The Husband List

  Jack had no intention of sharing his true level of dislike. If he did, Eddie might believe that Jack had feelings for his sister. And while Jack did, they weren’t the brotherly sort that gave him the right to opine on her future husband. They did, however, make Jack want to punch the Englishman. However, he’d keep that—and his fists—to himself.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Jack said.

  “I’m going to give Bremerton the benefit of the doubt,” Eddie said. “Maybe the standoffish behavior is because he’s not accustomed to our ways.”

  “Maybe,” Jack replied, sticking to his new policy of short, if not so honest, responses.

  Eddie shrugged. “Or maybe not. But either way, there’s no sense in angering my mother by objecting to the Englishman. I have no vote. Caroline is on her own when it comes to dealing with Mother.” He took a swallow of his cognac and added, “But my sister’s resourceful. No matter how this turns out, she’ll make a workable life of it.”

  “Of course,” Jack said, though the thought didn’t sit as well with him as it had even a few weeks ago.

  The Longhorne butler entered and held out a small silver tray. “Mr. Culhane, a message has arrived for you.”

  Jack stood and took the envelope. The script on the front was round and perfectly feminine … just what one would expect from a well-schooled heiress. He removed the note and read Caroline’s request.

  “Your sister is fine,” he said to Eddie as he pocketed Caroline’s message. “She’s with a friend we have in common and has asked if I would bring her back to Villa Blanca.”

  It didn’t escape Jack that Caroline could have asked her hostess to send her home in a carriage. The truth was, Caroline wanted to see him. Hell, she flat-out wanted him, even though she had only a vague idea what that wanting entailed.

  “A friend? What sort of friend?” Eddie asked, frowning.

  For Caroline’s sake, Jack wanted to make Flora sound staid, wealthy, and respectably aged, even though she was only one of the three. “Mrs. Willoughby is recently widowed. She’s renting The Reefs for the season and met Caroline at the Casino some days ago.”

  “That sounds harmless enough. You’re fine with hauling her back here?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re a good man,” Eddie said, raising his snifter in a sketch of a toast.

  Jack shook his head as he left Villa Blanca behind. He might be good, but he wasn’t good enough to steer free of temptation when it summoned him.

  * * *

  CAROLINE SIPPED a cup of India tea as she sat in The Reefs’ main salon. Being with Flora was both a literal and figurative step into the light. A small fire burned in the grate, and Flora had turned up all the gas fixtures so that the room, which was decorated in shades of gold and ruby, glowed. Flora, too, was colorful in her emerald-colored Empire-style satin dress—one better suited to playing the Empress Josephine on the stage than being used as at-home wear. All the same, Caroline envied her new friend and her lack of layers of petticoats.

  “Are you sure I can’t offer you something more substantial than tea? Some fruit, maybe?” Flora asked. “That was a long walk to make in such an elaborate gown.”

  Caroline returned the thin bone china cup to its matching ivory saucer and glanced down at her Worth dress. She’d taken care not to harm it during her escape, for it was very pretty. Unfortunately, now that it had been seen at dinner, Mama would never permit her to wear it again.

  “The tea is perfect, and there’s no need to fuss. You were kind to let me in after I arrived like a thief in the night,” she said.

  “Thieves generally aren’t interested in the front door. And mine is always open to you,” Flora said.

  “Thank you,” Caroline replied.

  Flora took a sip of her tea. “A visit from a friend is just what I needed tonight, though I think this will be a short one. Jack will hurry you home now that you’ve let him know where you are. I believe he finds me a bad influence on you.”

  “And vice versa,” Caroline replied.

  Flora laughed. “True. Poor Jack is never going to quite grasp the bond among women. He’s too…” She paused, considering her choice of words. “Well, he’s just too male.”

  “Very,” Caroline said.

  “But despite Jack’s opinion, I think we are excellent influences on each other,” Flora said. “You bring life whenever you arrive, and I can give you a more … shall we say … mature woman’s perspective on your situation. Though I’ve already told you things from my life that would rattle Jack.”

