The Bluestocking's Dilemma Page 23

  He grinned. “Dashed sporting of you, Caro. I never really could do this stuff, and with m’mother always watching and the girl always expecting me to be a blasted caper merchant, well ...”

  “I know. I feel most fortunate that Papa was such an excellent dancer and used to help me. He always said that a woman who could converse intelligently was a treasure, but one who could do so while dancing was one who could rule the world. And as ruling the world rather appealed to me when I was six, I heeded his advice.” From these reminiscences, Caro moved deftly to even safer topics, and in no time at all, her partner was moving easily and naturally—so easily and naturally that he was surprised when the music ended. Caro nodded sagely. “There. You see, that wasn’t half bad, was it?”

  “Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch!” Her partner was genuinely mystified. “You’re an amazing woman, Caro, a . . . but the rest of his remarks were cut short as the marquess materialized next to him. “Why, hello, Nicholas. “Wherever did you come from?”

  “Come to take your partner from you, lad. Know you aren’t much in that sort of line, so I thought I would relieve you from such discomfort.’’

  “Who says I was uncomfortable?” The viscount looked aggrieved. “As a matter of fact, I was just beginning to enjoy myself. I tell you, Caro is an amazing woman,” he remarked to the marquess’s retreating back as Nicholas led Caro to the floor. “Amazing woman.” Tony shook his head and went off in search of the more congenial company of Captain Allen and Lieutenant Forbush.

  “Well, that was certainly high-handed of you,” Caro began impetuously. “Tony and I were just settling into a good discussion of Lieutenant Forbush’s chances of making it to Brighton in his curricle in under three hours, given his swift but unpredictable cattle.”

  “How else was I to get you away? You’re always immersed in conversation with one admirer or another.’’ Even to the marquess, in the grip of unexpected emotions, this sounded churlish. “I mean that you are so constantly surrounded by gentlemen that it is impossible to be alone with you.” Lord, that sounded no better.

  “Alone?”

  “But naturally, I wished ...” But what precisely had he wished? Was it to tell her how lovely she was; how he ached to hold her? Worse and worse! Nicholas hadn’t even known that himself until his treacherous impulses had betrayed him. Whatever was wrong with him? Caro wasn’t the sort of woman to make his pulses race. Only one woman had done that and that had been when he was in his salad days. No, to him Caro was more of a companion, the sort of person you could count on to talk sensibly about serious topics, one that you could trust not to exert any feminine wiles. That’s it. She was a comfortable sort of person. “Well, I. . .” He looked down into the big gray eyes, the soft lips half parted, and all thoughts of comfort were driven from his mind. Get a hold of yourself, man, Nicholas admonished himself severely. “I had meant to ask your opinion of Parliament’s passing of the Seditious Meetings Bill.”

  It was no good. She wasn’t making him feel the least bit comfortable now, as she tilted her head quizzically at his obvious discomfiture. Where had she learned to smile like that, with the provocative little quirk to lips, which he longed to kiss. In fact, that was all he wanted to do—lead her off onto the balcony just outside and sweep her into his arms.

  “The Seditious Meetings Bill? Why, of course I think it is an abomination. To be sure, there have been riots here and in other parts of the country, but in the main I believe that if such meetings were not threatened with forced dispersal, they would end peacefully of their own accord.” There was no response. Caro looked up. Though the marquess was gazing intently down at her, somehow she had the feeling that he did not see her at all. “My lord?” She raised one dark brow questioningly.

  “Where did you learn to dress like that?” he blurted. “What?” Truly, the conversation was becoming odder and odder.

  “I had thought that your mind was above such things, that you scorned to cast out lures the way other women do,” he hissed.

  Caro straightened indignantly. “It is; I mean, I do. And I don’t see what cause or what right you have to criticize me.”

  It was an unanswerable reply, but Nicholas, goaded by forces beyond his control retorted, “You are no different from the rest. Once you have caught people’s attention, you are as eager as any of the rest of your sex to court admiring glances.”

