Leo smiled. He leaned closer. “Are you cross, again, Caroline?”

“Yes, Leopold, a little.”

“Would you like me to move away?”

She hesitated. She pushed his hand from her face, and he thought that was the end of it. He was just about to slide back into his place when she cupped his face with her hand. “Just be warned that if you kiss me, it will mean something. I would advise you think long and hard about that.”

“I am thinking long and hard,” he said, and shifted closer.

She put her hand on his chest and sighed. “You are the worst sort of rake, Leopold Chartier. But if you mean to do it, then do it. We haven’t much time.”

He bit back a laugh of surprise. “Has anyone ever told you how contradictory you are?”

She traced her thumb across his bottom lip. “What the devil are you waiting for?”

Leo moved then, touching his mouth to hers. He kissed her quite differently than she kissed him. She’d pressed her mouth hard against his, her tongue probing. He kissed her softly and carefully, lingering against pillowy lips while the faint scent of florals teased his nose. The kiss was so exquisite that he had to claw his fingers into the squabs to keep from falling into her and nibbling her up like a delicious delicacy. He teased her lips apart with his tongue. She tipped her chin up and opened her mouth to him. The kiss was tender and slow, but the flames in him were not. This was the tiny gasp of air in a hearth before a fire raged.

Caroline lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. The gentle touch of her fingers caused him to shiver—he felt as if he could explode with his desire at any moment. He had meant to tantalize her, but she was luring him in, enticing him to a mystic mountain of pleasure, and he very much wanted to go with this brash woman.

Don’t tell me what to do. Her words popped into his head. He wouldn’t tell her what to do; he’d let her lead him to what she wanted. He leaned in, pressing her against the squabs at her back. The kiss was quickly sending him off to oblivion—he wanted to touch her flesh, to feel her skin against his. He wanted to put his hand between her legs and feel the damp of her desire.

It was Caroline who reminded him of where he was. She cupped his face with both hands and pushed his head back. Her lips were wet with his kiss. “My brother is just outside.”

Beck. His only friend if his life continued to progress as it had the last few weeks. Leo gathered himself. He nodded, pressed his eyes shut for a moment, then fell back across the carriage, adjusting his Alucian coat to hide his enormous erection. He pushed his hand through his hair and smiled at her. “How did you find that kiss, madam?”

A ringlet of her hair had tumbled out of place, and she very carefully tucked it back in. “I found it serviceable.” She smiled impertinently.

“I don’t believe you,” he said playfully. “I think you felt that kiss in a way you’ve never felt one before.” He arched a brow, daring her to disagree and knowing full well that she would.

But she laughed and said, “Now who is proud? Very well. It was very nice, Highness. Thank you.” Her smile broadened.

She enjoyed the game she was playing. So did Leo. “You little—”

The door suddenly swung open and Beck’s head popped into the interior of the carriage. He looked at his sister, who was smiling like a fat little feline. “Bit of a mechanical problem,” he said, hoisting himself back inside. “One of the harnesses, as it happens. It’s always something with the harness, isn’t it?” he asked, and began to talk about the number of times he’d been involved with harness issues.

Leo didn’t hear much of what he said. All he could think of was how hard he was for the woman sitting across from him with the most annoyingly enticing and cheeky little smile he’d ever seen.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


All of London rejoices with the return of the sun to our skies, but many have already departed for the country. In Sussex, it is anticipated that Lord Hawke will debut his Alucian racehorse at the Four Corners event. He is rumored to have brought the steed to Arundel to be housed there until the racing season is complete.

An afternoon tea at the home of Mrs. Moriarity was remarked because of one particular guest who arrived clad in a morning gown. Ladies, it is important to know how to dress for the occasion, lest you be the one everyone remembers and not for the reasons to which you aspire.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and


Domesticity for Ladies

AUGUSTA, LADY NORFOLK, was in a very foul mood, for which she could be forgiven. She was in the last month of her pregnancy and complained that nothing fit her, her back hurt, and that she hated her husband.

