She Watched the Man She Had Loved for Four Years Propose to Her Best Friend—Unaware the Duke Who Had Silently Loved Her All Along Was Finally Ready to Make Her His Duchess
PART 3
Three days later, Nicholas called at Everly Park.
Caroline considered escaping through the garden. Her father prevented this by noticing her moving toward the side door.
“Cowardice?” Sir William asked.
“Exercise.”
“It is raining.”
“I enjoy rain.”
“You have hated rain since 1812.”
“People change.”
“Not that much.”
Caroline glared at him. Sir William returned to his newspaper.
“The Duke is in the blue drawing room.”
“I did not ask.”
“No.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because your mother told me to.”
“Traitor.”
“Marriage requires sacrifice.”
Caroline entered the blue drawing room five minutes later. Nicholas stood beside the window. He turned. She stopped.
There was something irritating about a man looking exactly as he always did when one’s own internal life had recently been demolished. Dark coat, immaculate cravat, controlled expression.
“Miss Everly.”
“Your grace.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Caroline sat. Nicholas remained standing.
“Well?”
” ‘Well’ what?”
“Why are you here?”
“To see your father.”
“He is in the library.”
“I have seen him.”
“Then your work is complete.”
Nicholas almost smiled. There she was — wounded, yes, but still herself. “I also came to see you.”
Her defenses rose immediately. “Why?”
“Must I submit an application with references?”
“I can provide several from people who like you.”
“That may prove restrictive.”
She nearly smiled. Nicholas noticed. Caroline noticed him noticing. The room became dangerous. She looked away.
“Please don’t.”
“Again?”
She frowned.
“You said the same thing at Ashford House. I still do not know what I am prohibited from doing.”
She stopped. “Being kind.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Yes.”
Nicholas sat opposite her. “That is inconvenient.”
“Why?”
“Because I had planned to be devastatingly unpleasant.”
She looked at him. His expression was solemn. Caroline laughed before she could stop herself.
“You are impossible.”
“So I hear.”
“You came here merely to irritate me.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Nicholas could have told her then. Because I have loved you for two years. Because I have spent three days thinking about you. Because I know you are hurting, and every instinct I possess wants to remain near enough to know when you stop.
He said none of those things. Too soon.
Instead: “Your father has agreed to sell me a horse.”
Caroline blinked. “A horse?”
“Yes.”
“You already own approximately the population of a small village in horses.”
“Twenty-three.”
“That is worse.”
“One has retired.”
“Tragic.”
“I thought so.”
She studied him. “Which horse?”
“Orion.”
Caroline sat forward. “You cannot have Orion.”
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “I have already bought him.”
“You have done no such thing.”
“Your father appeared convinced.”
“My father is easily corrupted. Apparently for eight hundred guineas.”
Caroline stood. “You paid eight hundred guineas for Orion?”
Nicholas stood too. “I did.”
“He hates strangers.”
“He will become acquainted with me.”
“He threw Colonel March out of a paddock.”
“I disliked March. The horse did not know that.”
“Then I admire his judgment.”
Caroline stared at him. Nicholas stared back. And suddenly she laughed — not politely, not because he was trying to console her. She actually laughed.
Nicholas felt the sound like sunlight after a long winter.
“You are going to regret this.”
“Possibly.”
“He will bite you.”
“I shall bite him back.”
“Nicholas.”
Silence. They both heard it. His name — not your grace, not Rivenhall. Nicholas.
Caroline’s smile faded slightly. His did not.
“That,” he said quietly, “is much better.”
She sat again. “Do not become accustomed to it.”
“Too late.”
Something unfamiliar moved through her. Not love — not yet. Not even attraction she was prepared to name. Awareness. For the first time, perhaps, Caroline looked at Nicholas Ravenscroft and saw not the title everyone else saw, nor the formidable reputation that preceded him into rooms. A man. A very handsome man, unfortunately. A man looking at her as though her saying his name had mattered.
Caroline broke eye contact. “Orion still will not like you.”
“I shall survive.”
“You are very confident.”
“I have advantages.”
“There the Duke returns.”
Nicholas leaned back. “What does that mean?”
“You always expect the world to move. Not always. Often. Doors, perhaps. People.”
His expression changed. “Do you believe that?”
Caroline hesitated. She had meant it lightly. He had not received it lightly.
“I think people usually move for you.”
“They do.”
“And you expect it. Sometimes.”
“At least you are honest.”
Nicholas studied her. Then he said, “I have never wanted you to.”
Caroline went still. He allowed the words to remain — no explanation, no rescue. Then he stood.
“I should leave before your mother feels obliged to feed me.”
“She will.”
“I know. It is terrifying.”
At the door, he paused. “Caroline.”
She looked at him.
“I am going riding Thursday. With my horse.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Orion is still mine until he leaves this property.”
“Then perhaps you should accompany us to supervise the transfer.”
Caroline understood. An invitation — not grand, not formal, not a ducal carriage arriving with flowers. A ride on a horse she loved.
She should have refused.
“Ten o’clock,” she said.
Nicholas inclined his head. “Ten.”
He left. Caroline remained in the drawing room. Several seconds later, her mother entered from the adjoining room, carrying embroidery.
Caroline stared at her. “Were you listening?”
“No, Mama.”
“I was embroidering very near the door.”
“That is listening with thread.”
Frances sat. “Did he cheer you?”
Caroline looked toward the door through which Nicholas had disappeared.
“Yes.”
Her mother began embroidering. “Interesting.”
“Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“You said it loudly.”
Frances smiled. Caroline went to the window. Outside, Nicholas crossed toward his waiting horse. He spoke to the groom. Then, as though he felt her watching, he looked back — straight toward the window.
Caroline stepped away instinctively.
Her heart gave one strange, unexpected beat. She frowned at it. It had caused enough trouble already.