by Cara Elliott
Caro felt her heart thud against her ribs as Alec skirted around a group of matrons and paused by the archway to glance around the room.
In the play of shadows, his chiseled profile looked even more austere and forbidding than usual, but something about his face—a beguiling hint of both light and dark—sent a frisson of awareness down her spine. In contrast to his stiff expression, his big, broad-shouldered body moved with a panther-like grace, the muscles rippling beneath his dark coat and trousers.
He turned, and their eyes met.
And suddenly her breath seemed to catch in her throat.
She tried to look away but her rebellious body refused to obey the simplest command.
It was Alec who broke the connection. Squeezing through the throng by the pump, he was at her side a moment later.
“Miss Caro,” he said stiffly.
Andover looked around and raised an inquiring brow at the sight of Alec’s unsmiling face.
“Sir,” she murmured in reply to the greeting. To Andover she explained, “Lord Strathcona and I are acquainted, Andy. We met last autumn, while attending the hunting party at Dunbar Castle.”
“Ah.” Her friend inclined a friendly nod.
To which Alec responded with a stony stare. “If you will excuse us,” he said, before Caro could make any formal introductions, “I should like to have a private word with the lady.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Caro quickly, hoping to forestall any further rudeness. Ye gods, the man had the manners of a Highland goat. “Andy was just taking his leave.”
Too polite to ignore her hint, Andover retreated gracefully.
“No wonder the people all look ill in here,” muttered Alec. “The sulfurous fumes are strong enough to choke the Devil himself.”
“It is said to be healthful,” pointed out Caro, but secretly she agreed with him. The water had left a bilious taste in her mouth.
“Shall we take a walk in Queen Square?” He offered his arm, adding gruffly, “It will afford a bit more privacy.”
Impatient to hear what he had to say, she didn’t object to his loping, long-legged stride as they hurried down the street, though she had to lift her skirts to keep pace.
“Well?” she demanded, as soon as they passed through the iron gates and turned down one of the graveled paths. The ominous rainclouds hovering low on the horizon had scared off all but a few hardy souls, so they had the walkway to themselves.
He slowed his steps all of a sudden, appearing in no hurry to get down to business. His hat required adjustment, his coat buttons needed to be undone and refastened.
Caro made herself count silently to ten.
“Forgive me,” he finally said. “I trust I did not interrupt an important conversation.”
The baron acknowledging social convention? It was amusing enough to bring a wry smile to her lips.
“It is a little late to worry about that,” she replied. “But no, there is no cause for concern. Lord Andover will be in town for a month, so we will have ample time to talk.”
“Hmmph.” Alec’s grunt gave nothing away. “I take it,” he said after another drawn-out pause to smooth the wrinkles from his gloves, “that the gentleman is one of your London admirers?”
Perhaps it was merely the breeze ruffling through the sharp-edged holly leaves, but his tone seemed shaded by doubt.
“You think it impossible that I might have any?”
Alec looked taken aback by her question. But rather than snap back with one of his usual gruff responses, he took his time in responding. “I meant to imply no such thing. I have no doubt that you are surrounded by a bevy of men seeking to make themselves agreeable to you.”
For a moment, Caro thought he was being sarcastic, but the momentary flicker in his eyes just before he lowered his lashes said otherwise.
Lud, he had very intriguing eyes.
“A compliment from you, sir? Good Heavens, I should have brought my smelling salts.”
The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “Consider it an observation, not a compliment. So no need to swoon.”
“Thank God,” she murmured. “The stones look awfully sharp and uncomfortable.”
“You don’t think that I would catch you?”
“I wouldn’t want to wager my quarterly allowance on it. Besides, you already rescued me once in recent days. I daresay you don’t want to make a habit of it.”
His face wreathed in a grudging smile.
“Actually,” she hurried on, forcing herself to ignore the sinuous curl of his lower lip. “I am far more interested in your observations about the recent attack on your sister and me, and the reasons that lie behind it. Did you discover any new information while you were away?”
