Nicole Jordan (41 page)

The light of anticipation in Thorne’s eyes greatly encouraged Caro. For the first time in weeks, she felt her taught nerves relax the slightest measure. She was infinitely glad to have Lord Christopher Thorne on their side.

She had known he would be eager to participate in the rescue, since he loved the thrill of danger. And of all the Guardians besides Caro, he was closest to Isabella, so he understood perfectly her anxiety for her friend.

Thorne rose from the sofa and crossed to her, taking her gloved hands in his larger, stronger ones. “We’ll find her; never doubt it.”

Caro smiled faintly. She was far more troubled about this mission than any previous one, doubtless because she had such a high personal stake in the outcome. “It is just so frustrating to be this helpless. I cannot stop seeing her at the mercy of some cruel master. She is all alone, Thorne—”

“Have you considered another possibility? That Isabella may look upon her captivity as an adventure rather than a tragedy?”

He was trying to reassure her, Caro realized, yet he did have a point. Most women would be terrified to be enslaved by Barbary pirates, but the spirited Isabella was far more resourceful and enterprising than any normal woman. If anyone was a survivor, it was she.

But still it distressed Caro immeasurably that they couldn’t even begin to make detailed plans until they discovered exactly where Isabella was being held, and until the other Guardians gathered on Cyrene, which could take weeks or even months.

“You are right, of course,” she murmured. “But I shall go mad with nothing to do but wait.”

Thorne chucked her under the chin. “Oh, no, my girl, you won’t get off so easily. At the moment I have the perfect task for you. You may make my excuses to my aunt. She won’t be eager to free me from my promise to squire my cousin around London.”

“Why me?”

“Because Aunt Hennessy likes you. And she will be more willing to forgive me if you ask it of her.”

Lady Hennessy had sponsored Caro’s disastrous London season years before and held her in affection, despite the scandal she had inadvertently caused.

“Just tell her that Bella has gone missing, and that I’m needed to rescue her.” He lead Caro to the library door and opened it. “Do you mean to stay here tonight?”

“If Lady Hennessy will allow me.”

“I have no doubt she will—if you promise not to cause a scene at her ball. She is still trying to live down your disastrous season.”

Color rose in her cheeks at his teasing. “Of course I won’t cause a scene. I intend to make myself scarce as soon as I speak to her.”

“She will be grateful, I’m sure.” Thorne turned to go, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Caro? One other thing you may do for me…Extend my apologies to Max Leighton.”

Caro felt every nerve in her body tighten. “Major Leighton is here?” she asked, her voice a bit too high and breathless.

“
Mr
. Leighton. He’s a civilian now. But you should know that. He is in all the society pages.”

She did know. Sir Gawain had all the newspapers shipped to Cyrene weekly so he could keep up with current events in both the world and in the Beau Monde.

“Why must you apologize to him?” Caro asked, trying to appear casual.

“Because I dragged him to this ball so he could keep me company. It was a supreme sacrifice on his part, considering how persistently the ladies are hounding him. I regret having to abandon him to their sweet mercies. Tell Max I am sorry and that my invitation to him to visit Cyrene at Christmas still stands.”

Caro lowered her gaze to hide her dismay. “If I see him,” she answered reluctantly, “I will give him your message.”

“That isn’t good enough, love. Promise me you will seek Max out after I leave. Otherwise I will have to delay long enough to do it myself.”

“Very well…I promise.”

“No doubt he will be pleased to see you. He was just asking about you earlier tonight.”

She gave Thorne a startled glance. “He was?”

“Yes. You evidently made quite an impression on him during his brief visit to the island last year. Now go find my aunt. I will return as soon as possible.”

As Thorne strode away, Caro stared dazedly after him, wanting to curse. The last person she wanted to see was Maxwell Leighton, but it didn’t seem now as if she would have much choice.

Caro returned to the ballroom with grave reluctance. She wasn’t a coward—ordinarily. But the thought of encountering Max Leighton again was unnerving.

