He raised her hand again, lightly brushed his lips over her knuckles, then, eyes on hers, slowly, with the tip of his tongue, he traced them.
Her response was immediate and strong. A shudder racked her; she briefly closed her eyes.
Before she opened them, he shifted and pulled her to him, his other hand rising to cup and frame her jaw, to angle her face so his lips could cover hers.
He was kissing her—and she was kissing him back—before she had a chance to retreat.
Releasing her hand, he reached for her, drew her more definitely to him. As before, her hands rose to his chest, tensed as if she would resist; he deepened the kiss, and her resistance never came.
Instead… gradually, step by subtle step, he coaxed not just acceptance but willing participation from her. Initially, she seemed to believe that after the first exchange he’d stop—she seemed to be waiting for him to do so. When he didn’t, indeed made it perfectly clear he had no intention of not further indulging, tentatively, hesitantly, she joined him.
Her lips were soft, sweet, her mouth pure temptation; when she offered it, he rejoiced, and took, conscious that some part of her mind was watching, puzzled, almost surprised… why he couldn’t imagine.
She was a delight, one he savored, stretching out the simple moments as he never had before.
He caressed, claimed, then teased, ultimately taunted and got the response—a more fiery, definite, passionate response—that he’d wanted, that he knew she had it in her to give. He wanted that and more—all she had to give—but was tactician enough to realize that with her, each step and stage had to be battled for and won.
The Merry Widow was not going to yield so much as one inch without a fight.
That, very likely, was why so many had failed with her. They’d assumed they could leap ahead, overlook the preliminaries, and instead had stumbled at the very first hurdle.
Kissing her.
If, as it seemed, for some mystical reason she’d got it into her head that she was hopeless at kissing… it was difficult to seduce a woman who wasn’t willing to be kissed.
Secure in his victory, he drew her closer yet, angled his lips over hers. Her breasts brushed his chest; her arms started to slide over his shoulders, then stopped, tensed.
The carriage slowed, then turned into Bramshaw Lane.
With a gasp, she pulled back—enough to hiss his name in warning.
“
Her eyes flew wide. “Wh—”
He cut off her shocked question in the most efficient way. They had at least seven more minutes before they reached Bramshaw House; he intended to enjoy every one.
Chapter 8
Caro woke the next morning determined to regain control of her life. And her senses. Michael seemed intent on seizing both—to what end she didn’t know—however, whatever, she was
As she had been for the last half of their journey home from Lead-better Hall.
Smothering a curse at her newfound susceptibility, at the tangle of curiosity, fascination, and schoolgirlish need that had allowed him to take such liberties and seduced her into participating as she had, she closed her room door, flicked her skirts straight, and headed for the stairs.
Breakfast and the fresh slate of a new day would give her all she needed to get her life back on track.
Gliding down the stairs, she inwardly grimaced. She was probably overreacting. It had only been a kiss—well, numerous rather warming kisses, but still, that was hardly cause for panic. For all she knew, he might have had enough, and she wouldn’t even need to be on guard.
“Ah, there you are, m’dear.” Sitting at the head of the dining table, Geoffrey looked up. He nodded to Elizabeth and Edward, both seated at the table, heads together, poring over a single sheet. “An invitation from the Prussians. They’ve asked me, too, but I’d rather not—other things to do. I’ll leave the giddy dissipation to you.”
That last was said with a fond smile that included both her and
Elizabeth; while Geoffrey delighted in his family’s social prominence, since Alice’s death he no longer himself cared for any but the most simple entertainments.
Catten held Caro’s chair at the other end of the table; she sat, reached for the teapot with one hand, and imperiously held out the other for the invitation.
Edward handed it to her. “An impromptu alfresco luncheon—by which I assume they mean a picnic.”
She glanced at the single sheet. “Hmm. Lady Kleber is first cousin to the Grand Duchess, and is something of a figure in her own right.” Lady Kleber had written personally, inviting them to join what she described as “a select company.”
There was, of course, no chance of refusing. Quite aside from the discourtesy involved, the general’s wife was only returning Caro’s hospitality; it had been she who had started this round of entertainments with her dinner to rescue Elizabeth.
Sipping her tea, she suppressed her frown. There was no point trying to escape the outcome of her own scheming. All she could do was hope, almost certainly in vain, that Michael wasn’t one of Lady Kleber’s selections.
“Can we go?” Elizabeth asked, eyes shining, eagerness transparent. “It’s a perfect day.”
“Of course we’ll go.” Caro glanced again at the invitation. “Crab-tree House.” To Edward, she explained, “That’s the other side of Eye-worth Wood. It’ll take half an hour by carriage. We should leave at noon.”
Edward nodded. “I’ll order the barouche.”
Caro nibbled her toast, then finished her tea. They all rose from the table together; once in the hall, they went their separate ways— Geoffrey to his study, Edward to speak with the coachman. Elizabeth went to practice her piano pieces—more, Caro suspected, so Edward would know where to find her and have an excuse to linger than from any desire to improve her playing.
The cynical assessment had floated into her mind without conscious thought; it was almost certainly accurate, yet… she shook her head. She was becoming too jaded, too scheming—far too much like Camden in her dealings with the world.
Regretfully she dismissed the desperate notion that had blossomed in her mind. There was no situation she could conjure to ensure that Michael would be otherwise engaged for the afternoon. Reblocking the stream was out of the question.
They turned into the drive of Crabtree House just after half past twelve. Another carriage was ahead of them; they waited while Ferdinand descended and handed the countess down. Then the carriage rumbled on and theirs took its place before the front steps.
Handed down by Edward, Caro went forward, smiling, to greet their hostess. She shook hands with Lady Kleber, answered her polite queries and made Geoffrey’s excuses, then greeted the countess while Elizabeth curtsied and Edward made his bow.
“Come, come.‘’ Lady Kleber waved them along the front of the house. ”We will go onto the terrace and be comfortable while we await the others.“
Caro strolled beside the countess, engaging in the usual pleasantries. Elizabeth walked with Lady Kleber; Edward and Ferdinand brought up the rear. Glancing back as she gained the terrace, Caro saw Edward explaining something to Ferdinand. She’d been surprised Ferdinand hadn’t sought her attention—clearly he’d remembered Edward had been Camden’s aide.
Cynically amused, she followed the countess. Tables and chairs had been set to allow the guests to enjoy the pleasant vista of the semi-formal rear garden ringed by the deeper green of Eyeworth Wood.
She sat with the countess; Elizabeth and Lady Kleber joined them. The general emerged from the house; after genially greeting all the ladies, he joined Edward and Ferdinand at another table.