“Yes.” A pause. “But I can’t say it’s overly helpful.”
She frowned.
“It turns out that in fact there has been a gang of ruffians roaming the area and committing violent crimes. A carriage outside of Bristol was accosted a week ago and the occupants robbed. An estate house was broken into and ransacked. Several of the men were apprehended the other night and are awaiting trial. The rest escaped capture.”
“So you are saying that it truly was a random attack?”
He took a long moment to form an answer. “I have no evidence to the contrary.”
To Caro, who considered herself attuned to the nuances of language, the words seemed very carefully chosen.
“And yet,” she pressed, “the night it happened, it was clear to me that you suspected it might have something to do with your involvement with the radicals in Scotland.”
“I am, on rare occasions, wrong,” he quipped. “But to answer your question, yes, I considered it a possibility. But I have uncovered nothing that would suggest it is the case.”
“You are quite sure?”
Another hint of hesitation. “Not entirely. I shall, of course, keep looking into the matter. But for now, it seems there is no reason to fear any further threats.”
“Thank you for the reassurance, Lord Strathcona.” Crunch, crunch—the pebbles crackled under the tread of her shoes. “Now, kindly dispense with the platitudes and tell me what you really think.”
Alec could almost hear the tiny flashes of fire crackle and spark beneath the dark fringe of her lashes. Her eyes, an unusual gold-flecked hazel color, were intriguing enough to begin with. But when her passions were aroused, they lit with a mesmerizing mix of heated hues that seemed to swirl down, down to some secret depth.
A man could drown in such treacherous currents.
He angled his gaze to a twist of ivy behind her right ear. “I have told you all that I know, Miss Caro.”
“Indeed?” Her eyes narrowed. “So why do I feel you are not being entirely forthright with me, sir?”
Alec raised a brow and waggled it up and down. “You are asking me to explain the complex workings of the feminine mind? That, I fear, is beyond the power of my feeble intellect.”
She made a rude sound and stepped closer to confront him. “Ye gods, you are an impossibly provoking man.”
Ye gods, you are an impossibly alluring lady.
He could feel the heat of her aroused ire pulsing against his skin, bringing with it the beguiling scent of verbena, edged with a more exotic spice that he couldn’t put a name to.
He inhaled and, for a flickering instant, felt a little dizzy.
“Hmmph. I am quite certain there is more to this matter than you are telling me, sir.”
Exhaling sharply, Alec managed to break the strange spell that held him in thrall. “Believe what you wish, but the truth is, you know as much as I do about the reasons for the incident.”
“Have I your word on that?”
“Yes.” Honor allowed him to reply without batting an eye. She did now possess all the facts. As for his conjectures, those he wasn’t about to share with anyone.
Especially a headstrong hellion.
During the trouble in Scotland, Caro Sloane had proved she was more than ready to
charge in where angels should fear to tread. Courage, passion, fire that blazed bright as a mountain sunset.
Such fire could lead a lady into serious trouble.
“I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with that,” grumbled Caro, as the first leaden drops of rain splashed on the brim of her bonnet.
Taking her arm again, Alec quickly turned them back in the direction of the Pump House. “Indeed you should be. As far as I’m concerned, the matter is resolved.”
“I’m not quite as convinced as you are,” she protested. “I think the matter requires further investigation.”
God forbid.
“You need not concern yourself with that,” he growled. “Leave it to me. If there is anything you should know, I shall pass it on.”
He pretended not to hear her muttered “Ha!” over the rumble of distant thunder.
Chapter Four
The musicians struck up the notes of a country gavotte, the lively tempo of violins matched by the steps of the couples capering across the dance floor as the weekly Assembly festivities turned even more exuberant.
