Mistress By Marriage Part 16

"We're at Bradlaw House?" Hope jumped in her heart. She'd been there before, but never upstairs. A small garden party had been held in their honor after she and Edward came to Christie Park to escape the gossip when they were first married. Lady Bradlaw had been all that was kind, conducting her through an exquisite parterre garden. Lord Bradlaw, a friendly, jolly sort, was a neighbor and one of Edward's oldest friends. Caroline never understood how such a warm, animated man could cope with the block of ice that was Edward.

He looked warm enough now, and a wave of her own heat suffused her cheeks. Edward loomed over her, deliciously wet and naked, the blade of the knife glinting in the sunlight. "Ah. You'd never manage a bluff in a game of cards-your expression betrays you utterly. Don't get any ideas. Tom and Susannah Bradlaw are still in town waiting on the king's pleasure. They can't help you run from me."

She made a gorgon-face at him. Let him understand that. She wouldn't need the Bradlaws' help. At least she knew where she was, and how to get back to London. She held her breath as the knife came perilously close to her heart.

"Go ahead. Stab me."

"Don't be ridiculous. Hold still."

Caroline waited for him to cut the ropes again.

Ping ping ping. The cherry-red b.u.t.tons of her spencer bounced to the floor.

"What are you doing?" she rasped. The b.u.t.tons had been fashioned to resemble little rosebuds and she had been very fond of them.

Edward frowned. "I'm not sure a knife will do. I'll be right back."

h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation. He was back with a large pair of shears before she could count to one hundred.

"I'll have you know this outfit cost a fortune!"

"I'll replace it." Mercilessly, he cut the sleeves of her jacket straight down her arms. He balled up the fabric and it joined the rest of the mess on the Bradlaws' carpet.

"You are a fiend," Caroline said behind clenched teeth. Much worse than her old neighbor Charlotte's lover Sir Michael Bayard.

"I've got to hurry. It wouldn't do for the water to get cold. You might catch a chill."

"I hope you catch lung fever!" She flinched when his hand snaked under her bodice as he cut the red kerseymere skirt down to the hem. She was left in nothing but rope and her chemise and stockings. Her half-boots had been removed long ago after the series of kicks.

Edward grinned. "No corset?"

Caroline would not dignify the question with an answer. As she had been travelling alone, it had seemed simpler to dispense with the contraption. Her destroyed carriage dress had been constructed with special boning at her direction.

Snip snip snip. Despite the warmth of the afternoon sunlight, her nipples contracted as her chemise gave way to air. Edward's hands trembled as he unfastened her garters. He had put the scissors down somewhere, but unless he untied her hands, he was safe.

For the time being.

She wondered how he'd get the stockings out from under the rope, but then he gripped her heels and cut the bonds. She lay still as death as he folded each stocking down with agonizing precision, his knuckles brushing her leg with each fold. Raising one limb, he ma.s.saged the pins and needles away with his warm, strong hands. Up and down, up and down, his fingers squeezed and released perfect pressure on the soles of her feet, her calves, the back of her knees. She forgot she was free to kick him as he swept up her inner thigh. His forefinger wandered just where she wanted it to. To her shame, she was wet and eager for his touch. Then he seemed to remember that the water temperature was no doubt cooling as her betraying body flared in heat.

"Can you walk or shall I carry you?"

"Carry," she whispered. She was too languid to step across the minefield of blossoms and cut clothing. He scooped her from the mattress and climbed into the tub, nestling her in his lap. His erection teased her cleft, but he made no move to insert himself in her aching hollow.

Her hands bound as if in prayer, she leaned against him as he covered her with his scent, the soap slick against her back and b.u.t.tocks. Edward smoothed the bar over her hip, then swirled it around each breast until her nipples were stiff and rose-pink between the bubbles. She was his canvas as he painted every inch of her with froth, sliding back and forth over her sensitive skin. Her anger was slipping away as it always did when they were twined together. She closed her eyes and sought a fragment of sanity, but it eluded her as she fell deeper under his fluid spell.

