Rebellious Desire

Chapter Four

Caroline's sense of humor saved her from actual despair. That, and Charity's continual excitement over the coming activities. Her cousin loved the attention and became fast friends with Madam Newcott, a dressmaker with a clever eye for fabrics and figures. Charity embraced every minute of what Caroline silently called the ordeal.

The Earl of Braxton hadn't stopped with an order for just one dress but insisted that both of his charges be furnished with complete wardrobes.

Madam Newcott suggested pinks and pale yellows for Charity and added lace here and there to compliment her petite stature. She wouldn't allow ruffles, stating that they would overpower and detract from Charity's pretty figure.

Caroline found herself draped in blues, lavenders, and ivories, including a pale ivory gown that was entirely too low cut and too snug to her liking, but did compliment her hair and coloring. She felt wanton in it and told Charity so.

"Mama would drape a shawl over your chest," Charity stated with a grin. "And my papa wouldn't let you out of the house. Uncle will have to use a cane to beat off the suitors when you wear it in public."

"I swear that I have been pinched and pinned until I'm black and blue," Caroline remarked.

Madam Newcott, kneeling in front of Caroline and intent on putting the finishing touches on what she called a magnificent creation, ignored the comment.

"When is your father returning?" Charity asked, turning the topic.

"Tomorrow," Caroline answered. "The marquis lives quite a distance from London, and Father will spend the night there and return tomorrow."

"The marquis is your mother's older brother, or is he younger?" Charity asked.

"He is older. I have another uncle, Franklin, and he is two years younger than my mother would have been if she was still alive… Am I making sense?"

"Some," Charity said with a smile. "Why didn't your papa just send a note telling the marquis of your return to England. Then he would have come back to London. Seems like a lot of trouble to me."

"Father wanted to tell him in person. Said he wanted to explain to him," Caroline answered, frowning. "You know, I didn't even realize I had two uncles until Father told me. Odd that he should show such deference now, isn't it?"

Charity thought about that for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders, dismissing the subject. "If only I had a portion of your shape," she lamented as she slipped out of the pink walking dress ever so carefully so that she wouldn't disturb the needles holding the fabric together.

"It's better to have too little than too much," Caroline commented. "You are the perfect shape."

"Madam Newcott?" Charity asked. "Caroline actually believes that she is too long-legged and too full-bosomed to be fashionable."

"I've never said that," Caroline protested. "But I'm practical. Long legs serve me well when I'm riding, but I can't find any practical use for-" She didn't finish the sentence but patted her chest instead.

Charity burst into laughter. "Caimen would box our ears if he could hear us now."

"That's true," Caroline replied. She glanced in the mirror and said, "My hair is so unruly. Do you think I should cut it?"

"No!"

"All right," Caroline placated. "I'll walk around like a wild woman then."

"I could trim it a little, as it will be long again by the time we return to Boston."

Caroline knew she had to tell Charity of her decision, and her smile faded as she shook her head. "I'm not sure that I'll be returning to Boston, Charity."

Charity opened her mouth to protest but Caroline's quick shake of her head stopped her. It wouldn't do to talk in front of Madam Newcott, and fortunately Charity understood.

But as soon as the dressmaker had taken her leave, Charity reopened the discussion. "I hope you'll not make a rash decision, Caroline. We've only been here two weeks. Give yourself more time before you decide what to do. Heavens, our brothers will have fits if you don't come home."

"I promise not to be rash," Caroline answered. "But I can't abandon my father, Charity. I just can't." She sighed with sadness and acceptance and whispered, "I am home. This is where I belong. For as long as my father is alive."

"You say you can't abandon your father yet that is exactly what he did to you," Charity argued. Her face was flushed and Caroline knew she was becoming quite angry. "For fourteen years he ignored you! How can you forget that?"

"I haven't forgotten," Caroline answered. "But there was a reason," she argued. "One beneath all the easy explanations, and someday he will tell me."

"I'll not argue with you, Sister," Charity announced. "In just a few days we will go to our first ball together. Your father is excited for us and I won't put a damper on his enthusiasm. Only promise me that you will wait to make your decision. I won't bring the subject up again for… two weeks. Then you will have had time to consider all the ramifications. Why, Caroline, you don't even like the English!"

