“Ah.”
“It scared me half to death.” He could still remember with vivid clarity not only the sweet, beguiling taste of her mouth but also the shining hope in her beautiful eyes that made him realize he’d fallen off some figurative precipice and into an abyss.
Maybe it wasn’t just that he was wary of shackling himself to one woman; it was an inner fear he didn’t deserve such patent trust and emotion.
Thomas’s brows went up and he laughed. “I doubt there’re many in society who would believe the scandalous Earl of Manderville was frightened by a simple kiss bestowed on an innocent young girl.”
“They’d be wrong.” The whole thing was difficult to articulate in a way that made sense. He said in slow explanation, “It was more the look on her face afterward. I suddenly realized it was a turning point in my life. I could walk away as fast as possible and pretend it never happened, or I could consider an option I never had thought of before, which was marriage. I took the former, but it didn’t work. The latter seems to now be my only choice.”
Just how did one propose to an engaged woman—one who made a very convincing show of disliking you intensely?
The depressing reality was he had no idea.
Nicholas smiled at the delighted look on the face of the woman across from him. “I thought this would be more enjoyable than dining inside. It’s really a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
Caroline took the chair he offered, settling into it with graceful ease, silken skirts fluttering as she sank down and adjusted them with a slim hand. Her expression was a little bemused as she gazed at the giant sprays of flowers scattered in vases all over the terrace, the perfume of the blossoms filling the air. The table, too, had been done well. A pristine white cloth covered with gleaming china and silver was set over it on just the edge near the steps where they could gaze out over the gardens. As if nature were in full cooperation with his whim, the moon hung low over the tops of the trees, the air was warm, and the breeze nothing more than a pleasant whisper. The dozens of candles in strategically placed candelabras barely flickered.
Mrs. Sims—responsible for everything except the moon and the starlit perfection of the evening—deserved a very nice raise, he decided as he took a chair and reached for a bottle of wine to pour them each a glass. He didn’t visit Essex often, but maybe after this interlude, he would use the estate more. To his surprise, he liked the quiet. As a youth, it chafed to be so isolated. As a man of almost thirty, his perspective was changing.
“It’s lovely. What a marvelous idea.” Caroline gazed at him from across the small intimate table. “I am quite impressed with your inspiration.”
He was the one who was impressed. She usually favored greens and grays but this evening was more than dazzling in an indigo blue gown, the purity of her skin set off by the dark color, the heavy mass of her auburn hair upswept in a simple style that suited her classic beauty. A single sapphire nestled in the tempting valley between her luscious breasts, the size of the gem not ostentatious, but cut in a perfect oval shape and held by a thin gold chain around her slender neck.
He wondered with a twinge of unfamiliar emotion if her husband had given the necklace to her. Why the devil he cared he wasn’t sure, but he felt an unprecedented urge to give her something even more dazzling. Maybe ruby earrings, as the gems would emphasize the subtle highlights in her rich hair. When they returned to London, he might just see about a gift. After all, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He said, “You look stunning. I like that color on you.”
“You are rather beautiful yourself, but thank you.” A slight mischievous smile curved her mouth. “Lord Manderville will be hard-pressed to compete with a perfect moonlit evening and supper and wine on the terrace.”
If the necklace bothered him, any mention of Derek even just sitting across the table from her brought a flicker of displeasure. He dismissed it as best as possible and grinned. “If you are willing to give me credit for the weather, I’ll take it. I ordered this gorgeous evening just for you.”
“And if anyone could coerce the elements into compliance with his wishes, you could, Rothay.” Caroline laughed, accepting a goblet of wine, her slim fingers curling around the stem. “I am getting spoiled, I’m afraid.”
“It’s how it should be. Ladies as lovely as you are should have to do little more than decorate the world around them.”
She gazed at him, her lashes slightly lowered, the glow of candlelight vying with starlight to illuminate her face and graceful bared shoulders. “You are very gallant.”
“With you it is very easy.” Negligently he lifted his glass to his mouth and took a sip of wine.
