Chapter 12
Eamon halted a step to watch Caro pointedly turn and hurry away from him.
What to do? Change direction and pretend he hadn’t been making for her? Pause to speak to those he passed? Or rush after Caro like a lovelorn swain?
Eyes were upon him. Though Eamon was acquainted with more than half the people in this room, he was a newcomer in the prince’s circle. The guests scrutinized him, wondering at his sudden inclusion.
If Eamon charged after Caro, tongues would wag, and wag hard, which would do Caro no good.
He changed his falter into a deliberate stop to acknowledge a group of gentlemen he’d met at gaming hells, some of whom regularly dandled ladybirds on their knees. Tonight, they were pretending to be virtuous, honorable gents for the Prince and Princess of Osagard.
“Stone,” one of them said awkwardly.
“Good evening,” Eamon said, but to their relief, he soon moved on.
Instead of continuing toward Princess Josephine and the countess, he gave them a nod as he strolled past to casually move through the crowd.
He halted to chat now and again with knots of guests, as though this had been his intention all along.
He felt the two ladies observe him, their eagle-like stares most unnerving.
Wolfe and McCormick were now engaged in conversation with the prince himself. None of the three noted when Eamon slipped out of the ballroom through its main doors.
Eamon drew a breath of relief when he reached the front hall. A footman immediately advanced upon him, ready to direct Eamon somewhere, or fetch him something, or perhaps boot him out of the house entirely.
“Seeking some air, my good fellow.” Eamon adopted the tones of a twit-about-Town. “It is damnably close in the ballroom.”
The footman eyed him in some suspicion but bowed and returned to his post at the front door.
Eamon eased through the hall as though he was simply taking in the prince’s sumptuous house. It was, Eamon had to admit, well-appointed, with art displayed to best exhibit each piece.
The mansion was narrow but deep, with a long staircase on one side and wide rooms on the other that reached a long way back into the property. Another room or set of rooms likely ran the width of the building in the rear.
Caro could be anywhere. Eamon doubted she’d fled the house—she’d wanted to avoid him but not be rude to her friends.
“Psst.”
Eamon stilled, glancing about until he determined that the noise came from above. He stepped to the staircase and peered up into its shadows.
A golden-haired girl with a pixie-like face and a sharp pair of blue eyes gazed down at him through the balusters. When Eamon fixed on her, she frantically gestured for him to ascend the stairs.
Eamon gave this command careful thought. The girl much resembled Princess Jo and therefore must be a member of the prince’s household, no one Eamon should be near. He hesitated, but his curiosity as to why the lass signaled to him won out.
The young woman watched him climb to her, hands on hips. She was about twelve, Eamon judged, and wore an ivory silk gown as frilled and laced as that of any society lady in the ballroom.
“This way.” She made an imperious gesture as Eamon gained the landing. “If you want to speak to Aunt Caro, come with me.”
Eamon followed, keeping a few yards between himself and his summoner.
He had no need to ponder how the devil this waif knew he sought Caro.
In his own childhood, he’d easily discovered the secrets of the host and all guests of the house into which his father had cajoled entry.
No one paid any attention to a lad, or in this case, a lass.
The girl scurried lithely up another flight of stairs then leaned over the railing to glare down at Eamon.
“Hurry, before anyone sees you.” She raised her eyes heavenward. “Honestly, I do not know why I bother.”
Eamon smothered a laugh and continued his ascent, again keeping a respectable distance between them when he reached her. “Lead on, my lady.”
“Your Highness,” the girl corrected him.
“I am Princess Merry. Or Lady Meredith—but I hate it when anyone calls me Lady Meredith. Sounds so stuffy. Princess Merry is much more fun. Of course, everyone in my family is Princess This or Prince That, so it isn’t really remarkable.
Aunt Caro is in there.” Princess Merry pointed to a door recessed into a paneled wall.
“Staring out the window, last I checked, though there’s nothing to see in the dark. ”
Eamon’s heart beat faster. He imagined Caro gazing at an unseen world with the remote beauty that had already captured him.
