating all avenues, she realized that honesty was the only option, at least in part.
“Yes,” she said. She willed herself to use every ounce of noble blood and training that had taught her how to bend others to her will without question. “I attempted to send a letter through the usual means and they were… returned.” They were standing so close and she could sense that he had expected her to cower. He towered over her so that she had to crane her neck to look up at him, but she did not balk. She met his eyes. It was not the usual behavior of a maid, she knew, but she needed him to understand the severity of the situation. Furthermore, she needed him to not ask questions. “It’s urgent, and I had hoped that your seal might get the letter to its recipient without delay… without inspection.”
“Where are you sending it?” he asked. He leaned to look over her shoulder, the motion bringing them within a hairs-breadth of each other. Caroline was very nearly distracted by the deeply masculine scent of him, like a dark forest after a fresh rain. Instead, she reached her free hand behind her and grabbed the letter from the desk, tucking it behind her back before he could note her father’s name penned in dainty letters.
“Please, I beg you, don’t ask.” This time when he looked down at her he would not have seen the confident stature of a moment before, but a friend begging him for his trust. Her eyes pleaded with him and her breath caught in her throat when she saw that he wanted to believe her. She thought she could kiss him if he did. She would be so grateful.
Yet, that look of trust only lasted for a moment. He was too battle-hardened by misfortune to believe her so readily.
“What are you up to?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing. “What sort of trickery are you playing at? I’ve known since my return that something has been off with the hands in this house. Too much has changed in the five years that I have been gone, too many new faces. I can’t place my finger on it, but I find myself suspicious of the lot of them, but you…” his hand tightened on her arm. “You were the only one that I was certain that I could trust. You seemed different, smarter than the rest. Perhaps that is what should have tipped me off. Are you an enemy of my father? Or some insurgent spy poised to take down the aristocracy? Have you been playing me this whole time? Tell me what is going on. Tell me what nefarious letter you must be sending to need my name to keep it from inspection.” He paused and looked down on her with fire in his eyes. “Tell me the truth.” He grasped her shoulder and forced her to look at him.
His eyes were hard and cold and accusing. This was not the man she had befriended. This was the formidable duke who was so unfathomable.
She couldn’t speak. She could not tell him the full truth. Her mouth felt dry as dust. Not for Marilee’s sake and not for her own. He thought that she was part of the plot that caused his father’s murder, and she could understand why he might think that. Still, some little voice inside of her screamed that it would be dangerous to involve him.
