"Aye, if you're sure." The man looked at her, doubt written all over his face.

"It's quite all right. I'll wake my butler."

"That's a good idea, my lady. You never know what a fellow might do when he's jug-bitten."

Caroline stepped back into the dark hallway. Hazlett was already coming down the stairs with a candle, a robe thrown over his striped butler's pants.

"Lady Christie, I do hope everything is all right. I heard the disturbance and came as fast as I could."

Poor Hazlett. His wiry white hair stood on end. If it was how he woke up every morning, he must give Mrs. Hazlett quite a chuckle. Caroline had never seen him at such a disadvantage, but then she rarely had callers in the middle of the night. "We have an unexpected visitor. Ned Christie, my husband's oldest son. Or at least I believe it's he who is at the gate. The guard says he's not well."

"Oh, dear. Shall I fetch a doctor?"

"I don't think that will be necessary, but you could prepare a pot of coffee. Perhaps a sandwich. You needn't wake Mrs. Hazlett."

"No indeed. That is all within the realm of my capability. Would you like me to wait with you to a.s.sist the young gentleman into the drawing room?"

Caroline had dealt with her father's, and then brother's drinking for years. They had been easy to maneuver. Parkers were was not nearly as tall as Christies, however. She would hate to have Ned topple to the tile and ruin his pretty face. "Thank you, Hazlett. Your a.s.sistance will be most welcome."

There was a fair amount of commotion in the street-some cursing by both parties, a s.n.a.t.c.h of song, and the unmistakable sound of retching-but at last a chastened Ned stumbled up the steps in the arms of the guard. Caroline would have to tip the poor man for his efforts tomorrow. For tonight, at least, she'd send Hazlett out with coffee and extra sandwiches.

"Caro!" Ned said with a loopy grin. He seemed to think that explained everything.

"Come sit down, Neddie. Ned." Between the guard and Hazlett, they deposited Ned on a sofa in the downstairs drawing room. Caroline had redecorated recently with the proceeds from The Maid's Master, her most popular volume yet, and hoped the boy had cast up his accounts sufficiently to keep her new green brocade safe. Somewhere along the way of his evening Ned had lost his neckcloth and one glove. His pants were torn, and his dark hair rivaled Hazlett's in its defiance of gravity. She gave Hazlett instructions and the butler disappeared to the kitchen.

"I have not set eyes on you in five years. What brings you to my doorstep? And in this condition! Your father will not approve. He's forbidden me from seeing any of you, you know." Caroline tried her best to summon sternness, but was checking his forehead for fever and brushing his coat of crumbs.

"F-father never approves of anything he didn't think of first. Pay no attention to him. Don't m-myself." He hiccupped.

"Easy for you to say. Oh, Neddie! Why are you here? I should send you home now that I know you're not at death's door."

"Might be. Don't feel at all the thing, Caro." He looked up at her pleadingly with his father's hazel eyes.

Caroline repressed a desire to slap some sense into him, and sniffed in disdain. "I should think not. You've fallen into an ale barrel."

"Brandy, too. Inferior stuff. N-nasty."

"I'm going to fill you with some coffee and send you home in a hack. And you must not tell your father you were here. Why are you here?"

" 'Twas a m-mission of mercy. Wouldn't come if it weren't 'portant. Know I'm s'posed to cut you. L-like you never ex-existed. The old man will flay me alive for finding you, but I don't c-care. The fellows tonight got to talkin' about parents. Parents are the v-very devil, you know. Cut off one's 'lowance for no good reason. Rules and r-regulations. One l-long and boring lecture after 'nother for the m-merest infraction. A Christie never does this. A Christie never does that. And then they do just as they please. Do y'know Father wants me to m-marry my cousin when I come of age? S-safe, he says, as if a fellow wants safe. She's got a squint, and no chest to speak of. I won't do it. But that's not-no, I'm here for m'friend Rory. His father is the worst. He keeps a fancy wh.o.r.e here on J-jane Street while p-poor Rory doesn't have a shilling to his name and his mama is home crying all the time." He turned a mottled shade of red which clashed with his green hue. "Sorry. No doubt the wh-wh.o.r.e is a friend of yours. And I was going to tell you-" he trailed off, as if he really had no idea what he was supposed to say on poor Rory's behalf.

So her location and reputation had trickled down to Ned. She felt instantly stricken for that which must be a considerable source of embarra.s.sment for him. To know that his stepmother was installed on Jane Street-Edward could not possibly have told him. Even though Edward had been cruel, he had been the soul of discretion. It was she who had let her whereabouts slip a time or two.

