The Ideal Bride (11 page)

 
Despite Caro’s consummate performance, Ferdinand hadn’t given up.

 
Chapter 4

 
The next morning at eleven, Michael set out to ride to Bramshaw House. Atlas, eager over once again being ridden every day, was frisky; Michael let the powerful gelding shake off his fidgets in a light canter along the lane.

 
He hadn’t made any arrangements to call on the Bramshaw House household. The drive back from Totton yesterday had been subdued; Elizabeth , unnaturally pale, had remained quiet and withdrawn. He and Edward had dropped back, letting the carriage roll ahead, leaving Elizabeth in relative privacy.

 
They’d parted at the top of Bramshaw lane, yet he’d continued to brood on Caro’s performance. The suspicion that she’d manipulated him, subtly steered him in the direction she’d wished while he’d imagined his direction and hers were the same, had grown, had pricked, prodded, and nagged at him. He’d spent the evening thinking of her, reliving their exchanges.

 
Normally, in any political or diplomatic sphere he’d have had his guard up, but with Caro it simply hadn’t occurred to him that he might need to guard against her.

 
Betrayal was too strong a word for what he felt. Irritation, yes, lent an edge by the definite prick to his pride she’d delivered. Given he was now sure quite aside from any manipulation that he definitely did not need or want
 
Elizabeth
 
as his wife, such a response was perhaps a touch irrational, yet it was, quite certainly, how he felt.

 
Of course, he didn’t know
absolutely
that Caro had exercised her manipulative wiles on him.

 
There was, however, one way to find out.

 
He found Caro,
 
Elizabeth , and Edward in the family parlor. Caro looked up, her surprise at seeing him immediately overlayed by transparent delight. Beaming at him, she rose.

 
He grasped the hand she offered. “I rode over to tell Geoffrey we’ve unblocked the stream through the wood.”

 
“Oh, dear—he’s out.”

 
“So Catten told me—I’ve left a message.” He turned to greet
 
Elizabeth
 
and Edward, then met Caro’s eyes. “I—”

 
“It’s
such
a glorious day.” She gestured to the wide windows, to the brilliant sunshine bathing the lawns. She smiled at him, stunningly assured. “You’re right—it’s a perfect morning for a ride. We could visit the Rufus Stone—it’s been years since I last saw it, and Edward never has.”

 
There was a fractional pause, then Elizabeth suggested, “We could take a picnic.”

 
Caro nodded eagerly. “Indeed, why not?” Swinging on her heel, she headed for the bellpull.

 
“I’ll organize the horses while you’re changing your gowns,” Edward offered.

 
“Thank you.” Caro beamed at him, then looked at Michael. Her expression sobered as if she’d been struck by a sudden thought. “That is, if you’re willing to spend your day gallivanting about the countryside?”

 
He met her wide earnest eyes, noted again how artlessly open her silvery blue gaze seemed—and how, if one looked deeper, there were layers, refracting, diffracting, in those fascinating eyes. Anyone who took Caro at face value—as a passably pretty woman of no particular power—would be committing a grave error.

 
He hadn’t intended going for a ride, certainly hadn’t suggested it, yet… he smiled, as charmingly beguiling as she. “Nothing would please me more.” Let her continue to think she was in the saddle, with the reins firmly in her hands.

 
“Excellent!” She turned as Catten appeared at the door.

 
She quickly gave orders for a picnic lunch to be packed. Elizabeth slipped upstairs to change her gown; when Caro turned to him, he smiled easily. “Go and change—I’ll help Campbell get the horses. We’ll meet you on the front steps.”

 
He watched her go, confident and assured, then followed Edward from the parlor.

 
Upstairs, Caro scrambled into her riding habit, then sighed with relief when Elizabeth , already correctly attired, slipped into her room. “Good—I was about to send Fenella to waylay you. Now remember, it’s important you don’t overplay your hand—don’t try to appear too awkward or obtuse. In fact…”

 
Frowning, she tugged the tightly fitted bodice of her maroon habit straight. “I really think we’d be better served by you being yourself as far as possible today. Riding and a picnic without any others present is such an easy, informal affair. If you’re truly silly, it’ll appear too strange—there won’t be any camouflage.”

 
Elizabeth looked confused. “I thought you suggested a ride so I’d have another opportunity to demonstrate my unsuitability? He hasn’t yet changed his mind, has he?”

 
“I don’t think so.” Caro picked up her gloves and quirt. “I suggested a ride because I didn’t want him asking to take you for a walk in the gardens.”

 
“Oh.” Elizabeth followed her into the corridor; she lowered her voice. “Is that what he was going to ask?”

 
“That, or something like it. Why else is he here?” Caro tugged on her gloves. “I’d wager my pearls he was going to ask to speak with either you or me alone, and in neither case would that be a good idea. The last thing we need is to let him engage us in any private discussion.”

 
She led the way down the stairs.