  “I am not!” she gasped, pale with fury. “I dress to please myself and if I wish to appear as beautiful as I can for myself, then I do not see what affair it is of yours!”

  “Not to mention Tony Mandeville’s. You have cozened him nicely, and ...”

  “If I were a man, I would hit you,” Caro seethed. She was so angry now that her breath was coming in gasps. “As it is, I think it is grossly unfair of you to provoke me in such a public setting where you know I can’t.”

  “Very well, then,” he retorted, pulling her through the French doors onto the balcony. Nicholas had only meant to find a private place where they could continue the argument, as it was now apparent that that was what the conversation was rapidly degenerating into. But when he found himself alone with Caro in the cool darkness with the light from the ballroom creating a warm glow behind her, washing over her bare shoulders, revealing the tantalizing curves, and casting a shadow in the soft hollow at the base of her throat, he could think of nothing else but how intoxicating it was to be near her and how desperately he wanted her.

  Caro too felt some of the fury drain away as she stepped out into the fresh air. The music was faint, the breeze billowing the curtains was gentle, creating an aura of unreality. A queer lassitude stole over her as the marquess turned to look at her, the white of his shirt front catching the light and emphasizing the angles of his face, the square jaw, high cheekbones, the deep-set blue eyes whose expression remained unfathomable. Puzzled, she stepped closer trying to read him, her gaze steady, her lips parted in an unspoken question.

  It was too much. With a groan, Nicholas pulled her toward him and brought his mouth down on the soft full lips, moving gently against them, then more insistently as he felt them part beneath his and the rush of breath as she sighed softly.

  For a moment Caro was too astonished to react. A strange languor swept over her, immobilizing her in the marquess’s arms. As his lips came down on hers and she felt their warmth and inhaled the scent of his clean linen and spicy soap, all she wanted to do was melt against him and revel in the strength and security of his embrace. It felt so safe and so comforting to be held so close. She hadn’t been held since she was a little girl and she had forgotten how wonderful it felt.

  His hands slid slowly down her shoulders to her waist. Caro felt their caress through the thin material of her gown and her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, she wanted him to go on kissing her more and more, holding her closer and closer, their bodies meeting all the way down to their toes.

  So this was what it was like. And with a clarity that she would not have thought possible, given the heightened rate of her pulse and the irregularity of her breathing, Caro envisioned a certain look she had seen in the eyes of women like Sally Jersey as they had drifted slowly over the marquess. No! A warning voice sounded in her head. I will not be like those others. And with a supreme effort, Caro tore her lips away and gasped for air, “I told you I was dressing to please myself and not others, but if this is the result of my rash decision, I quite appreciate your concern. Good evening, my lord.” With a swirl of skirts, she turned and was gone, leaving her bemused partner staring after her.

  Chapter 27

  Reentering the ballroom, Caro would gladly have given all she possessed to leave it without having to endure, at best, polite conversation, at worst, curious stares for the rest of the evening. Fortunately for her peace of mind, she was not so well-known in the ton that her absence had been remarked. Though the Marquess of Everleigh was an object of much more interest, she and Nicholas had hardly begun to dance before their contretemps and thus
no one had had much opportunity to realize that she had been the Marquess of Everleigh’s partner. There was one, however, who did notice. “And where is Nicky?” Lavinia questioned her sharply upon her return. The countess’s eagle eye had discerned the marquess the moment he had entered the room— not that it was at all difficult to pick out his tall athletic form and self-possessed air among the multitude of beaux who owed their distinction to their tailors rather than to their characters.

  “Oh, he saw someone he wished to speak to and I assured him I was quite capable of making it back here on my own,” Caro replied airily.

  Lavvy frowned. “That is indeed odd. I know he was dreadfully put out to see me dancing the waltz with Sir Evelyn when he was so eager to lead me out, but one cannot sit in a man’s pocket, after all, and surely he must have known the dance would be ending soon.”

  “No doubt,” was the absentminded reply. Really, Caro wished her cousin would stop chattering for a moment at least, so she could put her confused thoughts in order. But peace was not to be hers, as not very many minutes later, Captain Allen came to request the pleasure of a dance. He was closely succeeded by Lieutenant Forbush and so many others that Lavinia remarked waspishly, “Really, Caro. You must be less coming. All those dances, all those partners. You wouldn’t want people to think you fast.”

