She grimaced and looked ahead.
After a moment, he lowered his arm, took her hand in his, and said, his voice even, but low, “We both care for you, Caro—consider…if we were ultimately proved right, but hadn’t taken any precautions, hadn’t done what we could have and you were hurt, or killed…”
She frowned; they walked on.
“We’ll keep watch over you—you won’t even be aware of it.”
Much he knew; she’d know every instant, would feel his gaze on her…would that be bad?
She inwardly frowned, thankful when he said no more but gave her time to wrestle with what for her was a novel situation. No one before had “watched over her” for the reasons he’d given. Camden had been protective, but only because she’d been one of his most treasured possessions, and she used the word “possessions” advisedly; that was what she’d been to him.
Edward was attached to her; they shared a common bond through their years with Camden and their respect for him and his memory. Edward and she were friends as well as associates; she wasn’t surprised he was concerned for her safety.
But Michael…his quiet tone veiled yet, she suspected quite deliberately, didn’t conceal a wealth of deeper emotions, and a need—a reason—to watch over her, to guard and protect her, which stemmed from a different source. It was a form of possessiveness, true, but one that arose not from an appreciation for and a need of her skills, her talents, but from an appreciation for and need of her, herself, the woman she was.
“Yes. All right.” Her agreement was on her lips before she’d thought further, already distracted by a wish—a strong urge and desire—to learn more about his need of her, to understand the true nature of what drove him to protect her. Halting, she faced him. Looked into his eyes. “Will you spend the day with me?”
He blinked, briefly searched her eyes as if to confirm the invitation, then reached for her. “Gladly.” He bent his head. “There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.”
They were in a secluded walk, fully screened by thick bushes. She stepped into his arms, twined hers about his neck, and met his lips. Parting hers, she ardently welcomed him in, artfully teased.
Tempted, flagrantly taunted.
She knew what she wanted; so did he.
Within minutes, the reality was apparent; desire hummed through their veins, thrummed beneath their skins. Their mouths greedily, hungrily melded, sharing heat, fire, stoking their conflagration, reveling in it.
She pressed closer, arched against him; he shuddered and drew her closer still, molded her to him.
He broke from the kiss, laid a tracery of fiery kisses from temple to ear, ducked beneath to continue the line down the arched length of her throat. “The summerhouse is too risky.” His words were a trifle rushed, fractionally breathless. Infinitely persuasive. “Come back to the Manor with me. The staff might be shocked, but they’ll be discreet. They won’t talk…not about us.”
From his point of view, the matter was irrelevant; he intended to marry her, soon. More important and
urgent was their mutual need for privacy.
Caro lifted weighted lids and looked at him. Moistened her lips, cleared her throat. “There’s somewhere I know where we can go.”
He forced his mind to think, but couldn’t imagine where….
She saw; the smile that curved her lips was essentially, fundamentally feminine. “Trust me.” Her eyes lit, almost mischievous. Drawing back from his embrace, she took his hand. “Come with me.”
It took him an instant to recognize the sultry invitation, his own seductive phrase given back to him, its potency multiplied a thousand times by the look in her eyes, by the spritelike way she turned and led him further along the path.
At no point did it occur to him to refuse.
She was a wood nymph leading him, a mere mortal, astray. He told her so and she laughed, the silvery sound drifting on the breeze—reminding him anew of his pledge to draw that magical sound from her more often.
Hand in hand, they descended through the gardens, eventually leaving the tended areas through a narrow gate in a hedge. Beyond lay a medley of meadow and wood, largely undisturbed by man. The path led underneath trees, then across open clearings where grasses encroached, reducing it at times to little more than a track.
Caro’s feet seemed to follow it instinctively; she neither looked for landmarks nor searched for the path but strolled on, glancing at the birds flitting through the trees, occasionally lifting her face to the sun.
In the middle of one clearing, he halted, drew her back to him. Into his arms. The house was some distance behind them; he bent his head and kissed her, long, deep, letting his real yearning have full sway—a yearning he was learning, day by day, possessed a greater depth and breadth than he’d imagined it ever could.
Finally raising his head, he watched her face, watched her lids flutter, then rise, revealing the silvery sheen of her eyes. He smiled. “Where are you taking me?” Lifting her hand, he brushed a kiss across her fingertips. “Where is your bower of unearthly bliss?”
She laughed, a joyous sound, but shook her head at him. “You won’t know of it—it’s a special place.” They started walking again; after a moment, she murmured, her voice soft, low, as magical as her laugh, “It is a bower of sorts.” She glanced up, fleetingly met his eyes. “A place apart from the world.” Smiling, she looked ahead.
He didn’t press for more; she clearly wanted to surprise him, show him…anticipation flared, steadily built as she led him deeper into the wooded reaches of her family’s property. She had spent her childhood here; she knew its grounds as well as he knew his own. He couldn’t, however, guess where she was making for; he wasn’t lost, but…“I’ve never been this way before.”