And for a split second, he eagerly prepared himself for the possibility.

Lady Caroline didn’t kiss him. She turned on her heel and flounced away.

He watched her march across the room, find her seat and grip the back of her chair with both hands. When she realized that guests weren’t to be seated just yet, she glanced up and caught his gaze. She gave a shake of her head and turned away from him.

Leo didn’t know if he should be royally offended.

Or inspired.

CHAPTER EIGHT


London, England

Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder. A particular lady who notoriously enjoys the company of older gentlemen has just returned from a wedding in Alucia. It is whispered that her delight in having the attention of an Alucian gentleman in his prime has found her husband’s heart turned cold against her, and she’s been sent to their home in Kent so that she may contemplate her bad behavior.

At a recent supper party of four and twenty souls, Lady Elizabeth Constantinople wore a gown of green silk in two tiers, each tier ending with a wide curve of Belgian lace that complemented the thinner bands of lace on the bodice and sleeves. The effect was serene, and we predict the style will be often replicated by ladies in the autumn.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and


Domesticity for Ladies

A WEEK HAD passed since Caroline had arrived home from Alucia. The voyage had been brutal, as the seas were unusually rough and Caroline sick for days. Had it not been for Hollis’s attention, she was convinced she might now be dead. Even Beck had seemed concerned she might depart this life prematurely—she had a hazy memory of her brother entering the cabin and bending over her, his hand tenderly on her forehead, urging her to rally. “I would be terribly displeased if you were to die like this.”

“Would you like a more dramatic demise?” Hollis had asked as she’d pushed him out of the cabin.

Caroline thought she was fully recovered from her seasickness by the time they reached London. The weakness that lingered was simply fatigue. After all, she’d hardly eaten a thing in the last week, and her skirts hung loosely on her. And how glad she was to be free of the Alucian train! She had many ideas how to reinvent that train into something a bit more practical to wear.

She’d spent the week unpacking and sleeping longer than normal. In the last day or two, she’d felt as if she’d taken cold. Last night at supper, when Beck asked her why she didn’t eat, she said she wasn’t hungry, and that he should keep an eye on his own plate. She didn’t know why she was so cross with him. With everything, really. Even her longtime lady’s maid, Martha, annoyed her, bustling about her room, preparing her toilette before bed. “Leave me, Martha!” she’d cried dramatically as she climbed onto her bed, still fully dressed. “I need quiet.”

The next day, she felt even worse. She sent word to Beck through Martha that she’d had a late tea—true—and that she wasn’t hungry for supper. Also true. But she hadn’t eaten at tea, either. Her head was pounding and her stomach churning. After a few miserable hours of that, she decided she ought to pour something scalding down her burning throat. She could have quite easily used the bellpull, but she’d now developed the strange fear that after her intense bout of seasickness, and now this cold, her legs might atrophy altogether and she’d be bedridden all her life and would never again dance a waltz. So she’d gamely forced herself out of bed and pulled a dressing gown around her. She used a handkerchief to dab at her runny nose and slowly made her way downstairs. She was alarmed by how dizzy she felt and how useless her legs were already beginning to feel, thus confirming her fears of utter demise.

Just at the top of the grand staircase to the lower floors, she heard voices coming from the salon. Not just voices, but raucous laughter. How many were in that salon? It sounded like dozens. While she’d been wasting away upstairs, Beck had brought his friends to enjoy an evening of debauchery. She ought to die, just to spite him.

Caroline backtracked to the servants’ stairs and slowly made her way down with the assistance of the wall. On the main floor, she padded in the opposite direction from the salon, dabbing at her leaky nose. But when she turned into the hall that led to the kitchen, she spotted a man and a woman in the shadows. Her first thought was that she must be hallucinating. It was not Beck’s habit to consort with the maids or to bring women into their home. She paused. She squinted. That was indeed a man with his back to her. But that man was not Beck. And there was indeed someone else, too, a woman, one considerably smaller than the man.

The pair was standing with their shoulders to a wall, facing each other. How dare they carry on like this in the halls of this house? They were carrying on, weren’t they? Or were they? They didn’t seem to be kissing, which, frankly, is what she’d be doing if she was so inclined to meet a gentleman in the darkened hallway of someone’s house. What other possible explanation could there be? She took another step closer, steadying herself with a hand to the wall. They were whispering. Was it whispers of love? She’d like to hear that.

Perhaps it was one of the new maids. Beck had recently hired two from Lord Hill, who had decamped to the country with a vow to never return to London until the air was cleared of smoke and soot. Beck said he’d never return, then.

Caroline crept closer. It wasn’t the new groom. The man was too tall. That left only one possibility—one of Beck’s wretched friends. But who was he cavorting with? Caroline crept closer still, so close that she could almost reach out and touch the tail of the man’s coat. But then she was suddenly overcome with a violent sneeze at such velocity that she could not possibly prevent it. That bell-clanging sneeze was followed by two more. By the time she had stopped sneezing, the woman had disappeared, and the man had turned around to face her, his legs braced as if prepared to fight.

Caroline dabbed her handkerchief at her nose and looked at the man in the dimly lit hallway. Her belly dipped—good God, it was him. The Arse of Alucia. “You,” she said dramatically.

“Also you.” He relaxed, and leaned against the wall again, his arms folded over his chest. “Well, well, here you are, then, Lady Caroline. I was under the happy impression that you’d gone out for the evening.”

