The Secret Love of a Gentleman

“Caro…”

She did not answer and he could not really see her face.

“If I remember rightly, there is a stone bench over there. Shall we sit for a while?”

“My dress, Rob. I would not wish to ruin it.”

Of course, that was foolish, the stone seat would be soiled. “At least let’s move further back from the street, then.” He was suddenly very aware that drawing her out here, alone, in the darkness, was perhaps the wrong thing to have done. People might make assumptions and gossip. But she was a divorced woman with some freedom, not a young, sheltered woman. But even so, he did not wish to damage her reputation. It would be better if they were out of sight.

His fingers threaded through hers and he walked backward, pulling her slowly with him, relief swaying over him. At least she felt better. “Tell me why you became distressed?”

“It is irrational.”

Once they were on the far side of the ornate stone porch, they stood in a patch of moonlight and she looked at him with eyes that expressed an inability to understand or control how she felt. Fragility hung in the air about her, as her small hand held his, her fingers woven between his.

“Remember that I am the man you may tell things to, even if you have never spoken of them before. You told me you loved Kilbride. I did not judge. Explain this to me. It will help, I’m sure.”

“I do not even know why myself.”

“Then tell me what happens. Tell me what you think. How you feel.”

“It is just panic. Not even fear. But I suppose it is fear. It’s the thought of being surrounded and hemmed in, and… Then I see images from the past, flashes, moments of memory. But it’s not the memories that make it unbearable, but the feelings that accompany them.”

“What feelings?” His fingers squeezed hers in encouragement

“Rejection,” she said, quietly, her gaze falling to look at the stone pavement. “I suppose that is what I fear, rejection, humiliation—cruelty.”

“Caro…” Compassion lanced through his chest and his fingers lifted to her chin. She was so, slender and delicate.

He did not know if he lowered his head further or if Caro rose to her toes, but by some action their lips touched. Hers pressed against his, gently.

He hadn’t kissed a woman for over a year, but then he’d never really kissed a woman, not a woman like Caro. He’d kissed barmaids when he’d been at college, before he’d realised what those women really wished for, but no more than that.

Caro felt different, her lips were soft and gentle, tentative not urgent.

The barmaids he’d kissed had been seeking payment, or escape from a life of service—Caro sought nothing but the press of his lips against hers.

Her mouth opened against his lips.

The barmaids used to thrust their tongues into his mouth as they pressed against him, desperately searching for opportunities of escape. Once his eyes had been opened to the way of society, of class and rank, he’d never let those women degrade themselves with him again.

He stepped closer, his hand slipping to Caro’s nape, as need raced through his stomach.

Her arms came up about his neck as he tentatively pressed his tongue into her mouth.

His other hand braced her waist gently and her tongue stroked over his and danced around his elegantly.

The sensation in his stomach hardened, fisted and grasped at his groin too.

Her fingers combed into his hair, splaying across his scalp, bracing his head, as their tongues continued their exquisite dance.

He sighed into her mouth, the sound leaking from his throat, as he held her more firmly. He’d never had emotions like this for a woman. The desire to lay her back and do far more than kiss her was a hard pull inside him. But it was wrong.

He broke the kiss and looked down at her. The sound of their breaths filled the night air.

“Caro…” What the hell had he done, had he just made a muddle of this? “I’m sorry.”

She said nothing as her hands slipped from his hair. He held them. He had to make her understand that she need not feel afraid, so she could be free. “No harm will come to you here. You have my word. Drew is well respected. You will not be rejected or ill-treated.”

“I know my fear is irrational. I told you. I am not rejected by your family but I—”

“Then you must learn to believe it. I am here with you and I will not let you be rejected or harmed. I know you have courage. You are capable of this.”

~

Courage… He’d used that word to her before. He was the only person who had, and perhaps he’d enchanted her when they’d kissed, because she truly felt strong. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course I will. There is no question of that.”

She pulled one of her hands from his and touched his cheek. The moonlight coloured his features silver, making his hair, his eyes and eyelashes darker.

