Gentlemen had been offering to indulge in affairs with her for the past ten years—virtually since her marriage—yet this was the first time she’d felt even remotely tempted. All those others…she’d never been convinced their desire for her was any more real than Camden’s had been, that they weren’t instead driven by some more worldly motive, like boredom or simply the thrill of the chase, or even by political considerations. Not one of them had so much as truly kissed her, not as Michael had.
Thinking back…at no point had Michael asked her permission. If she’d understood him correctly, if she didn’t specifically say “no,” he was going to take her silence as “yes.” That approach had worked, for both of them. Despite her reservations, he hadn’t done anything, led her to do anything, she regretted. Quite the opposite. What they had done was driving her to contemplate doing a great deal more.
How far would he go before he lost interest? She had no idea, yet if he truly wanted her, desired her…didn’t she owe it to herself to find out?
The sound of the gong reverberated through the house, summoning them to the drawing room. With a last glance at the at-present-relatively-neat corona of her hair, she rose and headed for the door. She’d resume her cogitations later; clearly it would be wise to have a firm idea of how she was going to deal with Michael before he next managed to get her alone.
Michael heard the gong and abandoned his well-meant but ill-fated attempt to alert Geoffrey to the potential threat emanating from Ferdinand Leponte. His fault, not Geoffrey’s; he hadn’t possessed sufficient hard facts to prod Geoffrey’s less-well-honed instincts into action.
Although he’d been the local Member for a decade, Geoffrey had never been touched by the darker side of politics. When Michael had described Leponte’s rabid interest in Camden Sutcliffe’s personal life, Geoffrey had raised his brows. “How odd.” He’d sipped his sherry, then added, “Perhaps George should show him around Sutcliffe Hall.”
After that, he hadn’t bothered mentioning Leponte’s meeting with the two strangers in the forest. Geoffrey would probably suggest they were runners for Southampton bookmakers. Which could be true; he just didn’t think it likely. Leponte was intent on something, but it wasn’t which nag won the Derby.
Bowing to fate, he’d turned their conversation to a discussion of local affairs, none of which were in any way alarming.
“There’s the gong.” Geoffrey got to his feet.
Rising, Michael set down his glass and joined him; together they strolled down the corridor into the front hall and turned into the drawing room.
Caro, slender in old gold, was before them, as were Edward and Elizabeth. Standing in the middle of the room, Caro was facing the chaise on which Elizabeth sat; hearing their footsteps, she turned.
Her gaze first found Geoffrey, then moved on to rest on him.
She blinked, then looked back at Geoffrey. Other than that blink, no sign of surprise showed on her face or in her bearing.
Geoffrey gave her away. “Ah—my apologies, Caro—slipped my mind. I invited Michael to dinner this evening.”
She smiled, confident and assured. ?
??How delightful.” Gliding forward, she gave him her hand. She glanced at Geoffrey. “Mrs. Judson…?”
“Oh, I remembered to tell her.”
Geoffrey ambled across to speak with Edward. Caro narrowed her eyes on his back; her smile took on a subtle edge.
He lifted her hand to his lips, briefly kissed. Had the satisfaction of seeing her gaze and her attention whip back to him. “I take it you don’t disapprove?”
Caro looked him in the eye. “Of course not.”
She would have liked more time to consider her position before they met again; however, that plainly was not to be. She would cope—coping was her specialty.
They didn’t dally long in the drawing room. A discussion of the preparations for the church fete filled the minutes; they were still arguing the merits of Muriel’s suggestion of an archery contest when they took their places at the dining table.
The meal passed off well. As always when Caro was in residence, Mrs. Judson outdid herself. Caro sympathized with the woman; during the rest of the year, she had only Geoffrey to cater for, and his tastes were plain beyond belief.
Tonight, the food was exceptional, the conversation relaxed and pleasant. Michael chatted easily with all of them; for her, and Geoffrey, too, it was easy to treat him as something very close to a family member.
As inviting Michael had been Geoffrey’s idea, she wasn’t sure what to expect when, all three men denying any wish for port, they all rose and returned to the drawing room together. Geoffrey suggested some music; Elizabeth dutifully went to the pianoforte.
Caro played, too, yet hung back, knowing Geoffrey liked to hear Elizabeth play and that Edward would, too, so he could stand beside her and turn the sheets…but that left her with Michael. Left her to ensure that he was entertained….
She glanced at him and found him watching her. With an understanding smile, he offered his arm. “Come—stroll with me. I wanted to ask what Leponte tried to prise out of Edward.”
The comment served to emphasize how distracted she’d been; she’d forgotten all about Ferdinand’s odd behavior.
Sliding her hand onto Michael’s arm, letting him steer her toward the far end of the long room, she assembled her facts. Looking down, she spoke softly, below the lilting air Elizabeth had started to play. “He wanted to know all sorts of odd things, but Edward said the crux of it was that Ferdinand wanted to know if Camden had left any personal papers—diaries, letters, personal notes—that sort of thing.”
“Did he?”