Midnight Lover Read Free Page A

once more at the mercy of old friends the way she'd been left a thousand times in the past. In his last few letters he'd mentioned owning a saloon, but that was obviously an invention meant to soothe his daughter's mounting suspicions. As it was, the only things she could call her own were her sterling silver brush and comb, her collection of china plates, and that blasted trunk upstairs filled with the pathetic accumulation of her father's forty-two years on this earth.
    Caroline sighed, her nostrils quivering at the scent of generations of Wentworth dust that rose from the Turkey rug at her feet. Emily Addison continued to run on about Aaron's grace and consummate style; Thomas's murmurs of assent echoed throughout the drawing room like a Greek chorus of one.
    This is it, Caroline thought wildly. Her future stretched before her, an endless string of days and nights in this polite and boring drawing room as Emily Addison drank her way through countless bottles of Madeira provided by her doting, thoughtful son.
    Caroline stood up and smoothed the skirt of her black mourning dress and tried to control the panic building inside her. Through the years she'd learned the importance of keeping one's emotions private; things like softness and sentimentality and fear could always be used against you. "If you'll excuse me, perhaps I'll go upstairs and finish going through Father's things."
    Emily took another medicinal sip of Madeira and dabbed at her eyes with her limp handkerchief. "Oh, my dear, do you think you should? So much heartache for one day, so much—" Her words drifted off into another ladylike series of sobs.
    This time to Caroline's surprise, Thomas ignored his mother and walked Caroline into the center hallway. "I apologize for Mother. Crying is one of the things she does best."
    "Let her cry,' Caroline said. "Someone should cry for him." God knew his daughter was finding it hard.
    He reached for her hand. "I'm here for you, Caro. If you should find yourself needing a shoulder to cry upon, I can provide one."
    For the first time since she'd learned of her father's death, Caroline's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you, Thomas," she said, her voice low. "I'll remember that."
    One thing Caroline Bennett never did was cry and she struggled to hide this unexpected rush of emotion from Thomas. He was a good man; it wasn't his fault if his fawning deference toward women reminded her sharply of her father.
    Thomas apparently took her silence as encouragement and he went to put his arm about her shoulder, but she moved just beyond reach.
    "I'm tired," she said. "If you'll excuse me..."
    She climbed the first step but still he held onto her hand.
    "I know this has been an exhausting day for you, Caro, but there's something I'd like to talk about." He rested one foot on the bottom step and moved closer until she could clearly see the flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes. "We've had an understanding, you and I, an unspoken understanding, I'll grant you, that—"
    She closed her eyes. "Thomas, please—"
    "—that I have been remiss in allowing to continue unexplored for so long."
    She met his eyes once again and took a deep breath. "Go on, Thomas."
    "When your father left sixteen months ago, he left certain—" He seemed to struggle for the precise word. "—responsibilities on my shoulders."
    She straightened her own narrow shoulders and climbed another step, forcing him to look up to meet her eyes. "And what kinds of responsibilities were they, Thomas?"
    "The responsibilities a father has toward his daughter."
    Caroline stiffened. "If Father found his responsibilities toward me to be too difficult to endure, he had no right to inflict those same responsibilities upon someone else. Had you but told me, I would have—"
    Thomas raised his hand to silence her. "Let me finish, Caro. There are also the responsibilities a man has toward the woman he loves."
    "Don't, Thomas."
    "It's long overdue, Caro."
    "This isn't the time."
    "I can