The Ideal Bride (18 page)

 
She smiled, genuinely this time. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but I don’t think he knew anything of
your
intentions. As I understand it—and no, in the circumstances, I haven’t broached the subject with him—it was
his
intentions he was pursuing. When
 
Elizabeth
 
returned from London and admitted she hadn’t developed a
tendre
for any gentleman of the ton, Geoffrey turned his mind to what I believe he thought would be an advantageous match. He tried to sound out
 
Elizabeth , but…”

 
She caught his eye. “Geoffrey singing any gentleman’s praises was bound to put the wind up
 
Elizabeth .”

 
He raised his brows. “Especially given her attachment to Campbell.”

 
She smiled, commending his intelligence. “Precisely.”

 
As she watched, his eyes widened, his gaze momentarily distant, then he glanced at her. “Just as well
I
didn’t sound out
Geoffrey
over the possibility I came here to assess.”

 
“Indeed not—he would have taken the bit between his teeth and run.”

 
“Which would have been deuced awkward.” He caught her gaze. “It appears I have to thank you for stopping me from speaking with him—that was why you came to see me that first day, wasn’t it?”

 
A betraying warmth crept into her cheeks. “Yes.” She looked away, shrugged. “Of course, I didn’t intend to make quite such a dramatic entrance.”

 
The comment reminded Michael of that earlier incident; a shaft of pure fear lanced through him. He damped it down, pointing out to his newfound vulnerability that she was here, walking, warm and feminine, by his side.

 
They strolled for a few paces, then he murmured, “But you—you knew more definitely about my direction. How did you learn of it?” He’d decided the simplest way to make her see and appreciate the Tightness of his
new
direction was to lead her mind along the same track his had taken.

 
“ Elizabeth
 
sent frantic summonses to me and Edward—I was staying with Augusta in Derbyshire. We both thought
 
Elizabeth
 
had misinterpreted, so we stopped in London on the way down. There, however, Edward learned about your pending promotion and the Prime Minister’s directive. So I visited your aunt Harriet and she told me of your intentions regarding
 
Elizabeth .”

 
“I see.” He made a mental note to have a word to his aunt, but reading between the lines, it seemed Caro already knew all she needed to know about his present state and the reason behind his sincere need of a suitable wife.

 
Indeed, he couldn’t see any benefit in explaining further. At least not in words.

 
He glanced at her. The summerhouse built out over the ornamental lake—his chosen destination—was still some way ahead.

 
She looked up, caught his eye, and smiled—perfectly genuinely. “I’m so glad you understood about
 
Elizabeth , that you and she really wouldn’t suit.” Her smile deepened. “I’m relieved and very grateful.”

 
He returned her smile with one he hoped wasn’t wolfish. He wasn’t above exploiting her gratitude—in her own best interests, of course.

 
And his.

 
He searched for topics to keep her distracted until they gained the summerhouse’s relative privacy. “I presume you have hopes for Campbell. He’ll need to advance further before he and
 
Elizabeth
 
can hope to secure Geoffrey’s blessing.”

 
“Indeed.” She looked down, then said, “I was thinking of speaking to a few people when Parliament reconvenes. If there’s to be a reshuffle, that might well be a propitious time.”

 
He nodded. Saw no reason not to add, “If you like, I could sound out Hemmings at the Home Office, and there’s Curlew at Customs and Revenue.”

 
She looked up, her radiant smile dawning. “Would you?”

 
Taking her elbow, he guided her up the summerhouse’s steps. “Campbell’s experience is sound; I’ll watch him while I’m here and make my own assessment, but with both Camden’s and your imprimatur, it shouldn’t take much effort to set his feet on the next rung.”

 
Caro laughed, softly cynical. “True, but it does take connections.” I Walking across the summerhouse to where open arches with low railings looked out over the lake, she halted, turned, and smiled. “Thank you.”

 
He hesitated, his blue gaze on her, then walked slowly toward her.

 
Her lungs locked; with every step he took, the vise clamped about her chest tightened, until she felt light-headed. In the most severely lecturing tones she could muster, she told herself not to be stupid, to simply keep breathing, to hide her silly sensitivity at all costs—how mortifying if he should realize…

 
This was Michael—he posed no threat to her.

 
Her senses refused to listen.

 
To her mounting surprise, the closer he got, the more clearly she could read the intentness in his gaze. Realized with a jolt that he’d dropped his politician’s mask, that he was looking at her as if…

 
He didn’t stop his prowling advance.

 
Full realization struck. She felt her eyes widen. Abruptly, she swung around. Gestured to the lake. “It’s a… very pleasant view.”

 
She’d barely managed to squeeze the words out. She waited, tense, almost quivering.

 
“Indeed.” The deep murmur stirred the fine hairs at her nape.