"I haven't met all that many," Caroline returned.

The conversation suddenly reminded Caroline of the injured gentleman she had aided and their similar talk. And then she thought about the man named Bradford and the way he had affected her. She found herself thinking about him more than she wanted to but couldn't seem to block her thoughts. He threatened her somehow and when she acknowledged that to herself, she immediately decided that she was being dramatic. He was, after all, only a man.

The night of their first ball finally arrived. The Ashford bash, as her father called it, signaled the beginning of the season, and everyone of significance would be in attendance.

Caroline took her time dressing for the affair. Her hair eluded the pins and ribbons the maid repeatedly tried to fashion it with, and Caroline ended up brushing it all out and letting it fall around her shoulders.

Her gown was the color of violet ice, with a scooped neck that showed more than just a hint of her full bosom. Matching shoes and sparkling white gloves completed her outfit, and as Caroline stood before the gilded mirror in her bedroom, she decided that she looked quite acceptable.

Mary Margaret, the freckle-faced lady's maid that Deighton had hired to assist Caroline, carried on and on about how lovely her new mistress was. "Your eyes have taken on the color of your gown," she whispered in awe. " 'Tis magic, it is. Oh, if only I could change into a mouse and come with you to the ball. You'll cause such a commotion."

Caroline laughed. "If you change into a mouse, it's you who will cause the commotion," she teased. "But if you have a mind to wait up for me, I promise to tell you everything that happens."

From the maid's radiant expression, Caroline thought that she wouldn't have been very surprised if the girl had dropped to her knees. The adoration made her uneasy. "I'm very nervous, Mary Margaret. Tonight is my first ball."

"But you are Lady Caroline!" Mary Margaret protested. "Your position is secured by your birthright. And you are so beautiful," she added with a sigh.

"I am a simple farmgirl," Caroline contradicted. The maid looked ready to argue, and Caroline quickly thanked her for her assistance and then went to find her father and Charity.

The two of them were waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Charity looked lovely. Her hair was twisted into a cluster of curls with a pink ribbon threaded through it. Her gown was the same color as the ribbon, with a flattering scooped neck that just covered her shoulders. The pale, shimmering pink enhanced the pretty blush of her cheeks. Caroline had no doubt that the ton would embrace her cousin.

The Earl of Braxton watched as his daughter made her way down the stairs. His smile was proud and his eyes were filled with tears, an indication that he was pleased with her appearance. She waited until he had pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and had wiped his eyes before asking if he had waited long for her.

"Fourteen years," he answered before he could stop himself. Caroline smiled with true fondness over his honest remark. "You look beautiful tonight," he stated. "I will have to protect you from the bucks."

When they were seated in the carriage and on their way to the ball, Charity asked her uncle, "Is there anyone that you see most of the time?"

"I beg your pardon?" Caroline's father was slow to understand.

"Charity wishes to know if you are attracted to any particular lady," Caroline translated. She hadn't told Charity that her father had been a recluse all these past years.

"Oh, that! No, no, there is no one," he replied. "Years ago, I did escort Lady Tillman about."

"Perhaps she will be there tonight," Caroline commented.

"Her husband died right after I married your mother, Caroline," the earl commented. "She had a girl. I wonder how she turned out."

"But, Uncle, it must be lonely for you, living alone. I can't imagine it," Charity remarked with a frown.

"That is because you have always been surrounded by brothers," he replied.

"And Caroline," Charity interjected. "She has been my sister for as long as I can remember."

The three lapsed into silence as the carriage came to a stop in front of a thick stone house. It looked like a palace to Caroline and she felt her stomach begin to twist into knots. She was nervous.

"It is warm for fall," her father remarked as he assisted the ladies out of the carriage. He walked between them, holding Caroline's elbow with his left hand and Charity's with his right.

Charity tripped over one of the steps and Caroline had to remind her to put her spectacles on.

"Only until I am inside," Charity announced. "I know I am terribly vain but I look so awful when I'm wearing them!"

