She was panting softly when he finally lifted his head. “Now do as you’re told,” he muttered. “And if it matters,” he added, gruff and low, “I can say I love you.”
“So, you can say it when you want sex,” she mocked.
“And you can stop breaking my balls when you want sex,” he returned, his voice velvet soft. “Or was that someone else I heard panting.”
“Very well. You’re right and I’m wrong. But you needn’t go to such outrageous lengths as marriage to have sex.” Her brows rose faintly and the corners of her mouth tilted upward in a seductive smile. “Put me down, lock the door and we’ll have sex under this mural of a Tuscany sky in summer.” If she could keep him here, eventually Will would come looking for her and she wouldn’t be spirited away as though she were living in some long ago age.
“Sorry. I’d prefer my own home.” Simon grinned. “But it was a good try.”
Suddenly arching her back, she kicked out violently and started pummeling him, trying to break free. Ignoring her struggles, he just gripped her more firmly, opened the door and walked out into the corridor without so much as a glance for possible observers.
“Follow me,” he said brusquely, nodding at Aubrey between Caroline’s flailing blows.
Then he broke into a run.
He knew she was going to scream.
He also knew it wouldn’t matter because he’d be out the door before anyone could stop him. He was running full out as Caroline’s cry erupted. He’d almost reached the entrance hall before she drew in another breath and while the servants on duty looked startled as she screamed for help, none dared stop a noble of such eminence as the Duke of Hargreave. Although, even eminence aside, his fierce expression and formidable size would have deterred any interference.
The party in the great hall continued apace, the holiday revelers blithely unaware that Netherton Castle’s governess was being abducted. While Will, dutiful and obliging, waited patiently in the study.
In anticipation of a possible hasty exit, Simon had left Templar with a groom in the courtyard. Quickly mounting, he settled Caroline on his lap with only minor difficulty considering she was fiercely contesting her removal with sharp blows to his head. Wrapping his cape around her, he pinned her arms to her sides as he put spurs to his powerful black. Tucking in the folds of the cape to protect her from the cold with one hand, he guided his mount through the passage leading to the castle gateway. He didn’t wait for the bishop; Aubrey was capable of keeping up.
He nodded to the guards at the gate, but took the precaution of holding Caroline’s face hard against his shoulder, muffling her cries. He didn’t want to risk one of them not recognizing him in the darkness and using their weapon, although it looked as though they’d imbibed their share of holiday punch as they waved him out. But the moment they clattered across the drawbridge, Simon whipped his horse and released his hold on Caro’s head.
Let her scream. Templar had stretched out into a pounding gallop, his huge strides lengthening, picking up speed.
And no one was going to follow them on Twelfth Night.
Chapter 22
The ride to Kettleston Hall was brief and surprisingly silent. Once they’d left the castle, Caroline decided it was pointless to scream; it would be like baying at the moon. And her throat actually hurt from shrieking at the top of her lungs-as if it had done her any good, she sullenly noted. For which Simon was entirely to blame. As he was for this entire, ridiculous, senseless, outrageously outdated abduction. Why he couldn’t act like a normal, well-behaved man was beyond her. Although with Simon that might be asking entirely too much. In any case, she alone was going to be in charge of her liberation and to that purpose, as she lay mute in Simon’s arms, she systematically surveyed her… relatively limited options as it turned out.
Since Simon had what he wanted, it mattered little to him whether Caroline talked or not. But he was grateful she’d stopped screaming. Ignoring Caroline’s outcries had stretched the limits of his patience. Taking advantage of her protesting lull, he reviewed the schedule of events planned for Kettleston Hall. Hopefully, all his directions had been received and since they were riding double, Aubrey should soon overtake them. Once they reached the house, he’d remind Aubrey again to keep the ceremony brief. Caroline was unpredictable. Like now. He glanced down, wondering if she’d fallen asleep.
She looked at him from under her lashes. “I’m planning your demise.”
And then, of course, in other ways, she was completely predictable.
He hoped he wouldn’t have to truss her for the ceremony.
Even having to travel by the roads, the journey to Kettleston Hall wasn’t long. On reaching the drive, Simon saw the fresh coach tracks and smiled. Good. Everything had arrived from London.
Tapers were burning beside the front door, the house was alight. He took note of the facade for the first time as they rode up the drive, pleased to see his purchase had clean lines. Some regional architects were eclectic in their tendencies, thinking more was better. The simple four-square brick house, flanked by graceful wings had a pleasing purity of design. He surveyed the three stories, the windows on every floor glowing with candlelight and wondered which of the windows were those of the master suite.
He’d sent orders ahead to prepare the rooms.
And the chapel.
He glanced down at Caro and smiled. Her eyes were shut now. She was pouting. But then he knew how to alter that pout He’d learned how years ago.
Grooms came running up as they approached the entrance, familiar faces from his home in London. He’d sent a small contingent of servants north.
Dismounting with Caro in his arms, he surreptitiously glanced at her, hoping she wouldn’t make a scene. Although, scene or not, he would marry her. He’d not once changed his mind on that score since he’d left Louvois’s house in Paris. And while he may not know what love was, raw desire he knew. His craving for her had consumed his thoughts, destroyed his peace of mind, and had withstood a serious attempt to drink it into oblivion.
So, he’d traveled three days over hellish roads.
And curbed his tongue at Netherton Castle.
In order to marry a woman who said she didn’t want him.
In a way, he was glad Caro was so far from London.
He would have been ridiculed mercilessly by his friends had his nuptials taken place there.
While the betting books at the clubs would have been filled with predictions on the birth date of their first child-and all the gossipy females would have been counting on their fingers. They still might He grimaced, the issue of birth dates bringing a contentious matter to mind.
The front door opened and a butler came hurrying out, curtailing Simon’s disconcerting thoughts.
As the elderly man approached them, his expression took on a note of concern. “Is the lady ill, my lord?”
Simon had been wondering as much himself, both Caroline’s silence and compliance unusual.
“She’s fatigued,” he said, hoping Caroline wouldn’t say something outrageous.
“I am tired,” Caroline remarked. While she had no scruples about venting her spleen on Simon, she didn’t wish to embarrass the old butler.
“Why don’t we get you inside where it’s warm?” Simon offered, moving toward the door. “By the way, I’m Hargreave,” Simon added, turning to the butler who was keeping pace.
“So we assumed, my lord. I’m Eaton, Your Grace, and this is my wife, Mrs. Hopper,” he added, beckoning to a woman who was hanging back at the entrance. “She’s been housekeeper to Viscount Manley for some twenty-odd years.”
Stopping just short of the door, Simon smiled at the plump woman bobbing a curtsy. “I’m hoping you can serve me as well. I presume the staff is still all in place.”