  When Caroline had arrived, she’d given Flora a brief summary of her night. Sensing Caroline didn’t wish to say more, Flora had let the conversation move on to stories of the places she’d visited while working as an actress.

  “Jack could do with some rattling,” Caroline said. “And I envy you your freedom. I wish I had seen a tenth of what you have.”

  “Ah, but as you know, freedom always has a price. I’m not going to share my early years with you.” She paused as though pushing aside the memories and then gave Caroline a bright smile. “But I chose to move forward and make the best of this life.”

  “Choice…” The word felt foreign to Caroline, and sweeter than chocolate, too. “I wish I had choice. Oh, I know I could refuse the marriage demand, walk from my father’s house, and try to get by on my wits. But for all my education, I’m not very skilled. I doubt I could even get a job as shop girl.”

  “I think that you are the sort who could do whatever she had to. But I’d never encourage you to make your way alone in the world unless it’s your very last choice. I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich. Try to be rich.”

  Caroline smiled. “Very sound advice.”

  “So now tell me a little about this Englishman your mother has selected for you,” Flora said. “Are you sure your real objection isn’t that your mother did the choosing?”

  “I’m very sure,” she replied. “He is not a pleasant man. He’s so cold and stiff that he might as well be stuffed and displayed in my father’s trophy room. And his touch—”

  “I take it you’re talking about Bremerton,” Jack said as he entered the room unannounced, cutting short Caroline’s thoughts.

  She didn’t even try to hide her joy at seeing him. “None other.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I showed myself in,” Jack said to Flora.

  “Not at all,” Flora replied. “Come join us. Would you like something to drink? There’s a decanter of port on the far pedestal table.”

  “Thank you, but I’m afraid we’re short on time,” he said. “We need to be leaving.”

  He looked at Caroline again. His gaze held an intimate message. Her body responded to it even as her mind, with its years of schooling in propriety, rebelled. Something had changed between them. She didn’t know how or why, but it had.

  Caroline set down her teacup and saucer with a rattle.

  “Jack is right. I should be on my way home. Thank you for talking to me this evening, Flora,” she said as she rose.

  Smiling, Flora stood. “I understand.”

  That being the case, Caroline wished Flora would explain it all to her.

  Jack’s carriage waited out front. He helped her in and then paused to say something to the coachman before joining her. Instead of taking the opposite seat, he joined her on the black leather bench and carelessly tossed his hat on the other. Though she wasn’t in physical contact with him, she could feel the warmth rolling off him. It made her shiver in a most delicious way.

  “So he touched you?” Jack asked as they rolled down the drive to Bellevue Avenue.

  “Who?” The urge to hold and be held was so strong that she could scarcely keep track of her own name, let alone a conversation.

  “Bremerton. He touched you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “The usual way,” she said impatiently. “With his hand.”

  Jack leaned back against the seat and exhaled slowl
y. “I don’t like it. I don’t like the man touching you, and I don’t like that I feel like this.”

  Though she’d never really paid attention to what impact she might have on a man, when it came to Jack, Caroline felt content in a very cat-with-the-cream sort of way that he cared enough to be territorial.

  “I don’t like the man touching me, either,” she said.

  Now that they were on the avenue, street lights glowed into the carriage as they passed them. The coachman was taking a leisurely pace, and the carriage swayed ever so slightly in time to the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves.

  “How did he touch you?” Jack asked.

  “Just his fingers beneath my chin.” The recollection rekindled her anger. “He held me there and scrutinized me as though he owned me. He said I’m a naïve child.”

  “Then he’s a fool,” Jack said. “And he sure as hell doesn’t know how to touch you.”

  Jack had never before used rough language in front of her. Etiquette dictated that she should be offended, but she wasn’t.

  He drew her closer. “A man who knows you would touch you like this.”

  As Bremerton had done, he placed his fingers beneath her chin and tipped her face upward. But Jack’s touch was warm and vital. She looked into his face. Even in the scant light, she could read his intent, and it matched her desire.

