He stared at her in shock. He had very nearly dishonored her. He would have taken her virginity without a backward glance. "Why are you asking?"
"Will you be all right?"
She wasn't going to leave without a response, so he nodded.
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow."
And then she was gone.
Chapter 13
dith-er (noun). A state of tremulous excitement or apprehension; also, vacillation; a state of confusion.
Just a word from him sets me in a dither, and I vow I do not like it one bit.
-From the personal dictionary of
Caroline Trent
It was Caroline's fiercest desire to avoid Blake for the next fifteen years, but as luck would have it, she quite literally bumped into him the following morning. Unfortunately for the sake of her dignity, this "bump" involved her spilling about a half-dozen rather thick books onto the floor, several of which hit Blake's legs and feet on the way down. He howled in pain, and she wanted nothing more than to howl in embarrassment, but instead she just mumbled her apologies and dropped to the carpet so that she could gather her books. At least that way he wouldn't see the bright blush that had stained her cheeks the moment she'd collided with him.
"I thought you were limiting your redecorating endeavors.to the library," he said. "What the devil are you doing with those books out here in the hall?"
She looked straight up into his clear gray eyes, Drat. If she had to see him this morning, why did she have to be on her hands and knees? "I'm not redecorating," she said in her haughtiest voice, "I'm bringing these books back to my room to read."
"Six of them?" he asked doubtfully.
"I'm quite literate."
"I never doubted that."
She pursed her lips, wanting to say that she was electing to read so that she might remain in her chamber and never have to see him again, but she had a feeling that would lead to a long, drawn-out argument, which was the last thing she wanted. "Was there anything else you desired, Mr. Ravenscroft?"
Then she blushed, really blushed. He'd made it quite clear the night before what he desired.
He waved his hand expansively-a motion she found annoyingly condescending. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. If you want to read, be my guest. Read the whole bloody library if it suits you. If nothing else, it will keep you out of trouble."
She bit back another retort, but it was growing difficult to maintain such a circumspect mouth. Hugging her books to her chest, she asked, "Has the marquis risen yet this morning?"
Blake's expression darkened before he said, "He's gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone." And then, as if she couldn't grasp the meaning of the word, he added, "Quite gone."
"But where would he go?"
"I imagine he would go just about anywhere that would remove him from our company. But as it happens, he went to London."
Her lips parted in shock. "But that leaves us alone."
"Quite alone," he agreed, holding out a sheet of paper. "Would you like to read his note?"
She nodded, took the note into her hands, and read:
Ravenscroft -
I have gone to London far the purpose of alerting More-ton to our plans. I have brought with me the copy of Prewitt's file. I realize this leaves you alone with Caroline, but truly, that is no more improper than her residing at Seacrest Manor with the both of us. Besides which, the two of you were driving me mad.
-Riverdale
Caroline looked up at him with a wary expression. "You can't like this situation."
Blake pondered her statement. No, he didn't "like" this situation. He didn't "like" having her under his roof, just an arm's reach away. He didn't "like" knowing that the object of his desire was his for the taking. James hadn't been much of a chaperone-certainly no one who could have salvaged.
"I'm fine," he said.
"It's really quite remarkable how well you can enunciate even when you talk through your teeth. But still, you don't look at all the thing. Perhaps I ought to put you to bed."
The room suddenly felt stiflingly hot, and Blake blurted out, "That is a very bad idea, Caroline."
"I know, I know. Men make the worst patients. Can you imagine if you had to deliver babies? The human race should never have made it so far."
He turned on his heel. "I'm going to my room."
"Oh, good. You should. You'll feel much better, I'm sure, if you get some rest."
Blake didn't answer her, just strode toward the stairs. When he reached the first step, however, he realized that she was still right behind him. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.
"I'm following you to your room."
"Are you doing this for any particular reason?"
"I'm seeing to your welfare."
"See to it elsewhere."
"That," she said firmly, "is quite impossible."
"Caroline," he ground out, thinking his jaw was going to snap in two at any moment, "you are trying my nerves. Severely."
"Of course I am. Anyone would in your condition. You are clearly suffering from some sort of illness."
He stomped up two steps. "I am not ill."
She stomped up one step. "Of course you are. You could have a fever, or perhaps a putrid throat."
He whirled around. "I repeat: I am not ill."
"Don't make me repeat my statement as well. We're starting to sound rather childish. And if you
don't allow me to tend to you, you'll only grow sicker."
Blake felt a pressure rising within him-something he was quite powerless to contain. "I am not ill."
She let out a frustrated sigh. "Blake, I-"
He grabbed her under her arms and hauled her up until they were nose to nose, her feet dangling helplessly in the air. "I am not ill, Caroline," he said, his words dipped and even. "I don't have a fever, I don't have a putrid throat, and I damned well don't need you to take care of me. Do you understand?"
She nodded. "Could you possibly put me down?"
"Good." He set her down on the floor with surprising gentleness, then turned and marched back up the stairs.
Caroline, however, was right behind him.
"I thought you wanted to avoid me," he snapped, whirling around to face her once he reached the landing.
"I did. I mean, I do. But you're ill, and-"
"I'm not ill!" he thundered.
She didn't say anything, and it was quite clear she didn't believe him.
He planted his hands on his hips and leaned forward until their noses were scant inches apart. "I will say this slowly so mat you will understand me. I am going to my room now. Don't follow."
She didn't listen.
"My God, woman!" he burst out, not two seconds later when she collided with him rounding the corner, "what does it take to get a command through your skull? You are like the plague, you- Oh, Christ, now what is the matter?"
Caroline's face, which had been so militant and determined in her efforts to nurse him, had positively crumpled. "It's nothing," she said with a sniffle.