 
Her senses flared; he was like a caressing flame burning at her back. So near. About to reach around and engulf her. Trap her

 
Panic struck, full blown.

 
“Ah”—she stepped quickly to her right, walked to the far side of the next arch—“if you stand over here, you can see down the lake to where the rhododendrons are in bloom.”

 
She didn’t dare look his way. “And look!” She pointed. “There’s a family of ducks. There’s”—she paused to count—“twelve ducklings.”

 
Senses at full stretch, she waited, mentally scanning for movement from her left.

 
Suddenly realized he’d circled to her right!

 
“Caro.”

 
She swallowed a shriek; she was so tense she felt dizzy. He was beside and just behind her; stepping left, she whirled. Her back to the other side of the arch, she stared at him. “What—just
what
do you think you’re about?”

 
Given her panic, her wide eyes, manufacturing a scowl was beyond her. Besides, this was Michael…

 
Beyond her control, puzzlement and a certain hurt filled her eyes.

 
He’d halted; he stood perfectly still, his blue gaze on her face, searching, studying… the impression she received through the jibbering of her senses was that he was as puzzled as she.

 
He tilted his head; eyes narrowing, he shifted to face her.

 
She managed to drag in a breath. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 
Her tone carried her real question; why was he panicking her, frightening her—destroying the easy if distant, comfortable friendship they had in the past, more or less until now, shared?

 
His lashes flickered, then he sighed and refocused on her face.

 
Abruptly, she realized he was as tense as she.

 
“I was, as it happens, trying to get you to stand still long enough to get my hands on you.”

 
The answer sent her panic soaring, yet even so she could barely believe her ears. She blinked, managed to summon the icily haughty cloak she desperately needed. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the Merry Widow. I do not, ever, play games of that sort.” Hearing the words, and her firm tone, bolstered her courage; she lifted her chin. “Not with you—not with any man.”

 
He didn’t move, but continued to regard her with a frown in his eyes. A long moment passed, then he asked, “What made you think I was interested in any game?”

 
A disorienting suspicion that they were talking at cross-purposes assailed her—yet she was sure they were not. There was a light in his eyes, an intent she recognized…

 
Michael took advantage of her confusion, taking two steps to stand directly before her. She tensed; before she could bolt, he closed his hands about her waist.

 
Anchoring her before him with the frame of the arch at her back, he locked eyes with her. “I have no interest whatever in
playing
at anything.”

 
Between his hands, she quivered, but her physical panic, although very much present, was having to fight a strong vein of astonishment. She’d lifted her hands, presumably to hold him off; they fluttered to rest, passive, on his chest.

 
He ignored the oddly evocative touch, waited, gave her time to calm enough to remember to breathe, to study his face, accept that he had her caught, but that he wasn’t to be classed with any of the others who’d pursued her. He was operating on a different plane with a different goal in mind. He watched her thoughts shimmer through her eyes, all but saw her gather her wits.

 
She moistened her lips, glanced fleetingly at his. “What, then?”

 
He smiled, slowly, and watched her attention fix on his lips. He bent closer, lowered his head—distracted, she didn’t immediately notice.

 
Then she did. She sucked in a breath and looked up—from a distance of mere inches met his eyes.

 
He caught her gaze. “I’m in deadly earnest.”

 
Her eyes flared, then her lids fell as he lowered his head the last inch, and kissed her.

 
Pressed his lips to hers, fully expecting some degree of chilly resistance, fully prepared to overcome it, overwhelm it. Instead… while she certainly froze, and didn’t respond, there was no resistance in her either.

 
Nothing to overcome, to overwhelm, to sweep away.

 
No attempt to hold aloof, much less break away.

 
No icy, haughty chill. Nothing. Simply nothing.

 
Caution whispered through his mind, laid a restraining hand on his intentions. Puzzled, he moved his lips gently, teasingly, over hers, trying through that simple touch to gauge, to sense her feelings. Instinct directed him to keep his hands locked at her waist, at least until he understood her, and her unexpected, elusive response.

 
It came eventually, so hesitant and uncertain he nearly drew back—just to check that this was Caro. Caro—the confidently assured ambassador’s wife of more than a decade’s standing.

 
The woman in his arms… if he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she’d never been kissed. He kept the caress light, lips skating, brushing, beckoning… it was like breathing life into a statue.

 
She was cool, but not cold, as if waiting for warmth to find her and bring her to life. The fact focused him as nothing else could have— certainly as no other woman ever had; what he was discovering through the kiss, through the slow gradual warming of her lips, all he learned from exploring their rosebud softness, all he suddenly realized from the tentative pressure she eventually returned, was so utterly out of kilter with what he’d expected—with what any man might have expected— she seized and fixed his attention completely.