They managed, albeit with much muted cursing and laughter. With the marquee properly erected and secured, they presented themselves to Caro, who fixed them with one of her more stern looks.
“Mrs. Judson needs help sorting all the cutlery and glassware for dinner, and for the supper to be laid out in the marquee.” She fixed Elizabeth and Edward with a severe glance. “The two of you can go and help her.”
Unabashed, the pair smiled and headed for the dining room. Caro turned her strait glance on him. “You can come with me.”
He grinned. “With pleasure.”
She humphed and marched past, nose high. He fell into
step, half a pace behind her. The swish of her hips was distracting. A quick glance around showed no one else in the corridor; boldly, he reached out and ran a hand over those distracting curves.
He sensed her nerves leap, heard her breath catch. Her stride faltered, but then she walked on.
He didn’t take his hand away.
She slowed as they approached an open doorway. Glanced over her shoulder, struggled to frown direfully. “Stop that.”
He opened his eyes wide. “Why?”
“Because…”
He stroked again and her gaze unfocused. She moistened her lips, then halted at the open doorway and dragged in a breath. “Because you’ll need both hands to carry these.”
She waved into the room. He looked, and stifled a groan. “These” were huge urns and vases filled with flowers. Two maids were putting the finishing touches to the arrangements.
Caro smiled at him. Her eyes glinted. “Those two go in the ballroom, and the others are to be stationed about the house—Dora will tell you where each goes. When you’ve finished, I’m sure I can find something else to keep your hands busy.”
Deliberately, he smiled at her. “If you can’t, I’m sure I’ll be able to suggest something.”
She humphed as she turned away; he watched her walk down the corridor, distracting hips swishing, then he smiled and turned to the urns.
Carrying them hither and yon gave him plenty of time to think and plan. As she’d warned, there were arrangements to be placed all over the house, including on the first floor in and near the rooms prepared for the guests staying overnight. Most would arrive in the late afternoon, which explained the frenetic activity; everything before the green baize door had to be perfect before any guests climbed the front steps.
Carting flower arrangements all over reacquainted him with the house; he was familiar with it, but had never had reason to study the layout in detail. He learned which rooms were guest rooms, which were currently used by the family and Edward, and which would remain unused. There were a few rooms in the last category; after Dora released him, he disappeared upstairs.
Twenty minutes later he descended, and went looking for Caro. He found her on the terrace, a plate of sandwiches in one hand. The rest of the hungry household were scattered on the lawns, the terrace steps, on the chairs and tables, all munching and drinking from mugs.
Caro, too, was munching. Stopping beside her, he helped himself to a sandwich from her plate.
“There you are.” She glanced at him. “I thought you must have left.”
He met her gaze. “Not without giving you a chance to sate my appetite.”
She caught the double entendre but, calmly looking forward, waved to the platters of sandwiches and jugs of lemonade placed along the balustrade. “Do help yourself.”
He grinned and did so; returning to her side with a plate piled high, he murmured, “I’ll remind you you said that.”
Puzzled, she frowned at him.
He grinned at her. “Later.”
Michael remained for another hour, being, Caro had to admit, helpful. He didn’t do anything else to distract her. After his comment on the terrace, he didn’t have to; that exchange replayed in her mind for the rest of the afternoon.
The man was a past master at ambiguity—a true politician, beyond doubt. Later. Had he meant he’d explain what he’d meant later, or that he’d remind her she’d told him to help himself later?
The latter possibility, linked with the phrase “giving you a chance to sate my appetite,” constantly intruded on her thoughts—thoughts that should have been focused on the less personal challenges of the evening ahead. As she paused to tweak the delicate filigree headdress she’d chosen into place, she was conscious of not just anticipation, but expectation tightening her nerves, something very close to titillation teasing her senses.
Casting a last glance over her gown of shimmering ecru silk, noting with approval how it clung to her curves, how it brought out the gold and brown glints in her hair, she settled her large topaz pendant just above her décolletage, made sure her rings were straight, then, finally satisfied she looked her best, headed for the door.