by Cara Elliott
Was Alec familiar with his work? she wondered as she reached for a third book.
No doubt he would not approve of her current find. The odes of William Wordsworth and his fellow Lake Poets were so quintessentially English in their celebration of Nature and all its many splendors.
Opening to a random page, she began to read aloud, “It is a beauteous evening, calm and free—”
“What a singular bookshop,” murmured a voice behind her. “Why, even the very walls resonate with lyric verse. And in a wonderfully beguiling voice, I might add.”
Flustered, Caro spun around so quickly the little volume slipped from her grasp.
The gentleman moved and deftly caught it before it hit the floor. “Fie be it that such lovely words would suffer any knocks or bruises.” He buffed the spine with his sleeve before holding it out to her. “Forgive me for startling you.”
“Th-thank you, sir,” she replied, trying hard not to gape like a mooncalf schoolgirl. With the angled light feathering his face in a soft caress, he looked like a Greek god. The smoothly sculpted features—straight nose, high cheekbones, tapered chin, framed by ringlets of hair the color of burnished bronze—radiated a classical beauty, saved from being too effeminate by the strong shape of his full, firm mouth.
Wrenching her gaze away from his lips, Caro hugged the book tight to her chest. “That was very quick thinking and kind of you to keep it from suffering any harm.”
“It was the least I could do, seeing as I was the cause of the trouble,” he replied, quirking that marvelous mouth into a smile. “Please assure me that you won’t hold it against me.”
“I…” A quick breath helped still her fluttery nerves. “I shall consider it,” she answered, hoping to appear more composed than she felt.
“Is there nothing I can do to win back your good graces?” Spotting the two books she had placed on a rather precarious perch by the window, he tucked them under his arm. “Perhaps I can start by holding these until you are ready to proceed to the sales counter, Miss…”
“Caro Sloane,” she replied.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Caro Sloane. I am Edward Thayer. Though I apologize again for the circumstances.”
“No apologies necessary, Mr. Thayer. All’s well that ends well,” replied Caro.
“Ah, a young lady who can quote Shakespeare as well as poetry? How very lovely.” A pause as he slanted her a meaningful look through his gold-tipped lashes. “Very lovely, indeed.”
It was a handsome compliment—perhaps just a touch too handsome. His clever hands weren’t the only fast things about Mr. Edward Thayer, she decided. His tongue was moving a little too quickly as well.
“You are from Scotland?” she asked, steering the conversation to a more proper subject. His voice had a northern accent, though the burr was much softer than Alec’s flinty tones.
“Yes, but I spent several years at Oxford studying philosophy.”
“You are a scholar?” asked Caro.
The smile now showed a peek of perfectly white teeth. “Among other things.”
Including a practiced charmer, skilled at casting flirtations at the opposite sex.
She decided not to rise to the bait.
After taking a long look within the book of Wordsworth Odes, she snapped the covers shut. “I think I am finished with my shopping,” she announced, moving for the archway of the alcove.
“So soon?” asked Thayer, following along.
“I have some errands to run for my mother.”
“Perhaps you would have time for a cup of tea before you do so, Miss Sloane,” he pressed.
“The proper form of address is Miss Caro, as I am the youngest of three sisters,” she pointed out. “As for tea, that would not be proper, sir, seeing as we have not been formally introduced.”
“Quite right. Again I must apologize,” he said contritely. “I confess to being a bit rusty on English protocol.”
Caro softened somewhat in her resolve to remain aloof. “The strictures can be confining,” she said. “But you must understand that a lady cannot be too careful.”
“Of course. It’s just that I saw you at the teashop yesterday with Lord Strathcona, did I not? So I assumed…” The pause seemed deliberately drawn out. “Well, never mind. It isn’t important.”
His intention had clearly been to hook her curiosity, and this time she couldn’t resist rising to take the lure. “You are acquainted with Lord Strathcona, sir?”
“Yes.” He blew out his cheeks with a mournful sigh. “We were close in the past, but alas, a recent falling-out has severed the friendship.”
That was not overly hard to imagine, thought Caro. Alec was not an easy man to get along with under the best of circumstances. And yet, despite his faults, she had always found him to be scrupulously fair in his assessment of both others and himself. So she couldn’t believe he was mean-spirited or petty in his dealings with others.
Which raised the question of what had caused the quarrel.
“It seems that you, too, know His Lordship,” went on Thayer.
Caro nodded. “We met at a hunting party given by his cousin, Lady Dunbar.”
“How very fortunate for you to be included in one of her gatherings,” murmured Thayer. “The countess is known as a superb hostess who sets a sumptuous table.”
“It was a memorable experience,” said Caro absently, her thoughts still dwelling on what might have caused the rift between the two men.
“Oh?” He seemed hopeful of eliciting greater detail.
“Yes,” she said flatly, as they strolled back to the main room. Perhaps it was something about the Scottish burr, however soft, that was scraping against her skin, but at that moment Caro found herself unwilling to satisfy his curiosity.
“Did you enjoy Scotland?” To his credit, Thayer didn’t press, but turned the talk to general pleasantries while Caro completed her purchases and directed that the package be delivered to her residence.