"Nonsense," her uncle insisted. "You look lovely with your spectacles on. Gives you a dignified appearance."

Charity didn't believe him. As soon as they entered the foyer, brightly lit with hundreds of candles, Charity slipped the spectacles off her nose and tucked them into her uncle's jacket. "I have not told you how handsome you look tonight, Uncle," she said.

Caroline's father answered with another compliment but Caroline barely paid attention. She was trying not to gawk as she took in the regal splendor surrounding her.

The Earl of Braxton immediately introduced his daughter and his niece to their host, who was standing at the head of a long receiving line. The Duke of Ashford was an old man, with a shock of white hair that had a faint yellow cast to it. He spoke in a high, nasally voice that sounded as if someone were pinching his nose. Caroline thought he was terribly impressed with himself but liked him anyway because he had embraced her father with an affectionate hug.

The duke couldn't seem to take his eyes off her and even used his quizzing glass to obtain a better look. She wondered, as she tried to ignore his rather rude stare, if she had suddenly grown additional arms or legs, and noticed that he didn't stare at Charity in quite the same way. She was most thankful when her father took hold of her arm and escorted her to the steps above the ballroom.

It was all a beautiful blur to Charity. She let the excitement of the evening catch hold of her. Tonight she would mingle with the fashionable ton. Surely one of them would know Paul Bleachley. Tonight she would take her first step in finding out all about her lost love.

The Earl of Braxton, with his daughter on one side and his niece clutching his arm on the other side, stood at the threshold of the ballroom. There were four steps leading down to the dance area, and the threesome had a full view of the crowd.

Father and daughter did not touch, though Charity squeezed her uncle's arm so that she wouldn't trip when they descended the steps. There was a sparkle in her eyes and her face was flushed with expectation.

Caroline, on the other hand, looked totally composed. She stood tall and proud, matching her father in height and dignity, and looked down on the people staring at her with a tranquil expression on her face.

The earl stood where he was until he was sure that every eye was directed at his beautiful daughter and niece. It was, he decided then and there, his finest moment! A notable hush descended over the group, and while Charity grew a little nervous over the prolonged wait, her uncle basked in pride.

The orchestra began again and several bold-looking men started toward the group. "Here they come," Caroline's father whispered with a soft chuckle.

So this was the adventure, Caroline thought as she was swamped with introductions. The more the eligibles advanced, the further Caroline retreated. She stood by her father's side, looking composed and radiant, but churned with jitters inside. She couldn't help but admire the way that Charity bantered coy remarks with the suitors surrounding her. She seemed to be in her element, blossoming like a spring flower in full splendor, and Caroline wondered what had happened to her own confidence. She felt shy and awkward and completely out of her element.

Charity's dance card was filled and she was led off to join a dance set in progress, but the Earl of Braxton declined a suitor attempting to take hold of his daughter, stating that she must first be introduced to his friends.

Her father's gaze was directed across the room, and Caroline turned her attention in that direction to see whom he was watching.

An elderly man had detached himself from a group of people and was slowly making his way around the edge of the dance floor. He was stoop-shouldered, somewhat bald, and used a cane to aid his progress.

"Who is he, Father?" Caroline asked.

"The Marquis of Aimsmond," her father answered. "Your mother's older brother."

"The man you went to see?" Caroline asked.

"Yes, Caroline. I had to explain," the earl stated. He smiled and patted Caroline's hand and then added, "He'll not deny you now. I've seen to it."

Caroline was puzzled by his remarks. What had he explained? And why would her uncle think to deny her? She knew she couldn't question her father now but determined to find out what he was talking about when they returned home.

She turned back to watch the marquis, thinking that he looked very frail.

"I believe I should meet him halfway," Caroline told her father.

She didn't wait for her father's reply but straightened her shoulders and began to walk toward the man who had not spoken to her father in fourteen years. The marquis was smiling at her, and she knew that the feud had ended. Her father's visit the week before had obviously mended the broken fences.

She met him in the center of the ballroom. Without a second's hesitation, she gave him her brightest smile and kissed his cheek.

