All About Seduction(66)

“A gentleman would have repaired your appearance,” he said. Many times he had stopped Lucy and tried to make sure her hair was at least pinned, not that she ever cared.

Who was he kidding? He wasn’t a gentleman, and he was no longer certain that Caroline was a lady in any way beyond having blue blood. But either way, they were not on the same level. And her repeated rebuffs made it obvious she considered him too inconsequential to dally with, while the men of her class were encouraged. His chest hurt as if she had ripped out his heart, hopes, and dreams.

After midnight, Caroline slipped out of her room. Slowly, she traversed the hall ready to duck into a shadow if anyone was about. But if the weather cleared—and the storm had ended in the afternoon—the men were scheduled to hunt on the morrow, so all had taken to their beds at a reasonable hour.

Her thin soles made no sound on the carpet runner as she passed the guest rooms and neared Mr. Berkley’s room. A tightness in her throat threatened to choke her. What Mr. Berkley had done was worse than anything she’d ever had to submit to with Mr. Broadhurst. Did any woman willingly do what he had forced her to do? Or was it that he thought her near enough a whore to do as he pleased?

She had debated with herself revealing to him that her husband wanted a child, a son, by any means possible, but she couldn’t submit to any more of the unpleasantness.

She’d tried. Three times she’d tried. And failed. She would pretend she was leaving her room nightly for trysts and then when she failed to conceive, well, the men couldn’t stay forever. Mr. Broadhurst couldn’t hold it against her if he thought she was seriously making the attempt. Perpetrating a deception wasn’t her nature, but neither was whoring. Surely her father had never envisioned this pretty pass when he sold her bloodline to Mr. Broadhurst.

Even though it felt underhanded to her, she’d sell off her jewelry, have Robert make investments for her, and she could buy cheaper wine—Mr. Broadhurst wouldn’t know the difference—and economize in other ways to funnel money off the household accounts. With prudent investments, in a few years she might have a respectable nest egg—nothing that would allow her to live as she lived now, but enough that she could exercise some independence, even if she lived under her brother’s roof. She forced away the niggling guilt at her plan.

She wasn’t truly stealing. Her hand had been forced. Mr. Broadhurst should have never formed the intent to leave her destitute.

She tiptoed to the landing and looked down in the entry hall. The only person she was likely to run into was the night porter, whose business it was to walk the house and check for fire. So she had to go somewhere and not just skulk about the corridors.

Once she determined the coast was clear, she quickly descended the stairs. She would sit with Jack, because anything else would require too much explanation or leave her vulnerable to another encounter with Mr. Berkley if he sought her out.

Steeling herself, she opened the breakfast room door. With any luck Jack would be sleeping, and she wouldn’t have to face the shock and accusation in his eyes.

The fire was low and the footman sat in the chair beside Jack’s bed. The footman’s chin was tucked against his chest and his mouth gaped open. He jerked back and then his head fell forward again.

Jack turned from where he lay on his side and watched her. Caroline sighed. Wrong man sleeping. Grimacing, she crossed the space and shook the shoulder of the footman.

When he blinked awake, she told him he might seek his bed. He mumbled an apology but didn’t waste any time in leaving her alone with Jack.

She had planned to sit in a corner and perhaps read while Jack slept—except he was awake.

As long as he didn’t mention his observations of this morning, it would be all right. After all, she had sat with him most evenings. And if she had avoided him all day, he wouldn’t know it was embarrassment keeping her away.

“Do you need more medicine?” she asked.

“No.” He shifted to sit, but she didn’t miss his wince. He turned his head away from her.

“Are you certain?” She would much prefer he take his medicine and be asleep in a half hour.

“I don’t want to get dependent on it.” He stared straight ahead, avoiding her eyes. His jaw ticked.

Was he disappointed in her? Angry? She felt a little like she’d been kicked, as she had earlier when he recoiled from her. He couldn’t be more disappointed in her than she was in herself. She’d allowed Mr. Broadhurst to manipulate her into actions that were wrong.