His soap-filled hand stroked downward to her belly, then lower to her swollen c.l.i.toris. She opened her legs to him, desperate for more. He used a hard corner of the lime-scented cake in place of his fingers, rubbing with dedication until she drowned in sensation, his lips at her throat, his thumb at her breast. As she raised her hips in cresting o.r.g.a.s.m, his c.o.c.k sheathed itself in one deliberate thrust.

At last. He filled her as she shuddered around him, rising and falling, heedless of the water splashing over the rim, heedless of anything but his hard c.o.c.k and hands on her hips lifting her from bliss and then back down. She was branded by his ownership everywhere as he embedded himself deep within her. His ragged breath tickled her neck, his teeth grazed her shoulder. The dark damp hairs of his chest curled against her back as his hand cupped her mound to keep her tight and taut against him as he emptied himself. She glided from wave to wave, helpless to find a shred of objection, to find a shred of anything that might pa.s.s for thought. She would be indignant later, make him sorry later, leave him later.

Later would come all too soon. For now she was content to be fitted to him in perfect harmony, her heart skipping as his c.o.c.k pulsed inside her. The water had lost its warmth, but she was hot and heaving in his arms, reluctant to seek comfort anywhere else.

She stayed on his lap as he dipped a sponge into the pitcher, wiping cool water across her brow, down the bridge of her nose, circling the apples of her cheeks, soaking up the tears that fell. His lips rested in her hair as he smoothed a path to her throat. His touch was perfect in every way.

"I have waited for this for almost a month, Caro." His words were rough, reminding her of his villain-voice.

"D-don't get used to it. It won't happen again." But it would, if she stayed at Bradlaw House. She had to shake herself out of her sensual coma and do her own plotting.

"Ah. What will it take to make you change your mind?"

"There's nothing you can do."

"What if I free your hands?"

Caroline had practically forgotten she was still enslaved by rope. That was the least of her enslavement, but he must not know it. "It won't matter."

"Very well then." He lifted her up and slipped away. "I'll dry you off." He hoisted one long leg over the side of the tub.

"I can dry myself."

He reached for the stack of towels and draped one low on his hips. "It will be difficult if I don't cut the cords."

"You mean you won't?"

He shrugged. "You seemed to think it wouldn't matter."

"Well, it does matter! I meant there's nothing you can do to keep me here. To make me be your wife again." She couldn't hope or yearn or deceive herself that it would ever be different between them. Edward could never be less than a perfect gentleman, and she was as far from perfect as she could possibly be.

"We'll see." He pulled her up from the tub, then rubbed her vigorously with a linen towel. He fashioned it toga-style and Caroline was reminded of the debacle with the sheet so many weeks ago.

"Edward," she said, trying to blunt the edge of impatience in her tone, "this really is ridiculous. You are too old to be playing games with me."

"This isn't a game."

"What do you call it then? You are a grown man who disguised himself as a ruffian and took a woman by force!"

"Not by force. By cunning. And you are not just any woman. You are my wife. If you'll sit down, I'll brush your hair."

For the first time Caroline realized her own bottles and brushes lay on the vanity table. Mrs. Hazlett must have put them there. She imagined if she went into the dressing room, her clothes would be hanging neat as you please. Edward had persuaded her servants to conspire against her. Caroline knew just how convincing he could be, but she was not going to cooperate.

"Absolutely not."

"You've said that before. You really don't want your hair to dry like that. I'm having flashbacks to the ill.u.s.trations of Medusa in my Greek textbook."

"I may have not had your cla.s.sical education, but I believe if you looked into Medusa's face, you could see your own death," Caroline retorted, staring him down. "Well?"

"Sorry. Still very much alive. I'll have to take the scissors to the knots in your hair next." He had the gall to look rueful, as if the whole nightmare was not his fault.

"I'll brush it myself if you untie me!"

"I'm not certain I trust you yet."

"How many times must I f.u.c.k you before you trust me?"

Edward paled. "Don't reduce what we just did to simple f.u.c.king. It was more than that. Much more."

"Delude yourself then." She threw herself down on the bench. Her fit of pique was rather spoiled when the towel decided to come undone. Edward wrapped it around her shoulders like a shroud and she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Dead would probably be prettier. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

The brush tangled in the snarls despite Edward's best efforts. She longed for Lizzie-no, Lizzie was probably in on the trick, too. And Garrett! They had all of them deceived her.

