Chapter Six
Caroline Douglas reined in the high-stepping mare and waited for Derek to catch up with her.
She hadn’t expected him to call this afternoon, or to suggest they ride out when he learned her father had guests.
But she hadn’t been caught unprepared. This was her chance to wear her new riding habit of dark navy wool, with a light blue satin waistcoat cut like a man’s.
The masculine style of the outfit, made by a man’s tailor, was quite fashionable, and she knew she looked particularly fetching in these colors with her red hair.
At least Derek thought so, since he said as much.
Under the brim of her tall hat, she watched him approach, admiring his handling of the half-trained stallion he rode.
Raising Thoroughbreds was just a hobby to him, yet his stable produced some of the finest horseflesh in England, many of which were champion racers.
Her own mare had been a gift from him when he asked her to marry him.
She loved the animal. She loved Derek. She sighed, wondering for the hundredth time if it wasn’t a mistake to marry one’s best friend.
No, she had to stop it. She had already jilted two men, to her father’s vast displeasure. She couldn’t do it again, and certainly not to Derek Sinclair, Earl of Mulbury. She wanted to marry him, she really did.
She couldn’t think of a more perfect union.
They had grown up together on neighboring estates.
They knew each other so well. Her father looked on him as a second son.
And then there were the incidental things, such as his charm, his handsomeness, his gentle nature.
Of course he was a sensualist, but she couldn’t really fault that, not when his kisses made her feel like she was the most cherished, beloved woman in the world.
The trouble was, she was afraid he made every woman feel that way, and he had had so many women, so many women at the same time.
He used to tell her about each and every conquest, just as she had told him about her first infatuation and each subsequent one.
As far as that went, they had no secrets.
He had sworn to make her happy. She believed he could.
She knew he had given up his mistresses when he proposed to her, and that included half the maids in his grandfather’s house.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think he could be faithful to her.
So what was it that made her keep having these doubts?
Bride’s jitters, no more. She had suffered them twice before as the wedding date approached, and it was no wonder.
Decisions came hard for her because she rarely had to make any for herself.
She didn’t have the confidence to be certain of her choice when she did make one.
It had always been so. One of the things that drew her to Derek was that he gave of himself, his own confidence, his strength.
When he made a friend, it was for life, as if that person belonged to him.
Maybe that was what was wrong. She felt she had always belonged to him.
She couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.
Was that why she had said yes, so there would be no chance of her ever losing his friendship?
No, she loved him, always had. Well, not always.
He had taken getting used to when he first came to England.
She had been only six years old. He had been almost eleven.
He spoke French, acted in strange ways. She hadn’t been taught French yet, so their communication was limited, but only for a short while, for he learned to speak English with amazing speed.
He had been raised in some Near Eastern country where his father was an ambassador.
The Marquis’s daughter, Melanie, had married the fellow while abroad and in all those years had not returned to England.
But both Derek’s parents had died when he was ten, and so he had been sent to live with his grandfather, who had immediately had Derek’s name changed to Sinclair since, as the last male of the line, he was the Marquis’s only heir.
She remembered Derek’s condescension that first year of his arrival, his air of superiority.
He had acted like he was a bloody king and everyone else was there just to do his bidding.
God, how she had hated him at first. But it hadn’t taken him long to readjust his attitude, or to win her over.
He had a way with females that was impossible to resist. Soon she adored him, never questioning that her best friend should be a male instead of a female.
And even after nearly nineteen years, he was still her closest friend though she knew he had other friends, male friends, with whom he was just as close.
Lord Fielding was one, that scoundrel who had led Derek into a pastime of spying.
Pastime indeed, but that was all it was to Derek, who thought it a lark, a bit of excitement, never considering the danger, while the Marquis, and she, too, was terrified each time he crossed over to France, wondering if this time he would be caught and executed.
Finally the Marquis had convinced Derek to stop taking risks with his life.
The poor man was rightfully afraid that Derek wouldn’t live long enough to carry on the line.
So he was to get married, at the Marquis’s insistence, and his natural choice, the way he had told it when he proposed, had been her.
And she had been so terribly flattered. He knew so many women, yet he had chosen her to settle down with.
“Wool-gathering, Caro?”
She glanced down to see that he had dismounted and was holding out his arms to her.
She smiled, putting her hands to his shoulders, feeling his sure grip on her waist, the warmth of his fingers.
And he didn’t let go immediately when her feet touched the ground.
Unlike most men, he had the ability to communicate his affection through the senses.
It was an endearing quality, because he did it unconsciously, touching a shoulder, a waist, an arm, fingers smoothing over skin.
He didn’t know what these innocent contacts could do to a woman.
Or maybe he did. It was part of his potent sensuality.
She laughed away his question now, unwilling to admit he was so much in her thoughts. “I was thinking of my garden, and moving the rose bushes—”
He pulled her closer. “Little liar.”
Caroline grinned up at him, and it was a very long way up, for she was a small woman, and he towered more than a foot above her. “Very well, I was thinking you have very feminine eyelashes.”
“Good God, woman, if that was to be a compliment, you failed.”
“But they make you very handsome, Derek,” she insisted, mischief lighting her gray eyes.
“And if all you have to spout is nonsense, I can think of a better way to spend our time.”
“Oh, no.” She moved quickly away from him, for once he started kissing her, every other consideration disappeared. “You brought me out here for a reason, so let’s hear what couldn’t be said in front of my father.”
“I have ravishment in mind, little one.”
Caroline snorted. “Not bloody likely. If I were going to be ravished by you before the wedding, it would have been done months ago. Now, out with it.”
He caught her hand and began walking her through the meadow of wildflowers. “How much of a fuss will be caused if we postpone the wedding?”
She stopped, making him face her. “What’s happened?”
“I have to leave England for a while.”
“That cad! That scoundrel!” she exploded. “He’s done it again, hasn’t he?”
“Who?” Derek asked in all innocence.
“You know very well who! Lord Fielding! And after you promised your grandfather you wouldn’t get involved in any more of his nasty adventures.”
“Marsh didn’t…well, actually—” He stopped, grinning. “Scoundrel, Caro? Cad? I thought you liked Marshall.”
“I did,” she grumbled. “Before he recruited you to be a spy.”
Gently, Derek pulled her forward to slip an arm around her waist and continue walking.
“Marshall never twisted my arm, you know. Whatever I did I enjoyed doing. And this has nothing to do with that. It’s something only I can do this time.
But there’s no danger involved. It’s more a diplomatic mission. ”
“Which I suppose you’ve been sworn to keep secret?”
“Naturally.”
She was torn between relief at the postponement, which would give her more time to get over her doubts, and worry that he was lying to her about there being no danger involved. “How long will you be gone?”
“There’s no way to determine…possibly six months.”
“That long?”
He shrugged. “Diplomacy takes longer than spying.”
“Father isn’t going to like this.”
“The Duke and my grandfather will have that in common.”
“What did your grandfather say about it?”
“I haven’t told him yet. Thought I’d put it off until I’m ready to leave.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow, most likely,” he admitted. “I’ll take ship from Dover.”
“Oh, Derek!” She stopped suddenly to throw her arms around his neck.
“What’s this, Caro? Will you miss me?”
“Not at all,” she mumbled into his jacket.
“Think of me?”
“Not for a moment.”
He chuckled, squeezing her affectionately. “That’s my girl.”