"I'm hoping I can change your mind. What we have together, Caro, is rare. I admit I didn't know what to do about it while we lived together, but I think I've got myself organized now."

"How lovely for you. Organization is so helpful in general. In battle, for example, one must have the adequate number of weapons and provisions and so forth." She eyed a cloisonne ink pot on the desk. Edward s.n.a.t.c.hed it away and dropped it in a desk drawer.

"Quite. I suggest you look upon this list as a kind of battle plan, a battle where we both win."

She twirled her wedding rings. She should have stopped wearing them long ago, but they were so very pretty. "You are not making any sense at all, Edward."

"Caroline, please hear me out. If I were your employer, there would be a set of rules. The time you were to report for work, for example. When you would be permitted to go to lunch. If you painted pottery, for example, how many plates you would finish in the course of a day."

"I don't paint. Nor do I play the pianoforte. I have none of the accomplishments one might expect for a gently reared woman. I wasn't gently reared."

"You are deliberately misunderstanding me. I don't want you to paint a bloo-blessed-thing. This is a list of suggestions-of my preferences-ways that might be pleasing to me if you chose to adapt them. I expect you to provide me with a similar list of how I might better please you."

"I don't want to be pleased by you. I want to leave-that would please me."

"Please, Caro. Humor me." He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk.

Caroline picked it up. Edward's handwriting was as precise and exacting as he was. She had no difficulty skimming his suggestions. "Only six?"

"I concentrated on the most important. The curbing of your temper is, of course, the most critical. I cannot have you destroying property and screaming like a banshee every time you do not get your way. As you can see, I've recommended some diversionary tactics you might take when life's vicissitudes irritate you."

The greatest vicissitude sat across from her. "I suppose that's reasonable," she conceded. Once the euphoria of destruction left her, she often felt a little foolish. She could count to ten or perhaps to twenty if the need arose. She read the second item on Edward's list. " 'There will be no unnecessary talk at breakfast.' " She looked up at Edward. "Would I be permitted to say 'pa.s.s the marmalade dear,' or is that taboo?"

"You know what I mean. When you wake you chatter like a magpie. A man can't think. I like to begin my day quietly with the paper and correspondence. In fact, it would be altogether better if you had breakfast in bed. We could meet later in the day."

"Don't count on it," she muttered. There was no point in reading the rest. She counted to ten, then tore the paper to bits.

"I was afraid you might do that. I made copies." He patted the sheets on the blotter. "My memory is not what it once was. I'd hate to leave a provision out. I advise you to do the same. The original might so easily get misplaced."

"How am I to make my list when you've taken the ink pot away?"

Edward hesitated. "You mean you'll write one right now? That makes me very happy, Caro."

"I might as well get it over with. I can tell you won't give me a minute's peace until I do."

"You-you promise you won't fling the ink pot?"

"That would be silly. The sooner I finish your blasted list, the sooner I can leave, yes?"

Edward pulled open the drawer and set the colorful enamel and metal ink pot on the desktop. "I thought we could discuss your terms. Perhaps in the garden. The weather is fine, and I remember how much you enjoyed your visit here."

"That was long ago. Six years. A lot has changed."

Edward stood. "Here. You take my place and write to your heart's content."

"Oh, I will." Caroline switched her seat and rummaged through the drawers for paper and pen. She sharpened a nib and discreetly dropped the tiny knife into her pocket. She hoped Edward wouldn't notice the bulge of jewelry.

What had happened to her Edward, the man who always knew his mind, the one who was a stickler for propriety? How could he think kidnapping and lists would transform their marriage? Had he fallen on his head or was he in the throes of early senility?

She supposed it didn't matter why he'd changed. He just hadn't changed soon enough. She would never forget the look on his face or his cruel words when it was clear he expected the worst of her.

But why should he expect anything else? If she was honest with herself, she'd given him no reason to think otherwise. In her heart, Caroline knew she did not deserve happiness and by marrying a man like Edward, had guaranteed it.

He turned on one polished boot heel and left her alone, inspecting the shelves. He found a book to his liking and settled into a burgundy leather chair across the room, gazing up now and then to check on her progress. She wrote as rapidly as she ever had when the muse had struck particularly hard. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. He wanted a list? She'd give him a list.

