My Darling Caroline by Adele Ashworth Page B

She’s a beautiful girl and she deserves a better life than that.”
    He stared at her for a long moment, taking in every feature of her face. Then slowly he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist, lingeringly, making her knees weaken and her breath quicken. She tried to pull away, but he held tightly, the corners of his mouth turning up to form a lazy grin.
    “You’d do this for us, little one?” he asked softly.
    The intimacy entranced her. “I’ll do it for Rosalyn.”
    He continued to watch her, clasping her hand, eyes darkening with intensity. Then without warning, he leaned in to brush his lips against her temple, and the suddenness coupled with the gentleness of the action made her powerless to his touch.
    “If your ideas work,” he intimated with a feathery kiss to her cheek, “I’ll have to thank you”—kiss—“personally”—kiss—“and completely.” He ran his tongue from her jaw to her ear, gently sucking the lobe.
    Caroline shuddered and instinctively leaned toward him, oblivious to all but his mouth on her skin.
    Then he brought his lips to hers, kissing her fully, with no hint of passion, just pure tenderness and warmth. After several seconds he raised his head to peer into her eyes.
    “One more thing, Caroline,” he whispered.
    She blinked, dazed.
    He grinned and cupped her face with his palms. “Rosalyn is not a flower. No experimenting on her without my approval, understood?”
    She nodded and closed her eyes, waiting for his mouth to touch hers once again. But the action was fruitless, for at that moment he released her burning cheeks and swiftly walked to the study door.
    “I’ll see you at dinner, Caroline, and wear something else,” he ordered casually, frankly. “Pink is for blondes.”
    She reached for something—anything—to throw at his face, but her insufferable husband had already quit the room.

Chapter 8
    F or two weeks she worked diligently, only to find defeat at even the smallest attempt at getting her newly acquired daughter to just sit still in her presence.
    Rosalyn spent most of her time with Nedda or running wild, even sleeping in the servants’ quarters, where she felt more comfortable. Caroline wanted to change that habit, though, for the girl was the daughter of an earl, regardless of her legitimacy, and she deserved her own room in the main house.
    But that, along with everything else, would come with time. She acknowledged the difficulty of her task, feeling certain she would eventually see results, and finally, on the seventeenth day of her struggle, she made contact.
    She and Nedda were sitting at the newly purchased dining-room table, sipping tea and discussing trivial household matters, when in came the girl, pouncing onto their housekeeper’s lap, eager for her usual afternoon snack, the fare of the day being raspberry cream tarts and lemon cakes. Still unsure of her stepmother, the child clung to Nedda and nervously watched her through piercing, hazel-green eyes.
    Caroline had been avoiding the sweets, but this was a prime opportunity to attempt communication, and what better way to communicate with the child than on her level. That thought in mind, she reached for a tart, leaned her elbows on the table, and began to eat. Rosalyn did the same, and that made her grin in satisfaction.
    “She looks a great deal like my husband, doesn’t she?”
    Nedda smiled and wiped a stray hair from Rosalyn’s face. “She really looks more like his lordship’s late mother. The Lady Maude was beautiful, the rage of society in her day.”
    Caroline, so engrossed in her own thoughts and work since her arrival, hadn’t given much consideration to Brent’s family. That was probably selfish, too, for she’d never asked him a thing about his childhood, his relationships with his friends, and now she was curious.
    “Tell me about Lord Weymerth, Nedda. What was he like growing up?”
    Nedda sighed. “Well, his childhood was the same as most men