Confessions at Midnight

Chapter Twelve

"Are you hurt?" Daniel asked, his gaze anxiously searching Carolyn's shocked face.

She shook her head, and his profound relief nearly rendered him light-headed.

"Are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine." Actually, he was nowhere near fine. That shot had barely missed her. Another few inches and-

He cut off the horrific thought. "We need to get inside. Quickly."

He grabbed her hand, and shielding her with his body, hurried her toward her front door. They'd nearly reached it when oak panel flew open, revealing a wide-eyed butler.

"What on earth-"

The butler's words were cut off as they hurried into the foyer and Daniel quickly closed and locked the door. Then he turned to Carolyn and grasped her shoulders.

"You're certain you're all right?" he asked, unable to shake off the gut-twisting image of that shot actually hitting her.

"I'm fine. Shaken and stunned, but unharmed."

She quickly introduced her butler, who asked, "What happened?"

"A shot was fired, from the park," Daniel said tersely. "It nearly hit Lady Wingate."

Nelson's face turned the color of chalk. "Dear God." He looked Carolyn over, as if to satisfy himself that she truly wasn't injured. Then anger flashed in his dark eyes. "First Lady Crawford's murder and now this. Terrible what the world's come to, brigands hurting innocent people, and ladies no less! 'Tis shocking."

"Yes," Daniel agreed. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Except he suddenly didn't think it was the work of just any brigand. "The authorities must be summoned," he said to Nelson. "Mr. Rayburn, the magistrate, attended the Gatesbourne soiree this evening. You might check for him there first."

"Yes, my lord. I'll do so at once," Nelson said, then looked at Carolyn and hesitated.

"I'll remain here with Lady Wingate until you return," Daniel assured him. "I'll allow no harm to come to her. And so no harm comes to you, call at my town house and instruct my footman Samuel to accompany you."

"Yes, my lord."

"Are you armed, Nelson?"

The butler leaned down and patted the side of his boot. "Always carry a knife, my lord."

After Nelson left, Daniel locked the door then braced his hands against the oak panel and took several seconds to pull in a calming breath, which unfortunately did nothing to calm him. Bloody hell, she'd almost been killed. And it was entirely his fault.

He felt her hand upon his back and turned around. The mere sight of her, standing before him, her beautiful eyes clouded with concern, damn near brought him to his knees. A shudder rippled through him as he relived that shot ringing out, followed by the unthinkable, horrible aftermath of what had nearly occurred.

She reached up and rested her palm against cheek. "You're so pale, Daniel. Are you certain you weren't injured?"

The sound of his name on her lips, the touch of her hand against his skin, the worry in her eyes, all threatened to undo him.

"I'm not injured." He turned his face to press a kiss against her palm. "But I must talk to you about what happened."

"All right. Let's go to the drawing room." Taking his hand, she led him down the corridor. Once inside the room, they moved toward the hearth, where a low-burning fire crackled in the grate. She sat on the settee, but he felt too restless to join her. Instead he paced the length of the room, every muscle tense, his mind whirling.

As he passed her, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Daniel, what's wrong?"

He looked down at her and the lump of fear and fury that had lodged in his throat when that shot rang out threatened to choke him. "What's wrong," he said in as calm a tone as he could manage, "is that you were nearly killed."

"As were you." She offered him a shaky smile. "Luckily the only casualty was my urn. Surely it was an accident. A shot gone astray. Fired by some intoxicated reveler."

He shook his head. "I don't believe it was an accident, Carolyn. I'm certain that shot was meant for me. And it nearly killed you."

She frowned. "What do you mean? If someone had meant to rob you, they'd hardly shoot at you from across the street."

"The person wasn't trying to rob me. I'm quite certain he meant to kill me."

Fear and horror widened her eyes. "Who would do such a thing? And why?"