“I wish . . .” She trailed off and bit her lip, then looked away for a moment. Her profile was suddenly distant.
Nicholas waited, curious as hell as to what she almost said, counting on her usual lack of duplicity to make her finish. When she didn’t, he prompted softly, “You wish what?”
She just shook her head, tendrils of glossy hair brushing her neck. “I was about to say something I am sure you would find alarming and naive, so I am going to for once not be so forthright.”
He set his glass back down with deliberate care. “I’m finding I like your lack of pretense. Tell me.”
She gazed at him from across the intimate table, her soft lips just parted a fraction. Then she said quietly, “I was going to say I wish this was real.”
She was right. A ripple of alarm surged through him. The trouble was, it wasn’t an urge to immediately brush off any suggestion of romantic involvement, but a vastly more disturbing reaction: one small part of him—one he thought dead and gone after his experience with Helena—agreed with her.
To make matters worse, she elaborated, her lashes lowering just a fraction. “I mean, if the illusion is so pleasant, how much better would it be if we were truly—”
To his utter gratitude, the arrival of his Scottish housekeeper with the first course prevented her from finishing and excused him from having to make a comment. As he tasted the soup, he dismissed his unease over understanding just what she meant.
After all, he was the one who had engineered the romantic setting and seductive mood. He thought he was immune, but maybe the deliberately woven spell was taking effect.
They ate and talked quietly and drank wine as the sky became brilliant with stars and the insects settled into a soporific pattern of sound in the trees. The food was, as usual, simple, but so fresh and well prepared it didn’t matter there were no fancy sauces or unusual ingredients. With dessert, he found himself somehow discussing his political views, his family, his horses again. Since she was so well-read, Caroline had a fascinating ability to actually engage him in conversation that did not involve meaningless gossip or, even more tedious, fashion.
Intellect could actually be as attractive as all the other delightful parts of a woman, he decided as he sat across from her and watched the moonlight gild her hair.
His mother would like her.
Good God, where did
that
thought come from?
“You have actually been to Rome?” she asked, bringing him back to their current topic of conversation, which was his travels after he finished university. “Seen the Colosseum, the aqueducts, the great churches?”
“I preferred Florence,” he answered, enjoying the way her face lit with interest, giving her an animation more attractive than even her perfect, feminine features. “You’ll have to make a point to go sometime. And Greece also was fascinating and amazingly primitive in some places for a country with such culture and rich history. Crete in particular has a wild feel, despite its complex ancient civilization reputed to have been destroyed and that quite possibly was the model for Plato’s Atlantis.”
At that point, Caroline leaned her elbows inelegantly on the table and stared at him. “Do you think the theory has any validity? A paper was presented recently to the Royal Society that suggested the same thing. At the time, I found the supposition intriguing. A catastrophic wave from a volcanic eruption miles away is supposed to have engulfed the major city and swept it away.”
He was the one swept away by her candid interest. “I’m not an archaeologist by any means, but the hypothesis is interesting, isn’t it?”
“I am intensely jealous of your experiences.” For a moment her face was shuttered, but then she smiled and gave a rueful shake of her head. “As if you can’t tell. I don’t get much opportunity for discussions like this. Miss Dunsworth and I used to sit over tea for hours and she would tell me of her father’s theories and his travels. I honestly don’t think she even minded him leaving her destitute in exchange for the tales and artifacts he brought back. She gave me a great thirst for a broader world. I fear I’ve been plying you with questions like a curious child.”
There was nothing childlike about her, he thought, his gaze drifting over her supple, enticing form. “I believe I already told you I’d answer any questions you have.”
But that had been in bed, when he sensed her ignorance and uncertainty. She recalled the same thing, for a flustered look crossed her face. “So you did.”
He lifted a brow in a lazy suggestive arch. “Anything else you wish to know?”
The sexual connotation in the question was unmistakable. Her mouth—that very delicious, kissable mouth—quirked. She said tartly, “I am sure if there was, you would be the person to ask.”
