“Most men wouldn’t dream of committing to one person for the rest of their lives without experiencing a taste of passion. Why, then, should you?”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Nash ate dinner at his club and returned home late that night. He’d needed some time away from the house and the bittersweet memories it held.
Last night he’d talked about Emily more than he had in the five years since she … left him. Uttering her name had hurt. Like lancing a wound.
Of course, he hadn’t revealed the entire truth about Emily and his father. Hadn’t told Caroline the part he’d played in that tragedy. The guilt was his alone—his burden to bear, his price to pay. To shrug it off would only compound his sins.
But still, he’d spoken Emily’s name, and the earth had not swallowed him whole. If anything, talking about her—however briefly—had released a bit of the anger and pain. Like a geyser venting steam to prevent the earth from cracking open.
Caroline was responsible for that small, temporary relief. And she’d been on his mind all day. It turned out that the brilliant green leaves rustling in the park were the same green as her eyes. The sunlight sparkling on the river’s surface was the same gold as her gown. How the hell was he supposed to not think about her?
Especially after the kiss they’d shared. The one that had stirred something deep inside him, making him lose the control he prized above all else.
He’d had an idea, though—a way that they might be able to locate Caroline’s family. He intended to talk to her about it at breakfast tomorrow, reasoning that as long as Delilah sipped tea across from them and sunlight streamed through the windows, he and Caroline might resist the temptation to fall into each other’s arms again.
Now, as he made his way to his bedchamber, each room he slipped past was blissfully quiet and dark—save Caroline’s. A soft light glowed from beneath her door.
He told his feet to keep walking, but they stuck to the floor outside her room. He couldn’t pass up the chance to see her briefly. To find out if she’d been as affected by the kiss as she.
So, he knocked softly.
He heard a shuffle on the other side, then her voice, low and slightly breathless. “Who is it?”
“Nash,” he answered, his cheek against the door. “Am I disturbing you?”
The door opened a few inches, revealing a narrow swath of Caroline’s face—one green eye, the curve of her cheek, and a dark tendril curling around her chin. “Did you wish to talk?”
“Yes,” he said earnestly. “But it can wait until morning. I shouldn’t have knocked so late.”
“No, it’s fine,” she insisted. “It’s just … I’m not dressed for company.”
“I’m not company,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t care if you’re wearing a nightgown and robe—unless you do?”
She bit her lower lip. “I’m not wearing a robe. Or a nightgown.”
“Oh,” he said—momentarily stunned. His blood heated at the thought of what Caroline was not wearing.
Before he could articulate a coherent response, she grabbed his wrist, pulled him into her bedchamber, and shut the door. She whirled around, eyes twinkling with mirth as she strode to the center of the room and planted a hand on one hip. “I was trying on my old clothes,” she said unapologetically.
Nash swallowed and tried not to gape. Leather boots hugged her legs, snug trousers cradled her bottom, and a billowy white shirt floated around her torso. Her thick tresses tumbled around her slender shoulders and down her back, tickling the nip of her waist. Standing there, so proud and assured, she took his breath away.
“Why?” he managed to ask. “Not that I object to your choice of evening wear. Quite the contrary. But why would you put on your disguise tonight?”
She absently pressed fingers to her temple. “I was trying to remember.”
“Have you?”
“No,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness.
“I suspect it’s like trying to swim against the tide. Fighting the currents will exhaust you. But if you can manage to float along for a while, you’ll eventually head in the right direction.” He shot her a wry smile. “Then again, it’s easy for me to be philosophical. I’m not the one lost at sea.”
“True.” She crossed her arms like she was suppressing a shiver, and he checked the urge to haul her against his chest and comfort her. “You said you wanted to speak with me,” she said. “I’d hoped to talk with you as well.”
“Would you like to go first?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
She nodded, sat on the edge of the bed, and patted the mattress beside her. “Please, sit.”
He did, wondering if she knew the effect she had on him. That his pulse leapt just from being close to her.
“There’s something I’d like to ask you,” she began. “It’s about Delilah.”
At the mention of his sister, his hackles rose slightly, but he nodded. “Go on.”
“She told me today that she is rather fond of a certain gentleman—and that you disapprove of him.”
“Brondale,” Nash growled. “He’s no gentleman, and I wouldn’t let him within twenty yards of my sister.”
Caroline tilted her head. “Why not?”
“I have my reasons.” The primary one being that Brondale was one of half a dozen young bucks who’d made a vile wager in the betting book at his club. The first one among them who provided proof that he’d deflowered a virgin would win the pot.
“Don’t you think you should share your reasons with Delilah?”
“No,” he said firmly. He couldn’t begin to imagine how to have that conversation with his sister.
“She’s not a child, Nash.” Caroline’s eyes flashed with passion. “She’s smart. And quite capable of making her own decisions.”
“I know,” he said, exhaling slowly. “She reminds me daily.”
“Then talk to her,” Caroline urged. “Tell her your concerns and trust her to listen.”
“I’m trying,” he said earnestly. “But she needs to trust me too. She was only thirteen when my father died, and, since then, I’ve been more than her older brother. I’ve had to be her father and guardian too. I want her to be happy—honestly, I do—but every instinct inside me screams to keep her safe. To protect her from scoundrels who would take advantage of her sweet nature.”