  Jack’s mouth settled against hers, and all thoughts of the Englishman evaporated. There was nothing but Jack. She opened to him, inviting him to kiss her more deeply. He did, and her heartbeat picked up. But far before Caroline was ready, Jack eased out of the kiss.

  “And a man who wants you would do this,” he said.

  He angled on the bench so that he nearly faced her. She felt his hands at the back of her neck. In a few deft moves, he opened the clasp to her pearl choker, slipped it off her, and pocketed it.

  “He would steal my pearls?”

  His laugh was enticing. “No, he would taste your skin.”

  He braced one big hand on the bench’s padded back so that she was captured. But Caroline didn’t want to flee. He bent his head and kissed the curve where her neck met the top of her shoulder. She breathed her pleasure with a soft sigh. Then his mouth ventured upward, tasting the skin on her throat that he’d bared. She’d never felt anything so intensely thrilling. Her toes curled and she gasped.

  He picked up his head. “More?”

  “All,” she said.

  He made a sound of amusement, or perhaps regret. Caroline didn’t care which one, so long as he kissed her throat again. And he did. Slowly, one caress at a time, he ventured his way back to her mouth.

  He made a low, hungry sound and settled the palm of his free hand over her breast. Caroline knew she should be shocked, but she was more amused at the way he drew back and looked at the pearls and crystals his hand had encountered.

  “I’d forgotten,” he said. “A rich woman’s armor.”

  Heiresses’ mamas everywhere knew what they were doing, dressing their daughters like this.

  “I’d prefer to be defenseless,” she whispered.

  Moving quickly, Jack scooped her up, swept his hat off the opposite bench, and settled her there. She was propped against the carriage’s outer wall with her cloud of ice blue skirts spilling toward the floor. She reached for him and bumped her head on the rectangular calling card box just beneath the window, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was more Jack.

  He pulled down the window shades until little light entered. Caroline was more than willing to go by touch. He knelt on the carriage floor with his solid body holding her safely on the slippery leather seat.

  “One day, we’ll have to find a comfortable place to kiss,” he said as he lightly ran two fingers over the contours of her lips, down her throat, and then traced the line of her collarbone.

  Caroline let her eyes slip closed and didn’t answer. Sight and speech were distractions when there was new pleasure to feel. His mouth took hers, and at the same time he placed his palm above her dress’s square, low bodice. His warmth transferred to her, and his skin felt slightly rough. Strong hands, she thought. A true man’s hands.

  She reached up to touch his face as he kissed her. His beginnings of a beard were rough and foreign to her, too. But she trusted him, body and soul.

  His fingers dipped down into the slight gap beneath dress, corset and chemise. She relaxed to give him more room, but ample curves and tight lacings left little space.

  He kissed her again and let his hand slide over the fortress of clothing until it rested below her waist. His hand fisted in the heavy silk of her dress as their tongues touched.

  The carriage slowed and then lurched. Jack picked up his head. “We’re at Villa Blanca.”

  “Tell the coachman to go on,” Caroline urged, but even as she spoke the words, she knew them for insanity.

  He knelt upright and drew in an almost weary breath. “We can’t.”

  She lay there, staring into the darkness. Why, of the many off-kilter events she’d experienced tonight, did this one make her want to cry?

  “Of course we can’t,” she said.

  Jack’s hands closed over hers. She took his offered help to get her feet beneath her, even if she was none too sure she could actually use them.

  “I need a moment,” she said, doing her best to put her coiffure back in order.

  “Better now?” he asked after an interval.

  She shook out her skirt. “I’m as reassembled as I can get.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?” she asked, thinking that if he said for kissing her, she would be tempted to clout him.

  “That Villa Blanca was so close to Flora’s,” he replied before giving her one last swift kiss. Then he signaled for the coachman to come round and open the door.

  Jack stepped out first and helped Caroline from the carriage. She kept a decorous distance once she reached the ground. Mama had eyes and spies, after all.

