The Duke Is But a Dream--A Debutante Diaries Novel Page 14

  “It was meant to be a surprise. For you,” he added, in case it wasn’t absolutely clear.

  She nodded, but her body seemed coiled and ready to spring.

  “Why did you leave?” he asked.

  She shifted her gaze away from him, set her bag on a table, and crossed her arms. “You know why.”

  He paced behind her, wishing he could see her eyes. “I know I behaved like a boor at dinner. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly, and I owe you an apology.”

  “An apology won’t change anything. Your view of the world is too different from mine.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “How do you know?”

  “Based on the way you treat Delilah. You wish to control her.”

  “I wish to protect her,” he corrected.

  At last, she spun to face him, her green eyes sparking. “Isn’t it the same thing? You don’t trust her to make her own decisions, which means you wouldn’t trust me to make mine, and I … I cannot be with someone who doesn’t trust me.”

  Nash muttered a curse, slumped into one of the chairs beside his desk, and gestured toward the other. “Will you sit? Please?”

  She carefully navigated her way to the chair, skirting around his legs as though any incidental contact might burn. She lowered herself onto the seat and stared at him, her beautiful face impassive.

  “I want to tell you something.” He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders as if he were preparing to run the gauntlet. “It might help to explain why I’m so protective of Delila.”

  She nodded, encouraging him to go on.

  “Five years ago, Emily and I were the same age as Delilah. I’ve already told you how close we were. Even during the years I was away at school, she wrote to me regularly, keeping me apprised of all her adventures.”

  “What sorts of adventures?”

  He smiled, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “Once, at a musicale, she played a different song from the rest of the quartet, just so Father would despair of her ever becoming an accomplished violinist and allow her to cease her lessons.”

  “Did it work?”

  “It did.” He chuckled. “Another time, when she was supposed to be confined to her room, she snuck out of her window, climbed down the trellis, and met her friend at Gunter’s for ice cream.”

  “I think I would have liked her,” Caroline said with a smile.

  “Everybody did. Wherever she went, there was lively conversation—and, usually, spirited debate. She received countless invitations and accepted most of them. She was friendly with men and women, young and old alike. Many gentlemen vied for her hand … but she only had eyes for one.”

  “Delilah told me about Emily’s beau—and that your father didn’t approve of him because he was a barrister.”

  “Right.” Nash blew out a long breath. “Emily confided in me and told me about her plans to elope—every detail. I didn’t like the idea of her running away. I knew our father would be irate, and I was always trying to make peace between them. Even so, I didn’t attempt to discourage her; I knew it would be pointless.”

  Caroline sat forward, leaning her elbows on her knees. “Probably so.”

  “The night before she was going to elope, my father became suspicious that something was afoot. Emily had been less argumentative than usual and had passed up a night at the theatre saying she wanted to rest. He called me into his study—where we’re sitting now—and begged me to tell him what she had planned.” Nash swallowed the knot in his throat. “He pleaded with me to reveal what I knew. Told me that Emily’s entire future hung in the balance and that if I loved her, I would help him stop her from making a terrible mistake.”

  “Oh, Nash.” Caroline reached for his hand and squeezed it.

  “I laughed and said I didn’t know a thing.” Nash hung his head and continued in a hoarse whisper. “I told him he was imagining things and that she’d never do something so reckless. I lied to him.”

  “You were trying to protect her,” Caroline said, in a valiant attempt to comfort him. But nothing could absolve him of his guilt. Nothing could bring Emily and their father back. He’d lived with that pain for five years. It was as much a part of him as an arm or a foot—and it never went away.

  “I knew about the rash of highway robberies going on at that time but convinced myself that no harm would come to her. She’d wed the man she loved and return to London; eventually, Father would forgive her. But it didn’t turn out that way.”

  Caroline’s eyes welled. “I’m sorry.”

