Wrapping an arm around her waist, he steadied her stumble.
Caro was instantly aware of myriad sensations—the lithe strength of his muscles, the solid breadth of his shoulders, the subtle scent of bay rum pervading the crisp linen of his cravat.
“Don’t tell me the intrepid Miss Caro Sloane is going to swoon again?” he murmured dryly.
She realized that her legs had gone all soft and floppy like those of a rag doll, and she was clinging to his coat like a helpless peagoose. It would have been utterly mortifying if it hadn’t been so utterly silly.
Stifling a laugh in the soft folds of merino wool, she managed to say, “Oh, dear, I seem to be making a complete cake of myself. You must think me an idiot.”
Or worse.
A flash of amusement accentuated the sapphire highlights in his slate-blue eyes, giving hint that there was sunlight behind the stormclouds. “You are,” he drawled, “far too interesting to be an idiot.”
“I dare not try to think of what other
words you might consider more appropriate.”
“Even with your impressive vocabulary, I doubt you would come close to guessing,” he agreed.
Oh, but it was a very tantalizing game to play. As well as a little frightening.
“That sounds like a warning,” she said.
Rather than reply, he handed her off with an exaggerated bow to Andover, who was waiting at the tea shop entrance.
“You aren’t going to join us, Alec?” asked his sister. She sounded disappointed.
“Not today. I have some matters to attend to.”
Caro watched him march away with a purposeful stride, leaving a swirl of dust in his wake. A poet, she mused wryly, might describe it as kicking up sparks and smoke—Alec McClellan attacked everything he did with an intensity that scorched anything in his path.
Including me.
She wished she could shake off the unwilling attraction. Like a moth, she seemed inexorably drawn to fire. And had been for ever since she could remember. Her father had often counseled her on the danger, and all of a sudden she could hear the whisper of his long-ago words.
Flames have a sinuous, seductive beauty, poppet. But they must be treated with caution. If you aren’t careful and try to snatch them up and hold them close, you risk being badly burned.
“Miss Caro?” Andover’s tentative query pulled her back to the present moment.
“Sorry,” she replied, turning her gaze back to him. “I was simply trying to discern whether I recognized the gentleman who just hailed Lord Strathcona. Do you know him?”
Andover squinted into the bright sunlight, but the two men had already disappeared around the corner. “I didn’t catch his face. But you know how small Bath is. Whoever the fellow is, I am sure that we shall meet up with him very soon.”
“McClellan.”
Alec looked around abruptly. Only his radical Scottish friends called him by his surname rather than his title.
“Thayer,” he murmured, as the man fell in step with him and inclined a polite nod. “I wouldn’t have expected to encounter you here.”
“I might say the same.” A smile, showing a flash of perfectly aligned pearly teeth.
Which Alec was sorely tempted to ram down the fellow’s gullet.
“So, what does bring you to the favorite retreat of England’s upper classes?” went on Thayer. Dropping his voice a notch, he added, “Have you shrugged off your so-called moral principles as well as your support of our cause?”
“You are one to speak of moral principles,” growled Alec. Thayer had once been a close friend and comrade, but rumors concerning the seduction of an innocent young lady and the demand of money to hush up the affair had caused the initial rift between them.
“Still gnawing on that old bone?” Thayer’s smile remained in place. “Your old friends think your betrayal of our goal is far more serious than any of the vague accusations that have been hurled at me.”