Crossed in Love, page 9
Thorogood watched her through half-lowered lids as she smilingly refused one notorious rake and deflected a debt-ridden young lord with a request for some punch. Carolyn had learned propriety too well. Her natural happiness had become something much less animated, an artificial facade of smiles and gentle words that fooled the rest of the world but not her father.
Sipping his drink, he watched Carolyn’s smile fade in weariness as she was momentarily left alone. The daughter he had known from infancy had been exuberant in her joy, passionate in her beliefs, dramatic in her sorrows. She had wept and laughed and infuriated alternately, until her eighteenth year. That was the year she had grown up, and he had not seen that girl again. As dutiful and pleasant as this new woman was, he rather missed the tempestuous girl. His eyes narrowed as he observed the two young men approaching her now.
Instantly aware that she was being watched, Carolyn raised her head with a renewed smile at George Hampton’s approach. Garbed in sober black tailcoat and pantaloons, his immaculate cravat a masterpiece in simplicity, his stride one of noble arrogance and authority, he looked the part of wealthy aristocrat. He seldom smiled, but she sensed a pleased look on his face as he caught her eye.
In idle curiosity, Carolyn turned her gaze to the man at the marquess’s side. She knew George frequented White’s and several other of the gentlemen’s clubs, but he seldom introduced her to his male friends. She wondered occasionally if it was out of embarrassment because he had attached himself to a female without title whose wealth came from trade, but she did not let the question concern her much. He made a pleasant companion and they got along well enough. Still, she couldn’t help wondering about the stranger.
At this distance Carolyn could tell only that George’s companion was unfashionably weathered in a startlingly attractive manner. His rather longish brown hair had light streaks from the sun, and his eyes seemed much lighter than the rest of his bronzed face. His gray swallow-tailed coat fit unfashionably muscular shoulders, and his tailored matching trousers did not hinder his long, eager stride. Dressed for comfort more than style, he exuded a self-assurance she found compelling. Unnerved by this sudden unexpected attraction to a stranger, she raised her gaze to search his face as they approached. Shock brought her hand to her middle, and the blood rushed from her face.
Her plight did not go unnoticed by the newcomer. Cold gray eyes swept over her without demonstrating any emotion, lifting in dark acknowledgment at accepting that he was the cause of her distress. At his side, Hampton seemed oblivious of her lack of response as he introduced his companion.
“Do you remember Chatham, Carolyn? I daresay he was before your time. He’s been in India practically since you were in short skirts.”
Carolyn managed a weak smile and extended her hand. “I am not so young as that, my lord. I remember Lord John from my first Season.” As his callused brown hand closed around hers, she wanted to jerk away, but that would be demonstrating a childish emotion she no longer felt. She forced a pleasant expression.
“He’s a bit out of touch with the current crop of lovelies. I told him you would be happy to surrender a dance or two and introduce him to a few suitable misses. That sister of yours might be just in his style.”
Carolyn’s aghast expression went unnoticed by the nobleman pleased with his helpfulness.
Jack read her dismay and refused to release her hand. “I believe the musicians are beginning a waltz, Miss Thorogood. You were reluctant to try it when last we met. Shall we?”
With her intended standing by affectionately rewarding her with his smile for her compliance, Carolyn had little choice but to follow Jack onto the dance floor. She remembered a time when she had stubbornly refused to indulge in the decadent dance sweeping the fast set, even when the man she loved offered to teach her. After he left, it seemed scarcely a point worth defending.
She had been waltzing for years now, but defiance returned with just the touch of Jack’s hand. She wanted to stomp her foot and slap him and tell him to behave. It would have been apropos back then when he had been whispering sweet nothings in her ear all night. Such behavior now would be singularly inappropriate.
“You cannot kill me with looks, Carolyn. Smile and put a pleasant face on it before someone remembers old gossip and reminds George.” Jack slid his arm around her slender waist with the possessiveness of familiarity, swinging her effortlessly into the steps of the dance as he spoke. “You’re more beautiful than I remember,” he added, searching her face when she did not respond.
“And you’re more arrogant,” she retorted. Under the intensity of his scrutiny, she felt a flush staining her cheeks for the first time in years. Her fingers itched to smack him, but his long masculine physique held her firmly, and the familiar sensations she had not felt in years swarmed alive and well through her rebellious body. He could hold her like this for the rest of the night, and not a muscle would stir in protest.
“I see your temper has not cooled with the passage of time. I suppose you are the one who refused to see me yesterday. I did not expect to find you still in your father’s house. I thought you would be married by now.”
She hated the speculation in his eyes. The arrogant fool was wondering if she had waited for him. She would disabuse him of that notion, if only she could find her tongue. “I have grown more fastidious with age,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. She could feel the heat of his hand even through his glove and her gown. She hated him for reminding her of sensations better forgotten.
“So it seems. George is quite a catch. You cannot fear he is a fortune-hunter. When do you set the date?”
He asked that agreeably enough, and Carolyn glared at him with suspicion. He seemed taller than she remembered, but then, George was nearly her height and she was accustomed to dancing with him. The white flash of Jack’s teeth against his sunburned face irritated her, and she answered with as much aloofness as she could muster, “We have an understanding that suits us both, my lord.”