Her uncle reacted with a heart-tugging smile. He took hold of both of her hands but had to let go of one of them to regain his balance with his cane's assistance.

The two continued to face each other, without saying a word. Caroline was at a loss as to how to open the conversation.

The marquis finally broke the silence. "I would be honored if you would call me Uncle," he said. His voice had a gruff edge to it, sounded almost raspy. It was filled with emotion. "I've only a younger brother, Franklin, and his wife, Loretta. Since your mother's death, they are my only family."

"No," Caroline returned in a soft voice. "You also have my father and me."

Her words pleased him. From behind, Caroline heard her father clear his throat.

The marquis looked at the Earl of Braxton with a clear frown. "You didn't tell me she looked just like her mother. Almost fell over when I spotted her."

"I did so," the earl returned. "You're just too feeble to remember it."

"Ha! My mind's as sharp as a new nail, Brax!"

Caroline's father smiled. "Are Franklin and Loretta here tonight? I haven't seen them and I want Caroline to meet her other uncle."

The marquis frowned. "They're here somewhere," he remarked with a shrug. He turned back to look at Caroline and added, "She has my eyes, Brax! Yes, sir, she's the spitting image of my side of the family."

Caroline had to admit that her eyes did resemble his, and wondered why her uncle was goading her father. His eyes were filled with mischief.

"But she has my hair, and that's a fact you can't deny, Aimsmond!"

Caroline started to laugh. She couldn't believe the two were actually fighting over her. "Then everyone will know that I'm related to both of you," she said. She took hold of her uncle's arm with one hand and her father's with the other, knowing that it wouldn't do to slight either man. "Shall we find a spot to sit and talk? Even though you visited only recently, you still must have quite a lot to say to each other."

The three of them strolled toward a nearby alcove. Charity joined them, and the talk quickly turned to the ball and the available men trying to gain attention.

"May I also call you Uncle?" Charity asked the marquis. "I would like to, if that is acceptable. We are distantly related someway, aren't we?"

The marquis was pleased with Charity's open affection and nodded his agreement. "We are related through marriage, I imagine. I would be pleased to have you call me Uncle. Uncle Milo is what Caroline called me when she was just a little girl."

"I wonder, Aimsmond, what's all the commotion?" Braxton suddenly asked. He was standing next to the cushioned window seat where the marquis sat. Caroline was standing on her uncle's other side. The marquis held Caroline's hand in a viselike grip, his way of making sure she didn't disappear, Caroline thought.

Her father was looking toward the entrance to the ballroom and Caroline turned. Her eyes widened a fraction when she saw who was standing there, causing such a commotion among the guests. It was the gentleman she had aided the day of the attempted robbery. Mr. Smith! Of course, it wasn't Mr. Smith at all, as that was only the name she had made up for the man to save him from embarrassment.

She stood there and watched him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and thought that he reminded her of a peacock, the way he stood there preening! From the way the crowd cast discreet glances his way, she assumed he was a popular dandy. His somber black dress was identical to all the other men's outfits in the room, but he wore another white neckcloth that came all the way up to his ears. She wondered if he had difficulty turning his head without wrinkling the cravat.

"So Brummell has at last arrived," her uncle noted with satisfaction. "The duke's ball has now been given the stamp of approval."

"Brummell?" Caroline felt a sinking feeling invade her limbs. "Did you say Brummell?" she asked, knowing full well that he had. What a mess, she thought to herself, remembering how she had talked about Brummell to the man she had named Mr. Smith! She frantically tried to recall the details of the conversation, hoping that she hadn't said something uncomplimentary about the man. Heavens, hadn't she called him Plummer?

Brummell stood by himself, looking around. He wore a bored expression, even when he nodded an acknowledgment to someone across the room. Brummell then made his way down the steps and continued, unhurried, through the crowd. He walked with an air of supreme importance, and as the crowd parted, Caroline realized he was indeed significant. He also walked without a limp. His injury must have healed properly, Caroline noted with satisfaction.

She kept her gaze directed on Brummell's back, curious to see whom he had acknowledged.

