The Nobody: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) Read online

  Kilverton’s eyes flew to her face in a look of startled inquiry. What he saw there made him catch his breath. Caitlin’s eyes were wide and misty, inches from his own, their expression fierce and sultry.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He stared at her for half a heartbeat, unbelieving. This precious, unattainable girl was lifting her face to his, asking for his kiss! It was the most erotic suggestion he had ever heard. It would take a stronger man than Richard Kilverton to resist. To him she seemed impossibly lovely, infinitely dear. He forgot everything but the lips turned up to his.

  Caitlin had no time to regret her words, or think better of the impulse that had prompted them. Kilverton’s arms crushed her to him with a startling ferocity. She found herself clinging to him, and gasped at the novelty of powerful shoulders beneath her fingers, of his tall, lean body crushed against her own. Her instinctive response to his very masculinity bewildered her, but there was no time to accustom herself. His mouth touched hers and she was immediately plunged into a new flood of sensations.

  She was completely unprepared for the totality of this experience. It was impossible to tell where emotion left off and sensation began. His mouth was softer than she had thought possible, warmer than she remembered, thrilling in a way she had never imagined. His lips took hers with a fierce, dizzying possessiveness. He overpowered her, and she found herself yielding eagerly. It was astonishing, it was terrifying, it was glorious.

  Her swift response set Kilverton’s heart racing. He began to slow and soften the kiss, knowing this was a mad thing to do. Warnings sounded in the back of his mind, but he ignored them. She was so sweet! She tasted like summer, and music, and the fulfillment of every longing his heart had ever known.

  And she tasted of champagne.

  It was this that made him eventually, reluctantly, lift his mouth from hers. The sight of her face still turned up to his, eyes closed, her soft lips still parted for him, almost unmanned him. He uttered a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh, and clutched her to his heart. Champagne and moonlight! he thought wryly. I have taken ungentlemanly advantage of a romantic girl’s inexperience! Still, he could not resist kissing the top of her head. A sweet, subtle fragrance clung to her hair.

  Lord Kilverton had a shoulder very conveniently placed for a tall lady’s cheek. Caitlin felt his lips in her hair and sighed blissfully. She wished nothing more than to stand here forever, feeling his strong arms around her, forgetful of everything but the intimacy of this moment. His kiss had left her dazzled, shaken, and utterly content.

  Kilverton, however, was far from content. The kiss had aroused more in him than mere emotion, and some time passed before he trusted himself enough to speak. He had no wish to let her go, but finally forced himself to hold her gently away from him. He took a deep breath, his fingers tightening on her arms.

  “I should not have done that, Miss Campbell. I apologize.”

  There was a shocked silence. “What do you mean?” she whispered. He saw the hurt and bewilderment in her eyes and cursed himself silently.

  “I mean that—as usual, it seems—my manners deserted me the instant I found myself alone with you.”

  She pulled herself out of his grasp. He watched as she tried pitifully to collect her wits and regain a measure of dignity. She folded her arms and hugged herself, an unconscious gesture that almost brought tears to his eyes. It was as if she was protecting her heart from further wounding.

  She took a ragged breath and managed to smile crookedly. “There is no need to apologize, Lord Kilverton. I believe I—” She stopped, and he saw pain flicker in her eyes before she continued. “I asked for it, did I not? Literally, it seems.”

  He had shamed her. This was intolerable. Impulsively, he reached to comfort her—then let his arm drop impotently back to his side. She was not his to comfort. “You asked for it very sweetly,” he said unsteadily. Memory gripped him, and he thrust it out of his mind. He feared he might ravish her if he pictured again the look on her face, and her voice whispering Kiss me. “But it was my part, as a gentleman, to resist the temptation. I had a duty to protect you. I failed, Miss Campbell. Pray do not blame yourself.”

  The hurt in Caitlin’s eyes deepened, and she looked down to hide her shame. How could he apologize for what had seemed to her the most transcendent experience of her life? It must have struck him quite differently. She blushed to think how idiotic she must appear to him—how vulgar—how wanton! She had disgraced herself indeed.