Caroline had an idea which Jane was involved in this love triangle-square, if one counted the dest.i.tute Rory. Sophie Rydell at Number Two complained long and loud about Lord Carmichael, who brought his domestic troubles with his wife and son into her bed more often than an erection, and was somewhat stingy with his gifts besides. "Does Rory's father beat him or his mother?"

Ned gaped at her as if she'd grown two heads. In his inebriated state, she probably had. "I should say not! Rory would knock him flat. Good with his f-fists, he is."

"Then I suggest you explain to your friend that gentlemen often seek dalliance outside the bonds of marriage. It's the way of the ton. He'll probably do the same to his wife when he marries."

Ned's dark brows drew together. "That's it? You w-won't talk to the girl?"

"And what am I to say to her?" Caroline asked in impatience. "Leave your comfortable house and go back on the street to sell oranges because some spoiled drunken boy is unhappy that his allowance is cut? Lord Carmichael will only find another mistress, I a.s.sure you."

Ned hiccupped. "You r-really are a wonder. You do know everything. I n-never even said his name."

The rattle of cups heralded Hazlett's return. Ned declined a sandwich but gulped the hot coffee gratefully.

"Hazlett, if you don't mind, wrap up the sandwiches and take them and a flask of coffee out to the guards. They've earned them tonight."

"Very good, Lady Christie. Shall I procure a hackney cab for the young master as well?"

Ned was slumped over the table, all sharp elbows and knees. He had yet to fill out, but gave the promise of being as lean and elegant as his father. Caroline sighed. Ned could not become her reclamation project. She had been quite out of her league as a stepmother, as Edward had pointed out to her again and again.

"Yes. Although it's awfully late. I wonder if you'll have any luck."

" 'Snot that far," Ned mumbled. "I can walk."

"I should like to see you try." Jane Street was ideally located in the heart of Mayfair, so handy for gentlemen to slip away from their homes and slip into their mistresses. But she could picture Ned sprawled facedown on the sidewalk. He wouldn't freeze to death as it was nearly summer, but he'd be a target for pickpockets and gossip.

She plied Ned with more coffee, and he did indeed seem to come somewhat to his senses. She was treated to rambling tales of his siblings Allie and Jack. Caroline had missed Allie most of all, that sullen, gangly, impossible child who had made her married life a living nightmare. Well, to be fair, Edward did that, but Allie had helped him with a concerted, conscientious effort. The boys had been easier to deal with, being mostly away at school. When they came home, she was reminded of her scapegrace brother Nicky, and Andrew, G.o.d rot his soul.

Hazlett came back after more than a quarter of an hour, unsuccessful in procuring a means of transportation to remove Edward Allerton Christie the Younger from her sofa. It was just as well. Despite the coffee, Ned was snoring. Grunting. And farting. There was a noxious aroma in Caroline's parlor from which she was anxious to escape. Leaving poor Hazlett to find a pillow, a blanket, and a bucket, she climbed the stairs to her lonely bed, wondering what the morning would bring.

The morning brought disaster. Ned had been sick in the night. Although his aim had been more or less on target, Caroline's parlor smelled even worse than it had earlier. A ghost-white Ned lay on his back on the divan clutching his belly, his long legs dangling off to the carpet. At regular intervals he'd spasm and gasp, "Knew it. The oysters were off." At first she thought he'd helped himself to her dinner's leftovers, but he explained-between vomiting and a manly form of crying-that he and his friends had ordered two platters of oysters in an alehouse as they discussed the vicissitudes of their wicked yet dull fathers. Between bad seafood and worse drink, Ned was suffering, and Caroline was suffering right along with him. Food poisoning could be deadly, although she hoped the worst of it had wound up in the bucket. Hazlett had already summoned the doctor, and she had most reluctantly written a note to Edward, trying to explain in the very vaguest of terms why his son spent the night on her sofa.

Dr. Turner arrived first. He shooed her out of the room, so she gratefully went to her little garden for fresh air. It was an oasis of peace to her, although at the moment she needed to deadhead the spent flowers. Sometimes she held her weekly teas there when the weather was fine, or sat by herself even when the weather was not. The sky was sufficiently cloudy, promising a storm. When Edward marched outside, she knew the storm had arrived a few hours early. She tossed her gardening gloves on the bench and sat down in resignation. She'd barely slept, and knew she did not look her best. A glance in the mirror had her wanting to put a sack over her head to spare the public.

