To Catch an Heiress

Chapter 12

pal-li-a-tive (noun). That which gives superficial or temporary relief.

A kiss, I am learning, is a weak palliative when one's heart is breaking.

-From the personal dictionary of

Caroline Trent

Blake clamped his hand over Caroline's mouth. He knew how to be quiet; he'd had years of experience in the art of keeping oneself ut­terly silent. But God knew what Caroline would do. The crazy woman might sneeze at any moment. Or hiccough. Or fidget.

She glared at him over his hand. Yes, Blake thought, she would be a fidgeter. He moved his other hand to her upper arm and held firm, deter­mined to keep her still. He didn't care if she had

bruises for a week; there was no telling what Prew-itt would do if he found his wayward ward hiding behind a sofa in the drawing room. After all, when Caroline had run away, she'd effectively taken her fortune with her.

Prewitt yawned and stood up, and for a moment Blake's heart raced with hope. But the blasted man just crossed to the side table and poured himself another brandy.

Blake looked at Caroline. Hadn't she once said Prewitt never overindulged in spirits? She shrugged, clearly at a loss as to what her guardian was doing.

Prewitt sat back down on the sofa with a loud grunt, then muttered, "Goddamn that girl."

Caroline's eyes widened.

Blake pointed to her and mouthed, You?

She lifted her shoulders and blinked.

Blake closed his eyes for a moment and tried to figure out who Prewitt meant. There was no way to be certain. It could be Caroline; it could be Carlotta De Leon.

"Where the hell could she be?" Prewitt said, fol­lowed by a swallowing sound that had to be more brandy.

Caroline pointed to herself and Blake felt her mouth form the word, Me? under his hand. He didn't respond, though. He was too busy focusing on Prewitt. If the traitorous bastard discovered them now the mission would be ruined. Well, not entirely. Blake was certain that he and James could easily apprehend Prewitt that night if the need arose, but that would mean that his co-conspirators might go free. Better to be patient and wait out the next three weeks. Then the espionage ring would be closed down for good.

Then, just when Blake fielt his feet start to fall asleep under him, Prewitt plunked his glass down on a table and strode from the room. Blake counted to ten, then removed his hand from Caroline's mouth and heaved a sigh of relief.

She sighed, too, but it was a quick one, followed by the question, "Do you think he was talking about me?"

"I have no idea," Blake said honestly. "But I wouldn't be surprised if he was."

"Do you think he discovered James?"

He shook his head. "If he had, we would have heard some sort of commotion. That doesn't mean we're safe yet, though. For all we know, Prewitt is taking a leisurely stroll down the hall before enter­ing the south drawing room."

"What do we do now?"

"We wait."

"For what?"

He turned sharply to face her. "You ask a lot of questions."

"It's the only way to learn anything useful."

"We wait," Blake said with an impatient exhale, "until we get a sign from Riverdale."

"What if he is waiting for a sign from us?"

"He's not."

"How can you be certain?"

"Riverdale and I have worked together for seven years. I know his methods."

"I really don't see how you could have prepared for this particular scenario."

He shot her a look of such irritation that she clamped her mouth shut. But not before rolling her eyes at him.

Blake ignored her for several minutes, which wasn't easy. The mere sound of her breathing ex­cited him. His reaction was completely inappropri­ate under the circumstances, and one with which he had no experience, even with Marabelle. Unfortu­nately, there seemed to be nothing he could do about it, which pushed his temper even further into the vile.

Then she moved, and her arm accidentally brushed against his hip, and-

Blake absolutely refused to let that thought go any further. Abruptly he took her hand and stood. "Let's go."

Caroline looked around in confusion. "Did we re­ceive some sort of sign from the marquis?"

"No, but it's been long enough."

"But I thought you said-"

"If you want to be a part of this operation," he hissed, "you need to learn to take orders. Without question."

She raised her brows. "I'm so glad you've de­cided to let me participate."

If Blake could have torn out her tongue at that moment, he would have done it. Or at least tried. "Follow me," he snapped.

Caroline saluted him and then did a little tiptoe march behind him to the door. Blake thought he deserved a medal for not picking her up by the col­lar and tossing her out the window. At the very least, he was going to demand some sort of hazard pay from the War Office. If they couldn't give him

money, there had to be some small property some­where that had been confiscated from a criminal.

