The Duke Is But a Dream--A Debutante Diaries Novel Page 13

  “I merely presented another point of view,” she said deliberately. “In an effort to contribute to the discussion.”

  “And I appreciate it,” Delilah chimed in. To Nash, she said, “If I’m not permitted to have callers, I shall never have suitors. And if I never have suitors, then…”

  Nash blinked slowly and inhaled as though trying to rein in his temper. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  Caroline straightened in her chair. “I feel sure you are about to tell us, Your Grace.”

  “You and Delilah have been spending too much time reading that column—‘The Vengeful Debutante.’”

  Caroline swallowed hard, momentarily speechless. For reasons she couldn’t explain, his disdain for the column felt intensely personal—like a dagger to her heart.

  “It’s called The Debutante’s Revenge,” Delilah corrected.

  “Call it what you will. It’s filled your head with fanciful, romantic notions.”

  “So what if it has?” Caroline ventured. “Is it so terrible—to long for a bit of romance or passion in one’s life?”

  “Yes, actually,” Nash shouted, rattling the crystal. He pressed his lips together, regaining a thread of composure before continuing. “It is terrible. And worse, it’s dangerous.”

  Caroline made fists so tight that her fingernails bit into the flesh of her palms. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I have half a mind to burn every last column that Delilah has stashed away in her bedchamber.”

  Delilah pinned him with her gaze. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t test me, Delilah. Brondale will not enter this house,” Nash ground out. “And I forbid either one of you from speaking his name or discussing this matter further.”

  Caroline’s hackles rose. Forbid? How dare he.

  “Am I understood?” he demanded.

  Delilah tossed her hair over her shoulder and glared. “Perfectly.”

  “Caroline?” he prodded.

  Her throat constricted and her hand trembled as she set down her fork. She’d thought she could trust Nash—not only with her body but also with her heart.

  Now, during the course of their one and only real argument, he’d disparaged the column—the same one she felt strangely connected to. He’d ridiculed her beliefs—the very same ones that had driven her into his arms. Belittling the idea that women should be free to seek love and expect to be equal partners in their relationships.

  And he’d stubbornly refused to debate the matter with her.

  She wanted to scream, and now he was waiting for her to meekly accept the edict he’d issued. But she’d be damned before she capitulated.

  “I understand you quite well,” she said, her voice raw and raspy but still dripping with sarcasm. “You do not think that Delilah is capable of choosing her own beau. You mock a column that aspires to empower young women. You expect blind obedience from the women who live under your roof.” She glared at him while she caught her breath. “Have I missed anything, Your Grace?”

  Nash crossed his arms, stretching the fine fabric of his jacket to its limits and looking vexingly handsome despite his infuriating pompousness. “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair is your utter arrogance. And neither Delilah nor I will tolerate it.” She stood, tossed her napkin on the table, and rushed from the dining room before he could see the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  She’d thought she knew Nash. But perhaps she’d only seen the side of him she wished to see. Maybe the injury to her head had impaired her judgment along with her memory.

  Because she could never be with a man who mocked the ideas that meant so much to her.

  And after all they’d shared, she couldn’t stay. She was leaving Nash. Tonight.

  Chapter 16

  “If you go in search of the perfect gentleman, you are destined for disappointment. Look, instead, for the man who is perfect for you.”

  —The Debutante’s Revenge

  Nash scrubbed the back of his head as Delilah stormed out of the dining room, right on Caroline’s heels.

  Bloody hell. One minute they’d been discussing Delilah’s trip to the modiste, and the next he’d spun out of control and ended up looking like a complete ass.

  Probably because he’d been acting like one. Shit.

  He’d spent the afternoon trying to plan the perfect night for him and Caroline.

  And instead, he’d spoiled everything. She and Delilah detested him.

  He waited a quarter of an hour, figuring everyone could use some time to cool off. But he’d made the mess, and now he needed to fix it—somehow. Since he’d lashed out at his sister first, he began by knocking on her door.

  “Go away.” Delilah’s voice was muffled, like her head was buried under a pillow.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “You mean you want to talk. And you expect me to listen.” She wasn’t wrong, damn it.

  He hesitated. “What if I promise to listen too?”

  For several seconds, she didn’t reply. Then, he heard her shuffling toward the door, sniffling and hiccupping, making him feel approximately two inches tall. She opened the door, revealing her splotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. Hell. The sight of her—so sad and defeated—was a punch to his gut. This was Delilah, his irrepressibly cheerful sister. The one who could brighten any room just by smiling.

  And he’d made her absolutely miserable.

  “May I come in?”

  She nodded and stepped aside.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “About what?” She spun toward him and planted her hands on her hips. “That I’m no longer a little girl you can keep locked up?”

  He shot her an apologetic smile. “It was easier, then.”

  She paced the length of her bedchamber, fuming. “You’re convinced it’s such a big, bad world out there.”

  “It can be.” He knew better than anyone.

