He glanced down, catching a glimpse of bare toes as she leaned over the crate. Unexpected lust rolled down his spine again, heavy and hot. “I’ll get them.”
Climbing back over the fallen pillar, he rummaged through the undergrowth until he found the pair of pale green slippers. The rumpled blanket still lay there as well, and for a moment he stood gazing at it. Something had happened there; something other than the obvious. But he couldn’t figure out what it was, exactly, that had transpired. Shaking himself, he folded the blanket and placed it on the far side of the pillar, so it would look as though he or Caroline had brought it outside and then simply forgotten it.
“Here you go,” he said, surreptitiously dropping the shoes at her feet, then moving between her and the maid so she could step into them.
“Thank you.”
Zachary cleared his throat. “And thank you, for not…panicking when your sisters arrived. That would have been awkward, to say the least.” It wasn’t precisely what he wanted to say, but one of them needed to speak.
She adjusted the portrait in its box. “I should thank you,” she said as she straightened. “You’ve given me a valuable anatomical insight. Would you mind carrying that into the house?”
When she went over to gather up her paints and her easel, he spent a few seconds looking at her backside. It was a very nice bottom, and one he wished he’d had more time to explore. Apparently, though, she’d been perfectly satisfied, both physically and in terms of higher education. Either that, or she was angry that he’d escaped and left her to tell the lies.
“Caroline, you know we couldn’t be seen together,” he said in a low voice.
“Of course we couldn’t. I told you that I don’t want to marry. And I certainly don’t want to mislead you into thinking I’m going to become your mistress or some such thing. We had a bargain, and you fulfilled it admirably.” She started off down the path, gesturing Molly to precede her. “Come along, my lord.”
Grabbing up the box, he caught up to her. “Now just a damned minute,” he grunted, catching her arm to slow her down and put more distance between them and the maid. “I had no intention of asking you to be my mistress. And I certainly don’t need your reassurance over my performance. You knew as well as I did that we only had twenty minutes.”
Her mouth twitched. “Perhaps I misspoke, Zachary. I only wanted to assure you that I wasn’t going to make a scene or become clinging and missish. I have no designs on you.” She reached over and patted the side of the box. “Or rather I do have designs, but only on your portrait.”
So that was that. Damnation. Not only was she not missish and no longer virginal but she had also recovered her wits more quickly and more thoroughly than he had. Foremost in his mind was the thought that he wanted to taste her sweet lips again and lay her down somewhere secluded where he could take more than twenty minutes to run his hands along her soft skin and make her cry out with pleasure.
He understood her rationale very well. She had better things to do than spend time making love with him. Fine. Fine. “I suppose this means you’ll have time to spare this evening,” he ventured.
Unless he was mistaken, her step faltered a little. She’d probably forgotten what it was to have free moments. “Yes, I suppose I will.”
“Good. Then you’ll waltz with me. According to your sisters, the orchestra will be playing at least a dozen of them.”
“I doubt that. Even Mama would notice the scandal of that many waltzes.”
“But however many there are, one of them is mine.”
Her shoulders squared. “You might ask instead of issuing a command.”
A command? That was usually Melbourne’s forte. Besides, if he asked, she might say no. “Will you waltz with me?” he asked anyway.
“We’ve done so before. I don’t see why we shouldn’t tonight.”
“Good.” Hopefully by this evening she would have had enough time to at least consider how pleasurable it would be to roll around naked with him again. If not, the waltz would remind her. He’d make bloody certain of that.
Once back at the house he sat and had luncheon, then borrowed one of Edmund’s almanacs and went upstairs to do some research on local cattle breeds. He had the feeling that Dimidius hadn’t been the result of a simple crossbreeding—otherwise someone else would have deciphered the secret already. Luckily Witfeld had taken copious notes on Dimidius’s lineage; now Zachary needed to figure out where the cow’s ancestors, both direct and more distant, had come from, and which ones had contributed to her particular attributes.
