But he’d seen, and agreed, and by that agreement absolved them; she felt so thoroughly happy and vindicated, subduing her silly reaction enough to remain by his side for a while seemed a very small price to pay.
An hour passed surprisingly easily, then Muriel announced that supper was laid out in the dining room. Finding herself by Michael’s side at the long buffet, with him helping her to herb patties and shrimp in aspic, surrounded by numerous others yet still somehow with him alone, she paused, then slanted him a glance.
He felt it, looked at her. He searched her eyes, then raised a brow, his lips lightly curving. “What is it?”
She glanced down at a platter of cucumber florets. “You should circulate, not stick by my side.”
He waited until she looked up again to ask, “Why?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “As you’re perfectly aware, this is one of those occasions when a Member needs to work the room.”
His smile was genuine. “Yes, I know.”
She decided against the cucumber, stepped away from the table.
Plate in one hand, he took her elbow and steered her toward the bank of windows open to the rear garden. “I just can’t see why we can’t circulate together.”
Because every time he touched her, her nerves seized and she forgot how to breathe.
She kept her tongue between her teeth, kept a serene, relaxed expression on her face, and fought to ignore the way her senses fixed on him, how they reached for and craved the solid strength of him as he walked, languidly assured, by her side. She knew perfectly well how solid his body was; she’d collided with it twice now. For some illogical, irrat
ional, totally witless reason, her senses were luridly, slaveringly fixated on what the third time would be like.
Halting before the windows, he released her; facing him, she drew in a breath. Before she could utter the protest she was certain she should, he said, “Think of it as me claiming your protection.”
“Protection?” She sent him a look that stated very clearly she wasn’t about to accept any such spurious reasoning—or any appeal to her feminine emotions, either. “You, of all people, in this crowd, need no protection beyond your own gilded tongue.”
He laughed, and she felt more comfortable, a touch more in control.
Suddenly realized that with him—and in truth, with him alone, at least within the confines of her private life—she did not, as she did with everyone else, exercise her usual level of mastery. Or rather, she might exercise it, yet it might very well not work. Her ability to manage him was not assured, not something she could take for granted.
They’d been eating, nibbling; she glanced up at him. He trapped her gaze; he’d been watching her face. He studied her eyes, then raised a brow in mute question.
She let her chin set. “Why are you clinging to my side?”
His brows rose; his eyes laughed at her. “I would have thought that’s obvious—you’re a much more entertaining companion than anyone else here, especially our often overhelpful hostess.”
She had to grant him that last. Muriel’s attempts at assistance could sometimes be disastrous. Yet she wagged a finger at him. “You know perfectly well you’re pleased she’s organized this evening—you’ve been able to do your local rounds without lifting a finger.”
“I never said I wasn’t grateful—it’s merely that my gratitude extends only so far.”
“Humph! If she hadn’t organized this, what would you have done?”
His smile was devastating. “Asked you to do it, of course.”
Ignoring the effect of that smile, she humphed again.
His expression turned mock-hurt. “Wouldn’t you have helped me?”
She glanced at him, tried to make her look severe. “Possibly. If I was bored. Only I’m not that bored at present, so you should be especially grateful to Muriel.”
Before she’d finished speaking, his gaze had turned considering, as if contemplating some different prospect.
“Actually, I should probably do something about the area south of Lyndhurst—”
“No.” Realizing what tack he was following, her response was instantaneous.
He refocused on her face, then tilted his head, a slight frown in his eyes; he seemed more intrigued than rejected. Then his expression eased; straightening, he took her empty plate from her. “We can talk about it later.”