Chapter THIRTEEN

Ian stood by the window and stared out at the horizon that was swiftly growing brighter, the stars fading with the onset of morning. Caro was asleep in his bed, and he needed to wake her and see her safely home, but he couldn’t bear to rouse her.

He rubbed a hand over the center of his chest. His heart was aching, and he didn’t care for the sensation. They’d rutted like wild animals, and on three separate occasions he’d spilled himself inside her. Throughout the passionate interlude, he’d been so overwhelmed that he hadn’t restrained himself, but with sanity and daylight creeping in, he was panicked.

Oh, what was he to do? What if he’d planted a babe?

He couldn’t send Caro back to her fiancé and her parents. Yet, how could he keep her with him? The only way would be to marry her. Was he prepared to propose? It was the appropriate remedy, but he couldn’t imagine asking her, nor could he envision her accepting.

What had he to offer a woman like Caro?

He had an income that was sufficient for a bachelor, but it couldn’t begin to compare to her father’s fortune. If she allied herself with him, her mode of living would fall substantially. Could she tolerate such a change? Plus, any union between them would cause a terrible scandal.

He had no lofty acquaintances to stand with them during the tumult. She’d be shunned, cut off from all that was familiar, and the shame would kill her.

Was he worth it? He didn’t have to pose the question, for he knew the answer: categorically not.

He went to the bed and eased a hip onto the mattress. She stirred and smiled. She looked rumbled and adorable, smug with her seduction and pleased with what she’d wrought.

“What time is it?” she inquired.

“Almost five.”

“I should be going,” but she didn’t make any move to rise.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I have to. You know that.”

She sat up, the blankets clutched to her bosom, her hair spilling about her shoulders. She laid her palm on his cheek, and for a moment, they tarried, neither of them able to speak.

Then she urged him aside and climbed to the floor. In silence, she strolled about, scooping up her clothes and tugging them on as he did the same. Eventually, they were dressed, her cloak fastened, the hood up. There was nothing left to do but escort her out, but they couldn’t seem to depart.

He dawdled, awkward as an adolescent.

For the prior twelve years, her presence in his world had been a constant, and he couldn’t let her walk away. Not without a fight. She’d come to mean too much to him, and he couldn’t picture a future without her in it.

Did she feel any similar sentiment? Would she be willing to alter the course of her life for him?

He had to know her opinion, and if he didn’t seek it now, when it was very likely the only chance he’d ever have, he’d forever wonder how she would have replied.

If she laughed or scoffed, so be it. If she rejected him, so be it. But he had to be certain.

Tentatively, he ventured, “I have something to discuss with you.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t respond right away. You need to go home and think on it.”

“Fine. Just tell me what it is.”

“I want you to marry me.”

“Marry you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Ian…”

She had the most peculiar expression on her face, and he couldn’t decide if she was surprised or aghast. She’d been raised to believe that class and status mattered above all else, so she was precisely the sort of female who would wed Edward Shelton simply because of his lineage and without regard to any other factor.

“I can’t permit Shelton to have you. Not after last night. Not after how it’s been between us.”

“But my father has promised me to him,” she stressed, as if he’d forgotten.

“I understand that, Caro, but you’re no longer a virgin, and we might have made a babe together. When there’s a possibility you could be pregnant with my child, I can’t let you go.”

Her eyes widened with dismay, the startling prospect not having occurred to her.

She frowned. “I hadn’t thought about a babe.”

“It’s my fault,” he insisted, refusing to have her feel that she was to blame. He was the one experienced in fornication, just as he was aware of the dire consequences that could result. “I shouldn’t have behaved so negligently, but the deed is done, and we have to carry on with circumstances as they’re now confronting us.”

“I’d have to publicly cry off.”

“Yes, but could you marry him, Caro? Could you cuckold him? If you’re pregnant with my son, you’d have to pass him off as his. I know you, Caro. You couldn’t do it. You’re not that kind of person.”

“My parents would never agree.”

“I’m not asking you to solicit their permission.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“I want you to elope with me. To Scotland. We’d have to lie and fabricate stories; then we’d sneak away without informing anyone. Not a maid. Not a friend.”

“It sounds so tawdry.”

“There’s no other way to pull it off.”