Surely he deserved a little something extra for this mission. Caroline might be rather delightful to kiss, but on assignment she was bloody annoying. He reached the open doorway and motioned for her to stay behind him. Hand on gun, he peered into me hall, ascertained that it was empty, and stepped out. Caroline followed without his verbal instruction, as he knew she would. That one cer­tainly needed no prodding to step out into the face of danger.

She was too headstrong, too careless. It brought back memories. Marabelle.

Blake squeezed his eyes shut for a split second, trying to drive his late fiancee from his mind. She might live in his heart, but she had no place here, this night, in Prewitt Hall. Not if Blake wanted to get the three of them out alive.

Marabelle's memory, however, was quickly put aside by Caroline's incessant poking at his upper arm. "What now?" he snapped.

"Shouldn't we at least get the paper and quills? Isn't that why we came here in the first place?"

Blake flexed his hands into tense starfishes and slowly said, "Yes. Yes, that would be a good idea." She scurried across the room and gathered her supplies while he swore at"himself under his breath. He was getting soft, growing weak. It wasn't like him to forget something as simple as a quill and ink. More than anything he wanted out of the War Office, away from all the danger and intrigue. He wanted to live a life where he didn't have to worry about seeing his friends get killed, where he could do nothing but read and raise lazy, spoiled hounds and-

"I've everything we need," Caroline said breath­lessly, breaking into his thoughts.

He nodded, and they made their way into the hall. When they reached the door to the south draw­ing room, Blake tapped seven times on the wood, his fingers finding the familiar rhythm he and James had worked out years ago, when they were both schoolboys at Eton.

The door swung inward, just a fraction of an inch, and then Blake pushed it open far enough for him and Caroline to squeeze through. James had his back to the wall and his finger poised on the trigger of his gun. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when he saw that it was only Caroline and Blake entering the room.

"Didn't you recognize the knock?" Blake asked.

James gave a curt nod. "Can't be too careful."

"I'll say," Caroline agreed. All of this spywork was leaving her stomach rather queasy. It was ex­citing, to be sure, but nothing in which she'd wish to participate on a regular basis. She had no idea how the two of them had lasted this long without fraying their nerves completely.

She turned to James. "Did Oliver come in here?"

He shook his head. "But I heard him in the hall."

"He had us trapped for a few minutes in the east drawing room." She shuddered. "It was terrifying."

Blake shot her an oddly appraising look.

"I brought the paper, quills, and ink," Caroline continued, depositing the writing equipment on Ol­iver's desk. "Shall we copy the documents now? I should like to get going. I really had never intended to spend so much time at Prewitt Hall again."

There were only three pages in the folder, so they each took a page and hastily copied it down onto a new sheet of paper. The results weren't terribly neat, with more than one ink splotch marring the effort, but they were legible, and that was all that mattered.

James carefully replaced the file in the drawer and relocked it.

"Is the room in order?" Blake asked.

James nodded. "I straightened everything while you were gone."

"Excellent. Let's be off."

Caroline turned to the marquis. "Did you remem­ber to take an older file as evidence?"

"I am certain he knows how to do his job," Blake said curtly. Then he turned to James and asked, "Did you?"

"Good God!" James said in a disgusted voice. "The two of you are worse than a pair of toddlers. Yes, of course I have the file, and if you don't stop arguing with one another, I'm going to lock the both of you in here and leave you to Prewitt and his sharpshooting butler."

Caroline's jaw dropped at the outburst from the normally even-tempered marquis. She stole a glance at Blake and noticed that he looked rather surprised as well-and perhaps a touch embarrassed.

James scowled at both of them before pinning his stare on Caroline and asking, "How the hell do we get out of here?"

"We can't go out the window for the same reason we couldn't go in that way. If Farnsworth is still

awake he would certainly hear us. But we can leave the way we came."

"Won't someone be suspicious tomorrow when the door isn't locked?" Blake asked.

Caroline shook her head. "I know how to shut the door so that the latch fastens itself. No one will ever know."

"Good," James said. "Let's be off."

The trio moved silently through the house, paus­ing outside the south drawing room so that James could relock the door, and then exited into the side yard. A few minutes later they reached the men's horses.

"My mount is over mere," Caroline said, pointing to a small collection of trees across the garden.

"I suppose you mean my mount," Blake snapped, "which you conveniently borrowed."

