Lady of Seduction (26 page)

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Very well. One.”

Caroline clapped her hands. “It will be such fun, Grant, you’ll see! Once we’re back in Dublin, it will all be stuffy waltzes
at the assembly rooms again, and you’ll be glad we did this.”

He tugged her down for another kiss, harder and longer. “Or we could just stay here,” he said. “And be—sensible.”

It was terribly tempting. His hands moved up her back and over her shoulders, and his body was so warm and strong against
hers. She could feel herself falling into the kiss.

“Later,” she said. “First we dance.”

He groaned and let her go. She clambered down from the bed and hurried over to the tub. The water was cold now, but she quickly
washed her face and dressed in the white muslin gown Victorine gave her. Being back in a dress again felt odd, the short,
tight sleeves confining her arm movements and the silky chemise soft against her legs. But it felt good, too. It felt like
a slight return to normalcy.

Especially when Grant sat up on the bed and watched her intently. She shook her hair over one shoulder and slowly drew her
brush through the dark waves.

“Here, let me,” he said. “You’re making the tangles worse.”

“Sorry,” she said, handing him the brush. “I’ve been without my lady’s maid for some time now.”

“Well, you’re lucky you have me then.” He gently smoothed her hair along her back, his hands taking their time as they skimmed
over her bare neck and shoulders. She barely felt the first stroke of the brush.

She had him now.
His words echoed in her mind. Did she have him? Truly? She feared he had
her.
She was captured by him, his maddening secrecy and all.

She closed her eyes and felt the slide of the brush, the touch of his hand through her thin sleeve. “You’re quite good at
this,” she murmured. “My maid pulls too hard.”

“Practice, I suppose.”

“Ah, yes.” All those mistresses in his past. Surely they all had lovely, silken hair that never tangled or snarled. Somehow
the moment’s fragile magic seemed to dim just a bit. Those mistresses were still there in Dublin, beautiful hair and everything.
Maybe once he saw them he would miss his old life after all.

“Since I’ve neglected to cut my hair for years,” he said, “I’ve had to learn to take care of it. I confess I had never fully
appreciated the trouble you ladies went to before. I’ll be a much more considerate lover in the future.”

Caroline laughed ruefully. It was silly really. Surely it was nothing to her if he did go back to his old life and his old
ways. They didn’t belong to each other, not really. Once they reached Dublin, and he fulfilled what he saw as his duty to
see her home, they could part again. Just as he said they would.

Yet she liked the new Grant. She even liked his hard
solemnity, his new awareness, his solitude. She liked his hair, too. She didn’t want to lose him to the old, glittering Grant.
Both Grants were beyond her, but when they did part, she wanted to imagine him still finding his own path through the darkness.
Just as she had to find hers.

“I’m glad you appreciate our efforts at last,” she said.

“Oh, I’ve come to appreciate many things about you, Caro,” he said as he tied off the end of the neat braid he’d made while
she daydreamed. He leaned close to the bare curve of her neck. He didn’t kiss her but instead seemed to just breathe her in,
as if he could smell her perfume, the very essence of her, and he wanted to memorize her. To make her part of him.

“I appreciate the way you tremble when I kiss you just—here,” he said. His lips brushed lightly, enticingly, over the curve
where her neck met her shoulder. “I appreciate this little mark right here.” His fingertip brushed over the bluish birthmark
below her shoulder blade, just above the edge of her dress. “It looks like a butterfly.”

“When I was a child, my nanny tried to bleach it away with buttermilk and lemon juice,” Caroline said shakily.

“I’m glad she didn’t succeed.” Grant traced the outline of the mark with the tip of his tongue.

Her breath caught in her throat. “And—Eliza would say if I’d been born a hundred years ago it would have marked me as a witch.”

“Now that I think makes sense.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her back, and she leaped off the bed.

Grant laughed and laid back amid the blankets, his arms folded behind his head. His bronze-brown hair spilled over the white
sheets. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here after all?” he said.

She wasn’t sure at all. She heard the music from downstairs, a pounding rhythm full of wild freedom and merriment. She
did
still want to dance, yet she wanted to stay, too. She wanted him, every confusing, baffling, maddening bit of him. If there
was any witchcraft here, it was all his.

She knelt by him on the bed and reached out to bury her fingers in his hair. It was like rough, raw silk to her touch, smelling
of the clean Irish wind.

“You won’t cut your hair when we get to Dublin, will you?” she said.

Grant gave a half-smile, that inscrutable crooked grin that made her heart pound all over again. “Won’t you be ashamed to
be seen with a wild Irish barbarian?”

Caroline shook her head. She ran her fingers to the ends of his hair and pressed her palms against his shoulders. They tightened
under her touch, and she felt the leashed power of his body. “I like your hair. I suppose I just like wild Irishmen.”

“Then I won’t cut it—for you. Maybe I’ll get myself a pair of leather braies and wander the streets wearing only that so everyone
can see my tattoos. I’ll shout Gaelic curses at all the passers-by and carry you off to my hut over my shoulder. Then everyone
can see just how barbaric I’ve become.”

Caroline laughed at the image of him striding up opulent Henrietta Street, shirtless and leather-clad, swinging a broadsword.
But she liked it, too—maybe too much.

“Even barbaric Irishmen know how to dance,” she said. “And I think they’re playing my favorite song.”

Grant threw his arms wide in surrender. “Very well—one dance, just for you.”

“Thank you.” Caroline leaned down and kissed him. She slid away quickly as he reached for her, before he could entice her
to stay. “Perhaps later we could find you some leather breeches?”

Grant laughed. “You like that, do you?”

Caroline didn’t answer. She scooped his clothes off the floor and tossed them at his head. “What I like is a man who dances.
Now hurry up, Sir Grant—the night is half gone.”

