Edward took in her wrinkled dress. "Are you certain you don't want to change? If not the dress I brought for you, perhaps one of your own?"

"Why? Are we entertaining the king? Oh, but no. I remember. He thinks you're in deep mourning. Who did you tell him died?"

Edward examined his spotless white cuff. "Your mother."

Caroline struggled with her twitching hands. How they wanted to s.n.a.t.c.h up the hairbrush and heave it against the wall. "My mother? You never even met my mother! For that matter, neither did I!"

"I'm sorry, Caro. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Edward, I'm beginning to think you have lost your mind completely. This is no way to go about winning me. Killing off my poor dead mother, buying me a dress fit for the cheapest of wh.o.r.es, locking me up for hours on end, not to mention the whole kidnapping scenario. What has happened to your good sense?" She put her hands on her hips, feeling very much like his mother.

He gave her a rueful smile. "You've driven it from me."

"I? I've done nothing."

"You don't have to. You just are."

She supposed that was a compliment. Edward was as inexplicably drawn to her as she was to him. To discover that their separation had pained him enough to go insane should have pleased her, but it didn't. She wanted the rational Edward back, who recognized her for the hoyden she was: the woman who talked too much at breakfast; who made love too loudly; who broke things and climbed out windows; who ran away.

"Let's walk in the garden before dinner. I'll get a wrap." Some fresh air would do her good. The sun had dropped low in the sky, but there was still plenty of daylight left to examine the intricate knot garden. Earlier from her window she had glimpsed late roses, rust-red and yellow chrysanthemums, cosmos, anemones and alstromeria.

But when she and Edward stepped onto the path, Caroline saw nothing but tenting rolls of burlap and heaps of straw covering the plants and shrubs. Bradlaw's gardeners had been busy while she napped, protecting the plants from the uncertain nighttime temperature. It had been unusually cold for September, the threat of a nighttime frost frightening gardeners throughout the Home Counties.

"Drat! I had so wanted to see the flowers."

"I invited you out here this afternoon. I understand the gardeners do this every evening and remove it all in the morning. How tedious for them when everything will die away soon. We'll come outside tomorrow."

Edward cut an odd figure in his formal evening clothes amidst the humble burlap and straw. The only thing odder would have been for her to be wearing the ghastly red dress. That was one article of clothing that would not be going back to London with her.

She supposed she'd have to leave all her belongings behind when she escaped. Wondering if Ben had made any progress finding her reticule, she sat on a bench beneath a canopy of bittersweet vines. After a moment, Edward removed a handkerchief from his pocket, dusted off the bench and joined her.

"You needn't dress up on my account, Edward. I don't care what you wear."

"I planned a candlelit dinner with lots of romantic tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs." He sounded as dispirited as the brown garden surrounding them. Caroline wrapped her paisley shawl tighter, watching the sunlight fade on the windows of Bradlaw House. As far as romantic places went, Bradlaw House and its famous garden had been an excellent choice. Too bad her heart had hardened.

"We're not far from Christie Park," she said, changing the subject. "Do you plan on visiting while you keep me prisoner?"

"No. I wanted this week to be for us. Only us. No distractions."

"That sounds awfully dull."

"It needn't be. Caro, I know you're angry." He touched his bruise, then covered up his action by rubbing his jaw. She saw he was freshly shaven, in antic.i.p.ation of how he thought he'd spend his night.

Was she too angry with him to let him take her to bed? She thought not. In a few days she'd be shriveling up, not a spinster, no longer a wife. The prospect filled her with little satisfaction.

"I told you yesterday I wanted us to make a fresh start. After today's debacle, do you think we can forget it and make that fresh start tomorrow instead? I'm putty in your hands, Caro. I'll stand for anything you say. Or throw. Please tell me there's still a chance for us."

"This isn't one of my books, Edward." She picked a few orange berries from the vine and tossed them into a flower bed, where they pinged off the burlap and bounced back at her feet.

"Marburn tells me you're done."

"For the time being. I need a break. It's exhausting imperiling my heroines. It's exhausting being imperiled."

They sat in companionable silence for a while as the sun slipped behind the trees and the air chilled. Edward glanced at his timepiece. "Mrs. Hazlett must be nearly ready for us. Will you join me in a drink first?"

"No, I want to keep a clear head. You could take advantage of me."

His cloudy green eyes met hers. "I had hopes to."

Caroline stood up. Who knew? He might get lucky.

