The Ideal Bride (Cynster 11)

He didn’t glance around at the severely denuded bushes, for which she grudgingly accorded him several points. A lady of her standing visiting her brother’s house…if she was filling her hours deadheading roses, there was obviously nothing urgent on her plate.

“No.” Determined to meet his challenge, whatever it might be, she smiled. “Did you think of some suggestion for the ball?”

His eyes met hers; she tried but couldn’t read them. His expression remained relaxed, unthreatening. “In a manner of speaking. But come, let’s walk. There are a number of matters I’d like to discuss with you.”

He tossed the shears into the trug by her feet, and offered his arm. She had to take it and stroll beside him, and fight to appear unaffected. Her nerves were screamingly aware of his physical presence, of his strength, and that disturbing, distracting masculine aura that seemed, at least to her fevered imagination, to shimmer about her—reaching for her, enfolding her, as if it would surround and trap her.

She gave herself a mental shake, looked up as he said, “About Elizabeth.”

The words focused her wits wonderfully. “What about Elizabeth?”

He glanced at her. “I realize you—you, she, and Campbell—knew my intentions, or rather the possibility of my having intentions in that direction. I wondered how you knew.”

It was a reasonable question, albeit one he couldn’t have asked of anyone but a trusted friend. She looked down as they walked, rapidly considering how much she should reveal, deciding that in this case, the truth would be wisest. She met his gaze. “Amazingly enough, it was Geoffrey who first alerted us.”

“Geoffrey?” His incredulity was unfeigned. “How could he have heard anything?”

She smiled, genuinely this time. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but I don’t think he knew anything of your intentions. As I understand it—and no, in the circumstances, I haven’t broached the subject with him—it was his intentions he was pursuing. When Elizabeth returned from London and admitted she hadn’t developed a tendre for any gentleman of the ton, Geoffrey turned his mind to what I believe he thought would be an advantageous match. He tried to sound out Elizabeth, but…”

She caught his eye. “Geoffrey singing any gentleman’s praises was bound to put the wind up Elizabeth.”

He raised his brows. “Especially given her attachment to Campbell.”

She smiled, commending his intelligence. “Precisely.”

As she watched, his eyes widened, his gaze momentarily distant, then he glanced at her. “Just as well I didn’t sound out Geoffrey over the possibility I came here to assess.”

“Indeed not—he would have taken the bit between his teeth and run.”

“Which would have been deuced awkward.” He caught her gaze. “It appears I have to thank you for stopping me from speaking with him—that was why you came to see me that first day, wasn’t it?”

A betraying warmth crept into her cheeks. “Yes.” She looked away, shrugged. “Of course, I didn’t intend to make quite such a dramatic entrance.”

The comment reminded Michael of that earlier incident; a shaft of pure fear lanced through him. He damped it down, pointing out to his newfound vulnerability that she was here, walking, warm and feminine, by his side.

They strolled for a few paces, then he murmured, “But you—you knew more definitely about my direction. How did you learn of it?” He’d decided the simplest way to make her see and appreciate the rightness of his new direction was to lead her mind along the same track his had taken.

“Elizabeth sent frantic summonses to me and Edward—I was staying with Augusta in Derbyshire. We both thought Elizabeth had misinterpreted, so we stopped in London on the way down. There, however, Edward learned about your pending promotion and the Prime Minister’s directive. So I visited your aunt Harriet and she told me of your intentions regarding Elizabeth.”

“I see.” He made a mental note to have a word to his aunt, but reading between the lines, it seemed Caro already knew all she needed to know about his present state and the reason behind his sincere need of a suitable wife.

Indeed, he couldn’t see any benefit in explaining further. At least not in words.

He glanced at her. The summerhouse built out over the ornamental lake—his chosen destination—was still some way ahead.

She looked up, caught his eye, and smiled—perfectly genuinely. “I’m so glad you understood about Elizabeth, that you and she really wouldn’t suit.” Her smile deepened. “I’m relieved and very grateful.”

He returned her smile with one he hoped wasn’t wolfish. He wasn’t above exploiting her gratitude—in her own best interests, of course.

And his.

He searched for topics to keep her distracted until they gained the summerhouse’s relative privacy. “I presume you have hopes for Campbell. He’ll need to advance further before he and Elizabeth can hope to secure Geoffrey’s blessing.”

“Indeed.” She looked down, then said, “I was thinking of speaking to a few people when Parliament reconvenes. If there’s to be a reshuffle, that might well be a propitious time.”

He nodded. Saw no reason not to add, “If you like, I could sound out Hemmings at the Home Office, and there’s Curlew at Customs and Revenue.”

She looked up, her radiant smile dawning. “Would you?”