"If you enjoy it so much, may I recommend you go downstairs to the kitchen? There's plenty of crockery there."

"Do you remember the night at Christie Park when we went downstairs for the leftover trifle? I took you on the kitchen table as I recall. You got a splinter."

Caroline bit her lip, but he watched the flush spread to her chest and the tips of her sh.e.l.l-like ears. Yes, she remembered. He began to systematically remove his clothes, carefully folding them because he had to walk through Mayfair later in daylight . . . unless he stayed until evening . . . which he just might do.

He wondered why he'd never hit upon this scheme before. Certainly he was furious with her, certainly he wanted to divorce her, but she was right-he was a mortal man, with manly needs, and he still had a wife to a.s.suage them. Thanks to that blackguard Andrew Rossiter she was as skilled as any courtesan. She lived amongst them and there were any number of things she might have added to her repertoire. Why should he deny himself like some tonsured monk? The evil genius of it all stunned him.

He could visit Jane Street every day if he had a mind to. It was he who'd decreed that silly June 14 agenda, he who'd limited their contact by virtue of his nettlesome pride. She had begged him for another chance. Well, here it was.

Caroline had removed her nether curls for him, as he preferred once he realized it could be done. Edward took advantage of her smooth white skin by firmly pushing her legs apart and dipping his tongue to part her more yielding flesh. Her bud was ripe, rigid and pink, and he set patiently to taste her. Consume her. He had never done this with Alice, couldn't imagine his sheltered first wife ever permitting him such liberties. He shoved the thoughts of innocent Alice out of his mind and concentrated on his wicked Caro, who was writhing and mewling with pleasure. Her fingertips skittered through his hair and danced across his shoulders with increasing urgency, and he knew it was time to insert his fingertip. She splintered-like the vase, like the clock-one more broken possession that could not be made whole but could be mended for a little while.

He quickly sheathed himself within her, reaping the instant benefit of her o.r.g.a.s.m. Each wave milked him, drove him deeper. For a woman who was not particularly tall, she stretched and melted like magic around his long body. He felt her everywhere, inside and out. Her eyes were shut, as though she was pretending he was just a dream. Or perhaps another lover, but it didn't matter at the moment. He would leave no doubt that she was still his. He kissed her hard so she could taste herself, nearly bruising her mouth with his insistence, and she bruised him right back, her lips and teeth and tongue frantic, her nails raking the length of his back.

His heart stuttered as his c.o.c.k erupted, the breath left his lungs, his throat constricted. He could easily die where he was, and wouldn't that teach him a lesson? One he couldn't unlearn. Caroline could kill him without even trying. He gasped and withdrew, rolling off her sweat-satined body, sucking in air in the suddenly close room.

"Are you done?"

Edward had to give her credit-now that she'd had her pleasure she sounded bored, as if she had another appointment. He wasn't fooled for a minute.

"For now."

"I'm hungry, and you've sent the servants away," she said peevishly, struggling to sit up. He hid his smile; it was as if her arms and legs were made of blancmange. He knew just how she felt, weak as a kitten after a tiger's attack. He couldn't decide which one of them had been the tiger. Perhaps they'd taken turns.

"I didn't have a decent breakfast, you know. The Hazletts and I had our hands full with Neddie. There wasn't time for the smallest m.u.f.fin crumb."

"I was called away from my breakfast as well, if you recall. I thought my son was dying."

Caroline sniffed, tucking a long red curl behind an ear. "Nonsense! I'm sure my letter was not meant to give that impression."

"And you claim to be a writer. I a.s.sure you your words-what I could read of them-were most alarming, worthy of a Gothic novel. It's no wonder you're so popular with the ma.s.ses."

It was clear Caroline didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. She looked on the verge of speech but covered herself with a sheet instead.

"Why don't you get dressed and fetch us some provisions, Caro? It's going to be a long afternoon."

"I b-beg your pardon?"

"You're hungry. I'm hungry," he said, all reason. "There must be something in the pantry. Last night's dessert, perchance? I know we never touched it."

"I-you-why don't you go downstairs? It's all your fault anyway!"

"Our mutual hunger? Well, I suppose Ned is my son, although I didn't ask him to land on your doorstep foxed to the gills. And I had nothing do with the oysters."

"Oh!" She stood up, clamping the sheet to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Go home. Please. You've caused me enough grief. Just when I thought you were done playing games with me, you've started up another round."

