To Catch an Heiress

Chapter 13

dith-er (noun). A state of tremulous ex­citement or apprehension; also, vacilla­tion; a state of confusion.

Just a word from him sets me in a dither, and I vow I do not like it one bit.

-From the personal dictionary of

Caroline Trent

It was Caroline's fiercest desire to avoid Blake for the next fifteen years, but as luck would have it, she quite literally bumped into him the fol­lowing morning. Unfortunately for the sake of her dignity, this "bump" involved her spilling about a half-dozen rather thick books onto the floor, several of which hit Blake's legs and feet on the way down. He howled in pain, and she wanted nothing more than to howl in embarrassment, but instead she just mumbled her apologies and dropped to the carpet so that she could gather her books. At least that way he wouldn't see the bright blush that had stained her cheeks the moment she'd collided with him.

"I thought you were limiting your redecorating endeavors.to the library," he said. "What the devil are you doing with those books out here in the hall?"

She looked straight up into his clear gray eyes, Drat. If she had to see him this morning, why did she have to be on her hands and knees? "I'm not redecorating," she said in her haughtiest voice, "I'm bringing these books back to my room to read."

"Six of them?" he asked doubtfully.

"I'm quite literate."

"I never doubted that."

She pursed her lips, wanting to say that she was electing to read so that she might remain in her chamber and never have to see him again, but she had a feeling that would lead to a long, drawn-out argument, which was the last thing she wanted. "Was there anything else you desired, Mr. Ravenscroft?"

Then she blushed, really blushed. He'd made it quite clear the night before what he desired.

He waved his hand expansively-a motion she found annoyingly condescending. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. If you want to read, be my guest. Read the whole bloody library if it suits you. If nothing else, it will keep you out of trouble."

She bit back another retort, but it was growing difficult to maintain such a circumspect mouth. Hugging her books to her chest, she asked, "Has the marquis risen yet this morning?"

Blake's expression darkened before he said, "He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone." And then, as if she couldn't grasp the meaning of the word, he added, "Quite gone."

"But where would he go?"

"I imagine he would go just about anywhere that would remove him from our company. But as it happens, he went to London."

Her lips parted in shock. "But that leaves us alone."

"Quite alone," he agreed, holding out a sheet of paper. "Would you like to read his note?"

She nodded, took the note into her hands, and read:

Ravenscroft -

I have gone to London far the purpose of alerting More-ton to our plans. I have brought with me the copy of Prewitt's file. I realize this leaves you alone with Car­oline, but truly, that is no more improper than her re­siding at Seacrest Manor with the both of us. Besides which, the two of you were driving me mad.

-Riverdale

Caroline looked up at him with a wary expres­sion. "You can't like this situation."

Blake pondered her statement. No, he didn't "like" this situation. He didn't "like" having her under his roof, just an arm's reach away. He didn't "like" knowing that the object of his desire was his for the taking. James hadn't been much of a chaperone-certainly no one who could have salvaged.

"I'm fine," he said.

"It's really quite remarkable how well you can enunciate even when you talk through your teeth. But still, you don't look at all the thing. Perhaps I ought to put you to bed."

The room suddenly felt stiflingly hot, and Blake blurted out, "That is a very bad idea, Caroline."

"I know, I know. Men make the worst patients. Can you imagine if you had to deliver babies? The human race should never have made it so far."

He turned on his heel. "I'm going to my room."

"Oh, good. You should. You'll feel much better, I'm sure, if you get some rest."

Blake didn't answer her, just strode toward the stairs. When he reached the first step, however, he realized that she was still right behind him. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"I'm following you to your room."

"Are you doing this for any particular reason?"

"I'm seeing to your welfare."

"See to it elsewhere."

"That," she said firmly, "is quite impossible."

"Caroline," he ground out, thinking his jaw was going to snap in two at any moment, "you are try­ing my nerves. Severely."

"Of course I am. Anyone would in your condi­tion. You are clearly suffering from some sort of illness."

He stomped up two steps. "I am not ill."

She stomped up one step. "Of course you are. You could have a fever, or perhaps a putrid throat."

He whirled around. "I repeat: I am not ill."

"Don't make me repeat my statement as well. We're starting to sound rather childish. And if you

don't allow me to tend to you, you'll only grow sicker."