Caro watched the festivities from the archway of one of the side salons, the flicking of her fan stirring a welcome breeze. The humid air, still redolent with the recent rain, hung heavy with mingled scents—the floral sweetness of the lush tuber roses, the cloying richness of the French perfumes, the earthy exertion of the heated bodies—and she was uncomfortably aware of a trickle of moisture tickling down between her breasts.
“Hot as Hades, isn’t it?”
Andover’s voice made her jump.
“Sorry, did I startle you?”
“I—I was just thinking,” she replied.
“Of what?”
Of chiseled cheekbones, sharp as Scottish flint. Of blue-gray eyes, changeable as a stormblown loch.
“Oh, just woolgathering,” murmured Caro.
“Would you care to leave off chasing sheep long enough to dance with me?” he inquired.
“That would be lovely.” Perhaps twirling across the polished parquet would help dispel her brooding mood.
They joined the set forming on the floor, and moving through the figures of the country jig did indeed make it hard to stay blue-deviled. The merriment was infectious, and Andover’s pithy comments when the steps brought them together had her laughing aloud.
Her cheeks were flushed with a pleasant heat by the time the tune came to an end. “La, dancing works up a thirst,” she said, as Andover led her to a spot by the cluster of potted palms, where the nearby open window was letting in a gentle breeze.
“Wait here and I shall fetch us some punch.” Ever the gentleman, Andover immediately hurried off, sparing her the discomfort of squeezing through the crowd around the refreshment table.
“Caro!”
She turned to catch the last little flutter of a pale, peach-colored glove before it was swallowed in the sea of swirling silks. A moment later, Isobel appeared near the entrance to the card room and slowly began making her way along the perimeter of the room.
Her friend waved again as she approached, a smile illuminating her whole face. “This is marvelous! Our local assemblies in Scotland are not nearly so dashing.”
Her escort did not appear nearly as enthusiastic.
“Wait until your toes are crushed beneath some oaf’s foot for the fourth or fifth time,” groused Alec. “Or an elbow pokes you in the ribs.” He shot a glowering glance at the crowd. “You really ought not be here, Bella. I fear the crush and the heat will be too taxing on your strength.”
“Oh, pish. Doctor Bailey said a little exercise would do me good,” she chided.
Her brother scowled but refrained from replying.
Taking his silence as a sign of surrender, Isobel turned back to Caro. “What a beautiful gown!” she exclaimed. “The design is so elegant, and the color is absolutely divine. I’ve never seen such a rich hue of green. Why, it looks like melted emeralds.”
Caro was aware of a new warmth spreading over her flesh. The gown was new and a bit daring, with a low-cut bodice and artful arrangement of folds that made her feel very sleek and sophisticated. She had received gushing compliments from the gentlemen in London…
A surreptitious glance at Alec showed him to be studying the fronds of the nearest palm tree.
“I am very fortunate,” she replied, trying not to feel a twinge of disappointment. “My eldest sister has arranged for me to have access to one of the leading modistes in London. Madame Mathilde is a true artist with silk and thread.”
A wistful sigh slipped from Isobel’s lips. “How I would love to visit London.”
That got Alec’s attention. He expelled a dismissive grunt. “It’s a dirty, noisy city.”
“There are some saving graces,” pointed out Caro. “The shops, the museums, the lectures at the Royal Institute, the sights like Westminster Cathedral, the Tower, and Astley’s Amphitheater.”
“Are we singing London’s praises?” asked Andover, returning with two drinks in hand. “Lord Elgin’s marbles are not to be missed, the concerts are sublime, and the current exhibition of watercolors at the Royal Academy is quite good.”
“No,” growled Alec.
“Yes,” responded Isobel at the same time.
“Lord Strathcona is not fond of anything English,” explained Caro.
Including me.
Andover smiled politely at Isobel. “I do hope you haven’t taken the same aversion to our country and its people, Miss…”
“Oh, forgive me,” said Caro, and quickly performed the requisite introductions.
“As to your question, Lord Andover, so far I have had a very pleasant stay here in Bath,” said Isobel.