But Edward looked worse. Apart from his fury, his hazel eyes were sunken in between gray smudges and his full lips were bloodless. She hoped he'd lain awake all night in torment realizing he'd never have her body again.

"What is the meaning of this?" he thundered.

Caroline stared up at him, nearly cracking her neck-he was so awfully tall. He would make a perfect fire and brimstone preacher, she decided. One look at him and all the commandments would be obeyed instantly without question. But she'd never been much of a rules-follower.

"I wrote to you. Neddie turned up late last night, and he was ill. Surely you've spoken to the doctor."

"He'll be fine," Edward snapped. "The young fool. Why didn't you send him directly home?"

"I tried to, but there were no cabs to be had at that hour."

He pointed a long finger at her. "If this is some sort of trick to get me back here, Caroline, you've misjudged badly. I won't have you in collusion with my children again."

"A trick? Do you think I planned to get Neddie drunk and throw up and defecate all over my house? I suppose I paid off all his stupid friends to make him eat bad oysters to make my grand plan even more diabolical. Go round to Lord Carmichael's house and see how his son Rory is faring. I have no reason to lure Carmichael here-I don't even know him."

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"I don't even know." Caroline decapitated the head of a bright pink pelargonium, crushing the petals between her fingers. "Go home, Edward, and take Neddie with you. And stop lecturing him so. He doesn't like it. And furthermore," she said, tossing the flower to the ground, "let him pick out his own wife."

Edward looked at her, his pale face glacial. "Don't you dare tell me how to raise my children."

"And don't you come to my home and tell me what to do! I've kept my end of the bargain-I never once tried to see your children these past five years. Your children, not ours, never ours. It was crystal clear from our wedding day that you didn't want my help with them."

Edward snorted. "Help! As if you had one inkling in that rackety brain of yours how to be a mother. And this is my house. Don't forget it."

She had quite enough. Recalling the satisfaction her next-door neighbor had after smashing statuary in her garden, Caroline s.n.a.t.c.hed up the heavy pot of pelargonium and dropped it very close to Edward's foot. "Get out! You gave me a life interest in this house, and my sole interest is to keep you out of it! If you are to lord your ownership over me, I'll leave London. I have enough money now. I'm no longer dependent upon your sc.r.a.ps of generosity."

Edward opened his mouth, then shut it. The muscle in his cheek danced the tarantella. She had never seen him in such a towering rage, and was nearly giddy from it. It was time he felt as frustrated as she was.

His next words were barely audible, yet deadly just the same. "I've already sent Ned home. You and I are going upstairs. Now."

"Are you mad? What will you do? Beat me to confess? I told you, I did not invite Ned here!"

"You are still my wife, and you will obey me."

Caroline laughed a little wildly. The lack of sleep had softened his brain. "Now wait a minute. Last night you said you were going to divorce me. Don't tell me you've changed your mind."

"I have not. But until the matter comes before the House of Lords, I expect to resume my marital rights. Not just for one night a year, but whenever I choose. I choose now. You will serve as my mistress."

"You are mad."

"If I am, you have driven me to it. I will get you out of my system one way or another."

Caroline clutched her gloves, feeling dizzy. "By-by forcing me? You are not that kind of man, Edward."

"I don't believe much force will be necessary." He smiled a perfectly dreadful smile.

Caroline swallowed. Her cold, controlled husband had obviously lost his mind. "I will not cooperate."

"We'll see about that." Scooping her up, he carried her into the house.

Chapter 4.

"I've got you now, my fine filly, and soon you'll be ridden hard and put away wet," Lord Carrolton exclaimed, a leer upon his long, lecherous countenance.

Catriona careened down the staircase of Carrolton Manor, praying for someone to save her.

-The Maid's Master.

The little h.e.l.lcat had bitten him. And she was not as easy to carry as she used to be. He'd noticed last night she was rounder and deliciously soft. But he adored every inch of her alabaster skin, skin so fine he could watch blue veins pulse, skin so pearlescent she nearly glowed in the dark. It was not dark now, of course, not even noon on a rainy spring day. She had lied to him, betrayed him, tricked him, yet still he couldn't wait to sink himself deep within her pink folds.