“Any objections to my expertise?” He kept the question light and teasing.
An indefinable expression crossed her face, almost wistful. “No.”
“Come,” he said, rising, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”
“We’ve no music,” she objected, but she rose obediently to her feet and her fingers clasped his. The silk of her gown brushed his legs.
“Do we need it?” He slipped an arm around her waist and brought her close—far too close for a crowded London ballroom, but just right for a secluded waltz on a starlit terrace in the warm darkness of the bucolic countryside.
She swayed into his lead, her breasts brushing his jacket, the lissome feel of her body as intoxicating as any spirit. “Just don’t ask me to sing,” she said facetiously, “or we will stumble all over the place. I am afraid my talents do not lie in that direction.”
His laugh stirred her fragrant hair. “I’ll imagine the tune in my head, then.”
“That would be best, take my word on it.”
“For a beautiful woman, you have a remarkable lack of conceit.”
She gazed up at him with poignant uncertainty, the luminous color of her eyes striking. “I don’t think I have had much practice with vanity.”
He agreed. He didn’t think she had either. An amazing truth when he considered her dazzling allure, but maybe not surprising if he factored in her past. Nicholas moved slowly, in small steps as they turned and whirled, and enjoyed the soft, luscious feel of her against him.
The dance went on, the moment having an idyllic quality that he didn’t experience too often in his busy life. But what man, he reminded himself philosophically, wouldn’t enjoy such an exquisite evening, holding a desirable woman, and having the knowledge that their silent, intimate waltz was simply the prelude to another type of dance when he took her upstairs to his bed? Already his erection swelled, stiffening against the constraint of his fitted breeches.
When his steps slowed finally, Nicholas leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I want you.”
“I can tell.” Her voice was also hushed, a breathy laugh escaping. “You are holding me scandalously close, Your Grace, and your
enthusiasm
is obvious.”
“I’d rather be closer.” He lifted her in his arms in a theatrical sweep, noting her cheeks were flushed and it couldn’t be from their slow, swaying, twirling motion across the terrace. “Let me see what I can arrange.”
In a few strides he was across the flagstones and shouldering his way through the French doors, ajar to the pleasant evening. Mrs. Sims was in the main hallway and she looked startled as they appeared, her concerned gaze fastening on Caroline. “Your Grace . . . is everything quite all right?”
Caroline made a small sound that he interpreted as embarrassment. He said in serene reassurance, “Everything is fine. Dinner was superb. Please tell the cook.”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Sims managed to compose her slightly shocked expression.
“My lady is fatigued. I suggested she retire.”
The plain truth. She could sleep
afterward
.
Her mortification over having the housekeeper witness her lover’s impetuous impulse to carry her up the stairs was tempered by the excitement flowing through her veins like honeyed wine.
Her lover.
However it had come about, however short a time it might be, the charismatic Nicholas Manning
was
her lover, even if it was only for one week.
The grand gesture that culminated their romantic meal was part of what Caroline felt must be some sort of idealistic dream. Carrying her off to his bedroom was the natural conclusion to a slow, seductive waltz.
“She doesn’t think for a minute I’m just tired,” she murmured, resting her head on one broad shoulder. Caroline knew her cheeks were bright pink, but wasn’t sure just how much she cared. Nicholas smelled wonderful, all male, and the intoxicating effects of it made her nipples tingle and warmth pulse between her legs.
“The housekeeper’s opinion doesn’t really matter to me, though I do plan on rewarding her and making a remark or two on how I’d appreciate her silence over my visit.” He seemed to carry her so effortlessly his breathing didn’t even change as he took the steps with smooth athletic motion.
She wished she could share his indifference to others’ opinion, but then again, he was very used to being scrutinized at every turn. The splendor of his dark good looks, the extent of his fortune, and the exalted rank of his title made him a natural target of interest. If society discovered her participation in the wicked wager, she’d be as notorious as he was, and that was a high standard against which to be measured.