She watched in horror as her eyes filled with tears again.

Edward noticed but misunderstood. "I'm sorry if I'm hurting you. Perhaps I should let you do it."

"Pl-please." She held up her shaking wrists.

Somehow she thought she'd feel more satisfaction when she threw the silver hairbrush and shattered the mirror. Even the first two vases did not quell the empty feeling she had in the pit of her stomach, but at least Edward dashed out the door in self-preservation. The third vase was too heavy to throw, or she was too tired, so she settled for carrying it to the open window and dropping it to the courtyard far, far below.

She discovered she was very high up in Bradlaw House, on the third or fourth story. The sheep were high on a faraway green hill. Sheep couldn't save her anyway. She was doomed, and down to her first and now last vase. It lay glittering and empty at her feet, a forlorn rose petal stuck to its lip. Caroline kicked it across the rug, succeeding only in hurting her toes again. She would save it for an emergency. There was bound to be one.

Chapter 18.

Betrayed again. But how they would suffer for their perfidy. Her precious virginity but a vague memory, Jeannette ran through the mudflats with vengeance on her mind.

-Ocean of Doom.

She a.s.sessed the damage. Without proper footwear, she'd slice her feet to ribbons. Her pretty red suede half-boots had disappeared, probably thrown out the carriage window by an injured and irate Edward. She tiptoed carefully to the dressing room, but was disappointed to find none of her imagined clothing. Whatever had happened to her luggage? And all her household objects she'd boxed up so carefully? She was left in that tower of h.e.l.l with bath towels and bedding to clothe her body, which was now covered in gooseflesh.

And Edward's signature lime scent.

There was no point in sobbing-she'd lose what little voice she had left. Caroline climbed up the padded wooden steps to the bed and crawled in, pulling the brown velvet coverlet to her chin. What on earth was she going to do? She had weaponry aplenty, the sharp slivers of gla.s.s sprinkled like an ice storm on the carpet. Everything had shattered in a most satisfactory manner, although the pieces were more toothpick than lance sized. Her toes and twisted ankle hurt and she was hungry. Famished. Despite Mrs. Hazlett's urging, she'd eaten very little at breakfast. That meal seemed like days ago, when she was excited and nervous about starting her new life. Instead she was back under Edward's control, cold, naked and filled with frustration.

She flipped on the mattress, felt something hard and chilly against her thigh. The scissors! Caroline sat up. She doubted she had the strength or the will to plunge them into Edward's heart if he ever came back into the room, but at least she could turn a pillowcase into a shift. She shook a thick down-filled bolster from its pretty embroidered rectangle. Yellow-centered daisies and a scroll of green leaves edged the fine linen, ridiculously cheerful under the circ.u.mstances. With a sharp scissor-point, she picked opened the seams wide enough to stick her head and arms through, then pulled it down to mid-thigh. She couldn't see the effect, as the mirror was crazed in a hundred pieces.

Caroline tugged the top sheet from its neat corners and set about cutting it into thick strips. When she was done, she had fabric to wind around and cushion her feet, tying the sandals with a jaunty knot at her ankles. There was plenty left over, in case she had to strangle Edward or make a bed linen ladder. The descent out the window was more than she wanted to consider, however.

It was time to tackle the room. In good conscience, she couldn't leave it for Mrs. Hazlett, even if the woman had betrayed her. Caroline wrapped a strip of linen around her hand and grabbed the coal scuttle. With each plink of gla.s.s to metal, she imagined dropping Edward off the roof, his brains dashing on the pavement below. There was still a great quant.i.ty of gla.s.s dust, but the little broom from the hearth swept it away. She gathered up the stems and flowers and heaped them into the coal scuttle too, but not before rubbing some ruined roses on her temples and throat to dilute the pervasive lime scent.