Unable to stand still, he slipped his hand from hers and continued to pace while telling her about his aborted investment with Lord Tolliver. "He threatened me at the masquerade ball, but I shrugged off his words as the ramblings of a drunkard." He halted in front of her and fresh anger raced through him. "Based on tonight's shooting, however, Tolliver's threats weren't empty. And you were nearly the victim of his vendetta against me." Bloody hell, if Tolliver had harmed so much as a hair on her head, he would have hunted the man down and killed him without a moment's remorse. As it was, it required a great effort not do so and to instead allow the authorities to go after the bastard.

Daniel sat beside Carolyn on the settee and clasped her hands, entwining their fingers. He wasn't a spiritual man, hadn't uttered in prayer since the age of eight when he'd painfully learned that no higher being listened to his invocations, yet he couldn't stop the mantra reverberating through his mind: Thank you for sparing her. Thank you for not taking her away.

His gaze devoured her and he had to swallow to locate his voice. "I'm sorry, Carolyn. Sorry that something so ugly has touched you. Sorry that it's my fault. That I underestimated Tolliver. I had no idea he'd be so reckless, so bold. It's a mistake I assure you I won't make again. And you have my word I won't allow any harm to come to you."

"Daniel…" She slipped one hand from his then reached up to brush back his hair where it had fallen over his forehead. How was it possible that such a simple, innocent gesture from her shuddered more pleasure through him than the most erotic caress from any other woman ever had?

"You are not responsible for the actions of other people," she said softly. "Only for your own. Whatever Lord Tolliver chooses to do is in no way your fault." She trailed her fingertips slowly down his cheek, then along his jaw. "Please don't blame yourself."

He captured her hand and pressed it against his chest, right over the spot where his heart thudded hard and fast. Her words… bloody hell, weren't they a lovely fairy tale? He knew all too well the hell his actions were capable of causing. The images he always battled away crowded his mind and he forcibly shoved them aside. One death already weighed heavily on his conscience. He couldn't bear another one.

"I would never forgive myself if any harm came to you." The words felt ripped from his throat. They sounded raw. Edgy. Not a big surprise, he supposed, as that's precisely how he felt. Uncharacteristically so. But there was no denying that the mere thought of Carolyn being hurt, especially because of him, pushed him toward the very brink of reason.

"As you can see, I am perfectly fine," she said. "And to my very great relief, so are you-although I must say, you look as if you could use a brandy. Unfortunately I don't have any."

He forced a half smile at her obvious attempt to lighten his mood, but his emotions remained shrouded in a swirl of darkness. "I don't want a drink."

No, what he wanted was to gather her close, bury his face in that warm, fragrant spot where her neck and shoulder met and simply breathe her in. For hours. Days. Until the image of that shot whizzing by her face was erased.

Splaying her fingers against his chest, she said, "I'm frightened for you. You must promise me that you'll be very careful and take extremely good care of yourself." She glanced down at her hand and her bottom lip trembled. Then she looked into his eyes and he felt as if he were drowning. "I can't have any harm coming to my…"

"Friend?" he supplied when she hesitated.

"Yes. My friend. And… lover."

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, savoring her words. Then he lifted her hand and pressed a fervent kiss against her palm. "And you must promise me the same, my most treasured friend. And lover."

"I promise."

No longer able to resist the craving gnawing at him, he gathered her into his arms. He meant to give her nothing more than a brief kiss, but the instant his lips covered hers, all the fear and worry spiraling inside him seemed to detonate. His mouth claimed hers in a hard, deep kiss that felt desperate. Out of control. And utterly lacking in finesse. His hands, usually so steady, shook as they clasped her to him, unable to let go. Or hold her close enough.

The fact that he'd nearly lost her kept echoing through his mind, fueling an urgent demand to hold her closer, kiss her more deeply. Something wild raged through him, something he couldn't name, as he'd never felt it before. Something that writhed beneath his skin and filled his very bones with the need to hold her. Protect her.

In some distant corner of his mind it registered that she was saying his name. Pushing against his chest. Lifting his head, he pulled a breath into his burning lungs. She stared at him, wide-eyed, her lips red and swollen from his frantic kiss, her hair mussed and bodice askew from his impatient hands.