It astonished her that he had asked after her.
You evidently made quite an impression on him.
Heat rose to her cheeks. She could only imagine what he thought of her behavior that night. Acting like a perfect wanton. Pleading with him to make love to her. Practically seducing him. Even now her face burned at the memory. Even now the memory of his touch filled her with a sweet, aching longing.

Did he have the same remembrances of their night of passion? After all the women he had likely been with, Caro doubted it had meant anything special to him.

She certainly would never forget it, though. That magical night had shown her so clearly what she was missing in her life. And Max’s wonderful lovemaking had only increased her yearnings….

It had been a profound mistake to surrender to her wanton urges, but still she cherished the memory. So much so that she didn’t want them spoiled by cold reality, or the disappointment of encountering him in the light of day. She had read numerous newspaper accounts of Max Leighton over the past few months—the titillating gossip about his amorous affairs and the predictions regarding the race to secure his hand in marriage.

Lamentably, however, she saw him the moment she entered the ballroom. The crowd had parted slightly, revealing his tall, commanding form a short distance away. Rather than a uniform, he wore an exquisitely tailored blue coat that molded his muscular shoulders to perfection.

He was surrounded by a half dozen beauties, as she expected. Determinedly she tried to repress the hollowness in her chest. After the terrible conflict with Napoleon had ended, she had often wondered if Max was still the wounded warrior, or if he had somehow managed to heal. He did
not
look as if he was suffering now.

Just then he turned and met her gaze across the ballroom. Her heart seemed to stop completely. He was still the same unforgettable man she saw so frequently in her dreams. Those were the same striking features. The same compelling blue eyes fringed by dark lashes. He still possessed the same powerful, potent masculinity.

She could feel herself flushing with warmth as his glance hotly connected with hers.

For now, however, she needed to find Thorne’s aunt.

Dragging her gaze away with effort, she spied Lady Hennessy along one wall, sitting with the other dowagers. Grateful for the distraction, Caro threaded her way through the crowds.

The portly, silver-haired lady looked up with surprise, her expression first breaking into a smile of delight, then fading to one of concern. “My dear girl, whatever are you doing here? Sir Gawain? Is something amiss?”

Caro bent to kiss the soft cheek that was presented to her. “Sir Gawain is well, my lady. But I fear I have some other regretful news—as well as a request regarding your nephew. May I have a private word with you?”

“You seem to be taking an extraordinary interest in Miss Evers, Mr. Leighton,” a plaintive female voice murmured. “Surely you realize that she is merely trying to draw attention to herself.”

Forcing his attention back to his companions, Max raised an eyebrow. “You think she is here merely to create a scene?”

A half dozen ladies responded, all eager to regale him with tales of Caro Evers, it seemed.

“My coming-out was the same year,” one remarked.

“I remember her as a shy, awkward creature. No social skills to speak of.”

“She could not even dance.”

“But it was the scandal she caused that was the final straw.”

The trills of laughter became a chorus as they all seemed to share a common memory.

“What sort of scandal?” Max asked curiously.

“Miss Evers dressed up as a man to attend medical lectures.”

“She was caught studying naked bodies!”

Several of the ladies shuddered. The tall blonde who had hunted Max earlier added with malicious glee, “And for that, she was banished from the ton in disgrace.”

His brows narrowing, Max fixed the lady with a cool frown.

“Do you know her, Mr. Leighton?”

Smiling faintly, he came to Caro’s defense. “I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Miss Evers last year when she saved the life of one of my lieutenants. In fact, I consider her to be one of the most remarkable women of my acquaintance.”

His response put an abrupt pall over the conversation. “Now if you ladies will please excuse me,” he added wickedly, “I must go pay my compliments to Miss Evers.”

Ignoring the looks of dismay on their faces, as well as the blonde widow’s indignation, Max turned sharply and made his way across the ballroom toward where Caro Evers was deep in conversation with Lady Hennessy.

It was obvious that some urgent business had brought her to London, and he was highly curious to know what it was. He was even more interested to see if any remnant of the fire that had once blazed between them still existed.

