Mrs. Dove-Lyon tilted her head toward Caroline. “Well?”
Caro nodded. Her throat seemed to be closing in on itself, but she managed to add, “He’s correct.”
The Black Widow clapped slowly. “Congratulations, Lord Foxton. You’ve just won yourself a wife.”
Caroline jumped from her chair, sending it careening backward and to the ground. Before the clatter finished echoing, she had bowed, clapping her hat fast to her head, and somehow used language to take her leave.
She fled to the widow’s private room, slamming herself inside it even as she heard the widow and Felix entering the hallway.
“Would you care to meet your future wife?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, voice muffled.
Future wife.
Caroline was going to marry Felix.
Thisnot the plan.
She paced the room, tearing at the cravat until it hung limp, unwinding it and tossing it to the floor. The jacket followed. The hat too. Her gown was shoved in her bag on the other side of the room, but she needed out of these clothesnow. Everything strangled her. Just as a marriage to Felix would. Gone the waistcoat, shirt ripped out of the britches, yanked off, dropped to the floor, fingers flying at the fall—
Voices beyond the door.
“Wait, my lord,” the Black Widow said, “I know you are eager to meet her, but—”
“Tell me who she is before you introduce us.” He knew. Heknew. She’d release him. Of course she would. Marrying this man was impossible.
She rushed across the room for her valise and wrenched it open as the door burst open. She grappled inside for the gown, and the door shut softly.
“Lord Foxton!” Mrs. Dove-Lyon cried. “I have not given you permission to enter my private rooms.”
“I think I know the bride. Indeed, we’re good friends.”Felix.That voice like honey. It dripped across every inch of her exposed skin. And she exposed too much of that at the moment. “Caro, I can see you. Stop pretending.”
One leg behind the screen, she froze as if his voice controlled her.
Footsteps coming closer, then stopping.
She would not look.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon, is this my bride?”
“Yes.”
Caro squeezed her eyes tight. Perhaps she’d disappear into the darkness.
“May we have a moment of privacy?” Felix asked. Soft voices could be dangerous. His certainly was.
“Ten minutes,” the Black Widow said. “Then I return. I’m aware much can be done in ten minutes, but I’d prefer any action taken in this room to be of the dressing variety, not theundressing kind.”
“Naturally,” Felix said, voice still soft.
The door opened and closed, and then Caroline knew by the buzzing silence growing louder and thicker around them—they were alone.
And she was half-dressed.
And the man she was now contractually obligated to marry had just reached out and tweaked a curl at her neck. His gloves were soft. She shivered. Then bolted away from him. The screen offered blessed privacy, but it did not save her from his voice. Honey, softness, danger.
Of course, the first thing he said to her in private would be about her breasts.
“It cannot be good for your breasts to bind them like that.” That’s what he’d said. What he’d considered saying and thankfully kept behind his lips:let me help you free them.
