A Rose At Midnight. Jacqueline Navin

callused—now how did an aristocrat acquire calluses?—and wondered what it would be like to have him touch her, hold her in the manner in which, as she understood it, a husband holds a wife. He was not a tender man. Submitting to him.that way, well, it could be unpleasant, she imagined. Yet her blood raced and a strange heat stole up her neck as she continued to stare.

      Thankfully, he did not seem to notice her inconvenient diversion. “It must be stated openly that though this is a marriage of convenience for both of us, there can be no question of separate bedrooms or continued chastity. Nor, until my death, shall there be any lovers, discreetly met or otherwise. Are you agreed?”

      She snapped her head up, focusing on his handsome face. Taking refuge in a haughty look, she answered, “Sir, I assure you I am well aware of the process by which babes are made. I would not have troubled you with my application in the first place if I were not prepared to submit to such doings, knowing as I do the importance of a child to be conceived before your death.”

      He eyed her speculatively. “You say you are knowledgeable about the act of sex. I must respectfully inquire if you are a virgin.”

      She bristled. “I said I was aware of the process, not an expert. Yes, my lord, I assure you I am a virgin.”

      “Good,” he asserted, “there can be no question of another man’s child precluding the conception of my seed. And now, I must inquire if you are in good health.”

      “I am.”

      “Is there any history of madness in your family?”

      “No, my lord.”

      “I will require a detailed accounting of your family history. Do not worry, I shall commission an agent to research it. I merely ask you to cooperate fully with him.”

      This was good news. She had much in her family heritage to recommend her. She just hoped he didn’t dig too deep and find out about James.

      He continued, “Again I must broach a delicate topic. Are females in your family prone to ill health? Are they typically fertile? Do you have what the doctors refer to as ‘childbearing’ hips?”

      Caroline did not blink. He had only inquired as to the health of the females of her family and so she could answer honestly, “No, yes. And.” Realization of his last query dawned. Had he actually inquired about her hips? “I-I do not know.” She paused, struggling with a hot flush of humiliation and an overwhelming urge to. She lost the battle. “Would you like to examine my teeth?”

      Good Lord, there was that smile again. Devastating. “Perhaps later,” he drawled.

      She had the notion she had impressed him favorably, this in spite of her many gaffes. He was staring at her again, with that same intent concentration. It was most disturbing, as was its potent effect on her. She found herself trembling, her body atingle, and her heart seemed not to want to beat a steady rhythm. She was acutely aware of him as a man.

      All of a sudden, she was very angry with herself. Why, she was behaving like an idiot! How well she knew the temperament of men, having been adequately acquainted with the dominant sex through the example of her father. At his knee she had learned of the callow nature of the male beast, his selfishness, his inability to allow another’s need to supersede his most capricious whim.

      Yet this man, with bald need and strangely pained eyes and soft mouth made her feel so strange, sparking to life something unidentifiable, yet not unpleasant. No, not unpleasant. But frightening all the same.

      “Well,” he said somewhat loudly, slapping his thighs and rising, “I must say, I am most pleased with our interview, Miss Wembly. May I have the references I requested? Ah, thank you. These appear to be in order. Yes, well, I shall be in contact with you as soon as the tasks are completed.”

      She rose, taking her cue to leave. The interview was over, and amazingly, he was telling her he would be proceeding to the next step.

      “Thank you for seeing me, my lord,” she said, moving to the door. As she did so, it was necessary to pass close to the earl, who seemed to be watching her with that unusual feral look he favored. As she did so, she caught a breath of his scent—a hint of soap from his morning shave and masculinely pleasant. It was then she was aware of a pressure at her waist as his large hands came to rest at the place where her skirts just started to swell. She jerked her head around, too shocked at first to protest. Firmly, he ran his hands down along the gentle flare of her hips.

      “Slim,” he murmured, his lips only inches from hers. “Hmm. I must speak to the doctors about this.”

      Outrage crept upon her as she realized he was groping her to feel if she had hips wide enough for birthing! Without thinking, she drew back her hand and let it fly, landing a smart slap upon his left cheek. His head snapped back, but otherwise he did not react.

      They both froze. Caroline was horrified by what she had done—what he had done, was still doing, in fact, for his hands remained on the sides of her derriere.

      Through gritted teeth, she snapped, “I am afraid I will not permit a trial tumble, my lord. I come to you a virgin, and will remain so until properly wed.”

      His breath fanned her face as he laughed softly. “I expected a fiery answer, and you do not disappoint me. Quite right, a proper mother of the future Earl of Rutherford should never allow a man to handle her so.” This said, he stepped back, releasing her. “Still, those hips are quite narrow. Ah, I shall speak to the authorities on these matters and decide. Until then, I trust you will be well taken care of at the inn.”

      Every nerve screamed to unleash another blow and wipe that infuriating look off his face. Instead she calmly met his eye. “As you wish, my lord.”

      He laughed at her docility, seeing it for the act it was. “You are a spitfire, Miss Wembly, and I think you could give me a fine, spirited boy.” He reached out and picked up a small bell from the table beside her and rang it.

      “Arthur will show you out. I look forward to our next encounter, Miss Wembly.” He bowed. “Until then.”

      Arthur materialized in the doorway and waited for his charge.

      “Thank you, my lord,” Caroline said and followed the manservant out of the room.

      And there it was, all so very correct. A perfectly respectable farewell. Who would have thought they had just discussed her virtue, bandied about the topic of lovemaking and suffered through gropes and blows?

      As Arthur arranged for the carriage to be brought round, Caroline cast a look about her. The magnificence of Hawking Park no longer daunted her, for it could not hold a candle to the man who owned it.

       Chapter Two

      When the earl’s phaeton dropped her at the door of the Barrister’s Ordinary, Caroline headed straight through the common room and up the stairs. She knew her mother and brother would be anxious for her return.

      The Earl of Rutherford had arranged for a suite of rooms for Caroline’s use. The parlor and two bedrooms were welcoming and infinitely pleasant after the crowded place where they had been living in London’s meanest section.

      Inside the room, Caroline only glanced at the small, thin woman by the window before moving quickly to the bed. James was sitting up, propped with a half-dozen goose down pillows behind him. His blue eyes sparkled with ex- citement. The splash of color from his auburn curls was beautiful against the crisp white linen. Every tense line of his small body spoke of his anticipation, as did the brilliant smile he gave her when she entered. From her spot by the window, Caroline’s mother took a step forward, as if to intercept her daughter, then stopped. Her hands grasped one another under her breasts as she looked her over.

      Avoiding her mother’s assessing gaze, Caroline sat on the bed. “Well, how are you doing?” she said cheerfully