He opened the shop door with a gentlemanly flourish as she turned to leave and accompanied her outside. “I hope I shall be permitted the pleasure of continuing our acquaintance, Miss Caro.”
“Does that mean you will be staying in Bath long, Mr. Thayer?” she inquired.
“Certainly long enough to ask for you to save me a dance at next week’s Assemblies.”
“Very well, sir, I shall.” The thought of twirling across the ballroom floor in the arms of a handsome stranger ought to ignite something other than than a flutter of wariness. And yet, despite his striking looks and smooth charm, she found herself feeling a little guarded. “And now, if you will excuse me, I need to pay a visit to the millinery shop and pick up a few sundries for my mother.”
Thayer took the dismissal with good grace. Bowing politely, he murmured, “Until later, then.”
Caro paused to adjust her shawl, using the gesture to watch him in the window until he disappeared around the corner of the next street. The reflection seemed to mirror her own reactions—the image was just blurry enough to make the details impossible to discern.
For some reason, one of the aphorisms her father was fond of repeating popped to mind. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.
For all his scholarly detachment from the real world, the baron had been surprisingly astute in judging people and had impressed upon his daughters the importance of being careful about whom to trust.
The phrase meant that one should be exceedingly careful when dealing with those who might be the enemy. Perhaps it was the hint of the Highland accent stirring her misgivings, but until she knew more about Mr. Edward Thayer, Caro intended to keep her guard up.
Alec shifted in the shadows of the arched entryway, watching his former friend take his leave from Caro. A graceful bow, a winsome smile—oh, yes, the smooth-as-silk Edward Thayer certainly knew how to make himself appealing to the fairer sex.
It was, he supposed, no surprise that such practiced flirtations should please her. Even from a dis
tance, Caro’s smile was evident.
Pinching back a scowl, he edged deeper into the recess between the marble columns, unwilling to be spotted. What young lady wouldn’t respond to flattery? And yet, he would have hoped…
Hoped for what?
That she might be different and see the true serpent beneath the superficial glitter of its golden scales?
That a high-spirited, vivacious beauty might find a gruff, gravel-mannered introvert more pleasing company than a gentleman who possessed all the social graces?
Alec pulled a face, cursing himself in several different dialects of Gaelic for being such a buffle-headed fool. Yes, he had been a bloody fool.
But only a complete lackwit made the same mistake twice.
He lingered in the shade, allowing ample time for Caro to be gone, before emerging from his hiding spot and continuing on his round of errands. A length of lace from the mantua-maker for his aunt, medicinal draughts from the apothecary for his sister, a volume of American poetry from the bookshop for himself… a half hour later, duty done and the parcels deposited in the entrance foyer of their townhouse, Alec tucked the book in his pocket and slipped out again, preferring an interlude of solitude to joining his family for the midday meal.
Making his way to the end of Great Pulteney Street, Alec skirted around the Sydney Tavern and entered the famous gardens to its rear. A sprawling, picturesque parkland of formal plantings and wild, natural beauty, the grounds were dotted with stone pavilions, scenic grottos, and refreshment boxes for dining during the various evening entertainments. He cut away from the main walkway and chose a path that brought him to a more isolated spot overlooking the Kennet and Avon Canal.
The soothing sound of the breeze ruffling through the water and the leafy trees made it a perfect place for a quiet hour of reading.
Unfortunately, someone else seemed to have had the same idea, for as he rounded the rock outcropping at the crest of the hill, he caught a glimpse of muslin skirts stretched out on the grass.
Swearing under his breath, Alec was about to retreat when the lady looked around.
“Oh!” Caro hastily snapped shut the book in her lap.
“My apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to intrude. I had no idea you were here.”
“No, of course you didn’t. How could you?” She seemed a little flustered, and as she looked down to fiddle with her skirts, the flare of emotion in her eyes wasn’t at all what he expected.
Annoyance would be understandable, given their past history. As would defiance. Or sarcasm. This reaction was very different, though he couldn’t explain why.
“But I suppose you can’t be blamed for thinking I was going to hurl sharp words at you,” added Caro, still fingering the fabric.
“The words don’t worry me. It’s when you start looking around for pointy objects that I start to become a trifle nervous.”
“Am I that bad?” Her smile was a little tentative, which only made her look more endearing. “You have to admit, I never resorted to swinging one of those ancient Scottish broadswords on display at Dunbar Castle at your head.”
“That’s only because they were bolted to the wall.”
“True. And besides, they looked awfully heavy. How very embarrassing it would have been to slice off my own toes, instead of your ears.”
His earlier mordant brooding was forgotten in the enjoyment of their verbal dueling. The thrusts and parries had brought a bloom of color to her cheeks and a martial spark to her gaze. She looked like…
Poetry in motion.
“Rather my ears than my…” Clearing his throat with a cough, Alec quickly looked around for a distraction. He spotted the corner of the book peeking out from between the folds of muslin. “What are you reading?”
“Oh, er, nothing.”
He angled his head. It was definitely something.
Caro shifted just a fraction, causing a pencil to fall from her lap.
