Educating Caroline (15 page)

Well, that wasn’t, she supposed, strictly true. There’d been a moment when he’d hung over her chair, and she’d felt the heat from his body, and had seen up close the strength in those great hands, that she’d caught a glimpse of the Lothario. And that glimpse was what had made her feel, as she had that night at Dame Ashforth’s, as if she’d never again be able to breathe quite normally.

Only what kind of Lothario turned a young woman, eager to be indoctrinated in the ways of love,
away?

The answer was easy enough, but regrettably unflattering: a man who wasn’t the least bit interested in her. So uninterested in her, in fact, that even the promise of a reward—in Braden Granville’s case, her promise to testify on his behalf if Jacquelyn Seldon brought a breach of promise suit against him—had not been enough incentive.

Except, if he really did find her so repulsive, why did he keep
staring
like that?

“Ouch!”
Emily swung her attention away from Tommy and glared at Caroline. “What did you pinch me for?”

“Look at Mr. Granville’s box,” Caroline whispered. “And tell me if he’s still looking this way.”

Emily looked. “Good God. He
is.
He’s positively
staring.”

“I knew it,” Caroline murmured, sinking more deeply into her seat with a groan. “He hates me.”

“I wouldn’t say that
hate
is the first thing that comes to my mind when I discover a man is staring at me,” Emily said. “Besides, how could he possibly hate you? He doesn’t even
know
you. Why are you wasting time even thinking about him? I thought you’d given up on this ludicrous plan of yours to learn how to be a whore.”

“Mistress,” Caroline hissed. “The word is mistress, or, if you insist, courtesan. And I have
not
given it up. I’ve merely given up on Braden Granville.”

“Oh,” Emily whispered. “So if you’re not going to get your education—” She said the word with quite unnecessary malice, Caroline thought. “—from Braden Granville, then who are you going to get it from, eh?”

Caroline opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Hurst, who leaned forward to seize the glasses Caroline was holding.

“Oh, I say, Carrie,” her fiancé said. “Thanks. There’s something I want to take a look at.”

Caroline had no choice but to release the glasses. A second later, she saw Hurst training them in the direction of Braden Granville’s box. Well, how could he have helped himself? He, like every other man in the theater, could not have failed to notice Lady Jacquelyn’s cavernous decolletage.

But would he notice that Lady Jacquelyn’s fiancé seemed preoccupied with someone else entirely?

Fortunately at that point the lights started to be put out, and the orchestra conductor strode out from the wings. The audience applauded politely, including Hurst, who had to pass the glasses back to Caroline in order to do so.

She took them and brought them at once back to her eyes. Braden Granville was no longer looking at her, but at the stage, a fact over which she knew she ought to be rejoicing—why would she want that odious man’s attention on her?—but which made her feel oddly let down instead.

She slumped in her seat. Why? she asked herself miserably. Oh, why had she gone to him in the first place? It had been a mad scheme, simply ridiculous. Braden Granville was quite right: She couldn’t hope to force Hurst to love her, any more than she could salvage the shattered pieces of the love she’d felt for him—until that night at Dame Ashforth’s—and glue them back together. She was simply going to have to marry him and put up with his loving someone else.

Maybe it was better that way. Maybe things like gratitude and friendship were better for a lasting marriage than mad, passionate love, anyway.

“Well?” Caroline whispered to Emily an hour later, when the curtain descended for the first interval. “Is he still looking this way?”

Emily looked at the box across the way. “That’s strange,” she said. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Caroline flung a glance toward Braden Granville’s now empty seat. “Where on earth could he have gone so quickly? The lights only just came back up.”

“He must have slipped out before the act ended. Oh, Tommy!” Emily noticed all the balls of paper Thomas had tossed into her lap during the performance, and began furiously to sweep them off.

Tommy had a hearty laugh at Emily’s expense, then hurried off with Hurst to enjoy a cigar in the smoking room. Lady Bartlett declared a desire for a bit of air, which Caroline knew meant she wanted to show off her new gown, and Emily mischievously volunteered to join her, which dampened Lady Bartlett’s enthusiasm somewhat. Her new gown would not draw nearly as much attention with Lady Emily Stanhope, in all her un-corsetted glory, standing beside her.