“An understanding? How formal that sounds. Has he kissed you, Carolyn, or is that not part of the agreement? It would be damned hard to court you for long without stealing a few kisses, particularly for a man of George’s rakish inclinations. How much longer before that understanding leads to something else, Carolyn? I’d like to lay my wagers on the winning side.”
Rage rose in her, a blinding rage that made Carolyn want to scream and shout and kick and cause a scene right here in the middle of this elegant dance floor. Jack had always been able to rouse her ire with a word or a wink, but he had always appeased her quickly afterward. The memory of those tender scenes added fuel to the fires of anger. His insults this time would receive no response from her.
“You have become an insufferable boor, Jack. It is lucky for us that my father intervened in time.”
Carolyn’s haughty disdain made Jack furious, and at the same time, her words pierced him like shards of hell. Five years he had worked and waited, abstaining from society, from the luxuries of civilization, from everything he had ever known, just so he might come back and look her in the eye once more.
He had been prepared to find her happily married with babes around her feet. She deserved that. He would never have wished her unhappy. But he had never imagined her like this, cold and bitter and haughtier than any princess. Something wasn’t right here, and he’d be damned if he would let her slip through his fingers again without knowing why.
He ignored her harsh words. “When George spent hours raving about your pleasantness and agreeableness, I thought he’d got the wrong sister. Agreeableness is not what I remember most about you. I can see you haven’t changed, so who is this Carolyn that George is talking about?”
His spiteful remark deserved no reply, and as the dance ended, Carolyn dropped his hand like a hot coal. She turned stiffly in search of George and grew tense at the sight of Blanche waiting at his side, watching her and Jack. When Jack attempted to take her elbow to lead her back, she shook him off.
“Stay away from Blanche, Jack. I’ll not have you spoiling her life.” She could have added, as you spoiled mine, but she would never admit that out loud.
He sent her a sharp look if he had heard her unspoken words, but she met his gaze stonily. He turned his gaze to her sister waiting beside Hampton and shook his head. “By Jove, it’s hard to believe we were ever that young. Are you certain she ought to be out of the schoolroom?”
Carolyn flashed him a look of irritation. “She’s eighteen.” Just as she had been when she had fallen head over heels for this unscrupulous rake, but again, she left the words unsaid. He knew them as well as she.
Had she turned to see Jack’s face, she would have seen the fleeting look of pain he could not conceal, but she was hurrying ahead of him. He would not allow her to leave the floor unescorted, but followed in her wake.
Once, Carolyn had looked at him with the same wide-eyed dewy look as her sister possessed now. His heart pounded, not for the young girl, but for the memory of the girl he had known. Blanche’s glorious smile was nearly the same as Carolyn’s had been, but the eyes were more cautious. She distrusted him much sooner than the young Carolyn had. Jack wondered what she knew of him, but suspected it was only curiosity that kept her gaze in his direction.
He felt Carolyn’s tension as the introductions were made. Even George looked at her with interest when she made no pleasantries but insisted that she and Blanche must repair to the powder room. The demure woman Jack had observed from across the dance floor earlier had lost her composure, and the war of emotions in Carolyn’s expressive eyes was plain to see for all who looked. Fortunately for her, George was blind to the nuances of female expressions.
Politely, Jack made his excuses and departed before he could drag Carolyn off to a corner and shake her until he received explanations. If he needed time to gather his scattered wits, so must she.
Carolyn watched with a sob in her throat as Lord John’s proud back retreated. How could he be even more incredibly handsome and wicked than she remembered? She had never known him for the devil that he was until that last day, but she had just seen him looking at Blanche in the same way he had once looked at her. He wouldn’t! Heaven help her, but she would kill him with her bare hands if he so much as held Blanche’s little finger. Surely he was not so beastly arrogant as to believe he could win this second round by using her sister?
By the time she arrived home that night, Carolyn’s head pounded with the thunder of her memories and fears. For nearly five years she had maintained her composure, playing the part of doting older sister, loving daughter, and society maiden. For five years she had refused to think of Lord Edward John Chatham.
Just as she had thought herself fully recovered and prepared to consider marriage from a more sensible viewpoint, he’d reappeared like some demon straight from hell. What was wrong with her that he could still make her feel like this after all these years? She hated him. How could he stir her into this writhing agony of need and chaos and uncertainty after all he had done?
It wouldn’t do to ponder the thought too long. Soon, George’s mother would return from the Continent, and they would obtain her approval, and Carolyn would be wedded and safe. With both her father and George to protect her, Blanche would be out of Jack’s reach. There were too many other girls on the market for Jack to try his hand at another Thorogood.
Still, as she drifted off to sleep, Carolyn could not keep from dreaming of warm gray eyes and long legs striding eagerly toward her. So light those eyes had been, almost as if illuminated from within when they gazed on her. She felt them even in her sleep, warming her to the marrow.
When the enormous bouquet of impossible roses arrived early the next day, Carolyn nearly refused to accept them. Jack had been given to extravagance, even when he hadn’t a ha’penny for food. She knew they had to be from him, but telling herself that there was some chance that George might have grown sentimental, she read the card. The words “I need to see you” had scarcely grazed her mind when she heard Jack’s voice in the doorway.
