Chapter Seventeen
Caroline didn’t need to be told which book the white orchid represented. She knew without having to ask that this flower was meant to encompass all of her works.
In every single story she’d ever created, she wrote at one point that the moon in the sky was “as pale and perfect as a white orchid.” It was her favorite phrase, one she was now a bit embarrassed about after she’d noted how damned repetitious it was.
Lord Rockford had not only read all her books; he had also noticed little things. Things most other readers never noticed.
The earl had given her the sweetest gift she could receive. The flowers and their expense was one thing, but he had paid attention to her in those pages. And considering the way his wild green eyes seemed to liven when she entered the room, he seemed to like what he had seen.
“I confess it, my lord. You’re an expert at flattery.” Caroline meant to sound casual, but she knew that her smile could not disguise itself as anything but happiness.
“I’m glad to see the flowers were a choice gift.”
“Indeed. The asparagus in particular. They contributed greatly to dinner last night.”
“You cooked my bouquet?” He pretended shock.
“I’m a woman with a conservative household budget. Flowers are lovely, but asparagus is lovelier still.”
“Lovelier even than the orchid?” There was challenge in his words, but not his tone. The Earl of Rockford exuded contentment and confidence. How strange to think only a short while before they’d been veritable enemies in this room.
“The orchid is special. It’s the rarest of all.” Caroline placed the flower back on the table. “I’ll have to find the right spot for that later on.”
“Indeed, it will have to be later. I’ve come to escort you somewhere, Miss Devereux.”
“Oh? Another lair of debauchery and sin, my lord?”
“Rather hard to find debauchery at half past one on a Tuesday, even for an earl. I’ve a more traditional venue in mind.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “Unless you’ve other plans, Miss Devereux?”
“I don’t, but unfortunately Edmund and my father are not home at the moment. I shall have to bring my maid as chaperone, unless you’ve another brothel madam to join us?”
“Mrs. Haddock would have been delighted to come, but unfortunately, she’s a more nocturnal creature. Her day begins when most others are just ending.”
“Then I suppose Phyllis will have to come along. Where are we going, might I ask? The National Gallery? A luncheon party?”
“I’ve something simpler yet showier in mind.” Rockford, she realized, had not looked away from her once since she’d entered the room.
His gaze seemed perpetually fixed upon her, all but caressing her. In the past, he’d done everything he could to avoid looking at her, but all that had quite changed.
It seems he’s coming ’round to the engagement. Perhaps he doesn’t really mind it now.
But even as Caroline thought that, she felt a pang of guilt. Because she didn’t just want this man to make the best of their marriage or to “come ’round” to the idea.
She had studied the bouquets he’d gifted her, enjoyed their fragrance, and thought again of her stolen moments with him in the Weatherford garden or the Wolf’s Den.
She’d finally tasted what her heroines experienced in her stories, the palpitating heart, the feeling of champagne bubbles rushing through her blood, the sleepless nights and the exquisite dreams.
She wanted Rockford to want her, not just to settle for her.
And she didn’t want to hurt him; she cared too much for him now to do that. She wanted him to be happy, to know that he was not illegitimate, to know he had a bloody half sister. Ever since Felicity’s visit, Caroline had wanted to mention it to Rockford but hadn’t known what to say. Such things weren’t appropriate in a letter and telling him in person would mean revealing all of Caroline’s observations about the young girl. Caroline wouldn’t be able to help it; she’d have to tell Rockford that he was truly the old earl’s son and that would make their blackmail “game” even more odious. She couldn’t bear to be so horrid. Even if it would put her family in an awkward position, set their fortunes to the whim of chance again, she couldn’t place their own happiness over Rockford’s.
Not if she was…starting to truly care for him.
“You seem suddenly quiet, Miss Devereux.” The earl looked concerned. “Are you not well?”
“I’m fine. Thank you. I think I’m prepared for something both simple and showy.” She forced a carefree smile. “Lead the way.”
...
Somehow, he’d known what she would enjoy the most.
The servants settled a picnic blanket in the park, rather close to the pond. All of the ton was out picnicking and promenading at this moment, and all eyes were on the earl and the baron’s daughter. The servants set out plates and glassware from the hamper.
“Did I write about picnics in my manuscripts? I could swear I hadn’t,” Caroline said.
“No, indeed. Most of your tales are set around midnight, and that’s hardly the most hospitable hour to dine outside.” Rockford leaned upon his elbow and relaxed on the blanket. Somehow, his muscled, powerful body always looked sleek and smooth in that position. Some people were not built as mere mortals.
“You make a fair point. Especially as it’s usually thundering somewhere.” Caroline noticed that the servants were taking a great deal of pastry out of the wicker hamper. “You may have made a mistake, my lord. I think you brought half of Mrs. Brown’s bake shop with us by accident.”