Harold jumped up, barking, when someone rapped on his door. Hoping it was Caroline, Zachary straightened from the table beneath the window. “Come in.”
Aunt Tremaine swung the door open. “Hiding?”
“No. I’m doing research.”
She closed the door behind her, leaning down to give Harold a scratch between the ears. At least the dog hadn’t leapt up on her this time. Patience—and training—did seem to have some merits. Good dog. “Research on what?” she asked.
“Cattle.”
“Ah.”
He returned to comparing Edmund’s notes with the almanac, but he could feel her gaze boring into the top of his skull. With a sigh he looked up again. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“You’re sending our coach away with Caro’s portrait tomorrow.”
“Just to meet the mail stage in Trowbridge. I’m making certain it gets to Vienna before her deadline.”
“That’s a gentlemanly thing to do.”
As opposed to bedding Caroline, which had been exceedingly ungentlemanly. Aunt Tremaine, though, didn’t possess the ability to read minds any more than Melbourne did, and Zachary wasn’t about to confess to anything. “I delayed her by at least a day. It seemed a fair exchange.”
His aunt trundled over to the bed and sat on the near edge. “I’ve been thinking of continuing on to Bath,” she finally said.
Zachary fought the urge to lurch to his feet and shout a protest. “I am at your disposal, of course,” he made himself say, “but if you’re asking for my opinion, as I said before, I would like to stay for another week or two.”
“And why is that again?”
“The cows,” he returned, daring her to read something more into it. “I wrote Melbourne about beginning a breeding program. I don’t suppose you’ve been introduced to Dimidius?”
“The milk cow? Sally mentioned her as one of Edmund’s silly little projects.”
“If I’m correct, it’s not so silly, and I wouldn’t call it anything close to little. It could be monumental.”
Aunt Tremaine idly twirled her cane from one hand to the other. Over the years she’d become so adept with the thing that she’d likely be lethal with a sword. “Well,” she said after a moment, “I certainly have no objection to staying on. It’s rather refreshing to be so far from Society’s politics.”
He smiled. “The curse of being part of the extended Griffin family.”
“Not so much a curse as a responsibility.” She winked as she climbed to her feet. “Though after the ball tonight, I may be agreeing with you.” Halfway to the door she paused to look back at him. “You do know that half of Wiltshire is expected to attend.”
“Oh, joyful day,” he muttered, and went back to his notes.
As Caroline made her way downstairs she could hear the musicians tuning their instruments and the loud buzz of early arrivals. Apparently word of their blue-blooded guest had spread even farther since the assembly rooms, and no one wanted to miss viewing him.
None of the eager guests tonight had seen him naked, though. None of them had been in his arms or felt his passion. None of them—
“Caro,” Anne said, reaching the landing behind her. “You look lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in violet before.”
She shrugged, pretending that she hadn’t spent two hours trying on gowns. “I ordered it for the spring and never wore it.” She glanced down at th
e low-cut bodice. “It’s not too much, is it?”
“Heavens, no. You finished your portrait; you deserve to enjoy yourself a little tonight.”
“Thank you. I shall do my utmost.”
Anne laughed, wrapping her hand around Caroline’s arm. “I like that you can tease again. You’ve been so serious over the past few weeks.”
Caroline did feel lighter. After all, the portrait would drive off to London tomorrow afternoon; she’d done all she could to impress Monsieur Tannberg. It wasn’t just that, however; she felt more…confident, more relaxed…more adult, she supposed, as though her world had widened. And that, she suspected, had a great deal more to do with what she and Zachary had done this afternoon than with finishing a painting.
It had been tempting to sneak off and kiss him again, because she could get very used to being with him. Thank goodness he’d insulted her with his worry over being discovered with her; she thought she’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want a long-term companion. And she certainly didn’t want to be his mistress. It was a perfect non-relationship, as long as they both remembered that that was exactly what it was.
