Michael felt Edward’s quick glance, but kept his gaze on the lawn.
After a moment, Edward continued, “Be that as it may, Camden had a mistress throughout the years of his marriage to Caro—just one, a long-term relationship that had existed prior to their wedding. I was told Camden returned to the woman within a month or so of his marriage to Caro.”
Despite his training, Edward hadn’t been able to keep deep disapproval from coloring his words. Frowning as he digested them, Michael eventually asked, “Did Caro know?”
Edward snorted, but there was sadness in the sound. “I’m sure of it. Something like that…she’d never have missed it. Not that she ever let on, not by word or deed.”
A moment passed; Edward shifted, glanced at Michael, then looked away. “As far as I or any of my predecessors knew, Caro never took a lover.”
Until now. Michael wasn’t about to confirm or deny anything. He let the silence stretch, then looked at Edward. Met his gaze and nodded. “Thank you. That was, in part, what I needed to know.”
It explained some things, but raised new questions, ones whose answers it seemed only Caro would know.
They turned back into the drawing room. “You will send for me,” Edward said, “if there’s any trouble in London?”
Michael considered Elizabeth, still engrossed in a concerto. “If you can better serve Caro there than here, I’ll let you know.”
Edward sighed. “You probably know this, but I’ll warn you anyway. Keep a close eye on Caro. She’s totally reliable in many respects, but she doesn’t always recognize danger.”
Michael met Edward’s gaze, then nodded. Elizabeth sounded the last, triumphal chords; smoothly donning his politician’s smile, he crossed to bid her farewell.
They rolled into London in the late afternoon. It was humid; warmth rising from the paved streets, the westering sun reflected from windows, its heat from high stone walls. In late July, the capital was half deserted, many spending the warmer weeks in their country house or farmhouse. The park, host to only a few riders and the occasional carriage, lay like an oasis of green in the surrounding desert of gray and brown stone, yet as the carriage turned into Mayfair, Michael was conscious of a quickening of his pulse—a recognition that they were reentering the political forum, the place where decisions were formulated, influenced, and made.
Politics, as he’d told Caro, ran in his blood.
Beside him, she shifted, straightening, glancing out of the window; with a flash of insight, he realized she, too, reacted to the capital—the seat of government—with a similiar focusing of her attention, a more keenly anticipatory air.
She turned to him. Met his gaze and smiled. “Where should I set you down?”
He held her gaze, then asked, “Where were you planning on staying?”
“At Angela’s in Bedford Square.”
“Is Angela in residence?”
Caro continued to smile. “No—but there’ll be staff there.”
“A skeleton staff?”
“Well, yes—it is the height of summer.”
He looked forward, then said, “I think it would be infinitely wiser for us—both of us—to stay with my grandfather in Upper Grosvenor Street.”
“But—” Caro glanced out as the carriage slowed. She glimpsed a street sign; the carriage was turning into Upper Grosvenor Street. The notion of having been an unwitting accomplice in her own kidnapping assailed her. She looked at Michael. “We cannot simply descend on your grandfather.”
“Of course not.” He sat forward. “I sent a messenger this morning.”
The carriage slowed, then halted. He met her eyes. “I live here while in town, and Magnus rarely leaves—the house is fully staffed. Believe me when I say that both Magnus and his staff will be delighted to have us—both of us—stay.”
She frowned. “It’s stretching the proprieties for me to reside under your grandfather’s roof while only you and he are in residence.”
“I omitted to mention Evelyn, my grandfather’s cousin. She lives with him and runs the house. She’s seventy if she’s a day, but then”—he met her gaze—“you’re a widow—I’m sure the proprieties will remain unruffled.” His voice gained in decisiveness. “Quite aside from all else, there’s not a gossipmonger in town would dare suggest anything scandalous took place under Magnus Anstruther-Wetherby’s roof.”
That last was unarguable.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You had this in mind all along.”
He smiled and reached for the carriage door.