“I assure you, it was only a third of the shop.” Rockford feigned seriousness. “You see, I called upon the Marchioness of Rexbridge and her daughters. Lady Sybil Forsythe was most helpful in telling me all the things you liked best.”
“You had a conspirator, then?” Caroline’s head was spinning now. Sybil had never told her of this! Then again, her friend had probably been only too delighted to help the most eligible unmarried man in London plot a surprise. “What did Lady Sybil tell you?”
“She says you have a sweet tooth. That your cook only makes shortbread, and that you love the cakes and tarts at Mrs. Brown’s better than anywhere else in town.”
The servants laid out the plates upon the blanket.
Caroline was agog at everything. There were marzipan roses in pink and red, cinnamon and cardamom buns, several flavors of fluffy meringue, lemon cake, apple tart, almond biscuits glittering with dusted sugar on top. The entire picnic was a veritable buffet of sweets, all for her to sample as she wished.
Phyllis stared at the assortment in wide-eyed wonder.
“You’ll have as much as you like,” Caroline told the maid. “His Lordship and I could never finish this by ourselves.”
“Thank you, Miss. Sure this is the greatest day of me life,” Phyllis whispered before setting upon an apple tart as though it were salvation itself. There was also champagne, which Rockford had uncorked and poured into elegant crystal glasses, and then he signaled for one servant to rush back to the coach.
“What’s this now? Did you forget the ices?” Caroline couldn’t help laughing.
“Sadly those wouldn’t keep in this heat. Lady Sybil also told me that you were partial to daffodils.” The earl looked rather pleased with himself as the servants returned carrying bundles of the yellow flowers. They looked like beams of sunlight bursting out of an embrace. The daffodils were quickly used as decoration about the picnic blanket. Caroline even took one of the flowers and laid it upon her lap.
Sweets, champagne, and daffodils with all of society watching. She could not have written something better for herself if she’d tried. This was more than some staid, approved gesture that fit within the rigid structure of courtship. This was joy and a touch of whimsy in addition to being utterly thoughtful. There was no constraint in it, and it made Caroline herself feel free. She had to make certain her voice wouldn’t quaver before she spoke again.
“It’s very good of you to take all this trouble, you know.” She took a bite of lemon tart, having to stop herself from shuddering in bliss at the way the pastry shell flaked with butter, at how sweet and sumptuously tart the filling was.
“You look as though you had a rather thrilling feeling just then,” Rockford said. Indeed, Caroline realized now that her ecstasy in taking a bite of tart rather closely mirrored the ecstasy she’d felt when he’d placed his hand upon the most secret spot on her body.
“Interestingly enough, this tart is no longer the most tantalizing thing I’ve sampled in London.” They had to be discreet, since Phyllis was still munching alongside them. But he knew precisely what she meant, and it felt like a heated conspiracy between them.
Of all the people in London or upon earth, they alone knew each other’s shared signals. It made her feel absolutely private with him wherever they might be. She loved that feeling.
The earl studied her with a rakish smile. “I believe we may have warmed to each other, Miss Devereux. Would you agree?”
Rockford spoke low, his voice husky with some sort of need.
She thought again of his muscular physique pressed upon her, of his rough, heavenly touch on her skin. Of the way she’d burned for him in the Weatherford garden, and of how he’d restrained himself. Warming to him was nothing; the weather warmed, as did iced champagne. Warming could be a tepid business indeed. This was burning, fire; it was the kind of heat that caused a volcanic eruption.
When Caroline looked at this man, when she spoke to him, she experienced that sort of ecstasy. If she married him, she’d be able to have that feeling always.
But even if Lord Rockford liked her in return, she was condemning him to a lifetime of warmth, not blistering heat. Some might say he’d had more than enough fire for one lifetime, that settling with a girl like Caroline was the most sensible course of action.
But now that she knew how astonishing it felt to want someone like this…perhaps even to love someone…she hated the idea that she was denying any of this joy to Rockford.
Even if I could have him forever, even if he’d marry me, I can’t get my happiness by trapping him. That’s too horrible.
“You seem quiet all of a sudden.” Rockford frowned and leaned nearer. “Is there anything you need?”
“No.” She was quite truthful. “You’ve managed everything I need and want at the same time. It’s quite an extraordinary feat, really.”
“I’m happy to be called extraordinary.” Indeed, he looked rather smugly pleased with himself.
She couldn’t help smiling. “The feat was extraordinary, my lord. You must assign the description to the correct object.”
“Ah, more writerly wisdom. You do know your way around a proper description, I’ll grant you.”
Her heart hammered. “You did like the books, then?”
“I would love nothing more than to read your Masquerade at Seville . If you say it’s your best yet, I’ve no doubt it’s a triumph. I confess I never knew what excitement a piece of fiction could be. You’ve opened my eyes, Miss Devereux.”