She snorted. "Pray forgive my use of imprecise English, Mr. Ravenscroft. I-"

But whatever she was going to say-and Caroline wasn't even certain herself what that would be- was lost under the sound of James's cursing. Before she or Blake could say another word, he'd called them both baconbrains, idiots, and something else entirely, which Caroline didn't quite understand. She was fairly certain, however, that it was an in­sult. And then, before either one of them had a chance to respond, James had hopped onto his horse and ridden off over the hill.

Caroline blinked and turned to Blake. "He's rather irritated with us, isn't he?"

Blake's response was to heave her up onto his horse and hop up behind her. They rode the perim­eter of Prewitt Hall's property until they reached the tree where she'd tied her horse. Soon Caroline was atop her own mount

"Follow me," Blake instructed, and he took off at a canter.

An hour or so later Caroline followed Blake through the front door of Seacrest Manor. She was tired and sore and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but before she could dash up the stairs he took her by the elbow and steered her into his study.

Or perhaps propelled would be a more accurate term.

"Can't this wait until morning?" Caroline asked, yawning. .

"No."

"I'm terribly sleepy.""

No response.

Caroline decided to try a different tactic. "What do you suppose happened to the marquis?"

"I don't particularly care."

She blinked. How odd. Then she yawned again, unable to help herself. "Is it your intention to scold me?" she asked. "Because if it is, I might as well warn you that I'm really not up to it, and-"

"You're not up to it?!" he fairly roared.

She shook her head and headed for the door. There was no use trying to reason with him when he was in such a mood. "I'll see you in the morning. I'm certain whatever it is that has you so upset will keep until then."

Blake caught a handful of the fabric of her skirt and hauled her back to the center of the room. "You are not going anywhere," he growled.

"I beg your pardon."

"Just what the hell did you think you were doing tonight?"

"Saving your life?" she quipped.

"Don't make jokes."

"I wasn't. I did save your life. And I don't recall hearing one word of thanks for it."

He muttered something under his breath, fol­lowed by, "You didn't save my life. All you did was endanger your own."

"I won't quibble with the latter sentence, but I certainly did save your life this evening. If I hadn't rushed out to Prewitt Hall to warn you about Farns-worth and his ten o'clock tea, he would surely have shot you."

"That's a moot point, Caroline."

"Of course it is," she replied with a disdainful sniff. "I saved your miserable life, and Farnsworth was never given the opportunity to shoot at you."

He stared at her long and hard. "I am going to say this only once. You are not to get involved with our work bringing your former guardian to justice."

Caroline remained silent.

After a moment Blake clearly lost patience with her lack of response, so he demanded, "Well? Don't you have a reply?"

"I do, but you wouldn't like it."

"Goddamn it, Caroline!" he exploded. "Don't you give even a thought to your own safety?"

"Of course I do. Do you think I had fun risking my neck for you this evening? I could have been killed. Or worse, you could have been killed. Or Oliver could have captured me and forced me to marry Percy." She shuddered. "Good God, I'll probably have nightmares about that last scenario for weeks."

"You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"Well, I wasn't. I felt sick the entire time, know­ing that we were in danger."

"If you were so petrified, why weren't you crying and carrying on like a normal woman?"

"A normal woman? Sir, you insult me. You insult my entire gender."

"You must admit that most women would have needed smelling salts tonight."

She glared at him, her entire body shaking with fury. "Am I expected to apologize because I didn't fall apart and simper and cry and ruin the entire operation? I was scared -no,.I was petrified, but what good would I have been if I hadn't kept up a brave front? Besides," she added, her expression growing sullen, "I was so angry with you most of the time I forgot how scared I was."

Blake looked away. Hearing her admit her fear made him feel even worse. If anything had happened to her that night it would have been his fault. "Caroline," he said in a low voice, "I won't have you endangering yourself. I forbid it."

"You have no right to forbid me anything."

A muscle started to twitch in his neck. "As long as you are living in my house-"

"Oh, for goodness sake, you sound like one of my guardians."

"Now you insult me."

She let out a frustrated exhale. "I don't know how you bear it, living constantly in such danger. I don't know how your family bears it. They must worry terribly about you."

"My family doesn't know."

"What?" she screeched. "How is that possible?"

"I've never told them."

"That is abominable," she said with great feeling. 'Truly abominable. If I had a family I should never treat them with such disrespect."

"We are not here to discuss my family," he ground out. "We are here to discuss your foolhardy behavior."