He was easy to find as she entered the large ballroom. All she had to do was seek out the largest concentration of marriageable females and there he was in the middle of them.
“Oh, look at that Lydia Reynolds,” Anne muttered, stopping beside her, “fluttering her eyes at Zachary. She looks like a barn owl.”
“Anne, be charitable,” Caroline returned. “It’s not as though we aren’t guilty of the same behavior.”
“‘We’?” her sister repeated. “Me, perhaps, but not you.” Anne tugged her closer. “May I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.”
“We all drew names two nights ago to decide which gentleman we would approach. Mine was George Bennett.”
“I like Mr. Bennett.” The magistrate’s son at least had a sense of humor, and he was quite pleasant on the eyes.
“Yes, but I’m turning my aim elsewhere.”
Caroline frowned a little. “You aren’t going to poach Martin Williams.”
“Heavens, no. Susan can have him.” Anne leaned closer still. “Since everyone’s attention is going to be elsewhere, I’m going to approach Lord Zachary.”
The muscles in Caroline’s abdomen clenched. “I thought he’d made it clear that he is not going to marry a Witfeld girl,” she said, surprised at the ugly, tight feeling.
Anne shrugged. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in Wiltshire any more than you do.”
“What does that mean?”
Pulling her arm free, Anne sketched a curtsy. “I don’t know yet. We’ll have to wait and see.”
Oh, dear. Caroline gazed after her sister as Anne strolled across the room to join the gaggle around Zachary. Caroline’s first thought was that she needed to warn him: Anne only needed to compromise herself in his presence and propriety would demand a marriage. Caroline had come within a hair’s breadth of having that very thing happen to her that afternoon herself.
“Caroline,” her mother crowed, grabbing her daughter’s arm, “isn’t it wonderful? I’ve outdone myself. Everyone will be talking about the Witfeld soiree for the rest of the Season.”
“I don’t doubt it, Mama. You’ve done wonders.”
“Mr. Henneker tried to give me orange lilies at the last moment, but I told him that would never do. It turned out he was trying to save the yellow ones for a soiree at Granston. They will be having the orange ones now, I imagine.”
Caroline made herself smile, though most of her attention remained on Anne as her sister took Zachary’s arm and said something that had him laughing. Blast it all, she didn’t like it. And not simply because Anne’s plan, whatever it was, seemed terribly underhanded.
Zachary meant not to marry, for one thing, and they all knew it. For another, he had just begun a new project, and though he’d apparently done this same thing before, Caroline very much wanted him to succeed this time. If Anne trapped him into marriage, he would probably run off to the army just to escape the dismay of his powerful family. Even worse, he might fall in love with Anne and stay in Wiltshire, so that whenever Caroline came to visit, she would have to see them together.
“Caroline? You look pale. Poor dear, you’ve been working so hard.” Her mother patted her cheek.
“Yes, I’m a bit tired,” Caroline improvised, “but I’ll manage. So tell me, Mama, are you going to dance tonight?”
Sally Witfeld giggled. “Heavens, no. I won’t stand up with a single gentleman when all of my daughters are seeking husbands.”
“I’m not seeking a husband.”
“Of course you aren’t, dear. But if one should come along…”
Her mother left the sentence hanging as she minced over to welcome Lord and Lady Eades to the soiree. Caroline backed up against the wall so she could watch the guests enter. Martin Williams arrived with his mother on his arm, and Susan immediately approached, said something, then led them toward the refreshment table. So her greeting was either Zachary’s number one or number three suggestion for conversation, since both of those had concerned food. And it apparently worked—or at least it didn’t send Martin screaming into the night this time.
One by one her sisters found a single gentleman—undoubtedly the bachelor each had drawn by lot—and engaged him in conversation. Even Anne at least had a punch with George Bennett. It was so nice seeing them behaving like young ladies rather than a crazed mob of banshees. Zachary had performed a genuine miracle.
