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  So she just nodded and smiled sympathetically.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next several days passed in an idyllic whirl. Caroline and Phoebe spent a great deal of time with the Sewards and the Bellweathers, but they also met many other people in Wycombe for the summer. There were venetian breakfasts, teas, more card parties, a play, a dance, and another, sunnier boating party. There were also warm, convivial afternoons bathing in the sea, and mornings looking in the shops.

  There was scarcely time to pause for thought.

  But when Caroline would have a quiet moment, when bathing or dressing or in bed about to fall asleep, she would think of Justin.

  He had been very attentive, sitting beside her at suppers or playing cards at the same table with her (fortunately, there were no more flashbacks to card-playing days at the Golden Feather!). Justin was a charming companion, funny and interesting and always polite.

  But he was that way with everyone, from the littlest Bellweather girl to the ancient Lady Ryce. She felt rather foolish wishing, hoping, that his attentions were a mark of admiration for her specifically. Even if they were, she could scarcely afford to encourage them.

  That did not mean, though, that she could not dream and imagine, all alone in her room.

  And wonder if he would ask her to dance with him at the grand assembly.

  The evening of the grand assembly was a very warm one. All the windows in the high-ceilinged assembly rooms were open to admit what little breeze there was, but still the mingled scent of perfumes, flowers, and warm people hung heavy in the air.

  Caroline stood close to one of the windows, fanning herself and wishing that her gray silk gown was a little less weighty. She watched as Phoebe, partnered with Harry, moved blithely through the figures of the dance, seemingly immune to the heat in her bright yellow muslin gown. Phoebe’s curls, piled fetchingly atop her head and caught with ivory combs, were still crisp, while Caroline feared that her own locks were quite wilted beneath her opal and seed pearl bandeau.

  She supposed she really ought to move about, greet the many people she had met under the auspices of Lady Lyndon these last weeks. But the heat, combined with her sleepless night and the thoughts of Justin that caused it, made her feet feel leaden in their satin slippers. Her mind was dull and languid.

  She leaned back against the window frame and wished she could go outside and search for some fresh air.

  “Would you care for some lemonade, Mrs. Aldritch?” a familiar voice said. The voice that had echoed in her mind all the night before, keeping her awake.

  Caroline turned to see Justin standing there, two glasses of the pale yellow liquid in his hands.

  He smiled at her tentatively. “I do hope I didn’t startle you.”

  “Oh, no. I was just . . . thinking,” she answered, managing to summon up a small smile in return. She took the offered glass and sipped at the cool lemonade gratefully. The tang of it seemed to help clear her mind a bit. “Thank you. This is delicious.”

  He leaned against the wall beside her, drinking from his own glass. “I always thought that the seaside was meant to be cool. But if I closed my eyes now, I might almost imagine myself in India again.”

  “It does seem rather foolish of us to truss ourselves up in silk and go out dancing on such an evening,” Caroline said with a laugh.

  “I do not see you dancing,” Justin teased.

  “Nor I you. It must be because we are too sensible.”

  “Unlike our siblings, you mean?”

  They watched as Harry and Phoebe skipped down the line of the dance, ending their set with a bow and a curtsy. Phoebe was quickly claimed by her next partner, and Harry went off to sit with his mother and watch Phoebe. The music for the next set, an old-fashioned minuet, struck up.

  “I suppose, then,” Justin continued, “that since we are so sensible, it would be futile for me to ask you to dance.”

  Actually, despite the heat, Caroline could think of nothing she would like better. To feel his hand on hers, his grasp at her waist, would be everything she longed for.

  Well . . . almost everything.

  And it would be so dangerous.

  “I fear I must decline,” she answered, hoping her tone was light and teasing. “Not that you would make such a poor partner, I’m sure! But I can summon little enthusiasm for the exercise this evening.”

  “How about a stroll on the terrace, then? Perhaps we could find a breeze out there.”

  The thought of fresh air, not to mention the thought of Justin at her side, almost alone, was too much temptation to bear.

  She gave in to that temptation and nodded. “I would like that, thank you.”

  Justin placed their empty glasses on a table and offered her his arm. Caroline glanced over to make certain Phoebe was well-occupied, then slid her hand over the soft cloth of his sleeve. She seemed to have no control over her feet; the satin slippers led her inexorably out the doors into the night, even as she told them how foolish they were being, in light of her feelings for Lyndon. It seemed the height of folly to be alone with him in the night.

  But they were not entirely alone. A few other couples had come outside in search of a cool breeze and stood along the marble balustrade talking and looking out at the sea. Justin and Caroline walked along until they came to the end of the terrace, where it was quiet and dark, except for the bars of light and faint music that came from the window.

  Caroline stepped into the shadows and turned her face to the light breeze from the sea.

  “Mother has been saying we should go soon to Waring Castle,” Justin said softly.

  Caroline looked at him. His face was half in shadow, and he watched the water.

  “Your country estate?” she said.

  “Yes. She does not want to go; she is quite loath to quit Wycombe. But I have not been to Waring since I returned to England, and it is past time to see to my duty.”