“What makes you believe she won’t push me out of said window if I go in there?” Eamon asked.
Merry put her head to one side, looking wise. “Because she hasn’t been in a flutter about a gentleman in a very long time. Since before she was married, Aunt Jo says. And that was years and years ago.”
Ten years, according to Wolfe. A lifetime to a mite of a dozen summers.
When Eamon only contemplated the polished door, Merry made an impatient noise. “Well, are you going inside, or not?” she demanded.
“A scandal for a lady and gentleman to be alone in a room together,” Eamon answered in a light tone.
“Nonsense. She is a widow, not a debutante of eighteen. She is much older now, and you’re a retired officer. It doesn’t matter so much anymore.”
Eamon bit back his amusement that Merry viewed both Caro and himself as elderly, and therefore unimportant in the eyes of the world.
He knew, however, that what they did still mattered. Caro caught alone with Eamon would humiliate her and be fuel to those in the ballroom waiting for her to step one beaded slipper out of line.
“Will you stand by and warn us if someone comes?” Eamon asked her.
Merry’s nod was tinged with exasperation. “Of course. Now, off you go, before she hears you and runs away again.”
Eamon plucked up his courage and moved to the door. He drew a breath, turned the handle, and quietly entered the small chamber.
The white-paneled room was lit by two sconces, their wax candles announcing the prince’s wealth. Only a very rich man could afford to let candles burn in a room no one might use.
Caro was indeed staring out the window to what must be the garden behind the house.
Candlelight reflected her in the window’s glass, her hair trickling from the careful coiffure, the borrowed diamonds shining softly against her gown.
So deep was her contemplation that she did not hear him enter. Only when the draft from the hall made the candles flicker did she abruptly turn.
“What are—?” Caro’s exclamation died, and she stared at him in dismay.
“I am pleased the window is closed,” Eamon said as he quietly shut the door behind him. “Or you might truly push me out of it.”
“It is too cool to have it open,” Caro said, her words stiff.
“No denial that you’d drop me from it, I see.” Eamon advanced slowly but halted in the center of the room. He’d not go too close unless she invited him. “Why did you run? I speak to you every day in your own home, where you don’t dash off the moment I pause to say good morning.”
Caro’s dark brows rose. “Why did you suppose I was fleeing you?”
Eamon took one step forward. Caro did not move, to his relief. “Well, let me contemplate. I headed toward you in the ballroom, and you turned and rushed away.”
Caro’s color rose. “I was rude. I apologize.”
Eamon moved a few more steps then decided to halt before his luck ran out. “You were quite civil while we danced. I enjoyed it.”
“I enjoyed it as well.” Caro frowned, as though regretting the confession. “I meant I was rude when I twitted you about not sending word today. I understand now that it was not your fault.”
“But it was my fault.” Eamon’s anger at himself returned. “I should not have trusted Cheswell.” Cheswell, the idiot, had decided Caro wouldn’t bring the firm much money and so had forgotten all about her. Hadn’t thought sending word to her important.
“I worry for Leo, you see,” Caro said in a rush. “He has grown very fond of you.”
“I have grown fond of him.” Eamon realized the sincerity of his words. “He’s an endearing little chap. Clever too.”
Caro shook her head, ringlets dancing. “I’m explaining poorly.
Leo lost his father. Then most of our household deserted us—footmen and lads in the stables he’d come to believe were his friends.
Most didn’t even bother to say goodbye. We still have Singleton and our cook, but no coachman and groom, because we were forced to part with the horses, which Leo also loved.
We have a few more staff in the country house, but they are too busy to pay as much attention to Leo as they once could.
” Caro ceased her outpouring and simply looked at Eamon.
“In the past year or so, Leo has lost almost everyone he’s cared about.
When you didn’t turn up today, he thought he’d lost you too. The look in his eyes broke my heart.”
“Oh, Duchess.” Eamon threw aside his caution and went directly to her. “I am sorry.” He cupped her face before he could stop himself, her skin silken beneath his hands. “Caro, I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt either of you.”