“I don’t know, Ian.” As if her head had begun to pound, she rubbed her temples.

“I realize it’s an outrageous request. That’s why you should reflect on it.”

“There’d be a big scandal.”

“Yes, there would.”

“I’d be drummed out of society. From the instant we proceeded, every door would be shut to me.”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“My father would disown me. I’d have to relinquish all ties to my family.”

“I’m absolutely sure of it.” He was being brutally frank, for he couldn’t have her harboring any silly, romantic notions about the implications of aligning herself with him.

“The Earl would never release my dowry to you.”

He shrugged. “I hadn’t expected he would.”

“You’d have to support me. Where would we live?”

She glanced around his bedchamber, and he received the distinct impression that she judged it unbefitting of her elevated station. He tamped down his irritation.

“We could return here,” he cautiously mentioned, “though we might have to stay away from London for a time.”

“Stay away? Why?”

“We’d wait for the gossip to die down—so it would be easier on you.”

“Where would we wait?”

“We could remain in Scotland, with one of my uncles.”

“We’d leave England?” She was so shocked that he might have suggested she journey with him to the moon.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Forever?”

“It would depend on how vicious the uproar. If it never abated, I can’t imagine that we’d care to come back.”

She nodded, pensive, perplexed.

He was demanding so much from her, was pressuring her to commit to decisions that were totally foreign to her character. No doubt, she’d be happy for a while, but ultimately, the rumors would settle, and she’d be stuck with him. Would she regret what she’d relinquished? If they had to stay in Scotland, cut off from civilization, ostracized by all, how would she survive it? Would she grow to hate him?

“This is such a huge step,” she said. “Why would you take it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you, too, Ian. Though you work to hide it, you have a chivalrous heart beating in your chest.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

“But why would you assist me? Is it merely your generous nature surging to the fore? Or have you another reason?”

This was the point where he was to declare himself, where he was to fall on bended knee and profess his devotion. It was on the tip of his tongue to claim that he loved her, but did he?

He was suffering from the most insane impulses, his emotions careening between joy and dread. When he was with her, he felt grand, contented in a fashion he’d never been, but did it amount to love?

He had no idea.

If it was no more than heightened lust, it would flicker out quickly enough, and she wouldn’t be the only one miserable in her choice of a spouse.

He wouldn’t lie and announce sentiment he didn’t feel, wouldn’t pretend an affection he couldn’t sustain.

“We must wed, Caro. It’s the right thing to do.”

“But you don’t wish to marry me. As far as I recollect, you’ve never wished to marry anyone.”

“It’s the price I must pay for my carelessness.”

The remark was jarring and cold, and it came out completely wrong. She jerked away as if he’d slapped her.

“I see.”

Outside, a bird peeped, the morning chorus of chirping about to commence.

They stared and stared, a thousand unspoken comments swirling between them. He hadn’t said what he’d truly wanted to say, hadn’t explained very well or offered her any good incentives to agree. He could only hope that—once she had occasion to reflect—she would recognize the wisdom of his plan.

What alternative did she have?

“I’d best get home,” she said.

“It would take so long to have my carriage readied. I thought I’d walk you. It will be much faster.”

“That will be fine.”

He went to the hall and peeked out, certain there’d be no servants about, but still, it was prudent to be vigilant. He linked their fingers, and they tiptoed down the stairs and out into the frigid air. The ground was frosty, their breath billowing about their heads.

She lived many blocks away, and they started off, both of them silent and morose and fretting over what would happen next. The streets were mostly empty, with only a few teamsters making deliveries of milk and coal. He skirted her past the hearty souls, barely drawing a glance, and in minutes they crept around the stables behind her father’s mansion.

As he reached for the gate, the first rays of dawn were visible on the horizon.

She rose up and kissed him, and he resisted the urge to pull her close, to hold on to her and never let her go.

There was a strange finality to the moment, as if he’d been through it before and knew that disaster approached. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the conviction that he’d never see her again.

He was being maudlin as a schoolgirl, and he shucked off the peculiar fright. He peered over the fence to the house, relieved that the windows were dark, not a candle burning anywhere.

“I must think on this,” she whispered.

“I know. If your answer is yes, send me a message, and I’ll come fetch you. Or you can show up at my door. I’ll have a bag packed, and we can leave immediately.”