  “Of course. Will you go soon?”

  “Perhaps in a fortnight; not sooner. The Bellweathers are thinking of going to Brighton then, and Mother won’t want to leave while they are still here.”

  A fortnight. Caroline closed her eyes against the sudden rush of ineffable sadness. In only fourteen days the idyllic summer of picnics, boating, concerts, and suppers would be at an end. Justin and his family would be gone, vanished into their world of duty, and she and Phoebe would be at loose ends again.

  She did not want to lose it all, she realized with a fierce pang. She didn’t want to lose that feeling of respectability, of belonging that the summer had brought. She didn’t want to lose dear Lady Lyndon’s friendship, or the chance to laugh at Harry’s ridiculous antics, or play at dolls with the little Bellweather girls.

  Above all, she did not want to lose Justin. Their conversations, the times she was in his company, had come to mean so much.

  They meant all the world.

  She had done what she swore she would never do—she had fallen in love. With Justin. Lord Lyndon. The one man who could expose her for the terrible fraud she was.

  “Phoebe and I will ... will miss you terribly,” she managed to choke out, when all she really wanted to do was run away and hide, to cry alone like a wounded animal.

  “I know that Harry will miss your sister. To be honest, I think he means to make her an offer before we go. But I have been thinking he should go to oversee another estate of ours, Seward Park, and grow up a bit before he takes on such responsibility.”

  Caroline nodded. “I did fear that. Not that you would send him away, that he would make her an offer.”

  “Feared?”

  “Yes. You are being honest, Lord Lyndon, so I will be as well. Once, all I could have wished for Phoebe would be to marry someone from a family like yours. It would be a great honor for her. But I see now that even though she is of an age to wed, she is too young in her feelings. I would be doing her a great disservice to let her make the same mistake I did.”

  “You married too young?�
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  “Oh, yes. So I think you are wise to give Harry some task far away. Phoebe and I will travel for a year, maybe come to London for the Season. Perhaps then, if your brother were to meet us again, things would be different. If you had no objections?”

  “How could I? Harry would be lucky to win your sister. Miss Lane is charming.” He paused, then went on in an oddly thick voice. “But not quite as charming as you.”

  Caroline looked up at him, confused. Could he possibly? ...

  No. He could not be feeling the same way she was.

  But his gaze was intense as he looked at her, his eyes almost silver in the meager light.

  Inside, the orchestra began a waltz, and its lilting strains floated out to them on the night wind.

  “Would you care to dance?” he asked.

  Wordlessly, Caroline nodded. The heat of the evening no longer seemed to matter, for she craved the warmth of Justin’s touch.

  He slid his arm about her waist, warm and secure through the silk of her gown. She made the automatic motions of sweeping up her short train in one hand and sliding the other into his.

  His fingers closed about hers tightly, and they began to move. Unmindful of anyone who might be watching, they swayed and turned about their small patch of marble.

  Closer than was strictly proper, their bodies moved together as if they had been dancing thus for years. His legs brushed against the silk of her skirts, and the fabric clung to him, as Caroline longed to do herself.

  Slowly, they twirled to a halt at the edge of the terrace, alone in the darkest shadows. Caroline stared up at him, as breathless as if she had run a mile. Her heart was full, so full she feared it might burst.

  He looked down at her, his lips parted as if he were about to say something but could not find the words. Then he did find the words.

  “Mrs. Aldritch,” he whispered, “I do believe I love you.”

  And Caroline’s heart did burst. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and falling down her cheeks, but she could not let go of him to brush them away. She had been alone, lonely, for so long. She needed his closeness, his touch. Only his. Justin’s.

  “I think,” she whispered back, “that you should call me Caroline.”

  Caroline, Justin’s mind sang. Caroline, Caroline. He looked at her in the moonlight and thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. She almost glowed, as if she were made of the finest marble, the most expensive alabaster.

  “Caroline,” he whispered. Only that. But all his heart was in that one word.

  Caroline.

  She must have heard all the ache, all the longing in his voice, for her lips parted in an expression of wonder. “Justin,” she whispered. “Justin.”

  He glanced quickly behind them. Everyone who was on the terrace had gone back inside to join the waltz, but the windows all stood open.

  “Walk with me in the garden,” he urged.

  “I ...” She looked around uncertainly. “I should look in on Phoebe.”

  “My mother is no doubt watching her. It will only be for a moment. Please.”

  She nodded and walked with him down the terrace steps into the small garden adjacent to the sea. Once they were outside the light, he slid his arm about her waist. She leaned against him, her pale hair brushing against the shoulder of his coat.

  They stopped beneath the sheltering branches of a tree, and Caroline turned to face him.

  “Did I shock you with my words of love?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “It has been a long time since I was shocked by anything. Though I was rather surprised. We have not known each other very long.”

  “Does that mean that you do not return my feelings? You know you need only say the word and I will bother you no more.”

  She gave him a little half smile. “Bother me? Silly man. Don’t you know that I love you, too?”

  Joy unlike any he had ever known blossomed in Justin’s tired heart. Joy and another unfamiliar emotion.

  Hope.

