Chapter Four #2
“It was a crushing loss. God, I’m sorry. Obviously, it was crushing. I… Hell. I’m not good at this.”
That obvious too.
“You want to live at Hawthorne because of it?” Now he looked at her, face blank, eyes searching.
“I suppose so. My father believed women deserved spaces of their own, property, opportunities for education. I will have all that with Hawthorne.” And so would others.
That none of his business, though. She could turn the conversation away from unwelcome subjects as well as he could.
“Thank you. Realizing I was the bride you won must have been… shocking. But thank you for going through with it. I am… confident that you will not overstep the terms of the marriage settlement. And I will not be a burden on you, I swear it.”
“You never could be, Caro.” The smallest hitch of his lips, popping a dimple into existence on his cheek.
She pressed the back of her hand to her neck. It was only March. Yet it felt as if the sun had come down from the heavens to pay a call. He possessed the sun in his dimple, only explanation.
They rumbled toward the abbey in companionable silence, and she watched him as he stared off into the distance, his big body spread out, taking up all the space.
Even so, she felt comfortable with him, eager to sit in such silence or chatter away.
She’d not felt the same around any other man except her father.
Papa.
The gulf of grief in Caroline’s chest had never quite lessened. The waters only became less choppy with time. Her father had lived each day like a new adventure, towing his family along into every new current he encountered. But he’d loved her, respected her mind as no one else ever had.
Except, perhaps, Felix. At least once upon a time.
Now, he was disaffected, dangerous, and—still—beautiful. His silence a choice, his distance a symptom of his status—better than everyone else. And desired by everyone, too. Her husband was a man women wanted, and he knew it. Any woman would agree to let him into her bed.
But he’d never want to enter hers.
Which was… perfect.
“I intend to live at Hawthorne,” she said, the words coming out all in a rush.
“Oh?” Slowly, his sharp, blue-eyed attention swung her way.
“So do not worry about me. You may continue as you ever have in London. Do not restrict your activities because you are now married.”
“Activities?” Oh God, she’d never known a man’s lips could be so wicked, carved around a grin. “Which are those?”
No time to be shy. Communication of the utmost importance between a husband and wife, even in a relationship like theirs.
She met his gaze and held steady. “Carnal relations. With women other than me.”
He coughed. “Hell, Caro.” He couldn’t look at her and the sun had got to him, too. Red cheeks, sweat-dappled temples. A crack in his calm.
No, an explosion.
She persevered. “I do not mind. I’m of a modern mind on the subject of marriage. If two people marry for convenience, they should not be required to keep one another as bed partners.”
His gaze burned into hers. “Will you take bed partners other than your husband?”
She blinked away the sun-bright challenge in his eyes, turning away. “I… I had not considered it. No. I do not think that would be wise. But… perhaps I will change my mind later.” She peered at him from the corners of her eyes.
He studied the dusty road ahead.
She reached across the space between them and patted his knee, her fingers tapping the edge of his impossibly hard thigh and turning her throat into a desert. Yes, he’d changed in every way over the last decade. She began to understand why women pursued him as they did.
Not that she would. Pursue him.
She took a deep breath. “It’s perfect, Felix.
You remain in London, and I at Hawthorne.
I will not bother you in the city, and you will not bother me in the country.
” She tried to pull her hand away from his knee, but his hand slapped atop hers, pinning it in place.
Warm and solid. He possessed the kind of hand that could hold a woman up.
Or lay her down upon a bed and—Oh God. The heat pooling in her belly would travel to her cheeks, would give away the wanton way that wicked hand had led her. “What are you doing?”
Lifting her hand now, that’s what he was doing. Not only refusing to give it back, but dragging it toward his face. When he set his lips on her knuckles, she quite forgot how to breathe. “I am man who likes a challenge,” he purred against her skin.
“Yes.” Breathy. Ridiculous. “I’ve gathered.”
“They make me feel alive. And you seem…”
“Irritating?” she offered.
“Challenging.”
“I’m not, I… I wish to be partners, not competitors.”
He leaned forward. “I never would have expected it, but perhaps I should have.”
“Expected what?” Her voice trembled. Her body, too. Curse the way he unraveled her with a simple touch, a single look, a hint of his citrus scent.
“Having a wife who does not want me makes me wish to change her mind.”
“You do not mean that.” Danger, disaster—thy name is Felix.
He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles as he mumbled, “Distance is supposed to make a man forget. The experts will want to know that, in some cases, that fails to be true.”
“What nonsense are you—”
“A man deserves a kiss on his wedding day.” His eyes were gems with fires inside them, hard and hot, and he was drawing her forward, pulling her onto the bench at his side until their knees kissed through layers of linen and muslin.
One of his arms slipped around her waist, his large hand settling about her ribs, his thumb dangerously close to the bottom curve of her bosom.
A shock, this familiar touch. A star burst to life between her legs and…
throbbed. Why hadn’t this feeling been there in Germany?
An entirely lovely man, Jacob, had courted her, and she’d tried to make herself want him, tried to think of him at night when she moved her hand between her legs.
But his face had always shifted, dark hair lightening to blond, a wicked gleam blooming in his eye until the man who drove her fantasies and her self-pleasure was not dear, sweet Jacob with the printing press but… the man married to her now.
The same man whose thumb currently teased the underside of her bosom. This star-bright desire not what she wanted, not what she needed to bring her plans to fruition.
She jolted away from him, out of his hold with a sharp laugh. “ You ? Want to kiss me ? A poor jest, Felix. As if I do not remember your old trick.”
His arms still hovered in the air as if he held a ghost, and he dropped them heavily to his sides. “You didn’t like the footman I sent you, Caro?”
“It was cruel to tease me.” She’d only wanted her friend to give her a kiss.
Her first. She’d wanted to give it to Felix.
Had written him a little note because she’d not been able to say the words please kiss me out loud.
Meet me behind the stables , the letter had begged.
At least she’d not been there to see him read it, to hear him laugh.
No, she’d only heard the footman’s chuckle when he’d strode like a cock-sure rooster round the side of the stables, calling out, “I heard someone here wants to be kissed!”
She’d hated Felix then. And she’d tried to forget him since. She’d been right to. It seemed he was still a tease.
“I add one more stipulation to our marriage settlement,” she said, looking down the long, dusty road that ended at Siswell Abbey.
“A bit late for that,” he mumbled.
“Never mention that kiss again. It never happened, and I never want to think of it again.” Before he could answer, she pointed down the road.
“Oh, look.” Her voice did not sound like her own.
The star still throbbed between her legs despite the years-long anger still alive and well inside her tight chest. “We’re here. ”
“I should not have sent the footman, Caro. But I couldn’t kiss you. Even if I—”
“It matters not. It is in the past. Just… do not do that again.” A star-creating almost kiss. “I do not expect anything like it. You do not either. Remember?”
Silence. Silence, buzzing and blank, then, “I remember.”
“Good.” Kisses were unnerving distractions, nothing more. Not part of her plan. And the way he’d made her feel when he didn’t want to kiss her—empty, aching, lacking—that was not part of the plan, either.