The candlelight flattered her, even in her plain wrinkled blue dress. Edward was secretly relieved she'd rejected the strumpet gown. That's what came of entrusting one's valet to go shopping for women's clothes. Cameron must keep company with very fast females on his off hours to have picked such unsuitable attire, or else he simply hadn't absorbed the lessons of Jane Street during the short time he was in residence. None of Caroline's neighbors would have worn something so shockingly vulgar and they were the epitome of strumpets. Edward had been too busy the past weeks tying up loose ends so he could dedicate a week to Caroline to visit a modiste himself. Seven days now seemed both too short and too long.

He was certain he could not keep her here, even if he locked her in. Judging from the jewelry stashed in her pocket earlier, she meant to escape at the first opportunity. Perhaps he'd let her.

He'd been a proper gentleman all his life, save for the few hours yesterday on the road. While he'd allowed himself to feel a frisson of power over a helpless female, he was over that. He couldn't hold his wife against her will. Whatever he'd hoped to accomplish, it was clear his mission was a failure.

Except he still got to watch Caro across the table. See her break a roll apart. Take a tiny sip of wine. Dab white linen against her luscious mouth. His appet.i.te for food had deserted him, but his hunger for Caro had not. He was a fool. Once again.

She covered a yawn. He pushed back from the table. "I'll escort you upstairs. You must be tired."

"I am, but I don't know why. I slept the day away. Most of the morning, too." She folded the napkin into a neat square and stood up.

Edward offered an arm. "Being imperiled is exhausting, as you said. I didn't mean to cause you harm or worry, Caro."

"To the end of my days, I'll never understand what you were thinking."

"Let's call it a temporary lapse of Christie judgment. I've reverted to my old boring self."

Caroline looked as if she wanted to say something, then focused on the stairs. Thank heavens there weren't so many to climb. They were in front of her bedroom door before he knew it.

"Goodnight, Caro." He contemplated a kiss, but thought on the whole he should not subject himself to such torture. So he was surprised when she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

Heaven. Honey. Every sweet lick drove him to despair. He had missed his chance to keep her, if not yesterday, five years ago when his pride had dictated a dismal future. His actions since had done nothing but cement Caro's determination to cut all contact. If it was her way of saying good-bye, he needed to remember each brush of her fingertips, each thrust of her tongue, each flutter of his heart.

She fell back against the door and Edward fell with her, her plush softness cushioning his l.u.s.t. Trapped between the wood and his own rigid manhood, she made no effort to repel him; rather she held his shoulders firmly, drawing him down in her kiss. He opened his eyes to see hers closed, the fan of black lashes flickering on her cheeks. By rights they should be tipped with bronze, but Caro was nothing if not unique, even to her eyelashes. She appeared to be concentrating as hard as he was, her mouth a petal unfurling with such sweetness it broke him.

What started as the merest brush of lips changed to devouring possession. Who possessed whom Edward wasn't sure, for they took turns slanting their lips over the other, their tongues tasting and tangling, their hands busy exploring. The light from the sconces wavered. Anyone could come upon them in the hall to see Caro struggle blindly with his neckcloth, to see his hands covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s under the blue cloth, to see her leg raise to wrap him closer. In minutes he could take her up against the door like a common harlot, but Caro was uncommon. She deserved better for their last night together.

He wondered if she'd take a lover. He knew he wouldn't.

He groaned, but Caro interpreted it as abandon and rubbed herself against him like a hungry kitten. He fisted her skirts, sliding under to her smooth, cool thigh. He couldn't see it except in his mind's eye-the dimpled white expanse of flesh above her stocking, so soft, so vulnerable. He would kiss her there later if he could, mark her as his, at least for tonight. She shivered as he swept up to quickly find her heat, two fingers impaling themselves inside her slick, tight pa.s.sage. His thumb circled the apex of her womanhood, already stiff and swollen for him. Only for him, at least for tonight.

Tonight was all they had. Tomorrow he'd send her away as she wished. He pressed into her in desperation. She was the one groaning, drenching his hand with her desire, angling her hips to sink him deeper in her folds, to force him to rub harder, to kiss her as though his very existence depended upon it. He fought for breath and wits as her hand freed his c.o.c.k, curled about him and stroked him upward. He needed much more than her hand, much more than tonight. With a savage mental curse he lifted her, fitting her onto him, her legs locking around his, and held her up against the door.

He was seconds away from spilling into her. In the hallway.

Edward dragged himself from her mouth. "Caro, hang on. I've got to get you inside."

"You are inside," she whispered. "And it feels so good. Please, please don't stop."

"I must." He clung to her fiercely with one arm as he fumbled with the doork.n.o.b. It would quite ruin the mood if he dropped her. Slamming the door behind them, he lurched toward the bed, Caro wrapped around him, nipping his lips and driving him wild. Wilder. His skin was on fire. Everywhere. Too many d.a.m.n clothes on both of them, but there was no time to divest himself of anything but his seed.