  Hope for the future, for a happy life, a family of his own. With this woman, who was so unlike anyone he had ever met before, all things seemed possible.

  In a burst of emotion, he pulled her closer to him and lowered his lips to hers.

  Her mouth was soft and cool, and it yielded so sweetly, so perfectly beneath his. He felt her rise up on tiptoes and slide her arms about his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his hair.

  The kiss, so gently begun, caught fire. Justin drew her even closer, urged her lips to part under his passion.

  She responded, clinging to him, mingling her sighs, her soft moans, with his.

  Suddenly, he knew that if they went on this way he would not be able to stop with a kiss. He would not be able to let her go all night.

  He pulled away from her slowly and dragged in long, ragged breaths of warm night air. Her forehead fell to his shoulder, and he felt her slim frame tremble under his hands.

  He held her away a bit and saw tears on her cheeks, shimmering in the moonlight. “Caroline!” he cried, shocked at this reaction to his kiss. Was he so terribly out of practice, then? “What is wrong?”

  She shook her head and wiped away the teardrops with her gloved hand. “It is just that I am so happy. I have never felt this way before, ever. It is too wonderful. Too wonderful to last.”

  He drew her back against him, holding her very tightly. So tightly he could vow he felt her heart beat against his chest. He rested his cheek against the silk of her hair and closed his eyes.

  “Of course it will last,” he said firmly. “Of course it will.”

  Her grip tightened, crushing the fabric of his coat. “Justin, promise me that, no matter what, you will always remember this night, this perfect, perfect night. And remember that I love you with all my heart.”

  “I shall have to remember it, won’t I? To tell our grandchildren someday.”

  She gave an oddly hysterical little laugh and answered, “Yes.” Her voice turned suddenly sad, as if she knew a secret that he did not. “Yes.”

  Late that night, after the assembly was over and everyone else was abed, Justin sat in his library, staring out the window at the waning moon.

  The same moon he had kissed Caroline Aldritch under.

  It had been a glorious kiss, the most wonderful, the most intimate of his life. It had felt almost as if he held the very essence of her in his arms and shared himself with her in a way he had never done with anyone else.

  And she had seemed to feel it, too. But then she had pulled away, her face sad and strangely bitter.

  She said she loved him. But did she then change her mind?

  He longed to see her again, right that moment. The wild boy he had once been would have gone to her house and climbed up to her window, demanded to know the truth of what was in her mind, in her heart.

  The respectable earl he was now knew he would have to wait until the next day to see her, to talk to her. But it felt like a hundred years until daylight.

  Caroline also lay awake in her bed, listening to the distant sounds of the sea whispering through her open window. Her scarred ankle itched, and as she reached down to rub it she thought about the moments in the garden, going over each one carefully, minutely.

  They had been the most perfect moments of her life, and she wanted to memorize each one, tuck them close, and hold them forever. For she knew it could not last.

  Justin truly loved her. She did believe that. He understood her, understood her struggles, as she understood him. But she could not be with him. Once he knew the truth about the Golden Feather and Mrs. Archer, he would look at her very differently. He might understand the forces that had led her along that path, but he had a family, a title, and a position to uphold.

  Yes, he might now be talking about the grandchildren they would have together, but he would not be after he found out about her past.

  And she knew, as surely as she knew she loved him, that she would have to tell him. Soon.

&n
bsp; Chapter Seventeen

  “What shall we do today, Caro?” Phoebe asked, stretching out on a chaise set in a patch of morning sunlight. She looked like a satisfied little cat, lazy after the dancing and talking of the night before.

  Caroline looked up from the book she was ostensibly reading. In truth, she had not turned a page in fully fifteen minutes; she was too caught up in thoughts of Justin to concentrate. “Whatever you like, I suppose, dearest. We have no engagements until the Westons’ supper this evening. Would you want to go to the shops?”

  Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “It is too warm to shop. Last night I thought I would faint for lack of air in the assembly rooms.”

  “You seemed to be having a fine time.”

  “Oh, I was! Anytime I can dance is a fine time.” She slid Caroline a sly glance. “I noticed you quite vanished before the supper.”

  Caroline looked back down at her book. “I was in need of some air.”

  “Ah, yes. Apparently so was Lord Lyndon.” Phoebe leaned forward eagerly. “Is there anything you want to tell your sister, Caro? Anything at all?”

  Tell Phoebe that she kissed Lord Lyndon in the moonlight, but she couldn’t marry him because she had once been the proprietor of a gaming hell? Caroline thought not.

  “I did happen to stroll with him on the terrace for a while,” she answered carefully. “But there is no need to act like this is scene from one of your novels, Phoebe. There were many other people there, and ... and nothing of any consequence happened.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  She just lost her heart, that was all. “Nothing.”

  Phoebe fell back with a disappointed little huff. “How very vexing. I was hoping this would be a romantic summer.”

  Caroline laughed at her pouting expression. “I believe you have enough romance for the both of us. This house is flooded with bouquets from your admirers every day.”

  Phoebe tried to shrug carelessly, but she looked too pleased for it to be effective. “But that is not really romance!”