Page 18 of A Rogue's Downfall
He left the room just as the maid was recovering from the shock of being subjected to the sight of a nakedaroused man and was setting down the candle, the better to use both fists. She did not come after him.
He regained his own room with ungainly and unwise haste, though he met no one on the way from the eastwing to the west. He hurled his shirt and stockings tothe floor of his bedchamber and swore fluently enoughto have made even the most seasoned soldier blush.
Stupid, stupid,stupid!What did he know of inner or outer corridors? Or of third doors or fourth doors?What did he know of Elmdon Hall that he had thoughthe could go creeping about it in the dark and find unerringly the widow of easy morals who was panting forhis body?
Perhaps what he should have felt first was embarrassment. But Viscount Lyndon was no fool, even if he sometimes behaved with incredible stupidity. He knewimmediately that any embarrassment he might feel wasas nothing to the consequences of his deed that werefacing him. He could not remember who the girl was,though he had been presented to all the other guests onhis arrival. He could not remember who her father was.Was she Brindley’s sister? Yes, he rather believed shewas. But one thing he knew for certain. He was goingto be seeking out that father or brother as early in themorning as he was to be found—before the father orbrother could find him, in fact. He was going to bemaking his offer for the girl before the father or brotherhad a chance to blow out his brains on some field ofhonor. Or perhaps the man would not even considerhim worthy of a field of honor. Maybe he would justorganize a company of thugs to horsewhip him andrender his face unrecognizable before hurling him offElmdon property.
Perhaps that would be the better alternative too. He would recover from a thorough drubbing. He wouldnot recover from a leg shackle. Except that honor wasat the stake, of course. The girl had been compromised.Quite spectacularly compromised. She must be offeredfor.
If there was any obscenity or blasphemy that the viscount had missed in his first tirade, he certainly madeno such omission with the second.
The rest of the night did not bring him a great deal of sleep.
At first Caroline Astor tried with great earnestness to persuade Letty never to say anything about the night’sproceedings. It would be their sworn secret, she said,clutching the blankets to her bosom and feeling ratheras if she were trying to lock the stable doors after thehorse had bolted. The buttons of her nightgown werestill open to the waist. After all, Viscount Lyndon himself was not likely to go about boasting of the episode.
But she flushed at her own words. Would he?He was known, and well known at that, as the most dreadful rake. Perhaps it had been deliberate. Perhaps hemade a habit of invading the rooms and the persons ofunsuspecting females. Perhaps if Letty had not appeared when she had, he would have ravished her. Caroline, that was, not Letty. Letty planted her fists on ample hips. “Lord Brindley is to know it for sure, mum,” she said. It was pronouncement more than statement. “Right this minute.”
Caroline ventured a staying hand from beneath the blankets. “Oh, not tonight, Letty,” she said. “He willbe remarkably cross if we wake him. And it is quiteunlikely that Lord Lyndon will return. Is there a lockon the door?”
“There is not,” Letty said. “I shall sleep at the foot of your bed, mum. Let him just try to get past me.”
“I am sure he will not,” Caroline said.
“First thing in the morning,” Letty said. “I shall summon your brother here, mum, and you can tell him or I will. It is all the same to me.”
“I shall tell him,” Caroline said, licking dry lips. “But it was all a dreadful mistake, Letty. He mistook myroom for his. You heard him say so.”
“Does he have a wife that he mistook for you?” Letty asked with a theatrical sniff. “I think not, mum. He isa bad one, that. And he was not dressed decent evenfor his own bed. He was—” Her bosom swelled withthe memory of the indecency of the viscount’s dress orlack thereof.
“Yes, he was,” Caroline said hastily, remembering the glimpse she had had of magnificent naked malenessbefore she had dived beneath the covers. And theglimpse of the splendid and terrifyingly large part ofhis anatomy to which she would blush to put a nameeven in her thoughts.
Letty strode off to drag her truckle bed in from the dressing room. She set it across the foot of her mistress’s bed and lay on it like a large and fierce watchdog.Caroline blew out the candle.
And stared upward into the darkness, knowing that she would not have another wink of sleep that night.She should have been hysterical. She should have beenrushing to the comfort of her brother’s protective arms.She should have woken the whole house with herscreams. She certainly should not have been makingexcuses for Viscount Lyndon to Letty. Doubtless shewould not have done so had she not been very foolishlyin love with him since she first set eyes on him monthsbefore.