He kept his gaze fixed on her, and was gratified to see how she froze when she looked up and saw him.

Her gray eyes were as large and lustrous as he remembered, like silver smoke, while her features had the stamp of character and intelligence. Not stunningly beautiful perhaps, but with an inviting appeal all the same.

Max bowed to his hostess, Lady Hennessy, but it was Caro he addressed. “Good evening, Miss Evers. I wasn’t certain I would ever have the good fortune of meeting you again.”

She frowned, as if searching her memory. “Do I know you, sir? Oh, yes…Major Leighton, is it not?”

Max feigned a wince. “You wound me, Miss Evers, if you cannot even recall my name.”

She pursed his lips. “Oh, I recall it quite well, Mr. Leighton. How could I not, when the gossip columns are full of your amorous adventures?”

With deliberate gallantry he took Caro’s hand and bent over it, pressing his lips against her gloved fingers, interested to see how she responded.

Not only did she give a start, but when her eyes locked with his, something warm and primitive arced between them. Her gaze flickered lower then, over his mouth, and Max knew for certain that Caro Evers had not forgotten him.

A sharp surge of male satisfaction rippled through him, even though she withdrew her hand coolly.

“Actually I was on my way to find you,” she said. “Thorne asked me to convey his apologies to you. He was called away on sudden business. He regretted”—she glanced pointedly toward the gathering of ladies Max had just abandoned—“having to leave you to the tender mercies of your gaggle of admirers.”

She rose then, speaking directly to Max. “I hope you won’t mind if I excuse myself, Mr. Leighton. I have had a long journey, and I have another long one ahead of me tomorrow.”

She bent and kissed Lady Hennessy’s cheek. “Thank you, my lady. Thorne will be glad that you have released him from his promise.”

The dowager shook her head with mock sternness. “You can’t fool me, my girl. I can see right through him. He wasn’t brave enough to face me, and so he coerced you into pleading his case.”

Caro smiled. “True, but you must admit, you are quite formidable when you get in a high dudgeon.”

She turned to Max, her gaze flickering over him before she nodded toward the cluster of ladies who were still watching him. “Perhaps you should return to your devotees. It is obvious they anxiously await you. Goodnight, Mr. Leighton.”

Max remained where he stood, staring after her. He had just been dismissed, he realized.

It was a novel experience for him, and one that should have piqued his indignation. But it had the opposite effect—arousing the primitive male urge to chase fleeing prey.

Watching him, Lady Hennessy let out a deep chuckle. “Perhaps you have already discovered that Caro is not like any other normal young lady.”

“Indeed,” Max said wryly.

“She despises balls and all the other trappings of society. I doubt she will come down again this evening.” Her eyes took on a calculating gleam. “But she is staying upstairs in her former bedroom. If you wish to speak to her, you will have to go after her.”

Max curved his mouth in an amused, calculating line of his own. “Thank you, my lady. I have every intention of doing just that.”

S
he could see his reflection in the looking glass as he leaned indolently against the door, watching her. He was silent as she took down her hair, not speaking until she had removed the pins and combed her fingers through the thick mass.

“You always had the loveliest hair. Like Russian sable. Rich and silken and luminous.”

Julienne kept her lips pressed together, refusing to respond.

“And you have the face and body of a temptress.”

“I’m no temptress,” she retorted. “And I am no longer a green girl, susceptible to your flattery.”

“No, not a girl at all. You’ve flourished into a ravishing woman.”

She felt Dare move behind her. Julienne froze as he took up the hairbrush and began drawing it slowly through her long hair.

“I always relished doing this. Remember?”

The warmth in his voice touched a chord in her that left her trembling.
Remember? How could I possibly forget?
She closed her eyes at the drugging shock of recognition and familiarity: the feel of Dare at her back, the vibrant heat of his body, the sweet sensation of his touch, his erotic tenderness. It had been so long….

Heaven help her, she wanted him….

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.