He was young, beautiful, strong-natured, good-hearted—and he had kissed her.

Emotions played through her nerves, but they were not fear and panic, it was anticipation and longing that made her feel shaky—desire.

“Shall we return, then?”

No. She did not wish to return. She wished to stay here hidden in the darkness and kiss him, but she could not ask for that. “Yes.” Her fingers dropped from his cheek and her heart beat more strongly as they turned and began walking from the churchyard.

He walked briskly, as though he feared she might renege and his grip on her hand pulled her with him.

When they left the security of the dark churchyard, he let go of her hand and glanced at her, offering his arm instead. She held it firmly, her senses absorbing the strength of his lean muscle beneath his evening coat.

His hand lay over hers, applying a slight pressure as they walked on. She looked ahead at the inn’s door.

She still did not feel panic, her consciousness was on Rob’s arm and his hand over hers, as a desperate longing to experience a marriage bed again raged through her blood.

He slowed when they reached the carriages, then navigated her through a group of people who were arriving. At the entrance, the doorman bowed and lifted a hand, encouraging them to progress. Caro gripped Rob’s arm tighter as they crossed the threshold.

“As I said, you have courage, be brave,” he whispered as they climbed the stairs. She did not want his words of comfort; she wanted his kiss. It had been different to Albert’s, a genteel connection, respectful and considerate. Albert had kissed with force and intensity.

As they climbed the stairs her memories were not flashes from the past but flashes from moments ago in the churchyard. At the top of the stairs, he shepherded her into the busy assembly rooms. It was crowded with people, dancing and talking at the edges of the room, as a quartet played music on a dais at the far end of the hall.

Her chest tightened and awareness of her surroundings overtook any other thought. Rob’s hand lifted from hers and then his arm dropped. Her heart leapt to the pace of a canter.

“Your brother is over there, look. Remember your courage. Remember you have survived far worse than a simple assembly dance.”

Drew was in the corner to the left of the door. She took a breath and felt Rob’s hand hover at her lower back as she began to walk. He did not touch her, yet his hand protected her, ensuring no one might bump into her.

Drew watched her progress, a smile lifting his lips slightly. He’d been waiting for her, she could see, hoping she would find the courage to come in.

Relief lay an invisible cloak over her shoulders when she reached him, and Rob stood to one side of her, while Drew moved closer and protected her from the other side, as she stood with her back facing the wall.

“How are you?” Drew had been her sole comfort for years, she’d always looked to him for reassurance, and yet today his words stirred no feeling. It was Rob’s comfort she’d clung to.

She nodded, although in truth her nerves were as tight as a copper coil and she was fighting the urge to run.

Drew took one of her hands and squeezed it gently. “Bravo, Caro.”

“I think Caro could do with a drink,” Rob said. “Do you wish to come with me to the refreshment table?” Rather than be left here without him. He was so thoughtful.

“We’ll join you,” Mary answered.

They walked about the dancers, but when they reached the refreshments, Rob refused to let Caro take the lemonade. “No, drink this.” He handed her a glass of the rum punch. “For a little added courage.”

Drew passed Mary one too and she lifted her glass in a toast, smiling at Caro. “To first steps.”

“To putting on a brave face,” Drew answered, lifting his glass.

“To dancing,” Rob concluded, touching his glass to Caro’s before emptying it in one swallow.

She shook her head at his suggestion.

He leant to her ear. “I dare you.”

She shook her head again, but a smile caught her lips before she took a sip from her glass. The liquor flowed into her blood a moment later, warm and strong.

“Well, Mary and I shall dance the next,” Drew stated, “As I have come, I may as well indulge her.” He looked at Mary. “If you will indulge me, of course, sweetheart.”

“Of course I will. I shall not pass on such an opportunity.”

They smiled at each other, but then Drew looked at Caro. “If you will be happy here with Robbie?”

Her answering smile was to reassure him. “Go and make Mary happy. You deserve some fun.”

Drew took Mary’s hand as the music came to a close and they turned to find a set to join.