The clock struck one, a sonorous single boom. Edward crossed and uncrossed his long legs. She took another piece of vellum from the sheaf and began to copy the first page, her handwriting looping in crooked lines. She'd get no prize for neatness, but her creativity was unsurpa.s.sed. She tossed the pen down, black ink smudging her fingers. "Done!"

Edward put his book on a table and walked across the carpet, removing a pair of spectacles from his pocket. Caroline had never seen him wear them before. He'd made no concessions to his age when they were together, certainly not in the bedroom. He hadn't used the gla.s.ses to read his book. Perhaps he hadn't even been reading at all.

She handed him a paper. He took it to the mullioned window and held it to the light. "Your handwriting is so very difficult to read, my dear. Hm. Number One. Stab myself in the thigh with a-f.u.c.k?"

"Fork, you imbecile! Stab yourself in the thigh with a fork, hard enough to draw blood."

He looked down. "Ten times? Surely I would be successful at the bloodletting after the second or third round." He removed his gla.s.ses and calmly laid the list on the windowsill. "You are aware that puncture wounds frequently lead to infection. I might lose my leg."

Caroline shrugged. Legs, arms-there was too much of him already.

"I would still expect you to engage in conjugal relations despite my infirmity, you know. Once I'd healed, of course. In sickness and in health was a part of your vows."

"Just as I promised to honor and obey you, which I will not! Ever!"

"We'll see about that. Are the rest of your items equally reprehensible?"

"No," Caroline said sweetly. "Some of them are worse." Wait until he got to number eleven. Hitting one's b.a.l.l.s with a cricket bat couldn't possibly be comfortable.

"Caroline," he said, his voice stern, "obviously you are not taking the purpose behind this list seriously."

"Oh, I'm serious! Just as serious and organized as you are, Edward. I even numbered my requests."

He picked up the paper again and turned it over, squinting. "Forty-seven?"

"I can think of more if you wish."

He crumpled up the vellum and tossed it out the window.

"I made a copy."

"And I'll throw it out, too. Stop playing games, Caroline. I want this marriage to work. I see nothing wrong with a sensible list of expectations from each other. Most marriages could benefit from a set of ground rules. Why, we didn't even know each other when we married. It's only natural that there were-problems."

"Problems? You hated me! Your children hated me!"

"Nonsense. You weren't what we were used to."

No, she certainly had not been staid and proper. Once she was Lady Christie, it was as if every impulsive imp she harbored within banded together to wreck everything she'd wanted: to be away from her cousins, to have a home of her own, a husband, a family, no matter how dreadful Little Alice was. The imps had fought over inconsequential things, thrown valuable objects.

Allowed themselves to get caught in the arms of another man.

There was something wrong with her. Caroline knew what it was, but Edward must never find out.

"Edward, I am not your employee. I don't want to be your wife. If you cannot see clear to divorce me, at least send me out of your reach. You promised me a cottage-with holly-hocks."

"I-I was unable to secure one in a timely fashion."

Caroline gasped. No wonder Christies always told the truth. They made very poor liars. "You never even tried!"

Edward scrambled around the corner of the desk and grabbed the ink pot again. "I did try. Then I thought better of it after Marburn came to me."

"Garrett told you to kidnap me?" That was much worse than Garrett knowing. To think she'd made the man a fortune.

"No, but he repeated your advice about running off with your maid Lizzie. I read that book, The Farringdon Farrago or some such-where the hero plays highwayman and kidnaps what's-her-name. I thought if I got you alone without any interruptions we might become reacquainted, so to speak."

He read her book? Caroline thought the world was coming to a screeching halt. She expected toads to drop from the sky and pigs to fly and the sulfur scent of brimstone to knock her right on her ample a.r.s.e. Lucifer himself had taken possession of Edward Christie to torment her for her many mistakes. She counted to twenty-two. "Reacquainted? How many acquaintances do you drug and tie up? Even Lord Farringdon was not such a fiend. No, Edward, you've lost your chance with me. Five years ago I humbled myself. Begged you."

Edward turned away. "I was angry."

"Were you? You never really said. And you never gave me time to explain."

"What was there for me to say, Caroline? Did you want me to throw something? Let me correct you. As I recall you said a great deal-most of it nonsense. If I'd arrived half an hour later, what I believed would have been true anyway. Rossiter was in love with you and our marriage was hopeless. You were half naked . . . and well kissed," he added.

