The Unexpected Marriage Of Gabriel Stone

She could be controlled, too. She must be or he would read the utterly immodest carnal desire that was making it so hard to breathe. Inhale. ‘How burdened are you with the management of your own estates, Lord Edenbridge?’

He straightened up, hooked an upright chair away from the wall and sat down. ‘I am not easily surprised, Caroline, but I must admit that our meetings are presenting me with one novel situation after another. Would you care to explain why you wish to discuss estate management?’

‘I have realised that securing the deeds to Springbourne for Anthony is useless unless there is some way we can run the estate. I cannot do it. As an unmarried woman I will never be able to open a bank account without my father’s permission and Anthony is under age.’

‘That is so. I have to admit, this had not occurred to me when I gave you the deeds back.’

‘If I hand them back to you, will you manage the estate for Anthony until he is twenty-one?’

The silence seemed to go on for a very long time. Then Lord Edenbridge said, ‘No.’

Chapter Three (#ulink_bf6b03b2-144f-5d66-96bf-aa9d95ea1ead)

‘Naturally we could not allow you to be out of pocket, Lord Edenbridge. Perhaps your man of business could find a suitable manager and the estate would meet all the costs. It is perfectly solvent, I believe.’ Caroline kept her tone as brisk and efficient as she could in the face of his frowning refusal.

‘Money is not the point, Caroline. It is irrelevant.’

It is? How nice that would be, for money to be irrelevant.

‘I employ perfectly competent people to run my own estates and my business matters. My own involvement will become even less as soon as my brother Louis leaves university. I can certainly add your brother’s property to the portfolio and extricate it again when he reaches his majority, but you are asking me to assume a position of trust, to be responsible for another man’s estate and income. That is a considerable responsibility. Who is going to audit the revenues and financial transactions?’

‘Why, no one. I trust you. You are a gentleman.’

He ran both hands through his hair, turning it into something disordered and wild, then leaned forward to emphasise the words that emerged through what sounded like clenched teeth. ‘Then you are an idiot, Caroline, and I had thought you innocent and trusting, but not empty-headed. You do not know me. I gamble and that in itself should raise warning flags. What if I suffer a big loss and see an easy way to borrow some funds?’

‘I am not completely air-headed, Gabriel,’ she retorted. The name was out before she realised what she was saying. He lifted his head, looked at her and the tight jaw relaxed as he smiled. Nettled by that little sign of male smugness, she pressed on firmly. ‘I am a good judge of character. I told you I have heard the talk about you and no one accuses you of deceit or dishonourable behaviour, even the people who have no cause to love you. I was reckless going to your house the other day, proposing what I did. You could have taken advantage of me then and you did not.’

‘You should not confuse financial probity with an unwillingness to pounce on young ladies when I am half-asleep and three-parts drunk.’ His smile deepened, suggested that now he was not tired or drunk he might reconsider pouncing.

‘Were you really? Goodness, I would never have guessed.’

‘You thought I look like that stone-cold sober and after a good night’s sleep, a bath and a shave? I am wounded, Caroline.’

‘No, you are not, you are teasing me. And, yes, I do understand that I am asking you to shoulder a significant responsibility, even if it makes little actual work for you personally and involves no financial loss. How can I recompense you?’

The amusement faded out of the deep-brown eyes and they became harder than she could ever have imagined. ‘I already hold one too many of your IOUs, Caroline. I will undertake this for you because you asked and because you are doing it for your brother, not because you have got yourself into this ridiculous mess.’

The smile edged back, curving the corners of his mouth, but not warming his eyes as he moved to stand beside the chaise. ‘I have spent my youth and my adult life being disgraceful. A gambler, a hedonist. Being responsible is a bore. And yet now I find myself having to be the sensible one. This summer I have been attempting to talk a close friend out of a totally unsuitable marriage and now I am resisting the urge to take you up on your reckless offer. I do not know what is coming over me. Old age, possibly.’

Old age? Nonsense. Surely he cannot be above twenty-eight or nine? ‘You still have my promise.’ Somehow their fingers met, brushed, then hers curled into his. Not quite a hand-clasp, not quite a caress. She looked up and met Gabriel’s unreadable gaze as his fingers tightened. ‘And Papa tells me he has given Lord Woodruffe permission to court me.’

‘Edgar Parfit?’ Her hand was her own again and Gabriel was three angry strides away. ‘That per— Is your father insane?’

She had often wondered what would be the verdict on her father’s behaviour if he had been simply plain Mr Henry Holm, a shoemaker, perhaps. What in an earl was eccentricity would, surely, be treated rather differently in other circumstances. The obsessions, the mood swings, the recklessness and the utter disregard for other people were not normal, she knew. But to say the words was a step too far.