“Excellent, excellent. We must see that your experience remains a favorable one.”
Caro saw Isobel cast a longing glance at the dance floor. Giving Andover a discreet nudge, she waggled a brow. “Oh, look Andy—a new set is forming already.”
Taking his cue, Andover dutifully set aside his punch glass. “Miss Urquehart, might I ask for your hand in this dance?”
Two spots of color appeared on Isobel’s cheeks. “Me? B-b-but surely you ought to ask Caro.”
“No, no, poor Andy has been very kind in keeping me company…” Caro lowered her voice. “He is far too gentlemanly to admit it, but I’m sure he’ll be greatly relieved not to have to worry about frogs or snakes appearing in his pockets.”
“You don’t, I trust, have any reptiles hidden in your reticule, Miss Urquehart?” murmured Andover.
Isobel stifled a giggle. “No, milord. There were none the last time I looked.”
“Excellent.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
“Th-thank you.” Her face pink with pleasure, Isobel placed her hand on his sleeve.
“Frogs?” murmured Alec, as they moved away to join the other couples on the dance floor.
“It’s a long story,” replied Caro. “I was still in the schoolroom.”
“Ah.”
It was hard to tell in the shifting shadows of the leaves, but she thought she detected a slight twitch in his solemn expression.
“It’s fortuitous that Andy is very good natured,” she explained. “Lady Tilden threatened to have him banned from the ballrooms of Mayfair for the remainder of the Season when her French chef’s special soup started croaking in the middle of a fancy supper party.”
He made an odd little sound in his throat. If it hadn’t been Alec, she might have taken it for a chuckle.
“Now, if it had been turtle soup,” he drawled, “His Lordship might have been able to talk his way out of trouble.”
Caro drew in a deep breath. And let it out in a low laugh. “I’m shocked, sir. You actually have a very sly sense of humor.”
“I do?” He sounded rather bemused by the idea.
“Yes.” Caro wished she could see his eyes through his lowered lashes. “Definitely.”
Alec reached up to brush one of the swaying fronds off his shoulder. “I
shall try to nip it in the bud.”
“Don’t,” she blurted out. “It’s rather nice.”
He finally allowed his gaze to meet hers. The connection sent a frisson of fire—or was it ice—down her spine.
“That is,” she stammered, “it’s nicer than constantly being at daggers drawn with you.”
“Contrary to what you might think, I am not always deliberately sharp, Miss Caro,” he replied.
An oblique apology?
She wasn’t certain.
“I don’t…” Alec began, then paused for a brief moment as his gaze drifted down a notch and then up again. “I don’t think that I have yet commented on your gown.”
“No, you have not,” agreed Caro. “I would remember.”
That earned another twitch of his lips. “You look… well.”
Well, well, well, thought Caro wryly. It was not the most scintillating of compliments, however she wasn’t going to quibble.
“Why, thank you, sir,” she murmured.
“The color is unusual. It suits you… well.”
Good Heavens, the man was becoming positively chatty.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Alec shifted his stance and returned to his silent contemplation of the room.
Tapping her foot lightly in time with the music, Caro shifted her own attention to the capering couples. The steps of the cotillion soon brought Isobel and Andover close, and she couldn’t help but notice that Alec’s sister moved her lips and waggled a discreet hand signal at her brother.
He expelled a martyred sigh.
“I take it she is telling you something,” said Caro. “My sisters and I have the same sort of private communication.”
Alec gave a gruff nod. Whatever the message, he didn’t seem too happy about it.
“I hope she is not finding the event too taxing on her strength. The noise and the heat might be a little overwhelming.”
“No, she seems to be enjoying herself immensely.”
“It’s clear you are a solicitous brother, so I would think that would bring a smile, rather than a frown to your face.”
Another spasm of surprise. “I didn’t realize I was frowning.”
“You frown quite often. It is very intimidating.”
That provoked a smile. “Not to you.”