Still, there was nothing Lady Bartlett could do about it, except command Caroline to walk with them, in the obvious hopes that Emily’s odd ensemble might be lost between the enormous crinolines both Lady Bartlett and her daughter wore.

“I’ll be right there, Mother,” Caroline said. She was trying to gather up as many as she could of the tiny wads of paper her brother had so thoughtlessly scattered across the floor of the box, so she could dispose of them where they rightly belonged . . . in her brother’s coat pocket.

Which was why she was quite alone—although she had been so for barely a moment—when suddenly a pair of men’s shoes appeared just beside the fan she was using to sweep the pieces of paper into her hand. Caroline did not recognize these expensive evening slippers, gleaming with polish, as Hurst’s bore silver buckles, and Tommy’s tassels. These bore neither.

Her glance sliding slowly up the trouser legs attached to the shoes, Caroline began to feel uncomfortable. And when her gaze flicked over a beautifully stitched but subdued satin waistcoat, then paused to take in the wide breadth of shoulder encased in a perfectly tailored evening coat, she didn’t need to look up any farther.

She knew who it was. She knew exactly who it was.

11

“
L
ady Caroline.” Braden Granville’s deep voice was filled with concern. “Are you quite all right?”

Why?
she wailed to herself. Why was it that every time Braden Granville came into her presence, he managed to catch her performing some act of utter inanity?
Why?

“I’m perfectly fine,” Caroline replied, keeping her head resolutely ducked, so she would not have to look into those dark eyes. “I’m only . . . my brother played a little joke, and I’m just picking up after him. He thinks he’s very amusing, but I highly doubt his sense of humor is very much appreciated by the people who are paid to clean the theater at night.”

From behind the velvet curtains that separated their box from the corridor beyond it, Caroline heard her mother call her name. She answered, “Coming, Mother,” and started to climb to her feet, aware that her cheeks were burning as hotly as fire pokers left too long in the flames.

Her blush deepened as she felt his hand cup her elbow, helping to steady her as she rose.

“Lady Caroline.” Braden Granville’s voice was steady, but there was something urgent in his tone. Caroline supposed that, whatever it was he’d come to say, he wanted to get it said as soon as possible, so he could return to the side of the Lady Jacquelyn, who might otherwise get up to mischief in his absence.

Either that, or he wished to avoid being seen by Caroline’s mother, a sentiment for which she could not help feeling thankful to him, when she considered what her mother would have to say if she happened to step back into the box and see him. . . .

“I was hoping I would see you tonight. I wished to talk to you about what we were discussing in my offices the other day—”

Caroline could not help but look up at that, bringing her startled gaze to his face.

“I’ve reconsidered.” His gaze met hers steadily. She could read nothing in his face but seriousness. “I’d like it very much if you would be able to stop by Granville Enterprises again tomorrow. Would four o’clock suit you?”

Caroline stared at him, not at all certain that she’d heard him correctly. It seemed to her that he’d said—no, she did not think she could be mistaken about this—that he had changed his mind, and that he would entertain the idea of coaching her in the art of lovemaking.

But that was impossible. Because hadn’t he made it more than clear that Caroline was entirely too virginal— read, repulsive—for him to do any such thing?

“Lady Caroline?” He stared down at her, puzzled by her silence. She wondered what he’d thought she’d do upon hearing his announcement that he’d changed his mind. Whoop for joy? “Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” Caroline said, conscious that her heart was beating frantically beneath her corset stays. He’d said yes. He’d said yes. Good Lord. He’d actually said yes.

Braden Granville’s serious expression did not change. He said, “If tomorrow is inconvenient, another time would be quite all right. It really doesn’t matter to me, Lady Caroline. I am at your disposal. The next day, perhaps, would be more convenient for you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes. To say yes to this man who possessed such a miraculous ability to steal her breath—not literally, of course, but it did seem as if no sooner did he come near her than she was fighting to breathe, fighting to keep calm, fighting not to notice little things about him, like the way the dark hair at his neck curled against his high starched collar, or the fact that his eyelashes were coal black and almost as long as her own. . . .

But what did
he
think of
her?
What did the great Braden Granville think of Lady Caroline Linford? When she came near, what went through
his
mind?