  Now that Nash had started to tell the story, he felt compelled to finish it—no matter how agonizing it proved. “Emily left in the middle of the night. The next morning, when my father found the note she’d left, he charged out of the house, determined to catch her before she reached Gretna Green. When I learned he’d set out after her, I saddled my horse and went after him.”

  “Delilah didn’t tell me that part.”

  Nash shook his head. “That’s because she doesn’t know. By the time I caught up to my father, one highwayman was dead, the rest were fleeing. My father was shot in the stomach, taking his last breaths. He used every ounce of strength he had left to speak, and he asked one thing of me—he begged me to leave him and rescue Emily from the overturned coach.”

  Caroline caressed his cheek, her eyes reflecting his pain.

  “She was alive when I pulled her out of the coach.” He closed his eyes as if it were just that easy to erase the memories of mangled bodies and twisted wreckage. “I held her and told her I was taking her home. She smiled and said she couldn’t stay. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Or maybe I did and didn’t want to believe it. She said that her Henry was gone, and she had to go too. She asked me to forgive her and then … she faded away.”

  A tear trickled down Caroline’s cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

  “If I’d told my father the truth about Emily’s plans, they’d both still be here. Maybe he’d have eventually permitted her to marry Henry and they’d have a babe or two by now.”

  “Don’t. You mustn’t torture yourself.” Caroline ducked her head, forcing him to look into her soulful green eyes. “I can’t imagine how much you miss your father and Emily. But you are not to blame for what happened to them.”

  “I disagree.” Nash dragged his hands down his face and sighed. “But now, I’m Delilah’s guardian. She is full of the same romantic notions that Emily was at her age. That’s the reason I go to such extremes.”

  “It’s understandable—and admirable—you’d want to keep her safe,” Caroline said. “But Delilah is her own person. The more control you attempt to exert over her, the more she’ll struggle to be free.”

  Nash stood, paced the length of the study, and stopped in front of the window, where tiny drops of rain ran down the glass. “I know. Delilah said something similar. I told her I wouldn’t stop her from seeing Brondale, and I won’t. But I don’t have to be happy about it.”

  “That’s true,” Caroline said sympathetically.

  “It’s no excuse for the way I behaved tonight, though.” He turned to face her again. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, thoughtful. He was doing his best where Delilah was concerned, and what he lacked in parenting skills, he was trying to make up for with sheer effort and brotherly love. But his treatment of Delilah was only half of the problem.

  “Why do you hate The Debutante’s Revenge?” she asked.

  “I don’t,” he admitted. He walked to his desk and sat on the edge. “Not really. It’s fairer to say I resent it.”

  “Why would you resent a newspaper column?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Because it seems Delilah trusts it more than she trusts me,” he said bitterly. “She’d rather take advice from the anonymous author of an advice column than from her own brother.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” Caroline stood and leaned against the desk, so close that their shoulders brushed lightly. “Perhaps she
values both points of view.”

  “Maybe so,” he said, doubtful. “But the truth is that all I can do is tell her how I feel.”

  “Without losing your temper,” Caroline added.

  “Or acting like a prig,” he said with a wry smile. “Which, you must admit, is a pretty tall order.”

  Her face softened, and she leaned into him. “I feel certain you’re up to the task.”

  “Does that mean you forgive me?” he asked, hopeful.

  She hesitated for a heartbeat. “Yes. And I’m glad you told me about Emily. I’m glad we’re talking about … everything.”

  He exhaled as though a sack of grain had been lifted off his chest. He’d told Caroline the truth, and she was still there. At least for now.

  But there was so much unresolved, so much unknown. “We had a few responses to the ad today,” he said, noting her slight gasp. “Nothing promising, though. One man thought you could be his runaway governess and requested a handwriting sample, but I’m thinking there was probably a good reason his governess fled.”

  Caroline nodded sadly. “True. If he returns, we could request that he leave a sample with us. That way we could conduct our own test to see if there’s a match rather than trusting his word.”