  “I don’t believe that it’s all bad. I know you still miss Emily. I do too.” Delilah’s voice cracked with emotion—an ache that echoed in his chest. “But do you think she’d want to see us arguing like this? Do you think she’d want us to live our lives by half measures? Because I think that nothing would have made our sister sadder.” She sank into a chair and held her head in her hands.

  He lowered himself onto the footstool opposite her, so that they were at eye level. Her sleek hair twist appeared to have lost its fight with her pillow and her dress was wrinkled. With her fair curls falling around her face and her eyes puffy from crying, she looked younger than her eighteen years.

  But she was right. About everything.

  “For the last five years, it’s been only you and me.” He reached for her hand and sandwiched it between his. “I suppose I wanted things to stay that way, even if I knew they couldn’t.”

  “I know you want to protect me. It’s only natural that you would after we lost half our family.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Do you remember the way Emily hummed to herself while she worked on her needlepoint?”

  “It drove you mad,” Delilah recalled. “She knew that, of course. It’s why she did it.”

  “You remind me a little of her,” he admitted. “Like you, she said exactly what she was thinking, and her face showed everything she was feeling. Did you know she cried every time she went to the opera? She never took her own handkerchief with her, so she’d steal mine right out of my pocket. I’d grumble about it, but the truth was … I loved that she counted on me. For the little things and the big things.” He paused, waiting for the pounding in his head and heart to subside. “I miss her,” he choked out.

  “I know. I do too.” Delilah leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. “But I’m not her, Nash. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You mean until you fall in love and marry.”

  “You needn’t sound so morose,” she said, chuckling through her tears. “In case you haven’t noticed,
I have no suitors at the moment. Zero.”

  “You will have plenty,” Nash said dryly.

  She sat back and shot him a watery smile. “Even after I’m married, I’ll need my brother. And I will always be here, should you need me.”

  “You really have grown up, Delilah.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to realize that.”

  “Better late than never. At least I’m not on the shelf yet.”

  He grinned at her. “No, I don’t think you’re destined for spinsterhood.” More soberly, he added, “I still don’t approve of Brondale, and I’ve told you the reasons why.”

  “No one is perfect, Nash. And people can change—especially when they find someone worth changing for.” She looked at him from beneath her tear-spiked lashes. “Maybe Caroline is that person for you.”

  He rolled his shoulders, wishing Delilah weren’t so damned perceptive. “I’m a lost cause,” he said, only half jesting. “But I will try to be reasonable about where you go and who you see.”

  “Does that mean that Lord Brondale may call on me tomorrow?” she asked, transparently hopeful.

  An image of the betting book containing Brondale’s vile wager loomed in Nash’s head. Every instinct screamed for him to forbid the marquess from visiting his sister. But he’d made a promise. “He may call on you if you have a chaperone. But, Delilah, I know in my gut he’s not the right man for you. I’m asking you to trust me on this.”

  She stared at him for several heart-wrenching seconds, then blew out a long breath. “Very well. Let us hope that I meet a few eligible young men at the ball on Wednesday. And then, let us pray that there is at least one among them who is acceptable to you and not abhorrent to me.”

  “I feel certain we’ll be able to find some common ground.” He kissed her forehead and stood.

  “Have you talked to Caroline yet?” Delilah worried her lower lip.

  “No. You were at the top of my list of apologies. She is next.”

  Delilah yawned, exhaustion plain on her face. “I’m going to ring for Molly and turn in early tonight. But I hope you can make things right with Caroline. I adore you both and hate to see you feuding, but if I am forced to pick a side…”

  “Traitor.” He gave her a wink before heading to the corridor and closing the door behind him. He’d managed to patch things up with Delilah. Surely, he could do the same with Caroline.

  When he reached her bedchamber, he found the door slightly ajar but paused to straighten his cravat and gather his wits. He couldn’t mess this up, damn it.

  He blew out a long breath and knocked softly.

  When she didn’t respond, he tried again—a bit louder.

  Still no answer.

  “Caroline?” He pushed the door open a few inches and peered into the room. The bed was perfectly made. The desk immaculate.

  He burst inside, scanning every nook.

  Caroline was gone.

  His stomach dropped through his knees. She hadn’t left a note on the desk or the bed. Surely, she wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. No, she was probably downstairs in the library. Or maybe she’d gone looking for him in his study. That would be just like her—to seek him out so she could give him the dressing-down he deserved.

  Yes, he’d wager Caroline was in the library, plotting all the ways she was going to make him miserable until he begged for forgiveness. He wouldn’t even mind. The truth was, there was no one he’d rather have torture him than Caroline.

  He took two strides toward the door, then drew up short next to her bedside table.

  She had only one possession from her prior life, and it was in the drawer of that nightstand, unless …

  Heart racing, he pulled open the drawer. Found it empty.

  She’d taken the bag with her, which meant she wasn’t in the library or even the study.

  Caroline was gone.

  * * *

  Caroline swiped at her eyes as she walked down the street, clutching her bag to her chest. She’d only walked a few blocks, but the enormity of what she’d done had already begun to sink in. She was a young woman with no name, no money, and no home, walking through the streets of London. Alone.

