The kiss itself seared her heart. It had been years. Forever. Her memories of girlhood kisses had grown so dusty from age that she might have been untouched. Nor had the mouth that claimed her then belonged to a man. Certainly not this man who had kissed too often and knew too well how to do it.
She had no defenses. She had not even realized she needed any. So she permitted it too long, submerged in happy confusion that blocked any intrusion from her conscience.
He pulled her closer yet. His hand fussed at a button on her coat. Her better sense reasserted itself and saw what she was doing. Indignation met a wall of sadness, but she still pushed away from him and staggered back.
Nothing about him apologized. Not words from that mouth or regret in those eyes. If anything, he appeared as if he would follow her steps and embrace her again.
She backed up more, lest he try. “You should not have done that. You know it, too.”
“I am not well schooled in self-denial, especially when it comes to an intriguing, lovely woman like you.”
“I am not a woman to be a plaything to a rake. I am insulted you thought I might be.”
“It was an honest expression of honest desire, Caroline, not a search for a plaything.”
“I think it was a calculated strategy to have me drop my guard in other ways, and to petition for release. A man like you does not have any need of a woman like me.” She strode away. “Do not do it again,” she said furiously over her shoulder. “Good heavens, wasn’t one Dunham daughter enough for you?”
* * *
Since Caroline did not march him back to his attic chamber at the point of a gun, Adam decided that meant she had agreed to the terms of his parole. Since her departure indicated she would not want company he chose to remain outside and investigate the property further.
He walked closer to the cottage beyond the garden. Smoke still rose in a ribbon from the chimney. He thought he saw Mrs. Smith’s face peer out a window at him. Perhaps the old couple lived here, rather than in the big house. It was the kind of privilege only afforded the married servants, and valued ones at that.
He retraced his steps and walked around the stable. Beyond there lay a large paddock surrounded by sturdy fences. Fifty horses would fit in it easily, perhaps as many as seventy.
This was where it must have happened. He pictured the space teeming with horses, all pacing and noisy because they sensed the danger. Within a half hour all of them were dead, shot by men at close range from behind the fence. Unable to defend themselves, they had stampeded around the paddock in a frenzy.
He had been invited to participate in that carnage. As if anyone would want to shoot thoroughbreds like that, as sport. Too many had volunteered. Nigel had joined in. To add to the injury, they had left the remains for the Dunham family to deal with.
He had assumed Caroline had abducted him as part of a plan of revenge for that day. From her parting words in the stable, however, it seemed he may have been wrong.
Wasn’t one Dunham daughter enough for you? He propped his boot on the bottom rung of the paddock’s fence and looked into the enclosure while he considered the accusation embedded in her words. She believed that he had kissed her sister and perhaps done more than kiss.
Hell, he didn’t even remember she had a sister.
All the same he searched his memory for another Dunham. Calling up every female met at parties and assemblies would take too long, so he took the opposite approach and tried to remember all the women he had at least kissed in the last few years.
That alone meant reviewing a good number of faces. Try as he might, he could not picture anyone with the last name of Dunham.
It was possible she had used a different name. It was also possible that his memory failed him due to his being foxed when the meeting occurred. He often claimed that never happened, but the problem with drinking to the point of obliterated memories was that one did not remember what had and had not happened, including one’s state of inebriation.
The wind had risen by the time he concluded he could not prove he had never kissed another Dunham sister. He made his way back to the house and entered through the kitchen door, where he shook the snow off his boots and hung his greatcoat on a peg next to the coat Caroline had donned earlier.
He wandered into the kitchen. Mrs. Smith could not be found there, but something delicious smelling cooked in the hearth in a cauldron. He found the stairs and went above.
His departure had been hasty. Now he took his time. Besides the large sitting room he visited a small library and a chamber that served as a study or office. A morning room, long and narrow, stretched across the back of the house. A dining room could hold a decent party.
It was an old house, and handsome in its way. More dark wood panels than was fashionable now. Dark papers on the walls, too, and a few floors paved in tiles instead of boards. He judged it to be a couple hundred years old at least.
He settled into a stuffed chair in the library with a book on thoroughbred breeding. Since it was a topic of interest, he soon became engrossed. So it was that Miss Dunham arrived without his awareness. He only realized her presence when the scent of the household soap reached him.
She had changed into a blue dress with little adornment.
“I hope you did not give up the pantaloons on my account. There’s no reason to stand on ceremony with a prisoner.”
“It had nothing to do with you.”
“For whom then? From what I can tell no one else is here.”