She knew. And what she knew kept her from saying yes. He’d humiliated her—
humiliated
her—that day in his office, and now he thought he could simply walk up to her and say he’d changed his mind, and everything would be all right?

Both of Caroline’s hands were balled into fists, at the center of one was all the wads of paper she’d collected from the floor. She was so furious, that for a moment she considered flinging them in Braden Granville’s face, but as this would have been much too childish a gesture, she settled for saying, in what she hoped were tones of ice, “No, the next day is not convenient for me, Mr. Granville. There is no time, Mr. Granville, that will ever be convenient for me to see you. In fact, if I never saw you again in my life, I would die a very happy woman. Good evening, sir.”

Whereupon she attempted to glide from the box with all the dignity of one of the queen’s naval ships at full sail.

Unfortunately, she’d forgotten Braden Granville still had hold of her elbow. He tightened his grip, and managed to keep her firmly anchored at his side.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Caroline,” he said, sounding somewhat taken aback. “Have I done something to offend you?”

Good God! Was he serious? Evidently he was, since Caroline could trace not the slightest hint of irony in his face at that particular moment.

“Mr. Granville.” She fought to keep her voice from becoming shrill. The last thing she needed was to attract the attention of the opera patrons below them, or worse, her mother. “The . . .
discussion
. . . we had the other day is one that I would sincerely like to forget, if it’s all the same to you. And I certainly don’t care to continue it, or even refer to it, ever again. And I am frankly appalled that you would care to do so, especially in so public a place. After all, it certainly won’t do your reputation any good, being seen with someone as
virginal
as I am.”

The bewilderment left his face, to be replaced by amusement. Amusement! He actually thought her indignation with him humorous!

“So that’s what’s bothering you,” he said with a grin. His hand still hadn’t left her elbow. While his strong fingers weren’t hurting her, she could not help but be aware of the gentle pressure they were exerting. She could feel the heat from his skin straight through the silk of her evening glove, all the way up her arm, and throughout her entire body. “You know, there are a good many women in this world who would take a remark like that as a compliment.”

“Well, I am not one of them. I don’t suppose it has ever occurred to you, Mr. Granville, that being a virgin is extremely tiresome, and that having it constantly thrown up in one’s face is actually quite irritating.” Caroline jerked her arm from his grasp as if he’d stung her. “My offer to you the other day, Mr. Granville, was ill considered. I realize that now, and withdraw it. Now, if you will kindly step out of my way, my mother is waiting for me.”

But Braden Granville did not step out of her way. Instead, he regarded her thoughtfully with those inscrutable brown eyes. The grin, she saw, was gone.

“It is ill advised, Lady Caroline,” he said, in a tone that was, Caroline noticed, carefully neutral, “to put so much emotional stake in business dealings. You seem to have taken my declination of your generous offer very personally. But there was nothing personal about it, Lady Caroline. At the time, it struck me as an unsound venture. I have since had time to re-evaluate it, and I feel somewhat differently than I did—”

She shot him a shrewd glance. “You mean something happened,” she interrupted, tartly, “that’s made you anxious to rid yourself of Lady Jacquelyn once and for all. What was it?”

He merely shook his head. “That’s not it at all. But I don’t want to trouble you with the details—”

“Well,” Caroline said, wondering furiously what could have occurred to make the great Braden Granville change his prodigious mind, if not some recent outrage of his fiancée’s. “I’m sorry, but I no longer have a need for your . . . services, so—”

“Have you found someone else?” he demanded, sharply enough to cause Caroline to stammer, “Of course not!”

Then she regained her composure, and added rudely, “Not that it’s any of
your
business. The fact is, I have merely decided to take your advice.”

“My
advice?” He looked, if such a thing were possible, even more surprised than he had before.

“Indeed. Weren’t you the one who warned me that is impossible to force someone to fall in love?”

“Well,” he said, looking chagrined, “that is true, but—”

“But now it doesn’t suit you to have me throw it up in your face?” She told herself that she felt fiercely gratified to have disappointed him every bit as much as he, that day in his office, had disappointed—no,
humiliated
—her, though if truth be told, she did feel a tiny bit of regret. She didn’t like causing anyone pain, even heartless businessmen like Braden Granville. “Well, I’m very sorry, Mr. Granville, but I think it quite sound. My fiancé and I have a good deal of esteem for one another, and I believe that is all that is necessary for a successful marriage. And now, if you don’t mind, I must join my mother.”

