Chapter 20
Time moved interminably before Singleton entered the dining room and announced, “I will take His Grace to the nursery now. Please remain and enjoy the port, sir.”
Singleton seemed determined that Eamon drain the entire bottle, having returned to top off his glass more than once already. Eamon could drink heartily if he chose, but he wanted his head clear tonight.
“Thank you,” Eamon said, rising. He bowed to Leo. “Good night, my liege.”
“Good night, my knight.” Leo grinned at his play on words then seized Singleton’s hand to be led out.
Eamon resumed his seat and finished the glass he’d begun to soothe Singleton’s worries. He lingered, giving Leo time to reach the nursery and Caro to say good night to him as she’d promised.
She might tarry a while, telling Leo stories or singing to him, or whatever she did when she put him to bed. Eamon poured another half glass of port but pushed it away after a few sips. The fortified wine was good but strong.
Eamon waited another agonizing three quarters of an hour, checking his watch every few minutes, before he decided to risk leaving the dining room.
The house was very quiet, and Singleton was nowhere in sight.
Fifth floor chamber, in the rear of the house.
What was there? Caro? A painting she wanted him to value? A strong bloke ready to beat some respect into him?
Eamon made his way to the staircase and paused to listen. When he heard no noise coming from either above or below, he ascended to the fifth floor.
It was even darker here, and no one was about. Eamon ventured to the end of the hall, where a closed door awaited him.
Caro definitely knew how to entice him. There was no way Eamon would leave this house before he satisfied his curiosity as to what was behind this door. He tapped on it.
He thought he heard the word Enter, but it was so faint he wasn’t certain. Eamon drew a fortifying breath, turned the handle, and pushed open the door.
Caro had lit plenty of candles inside. Singleton had snuffed more and more of them every time he’d come to Leo and Eamon in the dining room and taken them away, and Eamon now wondered if he’d carried them up here for Caro.
The room was a small bedchamber. A bed hung with warm-looking curtains reposed on the far wall, with a padded bench at the foot of it. Comfortable chairs had been drawn near a compact bookcase, and an armoire stood on another wall. Every fabric, from bed hangings to chair and bench upholstery, held sprays of flowers, as did the carpet, which was soft if worn.
It was a very feminine room, one that was never meant to admit a man. The Duke of Aylesmore had never slept here, Eamon wagered. This was Caro’s private retreat.
She stood in the middle of it, her lacy cap gone, her fichu loosened. She studied him with her brown-green eyes that held clarity and determination.
Eamon closed the door, his heart hammering.
Caro said nothing, did nothing. She remained in the center of the carpet, watching him. Her chest rose with a quick intake of breath, but otherwise, she remained motionless.
Eamon moved to her. “Duchess?” he asked softly when he reached her. “What?—?”
Caro silenced him with cool fingers on his lips. Before Eamon could decide what to do, she laced her arms around his neck and covered his mouth with a long kiss.
Caro knew she had to be mad. She hadn’t disclosed to her friends the extent of her plans—her wild decision to slip Eamon the note had come from a place inside her she hadn’t realized still existed.
The daring miss she’d been had disappeared long ago, buried under caring for an ill husband and a spirited little boy.
This afternoon, the boldness Caro had lost rose again, making her write the note and, even more brazenly, slide it to Eamon under Singleton’s and her mother-in-law’s noses.
Eamon wouldn’t come, Caro had told herself. He’d be dismayed by her presumption or laugh at her.
When he opened the door and walked inside, she froze, unable to move or speak. He’d closed the door and come to her, and she could do nothing else but kiss him.
After Eamon’s initial start, he gently pulled her closer and returned the kiss with increasing fever.
Caro curled her hands on his back, the play of hard muscles enticing under her fingers. Eamon deepened the kiss, as though he liked her touching him.