“Is dancing fun, then?”

Caro looked at Rob and her smile fell. She took another sip from her glass.

“You said, fun,” he pressed. “If you think it fun, you must enjoy it…”

She shook her head and lifted her glass to her lips once more. Rob’s fingers settled beneath it and tipped it higher. “A little more courage, I think. I shall have to get my brother Harry to make a drinker of you.”

She laughed despite herself, having taken an enforced gulp. A moment later she felt the heat of it in her limbs, making them a little heavier and more relaxed.

“I watched you at my brother’s, at John’s, at the party before I came to Drew’s, you watched people dancing, you watched me dancing as if you would like to dance, so why do you not?”

“Rob….” She could not explain.

“Tell me.”

But this was Rob, who never ceased pushing until she did explain.

“I do not wish to be stared at, to become a spectacle, and make a fool of myself.”

“People might stare, but it would only be because you are beautiful. But that is not the heart of your issue, is it?”

Her blood heated with the knowledge that he thought her beautiful, but his comment had not been flirtatious, he’d said it with a factual tone.

She took another sip of her punch, then placed the glass down. She did not want to drink too much. “My mother used to drink excessively. I have never been comfortable with liquor.” Caro changed the subject, clutching at anything to stop him seeking to persuade her. “I think it was an excess of alcohol that brought Drew and me into the world. I think she knows who Drew’s father is, but I think she cannot even remember mine.” It was a throwaway comment because she was panicking once more, and yet she realised she had perhaps given away too much of herself.

Pity caught in his eyes.

“Do not pity me for that. I came to terms with it long ago.”

“Then, what should I pity you for? What harm is there in telling me why you feel you cannot dance?” He was too perceptive and too forceful.

She picked up the glass again and drank the last of the punch. Then glared at him. “I feel trapped, I cannot be who I wish to be. I cannot do the things I want to do because I’m bound by the past—kept captive by it. I feel as though I have a glass prison cell about me, but it is of my own making.”

“Then break it. Dance the next with me.”

“Rob—”

“I cannot…” He mimicked her voice. “Only because you will not. But half an hour ago you believed you could not walk into this room. At the beginning of the summer you could not abide being in a room with me. You can do anything you wish. Dance.”

“You do not understand.”

“You have just told me it is you yourself who has created this gaol. You have had the courage to escape far worse. You may tell me tomorrow or the next day, or the day after that why your gaoler still has a hold over you, but tonight… dance.”

Can I? Everything he said was true.

Her heart thumped against her ribs. Could it be so simple?

The tempo of the music changed as the country dance came to a close and a waltz began.

Rob offered his hand. “I dare you to dance with me.”

He was a beautiful young man—and cruel and wonderful. His smile glinted in his eyes.

“Caro,” he said more formally, with a slight bow. “May I have the honour of this waltz?”

“You are a fool,” she answered.

“Perhaps.”

Oh, she had feelings for him. They consumed her when he smiled.

She accepted his hand, and he drew her away from the refreshment table, then lifted their joined hands and formed the hold of the dance as his other hand came about her. When he spun her out onto the floor, she was not aware of anyone else—it was only Rob in the room.

His hand and his fingers, at her back, steered her through the steps.

She’d always loved to dance. Then why had she not done so for years?

Because it was self-punishment, for failing her husband so terribly. But surely she’d done enough penance for the loss of her children. Perhaps now, Rob was right, she might let herself live again.

Guilt cut at her. Yet she could still love and mourn her lost children and not hide or deprive herself of the basic elements of life—dancing. She was dancing.

She looked into Rob’s eyes and forgot about anything except the music, the touch of his hands and the look in his eyes.

He did not speak, and she was glad he did not because it would have broken the magic. She was building new glass walls, ones about a palace in the sky. She smiled as the music skipped through her soul. It was a wonderful feeling; she had always loved dancing.

She was breathless when it came to an end, and stupidly disappointed as Rob walked her to the edge of the room, where they met Mary and Drew.