“He should not expect you to be loyal to him,” Caro said. “Neither should—” She broke off, swallowing.
Damnation. In the past, Eamon had walked away from plenty of people, believing himself lucky to escape before they caught on to what a fraud he was.
This time, he cared.
Eamon’s heart burned with the new knowledge. He cared.
He cared too much.
Caro’s breath brushed his fingers, igniting him. Eamon, an expert at controlling every situation he was in, surrendered to the inferno.
In an instant, he was dragging Caro closer, skimming her body with his touch, finding her pliant curves. He brushed a kiss to her lips, then another, then another, each one deeper.
Eamon expected her to shove him away, but Caro’s hands came up to his chest, not to push him off, but to close around the lapels of his coat and hold him there.
Eamon let her. He deepened the kiss as he explored her body, cupping her hips, palms gliding over her waist, fingertips catching on the sharp facets of her diamonds.
He abandoned the kiss but only to take his mouth to her cheek, her chin, then to nip her fragrant neck.
Caro let out a faint groan, a woman awakening to passion. Eamon nibbled again, enjoying her raw response.
Her gown was so very prim. A fichu enclosed her to her neck, when every other woman’s bosom in the ballroom had been bared for all to see.
The diamonds that lay on it were indeed real, Eamon had noted while they were dancing, but he knew they weren’t hers. They didn’t go with his duchess, somehow. Probably pushed on her by the same friends who’d enticed her into this gown.
Hooks on the gown’s back held the bodice closed and the fichu in place. So easy to undo a few clasps, letting the front of the gown sag enough that Eamon could press a kiss to the hollow of her throat.
“Eamon,” Caro whispered.
The sound of his name on her lips changed the spark into wild need. Eamon shoved the fichu out of his way, the diamonds now lying on bare flesh. He kissed her there, the stones catching in his teeth.
Caro’s heart hammered beneath his mouth, and she began to explore him in return. Hesitantly at first, and then bolder, as though reveling in newfound fascination. Her hands slid under his coat then his waistband, his shirt loosening.
Eamon lifted his head as she wormed her way beneath the fine linen, at last finding his skin under too damned many layers.
“Vixen.” Eamon cupped her face, smiling into their next kiss.
Caro pulled him closer, her warm fingers on his bare back the most exhilarating thing he’d experienced in a long time.
Eamon’s desire, suppressed too long, surged, and he felt the answering need in her kiss. He caressed her cheek as he stepped against her, her body against the length of his.
Caro started at the contact. She must be able to feel how much he wanted her, but she didn’t shy away, didn’t flee.
He had to continue this. Here, now. Eamon was certain his life would be empty and colorless if they didn’t.
Merry was outside the door, and they were in another man’s house.
Eamon’s lodgings were close by, but women were forbidden there, and Mrs. Temple was a dragon.
The Grosvenor Square house was tall and empty, but the pair of them would never slip past Singleton and the dowager, who were equally dragon-like.
Maddening.
Or they could hide in here, kissing, touching, learning each other. There were plenty of ways to find pleasure besides the most basic act. Caro, opening her lips for his kiss, her hands roving further, indicated she would welcome the simple pleasures, even craved them.
Eamon had just decided that the thick-carpeted floor would do for the next steps, when a noise outside the door penetrated the fog in his brain.
Caro jerked back, quicker to understand what the sound was.
In the corridor, Princess Merry had coughed.
Eamon recognized a cough of warning when he heard one. He had Caro turned around and was re-hooking her bodice before she could express alarm.
“Good evening, your ladyship,” Merry said loudly outside the door. “If you seek a withdrawing room, there is one on the floor below.”
“What are you doing wandering the house, young lady?” came a stentorian voice. “In my day, we shut ourselves into the nursery when our family held a ball and didn’t stray a step.”
“Oh, no,” Caro breathed in dismay. She was enticing, with her hair hanging limply, her fichu askew, the diamonds glittering against a tangle of translucent fabric. “Lady Carmichael. She’s the worst gossip in all of London.”