And then she saw him. Bradford! He was leaning nonchalantly against the far wall and was surrounded by three men. Charity was blocking Caroline's view somewhat, and she had to tilt her head to get a better look. The men talking to Bradford seemed intent on gaining his attention but Bradford was ignoring them. He was looking at her!

Her father was saying something to her, and Charity was also trying to get her attention. Uncle Milo was tugging on her arm, but Caroline ignored them all. She couldn't seem to take her gaze off the man who was staring at her so intently.

He was more handsome than she remembered, and a good head taller than his cohorts. His hair was combed but still looked slightly windblown, and that saved him from looking completely untouchable. It almost made him look vulnerable. His mouth didn't look vulnerable at all, though, it looked hard. She wondered if he smiled very often.

Why hadn't she remembered how large he was, how wide his shoulders were? She had the sudden image of a Spartan warrior, King Leonidas perhaps, and thought that in another time, another life, Bradford could well have been related to the mighty warrior.

The Duke of Bradford had been observing Caroline Richmond all evening. From the minute she appeared, so regal and composed, standing by the Earl of Braxton's side, he had been spellbound. She was quite stunning, and her appearance caused an instant impact. He knew he wasn't alone in his admiration and felt great irritation over that fact. Why, every buck in the room was staring at her!

Damn! He had a claim on her. She was going to belong to him. Bradford found himself shaking his head over the fierceness of his need, to have her, to overpower her. His boredom with the ton and the foolishness of it all had vanished when she walked through the doorway. He felt a sudden zest for life that he had been sure died with his father and his brother.

Bradford had only accepted the invitation for tonight's affair in the hopes that she might be in attendance. Everyone in the ton attended the Duke of Ashford's annual ball, and Bradford believed that Caroline's father would be no exception.

His brooding gaze warmed Caroline in a way she couldn't comprehend. She felt her cheeks grow hot and realized that she was embarrassed. Bradford was making her terribly uncomfortable and extremely nervous. It wouldn't do, this intimidating effect he was having on her, because Caroline knew that she was in real jeopardy of bursting into nervous laughter. And how would she explain herself to those around her then? she asked herself.

Thoughts raced through her head like gusts of wind racing through an empty field. She couldn't seem to catch a single thought and truly hold on to it.

Caroline continued to meet his hot gaze while she considered one devious way after another to block his unsettling effect on her.

Did he have any idea of how he was affecting her? She certainly hoped not! Her hands trembled, her senses felt flooded, and her thoughts muddled into irrational fragments.

She became increasingly nervous. Worse, she began to worry that she would do something terribly incorrect. If she did, it would be Bradford's fault, she decided. That offered little comfort, she realized, because he would probably be extremely smug over her discomfort. And if she made a complete ninny of herself, he would probably be pleased to know that it was his presence that had caused it all.

Caroline concentrated, schooling her features into what she hoped was a bland and bored expression. She was trying to mimic the looks on most of the ladies' faces in the ballroom, and then found that once she had achieved it, she simply couldn't hold it. She broke into a smile and accepted the fact that, never having really been bored, she couldn't very well pretend that she was. She just didn't know how.

Bradford caught her smile and returned it, surprising himself with the easy show of emotion. He rarely let anything show on his face, and now he was acting like a young buck on his first night out on the town.

Caroline tried to maintain some dignity and nodded acceptance of his smile. When she finally realized that she couldn't outstare him, she started to turn back to the group surrounding her. A mischievous look entered Bradford's eyes, stopping her, and she watched, quite mesmerized, as he slowly lowered his eyelid in a provocative, exaggerated wink.

Caroline shook her head over his flirtatious gesture and tried to look irritated, yet ruined the effect by laughing. Admitting defeat, she quickly turned her back on him, knowing that he had seen her reaction. Feeling much like a silly girl in need of supervision, Caroline took a deep breath and tried to listen to what was being said.

The marquis and the earl were engaged in a rather heated debate over just who Caroline and Charity should be introduced to, and more importantly, by whom. Caroline took the time to draw her cousin aside and whisper into her ear. "They're here, Charity. Over against the wall. No, don't look," she demanded.