Caroline impulsively reached for his hand, and his skin tingled from her touch. “It’s difficult to watch the people we love falter and make mistakes. But everyone deserves the chance to make a few of their own. It’s how we learn and grow.”
Nash swallowed. “My head agrees with you. It’s my heart that’s stubborn.”
Caroline smiled serenely. Maybe even affectionately. “You should tell her that.”
“I will,” he promised, gazing into her eyes until the air between them seemed to sizzle.
“Good.” She blinked and pulled her hand away. “Now it’s your turn. What did you want to discuss?”
“I had an idea,” he said. “About how we might—” He paused and watched as Caroline repeatedly rubbed her palm over her thigh. “Does your leg pain you?”
“No. Forgive me,” she said, frowning slightly. “I just happened to feel something in my trousers. I wonder if there might be something in the pocket.”
For the space of several heartbeats, neither of them spoke. But her expression—one part excitement and one part fear—said what they both knew. That the object in her pocket could be the clue they’d been searching for. The one that would take her home.
When he gave her an encouraging nod, she slipped a hand into her waistband, felt around blindly, and withdrew a small, folded paper. Her hands trembled as she carefully opened it. “It’s a drawing,” she breathed. “Of a man and woman.”
She handed him the wrinkled paper, still damp from being laundered along with the trousers. The pencil strokes were smudged and faded, and the sketch appeared incomplete. And yet, somehow, the couple seemed to live and breathe on the page. The man gazed at the woman with unabashed desire.
Nash studied the young woman on the paper, shown mostly from behind, looking for any resemblance to Caroline. There were similarities—the gently sloped nose, the strong chin, and thick curls. It could have been her, but it was impossible to say for certain. The mere possibility gave him a sick feeling in his gut.
He gave the drawing back to her. “Do you think the woman is you?”
She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. It feels oddly familiar, but I have no idea where it came from or who the couple is.”
“Could you have drawn it?” he asked, hopeful.
“No. I’ve already determined I’m a horrid artist.” She stared at the picture intently. “But if I carried it in my pocket, it must hold some special meaning.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Nash nodded his agreement. Caroline was the first person who’d been able to crack open the impenetrable shell around his heart—and now it seemed likely that she had a beau, maybe even a husband, waiting for her at home.
She carried the sketch across the room to her desk and laid it next to a pile of newspapers. “I’ll look at it with fresh eyes tomorrow. Let us continue our conversation now,” she said, as though she were determined to put the drawing out of her mind for the moment.
Nash wished he could do the same. Once she’d situated herself on the bed again, he picked up the thread from before. “I thought of a way we could discreetly reach out to your family,” he said. “To let anyone who’s searching for you know that you’re safe and give them a way to contact you.”
“How?” she asked, clearly intrigued.
“An advertisement in the London Hearsay,” he replied. “We could give your description and ask anyone who thinks they know you to contact my solicitor and trusted friend, Edmund Drake. We can even offer a reward for information leading you home.”
“That’s very generous of you,” she said brightly. “And an excellent suggestion. How soon could we place the ad?”
He tried not to take her enthusiasm as a sign that she was eager to leave him. She wanted to find out who she was. He wanted that too. “If we submit it tomorrow, it should appear in the paper the day after next. I don’t think we have anything to lose.” Except, possibly, the tenuous connection that they’d formed.
“I agree,” she said, rewarding him with a smile that warmed his chest. “Thank you for thinking of it—and for coming here tonight.”
“I probably shouldn’t have,” he confessed. “But the truth is that I find it hard to stay away.”
Perhaps it was the deep timbre of his voice or the moonlight casting shadows on his handsome face that suddenly made Caroline very aware that they were alone. In her bedchamber. Sitting on her bed. She shivered, not from fear but from the memory of their kiss and the way he’d made her feel—like she was soaring above the clouds.
“I should go,” he said gruffly.
“Don’t,” she urged. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
He reached out and laced his fingers through hers. “I’m trying to be a gentleman. To give you time.”
She stared at their entwined hands, amazed that the simple pressure of his palm against hers could make her belly flip in anticipation. “Last night in your study,” she began, “I told you I couldn’t be with you until I knew myself.”
“I remember.” His eyes glowed like liquid gold.
“But I have reconsidered.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’m realizing that losing my memory comes with one, glorious silver lining—this time with you. I may not know my name, but I know what I want. To be with you.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “We don’t know what the future holds for us, Caroline. You have a life beyond these walls—a life that may not include room for me. The drawing you found in your trousers reminded me of that.”
“I know.” She curled her hand around his neck, threading her fingers through the thick curls at his nape. “But if I was already promised to another, I can’t imagine that I’d feel what I’m feeling for you right now. I care for you, and I think you care for me too. We should use whatever time we have together wisely. Show me something of love. Of passion.”
Nash went very still. “That sounds like a dangerous game.”
“Not a game,” she assured him. “We’re both adults. We deserve a chance to explore this relationship—and see where it might lead.”
“What if it leads nowhere?” Pain, stark and cold, flashed in his eyes, and she sensed in her chest that he was thinking of Emily. “Someone would end up hurt.”
“It’s always a risk,” Caroline said soberly. “But it’s one I’m willing to take—if you are.”