“Augusta,” Caroline said with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t hate Henry.” She had fit the dressing gown she’d made for Augusta around her but realized she’d hardly made it large enough. That was her own fault—she’d never been so close as this to a pregnant belly, and it was...quite large. Privately, Caroline worried that Augusta was carrying more than one child in there. It looked like an entire village.

Augusta had collapsed onto a chair with her legs sprawled in front of her. Caroline wandered over to the towering window to gaze out at the vast lawn below. It was a gloriously sunlit day, and she longed to be outside with everyone. Beck and Norfolk reclined in chairs like a pair of country gentlemen. A nursemaid rocked Augusta’s baby, scarcely a year old, under the boughs of a tree. And in the clearing, the prince...Leopold...was romping with Augusta’s two young daughters along with a frisky black-and-white dog.

He appeared to enjoy it. He was laughing with the girls, encouraging them to chase him. Caroline tried to picture him with the children Lady Eulalie would bear him. Little princesses and princes that looked like him.

It made her feel a little achy.

She absently touched her fingers to her lips and remembered again that staggering kiss in the coach. It had been so tender and considerate—not the same desperate passion she’d shown him. And yet her body had bloomed with it. She could feel herself opening up like a flower, wanting more. Wanting all of him.

Good God. Maybe Beck was right and it was time for her to marry. She was as randy as she’d ever been, wanting things she would not take. Caroline was no saint—she’d been kissed and petted and more. But she’d always been conscious of her virtue and the need to protect it. Great families, her mother had said, maintained their stature through their heirs, their morals and their generosity. She warned Caroline about doing anything that could bring shame to the Hawke name. “A man can recover from his mistakes,” she’d said. “But a woman will carry her shame to her grave.”

For some reason, that warning, said by a mother she’d lost many years ago, had stuck with her all this time. She’d certainly had many opportunities to bring shame to the family name. But yesterday, in the coach, she had seriously considered it.

“What are you looking at?” Augusta asked.

“Oh, just your daughters and your husband in the green below.”

Augusta emitted a sigh that sounded a bit like despair. Caroline turned from the window. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Augusta said. Then she shook her head. “I’m not. Henry disappears from me when I am in confinement.”

Caroline laughed, gesturing to the window. “But he is here, darling. He’s not gone anywhere at all.”

“He disappeared from me in the last four months before Mary was born. The moment he discovered I was with child again, he began to disappear again. He is here in body,” Augusta said morosely. “But not in spirit. He despises my body in this state.” A tear slipped from her eye. “He’s entered some sort of arrangement for exports, and as part of it, he brought home a kitchen girl. Can you imagine? She was part of that arrangement. It’s not the first time it’s happened, either, for him to have a girl tucked away in the servant’s quarters. I got rid of the last one.”

Caroline was stunned. “What are you implying?”

“What do you think?” Augusta asked tearfully.

“No, Augusta,” Caroline said, coming to her side. “That’s not true! He is besotted with you.”

“Don’t try to tell me what he is, Caroline! I know what he is and what he does.”

Caroline suspected she might, too. Last night when they’d arrived, Henry had whisked Beck and the prince away, as if Caroline and Augusta didn’t exist. When she’d mentioned it to Beck, he’d said it was because Augusta wanted nothing to do with Leopold, and really, did Caroline want to sit with the gentlemen while they smoked cigars and talked about masculine things?

“What are masculine things?” she’d asked.

Beck had frowned. “Masculine things. Use your imagination, Caro.” He’d tapped her head with two fingers and had left her to spend the day with a miserable Augusta.

“The dressing gown is beautiful,” Augusta said, stroking the embroidered placket.

“The embroidery is Martha’s work. She’s taught me quite a lot,” Caroline said. “She worked on it while I sewed the hem.”

“I never knew you had any talent,” Augusta murmured.

Caroline laughed. “Neither did I. But last summer, I couldn’t find a modiste who was willing to make a train like the Alucians wear. I’ve always been fairly good with a needle and thought I’d try. It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be,” she said with a shrug.

The door to the salon opened, and a young maid entered, carrying a tray with tea service. She misstepped; the pot clattered against one of the cups.

Augusta took one look at her, and her expression turned dark. “For God’s sake, don’t be stupid.”