  “A good plan,” Nash said, impressed that she’d thought of a way to confirm or disprove her potential connection to the man without revealing herself. He hesitated a moment, then added, “Even if you did happen to be his governess, I wouldn’t let him force you to return to his employ. You don’t need to go back to any life that you’re unhappy with.”

  “I’ll remember that,” she said, gratitude shining in her eyes. “But I’m not sure any of us can truly escape the past. I’ll find out who I am eventually—and then I’ll need to face that reality, whatever it is.”

  “I’ll be here to help,” he said sincerely, “if you want it.”

  * * *

  Caroline gazed at Nash’s face, which somehow looked even more handsome now with a hint of vulnerability flashing in his eyes. He’d opened up to her and given her a glimpse of the guilt and sorrow he’d been carrying on his shoulders for five long years. No wonder he was protective of Delilah.

  She tilted her head, thoughtful. “May I ask another question?”

  “Of course.”

  She waved a hand at the inviting quilt and pillows on the floor. “What’s all this?”

  “It was meant to be a romantic evening.” He looked down at his boots, charmingly unsure of himself. “I thought that after being cooped up in the house for several days, you might enjoy a picnic.”

  “Oh.” Her heart fluttered.

  “I’d planned for us to take everything out to the garden, but it’s started to rain. Not surprising, considering the way my evening has gone.”

  “Why don’t we have the picnic here?” Caroline ventured. “I bet if we opened the window a bit, we’d be able to feel the breeze without letting the rain in. We might even be able to smell the rosebushes.”

  Nash inclined his head and smiled. “You might be right,” he said, before crossing the room in three strides and opening the window.

  She slipped off her shoes, sat next to the basket, and stretched out her legs. “You can feel the breeze. It’s lovely.”

  “I want you to know something, Caroline.” He remained in front of the window, where the moonlight threw his handsome face into sharp relief. “Last night meant something to me.”

  Her belly flipped. “It meant something to me too.”

  “I know that you plan to leave here eventually,” he said, his voice unusually gruff. “But will you promise not to leave without saying goodbye?”

  He looked so earnest, so hopeful, that she couldn’t deny him. “I promise.”

  “Good,” he said, stretching out on the blanket beside her. “Now we can relax and enjoy my first ever indoor picnic.”

  Caroline shivered in anticipation. A light breeze ruffled the wisps of hair at her neck, and crickets outside chirped a seductive lullaby. If she ignored the ceiling and walls and the furniture in the study, she could imagine she and Nash were in a field, lying under the stars.

  He lit a lantern, turned the flame low, and set it to the side of the quilt. “Are you going to open the basket?” he asked, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

  “Yes!” She rubbed her palms together and flipped open the basket’s hinged lid. A soft checkered cloth covered the contents, so she pushed it aside before reaching in.

  On top was a small bunch of yellow and white wildflowers tied with an emerald green ribbon. She held them to her nose and inhaled deeply. “They’re lovely.”

  He shot her an uncharacteristically sheepish smile. “The ribbon matches your eyes.”

  “Very observant of you, Your Grace,” she teased. She carefully pulled out a wine bottle and two glasses and handed them to Nash. Next, she retrieved an endless variety of fruits, sandwiches, and cakes. “This is more than we could eat in a week.”

  He shrugged. “I included a little of everything.”

  “It all looks and smells delicious. Thank you,” she said, touched.

  “There’s more.” He inclined his head toward the basket.

  She reached into the basket once more, pulling out a small box. “A gift?” she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.

  “I wanted you to have something your own,” he explained. “Something that’s not borrowed, but just for you.”

  “That’s very sweet.” Her fingers tingled as she opened the box. Inside, a breathtakingly beautiful silver necklace glistened on a bed of blue velvet. Suspended from the delicate chain was a graceful swan.

  “Nash,” she whispered. “It’s exquisite.”