He had barely edged them to the bed when she contracted around him, her rippling muscles drawing him up to the tip of her womb. He tipped her backward, strumming her bud as she came apart on the counterpane, her spine curving closer to him, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s begging for their release. He tore at her bodice with his free hand, but the wretched dress was impervious to his a.s.sault. He settled for kisses to her collarbone, her throat, her swollen pink mouth. He released everything he was into her, riding her to mutual oblivion.

Just for tonight. The waves wouldn't stop, each thrust and shudder building upon the last until he collapsed mindlessly exhausted onto a heap of clothing and a gasping Caroline. His c.o.c.k still jerked and her pa.s.sage still trembled, an echo of the power between them. The thought of withdrawing from her caused him acute pain, but it would be more painful still to keep her skin from his. The bits of her body he could see were slick with sweat and scented with jasmine. He needed to see every inch of her again before she was forbidden to him. Each soft rose-tipped breast, each curve of her hip, each toe. Her plump thighs, the swell of her belly, her beautiful bare mound with its tiny heart-shaped freckle, as though Venus herself had branded her for love. Edward would keep his wife in this bed as long as he could, which would never be long enough.

He pushed a copper strand from her damp brow. "We are not done. Not yet."

"Speak for yourself, my lord. I cannot imagine being more done than I am now." Her voice was rusty from her cries.

"I'm confident I can convince you otherwise." His thumb traced her cheekbone, then swept across her well-kissed lips. If she opened them, she would taste her own honey.

She turned her face and pushed at him ineffectually. "Edward, do get up. I'm roasting. Burning up."

"My plan precisely. I think it's past time we removed our clothes, yes?"

She scrunched her red-gold brows. "I don't like the sound of 'we.'"

"All right. I shall remove your clothes." He eased out and lay on his side, examining the row of b.u.t.tons on her bodice. Caroline's skirts were hiked up to her waist but despite her objection she made no effort to pull them down. Excellent. Seeing half of her was better than seeing none of her, but he wouldn't let those d.a.m.n b.u.t.tons get the best of him again.

He would start with her black slippers and her stockings and her garters. He sat up, the room swimming a bit. She had wrecked him-certainly wrecked him for any other woman. He looked down at his ruined clothing, thankful he'd given Cameron time off so he'd be spared the disapproval. Taking one of Caroline's feet in the palm of his hand, he pulled the grosgrain ribbon from its knot at her ankle and tossed the shoe aside. Her cotton stockings were beige and practical for travel, no pretty embroidered fleur-de-lis or tiny clocks, but her garters were a different story. The rosettes were studded with winking crystals and seed pearls, a pretty boon for a knight to carry into battle. He untied one and rolled the stocking from her calf.

Caroline lay still, her silver eyes closed.

"You won't kick me?"

She shook her head into the pillow as he began to knead her arch, rolling her heel in the cup of his hand as his long fingers traced a line to her toes. He felt her relax into his palm, her foot growing heavier, her other limb splayed in abandon to reveal her glistening cleft. She sighed as he tugged at each toe, working the knots out, rubbing her sole as earnestly as he did her swollen bud earlier. He lifted her calf and bent to kiss the little line behind her knee, allowing his hands to wander a bit farther north. She tapped her still-shod foot onto the coverlet.

"Ah. I'm getting carried away. I almost forgot." He made quick work of undressing her other foot. "I can see it's cross with me." He lightly kissed each toe, ma.s.saging all the while. Caroline let out a whimper which he took for an invitation, so he kissed his way up her leg, his hands smoothing and stroking in tandem.

He was hard again already. Molten. Her scent and his filled his senses as he parted her and feasted, filling his mouth with her tender pink pearl. She convulsed beneath him, still greedy, still his. For tonight.

He gazed up though his lashes and saw Caroline struggling with her tiny b.u.t.tons in frustration. She was half mad. Clumsy. His doing. He smiled and swiped his tongue deeper and felt each tremor against the tip. She abandoned the b.u.t.tons and held him to her center, her words incoherent but her body stating plainly its need. Edward happily obliged in her drugging embrace, each kiss justified by her response. He could imagine doing this with no one other than Caroline, swallowing her bliss, tasting his own triumph.

She begged him to stop, yet he felt her fingers run ragged in his hair, each stroke a second late mimicking his tongue, as though they were dancing to the same tune from across a sensual divide. She crested again and again, sobbing his name. His common English name had never sounded sweeter or meant more.

And still they were dressed. Ridiculous. He gave her a final kiss, sat up, and tore off his jacket.

"Oh, no. No more," she whispered.