He felt the muscle in his cheek jump. "You of all people know I don't play games, Caroline. But I do set the rules, and you'd be wise to follow them." He ducked the pillow she threw at his head. "Be careful what you throw next. You wouldn't want to make me angry."

"Yes, I would! I should love to see you angry-furious-livid, wild, and ungovernable!" She looked wild and ungovernable herself, her eyes flashing, her tangled hair worthy of Medusa.

"I do so hate to disappoint you." He folded his hands over his c.o.c.k, the act both self-preserving and calming. He was not going to rise to the occasion by temperament or temptation. "Something simple will do. A heel of bread. Some cheese. Wine. And that dessert, if you didn't already eat it."

The bedroom door slammed with a vengeance. Edward smiled at himself in the mirror above him. He'd forgotten all about the mirror, but would make good use of it later.

Caroline tripped down the stairs, her feet tangling in the sheet. Would Edward even notice if she fell to her death? She supposed if he got hungry enough he might come looking for her, find her broken body, step over it and continue on to the kitchen.

This new Edward-this stolid yet different, demonic Edward-was a puzzle. What was she to do with him? Did he really expect to resume his conjugal rights while they lived apart and he sought a divorce? It was cruel in the extreme. She'd tried so hard to forget him, to make a life for herself, and he was ordering her about, doing all manner of things to her that she simply could not forget. She wrapped the sheet tighter for the next set of stairs. How the Romans had managed was a mystery.

She shouldered her way through the kitchen door, wondering how she'd keep the sheet up as she foraged for food. Four sets of eyes looked up in surprise. The traitorous Hazlett was not napping, but having a substantial lunch with his wife, Lizzie, and Ben the kitchen lad. They rose in unison, talking over each other.

"Lady Christie, I hope you understand-"

"Good Lord, you'll catch your death, dear-"

"Oh! This is so romantic!"

"Gor!"

"Be quiet, all of you," Caroline grumbled. "I cannot fire you, Hazlett, but I want to. You have aligned yourself with him one too many times."

"My lady," the butler bl.u.s.tered, "he a.s.sured me he wouldn't harm one red hair on your head! What has the villain done to you?"

"Oh, be quiet. And fetch a ham out of the larder. Make us some sandwiches. You're good at that. Find me a bottle of the most inferior wine we have. For him. Mrs. Hazlett, if I could trouble you for a cup of tea, I'd be very grateful. I need my wits about me. Ben, you are to go out to the garden immediately and forget you ever saw me in such disarray. Oh, h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, it's raining. Sit in the shed, then, until Mr. Hazlett tells you to come back in. And Lizzie, please do something with my hair. I cannot go on like this."

Tea and hairpins and sandwiches miraculously appeared as a goggle-eyed Ben disappeared. Caroline sat silent as the three servants went out of their way to soothe her. A tray was laden and poor old Hazlett mounted the steps with it. She stood like a doll while Lizzie and Mrs. Hazlett draped and knotted the sheet so she was nearly presentable. No doubt Edward would strip her of it at the first opportunity, but at least she could walk upstairs without incident.

Steeling herself, she returned to the scene of the crime. Edward was sitting in bed propped against pillows like an eastern potentate, a sandwich in one hand, a goblet of inferior wine in the other. She supposed she was designated to be the dancing girl.

"You look very fetching in that sheet, Caro. You might even start a new fashion craze. Come join me."

She raised her haughty chin. "I'm not hungry."

"Come, come. This was all your idea. Have a bite." He extended his sandwich toward her.

The bread was fresh and studded with fragrant seeds, the mustard sharp in her nostrils. She could bite his pink thumb off and pretend she mistook it for ham. "No, thank you."

"Suit yourself. Old Hazlett made enough for an army. I'm sure we'll work up an appet.i.te and get to it later. He tells me that caramel dessert was nowhere to be found, but there's pie. I know how you like your pie."

Oh, he was wicked. Andrew had told him about the Cherry Pie Incident and she had not denied it because she couldn't. Andrew had told him so much that day, but not the whole truth, thank G.o.d. She'd been rooted to the floor, mute, disheveled. It had been the worst day of her life . . .

Except for around midnight last night, when she thought Edward was gone forever. Now it seemed she couldn't get rid of him. And she wanted to. She did.