And sanity returned. Bringing with it a healthy shot of self-disgust at his lack of control.

"I'm sorry," he said, forcing his arms to loosen around her. "I didn't mean to…" Give in to something I'm at a loss to explain.

"Kiss me until my bones melted? Believe me, there's no need to apologize."

She touched her fingertips to her lips, and he inwardly cursed himself. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. I… I simply had no idea I could inspire such unbridled passion."

Curiosity struck him at her words. Did she mean she didn't know she could inspire such passion in him-or in any man?

Surely just in him. Because surely Edward had taken every opportunity to show her just how much passion she could inspire with a mere look.

Hadn't he?

He frowned, but before he could ponder further on the question, she rose and hastily smoothed her hair and gown. "As much as I didn't want to stop you, I heard the front gate bell ring. Which means Nelson has returned."

Daniel instantly rose, slipped his knife from his boot and moved to the door. Every muscle alert, he cautiously peered into the corridor, then relaxed when he saw Nelson entering the foyer. After closing the door, he slipped the knife back into his boot then turned to Carolyn and ran a hand through his hair. Bloody hell, he hadn't heard a bell. Hadn't been aware of anything save her. Tolliver could have entered the damn room and he wouldn't have known the man was there until the bastard shot him.

"Do I look… undone?" she asked, smoothing her hands over her gown.

"You look… perfect."

And she did. Like a demure lady. A demure lady whose rosy flush and slightly swollen lips lent her an air of a ripe peach begging to be plucked. For the sake of discretion, he hoped the dimly lit foyer would hide the color staining her cheeks.

He followed her from the room. Nelson stood in the foyer along with Charles Rayburn and, to Daniel's surprise, Gideon Mayne, the Bow Street Runner.

"Where's Samuel?" Daniel asked.

"He returned to your residence, my lord, to make certain the ladies there were safe," Nelson reported. "We assured him you and Lady Wingate were in good hands."

Daniel nodded then turned a questioning gaze toward Mayne.

"I was still with Rayburn at the Gatesbourne residence when your man arrived," Mayne said in response to Daniel's look.

He noticed Mayne's sharp eyes taking in every aspect of Carolyn's appearance and his muscles tensed. There was something about this man and his brusque manner he didn't care for.

"I came here with Rayburn," Mayne said, "to ascertain if tonight's shooting might be connected in some way to the Lady Walsh matter."

Daniel's brows shot upward. "Why would you think that?"

Mayne's inscrutable gaze gave nothing away. "Just a hunch."

"Have you discovered who killed her?"

"Not yet," said Mayne, treating Daniel to a piercing stare, "but I'm confident the matter will soon be resolved."

"I don't believe her murder and tonight's shooting are connected," Daniel said.

"Why is that?" Rayburn asked.

"Let's retire to the drawing room, gentlemen," Carolyn broke in.

Mayne looked as if he wanted to argue, but he gave a tight nod. Nelson showed the group to the drawing room, then departed. As soon as the door closed behind him, Mayne said to Daniel, "You and Lady Wingate left the Gatesbourne party separately. How was it that you were escorting her home?"

Daniel didn't care for the speculation in the Runner's voice. "One of my female staff took ill. I sent my footman to Lady Wingate's home to see if her maid could assist. Lady Wingate was kind enough to come as well."

"And where was her maid during your walk home?" Mayne asked, his gaze never leaving Daniel.

"She offered to remain and I gratefully accepted."

"Tell us about the shooting," Rayburn urged.

Daniel repeated the story of their near miss, then related what had transpired between him and Tolliver.

When he finished, Mayne said, "If Tolliver is responsible, he might target other investors besides you, as well as Mr. Jennsen. Since Jennsen advised you not to invest, he might have done the same for others. Who else was involved in this investment?"

"I know Tolliver was hoping to interest Lord Warwick and Lord Heaton, but I've no idea the outcome of those discussions."