  It was all Caro could do to keep her jaw from dropping. But after all, Lavinia had always considered caprice to be her prerogative, and if she wished to berate her cousin for coming out of the unfashionable shell that had previously been so embarrassing to the countess, so be it. Caro shrugged and turned back to Tony, who was wondering aloud if she had as yet seen Captain Allen’s new hunter. “Magnificent animal, most powerful shoulders I’ve seen—Irish, you know.”

  “No, I had not. Where did he find the creature?” she replied abstractedly, trying desperately, but unsuccessfully, to keep her eyes from following a tall form on the other side of the room. Fortunately, Tony was entirely satisfied with remarks made at random, for Caro’s mind was entirely preoccupied with the upsetting scene on the balcony. She would never have believed it possible that she, Caroline Waverly, bluest of bluestockings, could find herself in such a position—as though she were any flirt out to catch a rich prize in the parson’s mousetrap. And the worst of it was, she had enjoyed it. While it was true that her mind had rebelled, it was long after her body had shown her that there were other things she had failed to take into account when considering the relationship of the sexes.

  All of a sudden, she felt absurdly innocent and naive, foolish too, as she thought back to a time when she had been advising a young maid considering marriage to the ostler at the local inn. “Tess, you must not be in such a rush to throw away your freedom. At the moment you are free to come and go and work wherever you choose. If you throw in your lot with Matt, you will be forever tied to his whims and his fortunes.” At the time, she had thought the girl’s simple answer, “But, miss, I love ‘im and I wants to be with ‘im,” foolish in the extreme. Now, recalling the glowing look, the tender softness in the eyes, Caro could better understand Tess’s just wanting to be near the lad. After all, if Caro had not had her much vaunted pride and independence to consider, would she not still be locked in the marquess’s embrace—or worse—on the balcony?

  It would have relieved Caro’s mind considerably to know that directly on the other side of the room, Nicholas’s thoughts were equally in a turmoil. But while Caro had tried to put them aside as she engaged in one dance after another, Nicholas completely ignored the festivity around him as he propped his broad shoulders against the convenient pillar and stared blankly at the dancers whirling around him.

  Whatever had possessed him to do such a thing? As one who had had more lures thrown out to him than he cared to remember, the marquess was not one to force himself on an unwilling lady. And Lord knows, no one in his right mind would have called a devotee of Mary Wollstonecraft willing. That is precisely the problem, old man, he took himself severely to task. You aren’t in your right mind. While it was true that there had been distinct provocation, it had not been so much because she wished to attract admirers, but because she had wanted to prove, as much to herself as to others, that she could capture as much interest as the best of them. She was forcing the ton to pay attention to and accept what she was by beating them at their own game in spite of her intellectual eccentricities. He saw it all now. She truly had done it for herself, but the effect was no less staggering than if she had dressed deliberately to pique his interest. And it was precisely her unconsciousness that had made it all so irresistible.

  With women like Lavinia, the marquess, after his initial disillusionment, had been so acutely conscious that he was being flirted with that he was not in the least danger of falling victim to their charms. But along came Caro, mindful of her new gown, to be sure, but still entirely unaware of its effect, and it was this innocence combined with unconscious sensuality that had been his undoing.

  Nor had this feeling lessened as he had pulled her to him. At that point, so many other women, their goal accomplished, lost interest or, like Lavinia, became concerned that their coiffure would be disarranged or their gowns crushed. Not Caro. Without a thought for outward appearance, she had melted in his arms. For an instant, he had thought he felt the generous lips quiver in response to his. Though she had remained virtually motionless, he had sensed intuitively that she was alive with energy and passion underneath his caressing hands and for a moment, looking down into the half-closed gray eyes, he had wanted to wrap his hands in the luxuriant dark hair, bury his head in the curve of the soft neck and trail kisses the length of the enticing body molded to his.