“Caro…” Drew said with emotion. “Will you dance the next with me? I shall willing make a cake of myself no matter what the dance is, if only to see you smile like that again.”

She actually laughed at him, the fear and the panic were not there; her restraints had gone.

After she’d danced with Drew, the physician who’d treated Mary through two pregnancies asked Caro to dance. Rob and Drew looked at her meaningfully, willing her to accept. Caro knew him, she had drunk tea with him at the house. She smiled and accepted his hand, though hers trembled, but as they danced her nerves eased. It was a fast, jolly dance and she glanced at Rob often. He was dancing with Mary, but he kept glancing over and smiling at her too. He had given her the courage to achieve this.

She was returned to Drew’s side, flushed and smiling. He stood beside a man she did not know. “Caroline, this is Mr Slade, he rents one of my farms. Mr Slade, this is my sister, Lady Framlington.”

The farmer bowed. “Would you care to dance with me, ma’am?”

Caro’s skin heated by a degree. Had he come to wait with Drew so he might ask? But it was merely a dance, it was what people did—she had forgotten so much of life.

“Indeed.” She offered her hand.

It became the pattern of the evening. She did not sit down. Each time a dance ended, another gentleman was introduced to her, and she danced with her brother and with Rob again too.

When they travelled home in Drew’s carriage, it was two in the morning, and she was tired and quiet, as a melee of emotions fought within her chest. But happiness was the first, that and hope, pride and wonder. But perhaps the pride was not for herself, yet for Rob. He had given her the courage; she would not have found it without him.

She was wonderfully, physically exhausted, yet she did not think she would be capable of sleep.

She looked from the dark landscape outside the window to Mary and Drew. Drew smiled at her, a gleeful smile, his hand clasping Mary’s, and drawing it onto his thigh.

He shook his head at her a little, as if in wonder. She had surprised him, but she had surprised herself.

She looked at Rob. He was sitting beside her, staring out of the window. She wished to hold his hand, but the gesture would be inappropriate. Even more, though, she wished to lean against his shoulder.

She wondered what he was thinking, if the memory of their kiss was still a gentle heat in his blood as it was in hers.

“It was a wonderful evening,” Mary said.

They all looked at her. “It was, indeed,” Drew agreed, and he usually hated such affairs.

Caro said nothing. She felt as if words might break her new glass castle in the air.

~

Rob leant back against the squabs in the carriage and returned his gaze to the outside, watching clouds cast their shadows across the moonlit fields. He was intensely aware of the heat radiating from Caro’s thigh, so close to his.

They had shared a kiss…

He’d not danced with anyone other than Caro and Mary; he’d not liked to in case Caro had needed him. But that had meant he’d had an entire evening to watch her. He’d become a little addicted.

Weeks ago his uncle had asked him what his weakness was. Perhaps his weakness was Caro. All night his thoughts had hovered on the feel of her mouth.

When they reached home, Drew handed Mary and Caro down, and Caro held Drew’s arm when they walked up to the first floor.

Rob walked behind them, speaking with Mary.

“I shall retire immediately, if you do not mind?” Caro said to them all.

“I will too,” Mary agreed.

“Then I shall retire as well,” Drew stated.

“Goodnight, then,” Rob responded, he was not tired. He would be unable to sleep. He kissed Mary’s cheek as Caro climbed the stairs, and nodded at Drew before they turned to their rooms.

He looked at a footman. “I shall go to the library. You may retire.” He picked up a candelabra and took it with him as he walked back downstairs.

In the library he stripped off his coat and his waistcoat and set them over the back of a chair, then pulled off his cravat and poured himself a glass of whiskey before occupying an armchair.

He shut his eyes and let his head fall back.

What had he done? Kissed her…

Bastard.

His blood hummed. Even now, the thought of that kiss made his groin heavy. He was thirsty, but not for the liquor, or any other liquid. It was a thirst to learn more, to find out how things might feel with Caro. He had always had morals. Always.

But God! I am tempted.

Would she be horrified if she knew what he thought?