“I told the servant not to announce me. I didn’t want to be turned away again.” His wide shoulders filled the salon doorway. The expensive tailoring of his deep blue frock coat emphasized the breadth of his chest and the slimness of his hips in their tight pantaloons, and Carolyn had to force her gaze to his sun-bronzed features. That was no relief, for the dizzying lightness of his eyes made her throat go dry, and her fingers longed to caress the blond streaks in his burnished curls.
The footman disappeared, leaving Carolyn clinging to the roses. Jack properly left the door open, but they both knew there was no one but the servants to hear them, and they would not interfere. She tried to pry her tongue from the roof of her mouth as she measured the astonishing knowledge that he was here, in her house, in the same room with her after all these years, but she couldn’t shake her disbelief. She felt as if she were still dreaming.
Dressed in a frail muslin of sprigged lavender, her hair tied in loose curls at the crown of her head, she had the grace and the startled velvet eyes of a gazelle. A hint of lavender scented the air around her, speaking of springtime and wildflowers and the beauty of an English rose. Jack could not tear his gaze away, and all his carefully prepared speeches disappeared in a misty haze of yearning. For five years he had dreamed of this. He still could not believe he was so blessed as to find her unmarried. His hands actually shook as he reached to set the roses aside.
“We need to talk, Carolyn. I have so much I want to say to you, I don’t know where to begin. I caught you by surprise last night. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean those things I said. I had been listening to George sing your praises until I wanted to plant him a facer. That’s why we have to talk. I want another chance, Carolyn. Will you listen?”
She flushed hot and cold hearing that deep, seductive voice again, feeling it wash over her with lingering promises of passion. She hated him for doing this to her again. She was old enough to know better. He had no right to come here and disturb her life all over. She wouldn’t let him. She steeled herself against the impassioned plea of his voice, refused to see the pain and hope in his eyes. He deserved to suffer for what he had done. It was her turn to hand out pain.
“Leave, Jack,” she told him coldly, meeting his eyes without flinching. “If I never see you again, it will be too soon. If you ever dare perpetrate this underhanded trick again, I will have the servants bounce you out on your ear. You may take your vulgar flowers with you when you go. Try them on some poor cit who is desperate for a title. Don’t ever try them on me again.”
She swung around and started for the far door. Stunned, Jack could utter no word of protest. In all these years of envisioning this scene, he had never imagined the coldness of her reception. Too many hot summers, he thought wryly as he felt the chill of the unheated room. He heard the door close after her, and still he could not move. He kept waiting for the blessed numbness that came with time, but it eluded him. He shook as if with fever.
He had expected anger at worst. Carolyn could be docile and patient and loving and understanding, but when she felt threatened, she retaliated with a temper that left scars. He could still feel the sting of her words from that night they had parted. They had lingered under his skin like some insidious poison for years. Those torn pieces of heart she had thrown at him had bruised as if they were stone, but her words had caused permanent damage. He had feared she would never forgive or forget, but never had he thought it would be like this.
She had meant it when she said he would never know her heart again. The woman who had just left this room had no heart. That was what he had sensed missing last night. All that loving, trusting innocence he had known had disappeared, bricked up behind a brittle facade of composure and disinterest. The Carolyn he had known had ceased to exist.
Aching as if with cold, Jack turned and retraced his steps to the front door. The roses lay forgotten in the icy salon.
Blanche watched as her older sister paced the library, ostensibly in search of some volume of verse appropriate for the valentine they were making. It had been days since the ball where the man with the broken nose had made his appearance, but Carolyn’s complaint of the headache had kept them confined indoors ever since.
Blanche had little reason to object, since her suitors were overflowing the salons with their flattering lies of missing her, and flowers spilled over the furniture as reminders of their attentions in her absence. The social whirl was amusing, but she had spent most of her life in her father’s country home and knew well how to entertain herself without need of constant attention. Her concern was more for Carolyn.
Blanche had learned nothing about Lord Edward John Chatham from discreet inquiries of her callers, but she had found his abandoned flowers and note in the salon the day after the ball. That Carolyn had refused to appear in public ever since was serious cause for concern. She had never seen Carolyn troubled or discomposed.
The time Alice had fallen from the tree and broken her arm had thrown the entire household in an uproar, but not Carolyn. She had directed servants, comforted Alice, and had everything calm before the physician arrived. Even their mother’s death had not caused this withdrawal from family and friends. Carolyn had grieved terribly, but she had been the mainstay of the family throughout that tragic period. She had not bolted herself behind closed doors and refused to come out.
“Perhaps I shall write a poem of my own,” Blanche suggested to divert her sister’s attention from pacing. “Am I allowed to make personal allusions in poetry?”
Carolyn clamped her fingers into her palms and pulled together her distraught nerves. She was being ridiculous. After what she had said, Jack would never cross their portals again. There really was no cause for concern. Blanche was a sensible girl beneath her frivolous romantic fantasies. She would listen to reason should the opportunity be needed. Mouthing these platitudes to herself, she forced a serene smile.