Blake felt a pressure rising within him-some­thing he was quite powerless to contain. "I am not ill."

She let out a frustrated sigh. "Blake, I-"

He grabbed her under her arms and hauled her up until they were nose to nose, her feet dangling helplessly in the air. "I am not ill, Caroline," he said, his words dipped and even. "I don't have a fever, I don't have a putrid throat, and I damned well don't need you to take care of me. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Could you possibly put me down?"

"Good." He set her down on the floor with sur­prising gentleness, then turned and marched back up the stairs.

Caroline, however, was right behind him.

"I thought you wanted to avoid me," he snapped, whirling around to face her once he reached the landing.

"I did. I mean, I do. But you're ill, and-"

"I'm not ill!" he thundered.

She didn't say anything, and it was quite clear she didn't believe him.

He planted his hands on his hips and leaned for­ward until their noses were scant inches apart. "I will say this slowly so mat you will understand me. I am going to my room now. Don't follow."

She didn't listen.

"My God, woman!" he burst out, not two seconds later when she collided with him rounding the cor­ner, "what does it take to get a command through your skull? You are like the plague, you- Oh, Christ, now what is the matter?"

Caroline's face, which had been so militant and determined in her efforts to nurse him, had positively crumpled. "It's nothing," she said with a snif­fle.

"Obviously if s something."

Her shoulders rose and fell in a self-deprecating shrug. "Percy said the same thing to me. He's a fool, and I know that, but it still hurt. It was just that I thought..."

Blake felt like the worst sort of brute. "What did you think, Caroline?" he asked gently.

She shook her head and started to walk away.

He watched her for just a moment, tempted to let her go. After all, she'd been a thorn in his side- not to mention other parts of his anatomy-all morning. The only way he was going to get any peace was to keep her out of his sight.

But her lower lip had quivered, and her eyes had looked a little wet, and-

"Damn," he muttered. "Caroline, come back here."

She didn't listen, so he strode down the hall, catching up with her just as she was heading down the stairs. With quick steps he positioned himself between her and the staircase. "Stop, Caroline. Now."

He heard her sniffle, and then she turned around. "What is it, Blake? I really should go. I'm sure you can take care of yourself. You said so, and you cer­tainly don't need me to-"

"Why do you suddenly look as if you're going to cry?" '

She swallowed. "I'm not going to cry."

He crossed his arms and gave her a look that said he didn't believe her for one second.

"I said it was nothing," she mumbled.

"I'm not going to let you go down these stairs until you tell me what is wrong."

"Fine. Then I'll go up to my room." She turned around and took one step away, but he caught a handful of the fabric of her skirt and pulled her back to him. "I suppose that now you're going to say you're not going to let me go until I tell you," she growled.

"You're growing perceptive in your old age."

She crossed her arms mutinously. "Oh, for good­ness sake. You're being quite ridiculous."

"I told you once that you are my responsibility, Caroline. And I don't take my responsibilities lightly."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if you're crying, I want to put a stop to it."

"I'm not crying," she muttered.

"You were about to."

"Oh!" she burst out, throwing her arms up in ex­asperation.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're as stubborn as... as..."

"As you?" he said helpfully.

Her lips clamped into a firm and slightly twisted line as she glared daggers at him.

"Spit it out, Caroline. I'm not letting you pass un­til you do."

"Fine! Do you want to know why I was upset? Fine. I'll tell you." She swallowed, summoning courage she didn't feel. "Did you happen to notice that you compared me to the plague?"

"Oh, for the love of-" He bit his lip, presumably to keep himself from cursing in her presence.

Not, Caroline thought caustically, mat that had ever stopped him before.

"You must know," he said, "that I did not mean that literally."

"It still hurt my feelings."

He stared at her intently. "I will allow that that wasn't the nicest comment I have ever made, and I do apologize for it, but I know you well enough to know that that alone wouldn't make you cry."

"I wasn't crying," she said, quite automatically.

"Almost cry," he corrected, "and I would like you to tell me the full story."

"Oh very well. Percy used to call me pestilence and plague all the time. It was his very favorite insult."

"You mentioned that. And I will take that as yet another sign that I spoke stupidly."

