Chapter Twenty

A fter a morning spent listening to Constance bait Lord Southwyn, Caro was in a fine mood. Which only improved when Dorian asked her to come to him that night. With Constance and Hattie's help, Caro concocted a plan to stay out all night and return in the morning without alerting her aunt and uncle.

However, there was one more thing to deal with, before she spent the night forgetting her worries in the duke's bed. She'd put off having this conversation for too long already, for fear of hurting her friends. But they deserved an answer, and she now had an alternative option to present.

"I've never turned down a marriage proposal before, so please show some grace, Gerard." Caro squeezed his hand. "While I appreciate the situation in which you find yourself at work, I am afraid I cannot help beyond supplying the listening ear of a friend who cares for you both dearly."

Leo rubbed circles on Gerard's back and sent her an understanding smile. "We were afraid you'd say that."

"Your security matters to us, Caro. This could help everyone. You wouldn't have to work such long hours at the bookshop. You could be entirely independent," Gerard said.

She chuckled. "Always the solicitor. Perhaps you should become a barrister. You've a gift for pleading your case."

Gerard grinned, albeit reluctantly. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid." Sighing, he leaned back on his sofa and interlaced his fingers with Leo's. "You won't change your mind?"

Caro shook her head. "No. But I have an idea I'd like you to consider, and I've decided to let you both in on a secret I've been keeping."

That caught Leo's attention. A V of concern pinched between his brows, reminding her of Dorian. "Secret? What have you been up to?"

She squirmed in her seat, then quashed the discomfort. There was nothing to be ashamed of in her work. In fact, with the growing popularity of it, there was much to be celebrated. Even though she believed better of her friends, the risk of having them react as her father had made nerves jangle under her skin. Caro squared her shoulders. If they condemned her, she refused to cower like she had with her father. "I've been writing. Rather successfully, as a matter of fact. Under a nom de plume, due to the sensual nature of the novels."

Gerard slowly grinned. "Well done, Caro. I'm proud of you. Would we have heard of your work?"

"I write as Blanche Clementine." She hated the tremor in her voice.

Leo gasped. "Blanche Clementine? Caro, are you putting us on?" When she shook her head, he whistled under his breath. "There was even a bit in the gossip pages about you this morning. The ton is all agog over this latest book—what's it called? A something, something for someone."

" A Dalliance for Miss Lorraine ." Relief made her spine go limp, and she sagged in her chair. They weren't judging her or throwing her out of their home. "I didn't know I'd made the gossip pages. And I don't understand why the ton is clamoring for this last story, but I'm grateful for the sales."

"Let me see if I can find it." Leo dug through a stack of papers on the table beside them. "Here it is. Everyone is talking about you, Caro."

She scanned the page he handed her. There, toward the bottom, sandwiched between commentary on Lady Colville's saffron-yellow gown and a pithy observation on Lord Baldridge's extravagant new carriage, was a mention of Blanche Clementine.

The ton might have a new darling to rival the antics of Byron himself. Under every bedroom pillow in London, you might find a copy of A Dalliance for Miss Lorraine, the latest salacious novel by Blanche Clementine. Some claim they recognize themselves on the page, and speculation runs rampant regarding the true identity of the author.

"Interesting." Caro bit her lip. "They think the book is about them? Well, they're wrong. But with so many copies flying off the shelf, I'm not going to argue with them." She set aside the paper. "Now on to my idea. I'm going to buy a property in Kent." A bubble of happiness filled her, remembering the cottage. "I went to see it this week. The village is a decent size, located near larger towns, and apparently the neighbors closest to the cottage are an older gentlemen couple like you two. What if instead of dealing with the partners at Gerard's current firm, you moved to Kent? Set out your shingle near me?"

The men exchanged a look.

Her heart sank when they didn't greet the plan with immediate joy.

"It's something we can discuss," Leo said. "We have so many friends in London. But we'll consider it."

The moment Gerard's logical legal brain took over was obvious. "Caro, who is looking over your publishing contracts? Is everything in writing, or is there a back-alley handshake agreement going on? Are you banking with a reputable institution, or…" She bit her lip and he groaned. "Caroline Danvers, do not tell me you have your earnings in a biscuit tin under your bed."