“And who are you, me pretty fair maid, and who are you, me honey? She answered me quite modestly—I am me mother’s darling!”

The party was in full force as Caroline and Grant came down the stairs hand-in-hand to the crowded public room. Nearly every
seat was filled, and the long trestle tables were pushed to the walls to make room for the dancers. A long line of revelers
spun and twirled down the space, seeming to follow no particular pattern of steps except their own inclinations.

Everyone seemed dressed in their best, the women with ribbons in their hair and the men in wool coats and embroidered, bright-colored
waistcoats. Even the children had clean, shining little faces and spotless smocks. The air was warm and heavy with the smell
of smoke, ale, clean wool, and the women’s lavender perfume. Barmaids hurried past with platters of fried fish and potatoes
and pitchers of ale. The musicians played in the corner, a fiddle, pipes, and bodhran, filled with more enthusiasm than talent.

Caroline stood on the bottom step to take it all in. She clapped her hands to the tune and went up on her tiptoes to study
the crowd. Everyone seemed to be having a marvelous time, and it put her in a party mood, too.

Tomorrow they would have to leave again. She would have to ride that cursed horse, and they would have to keep a careful watch
out for LaPlace’s doppelganger. Surely she could have fun tonight? Just for a little while?

On the step beside her, Grant was watchful and unsmiling. Caroline linked her arms with his and said, “Is it some sort of
holiday we’ve missed? Everyone seems so full of merriment.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he answered. He sounded suspicious, as usual.

“Well, I need some ale. Let’s try to get a seat over there.”

There was a small space open on one of the benches by the wall, and Caroline claimed it while Grant went for the ale. The
dancers swirled so close she felt their skirts brush her as they swept by, and she laughed. It had been far too long since
she went to a real party like this and far too long since she heard such music.

In fact, it was last Christmas, when she went to see Anna at Adair Court, and they held a ceilidh for all the workers and
tenants. It was a wonderful holiday with spiced wine, mistletoe, and music, just like this. Her little nephew Daniel perched
on her feet as she danced him around the room, and Anna and Conlan kissed under the mistletoe as their people cheered for
them.

Caroline suddenly missed her family with a painful longing.

“You look solemn all of a sudden,” Grant said, returning from the bar and sliding onto the bench beside her. He
handed her an overflowing mug of ale so dark it looked like molasses. “Sorry you wanted to come here?”

“Not at all.” Caroline clicked her pottery mug to his in a silent toast and took a deep drink of the potent brew. “I was just
thinking it’s been much too long since I was at such a party.”

Grant studied the gathering over the rim of his cup. He looked solemn, too, and pensive. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to
such a party. It’s very—interesting.”

Never been to such a party? In Ireland? Caroline wanted to ask him how that could possibly be. It was hard to avoid dancing
and music in their country; it seemed to be everywhere. But he appeared to be in a thoughtful mood, so she turned to the old
man who sat on her other side. His little granddaughter sat beside him, singing the words to the song as he tapped along on
the table.

The crowd here seemed different from the last inn. Mallorney Island was mostly fishermen, whereas these people appeared to
be farmers and town merchants. They seemed to be rather prosperous ones as well. Their faces were not as hardened or watchful,
and they weren’t as suspicious of strangers.

“Is it a holiday here?” she asked the old man. “I fear we’ve been traveling and have lost track of the days.”

“Aye, haven’t you heard, miss?” he said jovially. “The Peace of Amiens is over! England’s at war with France again.”

Caroline shook her head. She was saddened by the news, but not surprised. The vicomte and Grant had both said the peace wouldn’t
last. She just hoped the old gentleman and his daughter would get home safely. “And that’s cause for a holiday?”

He laughed. “Aye! It means the English will have to pay attention to the Frenchies again and leave us alone.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. The Dublin harbor had been rife with press gangs for months before the peace, men kidnapped
to reinforce England’s navy. It had caused much violence. But perhaps it was different here in this distant country town.
Maybe they were not so troubled by politics and war. But that sounded like an impossible dream—a place untouched by strife.

“You’re not from near here, are you, miss?” he asked.

Caroline took another long drink of her ale. It rather grew on her now, and her toes tingled with a fuzzy warmth. Was it the
ale—or Grant pressed so close to her side?

“No, we’re from the south,” she said. “We’re returning there now.”

“Are you?” He gave her a look of keen interest. “You wouldn’t have word of what is happening there, would you? It takes a
while for news to travel here.”

Caroline shook her head. “I fear I know as little as you. But I did hear…”

Grant suddenly took her mug from her hand and plunked it down on the table. “I thought you wanted to dance,” he said.

“Why yes, but…”

He took her hand and pulled her out into the very midst of the dancers. They were jostled and pushed by everyone swirling
around them, but Grant held her tightly by the waist and spun her around and around until she laughed dizzily. The slippers
from Victorine were too small and pinched her feet, but Caroline hardly felt it at all. She was too happy to be near Grant.

“I thought you didn’t want to dance!” she cried.

“It’s better than getting in trouble by talking politics,” he said close to her ear. “We need to get out of here with as little
trouble as possible.”

Caroline suddenly felt foolish. He was right of course; discretion was vital in days like this. Trouble waited around every
corner. She shouldn’t forget that for even a moment.

“I thought he might have some news,” she said. “And he seems harmless.”

“It’s the ones who seem harmless you most need to beware. Surely you remember that?”

The wild pattern of the dance separated them, and she found herself whirling away as the song grew faster and faster.
“I am me mother’s darling!”
She swung from one pair of arms to the next, laughing and laughing until her cheeks ached and the room turned blurry around
her.