  She did her best to speak lightly. “This is a nonsensical discussion, is it not? I threw myself at your head. It is I who owe you an apology, Lord Kilverton.”

  “But I began it.”

  Caitlin looked up at him, puzzled. “Began it? How?” She cast her mind back, in some confusion.

  “If you will recall, Miss Campbell, I was on the point of—of making a declaration.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “A most improper declaration, under the circumstances.”

  Oh, yes. She had been in the grip of so much emotion at the time, she had barely been listening. Now she remembered.

  “You were expressing, I think,” she said slowly, “a fear that—that your sentiments were already known to me. You believed they had caused me embarrassment.” She tried to smile. “Well! Whatever your sentiments failed to do, my own have done—abundantly. It is absurd to stand here and argue about whose fault it was. I suggest we return to Lady Selcroft’s soiree and forget what happened here.”

  She intended to walk away. It was very odd that she found herself pulled back into Lord Kilverton’s arms. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but once she was there it didn’t seem possible to leave.

  His voice was low, but charged with emotion. “Can you forget what just passed between us? I cannot.”

  A rush of relief, joy, longing, and sorrow shot through Caitlin. It had meant something to him, after all. She tried to shake her head, but as it was pressed against his shoulder this was unsuccessful. She found she must lean back against his arms and look into his face. Once she had done this, she found she could not speak. However, it did not seem necessary to speak.

  He lifted one hand and gently touched her face. “So sweet,” he whispered, and kissed her again. He did not crush her against him this time, but kissed her softly, delicately, as if she might be breakable. She closed her eyes, letting her lips cling to his, willing this moment to never end. When it did, she opened her eyes slowly, feeling dazed and oddly breathless. His hands slid lightly down her arms, and took her hands in a firm clasp.

  “Miss Campbell—Caitlin—I must have your answer before I—” He stopped, and took another deep breath. “If I were free to do so, I would lay my heart at your feet. Do you understand that?”

  She nodded dumbly, wondering how it was possible to feel wretched and joyous at the same time.

  His grip on her hands tightened, and his eyes searched hers painfully. “I must know. If I were free—if I could come to you with a clear conscience—how would you answer me?”

  She felt her breath stop. Answer him? How would she answer him? His question shattered all that remained of her defenses. The hopeless dreams she had kept at bay until now suddenly, vividly, materialized in her imagination. She could no longer fight them. Her longing overcame her reason, and a dizzying wave of feelings swept her.

  Lord Kilverton’s anxious eyes continued to hold hers. “You hesitate! I am answered. Miss Campbell, if I have jumped to the wrong conclusion I beg your pardon—”

  It was impossible to think clearly with Lord Kilverton touching her. She snatched her hands away. “Oh, hush!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “How can you stand there and talk such fustian to me? You are not answered—I have not answered you. I cannot answer you! Let me think—I have not considered—” Reality returned, and she covered her face with her hands. “This is pointless. You are asking me to consider the impossible.”

  His voice was salted with bitter amusement. “Miss Campbell, I have done nothing b
ut consider the impossible for many days now.”

  She shrugged helplessly. “But why? To what purpose? I do not understand.”

  She felt his arms go round her again with sudden savagery. “By all means, let us have it in plain English! I am sick of this maundering.” He pulled her hands away from her face and cupped it firmly with his own, forcing her to meet his eyes. “The idea of marriage with anyone other than your own precious self has become intolerable to me. If it were possible to secure your hand, I would do anything—anything at all—to win it.”

  Her pulse jumped beneath his fingers, and he smiled tenderly at her. “I am such a coxcomb, you know, that I have come to believe my advances might not be unwelcome to you.”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “What an odd idea, my lord.”

  “Yes, isn’t it? I only wish I were free to test the truth of it.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “I wish you were, too.”

  He pulled her back into his arms and held her fiercely. “I must break my engagement.”

  Despair and guilt caught in Caitlin’s throat. “You cannot do so.”

  “I must try. But it will cause a great deal of unpleasantness, I fear, and I cannot tell what the outcome may be. I do not wish to take such a step without some assurance from you.”