"I refuse to acknowledge my behavior as fool­hardy. You would have done the exact same tiling were you in my shoes."

"But I wasn't in your shoes, as you so delicately put it, and furthermore, I have nearly a decade of experience with these matters. You do not."

"What do you want from me? Do you want me to promise I shall never interfere again?"

"That would be an excellent beginning."

Caroline planted her hands on her hips and jutted her chin forward. "Well, I won't. I should like noth­ing more than to keep myself out of peril for the rest of my life, but if you are in danger, and I can do something to help, I certainly will not remain idle. How could I have lived with myself if you'd been hurt?"

"You are the most muleheaded woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet." He raked his hand through his hair and muttered something un­der his breath before saying, "Can't you see I'm try­ing to protect you?"

Caroline felt something rather warm tickling within her, and tears formed in her eyes. "Yes," she said, "but can't you see I'm trying to do the same?"

"Don't." His word was cold, clipped, and hard, so hard that Caroline actually took a step back.

"Why are you being so cruel?" she whispered.

"The last time a woman thought to protect me..."

His voice faded away, but Caroline needed no words to understand the stark grief etched on his face. "Blake," she said softly, "I don't want to argue about this."

"Then promise me something."

She swallowed, knowing that he was going to ask something to which she couldn't agree.

"Don't put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I-I couldn't bear it, Caroline."

She turned away. Her eyes were growing teary, and she didn't want him to see her emotional re­sponse to his plea. There was something in his voice that touched her heart, something about the way his lips moved for a moment before he spoke, as if he were searching in vain for the right words.

But then he said, "I can't let another woman die," and she knew this wasn't about her. It was about him, and the overwhelming guilt he felt over the death of his fiancee. She didn't know all of the details surrounding Marabelle's demise, but James had said enough for her to know that Blake still blamed himself for her death.

Caroline choked down a sob. How could she compete with a dead woman?

Without looking at him, she stumbled toward the door. "I'm going upstairs. If you have anything

more to say to me you can say it in the morning." But before she could wrap her hand around the

doorknob she heard him say, "Wait."

Just one word and she was helpless to resist. Slowly, she turned around.

Blake stared at her, unable to take his eyes from her face. He wanted to say something; a thousand words crashed through his mind, but he couldn't think of a single sentence. And then, without real­izing what he was doing, he took a step toward her, and then another, and then another, and then she was in his arms.

"Don't scare me again," he murmured into her hair.

She didn't reply, but he felt her body growing warm and softening against him. Then he heard her sigh. It was a soft sound, barely audible, but it was sweet and it told him she wanted him. Maybe not the way he wanted her-hell, he doubted that was possible; he couldn't remember ever wanting a woman with this white-hot brand of need. But still, she wanted him. He was sure of it.

His lips found hers and he devoured her with all the fear and desire he'd been feeling all evening. She tasted like his every dream and felt like pure heaven.

And Blake knew he was damned.

He could never have her, never love her in the ways she deserved to be loved, but he was too selfish to let her go. Just for this moment he could- and would-pretend that he was hers, and she was his, and that his heart was whole.

They tumbled onto the sofa, Caroline landing softly on top of him, and he wasted no time in ex­changing positions with her. He wanted to feel her squirming beneath him, writhing with the same force of desire that was consuming him. He wanted to watch her eyes as they darkened and smoldered with need.

His hands stole under the hem of her skirt, dar­ingly squeezing her supple calf before sliding up to her soft thigh. She moaned beneath him, a delecta­ble sound that might have been his name, or it might have just been a moan, but Blake didn't care. All he wanted was her.

All of her.

"God help me, Caroline," he said, barely recog­nizing the sound of his own voice. "I need you. To­night. Right now. I need you."

His hand went to the fastening of his breeches, moving frantically to free himself. He had to sit up to get them undone, though, and that was just enough time for her to look at him, to really look at him. And in that split second her haze of passion cleared and she lurched up off the sofa.

"No," she gasped. "Not like this. Not without- No."

Blake just watched her go, hating himself for coming at her like such an animal. But she surprised him by pausing at the door.

"Go," he said hoarsely. If she didn't leave the room that instant, he knew he would go after her, and then there would be no escape.

"Will you be all right?"

He stared at her in shock. He had very nearly dishonored her. He would have taken her virginity without a backward glance. "Why are you asking?"

"Will you be all right?"

She wasn't going to leave without a response, so he nodded.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

And then she was gone.