She covered her face with her hands, laughing with embarrassment, then peeked through her fingers. "It used to be rolled into a wool stocking, if it makes you feel better. At least the tin has a lid."

"We need to ensure your money is safe and accumulating interest. Right now, it's only collecting cat hair. And the contract with the publisher?"

"Of course I read it." She sighed and let her hands fall to her lap. "However, I was so grateful they were printing my books without making me pay up front or giving them a larger share of the sales that I didn't negotiate."

"Now you've done it. Blanche Clementine will be his new project, and you may not have a say in the matter." Leo said it so affectionately a spot in Caro's chest ached. These two were so well matched. They loved one another without reservations, but more than that was the friendship and respect between them. Their relationship didn't come with lists of things they expected their partner to change.

If my parents had enjoyed a marriage like theirs, how different my life would have been.

Gerard's sigh interrupted her musings. It was the sound of a man choosing to breathe deeply rather than swear aloud. "All right. With your permission"—he shot a beleaguered look at Leo—"I'd like to represent your legal and financial interests with your publisher. I'll also offer advice on investments and how best to handle your financial future. If you won't marry me, at least let me donate my expertise toward ensuring your security."

"You're a good friend. Thank you. I will gladly take your counsel. I can't guarantee I'll agree with everything or act on it to your satisfaction, but I will listen and discuss it with you."

"Fair enough. None of the firm's clients are required to take our advice, so it would be disingenuous of me to expect that of you. I just want to know you're making the best decisions possible with the information given." Gerard pointed toward the stack of papers where Leo found the gossip sheet. "Pass Caro the small notebook and pencil, won't you, my love?" When Leo unearthed the items from the pile, he handed them to her. "Please write down your publisher's information. I'll introduce myself and inform them that the illustrious author Blanche Clementine has the protection of legal counsel."

"Thank you, Gerard."

"We're going to take care of you, Caro. And that means taking care of Blanche Clementine as well."

"Are you hungry?" Dorian asked. Caro's stomach let out a low grumble, and her face heated with embarrassment. The duke nodded to the maid—and just like that, Caro knew food would be delivered to the sitting room adjoining his bedchamber. Caro shook her head at the power of an imperious nod. Everyone around him did his bidding without the need for minor things like words.

Caro glanced around the luxurious room, with its gilded woodwork and dark-blue furnishings. Since arriving in his private chambers a few minutes before, she'd been doing her best to not gawk. Yes, the rest of the house was gorgeous. But this room, situated between a dressing room and the bedchamber, was fit for a princess. Or a duchess, comfortable with commanding a legion of servants to do her bidding.

"What does that look mean?"

Caro placed her small bag on the floor beside the bedchamber door and shot Dorian a teasing smirk. "I was wondering what would happen if you snapped your fingers. If a nod alone can order food, what happens if you snap your fingers? Do they have orders to perform magic tricks? Rub your feet, perhaps?" She darted away, laughing when he prowled closer wearing a stern expression she didn't believe for one second.

He caught her around the waist and stole a kiss. It had only been a day since they'd been alone like this, yet it felt like months. Resting his forehead on hers, he heaved a sigh. "Am I being high-handed?"

"Perhaps we should ask the maid what she thinks the answer is to that question."

"Apologies. I was trying to take care of you and protect your reputation by not pouncing on you like a starving man in front of the servants."

Caro laughed. "After I've shown up, alone, to join you in your private rooms? It might be too late to protect my reputation." She draped herself on a couch by the fire that turned out to be as comfortable as it looked. "Lucky for you, I have no reputation to speak of. At least not in the way you are used to thinking of women and their good names. The servants will speculate on my presence here. That can't be helped."

His eyes darkened, and the groove between his eyebrows turned cavernous under the weight of his scowl. "Their duties have nothing to do with wondering at our relationship."

"If you truly believe that, you're a fool. Maids, footmen, even the boot boy—they see everything, and they talk amongst themselves." She pushed an errant curl off her face. While she didn't mean to be confrontational, there was no way to end the conversation now. "Dorian, the servants are people with thoughts and opinions that are entirely out of your control. If you think they aren't discussing us right this moment, you're living in a fantasy world."

