He lifted her to her saddle, held her stirrup; after an instant’s hesitation—disorientation, he knew—she slid her boot into place. Without looking up, without meeting her eyes, he crossed to Atlas, caught his reins, and swung up to the saddle.
Only then did he manage to fill his lungs.
Elizabeth and Edward were already mounted; chaos momentarily reigned as they all turned their horses toward the gate. He was about to turn to Caro—to meet her gaze, to see—
“Come on! Let’s be off!” With a laugh and a wave, she rode past him.
Laughing in return, Elizabeth and Edward set off in her wake.
For an instant, he hesitated, suppressing an urge to glance back at the steps…but he knew he hadn’t imagined it.
Eyes narrowing, he tapped his heels to Atlas’s flanks, and followed.
Caro. He no longer had the slightest interest in Elizabeth. However, when reaching the main road, Caro slowed and they caught up and proceeded in a group; it was abundantly clear she intended to ignore that unexpected moment.
And his reaction to her.
And even more hers to him.
Caro laughed, smiled, and gave the performance of her life, gaily enjoying the summer day, delighting in the cloudless sky, in the larks that swooped high above, in the tang of cut grass rising from nearby fields basking in the sunshine. Never before had she been so glad of the discipli
ne the years had taught her; she felt rocked to her soul, as if an earthquake had struck—she had to shield herself quickly and absolutely.
As they cantered down the road to Cadnam, then turned south onto the leafy lane that led to the site where William II had been struck down by an arrow while hunting in the forest, her heart gradually slowed to its normal rhythm, the vise about her lungs gradually eased.
She was aware of Michael’s gaze touching her face, not once but many times. Aware that behind his easygoing, amenable, ready-to-enjoy-the-beauties-of-the-day expression, he was puzzled. And not entirely pleased.
That last was good. She wasn’t aux anges over that unlooked-for development either. She wasn’t at all sure what had caused such a potent and unsettling reaction, but instinct warned her that it, and therefore he, was an experience she’d be wise to avoid.
Given that he was interested in Elizabeth, the latter shouldn’t prove at all difficult.
Edward was on her left, Elizabeth on her right; just ahead, the lane narrowed. “Edward.” Checking Calista, she caught Edward’s eye and dropped back. “Did you get a chance to ask the countess about Señor Rodrigues?”
She’d chosen a topic that Michael would have no interest in, yet before Edward could react and drop back to join her, Michael had.
“I take it the countess is an acquaintance of old?”
She glanced at him, then nodded. “I’ve known her for years. She’s a member of the inner court—very influential.”
“You were in Lisbon for what? Ten years?”
“More or less.” Determined to steer matters back on track, she looked ahead and smiled at Elizabeth. “Elizabeth visited us on several occasions.”
Michael’s gaze went to Edward. “Over the last few years?”
“Yes.” Caro saw the direction of his glance; before she could decide if he actually meant anything by his comment—had deduced anything she’d rather he didn’t—he looked at her and captured her gaze.
“I imagine the life of an ambassador’s wife would have been one of constant and giddy dissipation. You must feel quite adrift.”
She bridled, felt her eyes flash. “I assure you the life of an ambassador’s wife is hardly a succession of relaxing entertainments.” She lifted her chin, felt her color, along with her temper, rise. “A constant succession of events, yes, but—” She broke off, then glanced at him.
Why on earth was she reacting to such an unsubtle jibe? Why had he, of all men, made it? She continued rather more circumspectly. “As you must be aware, the organization of an ambassador’s social schedule falls largely to his wife. During the years of our marriage, that was my role.”
“I would have thought Campbell would have handled much of it.”
She felt Edward’s glance, his offer to intervene; she ignored it. “No—Edward was Camden’s aide. He assisted with legal, governmental, and diplomatic details. However, the arena in which most important decisions are actually made, the venues at which such matters are most directly influenced is, as it always has been, in embassy drawing rooms, ballrooms, and salons. In other words, while the ambassador and his aides may execute the battle plan, it’s the ambassador’s wife who secures for them the field on which they may maneuver.”
Looking ahead, she drew a calming breath, reached for her customarily unshakable social poise, surprised that it had temporarially deserted her. There was, after all, an obvious reason for Michael’s probing. “If rumor speaks true and you’re shortly to find yourself at the Foreign Office, you’ll need to remember that without the right wife, an ambassador, no matter how able, will be hamstrung.”