“Well, that was wishful thinking.” She sneezed again. “You’re like a very bad dream following me about. Where is your paramour?” she asked, craning her neck to look.

“Not a paramour,” he said. “A friend.”

“Ha! I may be ill, sir,” she said, pointing at him, “but I am no fool.”

“I never said you were a fool. I said you were a bother.”

Caroline was winding up to admonish him for cavorting with a servant, but his last statement gave her pause. “When did you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If I didn’t say it aloud, I certainly thought it.” He smiled.

It was the first time he’d actually smiled at her—truly smiled at her...unless Beck was standing behind her and she didn’t know it. But Caroline was fairly confident they were the only two in this hallway, and the effect of that smile made her feel even dizzier. Normally, she would have taken advantage of his smile to charm the wits from him. “In consideration of the source, I will take that as a delightful compliment.”

He stepped closer, and Caroline suddenly remembered her state of existence—the dressing gown, the unkempt hair, the puffy eyes and red nose. No doubt her breath smelled atrocious, too. Mortified, she stepped back and away from him, and smacked into the wall. Funny, she had not sensed the wall at her back.

This was not how she wanted to look when she put the man in his place. It was always best to dress a man down when one was dressed all the way up. She needed her hair to be curled, to be clothed in one of the beautiful gowns she’d made for the trip to Alucia, embellished within an inch of its life. But the prince leaned forward all the same, squinting at her. “Lady Caroline...you look awful.”

“How dare you,” she said weakly.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

She gathered her dressing gown around her. “I don’t require a doctor.”

“You look like you’re in desperate need of one to me.”

She wouldn’t mind discussing her theory of the potential for permanently losing the use of her legs with a qualified medical professional, but she would save that for another time. “Don’t try to divert my attention, sir. What are you doing in this hall?”

“Hawke!” he suddenly shouted, startling her. He put his hand on her arm as if to steady her.

She looked down at his arm. “What in blazes are you doing?”

“You’re wobbling. Hawke!” he shouted again, and this time caught her by the elbow.

“I beg your pardon!” She looked up at him and winced at the blinding pain behind her eyes. She was tall, but he was a head taller than her and twice as broad. He dwarfed her. Or was she shrinking? She felt as if she were shrinking. She must be shrinking because he now looked rather concerned. She looked down again and realized he had moved her around so that she was propped fully against the wall. She wasn’t actually shrinking, but she was scarcely holding herself up.

“Whoa,” he said, and caught her with one arm around her waist.

“What is happening?” She was terribly light-headed. Everything seemed so wavy.

She heard a door open behind her, and then the familiar stride of her brother coming down the hall, the bounce of light from the candelabra he carried. “What is it?” he asked as he reached them, and looked down at Caroline. He recoiled with a gasp. “Good God, you look like death.”

“Well, thank you, everyone, but I didn’t have time to dress.”

“Where is Martha?” he demanded. He put his arm around her and shoved the candelabra at the prince. “Come on, then, back to bed.”

“I think she should have a doctor,” the prince said, and held the candelabra aloft so that Beck could lean in and examine her. “She looks a bit green, doesn’t she?”

“Disturbingly green. Martha? Martha!” Beck bellowed. He pressed a hand to her cheek. “God help me, you’re on fire!”

“Beck! You’re hurting my ears,” Caroline said, wincing. Everything about her hurt.

“Do you need help?” the prince asked, and Caroline wasn’t sure who, exactly, he was addressing.

“No,” she said at the very moment Beck also said no. But Beck added a gracious, “Thank you, I can manage.” He dipped down and picked Caroline up before she knew what was happening and began to march along the hallway.

“I dropped my handkerchief,” Caroline protested. “And what of my soup?”

“I employ a host of servants so that someone may bring you soup on occasions like this,” Beck said as he huffed along. “Why did you not call one? Why did you not call me?”

“You wouldn’t have come. You’ve been out with your friends. Why did you bring dozens of them?”

“What are you talking about? There are four of us to dine, that’s all,” Beck said as he started his ascent of the stairs.

“But why him, Beck?” she moaned, and pressed her head to his shoulder.

Beck paused on the first landing to catch his breath. “Lord, but you’re heavier than you look. Why him who?” he asked through a pant.

“The Arse of Alucia, that’s who.”

Somewhere, someone coughed lightly.

“For heaven’s sake, Caro. Why didn’t you tell me you were so ill?”

“I’m not so ill,” she said, but could feel the heaviness of her eyelids.

“Shall I take over?”

Caroline’s lids flew open. He’d had the audacity to follow them up the stairs? Worse, had he heard her complaining about him to Beck?

“I’ve got her,” Beck said, and continued his march, bouncing Caroline along as he went.

“That’s quite a fever,” another man said.

Caroline recognized the voice of Robert Ladley, the Earl of Montford. As if this moment could possibly be any worse, now there were three of them gathered. “Beck,” she pleaded.

“This way,” Beck said.

By the sound of it, they were followed by a small army. Caroline buried her face in Beck’s shoulder again so she’d not have to look at the Arse of Alucia. And so he wouldn’t smell her breath or see how parched her lips were. This was, without a doubt, the height of humiliation, particularly as she took such great pride in her looks.

Beck opened the door to her room and strode to her bed, depositing her there, then pulling the cover over her. Caroline dared not look around her. But then she did, and no less than four men were staring down at her with various expressions of concern and horror. It was worse than she thought.