She collapsed on her dressing table chair. Lizzie had done wonders braiding her hair and pinning it into a rather regal coronet. She could pa.s.s for some Roman G.o.ddess, one of the obscure ones. Clementia, G.o.ddess of forgiveness, although just at present Caroline was full of righteous outrage. Sentia, who helped children develop. She'd helped Edward's, hadn't she, as best she could? And Ben, too. But never Disciplina. Caroline had been unable to control her pa.s.sions all her life.

Edward was not supposed to become her pa.s.sion, just her husband. She'd seen his sangfroid as a benefit, not a detraction, when they'd first met. True, he was precipitous in his proposal, but she'd taken the ton by storm and was very much in demand. It was only sensible that a sensible man move quickly if he wanted to secure her hand in marriage. And it was only sensible of her to move quickly and accept, before her unpleasant past caught up with her. Edward was steady, reliable, boring, living in a world very different than the one she was trying so desperately to escape. But it had taken Andrew so little effort to insinuate himself into Edward's world and back into her life. Her year of marriage had been fraught with peril far beyond the management of three obstreperous children.

"Penny for your thoughts, Caroline."

Her hand shook as she wiped away a tear. "I am tired, Edward. I didn't sleep a wink."

"Tsk, tsk. Didn't sleep. Didn't eat." He patted the bed. "We'll rest a while. Come here, Caro. Now."

Because she had no righteous outrage left, she went.

Chapter 5.

"This contract is illegal," she sputtered. Her mama had taught her to read before she was forced onto the streets to lead her life of sorry sin.

"So, sue me," Lord Grant grinned. "I'll have you, and have you now."

-The Viscount's Willing Victim.

She lay curled up like a child beside him, her hairpins scattered on the pillow. Idly he toyed with her braid, losing his fingers in the red silk as he unraveled it. It was a sin to confine hair like that, and words were inadequate to describe its color-not t.i.tian nor auburn nor russet nor ginger. His own Boudicca, although not precisely tall or terrifying.

They'd slept several hours, and slept only. She had been truthful admitting she was tired, as was he. Perhaps because he'd gone so long without sleep he'd made an irrevocable mistake taking her to bed again, but he wasn't sorry. Yet.

Tomorrow he would go to his old friend Sir William Maclean's chambers to hammer out what needed to be done to end the marriage. Will would know what to do, and do it quietly until it was necessary to unleash his rapier-like tongue. A bill of divorcement before Parliament was not a light undertaking; it truly might be years before the thing was settled. Edward had the letters, but the d.a.m.n things were undated, so getting Rossiter on board was imperative. Ironic that his entire future was in the hands of such a man. Rossiter would have to be sued, but Edward was well aware it would be he who would wind up paying the damages to himself. He had a severe dislike for the man, whom he kept tripping over in the most unlikely social situations. Rossiter was no better than a male courtesan, stylish and sleek, always looking to advance himself. Caroline had been foolish in the extreme when she gave her virginity to him without sufficient payment.

Edward looked at his sleeping wife, her face smoothed of artifice. He had hoped her to be an innocent when he married her, but was not too terribly disappointed to find she was not. She did her d.a.m.nedest to cry out and feign ignorance on their wedding night, but Edward was not a complete innocent himself. There had been his virginal, hesitant Alice, and a few other women besides. It had seemed important to Caroline to continue the fiction that he was her first, so he let it go. She had been five and twenty after all, living a shockingly unsupervised life with her ramshackle brother in the wilds of c.u.mbria, never coming to town.

Town went to them. Certain elements of it, at any rate. Nicholas had been a viscount with a tumbledown estate and a penchant for sin; his parties had been legendary, reaching even Edward's staid ears. But her brother was dead and Caroline had seemed eager for a new life. If Edward had not been thinking with his c.o.c.k for the first time in his life, he would have seen how wrong she was for him and his children. But he couldn't think then, and now he was thinking too much.

She sighed and stirred, and he drew her closer. Her eyes flew open, black lashes bent and tangled from their encounter with the pillow. "Oh, it is true."

"What?"

"You're here. I thought it was a dream."

Edward chuckled. "Yes, I am every maiden's fantasy."

"I'm hardly a maiden."

Edward thought it safer not to comment. Her s.e.xual experience had proved to be one of her few virtues.

She squirmed in his arms. "When are you going home? I need to write. I have a deadline."

"I'm sure you'll find some way or other to placate Garrett."

She pushed at him harder, but he didn't release her. "You will never think the best of me, will you? Garrett is a friend, a business partner, no more."

