The Ideal Bride

With that injunction, she bustled away—in a much greater fluster than when she’d bustled up. Michael watched her go, a smile in his eyes, then turned to Elizabeth. Ignoring the speculation in her face, he waved her to a pole. “If you can get the next corner in, we should be able to get the roof up.”

They managed, albeit with much muted cursing and laughter. With the marquee properly erected and secured, they presented themselves to Caro, who fixed them with one of her more stern looks.

“Mrs. Judson needs help sorting all the cutlery and glassware for dinner, and for the supper to be laid out in the marquee.” She fixed Elizabeth and Edward with a severe glance. “The two of you can go and help her.”

Unabashed, the pair smiled and headed for the dining room. Caro turned her strait glance on him. “You can come with me.”

He grinned. “With pleasure.”

She humphed and marched past, nose high. He fell into step, half a pace behind her. The swish of her hips was distracting. A quick glance around showed no one else in the corridor; boldly, he reached out and ran a hand over those distracting curves.

He sensed her nerves leap, heard her breath catch. Her stride faltered, but then she walked on.

He didn’t take his hand away.

She slowed as they approached an open doorway. Glanced over her shoulder, struggled to frown direfully. “Stop that.”

He opened his eyes wide. “Why?”

“Because…”

He stroked again and her gaze unfocused. She moistened her lips, then halted at the open doorway and dragged in a breath. “Because you’ll need both hands to carry these.”

She waved into the room. He looked, and stifled a groan. “These” were huge urns and vases filled with flowers. Two maids were putting the finishing touches to the arrangements.

Caro smiled at him. Her eyes glinted. “Those two go in the ballroom, and the others are to be stationed about the house—Dora will tell you where each goes. When you’ve finished, I’m sure I can find something else to keep your hands busy.”

Deliberately, he smiled at her. “If you can’t, I’m sure I’ll be able to suggest something.”

She humphed as she turned away; he watched her walk down the corridor, distracting hips swishing, then he smiled and turned to the urns.

Carrying them hither and yon gave him plenty of time to think and plan. As she’d warned, there were arrangements to be placed all over the house, including on the first floor in and near the rooms prepared for the guests staying overnight. Most would arrive in the late afternoon, which explained the frenetic activity, everything before the green baize door had to be perfect before any guests climbed the front steps.

Carting flower arrangements all over reacquainted him with the house; he was familiar with it, but had never had reason to study the layout in detail. He learned which rooms were guest rooms, which were currently used by the family and Edward, and which would remain unused. There were a few rooms in the last category; after Dora released him, he disappeared upstairs.

Twenty minutes later he descended, and went looking for Caro. He found her on the terrace, a plate of sandwiches in one hand. The rest of the hungry household were scattered on the lawns, the terrace steps, on the chairs and tables, all munching and drinking from mugs.

Caro, too, was munching. Stopping beside her, he helped himself to a sandwich from her plate.

“There you are.” She glanced at him. “I thought you must have left.”

He met her gaze. “Not without giving you a chance to sate my appetite.”

She caught the double entendre but, calmly looking forward, waved to the platters of sandwiches and jugs of lemonade placed along the balustrade. “Do help yourself.”

He grinned and did so; returning to her side with a plate piled high, he murmured, “I’ll remind you you said that.”

Puzzled, she frowned at him.

He grinned at her. “Later.”

Michael remained for another hour, being, Caro had to admit, helpful. He didn’t do anything else to distract her. After his comment on the terrace, he didn’t have to; that exchange replayed in her mind for the rest of the afternoon.

The man was a past master at ambiguity—a true politician, beyond doubt. Later. Had he meant he’d explain what he’d meant later, or that he’d remind her she’d told him to help himself later?

The latter possibility, linked with the phrase “giving you a chance to sate my appetite,” constantly intruded on her thoughts—thoughts that should have been focused on the less personal challenges of the evening ahead. As she paused to tweak the delicate filigree headdress she’d chosen into place, she was conscious of not just anticipation, but expectation tightening her nerves, something very close to titillation teasing her senses.

Casting a last glance over her gown of shimmering ecru silk, noting with approval how it clung to her curves, how it brought out the gold and brown glints in her hair, she settled her large topaz pendant just above her decolletage, made sure her rings were straight, then, finally satisfied she looked her best, headed for the door.

She reached the main stairs to discover Catten waiting in the front hall. As she descended, he tugged his waistcoat into place and lifted his head. “Shall I sound the gong, ma’am?”

Stepping off the stairs, she inclined her head. “Indeed. Let our Midsummer Revels commence.”

She glided into the drawing room, her words still ringing, her lips lifting.

Michael stood before the fireplace, Geoffrey beside him. Michael’s gaze fixed on her the instant she appeared. She paused on the threshold, then glided on; they both turned to her as she joined them.

“Well, m’dear, you look fetching—very elegant.” Looking her up and down, with brotherly affection Geoffrey patted her shoulder.

Caro heard him, but barely saw him. She smiled vaguely in response to the compliment, but her eyes were all for Michael.

There was something about seeing a gentleman in strict formal attire; true, she’d seen him in formal settings in the past, but… now he was looking at her, appreciating her, visually drinking her in, and watching her do the same, appreciatively taking in the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest, his height, the length of his long legs. In severe black, contrasting strongly with the pristine white of cravat and shirt, he seemed to tower over her even more than usual, making her feel especially delicate, feminine, and vulnerable.

Geoffrey cleared his throat, mumbled some comment, and left them; their gazes locked, neither glanced his way.

Slowly, she smiled. “Are you going to tell me I look fetching and elegant?”

His lips lifted, but his blue eyes remained intent, deadly serious. “No. To me you look… superb.”

He invested the word with a meaning far beyond the visual. And she suddenly felt superb, as glowing, captivating, and desirable as his inflection painted her. She drew breath; an extra, unusual, novel confidence welled and filled her. “Thank you.” She inclined her head, half turned toward the door. “I must greet the guests.”

He offered his arm. “You can introduce me to those I’ve not yet met.

She hesitated, looked up and met his gaze. Recalled her determination not ever again to act as hostess for any man. She heard voices on the stairs; any minute the guests would appear. And if they saw her standing there with him… ?

If they saw him standing by her side at the door… ?

Either way, he would be seen to have taken a position with respect to her, one no other man had succeeded in attaining.

Which was true; he did, indeed, hold that position. He meant something to her, more than a mere acquaintance, more, even, than a friend.

Inclining her head, she slid her hand onto his sleeve and let him lead her to stand by the door. He’d said he wouldn’t attempt to maneuver her into marriage, and she trusted him in that. Indeed, the dinner guests were primarily foreigners with no real influence within the ton.

As for the idea that people would see him as her lover… she viewed that prospect not just with equanimity, but with a subtle thrill very close to happiness.