Page 82 of The Wayward Duke
Julian’s jaw tightened. “I ought to have sent you away after the incident at the ball.”
“And miss all this intrigue?” Caroline brandished the foolscap. “Without me, you’d never have found this flat or decrypted these codes.”
“And what if you’re with child?” His voice was sharp. “We’ve hardly been restraining ourselves of late.”
His words sliced through her like a blade to the gut. Caroline sucked in a breath as the papers slipped from her numb fingers. They drifted to the floorboards like falling leaves.
Pregnant. The notion was impossible to dislodge now it had been spoken aloud. When had she last bled? The days and weeks blurred together in her memory, lost in a haze of deciphering codes and evading villains. She hadn’t paid her courses any mind.
Julian cursed. “Forgive me, that was poorly done. I shouldn’t have—”
Caroline grasped his face in both hands and kissed him. He inhaled sharply in surprise, then his fingers tangled in her hair as he took control of the kiss, coaxing her lips apart.
In one smooth motion, Julian grasped her hips and eased her down onto the divan cushions. He settled over her, his fingertips tracing maddening patterns across her collarbone.
He kissed her until she was mindless with need, hands grasping his shirt to pull him closer. Coded missives were forgotten, and the outside world receded until nothing existed but his mouth scorching hers, his fingers sending sparks dancing over her body.
Julian rucked up her skirts and entered Caroline in a hard thrust, wringing a gasp from her. Caroline’s back arched off the divan at the sweet invasion as he filled her, the blunt pressure exquisite. He claimed her with deep, relentless strokes, one hand clasping her hip.
Mine, each powerful drive seemed to say. Mine.
Later – much later – as the afternoon light gilded the rumpled papers spread out across her divan, Caroline turned her head where it rested on Julian’s bare chest to study his profile. His eyes softened as they met hers, pouring warmth through her veins.
“I’ll go to Ravenhill in the morning,” she whispered.
When he finally responded, his voice was rough with emotion. “At first light.”
Caroline nodded and pressed a kiss to his palm. “Don’t take unnecessary risks in my absence.”
His thumb stroked along her cheekbone in a tender caress. “Only the necessary ones. You have my word.”
Then he kissed her until she saw stars behind her eyelids.
34
The grey light of dawn slanted through the carriage windows as Caroline left Stafford House. Julian stood on the steps, sharp lines etched deep with worry. This parting felt different from all the others. A note of grim finality hung in the air as the coachman shook the reins and cracked the whip.
She kept her gaze fixed on the familiar London streets rolling past. Looking back would destroy what fragile composure she still possessed.
Allowing her eyes to drift shut, Caroline focused on memories of nights curled in Julian’s arms, his warm breath feathering across her hair as he whispered secrets. She clung to the fragile remnants of those faded moments – the small measure of comfort.
All too soon, the creak and rattle of the carriage wheels changed cadence as it rolled to an abrupt halt.
Caroline’s eyes flew open. Unease skittered down her spine, raising the fine hairs at her nape. Her gaze darted to the window, taking in the cramped, shadowed side street. Why had they stopped here? This was not their intended route.
Heart pounding, she leaned towards the window, straining to spot the coachman. Before she could call out to him, the carriage door was wrenched open, and a hulking figure clambered inside.
Kellerman.
Caroline’s voice froze in her throat, but before she could gather her wits, a damp rag was clamped over her mouth and nose, cutting off all sound.
Chloroform.
The sickly sweet scent overwhelmed her senses. Caroline thrashed, drawing in panicked breaths through the rag as she fought the pull of the drug. But the fumes dragged her down into darkness.
Her frantic breaths grew thinner and weaker, grey edging into her vision. Kellerman’s grip on her wrists was an anchor weighting her into the void.
Then, nothing.
