You are right—there is much I don’t understand.
And perhaps she was merely beating her head against a wall of Highland granite in trying to make any sense of Alec McClellan.
But sense had nothing to do with love. There was no rhyme or reason to its teasing, taunting grip.
Caro stood still in the fading light, listening to the splashing sounds of the fountain and the rustle of leaves as the thump, thump of her own disappointment echoed in her ears.
Love. No wonder poets spoke so passionately about pain as well as pleasure.
Blinking back a tear, she finally turned away from her musings and set off to rejoin her friends.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” The phaeton bounced dangerously over the rutted road as Alec urged his matched pair of bays to a faster pace. He was risking a broken wheel, but in his current frame of mind, the danger didn’t matter.
“Damnation,” he swore again. His tongue seemed to tie in knots when he tried to speak of personal feelings to Caro. Baring his heart was hellishly hard. The idea of standing naked…
Naked. A sudden vision of her lithe body lying on rumpled sheets sent a jolt through his body that had nothing to do with the careening phaeton.
It should be simple. Caro was nothing—nothing!—like his late wife. She was so fiercely honest in all her passions.
So what am I afraid of?
Alec wrestled with the question yet again. Physical dangers, cerebral challenges—fear had no hold on him.
Save for my heart.
Isobel had called him a coward for fearing to believe he could be happy again.
The echo of Caro’s laughter and Catherine’s giggles suddenly drowned out the rattle of rocks and metal.
Gripping the reins tighter, Alec straightened on the seat, recalling a line from one of Lord Byron’s poems…
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
Thayer was a skulking predator, and it was time to turn the bite of fear on him.
Chapter Twelve
Caro slipped the package of ribbons into her handbasket and then signaled to her maid that she was ready to leave the shop.
“I think we have purchased everything that Mama requested,” she said, after consulting the long list one last time. Though she was feeling a little blue-deviled this morning, she tried to muster a cheerful face. “Except for the jet buttons, but Mrs. Bertram promised that she will be receiving a shipment from London on Thursday.”
“Aye, Miss Caro,” replied Alice. “Now there are just the two new bonnets that your mother ordered to be picked up from Madame La Florette’s establishment.”
“We will soon have enough feathers in the house to fly to the moon,?
? sighed Caro. The baroness was very fond of ostrich plumes, and despite having brought a trunk full of bird-bedecked turbans, shakos, and chipstraw fripperies from London, she hadn’t been able to resist purchasing several more.
Alice stifled a giggle.
“These latest designs are particularly hideous,” added Caro. “I am tempted to nest them in the garden’s linden tree rather than Mama’s armoire. Perhaps a hawk will think them a tasty morsel and carry them away.”
The comment earned another choked laugh.
As they reached the street corner, Caro hesitated and came to a halt, even though the way was clear for crossing. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you to fetch them and bring them home by yourself, Alice?”
Hitching in a breath, she went on in a rush. “I—I am accompanying Isobel and her aunt on a visit to friends from Scotland who are spending the summer on an estate near Bristol. The drive is a long one, and as we will be returning tonight, I don’t wish to delay them. But if I return to the house, there’s a good chance that Mama will ask my assistance on some other errand—and you know what a fuss she can make if she’s feeling fretful.”
It was a lie—an innocent one, but a lie nonetheless, and she felt a spasm of guilt as Alice gave a sympathetic huff and waved her away.