She must not swoon. She would surely land into a meringue and that would provide the ton nothing but gossip for days. Caroline’s face heated with pleasure, though she also winced as she imagined Gabriel opening the book to discover a tall, dark, growling Devil in human form and believing that to be her picture of him. Her simplistic, libertine vision of the earl in the past had injured his feelings, after all.
“When you read my novel, you may think I based the character of the Devil on you, my lord. But trust me, I’d created him long before I ever laid eyes upon you.”
“Why should I think he was me? There are plenty of exceedingly handsome men in London.” He chuckled. “Well, perhaps not plenty.”
“How did you know he was exceedingly handsome?” Caroline teased.
“The Devil is always a handsome gentleman. All the better to seduce young women into something they know they should not do.” Again, that shared flush of recognition passed between them.
“Yes, the Devil does tempt my heroine to sin,” Caroline said. The champagne had gone to her head a bit. She was starting to lose her inhibitions; she wanted to touch him, yes, even in full view of every disapproving mamma in London.
“You wouldn’t like to fall to temptation, Miss Devereux?” the earl asked. His domineering gaze both possessed her and seemed to gentle as he looked along her body.
“A woman must be careful how she allows herself to be tempted.”
“There’s only one thing worse than to be tempted,” Rockford said, “and that is never to be tempted at all.”
“Because that’s the only way you can resist sin?” Caroline took a bite of almond biscuit, dusting sugar from the corner of her mouth.
“Because that’s the only way you can ever truly come alive.” His rough, low voice was somehow soft as a caress. She could feel the words as if they had brushed up along her spine like velvet. Caroline shivered, begging herself not to make her ecstasy too apparent to this man. “Sin must be experienced at least once, don’t you think? Before one can repent, one must do something very wrong indeed.”
Yes. And she had done something very wrong indeed, hadn’t she?
Caroline’s stomach cramped. The ache had nothing to do with the champagne and cake she’d eaten. She’d done something wrong to this man, even if he was now coming to like her.
Even if she was now coming to love him.
You couldn’t force the hand of someone you loved, could you? You couldn’t use someone so abominably and still say they were special to you.
Or maybe you could, but Caroline had no desire to become like that.
“Lord Rockford,” she began, but he interrupted her.
“I’d like it if you called me Gabriel, Miss Devereux.” He grinned, a rakish expression that momentarily dazed her. “As I’d like to call you Caroline.”
“Why would we do that?”
“If we are engaged to be married, we may be less formal. Isn’t that so?”
She swore she would collapse. It was too forward, too wonderful, too fast, considering how many doubts she’d begun to harbor.
“We’re not actually engaged just yet.” Her voice was weak.
“That’s the thing. My mother has come to town. I’ve told her that we’re to host a ball at Season’s end at Kane House. If you wish it, we can make the announcement there that we are to be married. Tell me, Caroline. Would that please you?”
Would it? Few things in the world could please her more at this stage, except perhaps the king’s royal proclamation that she was the greatest writer in the land and, also, one hundred pounds a day for the rest of her life.
What woman didn’t dream of marrying the man that she loved?
The way he’d said her name, Caroline, had been the last thread of her undoing. The way he looked at her and the way he touched her sent heat and pulses of pure bliss throughout her body, but he said her name with affection. With knowledge of her.
He was offering to take her, Caroline, as his countess. And she would never, ever know if he would have come to want this without that letter hanging over his head. The Earl of Rockford—Gabriel—was such a fine man. Strong, proud, handsome of course, but also alive in a way she’d never known.
She wanted him. But she also wanted his happiness.
“Um. Let me think about it.”
Both Gabriel and Phyllis looked as if she’d started cuddling a hedgehog. The maid’s cheeks bulged with cake, making her look rather like a squirrel caught in the act of foraging. Phyllis had spent the picnic on the other side of the blanket, happily occupied with sweets and content to ignore the banter between Caroline and the earl. But even she couldn’t ignore something so bizarre as to waffle on a lord’s marriage proposal.
“Was this not enough to entice you, then?” Gabriel was joking as he waved his hand over the daffodils and the cake.
It’s more than you’ll ever know. That’s why I can’t accept.
“I just need a day or two. That’s all.”
Caroline’s hesitation clearly baffled the earl, but he did not argue. Gabriel squared his jaw; if he was confused or even hurt, he concealed it well.
“Come, then. We should be heading home; always leave the spectators mystified.” Gabriel signaled to the servants to pack everything up. “Caro—that is, Miss Devereux.” It hurt her that he’d reverted to using her formal name. “Why doesn’t your family come dine with my mother and me? Tomorrow, if you like.”
“We’d like very much, Lord Rockford. Thank you.”
And even though part of her felt trepidation, much of Caroline felt calm and almost orderly for the first time in her life. She had a plan, and she knew exactly what she was to do and why.
She was going to return the blackmail letter to Lord Rockford. And then she would see whether or not he still wanted to marry her.