"But he would like to be something more, wouldn't he? He's rich. I suppose you could call him handsome. I wonder why it is you've suddenly become so proper." He watched her flush and felt her nails dig into his chest.

She sent him an equally piercing look. "I never mix business with pleasure."

"Ah, so you'd sleep with a stranger. Or perhaps an old acquaintance."

"Or an old husband," she said tartly.

"Touche." He let her go. The shadows had deepened; it was nearing dusk. They had slept much longer than he thought. Any acrobatics in front of the mirror would have to be postponed. She left the bed in an instant and wrapped herself back in the garish robe.

"Really, Edward, since we are to be lovers, you'll need to give me some sort of schedule. I do have a life, you know."

"I'll have to consult my calendar and get back to you. I should think four or five times a week should do the trick."

"Four or five times!" she screeched.

"Oh, all right, more often if I must."

She simply stared at him openmouthed as if he'd grown an additional p.e.n.i.s.

He was gratified that he'd robbed the famous author of words. "We'll settle for six. Thursdays off, since that's your entertaining day. You might be too fatigued from all the gossip with your neighbors, and I prefer you to be fully responsive."

"You-you-I will not, I can not give six nights a week to you!"

"No one said anything about nights. There are tedious social events I must attend before I leave for the country. As I said, I'll consult my schedule and write down the dates and hours. You'll still have plenty of time to write your books. And it won't be for very long, not even a month. We'll see how I feel in the fall when I return from Christie Park." He waited for her to say something, do something, throw something, but she stood absolutely still. "That's that, then. As it happens, I have an engagement this evening. And I suppose I should check up on Ned and give him a piece of my mind." He rose and began to dress, keeping an eye on Caroline in case he had to parry an attack. But she was curiously, disconcertingly pa.s.sive. Her silence unsettled him more than he liked to admit. He was used to her tirades of temper. He'd seen more than enough of them in the year they were married.

Once he had tied his cravat to his satisfaction, he kissed her quickly on a pale cheek. "Good-bye. I'll be in touch." He had nearly reached the bottom stairstep when he heard a remarkably vile curse and a satisfying crash. Something wooden this time, he thought. No doubt he'd find out what it was the next time he came to call.

"h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation!" She heaved the carved jewel box against the wall. There was an explosion of topaz and pearls, amethysts and aquamarines, a diamond or two. Caroline was disgusted. Her room looked like a battle zone. The sheets were still balled in a corner and she'd already cut her foot on a Meissen fragment from the earlier vase mishap. She'd been fond of the jewel box, too, a long-ago Christmas gift from her brother. He'd teased her that she'd have a proper place for her paste jewelry, and that one day their fortune would improve and he'd buy her something real. Her gemstones were real now, if mostly inexpensive, but her fortune was as lamentable as ever.

She limped back to the bed, not having the energy to strip it again. Edward's spoor was everywhere. She'd better get used to it. Apparently he would be tormenting her on a daily basis. Except for Thursdays. She let out a howl and threw herself facedown on the pillow.

There came the tentative tap on the door. Poor Lizzie. Caroline had made a dreadful mess, and it wasn't fair to make her maid pick up after her. "I'm all right. Go away, Lizzie."

"Are you sure, Lady Christie? It sounds-it sounds as if something broke again."

"You mean I broke something again. You might as well enter, but don't say I didn't warn you."

The blonde maid opened the door a crack. "I've seen worse. I think."

"Oh, G.o.d. What am I going to do?"

"Well, first, you should put your slippers on. Your foot is bleeding on the bedding," Lizzie said sensibly. "Then you should gather up your jewelry, because I'm not to be trusted. I might abscond with that sapphire choker. I've always been fond of it."

Caroline grinned in spite of everything. She loved it when Lizzie showed some of her old spark. She had been a delightful, mischievous girl before Pope had beaten the daylights out of her.

Caroline climbed off the bed, scooped up the necklace and handed it to Lizzie. It was not from Edward-she had bought it herself to celebrate her first year as an author, and the stones were not so very large or valuable. "It's yours."

"Oh, Caroline-Lady Christie, no! I couldn't take it from you! And where would I wear it anyway?"

Caroline tucked the necklace in the pocket of Lizzie's ap.r.o.n. "You won't always be my maid, Lizzie. Someday you'll have jewels again, and furs, and a fine gentleman to see to your comfort."

"Now you're writing me into one of your stories. Not everyone gets their happy ending."