"I deserve that, I suppose. For what it's worth, you say no one cares about your reputation, but I do ." He crossed the room to a slim table and pulled a tiny box from a drawer, then joined her on the couch. Instantly, the heat of him seeped into her skin, and she leaned into his warmth to rest her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry if I was high-handed just now. I will try to be aware of that in the future." She felt him kiss the top of her head, and the sweetness of the gesture made her breath catch in her throat.

"You're capable of quite a pretty apology when you put your mind to it, Your Grace," she teased.

His chuckle rumbled against her cheek. The box he'd fetched from the table appeared in her hand. "Here. I bought you this."

"I don't need gifts, Dorian." She glanced at his face when his chuckle grew.

"You'll want this one. Trust me."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow but opened the box. Inside were two oddly shaped lumps of beeswax and cotton. "I'm confused."

"I hate the idea of my snoring keeping you awake. But I really hate the idea of you sleeping away from me. I believe I'm greedy when it comes to you, and I selfishly want you beside me. Which led me to asking Hastings if he knew someone who might help, since Hastings knows everyone."

"A special power of his, I take it?" She was no less confused about the lumps of wax but was enjoying the tale.

"Definitely, and one of the myriad things that make him an excellent butler. He knows a man who dabbles in inventions involving the home."

"Of course he does."

Dorian nodded sagely. "That man sent Hastings these." He held up one of the wax-and-cotton lumps. "In Homer's The Odyssey , the sailors stuff their ears with wax to save them from the calls of the sirens. These are supposed to be more comfortable than Homer's concept. I thought they were worth trying. If they aren't sufficient, then we can find something else."

"You're a sweet man." She stared at the contents of the box and knew her smile was a little silly. "This was incredibly thoughtful. Please thank Hastings for me."

A knock at the door broke the moment. Dorian rose. She heard him quietly thank the servant, then watched as he maneuvered a tea cart into the room, set with several dishes, two glasses, and a bottle of wine.

"You should eat before I distract you and it goes to waste." He opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

Caro set aside the gift he'd given her and rose to inspect the food. She plucked a red jelly from the tray of desserts. Raspberry burst on her tongue. She moaned, then sighed in bliss. "I could eat that every day and die happy." Selecting a piece or slice of everything that looked appealing, she built her dinner on a plate. Dorian sipped his wine but didn't take a plate for himself. "Aren't you hungry?"

A wolfish grin lit his face. "Very. But what I'm craving is between your legs." He punctuated the statement with a kiss, and she smiled against his lips.

"Promises, promises, naughty duke." She reveled in the way his gaze heated the longer he looked at her.

It was only their second night together, but it was easier this time to set aside the Caroline Danvers who was cool and logical and who prided herself on making rational decisions. Here, with him, she wanted to be Blanche Clementine, who could command a duke and leave inhibitions on the floor with her clothing. Blanche felt familiar now, as if Caro was allowing the two parts of herself to knit together.

Popping another jelly in her mouth, she let the sweet and tart coat her tongue.

Dorian carried his wine to the sofa and relaxed in a casual sprawl on the thick velvet cushion. He'd met her at the door in breeches, a shirt, and bare feet. This was the duke in his natural environment. Real life, not a night out of time in an inn. Just as inviting her and Constance to join him and Lord Southwyn this morning had been letting her into his day, this evening he was inviting her into his night.

She set her plate on a small table beside him that looked so delicately carved she'd only trust it to carry the weight of a dish and a glass of wine. Holding his hungry gaze, she unfastened the tapes of her gown, then shrugged the heavy wool to the floor. The last of plain, boring Caroline Danvers was discarded for the night, along with her petticoat and stays.

His chest rose and fell like a bellows with each piece of clothing she removed. A flush covered his cheeks.

Caro turned her back, then lifted the hem of her shift inch by inch. A strangled noise told her she had his complete attention. With a flick, she whipped it over her head and sent it to the floor.

Dorian's groan was satisfying, but when she bent over a little farther than necessary to untie her garters and do away with her stockings, he muttered an appreciative curse, and she grinned.

She turned and let him look his fill, as she did the same. Between his hard, open thighs was an even harder ridge straining the buttons of his breeches to an obscene degree. Anticipation prickled under her skin, raising goosebumps the fire did nothing to counter. As she approached him, conscious of the way his eyes followed the sway of her hips, Caro felt like a pagan goddess, bringing a man to his knees to worship her.