She swallowed and looked away. "I never put any stock into his words. It was Percy, after all, and he is a dozen different kinds of fool. But then you said it, and-"

Blake closed his eyes for a long second, knowing what was coming next and dreading it.

A slightly choked sound emerged from Caroline's throat before she said, "And then I thought it might possibly be true."

"Caroline, I-"

"Because you're not a fool, and I know that even better than I knew Percy was one."

"Caroline," he said firmly, "I am a fool. A bloody, stupid fool for referring to you with anything but the highest of praise."

"You needn't lie to make me feel better."

He scowled at her. Or rather, at the top of her head, since she was looking at her feet. "I told you I never lie."

She looked up suspiciously. "You told me you rarely lie."

"I lie when the security of Great Britain is at stake, not your feelings."

"I'm not certain if that is an insult or not."

"It is definitely not an insult, Caroline. And why would you think I was lying?"

She rolled her eyes,at him. "You were less than cordial to me last evening."

"Last evening I bloody well wanted to strangle you," he admitted. "You put your life in danger for no good reason."

"I thought saving your life was a rather good rea­son myself," she shot back.

"I don't want to argue about that right now. Do you accept my apology?"

"For what?"

He raised a brow. "Is that meant to imply that I have more than one transgression for which I must apologize?"

"Mr. Ravenscroft, I cannot count high enough..."

He grinned. "Now I know you've forgiven me if you're making jokes."

This time she raised a brow, and he noted that she managed to look every bit as arrogant as he did. She said, "And what makes you think that was a joke?" But then she laughed, which quite broke the effect.

"I am forgiven?"

She nodded. "Percy never apologized."

"Percy is clearly an idiot."

She smiled then-a small, wistful smile that very nearly melted his heart. "Caroline," he said, barely recognizing his voice.

"Yes?"

"Oh, hell." He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers in the most feathery light of kisses. It wasn't that he wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. He needed it the way he needed air, and water, and the afternoon sunshine on his face. The kiss was almost spiritual; his entire body trembled just from the barest touch of their lips.

"Oh, Blake," she sighed, sounding as bewildered as he felt.

"Caroline," he murmured, trailing his lips along the elegant line of her neck. "I don't know why... I don't understand it, but-"

"I don't care," she said, sounding quite deter­mined for one whose breathing had gone way past erratic. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with artless abandon.

The warm press of her body against his was more than Blake could bear, and he swept her into his arms and carried her through the upstairs hall to his room. He kicked the door shut, and they tum­bled onto the bed, his body covering hers with a possessiveness he'd never dreamed he could feel again.

"I want you," he murmured. "I want you now, in every way." Her soft heat beckoned him, and his fingers flew along the buttons of her frock, slipping them through their buttonholes with ease and haste.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered.

But she just shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know what I want."

"Yes," he said, pushing her dress down to bare one silky shoulder, "you do."

Instantly, her eyes flew to his face. "You know I've never-"

He put a gentle finger to her lips. "I know.'But it doesn't matter. You still know what feels right."

"Blake, I-"

"Hush." He closed her lips with a searing kiss, then opened them again with a hot flick of his tongue. "For example," he said against her mouth, "do you want more of this?"

She didn't move for a moment, and then he felt her lips move up and down as she nodded.

"Then you shall have it." He kissed her fiercely, savoring the subtle minty taste of her.

She moaned beneath him, and tentatively placed her hand on his cheek. "Do you like that?" she asked shyly.

He growled as he tore off his cravat. "You may touch me anywhere. You may kiss me anywhere. I burn just for the sight of you. Can you imagine what your touch does?"

With sweet hesitation she slid down and kissed his smooth-shaven jaw. Then she moved to his ear, then his neck, and Blake thought he would surely die in her arms if his passion remained unfulfilled. He pushed her dress even lower, revealing one small but, in his opinion, perfectly shaped breast.

He bent his head to her and took the nipple in his mouth, the rosy bud tightening between his lips. She was moaning beneath him, calling out his name, and he knew she wanted him.

And the knowledge thrilled him.

"Oh Blake oh Blake oh Blake," she groaned. "Can you do that?"

"I assure you I can," he said with a low chuckle.

She gasped as he sucked a touch harder. "No, but is it allowed?"

His chuckle turned into a throaty laugh. "Any­thing is allowed, my sweet."