  Her voice was almost inaudible. “What assurance can I possibly give you?”

  He sighed. “Why, none at all. You can promise me nothing, and—however much I may wish to—I can promise you nothing. I may not succeed in freeing myself, and until I do, I have no right to ask anything of you. But I have an overbearing disposition, as you have pointed out! I know you have not had time to consider, and it was absurd to think you could give me an answer tonight. But give me some hope, Caitlin.” He laid his cheek against her hair. “Only a little hope. Is that too much to ask?”

  To his surprise, a chuckle escaped her. “When I consider my behavior during the past half hour, and observe that I am even now clinging to you in a most improper fashion, I am astonished you are asking so little.”

  His laugh rumbled against her ear. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

  She nodded shyly into his shoulder. “It is as close to ‘yes’ as I dare go,” she whispered.

  Despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that lay ahead, it was impossible to feel anything at this moment but elation. A rush of optimism caused Kilverton to exclaim, “It is settled, then! I will go to Elizabeth tomorrow morning and we will discuss the matter like reasonable beings. She cannot wish to marry a man whose heart she can never have! Why, nothing but misery could result from such a match. She will release me—and I will come to you—and I will hope, Miss Campbell.”

  Chapter XIX

  The next morning, the Duke of Arnsford’s second footman presented himself in the morning room to announce the arrival of Lord Kilverton to Her Grace and the young ladies. It was the first time Lord Kilverton had visited the ducal mansion in nearly three weeks, and the footman would have given much to know the meaning of the glance exchanged between Her Grace and Lady Elizabeth. However, Her Grace merely said, “Show him up, William,” and so William was forced to withdraw before he could hear anything interesting.

  “Gracious!” cried Lady Winifred, a pert and unpleasant child of fourteen. “I vow, I’ve almost forgotten what Lord Kilverton looks like.”

  Two of Winifred’s older sisters saw fit to snigger at this witticism, but Lady Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with anger. Her Grace spoke freezingly before Elizabeth could lose her temper.

  “Winifred, Caroline, and Augusta—you will all three go immediately to the schoolroom. Elizabeth and I shall receive his lordship in private.”

  The nasty smiles were instantly wiped from three faces as the girls chorused, “Yes, Mama,” and rose meekly to depart. Augusta appeared somewhat vexed by this dismissal to the schoolroom, as she was nearly twenty years old, but she did not dare to cross her mother—or, for that matter, her sister Elizabeth.

  When her sisters had gone, Elizabeth nervously patted her hair and twitched her fichu into place. Richard had apparently not courted Miss Campbell’s company last night at his mother’s soiree, but neither had he stayed at his fiancée’s side. At one point, in fact, he had disappeared for over an hour. She dreaded discovering the meaning of this morning’s interview. “Do not desert me, Mama!” she implored under her breath, just before the door opened to admit their caller.

  There was a gravity in Lord Kilverton’s demeanor, and a martial light in his eye, never before seen by Elizabeth. She carefully ignored these alarming signals and advanced with her hand held out, her face wreathed in smiles.

  “Richard! How pleasant this is! What brings you out so early in the day?”

  He took her hand briefly and bowed. “The hope that I might claim a fiancé’s right to some time alone with you, Elizabeth. How do you do, Your Grace? I trust you will excuse us for a few minutes?”

  “How do you do, Kilverton?” pronounced Her Grace, majestically ignoring his request and waving him to a chair. “Your visit is extremely apropos. Elizabeth and I wish to request your opinion on several matters. September is not so very far away, you know, and an event of this magnitude requires careful planning. We are expecting several hundred guests at the wedding breakfast. Elizabeth and I had thought to hold it on the South Lawn, but if the weather should be inclement would you object to moving the breakfast indoors?”

  Elizabeth picked up her mother’s cue and rushed into speech. “Oh, yes! Of course we meant to ask you, Richard. Delacourt has an enormous ballroom. It would certainly hold everyone, but the decor is rococo—quite definitely rococo! Do you think it might be too ornate for a breakfast?”