“And if my answer is no?”

“Then you need do nothing, at all, and I will wish you happy in your pending marriage. Now go.”

She hesitated, looking as if she would say something profound and definitive, but in the end, she swallowed down whatever it had been. She spun and stepped through the gate, and she was many strides across the yard when he was again overcome by the notion that she was going forever.

Softly, frantically, he called, “Caro!”

She whirled around. “What?”

“Don’t wait too long to decide.”

“I won’t.”

She walked on, and he watched until she was inside, and he continued to tarry, unable to force himself away. He gazed up at her bedchamber, where he yearned to see the glow of a lamp. He was desperate for the small assurance that she’d arrived, but there was no sign of her.

The sky was growing lighter, the shadows fading, the risk increasing that someone might espy him lurking—like a vagrant or a robber—near the Earl’s residence. It was dangerous to remain.

He turned and left.

*   *   *

Rebecca peeked out the window of her carriage. The horse sighed; the driver shifted his bulky form. Both man and animal were hoping she’d either get out or give the instruction to keep on. It was the witching hour she hated most, that lonely period just before dawn when she could never sleep.

At such a forlorn time, she always ended up doing precisely what she oughtn’t. Such as she was contemplating now.

She wrapped her fur cloak more tightly over her body, the silky fabric of her ball gown crinkling in the cold air. She’d had too much to drink, had gamboled much later than she’d intended, and any sane individual would have been lounged at home by a warm fire.

Ian’s house loomed in the distance, and she was torn over her having stopped by. He’d told her not to, and in view of her misbehavior with his brother, it was the only logical course. Yet she recognized it as the initial stage of his tossing her over, which she couldn’t allow.

She didn’t love Ian—she’d never loved anyone—but she liked and understood him, and she was determined that they wed.

An image flashed—of annoying, exasperating Jack Romsey—but she pushed it away. She wouldn’t be dissuaded. Not by his sexy demeanor. Not by his ludicrous proposal. Not by his handsome looks or fabulous anatomy.

She wanted to marry Ian—she needed to marry Ian—and she wouldn’t let anything prevent the conclusion she desired.

He had to be reminded of why he enjoyed their relationship so much. A rough and rowdy bout of fornication would restore his waning affection, and she’d just planned to get out, when his front door opened. She observed, stunned, as he exited with a cloaked woman hanging on his arm.

He was already entertaining another paramour! The bastard!

She was furious, and she frowned, trying to glean the woman’s identity, though it wasn’t much of a mystery. She hadn’t forgotten how Lady Caroline had been slinking around.

Was Ian involved with her? Could he be that foolish?

The pair proceeded on, with Ian so focused on Caroline that he didn’t notice Rebecca where she was parked down the block.

She loitered until they were a safe distance away; then she had her driver tag after them. As they approached the Earl of Derby’s mansion, her temper flared.

Lady Caroline could have any man she wanted. She was engaged, for pity’s sake. Why sniff after Ian?

Ian belonged to Rebecca! How dare Lady Caroline interfere! The little hussy!

They vanished into the alley, and though it was despicable, Rebecca clambered out and sneaked after them.

She hid behind a tree trunk, and she was close enough to see, but not close enough to hear. Lady Caroline kissed Ian on the lips, and they lingered, touching and whispering; then Caroline slipped inside. Ian dawdled, keeping vigil, gazing after her with such unfulfilled yearning that it was almost painful to watch.

Finally, he trudged back to the street. Rebecca huddled behind the tree, not breathing, not moving a muscle, as he passed by a few feet away. She stayed put till he’d disappeared; then she returned to her carriage and climbed in.

The driver urged the horse forward, and they started toward home. She leaned against the squab, her mind racing with what she’d discovered.

Deep down, she wasn’t a wicked person, but as the old saying went: All was fair in love and war. And this was definitely war. Lady C. had her own fiancé, and she needed some encouragement to avoid Ian. She’d been warned off before, but obviously, she hadn’t heeded Rebecca’s advice.

The question now was to figure out the best way to make her pay attention and do what Rebecca wanted.

Rebecca thought and thought, and as the answer became clear, she sighed with resignation. There was really only one choice.

If Lady Derby happened to learn what her darling Caro was doing, how would she react?

It was going to be interesting to find out.