Satisfied that she'd made the room safer, she explored her prison cell. There were two chamber pots-intact-which she returned to the underside of the enormous bed. A ma.s.sive tallboy was empty of everything, even dust. She doubted she was strong enough to tip it over to crush Edward, or slide it to bar the door. A pair of comfortable brown and yellow striped chairs sat before the empty fireplace. She righted the gold-leaf and black patterned table that she'd first knocked over, and returned the crystal vase to its center. Two polished bra.s.s candlesticks stood side by side on one end of the mantel. Moving one to the other end for balance, she checked its heft. It would make a considerable dent in Edward's head if he held still long enough for her to whack him. The brown toile-skirted dressing table held her comb, her rouge pot, an ivory tray of hairpins, and her new jewelry box. Caroline opened the lid to see her all her old glittery friends. She fastened a topaz and citrine brooch at her ragged neckline and clasped a topaz bracelet on her wrist. She found her hairbrush beneath the gold fringe of a curtain, sat down on the toile-cushioned window seat and counted one hundred snarling strokes.

The view below was lovely. Caroline was sorry the room did not face the elaborate formal gardens, but the brick-chevroned courtyard had a pleasing pattern. From there she could watch for any traffic, like a princess trapped in a tower. A long lime avenue led to the estate gates, which she would be exiting soon as she could figure out how. The hills beyond were still bright green, although a brief freak cold snap had turned some leaves, altering nature-just as Edward had altered her life those past three months. Even the last month, when she'd convinced herself she was done with him and everything that came before him.

Would she never get to start her life anew? She kept trying, only to encounter one stumbling block after another.

There was a slide of key to lock. Edward peered in through a two-inch gap. "Are you all right? It's awfully quiet in here."

"I ran out of things to throw." Not quite true, but he didn't need to know she held anything in reserve. "I'm hungry, Edward. Do you plan to starve me here?"

"That wouldn't suit my purposes at all." He entered with obvious caution, fully dressed in his own clothes. Caroline was not sorry to see a mottled bruise forming on his cheek where the second vase struck home. She was less thrilled with his bark of laughter at her own costume.

"How resourceful you are, Caro. I would never have guessed. What's next? An evening gown made out of the curtains?"

She put the brush down before she threw it again. "If I must. The velvet is good quality. But I'd rather have my own things. Where are my clothes? My shoes? Where is my food?"

"All in due time. I confess I like how you look right now-rather like a woodland elf. All you're missing is a crown of daisies in your hair." He looked down at the carpet. "I see you've done some straightening up."

"Yes. Tell the Bradlaws to send me a bill. I'll be happy to replace the vases."

"I'll take care of that. I hope," he said, looking stern, "this will be the end of your childish tantrums. You must have been spoilt as a little girl."

Caroline felt a tantrum coming on. How little he knew of her. No one save Nicky had paid the least bit of attention to her-unless she made them. Her father had seemed to forget she even existed most of the time until she broke something he valued. Of course, most everything of value had been sold to cover his drinking and gambling and wenching.

"Yes," she replied, her tone glacial. "I was dreadfully spoiled. And there's my red hair, always a sure sign of temper, is it not? Yet, that was what you first noticed about me."

"Not quite. I admired the whole package as I recall. As did every man in the room."

"Yes. Entirely superficial admiration. No one bothered to get to know me, especially you."

"My greatest sin-which is why we're here."

"Edward, it's too late. You know me well enough. And I know you. We are both far too old to change our natures."

"I'm not asking you to change, Caro. Not really. But I am willing to listen to what you want in a husband."

"Not you! Never you! Never again!" Her hands fisted at her sides.

His eyes glittered for a moment, just like evil gla.s.s. So she had been wrong, after all. "I don't want to have to restrain you again, but I will."

Caroline's laugh was brittle. "Oh, my lord. How pathetic to realize that's the only way I'll endure your company."

"That's not true and we both know it."

d.a.m.n him. He was right as he always was. Part of her wanted to fling herself into his arms. But she hoped her other part would prevail.

"How long must I suffer here? Did you say a week?"

Edward nodded. "I hope you won't suffer, Caro. If you do, it will be by your own choice."

"You expect me to countenance kidnapping and torture? Curl up like a kitten in your lap?"

Edward walked over to the black marble fireplace and sat down in one of the chairs. "Please join me over here, Caro. I wouldn't want you to jump out the window."

"I have no intention of causing myself harm. Only you."