"He-he tried to blackmail me!"

"The poor fool was as desperate to have you as I am."

Rubbish. Andrew needed funds-he'd said as much. Even if she sold every jewel she possessed, she could not have come up with the astronomical amount he'd asked of her to keep their prior relationship a secret from Edward. His ready alternative had been to start an affair.

She had almost agreed. How that would have helped Andrew pay his bills she had no idea, but he probably would have bided his time until she sold the silver or a painting on the wall. But Edward had come home as a birthday surprise. The surprise had been on him.

She felt sick to her stomach reliving the worst period of her life. No, not the worst, a little imp whispered. Not even close.

"I want to go upstairs-to my new room."

"Caro, please-"

"No, I cannot talk to you anymore. Not right now."

Edward had remained composed and reasonable throughout most of their conversation, even when Caroline threatened him with bodily harm, although she thought he was beginning to sense his ultimate defeat. She would not, could not do what he wanted.

"Very well. I'll show you."

He led her up a double flight of stairs to a sunny corner bedroom overlooking the parterre garden. The walls were not blue or gray, but a soothing silvery green, the color of lambs' ear. The curtains and bedspread were floral chintz, lending the impression the garden had come indoors. It was much more feminine. Caroline wondered if Edward had expected to share the other, more masculine room with her.

The surfaces were bare, except for a little dressing table. The maid had lined up her toiletry items. Her jewel box stood open.

Edward frowned. "What's this? Where are your trinkets?"

Caroline patted the comforting lump. "In my pocket. I wasn't sure about the staff."

"There's just the Hazletts and Ben, a few day girls from the village. Most of the servants accompanied the Bradlaws to town and much of the house is shut up. I'm sure you needn't worry about theft. The Bradlaws wouldn't hire people they couldn't trust."

"Why not? I did."

"Don't be too hard on them, Caro. They do care about you."

"So they keep saying. It's a mystery how everyone seems to think they know what's best for me."

"Maybe they do. Maybe you should listen."

"La la la."

Edward went to the door. "I'm off then." His lips twisted. "Perhaps to find a fork. I'll expect you downstairs for dinner at eight."

She heard the inevitable key turn. Locked in again. Caroline hoped the sticky buns were still in her cloak. Dinner was a long way away. She looked around. There really was nothing satisfying to throw. So she screamed instead-for quite a long time-until her throat hurt and she became bored.

There were books in her trunk. Her own. Resigning herself to one more day of captivity, she curled up in a chintz-covered chair and began to read, even though she already knew the ending.

Chapter 20.

"Just once more, I beg you." The Marquess of Ravenwood kissed her fingertips. Lily could do nothing but comply.

-The Marquess and the Mistress.

At seven o'clock there was a tap at the door. Caroline scrambled up from the bed and brushed the crumbs off her blue dress. "Enter."

The key turned. She expected a maid, but it was Edward the eternal water-bearer, carrying a pitcher. He was fully clothed in handsome black and white attire. Some towels and a suspiciously bright red evening gown were draped over an arm. "I thought I'd help you get dressed for dinner."

She looked down at her ruined dress and spied a sticky bit of cinnamon-coated pastry she'd missed. "I am dressed."

"But I've bought you a new gown."

Her mouth opened, then closed. She touched the oily fabric in revulsion, half expecting to see bloodstains on her fingers. "Were you blind? I can't wear that!"

Edward blinked. "But it's red. You love red."

"Not that red. It's hideous." In fact, she'd never seen a more ghastly dress in her life, edged in stiff black lace that looked sharp enough to cut into her skin. "The only way I'll ever wear that is if I'm in my coffin. And even then, it's horrible enough for me to come back from the dead to claw it off me."

"I shall never understand you."

"Exactly." She flounced over to the dressing table. Knew she was flouncing, too. Every move she made was exaggerated impatience. Her hair had tumbled down during her nap and she sighed dramatically.

Edward set the pitcher and dreadful gown down. "Here. Let me help you with your hair."

She suffered through the brushing, the tender touches on her nape and temples. He seemed hypnotized as he stroked through her copper curls, no doubt hoping she was equally mesmerized. Well, she wasn't. She grabbed the brush away and twisted her hair up every which way with some pins, then splashed some water on her face. "There. I'm done."