"We have tonight, Caro. Only tonight."

She nodded. "I can't-you can't-we must put an end to this. You know it as well as I."

He didn't agree, but was not going to ruin what was between them with an argument. But if he didn't shed his clothes, he'd burn up like a dry forest hit by lightning. Caroline was his lightning, his flame. He could taste the ash of her leaving already.

He fingered the little blue bone b.u.t.tons. He saw they were shaped like little flowers, each petal sharp. Caroline always had an eye for detail. Why she couldn't see how much he loved her was a complete mystery to him. "What fiend sewed these on?"

She batted him away and began to unfasten them herself. "It's just because I'm hot. We are not going to-you know. Ever again."

"I know what?"

"You know," she said, glaring at him.

He slipped down next to her. "It doesn't seem fair, Caro. This last time was all for you. When do I get my turn?"

"You've had your turn. Too many turns. I can't keep tumbling into bed with you, Edward. Especially since I'm very, very angry with you."

He lifted her chin, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. "Yes, I could tell how angry you were. You were just chock full of-anger, was it?"

"Now you are mocking me. Of course I responded to you. I'm only human. But you've been the fiend, tying me up and carting me off to the country like this. I want to go away. Tomorrow."

"All right."

She opened her mouth. "You don't mean that. Not really."

"Of course I mean it. A Christie's word is his bond."

"Then this is our last night together." She didn't sound as happy as she might have.

"If that's what you want."

"I do. It's exactly what I want." She pulled the blue dress over her head and dropped it to the floor. The finest French batiste shift still covered too much of her, but Edward saw the gratifying shadow of her nipples beneath the fabric. He continued to undress until he was shorn of everything but a ma.s.sive erection.

Caroline closed her eyes. "Oh, no. I simply can't."

"There won't be anything simple about it, Caro, I guarantee that. For the last time should be special, should it not?"

The flush had left her cheeks and throat. Caro was alabaster in the lamplight, as beautiful as a marble statue. But her body was damp and warm against his, though not for long. He broke the spell deliberately. "You must promise me something."

She curled into his shoulder as though she had forgotten they would not be lovers again. "No. No promises. I've said all I'm going to say. You said I could leave tomorrow."

"This is not about us. I've had word from Lord Dougla.s.s." Edward's sister Beth had sent a footman with the letter to Bradlaw House that afternoon. Edward should have sent her to buy a proper red dress. She was one of the few who knew of his reconciliation plan, and had encouraged him with unrestrained enthusiasm. Obviously, she'd read too many of Caro's books to recognize romantic drivel did not work in reality. Lord Farringdon's Fickle Fiancee had been a dismal failure if even after the pa.s.sion of the past few hours, they could not put their marriage to rights.

He felt the immediate emptiness when Caro rolled away. "Now what? Don't tell me you mean to keep me by sleeping against the bedroom door like some b.l.o.o.d.y great mastiff for the rest of my life. I won't be threatened by these amorphous plots. Or by your misplaced sense of chivalry." She sat up, her hair a crimson thundercloud in the lamplight. "This is it, Edward. The last fling. Don't think you can scare me into staying. We are absolutely, completely, one hundred percent over."

Edward felt deflated. Gut punched. She meant what she said. It was the last time he would ever see her creamy skin or feel her wet velvet around his c.o.c.k. He would send her home tomorrow. Buy her the promised cottage far, far away. In America if she'd go. There was no point in further discussion. Her very presence would break his heart. By having this conversation now, he was ensuring it was, in fact, the end. Any further arrangements they'd make would be free of feeling. He would summon Cold Christie and that would be that.

"You've made yourself quite plain I'm not wanted. We'll talk about the formal end to this marriage tomorrow when our heads are clear." He doubted his head would be clear anytime soon, but he'd not bore her with any more entreaties. His Christie pride forbade him lowering himself any lower. At least he'd have a shred of dignity left when he handed her up into his carriage tomorrow afternoon. "Please listen. He tells me Pope has not entirely gotten over your insult to him."

"But you spoke to him yourself weeks ago!"

Edward nodded. "I did. And he was most convincing in his a.s.sertion that he was not the man Rossiter overheard in the garden. I thought he might actually haul off and sock me, he was so full of righteous bl.u.s.ter. But Dougla.s.s warns me that Pope seems more desperate than ever. He's had some financial reverses and blames you."

"I? As though I have anything to do with the Exchange! This is ludicrous, Edward. Why are you telling me?"

"I just want you to be careful in the future, when you will no longer have my protection." The thought of Caroline rattling around by herself in the country pierced him. But he'd hire servants. Get her a real mastiff if necessary. Harold wouldn't like that one bit.