  “Good night, Mr. Culhane,” she said. “Thank you for the escort home.”

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  But there had to be much more pleasure than what they had shared, and Caroline was determined to make it hers.

  * * *

  FLORA WAS tired, the sort of tired that came from having too little to do. And yet she could not sleep. Jack and Caroline had rushed out a half hour earlier, and the staff had long ago gone off to sleep. Flora was jealous. She wished for just one night in which she would not wake, but knew tonight would not be it.

  The house’s front bell rang. Flora left the sofa, where she’d been curled up like a child seeking warmth. She would have ignored the summons, except it might be Caroline again. The girl was showing all the signs of perpetual wanderlust, which Flora could appreciate.

  She peeked out of the door’s sidelight, then blinked. She checked again to see if her eyes were being as faithless as her ability to sleep had become since Clem’s death. No, her eyes remained true.

  Jack’s father stood in the doorway, looking little different from when she’d last seen him, fourteen years earlier. And the hurt she’d felt that night still lingered, too. But she’d never believed the old adage about time healing all wounds.

  Cursing herself for being a fool, Flora opened the door.

  “Hello, Patrick. This must be the night for Culhanes to roam,” she said. “Jack left just a little while ago.”

  “Are you asking me in, then?” Patrick said.

  He sounded as Irish as always, and apparently she was as soft as always for the music in his words.

  “I suppose,” she said curtly.

  He smiled. “As kind as ever.”

  “Too kind,” she said as she led him to the salon.

  This time, she did not choose the sofa, but a tall chair that was quite regal. Better yet, the chair opposite it was squat. Of course, Culhane still managed to look commanding while sitting in the blasted thing. Now that she could see him in full light, she noted the deepen
ing of the lines at the corners of his eyes and the added threads of silver in his dark hair. But like his son, he was one handsome devil.

  “You’re looking tired, Flora,” he said.

  “That’s a fine compliment. Since I invited you in at this late hour, the least you could do is offer some hollow flattery.”

  He laughed. “Is there any other kind of flattery but hollow?”

  She wanted to smile but didn’t. “How did you know I was here?”

  He looked down before answering. “I saw an article in the Times about who was summering in Newport.”

  “Really? I don’t know whether to be more astounded that you were reading the social news or that I was mentioned.”

  “I was on a train,” he said as though that explained everything.

  She raised her brows in response.

  He stretched his long legs in front of him, no doubt trying to find a way to be comfortable in the short chair. “I was sorry to hear about your husband’s passing.”

  Flora ignored the sting of tears behind her eyes. When on stage, she’d always been able to cry at will. Now she could not seem to stop.

  “I appreciated the note,” she said.

  “It was nothing. I know how deeply a loss like that can cut into a soul.”

  She nodded. “Yes. But I promised Clem I would pick up my life, and I will.”

  “I’m sure you will,” he said. Coming from him, the words sounded a little sad.

  Some people never fought free of the grief. Patrick had been one, though she hadn’t understood at the time. All she’d known was that she’d loved him, but he hadn’t been able to love her back. At least, not in the way she’d wanted him to, with vows and babies and forever together.

  “In time, I’ll be better,” she replied. “It has been a year since I lost him, but sometimes it still feels like yesterday. Right now, I’m focusing on each day … each new adventure.” Because, really, she had nothing else.

  “Well, then, you have a plan, and that’s half the battle.”

  “I suppose,” she said.

  They sat quietly for a moment. Then Patrick spoke again.

  “I want you back in my life, Flora,” he said in a rush. “Not as a lover, mind you, because I’ve no right to put a claim on your heart after all we’ve been though. But I miss you. I miss the laughter and the teasing and the knowing that if I’m being a bullheaded fool, you’ll be the first to tell me. You can chase me out of here with that fire poker over there,” he said, pointing to the fireplace set. “You likely should, but I knew that if I didn’t ask now, I’d lose the courage to ask at all.”