of texture, of tactile sensation.
When he’d reduced her to gasping moans, to arching wantonly beneath him, he replaced his lips and mouth with his fingers, and bent lower to trail kisses down to her navel. He dallied there, until her gasps came short and sharp, then nudged her thighs wide, shifted lower and settled between.
Felt the shock that gripped her. Set his lips to her soft flesh and felt the convulsive start that rocked her, that made her lungs seize, her fingers clench in his hair. Inwardly smiling, he settled to feast, to, as he’d warned her, sate his appetite—with her.
With her scent, with the. apple-tart sweetness of her swollen flesh.
Caro shut her eyes tight, but that only made the sensations more intense. She couldn’t believe—hadn’t imagined… her mental protests, her very wits melted away as he pressed heat and yet more heat on her, into her, impressed intimacy upon her through yet more shockingly intimate and flagrant acts.
Yet every touch was deliberate, expertly gauged, designed and executed with one primary goal—to give her pleasure. Mind-numbing, glorious, soul-drenching pleasure. His aim became clearer with every passing minute; delight welled, swelled—until she simply let herself flow with the tide.
Let herself whirl, then rise, spinning higher and higher as he delicately sucked, lapped, probed, as he orchestrated a dizzying splendor of sensation and sent it raging through her.
Heat built until within her a furnace roared. Her nerves were tight, and only grew tighter. Her lungs were starved, her breasts swollen and aching, her body a restless knot of need. And still he pushed her on, Gave her more and more…
Until she shattered.
The bliss was deeper, longer, more intense than before. The pulsing of joy in its wake lengthened and stretched, the moment infinitely more truly intimate, infinitely more a sharing.
When she finally opened her eyes, he still lay propped between her widespread thighs, watching her face. He smiled knowingly; bending his head, he placed a kiss on her damp curls, then started kissing his way up her taut belly.
With weak hands, she reached for him, caught his shoulders and tried to tug. “Now you.”
He glanced up at her face, met her eyes, tried to smile but it turned into a grimace. “Not tonight, sweet Caro.”
She stared at him. “
“We’ve been absent long enough.” He eased away from her, swung his legs to the floor, then stood and looked down at her.
Still stunned, limbs weak, her wits in disarray, she blinked up at him.
He grinned, reached down, took her hands, and drew her to her feet. “You need to get dressed, then we need to appear again before your guests.”
He might well be right, yet… she had to own to nagging disappointment. Accepting her chemise from him, she struggled into it, trying to think. He helped her into her gown, then expertly relaced it.
She put a hand to her hair.
“Wait.”
He turned her to face him, resettled her diadem, touched the fine mass of her hair here and there, then stepped back and looked her over. Stopped at her breasts. Lifted her topaz pendant and settled it in place.
She met his eyes as they rose to hers. Searched them. Simply asked, “Are you sure?”
He didn’t ask about what. Instead, his lips lifted; bending his head, he touched them fleetingly to hers. “Oh, yes.” He straightened and his eyes met hers. “When I finally have you naked beneath me, I want at least two hours to play.”
Chapter 12
Michael elected to return to the ballroom via the secondary stairs at the end of the wing. Still pleasantly aglow and a trifle distracted, Caro allowed him to guide her. They were on the landing halfway down when the sound of a door closing brought them both to silent attention.
Below, in the corridor connecting the library and Geoffrey’s study to the front hall, Ferdinand came into view. He walked confidently along; at one point, he looked around, but he failed to glance up.
Silent and still, they waited until he disappeared; they heard his footsteps fading across the hall tiles.
They exchanged a glance, then continued down. The door from which Ferdinand must have emerged led into the library. As they stepped off the stairs, it opened again; Edward stepped out. He closed the door, then started along, and saw them.
He smiled grimly. “Did you see?”
Caro nodded.
“I take it he searched?” Michael asked.
“Carefully and thoroughly for the past half hour. I watched him from outside.”
Caro frowned. “I know there’s nothing there, but did he take anything? Or look at anything in particular that might give us some clue?”
“No, but he went over the books very quickly. If I had to guess, I’d say he was looking for folios—the sort that look like books but are really folders of notes or letters.”
Michael grimaced. “Camden’s papers.”
Caro humphed. “Well, at least he now knows there’s nothing here.”
“Or at Sutcliffe Hall.” Michael took her elbow and steered her toward the ballroom, from whence sounds of guests regathering were emanating.
Edward followed. When they reached the ballroom, Michael released Caro; she headed for the terrace, no doubt intent on checking that her supper by moonlight had gone as she’d planned. He let her go. Pausing on the threshold, he scanned the heads, eventually locating Ferdinand’s.
Beside him, Edward quietly said, “I wonder where Leponte will think of looking next.”
“Indeed.” Michael glanced at Edward. “We’ll need to think more on that.”
Edward nodded. “He’s already checked the study, but I’ll continue to keep an eye on him, just in case.”
Inclining his head, Michael moved away. When he had a chance, he was going to have to try to put himself in Ferdinand’s shoes, but the Russian attache was, possibly unwittingly, standing next to the Prussian ambassador’s wife—duty called.
Two hours, he’d said. As far as Caro could see, that meant she’d be waiting until the day after the fete, at the earliest, to learn the answer to her desperately urgent question.
She felt like having the gig harnessed, driving around to Eyeworth Manor, grabbing Michael by the cravat and hauling him off…
The weather had held; the day had dawned fine, free of any but the lightest clouds. The lilting breeze was just strong enough to rustle leaves and set ribbons dancing.
Breakfast was held late due to the previous night’s festivities; as soon as it was over and the guests, refreshed, reassembled, she, aided by Edward, Elizabeth, and Geoffrey, shepherded them up the shady drive and across the village street.
For decades, the fete had been held in the meadow behind the church; a good-sized clearing, it was bound at the back and to the right by the forest, with a secondary clearing to the left, perfect for leaving horses and gigs under Muriel’s stableman’s watchful eye. Stalls set in a large circle displayed jams, cakes, and homemade wines amid a host of other local produce. There were wood carvings and paintings, horseshoes and ornamental brasses; the latter proved popular among the foreign visitors, as did Miss Trice’s watercolors.
The offerings of the Ladies’ Association—doilies, crocheted scarves, beribboned handkerchief sachets, embroidered tray cloths, antimacassars, and more—covered two long trestle tables. Caro stopped to chat with Mrs. Henry and Miss Ellerton, who were currently overseeing the wares.