But he needed to catch her first. She had locked herself in her dressing room as soon as he tossed her onto the bed, scrambling like a cat and twisting about the room, flinging the odd object at him. He avoided the shattered vase and brushed the rice powder from his jacket, then hung it neatly on the chair beside her desk. A notebook lay open, her careless loopy writing covering one-third of the page. He didn't have his spectacles with him, and wouldn't read her nonsense even if he did. Beth had told him, with a triumphant big-sister smirk, that Caroline seemed fond of killing off rangy, pompous, dark-haired aristocrats in her books. It would be unlucky to read about his premature demise.

h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation. What had come over him in the garden? There she sat, a red lily in the midst of pastel blooms, taunting him. She had been so haughty about Ned and the house he'd simply snapped. He had wanted somehow to teach her something. He wasn't sure what-his mastery, his domination, his perfect rightness. What he had proposed to her had shocked him as much as it shocked her. His estranged wife as his mistress. It was patently absurd. Their one night a year already took him forever to marshal his thoughts again, and he was planning to multiply that night by many. A hundred if he could. She would drive him to Bedlam, but first he'd f.u.c.k her until he stopped wanting to. Surely she'd bore him eventually.

She'd made him suffer enough. If she'd begun their marriage by telling him the truth, he believed he could have born it, and forgiven her. He realized her other faults had been merely a diversion from the core of their difficulty, rather like the icing over a rotten cake.

Perhaps he was being unfair. If she'd had more time, she might have revealed her past during a normal courtship. But he didn't give her time, couldn't give her time-he'd had to have her. A coup de foudre. He'd never believed in love at first sight, but it was certainly l.u.s.t at first sight. Edward had known someone else would propose if he didn't.

He should have made her his mistress instead. Well, it wasn't too late.

He poked his head out the bedroom door. Hazlett was hovering in the hallway, looking conflicted as well he should. Technically, Caroline might be his employer, but it was Edward who paid his exorbitant salary and padded his pockets besides.

"I'm not going to kill her," Edward said dryly. "I don't suppose you have the key to her dressing room on that chain, do you?"

Hazlett shuffled his feet and sighed. "I had a hard night, my lord, and I'm not as young as I used to be."

"I'll give you a pony if you give me the G.o.dd.a.m.n key."

The butler lifted two fuzzy white eyebrows in surprise. Perhaps the key could have come cheaper than twenty-five pounds. "I want your word that you won't harm her. Mrs. Hazlett and I are very fond of Lady Christie, and that's a fact. She may appear reckless and gay, and a bit-well, naughty-but she's a good girl. Warmhearted."

"I'm sure she appreciates your loyalty. The key, please."

Hazlett stared meaningfully at Edward.

"I'm good for it. I haven't any money on me. I left the house in haste," Edward said, annoyed. When Caroline's note came, he'd nearly choked on his solitary breakfast and flown out of the house. It was a wonder he was not still in his dressing gown.

"I'll take your word as a gentleman about the pony and your promise to treat Lady Christie with care." Hazlett's keys jangled as he searched for the right one. "Here it is."

Edward grabbed it before the man changed his mind. "Hazlett, why don't you and Mrs. Hazlett take the rest of the day off? Go for a walk. Take in the sights. The maid Lizzie, too."

"It's raining, my lord. And I'm not sure as we should. Lady Christie might need us."

"She won't. Stay upstairs in your rooms, then. Take a nap. We'll try not to make too much noise. But under no circ.u.mstances are you to interrupt us, no matter if Lady Christie is screaming b.l.o.o.d.y murder. Especially if Lady Christie is screaming murder. Understood?"

Two bright red patches stood out on the old butler's cheeks, but he nodded his head.

Edward shut the bedroom door with a satisfying click and stalked over to the dressing room. Before he could fit the key to the lock, Caroline flung it open. She had changed into that horrible robe, the one with ugly flowers that looked like splotches of blood. No doubt she thought it might put him off, but he was not so easily deterred. It swirled behind her like a trail of fire as she paced the carpet, her cheeks nearly as crimson as the poppies. Or Hazlett's.

"That traitor! I heard every word. Once you finish with me, I'm firing him."

"You can't. He comes with the house. Please lie down. You're making me addled with your traipsing about."

Caroline shot him a withering look, then tore the ribbon at her throat. The robe puddled at her feet and she was singularly, gloriously naked. "To love, honor and obey, isn't that what I said? Well, I lied."

Edward found his voice. "You'll obey me, at least."

"Oh, indeed, it seems I must in order to get rid of you. I'll be watching the clock, however." She lay flat on the bed, hands clasped like a virgin martyr in prayer and closed her eyes.

Edward went to the mantel. A pretty little china clock covered in rosebuds told him he'd been awake almost thirty straight hours. He pitched it against the wall, where it joined the vase shards in porcelain death.

"Add destruction of property to your other sins," Caroline said, her eyes still closed.

Edward examined his hand, wondering what had come over it. "I can see why you do it. It does feel-rather good."