  But Caro would not have been Caro if her mind had not quickly reasserted itself and once more made her mistress of her body and the situation. Her words had made him feel like the veriest fool, an importunate coxcomb, but that did not stop him from wishing to do it all over again. Stealing a glance in her direction, the marquess was overwhelmed with longing as he caught sight of the slender form being waltzed around the floor by Captain Allen. That puppy! Ordinarily, the marquess would have dubbed the bluff and genial captain the best of good fellows, but at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to wring the young man’s neck. An excellent soldier he might be, but he was no more fit to be a companion to the clever Caro than Tony was. Her intelligence, her grasp of affairs, were wasted on him.

  The more he considered it, the more Nicholas realized that such a rare combination of talents would be wasted on most men. Come to think of it, he, Nicholas Daventry, was one of the few people who could truly appreciate Lady Caroline Waverly. But what was he to do about it? He had seen the fury in her eyes just before she had left him standing like a nodcock on the balcony. Where any other woman was concerned, Nicholas would not have wasted a moment worrying—a carefully selected bouquet, a few well-chosen words of apology, some nattering remarks concerning the intoxication of the moment, and the fair victim would have been mollified and ready for more. Not so with Caro, for it had not been her sense of propriety that had been so much offended as her sense of her own integrity. If propriety had been in question, it might have been simpler, for Nicholas had discovered that ladies who invoked that god of the ton did so more for convenience than because they truly subscribed to it. Once propriety came into conflict with the vanity of capturing an eligible prize, it was usually quickly dispensed with.

  Caro, however, was another case. Her values, arrived at after years of reading and serious reflection, were immutable. That was what had attracted him to her in the first place. That was what had made her a trustworthy companion, someone he wished to share his life with, and that was what made it supremely difficult now, because he had trespassed on those values. Good God, could that be Nicholas Daventry speaking? The man who had joined the army precisely because life had been so dull and predictable, the man who had railed against the enviable fate of inheriting titles and vast estates because it threatened his freedom, no
w wishing to spend the rest of his life with one woman, and a damned stiff-rumped bluestocking at that?

  The implications of it all quite took his breath away. Even in his salad days when he had been top over tail in love with Lavinia, he had not truly wanted anything more than to kiss her and be acknowledged as the favored suitor, and he would have found himself at a standstill if she had actually accepted him. Now he had visions of Caro at Everleigh riding hell-for-leather across its fields, sharing conversations with Clarissa, romping with children and dogs, but most of all, smiling up at him with her wise sweet smile, questioning him, challenging him, encouraging him to educate the tenants and the villagers in the surrounding countryside, to reform the Poor Laws, and lastly, clinging to him and kissing him so he knew that she loved him as much as he did her.

  Love! The marquess jerked himself upright. This couldn’t be love! Why, he hadn’t even thought of Caro as a woman until this evening, and now he was envisioning her as his wife! No, that was not entirely correct. He still remembered how the sight of her slim figure clad in breeches had taken his breath away, or, sometimes, looking deep into the gray eyes, he had felt an unaccountable tenderness welling up within him. But was this love, and if so, how long had he been this way?

  He supposed that in a way, it had begun so long ago when she had offered him her quaint wisdom and sympathy over Lavvy’s rejection. He had warmed to that same loving concern that she had later towards Cedric and Clarence. Afterwards, he had come to appreciate the quick and inquiring mind and the indomitable spirit, a spirit that appeared to win the allegiance of everyone except possibly Lavinia. It had been such a comfortable feeling—more a sense of shared ideals and common goals—that it had crept up on Nicholas unnoticed until now, when he very much feared he might have jeopardized the entire thing. Caro was nothing if not resolute, and once she had made up her mind, she was unlikely to change it. Judging from the way she had fled his presence, it was going to take all his address to get her to listen to him, much less forgive him for the insult to her character. And then, if by some miracle he accomplished that, then he could begin to try to persuade her to become his wife. That in itself seemed an impossible task, for what did he have to offer as inducement to a lady of independent means who treasured her autonomy and freedom above all else?