  Kilverton was nonplussed. “Well, really, I—”

  Elizabeth interrupted him rather feverishly. “There is the gallery, you know! It might be considered odd to serve a wedding breakfast in a gallery, but it is extremely large and all the windows face south, so even on a rainy day the gallery has a great deal of light. I think light gives a cheerful aspect, don’t you? Yes, all things considered, I believe I prefer the gallery to the ballroom.”

  By this time, Kilverton was frowning. “I have seen neither room, Elizabeth, so I can hardly be expected to have an opinion.”

  Elizabeth uttered a gay and tinkling laugh that made the hairs on the back of Kilverton’s neck stand up. “Oh, well, we did not like to make all the arrangements without you, you know! After all, it will be your wedding as much as mine.”

  Kilverton took a deep breath, but the duchess forestalled him, “Very true, my love, but we cannot expect gentlemen to enter into the spirit of planning a wedding with the same interest we do. It will be our place, Elizabeth—yours and mine—to arrange and to execute all the details that will make your wedding day run smoothly. I recall your grandmother saying to me—” And she launched into a lengthy and boring anecdote regarding her own wedding, the only point of which, so far as Richard could see, being that her husband must have been as reluctant a bridegroom as he himself was. For the first time, Richard felt a twinge of sympathy for the luckless Duke of Arnsford.

  Courtesy forbade him to interrupt the duchess, but as soon as she paused for breath Kilverton determinedly entered the conversation, no longer caring if he appeared rude. “I fear I cannot spare my entire morning to you ladies. Before I go, I would like to request a few minutes alone with Elizabeth—immediately!”

  Elizabeth shot a despairing glance at her mother, but Her Grace was unable to think of any reasonable objection. Once a couple were betrothed, it was absurd to pretend they required a chaperon. Seeing that her redoubtable mother was, for once, at a loss, Elizabeth forced out another high, breathless laugh.

  “Well, really, Richard, I cannot imagine why you would need to see me alone. Anything you wish to say to me you may say before my mother.”

  “You are mistaken,” said Richard grimly, striking terror into Elizabeth’s heart. “Would you care to step into the drawing room, Elizabeth, o
r do you prefer the salon? It is immaterial to me.” He rose and held the door open for her as he spoke. Thus challenged, Elizabeth felt she had no choice but to comply. She rose stiffly. Kilverton bowed to the duchess and led Elizabeth to the small salon off the entry hall, where he firmly shut the door—greatly disappointing William, who had lingered in the hall hoping to witness just such a scene as was doubtless about to occur.

  Once alone with him, Elizabeth faced her fiancé squarely, her eyes now glittering with the light of battle. “What is it you wish to say to me?” she demanded. “I take leave to tell you, Richard, I find your conduct most extraordinary! How dare you absent yourself for two weeks without a word of explanation, and then demand a private interview? I expect an apology, my lord.”

  This was going to be even more difficult than Kilverton had foreseen. He felt all the guilt and embarrassment natural to a man who was about to do something he feared was not quite honorable, plus a stab of pity for Elizabeth. It cost him an effort to meet her gaze, but he did so, reminding himself that the happiness of three people was at stake—his own, Elizabeth’s, and most importantly, Miss Campbell’s.

  “You have my apology,” he said gently. “I am sorry, Elizabeth—sorrier than I can say—for whatever pain I have inflicted, and the pain I fear I am about to inflict on you.”

  Elizabeth clutched the back of a chair, feeling suddenly faint. He cannot jilt me, she reminded herself desperately. He cannot! Meanwhile, Kilverton launched into a rehearsed speech.

  “You have spoken to me repeatedly about the many ways in which our opinions and outlooks differ, Elizabeth. You have pointed out, and carefully explained to me, the gulf that lies between us on almost every issue of importance. I have come to the conclusion that I agree with you on this, if nothing else, and I wish to assure you that I will bear you no ill-will—none whatsoever!—should you wish to be released from your promise. In fact, I will do whatever I can to smooth the way for you and make that decision easier.”