"Who's here?" Charity questioned. She squinted and tried to see around Caroline.

"Don't look! You couldn't see them anyway. They're too far away."

"Lynnie, get hold of yourself. Who is here?" Charity let her exasperation show by placing one hand on her hip.

"The man we helped that day we first arrived," Caroline explained, realizing that Charity was right. She did have to get hold of herself. Whatever was the matter with her? She felt as skittish as one of her mares and couldn't for the life of her understand why. "And Bradford, too," Caroline continued. "They're both here."

"Oh, isn't that nice!" Charity smiled with pleasure. "We must say hello."

"No, it isn't nice," Caroline snapped out. "I don't think it's nice at all."

Charity frowned. "Caroline, will you listen to yourself. What is the matter with you? You look almost afraid." Charity seemed awed by her statement. In all the years she had lived with Caroline, she had never seen her afraid.

Charity suddenly felt vastly superior to her levelheaded cousin. Caroline appeared to be rattled, and Charity had to be careful not to gape in amazement.

There was no more time to discuss the topic, as Charity was quickly led away for the next dance set. Viscount Claymere was then bowing before Caroline in a great show of flurry, claiming her immediate attention.

Caroline walked by his side to the middle of the floor, noticing that his hand was sweaty as he clutched her elbow. She decided that the viscount was nervous and tried to help him relax. She gave him a smile and then wished she hadn't been so rash. The poor man tripped over his own feet, and Caroline was forced to grab him by the elbow to keep him standing.

She was careful from then on to keep her expression composed and not look directly at him, for when she turned and curtsied and glanced up at him, he tripped all over again. The music began and Caroline concentrated on the intricate steps required of her, thankful that Caimen had taken the time to show her how to dance. She knew that Bradford was watching her but vowed that she wouldn't look his way. She had decided, as she was being led out to the dance floor, to completely ignore him. He was, she reminded herself for the fiftieth time, too overbearing. He did look like a Spartan, she thought again, all discipline and harsh ridges. And, she decided, she didn't much care for the Sparta civilization after all.

Bradford waited until the dance had ended and then made his move. He nodded toward Caroline when Brummell asked him what had him so transfixed. Brummell turned and, keeping his expression carefully hidden, also watched Caroline.

The dance finally ended and Caroline felt like genuflecting with acute relief. The viscount had stepped on her toes more than once, causing her feet to ache in protest.

Caroline's father joined her before the viscount could do more damage, and the clumsy young man made another great bow before he started to take his leave. He suddenly changed his mind, turned, and grabbed Caroline's hand. Before she could pull it away, he leaned forward and kissed the back of her hand quite loudly.

Caroline remembered not to smile and the viscount, after promising to return, finally took his leave.

"Do not take this as an offense, Father, but the English do tend to be a jittery lot," Caroline said as she watched the viscount hurry away.

"Since you are English, I will not take exception," her father returned with a grin.

Then suddenly he was standing before her, with Brummell at his side. Caroline couldn't very well ignore the pair as they blocked her path and her vision. She was staring into Bradford's chest and finally forced herself to look up.

"We are here for an introduction," Bradford stated in a deep drawl. His words were directed at her father but his eyes remained fixed on her. Caroline noticed, that he was staring at her mouth and she nervously wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

The Earl of Braxton was pleased. "Of course. Allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Caroline Mary. Caroline, my dear, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Duke of Bradford and to Mr. George Brummell."

Bradford turned to Brummell and grinned. "After you this time, I believe?"

"Naturally," Brummell replied. He turned his attention to Caroline and smiled. The noise had dimmed and Caroline thought that everyone in the room was trying to hear what was being said. She felt very much like the focal point at a county fair.

"It is indeed a pleasure to meet you," Brummell stated with great formality. He bowed, low enough to brush the floor with the tips of his fingers, and then straightened. "You are from the Colonies?" he inquired as he took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. Audible gasps could be heard over this affectionate gesture, and Caroline's eyes sparkled with mischief and appreciation. She could feel the warmth of her father's pleasure heating her face. Surely that was the reason for the blush she knew she displayed!

