“I—” She broke her words off, not willing to mortify herself by saying she'd hoped he would be that husband.

But he could obviously read her thoughts, for he turned away from her and said, “I won't marry you. I can't marry you.”

She scrambled for her clothing, begging a prayer to God that she wouldn't start to cry. “I never said you had to.”

He turned around. “Do you understand me?”

“I'm quite proficient in English.” Her voice caught. “I know all the big words, remember?”

He gazed upon her face, which wasn't nearly as stoic as she'd hoped. “Christ, I never meant to hurt you.”

“It's a little late for that.”

“You don't understand. I can never marry. My heart belongs to another.”

“Your heart belongs to a dead woman,” she spat out. She immediately clapped her hand to her mouth, horrified by her venomous tone. “Forgive me.”

He shrugged fatalistically as he handed her one of her slippers. “There is nothing to forgive. I took advantage of you. For that I apologize. I am only glad I had the presence of mind to stop when I did.”

“Oh, Blake,” she said sadly. “Eventually, you're going to have to allow yourself to stop hurting. Marabelle is gone. You're still here, and there are people who love you.”

It was as close to a declaration as she was willing to make. She held her breath, waiting for his reply, but he just handed her her other slipper.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I'll go inside now.”

“Yes.” But when she didn't immediately move he said. “Do you plan to sleep in the washing room?”

“I hadn't really thought about it.”

“I'd give you my bed but I don't trust Penelope not to come in and check on me in the night. She occasionally forgets her younger brother has grown up.”

“It must be nice to have a sister.”

He looked away. “Take the pillows and blankets off my bed. I'm sure you can fashion something comfortable.”

She nodded and started to walk away.

“Caroline?”

She whirled around, hope flaring in her eyes.

“Lock the door behind you.”

Chapter 17

es-cu-lent (adjective). Suitable for food, eatable.

I have often heard that even the nastiest of food seems virtuous and esculent when one is hungry, but I disagree. Gruel is gruel, no matter how loud one's stomach rumbles.

—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent

Caroline awoke the following morning to a knock on the bathroom door. At Blake's order, she'd turned the key in the lock the night before—not because she thought he would try to ravish her in the night, but because she wouldn't put it past him to check the door just to see if she'd followed orders. And she certainly didn't want to give him the satisfaction of scolding her.

She'd slept in her chemise, and she wrapped herself in a blanket before opening the door a crack and peeking out. One of Blake's gray eyes was peering back at her.

“May I come in?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you have breakfast?”

“Madam, I haven't had access to decent food for nearly twenty-four hours. I was hoping Perriwick had brought you something to eat.”

She opened the door. “It isn't fair for the servants to punish your sister. She must be starving.”

“I imagine she'll eat well enough at teatime. You're expected to pay a visit, remember?”

“Oh yes. How are we meant to manage that?”

He leaned against a marble washbasin. “Penelope has already ordered me to send for you in my finest carriage.”

“I thought you only had one carriage.”

“I do. That's beside the point. I'm to send a carriage to your…ah…home to pick you up.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “I should like to see that. A carriage rolling up to the washing room. Tell me, would you bring it by way of your bedroom or the servant's stairs?”

He shot her a look that said he wasn't amused. “I'm to have you back here in time for a four o'clock visit.”

“What am I supposed to do before then?”

He looked around the room. “Wash?”

“That isn't funny, Blake.”

There was a moment of silence, then he said quietly, “I'm sorry about what happened last night.”

“Don't apologize.”

“But I must. I took advantage of you. I took advantage of a situation that can go nowhere.”

Caroline gritted her teeth. Her experience the previous night was the closest she'd felt to being loved in years. To have him say he was sorry it had happened was unbearable. “If you apologize again I shall scream.”

“Caroline, don't be—”

“I mean it!”

He nodded. “Very well. I'll leave you alone then.”

“Ah yes,” she said with a wave of her arm, “my oh-so-fascinating life. There is so much to do here, I really don't know where to start. I thought I might wash my hands, and after that my toes, and if I'm really ambitious I might attempt my back.”

He frowned. “Would you like me to bring you a book?”

Her demeanor changed instantly. “Oh, would you please? I don't know where I left that pile I was planning to bring up yesterday.”

“I'll find them.”

“Thank you. When should I…ah…expect your carriage?”

“I suppose I shall have to order the carriage a bit before half three, so why don't you be ready on the hour for me to spirit you to the stables?”