Chapter 5 #2
“Have you ever been in love?” Michael stopped stock-still in the center of the path and stared down at her as if her answer were the most important thing in the world. His blue eyes fixed upon her intently.
“Well, no,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing, “but I’ve seen it play out enough that I daresay I can be convincing.”
“Very well.” He was apparently satisfied with her answer well enough to start walking again.
After a few moments of their footsteps crunching in gravel, she added, “Besides, we don’t have to feign love.” She said the word with so much disdain it nearly dripped from the syllable.
He tilted his head. “Does love hold no interest for you, then?”
“Of course it does, within the right parameters,” she huffed. “If one loves the right man, being in love is certainly a preferable state to not being in love. However, loving the wrong man is far, far worse than not being in love at all.”
“True.” He conceded her point with a dip of his chin. “But as you say, being in love with the right man is the pinnacle.”
“What’s your point?”
Claire was getting impatient. They were halfway down the path and she’d had no time to present her ideas, opinions, or her schedule—none of it. Instead, Michael had hijacked the conversation; she was just holding on for the ride.
“Well then,” he said with all the patience of a math tutor who was trying to teach his pupil to see what two plus two was, “we should pretend that we are in love, or at least on the very cusp of it.”
“I want more suitors, not fewer. If the men believe I’m in love, they’ll give up.”
“On the contrary.” Michael held up a finger. “There’s no greater challenge than a woman in love, and nothing more radiant. If you appear to be in love with me, you will be even more devastatingly beautiful than you already are.”
There was a pause during which Claire might have said something, but she was too flummoxed by the compliment to take advantage of it.
He continued, “The gentlemen will all wonder what they missed. The ladies will all be jealous of your success. Though you may argue that holds very little interest for you, you needn’t lie.
Remember, my two eldest sisters are already married.
I’m well aware of the games that ladies play, of all the little social currents in a ballroom.
If your peers are going to talk about you behind your back—which they will—wouldn’t you rather it be because of your grand love affair with yours truly, rather than all the other little jagged things they could whisper? ”
Claire chewed her lip. He was right. There was gossip already, much of it a little too close to the truth for Claire’s comfort.
“Very well. What did you have in mind?”
“I’ll start courting you now in earnest. By the time the first ball arrives, every gentleman who’s interested in you will feel as if he has much catching up to do. It will accelerate your plan.”
Claire considered this, then nodded. It made sense to her, and she did like it—the idea of the ton speaking about her romance with Michael rather than turning their attention to Lily.
Or the other things they might find out.
The memory of a stifling broom closet rose in her mind and threatened to sicken her before she shook it away.
“Fine,” she said, her words coming out all in a gust. “You may come to the house tomorrow.”
“It would be better if we meet in public,” he said. “McCarthy’s Tearoom, eleven o’clock.”
“That isn’t the fashionable time.”
“I’m well aware, but I happen to have it on excellent authority that eleven o’clock is when several older married couples take tea there.”
Claire scrunched her nose, reluctant to admit the genius of the idea.
It would not only signal that she and Michael were further along in their courtship, but it would give the mature set of women fresh gossip to pass along.
They were so often deprived of the pleasure of sharing news that the rumor was sure to be spread far and wide.
“Very well, eleven o’clock.” She turned to head back toward her sisters.
Michael tightened his elbow, resting his hand upon hers. “As I said, much of this charade will depend on your ability to sell it. At least allow me to walk you back to your family.”
“Fine.”
“You needn’t sound so put out about it. Remember, you’re the one who trapped me into this arrangement.” He chuckled as if her petulance amused her.
Claire was discomfited to realize that the noise seemed to have a strange effect on her—every time he gave that low laugh, it felt as if someone drew a warm finger across her lower back.
Michael had always been handsome, and Claire had always been aware of it.
There’d even been a time where it felt as if that was all she’d been able to focus on—the elegant slope of his nose, the way his eyebrows winged upward in amusement, the one freckle on his earlobe that was darker than the rest…
Of course, that had been before. And Claire had thought that her awareness of his handsomeness would have receded in the face of all she now knew about him.
It was an inconvenient realization to find out that her irritation could reside quite comfortably next to her attraction to him.
She’d much have preferred the irritation to drive out the other emotion altogether.
No matter—she would simply have to focus on the task at hand.
“Is this plan interfering with your plans to court another?” She felt a prickle of annoyance even as she said the words.
He laughed. “I have no plans to court anyone else.”
Claire nodded and ignored how pleased she was at his words. Michael was too good at this. She was already getting confused, and they’d only spent the span of several hours in each other’s company.
They didn’t speak again until they were perpendicular with her sisters.
Lily was openly frowning at Dahlia now. She must have figured out that she was the subject of that morning’s rendering, after all.
William was unabashedly staring at Dahlia, but with a completely different expression on his face.
Dahlia was oblivious to her audience--a little furrow dimpled between her brows as her pencil flew across the parchment.
“Until tomorrow, Claire,” Michael said, directing her attention back up to him.
His eyes were a stunning blue, even more amazing close up.
There were little flecks of ice all around the pupil, with a rim of darker blue surrounding it.
Michael held her gaze as he slowly raised her knuckles to his lips.
He pressed a kiss there, a longer one this time.
The heat from his lips seeped through the lace of her glove instantly, and it was all she could do not to sway on her feet.
This was the danger of a handsome rake, she thought.
Michael had so much experience wooing ladies, he could no longer differentiate between what was false and what was true.
Or perhaps it was all false to him, and all true to the lady, Claire amended.
In either case, Michael was exceedingly dangerous.
He was also a means to an end, and Claire intended to use him.