Ah, a notebook—it was a notebook.
“Are you working on a poem?”
“Just scribbling some rough ideas,” she mumbled, making a show of searching through the wispy grass.
“Might I see them?”
“What?” Her head jerked up. “No!”
His jaw tightened. The rebuff stung, more than he cared to admit. The playful banter had led him to think that maybe…
“Quite right,” said Alec through clenched teeth. “Why share your creative efforts with me?” He retreated a step and pushed back an overhanging branch from his path. “Forgive me for interrupting your writing. I shall leave you and your Muse in peace.”
“Wait!” cried Caro impulsively.
He hesitated, his face half in shadow from the leaves.
Had she merely imagined the wounded look in his eyes? The idea that Alec McClellan could be hurt by anything she said was a little absurd, and yet, in the instant he had turned away, a spasm had swirled their slate-blue color to the strangest hue.
“That is,” she faltered, “you need not feel compelled to leave, sir. There is room here for all three of us.” A rueful grimace tugged at the corners of her mouth. “And as the Muse never seems to stay for long, it will likely be just the two of us.”
“An intruder is likely to make Her even more skittish,” replied Alec. But he made no further move to leave.
“Yes, well, you know females—we are all such flighty creatures, aren’t we?” she murmured. It made no sense, but she couldn’t resist bantering with him, despite his solemn expression.
His mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Not all. There are a few of the fairer sex who don’t take wing at the first sign of adversity.” He paused. “And writing certainly tests the mettle of anyone—man or woman—who is brave enough to try it.”
She fingered the point of the pencil, leaving a smudge of graphite on her thumb. “Do you compose verses, Lord Strathcona?”
“Just scribbles,” he said, echoing her earlier assertion.
“I—” Caro caught herself.
Alec dropped his arm and stepped free of the shadows. “You what?”
“I shouldn’t say it.”
“I’ve rarely known you to be rendered speechless.
She blew out a gusty sigh. “What you really mean is that you’ve rarely known me to show any restraint in voicing what I think, no matter how outrageous.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he chided, but gently. There was no sting to the reproof.
“I was going to say that I should like to see your scribbles. However, I don’t suppose you’ll let me.”
He moved away from the bushes bordering the footpath and seated himself on the grass near her. “I could reply that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“You could,” agreed Caro. “That would be only fair.”
Leaning back on his elbows, Alec looked up and appeared to be more interested in contemplating the scudding clouds than in responding.
After a prolonged pause, she spoke again. “To be honest…”
Still no discernable reaction from him.
Caro wondered whether to go on. Peeling off a protective layer might not be a wise move. The last thing she wished was to make herself vulnerable to Alec McClellan.
A skittering of sunshine broke through the clouds, and for a moment the play of light over his profile seemed to bring out softer nuances in the chiseled planes.
Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.
He turned his head slightly and, on catching her staring, raised an inquiring brow.
“To be honest, I refused your request because I feared… well, I feared you might laugh at my efforts.”
The brow remained hovering in an elegant golden arch. “But you know I never laugh.”
So why was it that the twinkle of mirth showing through his lashes caused her breath to catch in her throat?
“Th-that’s not entirely accurate,” she managed to croak. “You laughed in Scotland.” A pause. “Once, if I recall correctly.”
“It was more of an ironic snort,” he murmured. “Your brother-in-law had just accused me of being a spy and an assassin.”
“With good reason, I might add,” pointed out Caro. “You have to admit that the circumstances looked awfully incriminating.”
She didn’t add that it was on account of her clandestine surveillance that he was exonerated. They both were aware of the fact, and while some men might have been grateful, she secretly suspected that with Alec, it wasn’t a point in her favor.
“Never mind that.” His brusque retort seemed to confirm the surmise. “We were talking about your poetry, a far more interesting subject.”
“Not really,” she replied quickly. “I meant it when I said I had only jotted down a few scribbles. They really aren’t worth sharing. Aside from the opening stanza, there are mostly just rough ideas and few descriptive words I’d like to work in.”
He held his hand out for the notebook.
“Must I?” she questioned.
His fingers waggled a come-hither command.
“Really, sir, it is like asking me to strip off my bath towel,” she protested. “I shall feel embarrassingly naked.”
Alec’s gaze sharpened and as it flicked up and then down, she suddenly had the unnerving sensation that he could see right through the layers of cotton and lace, could penetrate right through the depth of flesh and bones, could delve right down to her very essence.
Her body began to feel hot all over, as if a glowing coal had rubbed over every inch of skin.
“You are suggesting,” drawled Alec, “that if I were a gentleman, I would not demand to see the verse-in-progress?”
She nodded.
His lips curled up at the corners. “Most people would assure you that I am no gentleman.”
“Well, are you or aren’t you?”
Alec plucked the book from her skirts and started thumbing through the first few blank pages. “I leave that for you to decide.”
Drat the man. She wanted to feel annoyed with him, but the only emotion churning within her chest was a sense of nervous anticipation. She found herself watching his face very intently.
His fingers stilled as he reached her penciled notes. Dropping his head, he studied the first page for what felt like forever.