Despite her stated lack of interest in continuing her intimate contact with Zachary, Caroline couldn’t keep her gaze from straying to him again. He wore dark gray with a gray-and-green-striped waistcoat, and a single onyx pin through his cravat. Warm desire twined its leisurely way down her spine. He’d promised her more than what they could do in twenty minutes, though she’d never felt as excited and aroused and fulfilled in her life. To think that that had only been a taste—the idea left her mouth dry and her heart pounding.
Thank goodness he would be leaving soon. His aunt still needed to travel to Bath, and he’d posed for her portrait as he’d promised. If he was serious about Dimidius and a cattle-breeding project, he and her father could correspond to their hearts’ content. But staying in Wiltshire—she couldn’t imagine him doing so for two minutes longer than he had to. And neither, of course, would she.
“Miss Witfeld.”
She curtsied at the nasal drawl. “Lady Eades. Lord Eades.”
“Your mother says you finished your portrait project,” the countess continued. “I presume you decided to use Lord Zachary for your submission?”
“I did. Thank you for your interest.”
“Yes, well, I hope you don’t think we are willing to wait indefinitely for you to accept the generous position we’ve offered you,” the earl put in. “When will you receive an answer?”
“It may be a fortnight or more. They will inform me of the schedule once they receive my application.” She also wanted to inform them that she had no intention of accepting their offer, but even if she left Wiltshire her family would remain behind. There was no sense in angering the local aristocracy just because the thought of being a governess horrified her. “I do appreciate your patience,” she continued, curtsying. “If you’ll excuse me?”
As she turned around, she slammed into a broad gray-and-green-clothed chest. Reflexively she grabbed Zachary’s lapels, while his arms slid easily around her hips.
“Beg pardon,” he said, grinning.
Flushing, she pulled out of his grip. “I should have been looking.”
“I was looking,” he returned more quietly. “You take my breath away.”
“That’s because I ran into you,” she said, giving in to a grin. “You’ll recover.”
Zachary chuckled. “Very clever. I don’t suppose you left me a spot on your dance card?”
Her dance card was completely blank. “Don’t you think you s
hould dance with our guests?”
“I’m a guest. And I want to dance with you. You already agreed, remember? Give over your card.” He held out his hand.
With a sigh she gave it to him, a shiver running down her spine as their fingers brushed. Heavens, was it going to be like this with him from now on? Half of her hoped so. Delicious.
Gazing down at the card, he glanced up at her from beneath his dark lashes. “I want them all,” he whispered.
Warm heat started between her legs, and her bodice began to feel too tight. “You would cause a riot.”
With a slow breath he scribbled his name on one of the lines. “It occurs to me that tonight should be in your honor,” he said. “You’ve accomplished so much.”
“I haven’t accomplished anything yet.”
Zachary handed the card back. “You’ve done everything you can. We’ll send the portrait off tomorrow, and then the next step is up to Monsieur Tannberg. And you should be proud of yourself, Caroline. Aside from the fact that the portrait is stunning, you found a dream and have taken the road to realizing it.”
Because she didn’t quite think she could meet his dark gaze any longer, she looked down at her card. “The last waltz?”
A slow, sensuous smile curved his mouth. “Anticipation,” he murmured and, with a slight bow, vanished back into the crowd.
Chapter 17
Caroline couldn’t remember a happier evening. She’d done it. She’d gotten an invitation to a studio, had accepted the entrance criteria, had fulfilled them, and was about to send in the best work she’d ever done. The rest was up to the hopefully professional eye of Monsieur Tannberg.
“Another dance that long, and I shall be dead,” Frank Anderton said breathlessly, leading her back to her busy mother.
“The musicians likely feel the same way,” Caroline answered the solicitor, grinning.
The next dance after the orchestra rested would be the evening’s last waltz, and her smile had been appearing with increasing frequency for the last hour. Very well, she could admit it. She was excited. She did anticipate being in Zachary’s arms again, even if it was fully clothed and in front of a hundred guests.
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