He lifted his head and opened his eyes, then sipped the whiskey, seeking to regain the reins on his feelings. He’d never found it hard before; he’d never even been tempted. He’d been kissed by the barmaids, but no more. Their brash attitude had never appealed to him, and unlike Harry he’d never sought sexual experiences as trophies of his manhood.

But Caro had not kissed him out of the need those women felt, or for any other reason than their lips had come together. It had merely been a response to a friendship and closeness, which had been weaving about them for weeks. He’d asked for friendship, and he’d called her a friend, but he had known for days that it was becoming more than that. He did not feel a softness in his chest, or a tightness in his gut when he was with his friends.

When they’d waltzed he’d felt the muscle in Caro’s back shifting with her movements and her smaller hand in his with a sense of awe.

The door swung open. He looked up. All of the servants ought to be in bed.

It was his phantom. Caro. An apparition in a silk robe that was a deep red. Her blonde hair was plaited and hung across one shoulder. But there were wisps of golden curls left about her face. They gave her a halo.

His gaze dropped to her toes, which peeked from beneath the hem of her white nightdress, that hung lower than the red robe which she wore over it.

Something lanced through his groin. Was it lust? An emotion Harry spoke of that Rob had never felt.

“Caro?” He rose, although he half-expected her not to be real—he’d drunk more than usual tonight as he’d watched her.

But she was real. “Rob.” She came further into the room, her hands clasped together at her waist, and stood a few feet away. “I could not sleep and I heard you tell the footman you were coming downstairs. I wanted to say thank you.” She gave him a smile that made her glow.

“It is yourself you have to thank. You found the courage to break the invisible walls around you.”

“But I would not have done it without your persuasion.”

Her eyes shone in the light of the candelabra, looking at him through pale eyelashes.

He could not help himself. He lifted a hand, morals and self-discipline deserting him. He wished her closer. “Caro.”

She walked towards him, seeming to float like the phantom he’d first thought she was, and then his hands were at her waist and hers lay on his shoulders.

He was a little in his cups, the whiskey burned in his blood and heat clasped at his groin. Thirst. For more than liquor. “I think you ought to go back to your room.”

“Why?”

He shook his head. “You do not wish to know.”

“Tell me.” She was speaking as though this was the same as her fear. It was not.

“Caro, go back upstairs, please. I’m feeling very weak tonight.” His words urged her and yet his whiskey-guided hands still gripped her waist.

He was a bastard.

“Weak?” she breathed, looking at him with confusion.

He did not warn her again as lust reared its head and roared through him. Yes, he was weak tonight and now he understood what Harry spoke of.

This time, undoubtedly, the lead came from him. His lips touched hers as his hand braced the back of her head, while his other slipped to the curve of her lower back. His tongue pressed into her mouth in a firm, bold stroke.

Her mouth opened wider, compliant, and her hands told him she was willing as they slipped into his hair, bracing his head as she’d done in the churchyard.

He drew her closer, so her body pressed against his as his tongue danced with hers. His blood pulsed, heavy in his veins, as lust clutched in his groin, hardening as she pressed against him, rather than pushing him away.

The hunger inside him pulled and thrust, fighting for him to hold her more tightly, to be as close as he could come to her. Lust.

She broke the kiss. “Rob.” Her fingers combed through his hair.

“Caro.” He did not understand this, and his conscience cried out when she pulled his lips back to hers. But he did not heed it, he did not care for it anymore. He wanted to be closer still.

His hands clasped her bottom, sinking into her soft flesh through the material of her robe and her nightgown as his erection pushed against her stomach, trapped between them. It throbbed to do far more than touch. “Caro,” he breathed into her mouth, perhaps for permission, he hardly knew; he’d never done this, had never been like this.

His breathing became rapid as he slid one hand back up across the thin silk of her robe to grip her breast. It filled his hand, the weight of it resting in his palm. She had full, round breasts.

She broke the kiss, but probably because he’d stopped kissing her. Her fingers came forward and cupped his cheeks, cradling his jaw as his gaze met hers, her eyes saying, it is all right, you may touch me.