Her dinner could wait a little longer, she decided. After all, her duke had said he was hungry. She stopped in front of him, between his spread thighs. Immediately, his hands gripped her hips, then pulled her close. Gently, utterly at odds with the fierce desire in his eyes, he placed a light kiss on her inner thigh, then rested that leg on the sofa beside him.

His fingers traced a path from her foot, up her calf and thigh, over her hip, then around front to brush the damp curls between her legs. "Watch me, Caro. Let me see how this feels for you."

The pang of nerves made her bite her lip. "No one has ever kissed me there."

"Have you imagined it?" His breath was hot on her core, but the infernal man seemed determined to take his time.

She never would have expected the Duke of Holland, whom she'd wrongfully thought quiet and stoic, to be such a talkative and affectionate lover.

"I imagine a lot of things. My brain likes to stay occupied."

"Have I mentioned how much I admire your brain?" The usually rough timbre of his voice had deepened even more. He placed an open-mouthed kiss between her legs, then pulled back. And that's when she knew he was teasing her.

"You're enjoying torturing me, aren't you?"

"A little, yes." His eyes were dark blue and full of mischief. Any other time, she'd have relished the humor there. At that moment, though, she feared she'd burst if he didn't lick and kiss her as promised.

Phoebe, her dominating heroine, would make her needs clear. At the inn, Dorian had seemed to like it when she took control. And while she didn't need to be in charge all the time, it was freeing to know she could be.

Caro threaded her fingers through his wavy hair and, watching his face for any objection, guided his head to exactly where she wanted it. He moaned. At the first touch of his hot tongue, she gasped.

Blue eyes devoured her as thoroughly as his mouth, entranced by the way her breasts shook with each breath. When she tugged lightly on his hair, those eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening again to watch her.

Yes, her duke liked it when she made demands of him.

It didn't take long before his wicked tongue had her legs quaking, and she feared they'd give way. Dorian's arms wrapped around her thighs, keeping her where he wanted as surely as her hand on his head held him in place.

She came with a keening cry, while black dots danced behind her eyelids.

Strong hands guided her down to the sofa. "My gorgeous Caro. You have no idea what seeing you take your pleasure does to me."

With hurried movements, Dorian pulled his shirt over his head and shucked his breeches. "We didn't take precautions against pregnancy last time, but we will from now on."

As she watched, he donned a sheath. The firelight cast his cheekbones in sharp relief. "I have sat in this room countless times imagining what we'd look like together. See?" He gently turned her to face a tall mirror on the wall, so they knelt sideways on the couch. When he hugged her from behind, their reflection made her gasp. Against the soft paleness of her belly, he spread his fingers wide. She watched as one hand drifted down to the wet curls between her legs, while the other cupped a full breast, then lightly pinched her nipple.

"Do you want me, Caro? Do you want to watch me fuck you?"

It seemed it was his turn to be in charge, and she was happy to cede control. Dorian laid open-mouthed kisses along her neck, and Caro shivered at the sensations.

"Yes. God, yes."

The smile he flashed was pure sin, then it fell away as he entered her. "Do you like watching us?"

He set a deep, body-shaking pace. Caro tried to answer, but the sound was a garbled noise that might have been yes or more or something else entirely. Tension from her core had spread until her muscles, her nerves, even the air in her lungs pulled tight with the promise of bliss.

"That's it. Fuck, you're beautiful when you come." The fingers between her thighs gentled but did not stop as her body clutched his. A moment later, he followed her to his peak.

The mirror showed her breathing slowing with the rise and fall of her chest as his hands drifted over her skin. Gentle explorations this time, rather than frantic movements. These were the touches of a lover taking the time to learn. To savor. Caro rested her head against his cheek.

She felt safe. Desired. Like she was seen without judgment or a list of things he needed her to change. In that moment, with her senses full of bergamot and the smell of sex, something inside her shifted into place.

"So beautiful, sweet Caro. You absolutely undo me."

The words rumbled in her ear.

She'd been undone for years. Trying so hard to keep disparate parts of herself from touching. Whether Dorian knew it or not, he was helping her gather those pieces and knit them together. Caroline, Blanche, a cousin, a friend. A woman too full of goals and dreams to pay any mind to the shame that had been heaped on her for so many years.

And at that moment, her heart was full.