He held her gaze steadily, unwaveringly; his expression, hard, determined, if anything grew harder. “If setting aside my wish to marry you is the only way I’ll get you into my bed, then I’ll do it—even that.”
She knew truth when she heard it; his words held its ring. He knew what he was saying, and meant every word.
Her heart stilled, then swelled, soared…the impossible seemed possible again.
Captured by the prospect, by the sudden blossoming of hope, she paused. He raised an impatient brow. “Well?” She refocused and he baldly asked, “Will you have an affair with me?”
Trapped in the blue of his eyes, she again felt as if her world had tilted. Opportunity beckoned; fate tempted her not only with her most closely held dreams but also with her most deeply felt fears—and the chance to vanquish them. Fears that had held her in their cold, dead grip for the past elev
en years, fears she’d never before believed she might challenge…not until the last few days.
Not until he’d come into her life and made her feel alive. Made her feel desired.
She felt giddy; a faint buzzing filled her ears. Over it, she heard herself say, quite distinctly, “Yes.”
Two heartbeats passed, then she stepped toward him. He reached for her; hands slid—his about her waist, hers over his shoulders. He bent his head; she stretched up—
“Caro!”
Edward. They froze.
“Caro?” He was on the lawn, heading their way.
Michael exhaled through clenched teeth. “Campbell better have a damn good reason for calling you.”
“He will have.”
They stepped apart, turned to cross to the entrance; they were still within the summerhouse’s shadows when Michael, close behind her, leaned down and whispered, “One thing.” His hands closed about her waist, slowing her—reminding her he could draw her back if he wished. “We’re now having an affair, so when I say ‘Come with me,’ you’ll do just that, without argument. Agreed?”
If she wanted to go forward and learn what truly was possible between them, she had no real choice. She nodded. “Agreed.”
His hands fell from her; he was at her heels as she hurried to the top of the steps.
“Caro?” Edward reached the steps as they appeared at the top. “Oh—there you are.”
“What’s happened?” Lifting her skirts, she went quickly down.
Edward glanced at Michael, following her, grimaced and looked back at her. “George Sutcliffe’s here with Muriel Hedderwick. They’re asking for you—it seems there was a burglary at Sutcliffe Hall last night.”
They hurried to the drawing room where George, Camden’s younger brother, sat waiting in an armchair.
Where Camden had been handsome to the grave, George, considerably his junior, about sixty now, had never laid claim to that adjective. He was not as clever as Camden, either. As the brothers had grown older, they’d grown less and less alike; there remained a superficial physical resemblance, but otherwise two more different men would be hard to imagine. George was now a dour, reclusive, rather cheerless widower; his only interests seemed to lie in his acres, and in his two sons and their sons.
Camden had died without heirs, so Sutcliffe Hall had passed to George. His elder son, David, and his wife and young family lived there, too; it was a large, classically impressive but rather cold house. Although no longer residing there, Muriel, George’s daughter, still considered the Hall her real home; it was no surprise that she was present.
George looked up as Caro entered. He nodded. “Caro.” He started to struggle up; she smiled, welcoming and reassuring, and waved him back.
“George.” Pausing by his chair, she pressed his hand warmly, then nodded to Muriel, perched on the chaise. “Muriel.”
While George and Muriel exchanged greetings with Michael, Caro joined Muriel on the chaise. Edward retreated to stand by the wall. As Michael lifted a straight-backed chair to join the circle, Caro fixed her gaze on George. “Edward mentioned a burglary—what’s happened?”
“Sometime last night, under cover of the storm, someone broke into the sitting room at the end of the west wing.”
During Camden’s lifetime, the rooms in the west wing had been his, left untouched while he was absent, always ready for the few scattered weeks when he returned to his home. Suppressing a frown, Caro listened while George recounted how his grandsons had discovered a forced window, and described the signs that suggested whoever had entered had searched the rooms thoroughly. However, as far as they could tell, only a few knickknacks, none valuable, had been taken.
Muriel broke in. “They must have been after something of Camden’s, something he’d left there.”
George snorted. “More likely passing vagabonds—came in looking for shelter and picked the place over while they were about it. No serious harm done, but I did wonder if it might have been those two who attacked Miss Trice.” He looked at Geoffrey. “Thought I’d put you on your guard.”