‘No one has ever suggested my father is not legally competent,’ she said carefully. ‘Many in society would say Lord Woodruffe is an eligible match...’

‘Well, quite obviously you cannot marry him. Besides his unpleasant preferences, he is probably diseased—’

What does he mean, diseased? Horrible suspicions presented themselves and she pushed them away, knowing they would come back to haunt her dreams. The atmosphere of closeness, of something trembling on the edge of desire, vanished in the cold chill of reality.

‘What do you mean, preferences?’

He shook his head.

‘Tell me! Preserving my innocence until I am actually married to the man is not going to help.’

‘Some men enjoy pain as part of sex. Some want to receive it, be beaten.’ His face tightened as though at some unpleasant memory. ‘Others enjoy inflicting it. Woodruffe has a reputation for the latter.’

‘Oh.’ She felt sick as she recalled Miranda, Woodruffe’s first wife. The bruises because she was so careless. The days when she did not leave her room because her health was fragile. Bullying her into riding despite her fear of horses had been the least of it.

But what could she do? ‘Lord Edenbridge, listen to me. Your friend who is contemplating an unsuitable marriage is, I assume, male. He can choose. He is independent, free. I cannot choose and I am not free. Not legally, not financially and not emotionally. I have a family and I promised Mama I would somehow look after them.’ My brothers at least. Heavens knows if anything can be done for Papa. She found she was on her feet. ‘I will send back the deeds and I am truly grateful for your help. Please will you open the door now?’

‘Caroline, this is the year 1820. Your father cannot force you to the altar.’ Gabriel stood, unlocked the door, but kept his hand on the handle.

‘Not physically, no,’ she agreed, even as she wondered what bullying and bread and water might reduce her to if she defied Papa. Somehow she was going to have to persuade him because the alternatives, marriage to Woodruffe or fleeing her home and leaving Anthony, were too horrible to contemplate.

She reached the door handle and he caught her fingers in his, pulled her close until her skirts brushed his legs and she could smell him—clean, warm man, starched linen, brandy, a careless splash of some citrus scent, that hint of musk again.

‘Infuriating, stubborn woman. I do not know whether to shake you or kiss you,’ he said, his tone suggesting that neither was very desirable.

‘Kiss me then, for courage,’ she said, seized with recklessness and something that must be desire: a hot, shaky feeling, a low, intimate ache, a light-headed urge to toss common sense out of the window. No other attractive man was ever going to kiss her, it seemed. She must seize the opportunity while she had it.

Gabriel lifted one hand, cupped her jaw, stroked his thumb across her lips and the breath was sucked out of her lungs. ‘Have you ever been kissed before?’

She shook her head and he bent to touch his lips to hers, caught her around the waist with his free hand and pulled her, unresisting, against him. His mouth was warm, mobile, firm. He pressed a little, shifted position, his hand came up from her cheek to cradle her head and he made a sound of satisfaction when he had her as he wanted. Then she felt his tongue and the heat of his open mouth and opened her own in response as he slid in, exploring and stroking.

It was incredible and strange. It should be disgusting and wet, but she found the taste of him exciting, the heat inflammatory. She sensed his restraint, that he was holding back, toying gently with her, and she stepped forward until their bodies were tight together, wanting more of this strange new intimacy.

His body was hard against her curves and there was the urge to rub against him, as a cat might burrow into a caress. But he was still and perhaps he would not like it if she did that...

Far too soon Gabriel ended the kiss, took his hands from her body, stepped back. ‘Enough. Enough for your safety and more than enough for my comfort,’ he added mysteriously, as he pulled open the door and looked out. ‘Quickly, while there is no one about. Turn down Woodruffe, Caroline. Send me those deeds, then stay away from me.’ He almost pushed her out into the corridor. ‘Now go while I can still listen to what passes as my conscience.’

Gabriel had kissed her and now he did not want her. Of course not, no doubt I was clumsy in my inexperience. So what was that caress for if he did not desire her? There was something that had driven him to kiss her, something that had made that relaxed body tense. I want him, perhaps he could come to want me? Madness.

‘Well, if you do not want me I shall not burden you any longer, Lord Edenbridge.’ She made to sweep past him, annoyed that he could make her feel so much and yet obviously feel nothing himself.

There was a flurry of skirts, the muffled sound of a collision and a feminine voice said, ‘I do beg your pardon, sir.’

Gabriel half-turned to confront the speaker and Caroline caught a glimpse of a tall young lady dressed in an exquisite sea-foam-green gown.

‘Oh. Lord Edenbridge.’ The stranger did not seem overjoyed to see him and he did not even respond to her.

Caroline stepped away, her hand to her mouth, not certain whether she was stifling a sob or trying to hide her face.

‘Come back!’

She stopped, looked back.