  She should have asked Delilah if she could borrow some money, but she would have begged Caroline to stay, and refusing those pleading blue eyes of hers would have been far too difficult. So Caroline had grabbed the few coins she possessed and slipped out of the back door, determined to find a boardinghouse where she could stay until she found some sort of position—as a companion or governess or maid. The neighborhood was as unfamiliar to her as the rest of her life, so she would have to ask a stranger about possible places to stay.

  For now, however, she walked, taking long, sure strides that helped her burn off her anger while also putting distance between her and Nash. She cursed him for not being the man she’d hoped he was, and she cursed herself for being so naïve. For giving him her heart.

  Leaving him was no doubt the best course of action. But the ache in her chest made it difficult to breathe. Night had fallen, and a chilly breeze raised the gooseflesh on her arms. She hadn’t brought a shawl—it was bad enough that she’d run off wearing Delilah’s gown. All Caroline had with her was the bag containing a few coins and her journal.

  Half a block ahead, two elegantly dressed women and a tall gentleman ambled down the pavement toward an awaiting carriage. Dressed in evening finery, they looked as though they were heading to a ball or the opera. Caroline walked a little faster as she debated whether to approach them. Chances were, they would take her in for the night, and that was all she really needed. In the morning, when her head was clearer, she’d begin looking for a place to stay and for some sort of work.

  A footman opened the door of the carriage, and the trio began climbing in. Caroline opened her mouth to call out to them, then stopped. If she ran away, she’d be doing exactly what she’d accused Nash of doing—avoiding the pain and refusing to do the work of healing and growing.

  Blast. She paused and leaned against a brick wall, inhaling deeply.

  “Caroline!” Nash’s voice shot through the night air, lancing her heart. He’d come searching for her. And after all they’d shared the night before, she couldn’t turn her back on him. Not without hearing what he had to say.

  She pushed herself off the wall and walked toward him slowly.

  His boots slapped the pavement as he ran closer, gasping for air. When he stopped beside her, his expression was a mix of anguish and disbelief. “Where are you going?”

  She gazed into his amber eyes, determined the vulnerability she saw there wouldn’t weaken her resolve. “I had no specific destination. I only knew I couldn’t stay with you.”

  He flinched as though she’d slapped him. “You have no place to go. It’s not safe for you to be walking around town on your own.”

  “I’m grateful for all you and Delilah have done for me. But we both knew that I would eventually have to leave.”

  “Not like this,” he countered. “You have no plan and no money.”

  “You are not responsible for me,” she said evenly. “You’ve fulfilled any obligation you had.”

  He swallowed, his face sober. “Is that what you think, Caroline? That you are an obligation?”

  “I don’t know what I am to you,” she tossed back, lifting her chin.

  He drew in a deep breath. “Look, before, at dinner—I was an ass. I’ve already made amends with Delilah. Return to the house with me. Give me the chance to apologize and tell you how I feel and how … you’re changing me.”

  She knew how difficult those words had been for him, but the ones he’d spoken at dinner still echoed in her head. “I’m not certain anything you say can make a difference,” she said sadly.

  “Please,” he said, his voice ragged. “If you still want to leave in the morning, I’ll take you to a damned boardinghouse and pay your first month’s rent. But I hope you’ll change your mind.”
<
br />   His honey-colored eyes warmed her from the inside out and melted her traitorous heart. “I’ll go back to the house,” she said softly. “And I will listen. That’s all I’m promising.”

  Chapter 17

  “Friendly games (such as cards, cricket, and croquet) provide welcome opportunities for the sexes to mingle. Never hide your skills in an attempt to boost a gentleman’s pride. No matter the contest, you must play to win.”

  —The Debutante’s Revenge

  Nash’s nerves buzzed throughout the walk back to his town house. When he offered Caroline his arm, she refused it, clutching her bag to her chest like she was headed to the gallows. He needed to find the right words—to apologize and convince her to stay. But since he was approximately as skilled with words as he was at needlepoint, it wouldn’t be easy. And a part of him knew it shouldn’t be.

  Neither he nor Caroline spoke during the several-block walk, but the tension between them was palpable—a mixture of anger and hurt laced with a dangerous dose of attraction.

  When they reached his front step, he ushered her through the front door and waved away his curious butler. “Thank you, Stodges. That will be all for tonight.” To Caroline, he said, “Come with me?”

  She nodded serenely and followed him to the first floor and down the corridor to his study. Tucked in a back corner of the house, the room afforded a measure of privacy and a view of the garden.

  He paused at the threshold and turned to her. “I prepared a few things earlier today. It may seem presumptuous of me. Hell, in hindsight, it was entirely presumptuous, but well … you’ll see.” He opened the door and watched as she entered the room, trying to view it from her eyes. Moonlight streamed through the open curtains, bathing everything in a bluish glow. A thick quilt covered the floor in front of the dormant fireplace. A heap of jewel-toned silk pillows spilled over one side of the quilt and a large picnic basket sat on the other.

  Caroline took two steps into the room and stopped. “What is this?”