Caroline’s mother, she knew perfectly well, had forgotten all about her, and was probably deeply engrossed in conversation with some friend or other, but she knew if she didn’t get out of his presence, and soon, the disappointment on his face was going to drive her to do something rash, like agree to meet with him. She gathered her skirts to get by him. . . .

Just as the bell sounded to indicate the end of the interval.

“Oh,” Caroline said with some dismay, stopping in her tracks.

“I see that I had better return to my seat,” Braden Granville said, gravely, “before you are rejoined by your family. But I’d ask that—your esteem for your fiancé aside—you’d consider what I’ve said, Lady Caroline. I believe we are each in a position—completely unique to this situation—where we might be of great help to one another. I apologize again if I said anything to offend you, and hope that you will not let your pride stand in the way of making what could be a very profitable venture— for us both.”

He left then. But before he left, he did something so shocking, Caroline still hadn’t recovered by the time the others returned to the box. Because what Braden Granville did—
all
he did—was reach out as he was leaving, and run the tip of his index finger along the side of Caroline’s long, bare neck, from her collarbone to just beneath her ear, as casually as if he were a child running a stick along a fence.

But there was nothing childlike about the jolt Caroline felt through her entire body as a result of his light, almost nonchalant touch. And she had thought Hurst’s kisses thrilling! Why, all Braden Granville had done was touch her—just
touch
her—and she’d experienced a physical sensation quite unlike any she’d ever felt before.

“Where were you?” Emily demanded, as she sank back into her seat. “Did you get lost in the crush?”

Hardly aware of what she was saying, Caroline murmured, “Yes.”

“Hurst, too, it looks like. He’d better hurry, the curtain’s going to go up in a minute. How are our friends across the way?” Emily aimed the opera glasses at Braden Granville’s box. “Ah. He’s back, I see.”

It was true, Caroline thought to herself. It was true, all those things Tommy and his friends had said. Braden Granville knew things. Tricks, like that one with his finger. What if Caroline could learn a few of those tricks? Just a few?

“But what’s this I see?” Emily focused the binoculars. “No Lady Jacquelyn? No, and the lights are going down. Hmmm. Hurst is missing. Lady Jacquelyn is missing. Careless of them.”

“Caro.” Tommy leaned forward in his chair. “Where are all my bits of paper? Did you pick them up? What am I to throw at Emmy now?”

Supposing, Caroline mused, she used that finger trick on Hurst. He likely wouldn’t waste another second with Lady Jacquelyn. Not if she could make him thrill to her touch the way Braden Granville had thrilled her. . . .

“Quiet, both of you,” Lady Bartlett hissed. “The curtain! Oh, where’s your fiancé, Caroline? He’s going to miss the first number.”

“Aria, Mother,” Tommy said, tiredly.

“Number, aria.” Lady Bartlett began to fan herself. “Is anyone else overwarm? Tommy, are you feeling warm? Would you like to borrow my fan?”

Fortunately, the music swelled, drowning out Lady Bartlett’s voice. But it could not drown out Caroline’s thoughts, which were centered around the extraordinary interview she’d had with a man she’d quite firmly put out of her mind just a day or so before. Braden Granville’s touch hadn’t just awakened Caroline physically; it had also awakened something she had almost given up—hope.

And hope was something she very badly needed, particularly when, midway through the second act, Emily elbowed her, and indicated Braden Granville’s box. Jacquelyn Seldon was making her way toward her seat. A few minutes later, Caroline felt a disturbance in her own box, and glanced over her shoulder to see Hurst sinking into his own seat.

“Beastly long line,” he informed them, under his breath, “at the refreshment table.”

Caroline darted a quick glance in Braden Granville’s direction. Had he noticed? Had he seen that his fiancé and hers had both been gone from their seats for the same amount of time? Evidently not. He was examining his program in the light from the stage, and no matter how many times she looked at him throughout the rest of the evening, she never once caught him looking her way again.

Well, and why should he? She had put him in his place, hadn’t she? Given him a well-deserved dressing down.