"We'll look into it," Rayburn said. "I'd advise you to be very careful, Lord Surbrooke, until we're able to clear up this matter. Glad neither of you were hurt."

As their business was concluded, Carolyn walked them all into the foyer. "We'll see you safely home, my lord," Rayburn said, "then Mayne and I will head into the park to see what we can find."

The last thing Daniel wanted to do was leave, but to argue would only lead to speculation that he and Carolyn were… involved. And while he personally didn't care who the hell knew, he'd promised her discretion.

Still, it rankled that he couldn't kiss her good-bye. Wasn't free to offer her anything other than a tepid good-night. Couldn't say the words that unexpectedly all but burned his tongue. VU miss you.

Bloody hell. He'd never, not even once, felt the desire to utter such a thing to a woman. Perhaps it was best they weren't alone, lest he'd be tempted to spew all sorts of drivel. Yet drivel though it might be, he couldn't deny it. He hadn't even left her home and already missed her. Missed talking to her. Touching her. Kissing her. And now nine long hours stretched before him until he could see her again.

Offering her a formal bow, he thanked her again for her assistance, reiterated that he was grateful she wasn't harmed, then bid her good-night.

He had to force his legs to walk away from her.

Force himself not to turn around in hopes of gaining a glimpse of her during the short walk back to his town house accompanied by Rayburn and Mayne.

Samuel opened the door to admit him, and the instant the oak panel closed behind him, his clearly nervous footman asked why the magistrate and Runner had accompanied him home. Daniel quickly explained the situation, concluding with, "Hopefully, Rayburn and Mayne will find that bastard Tolliver." His hands clenched. "If they don't, I'll simply have to locate him myself."

"Ye can count on me to help with that, milord," Samuel said, his dark eyes flashing with anger. "Anybody wot tries to harm ye will have to get through me first."

As always, Samuel's loyalty humbled him. "Thank you, but hopefully that won't be necessary. Rayburn and Mayne seem very capable. And determined." Yes, determined that he was a suspect in Blythe's murder. "Now tell me, how is Katie?"

"Still asleep. Gertrude's with her."

"Then she's in good hands. You should go to bed, Samuel. Get some rest."

"I'll go to bed, milord, but I doubt I'll be gettin' any rest. Can't stop picturin' Katie in my mind."

As he couldn't stop picturing Carolyn in his mind, Daniel doubted he'd get much sleep, either. After bidding Samuel good-night, he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber, but instead of heading toward his turned-down bed, he poured himself a brandy then stood before the fireplace and stared into the remnants still glowing in the grate.

And all he saw was her. Her smile. Her beautiful face. Her gorgeous, expressive eyes. How many hours would he need to stare at her before he'd tire of looking at her? Hundreds? Thousands? A humorless sound escaped him. Somehow he suddenly couldn't envision ever growing bored of looking at her. Hearing her laughter. Listening to her voice.

Good God, he was going daft. When the bloody hell had the mere look of a woman, the sound of her laughter and voice, ever been enough to give him such a deep sense of satisfaction?

Never, his inner voice instantly answered.

His intense desire for her seemed to grow with each passing moment. He closed his eyes and recalled her in his conservatory. Gown bunched up, legs splayed, sex glistening with need. He swelled against his breeches and groaned. Bloody hell, he could still taste her on his tongue. And God knows he longed to have her beneath him, over him, wrapped around him.

Yet, also strong was this unfamiliar desire to simply talk to her. Spend time with her. Dance with her. Hold her hand. Be in the same room with her. Tell her things he'd never told anyone else. He'd never experienced such a thing before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Sex, desire, lust were purely physical and ultimately uncomplicated. These unprecedented… feelings Carolyn inspired felt so extremely complicated. And dangerous. As if he were navigating rough seas without benefit of a boat.

With a sigh he glanced at the mantel clock.

Only eight hours twenty-seven minutes until he saw her again.

He groaned and performed a quick calculation in his head. Then, for the second time that evening, he found himself praying, this time that the next five hundred seven minutes would pass very, very quickly.