  “It’s meant to remind you of our night at the tavern,” he said softly. “Except instead of a grey goose, it’s a silver swan. I suppose that’s cheating a bit, but you and I will know what it represents. Do you like it?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  He helped her put it on, and she fingered the beautiful swan as it rested against her chest. “I love it even more now that I know it’s a goose. Thank you, Nash. For everything.”

  With a knee-melting smile, he uncorked the wine, splashed some into the two glasses, and handed her one. “To indoor picnics,” he said, raising his glass. “And second chances.”

  Caroline clinked her glass to his and took a sip, resolving to enjoy the rest of the night.

  “Let’s play a game,” he suggested.

  She arched a brow. “What kind of game?” Nash wasn’t exactly the sort to play charades.

  He chuckled and held up a hand like he’d been falsely accused. “Nothing wicked. I promise.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, amused.

  “I propose we slice up all the fruit and take turns feeding bites to each other.”

  She gave him a knowing smile. “I fail to see how that qualifies as a game.”

  “Whoever’s tasting the fruit has to close their eyes and guess what kind it is.” His amber eyes glowed with an enthusiasm that was contagious.

  “Very well. Challenge accepted.”

  Despite Nash’s assurances that the game would not be wicked, it wasn’t at all proper—definitely not the sort of parlor game that respectable matrons would have approved of.

  When Caroline closed her eyes, Nash brushed a juicy peach slice across her lips; but when she would have eaten the fruit, he moved it away. And when he brought it back to her mouth, his fingers lingered near her lips, tempting her to nip at him. Likewise, when he closed his eyes, Caroline deliberately squeezed the ripe strawberry she lifted to his mouth. And when juice dripped down his chin, she licked it off.

  Before long, the game turned into a kiss so sweet and tender that it curled her toes.

  “I’m glad you came back,” he murmured against her cheek.

  “I am too,” she said truthfully.

  “Do you feel better now?”

  “Yes. Just tired,” she replie
d. “Tired, but happy.”

  “You know,” he mused. “One of the best parts of picnicking is the post-meal nap.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely.” He set aside their wineglasses, wrapped up the remaining food, and moved the basket off the quilt. Then he tossed a couple of silk pillows behind them and patted one. “Lie down.”

  The plump pillow looked too inviting to refuse, and she sighed as her head sank into the softness. Nash rested his head next to hers, mirroring her pose.

  “Now we’ll play the nap game,” he whispered.

  “What are the rules?” she asked with a yawn.

  “Your lack of knowledge regarding picnic games is appalling,” he quipped. “The first one who falls asleep is the winner, of course. You receive bonus points for snoring.”

  “I think I shall excel at this particular game.” Her eyelids were already growing heavy.

  “I like a formidable opponent.” He pulled a corner of the quilt over her and gently brushed the hair away from her face. “While you’re beating me at the napping game, I shall protect you and our picnic basket.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut, and she smiled against the smooth satin pillow. “From what?”

  “Everything.” He ran his fingers through her hair, lightly caressing her head. “Ants, squirrels, bears…”

  “Bears?” she said with a yawn.

  He kissed her forehead. “Good night, Caroline.”

  Chapter 18

  “Enjoy the occasional lapse in propriety—share a delicious secret, dance in your nightgown, throw caution to the wind.”

  —The Debutante’s Revenge

  The next afternoon, Delilah peeked out of Caroline’s bedroom window onto the street below. “Lord Brondale’s on the doorstep now,” she said, cheeks glowing with excitement. “Are you sure you won’t join us in the drawing room? I’d love for you to meet him.”

  Caroline shook her head regretfully. “I wish I could, but the fewer people who know I’m here, the better. There are many who’d judge me harshly for staying here unchaperoned. And they’d judge you harshly too, just by association.”

  “That seems rather petty, considering the injury you suffered.” Delilah made a face as she checked her hair in the looking glass and smoothed her sprigged muslin gown. “But I’m sure you’re correct. Molly will be with me downstairs—I promised Nash that Lord Brondale’s visit would be very proper, and so it shall. I’ll tell you all about it later.”