 
Michael and Edward were waiting before the front steps, each holding his horse and one other. Josh, the stable lad, was tying the bags in which their picnic had been packed to the saddles. To Caro’s surprise, Michael held the reins of her gray mare, Calista, not those of Elizabeth ’s Orion.

 
The sight made her even more wary; if Michael was intent on speaking with her, rather than seeking further time with
 
Elizabeth … the only points he was likely to discuss with her were Elizabeth ’s diplomatic experience, and how she thought Elizabeth would respond to an offer from him.

 
Hiding her speculation, determined to divert him from progressing along such lines, she went down the steps, an easy smile on her lips.

 
Michael watched her approach. Leaving Atlas’s reins dangling, he draped those of the gray mare over the pommel as he moved to the mare’s side. He waited, reached for Caro as she neared. Closing his hands about her waist, he gripped, drew her a fraction closer, preparing to lift her to her saddle; her gloved hand came to rest on his arm. She looked up.

 
Suddenly—unmistakably—desire flared, like heated silk caressing bare skin. Simultaneously, he felt the quiver that rippled through her, that made her breath catch, made her silver eyes, for just one heartbeat, glaze.

 
She blinked, refocused on his face—let her lips curve as if nothing had happened.

 
But she still wasn’t breathing.

 
Eyes locked with hers, he tightened his grip—again felt her control quake.

 
He lifted her to her saddle, held her stirrup; after an instant’s hesitation—disorientation, he knew—she slid her boot into place. Without looking up, without meeting her eyes, he crossed to Atlas, caught his reins, and swung up to the saddle.

 
Only then did he manage to fill his lungs.

 
Elizabeth
 
and Edward were already mounted; chaos momentarily reigned as they all turned their horses toward the gate. He was about to turn to Caro—to meet her gaze, to see—

 
“Come on! Let’s be off!” With a laugh and a wave, she rode past him.

 
Laughing in return,
 
Elizabeth
 
and Edward set off in her wake.

 
For an instant, he hesitated, suppressing an urge to glance back at the steps… but he knew he hadn’t imagined it.

 
Eyes narrowing, he tapped his heels to Atlas’s flanks, and followed.

 
Caro. He no longer had the slightest interest in
 
Elizabeth . However, when reaching the main road, Caro slowed and they caught up and proceeded in a group; it was abundantly clear she intended to ignore that unexpected moment.

 
And his reaction to her.

 
And even more hers to him.

 
Caro laughed, smiled, and gave the performance of her life, gaily enjoying the summer day, delighting in the cloudless sky, in the larks that swooped high above, in the tang of cut grass rising from nearby fields basking in the sunshine. Never before had she been so glad of the discipline the years had taught her; she felt rocked to her soul, as if an earthquake had struck—she had to shield herself quickly and absolutely.

 
As they cantered down the road to Cadnam, then turned south onto the leafy lane that led to the site where William II had been struck down by an arrow while hunting in the forest, her heart gradually slowed to its normal rhythm, the vise about her lungs gradually eased.

 
She was aware of Michael’s gaze touching her face, not once but many times. Aware that behind his easygoing, amenable, ready-to-enjoy-the-beauties-of-the-day expression, he was puzzled. And not entirely pleased.

 
That last was good. She wasn’t
aux anges
over that unlooked-for development either. She wasn’t at all sure what had caused such a potent and unsettling reaction, but instinct warned her that it, and therefore he, was an experience she’d be wise to avoid.

 
Given that he was interested in
 
Elizabeth , the latter shouldn’t prove at all difficult.

 
Edward was on her left, Elizabeth on her right; just ahead, the lane narrowed. “Edward.” Checking Calista, she caught Edward’s eye and dropped back. “Did you get a chance to ask the countess about Senor Rodrigues?”

 
She’d chosen a topic that Michael would have no interest in, yet before Edward could react and drop back to join her, Michael had.

 
“I take it the countess is an acquaintance of old?”

 
She glanced at him, then nodded. “I’ve known her for years. She’s a member of the inner court—very influential.”

 
“You were in Lisbon for what? Ten years?”

 
“More or less.” Determined to steer matters back on track, she looked ahead and smiled at
 
Elizabeth . “ Elizabeth visited us on several occasions.”

 
Michael’s gaze went to Edward. “Over the last few years?”

 
“Yes.” Caro saw the direction of his glance; before she could decide if he actually meant anything by his comment—had deduced anything she’d rather he didn’t—he looked at her and captured her gaze.

 
“I imagine the life of an ambassador’s wife would have been one of constant and giddy dissipation. You must feel quite adrift.”

 
She bridled, felt her eyes flash. “I assure you the life of an ambassador’s wife is hardly a succession of relaxing entertainments.” She lifted her chin, felt her color, along with her temper, rise. “A constant succession of
events
, yes, but—” She broke off, then glanced at him.

 
Why on earth was she reacting to such an unsubtle jibe? Why had he, of all men, made it? She continued rather more circumspectly. “As you must be aware, the organization of an ambassador’s social schedule falls largely to his wife. During the years of our marriage, that was my role.”