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Her brow creased in concern, but she nodded inagreement.
They said a rather hasty farewell to Luke, Lady Juliet, and their son before quickly starting for the Vauxhall Stairs and to the awaiting ferries on the Thames. Emma didn’t seem to notice their rushed pace as she chatted endlessly about the fireworks and the hot air balloon and the assortment of desserts that she’d sampled. Rachel seemed just as anxious to have the evening end as Marc was, which was a blessing. It would probably be the first and last time that he and Rachel Benton would ever be of the same mind about anything. Meanwhile Caroline, very quietly, seemed to study him, first aboard the ferry and then in the hack all the way back to StaveleyHouse.
He watched from the window of the hack as Caroline and her daughters bounded up the steps and into their home, then he had the hack drop him off on Queen Street before he doubled back to Staveley House, taking his time to ensure that no one followed him. Marc went around the back and then into the house through the servants’ entrance, but this time the place was dark as pitch and Caroline’s cook was nowhere to befound.
Actually, the entire house was completely silent except for the ticking of a clock in the parlor as he passed it. But he spotted Simmons, dedicated servant that he was, illuminated by candlelight, near the front door. The butler nodded a greetingtoMarc.
“They’re already abed?” Marc askedquietly.
“As soon as they retuned, milord.” Simmons nodded again, offering Marc a candle from the table in the hallway. “I’ll lock the servants’ entrance and head to bed myself unless you think you’ll have needofme.”
“No, no,” Marc assured him. “Do get somesleep.”
Then he climbed the steps, with the candle illuminating his way and started down the corridor toward Caroline’s bedchamber. He swallowed a little nervously, still not certain what he was going to tell her or how he would do so. Perhaps he could distract her from asking questions. That was a valid thought. He did excel at distractions,buthe—
A dog growled low in its throat and then sent out a loud bark right from the middle of thecorridor.
Oh, for the loveofGod.
“Shh!” Marc hissed. The damn thing was going to drive both of Caroline’s daughters from their beds if it didn’tshutup.
“Nelson!” Caroline’s door flew open, and she was already in her nightrail. The light from her chambers outlined her form against the thin silk, and Marc’s mouth went a little dry at the sight. “Go somewhere else!” She waved her hands in the air to shoo the dogalong.
Nelson whimpered a bit in response, and Marc almost felt for the little beast.Almost.
“Mama?” came Rachel’s voice from one of the doors Marc had alreadypassed.
He didn’t dare move an inch for fear that any sound would send Rachel into the corridor. Thankfully, Caroline called to her, “It’s just Nelson, Rachel. Go to sleep, sweetheart.” Then she shooed the dog again with her arms. “Go on. Go downstairs,Nelson.”
Thoroughly chastised, the dog slunk toward the staircase. As soon as he was out of sight, Marc strode straight for Caroline’sbedchamber.
“That thing is a menace,” he complained softly as she closed the doorbehindhim.
“I wouldn’t have known Rachel was gone last night if it wasn’tforhim.”
Marc supposed that was true. One could only be so annoyed with the dog even if he had nearly given Marc awayjustthen.
But now that he was alone with Caroline, how had he decided to handle her? Oh, yes, he was going to distract her. Or give it his best damned try. Caroline took the candle from him and placed it on a table near her bed before she turned back around to face him. And with the outline of her lithe form before his eyes, he thought it quite certain she was going to distract him just aseasily.
“You know,” he drawled, letting his gaze drift over her from top to bottom. “I do think you should only wear nightrails from nowon,love.”
Caroline folded her arms over her tempting breasts and frowned at him. “Is that the best youcando?”
Damn it. So much for that attempt. He’d have to try again. “Not flowery enough?” He grinned as he drew her into his arms. “Should I be more poetic? What, my dear, do you longtohear?”
“The truth, Marc,” she said evenly. “I want you to tell meeverything.”
Well, she’d never geteverythingfrom him. No one had ever gotten that. And she wouldn’t want it either. She only thought she did. If he ever told her everything, she’d be sick to her stomach, and she’d never look at him the same again. It had taken a while for him to look himself in the mirror, after all. “The man at Vauxhall?” Perhaps there was a way to limit everything to just St. George. She didn’t need to know every detail of every mission, every awful thing he’d ever done, did she? God, hehopednot.
“You looked afraid tonight,” she said, looking up at him with such concern, his heart ached. “I’ve never seen you look afraid. Not even when Brookfieldshotyou.”
“Brookfield had a terrible aim. He’s fortunate he hit meatall.”
“You’refortunate you’re alive,” she countered, her brow furrowing once again. “You said you’re always honest with me. So tell me what’sgoingon.”
Marc breathed out a breath and shook his head. “It’s not something I’ve ever talked about,Caroline.”
“Why?”