"How very astute of you to know that I am indeed from the Colonies, Mr. Brummell," Caroline returned.

"Please, you must call me Beau. While it has been suggested that I be called by my given name, George, I favor my nickname."

"Your name is truly George?" Caroline asked, trying desperately not to laugh. Why, that was the very name she had suggested when he had wanted to keep his identity secret. Since it was also the name of England's king, she considered that it was a logical coincidence.

"Yes, and only recently a rather beautiful young lady suggested that I use it once again. I declined the invitation," he added with a sigh.

He was having great sport with her, daring her not to laugh at his remarks. Caroline experienced an urge to get even. "I believe that we share a mutual friend, Beau."

Brummell looked a bit disconcerted and Caroline smiled. "Yes, Mr. Harold Smith has often spoken of you. You may not recall the acquaintance, however, for the dear man sold everything he owned and moved to the Colonies a long while back. He said that London was too… barbaric. I do believe those were his very words."

Brummell and Bradford looked at each other and then back to her. They both started to laugh and before they were through, Brummell had to dab at the corners of his eyes with his handkerchief.

"And how is Mr. Smith getting along," Bradford asked when he could gain control of himself.

Caroline smiled at Bradford and then turned back to Brummell. "Why, he's looking quite fit in my opinion. He was having a bit of trouble with one leg but I do believe, from the way he gets around now, that it must have healed to his satisfaction."

"What was the poor man's ailment?" the earl interrupted to ask.

"Gout," Caroline immediately answered.

Brummell started coughing and Bradford had to whack him on the back. "I have not laughed so in years," Beau admitted. "Madam, it has been a pleasure and I look forward to seeing you again." Brummell's voice had risen during the last of his conversation and Caroline realized it was for the benefit of those in attendance. "Before the evening is out, I must be allowed to meet your cousin." Caroline nodded and watched Brummell retreat. She finally turned to Bradford and wished she had the nerve to ask him if he didn't have somewhere to go also.

The music started up again just when her father announced that he was going to fetch some champagne for the marquis. Bradford requested formal permission from her father to dance with Caroline. A waltz was beginning, and while the earl gave his permission, Caroline was shaking her head.

Bradford ignored her denial and took hold of her hand. He all but pulled her along, until they were almost to the doors that led outside. Then he turned and took her into his arms.

Caroline kept her gaze focused on his black jacket. "I don't know how to waltz," she said in a whisper.

Bradford took his hand from her waist and used it to turn her face up to him. "My buttons will not answer you," he said in a voice filled with humor.

"I said that I do not know how to dance the waltz," Caroline repeated. Bradford's fingers were brushing against the sensitive area below her chin, and she felt a sudden tremor take hold of her legs.

"Put your arm around me," Bradford whispered, his voice silky. He had leaned down, so that their faces were almost touching.

Caroline shook her head. Bradford again ignored her and placed her hand high up on his shoulder. If she as much as shifted her hand an inch, she would be touching his hair. And then they were moving and she was being twirled around and around and the only thing she could concentrate on was the feeling of being held in his arms.

They didn't speak another word during the dance and Caroline was thankful for it. She felt awkward and unsure of herself. His hand seemed to burn through her gown, branding her.

Caroline shifted her left hand and took advantage of the position; her fingers slowly reached up until they were touching the silken brown hair at the base of his neck. She was surprised that it felt so soft. Her fingers retreated before Bradford would realize her boldness.

But he did notice. The light brush against the sensitive skin on the back of his neck drove him to distraction. He had a sudden urge to pick Caroline up and kiss her until she was overwhelmed with desire, as overwhelmed as he was at this very moment.

Caroline glanced around and immediately noticed that the other ladies dancing did not have their left hands so high up on their partners' shoulders. She immediately moved her hand, copying the correct stance, and shot Bradford a glare. "We are dancing entirely too close," Caroline stated. "I will not have my father embarrassed."

Bradford reluctantly released his grip and let her move back a space. He grinned a true rascal's grin and asked, "Is that the only reason you do not want to be close to me?"