She had turned down two perfectly eligible marriage proposals, much to the puzzlement and chagrin of herbrother, because of that stupid infatuation. In love withLondon’s worst rake, indeed! It was about the onlyfoolish thing of which she could accuse herself in three-and-twenty years of living. She had been remarkablysensible all her life. The normal Caroline would haveaccepted the first of those offers during the Season withpleased satisfaction. She would not have dreamed oflove and forever after in the arms of a handsomelibertine.
Her heart and her stomach—all her insides—had turned several complete handsprings when she hadfound out that he was a guest at Great-Aunt Sabrina’sbirthday party. He was so very gloriously handsomewith his tall, slender, well-muscled frame and handsome features that happened to include two slumbrousand very blue eyes. And then there was his hair, darkand thick and shining, dressed in the latest style.
Any other woman but Caroline, feeling as she did about him, might have been sighing all over him andmaking cow eyes at him as that silly Eugenia had beendoing all day. Caroline had done just the opposite andbehaved as if she had not noticed his existence—just asshe had behaved at every ball and other entertainmentduring the Season where both he and she had happenedto be.
After all, there was no point in trying to attract his interest, was there? Rakes wanted only one thing froma woman and even that for a very short time. Rakesdid not deal in love and marriage and forever after.Caroline prided herself on her good sense. She mightsecretly sigh over the man, but she knew that he couldonly make her desperately unhappy even if he deignedto show an interest in her. She was going to accept thevery next proposal she received—provided the man waseligible, of course. And provided he was at least moderately handsome. And amiable.
Caroline turned over onto her side and curled up into her favorite position for sleep. Could she smell him onthe pillow beside her? What an absurd idea. She couldnot remember how he had smelled, and the pillowsmelled like—well, like pillow.
The stupid thing—the really stupid thing—was that she had thought for some time that she was dreaming.It had seemed like one of those dreams in which oneknows one is dreaming and is willing oneself not towake up. She had known that she was dreaming abouthim and she had wanted the dream to continue. Shehad liked feeling the weight and heat of his body besideher in bed and the touch of his hand moving back herhair so that he could kiss her cheek. She had moved her head so that he could kiss her lips. Actually, shemight have known then that she was not really dreaming. She had never thought about a tongue being involved in a kiss. But it had been delightful to feel hismoving across her upper lip. And then to feel his handmoving over her body, lightly exploring.
It was only when he started to open her buttons that she had realized that she could no longer hold on to thedream. She was waking up with the greatest reluctance—only to find that she was not after all leavingthe dream behind. Only to find that she had not in fact been dreaming at all. And then his hand had been inside and touching her breast, bringing a strange achingsort of pain as he pinched her nipple. And his tonguehad no longer been tracing her lips, but sliding deepinto her mouth.
That was when dreams and reality had finally parted company and she realized not only that she was notsleeping, but that she did not know the identity of theman who was sharing her bed and who seemed intenton sharing her person too. That was when she had goneberserk.
And all the time it really had been he. The Viscount Lyndon. That was how rakes touched women, then,and how they kissed. And how they looked. Or thatwas how he looked, anyway. Oh, mercy, she had hadno idea ... It must hurt dreadfully, she thought. Orelse be unbearably pleasurable. Or perhaps both.
Her cheeks burned and she tried not to listen to Letty’s snores. What would Royston do tomorrow? she wondered. Whisk her away back home? Challenge theviscount to a duel? It was clear what had happened, ofcourse. He had spent the whole day with LadyPlumtree, understandably since the lady was both beautiful and not all she should be, if gossip had the rightof it. And Lady Plumtree was in the room next toCaroline’s. He had mistaken the room, all right, butnot because he had thought Caroline’s room to be hisown. He had been going to spend the night with LadyPlumtree. He had been starting to make love to her,Caroline, thinking she was Lady Plumtree.
What would have come next? she wondered and grew even hotter at the imagined next stages of what he hadstarted. How long would it have been before . . .
Caroline sat up sharply and thumped her pillow as if she wished it were Viscount Lyndon’s face.