"Yes, but I- ooooooohhhhhh."

Blake grinned with a very masculine smugness as her words lost their coherence. "And now," he said with a wicked leer, "I can do it to the other one."

His hands went to work pushing her dress off her other shoulder, but just before he revealed his prize, he heard the most awful sound.

Perriwick.

"Sir? Sir? Sir!!!" This, accompanied by the most annoyingly persistent knocking.

"Blake!" Caroline gasped.

"Shhh." He clamped his hand over her mouth. "He'll go away."

"Mr. Ravenscroft! It's most urgent!"

"I don't think he's going to go away," she whis­pered, her words getting muffled under his palm.

"Perriwick!" Blake bellowed. "I'm busy. Go away. Now!"

"Yes, I thought as much," the butler said through the door. "It's what I most feared."

"He knows I'm here," Caroline hissed. Then, quite suddenly, she turned red as a raspberry.

"Oh, dear Lord, he knows I'm here. What have I done?"

Blake cursed under his breath. Caroline had dearly just regained her senses and remembered that no lady of her consequence did the sort of things she'd been doing. And, damn it, that made him remember as well, and he was quite unable to take advantage of her while his conscience was in full working order.

"I can't let Perriwick see me," she said frantically.

"He's just the butler," Blake replied, knowing that wasn't the point but a little too frustrated to care.

"He's my friend. And his opinion of me matters."

'To whom?"

"To me, you nodcock." She was trying to right her appearance with such haste that her fingers kept slipping over the buttons of her dress.

"Here," Blake said, giving her a shove. "Into the washing room."

Caroline dashed into the smaller chamber with alacrity, grabbing her slippers at the very last min­ute. As soon as the door clicked behind her, she heard Blake yank open the door to his room and say, rather nastily, "What do you want, Perriwick?"

"If I may be so bold, sir-"

"Perriwick." Blake's voice was laced with heavy warning. Caroline feared for the butler's safety if he didn't get to the point with all possible haste. At this rate, Blake was likely to boot him right out the window.

"Right, sir. It's Miss Trent. I can't find her any­where."

"I wasn't aware that Miss Trent was required to apprise you of her whereabouts at every given moment."

"No, of course not, Mr. Ravenscroft, but I found this at the top of the stairs, and-"

Caroline instinctively leaned closer to the door, wondering what "this" was.

"I'm sure she just dropped it," Blake said. "Rib­bons fall from ladies' hair all the time."

Her hand flew up to her head. When had she lost her ribbon? Had Blake run his hands through her hair when he was kissing her in the hall?

"I realize that," Perriwick replied, "but I am wor­ried nonetheless. If I knew where she was, I am certain I could allay my fears."

"As it happens," came Blake's voice, "I know ex­actly where Miss Trent is."

Caroline gasped. Surely he wouldn't give her away.

Blake said, "She decided to take advantage of the fine weather and has gone for a stroll in the countryside."

"But I thought you said her presence here at Sea-crest Manor was a secret."

"It is, but there is no reason she can't go outside as long as she doesn't wander too far from the grounds. There are very few conveyances traveling this road. No one is likely to see her."

"I see. I shall keep an eye out for her, then. Per­haps she would like something to eat when she returns."

"I'm sure she would like that above all else."

Caroline touched her stomach. She was a little hungry. And to be completely truthful, the thought of a walk along the beach sounded quite nice. Just the sort of thing to clear her head, which the Lord certainly knew needed clearing.

She took a step away from the door, and Blake's and Perriwick's voices faded. Then she noticed an­other door on the opposite side of the washing room. She tested the doorknob gingerly, and was

pleasantly surprised to note that it let her out in the side stairwell-the one usually used by servants. She looked over her shoulder, toward Blake, even though she couldn't see him.

He'd said she could go for a walk, even if it had been part of an elaborate fabrication designed to fool poor Perriwick. Caroline couldn't see any rea­son not to go ahead and do just that.

Within a few seconds she had dashed down the stairs and was outside. A minute later she was out of sight of the house and striding along the edge of the cliff that overlooked the blue-gray English Channel. The sea air was invigorating, but not nearly as much as the knowledge that Blake was going to be completely confused when he peered into the washing room and found her missing.

Bother the man, anyway. He could use some con­fusion in his life.