"Of course," Caroline answered. Her legs felt weak and her heart was fluttering a mad tune but she would admit to neither of those reactions. She refused to look up at him and only then noticed that many of the women watching from the sidelines were frowning with obvious displeasure. "Bradford? Why are those women frowning at us?" she asked, daring a quick look up.

Bradford glanced around the room and then turned back to Caroline.

"Are you doing something that isn't correct?" she demanded against his shoulder, her voice sounding suspicious.

Bradford laughed. "Unfortunately, we are being very correct," he informed her. "Some of the older ladies do not care for this new dance. The waltz hasn't gained approval of the traditionals."

Caroline nodded. "I see." She glanced up again, met his gaze, and smiled. "And are you a radical or a traditionalist?"

"What do you think?" Bradford inquired. "Oh, a radical I would imagine," Caroline immediately answered. "I'll bet you are a troublemaker in the House of Lords. I'm right, aren't I?"

Bradford shrugged. "I have been known to be obstinate on occasion, but only when the issue I am backing is in jeopardy."

"Yet you are respected," Caroline announced. "Is it because of the title you inherited or because you have made a name for yourself?"

Bradford laughed. "Are you asking me if I have accomplished anything of value?" He paused and then asked, "And how do you know that I am respected?"

"Because of the way people look at you," Caroline answered. "My father is a traditionalist. If he was still active in your politics, he would probably be your enemy on every issue. Bradford, could we please stop this circling? I'm getting quite dizzy."

Bradford immediately stopped dancing, took hold of Caroline's elbow, and led her toward the doorway to the balcony.

"Your father was more of a radical in his day than I will ever be," Bradford remarked.

Caroline showed her astonishment. "It's true," Bradford continued. "He was known as the champion for the Irish cause."

"What Irish cause?" Caroline asked. "Self-rule," Bradford explained. "Your father didn't believe that the Irish were ready to rule themselves, but he fought to gain them a voice in government and to improve conditions."

Caroline was amazed by Bradford's remarks. She tried to picture her father as a younger man, fighting for what he believed to be just. "He is such a gentle, soft-spoken man today," Caroline commented. "It's difficult to believe what you are telling me. I do believe you," she rushed on, hoping she hadn't offended him by suggesting that she doubted his word.

Bradford couldn't quit grinning. He noticed how she had hurried to offset her remark about not believing him. Was she always so conscious of other people's feelings?

Caroline didn't notice Bradford watching her. She was thinking about her father, wondering what had caused him to give up his causes. Why had he withdrawn from everything… from life?

Bradford saw that several would-be suitors were making their way, quite determinedly, to their corner. The music started up and Bradford pulled Caroline into his arms again. He wasn't ready to give her up just yet. He remembered his comment to Milford about wanting to see Caroline one more time, so that he could get her out of his blood, and now found the remark absurd.

Caroline didn't argue when Bradford took her in his arms again. She didn't care about the frowns either. She felt bewitched in his arms, trembled when she felt his fingers caressing her back. Caroline had never reacted to a man the way she was reacting to Bradford. She was confused by this intense physical attraction. She knew she must be proper, yet realized she would be most content to stay in his arms the rest of the evening. When she began to wonder what it would feel like to be kissed by him, she knew it was time to remove herself from the temptation.

"I do not like-"

She wasn't allowed to finish her sentence. She was about to tell him that she didn't care for the waltz, but he interrupted with an arrogant remark. "You don't like what's happening to you?"

Caroline's eyes widened and she almost nodded. She caught herself in time and frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't deny it, Caroline. It's happening to me, too."

"Nothing is happening," Caroline answered in a tight voice. "Except that you are making me dizzy again with the constant circles. It's rather warm in here too. Don't you think we've danced enough?" she asked in a hopeful voice.

"Yes, it has gone warm," Bradford returned. They had just completed another turn around the room and were again in front of the doors. Caroline smiled, thinking she was about to get away from Bradford, but when they stopped dancing, he didn't release her. Instead, he took her arm and guided her along. Before she could argue over it, he had dragged her through the open doorway and into the night.