Nicole Jordan (16 page)

She had missed him dreadfully this past week, despite her fierce resolve not to. And when she’d first spied him tonight, looking so incredibly striking in his black superfine coat and pristine white cravat and white satin breeches, her heart had suddenly fluttered violently in her chest. She was certain he could see the yearning on her face.

Just as she was certain he’d seen her deplorable reaction a moment ago. She had no business feeling such rampant jealousy—and no time for it, either.

She had to take his warning about Danielle Newham seriously, for the Guardians had secrets that could be in jeopardy. Perhaps there was nothing sinister about Miss Newham, but to be safe, she would advise her colleagues to keep an eye on both Newhams.

No sooner had the thought crossed Caro’s mind than she glimpsed Miss Newham at the far end of the great hall. The lady sent a swift, almost surreptitious glance over her shoulder, before making her way from the chamber.

For an instant, Caro sat frozen. Then, after one last, longing glance at Max, she marshaled her scattered thoughts and followed.

Chapter

Seven

Caro’s heart rate escalated to an angry rhythm as she watched Danielle Newham slip into Sir Gawain’s study. Miss Newham had been a guest at the castle on several occasions and certainly knew where the baronet conducted his business. If she was indeed searching for secrets, this would be a prime place to start.

Pausing outside in the corridor, Caro debated whether or not to interrupt just yet. On the one hand, knowing what a possible spy might be looking for would be valuable in formulating an effective defense. Yet she couldn’t risk Miss Newham discovering knowledge that might endanger the Guardians.

Quietly Caro opened the door.

The auburn-haired woman was indeed at Sir Gawain’s desk, searching through the stacks of papers that littered the surface.

“May I be of some assistance, Miss Newham?” Caro asked, keeping her voice innocent.

Danielle froze…but then quickly recovered. Setting down the papers, she offered a wan smile as she picked up a quill pen. “Perhaps so, Miss Evers. I was feeling a bit faint, so I decided to seek out the ladies’ withdrawing room. But then I realized a burnt feather might be just the restorative I needed. Alas, I couldn’t find any feathers but this one, and I doubt Sir Gawain would care to sacrifice his writing implements.”

An inventive excuse, Caro thought with reluctant admiration.

“I will be happy to show you to the withdrawing room,” she offered. “I believe you will find a supply of vinaigrettes and feathers there.”

“Thank you,” Miss Newham said with a meekness that was certainly counterfeit.

Caro accompanied her to the bedchamber set aside for female guests and waited while Danielle made a show of burning a feather and sniffing the acrid scent until she could claim her sensibilities were fully restored.

Then together they returned to the great hall and joined John Yates. Smiling brightly, Danielle told her suitor how helpful Miss Evers had been.

A performance worthy of the London stage, Caro thought wryly. But the incident was indeed alarming. If Danielle Newham was a spy, she would have to be watched closely.

After delaying a polite interval, Caro excused herself and wandered casually through the crowd of guests, pausing to speak to various friends. Eventually she came upon Alex Ryder.

Taking his arm, she pretended to laugh and jest with him as they strolled to the refreshment table, but in truth she was warning him about what had happened and enlisting his aid to observe the Newham woman.

“If she is engaged in spying,” Alex said at the conclusion, “her brother is likely neck deep as well.”

“No doubt. Do you think I should tell Sir Gawain?” Caro asked.

“I see no need to disturb him just now. I’ll inform him after the ball. Meanwhile, I’ll alert everyone else here.”

She smiled in relief. In short order all the Guardians on Cyrene would be on notice.

“Yates will have to be told,” Ryder added, his tone turning grim.

“I know,” Caro agreed with regret. “But I would prefer to do it myself. The news will surely distress him, he is so fond of her.”

When Ryder left her, Caro shifted her attention to the ballroom floor, her gaze unconsciously seeking out Max.

He was partnering another woman this time—Mrs. Julia Trant, the widow she had plotted for him to meet. Mrs. Trant’s beauty was as striking and elegant as Señora Herrera’s, but she had the opposite coloring, with pale, delicate features, golden blond hair, and cerulean blue eyes.

Caro experienced another irrational urge to do damage to a rival, even as she admired Max whirling the lady across the floor. He was obviously an expert at the waltz; indeed, he danced amazingly well, just as he seemed to do everything else.

It had taken so little effort to make him the center of attention. The female population of the entire island had flocked around him like eager butterflies, drawn to his raw, masculine appeal. Even when he wasn’t trying, the force of his charm was irresistible.

Watching him gaze down at the beautiful blonde in his arms, Caro felt her heart twist painfully. She wondered if Max had any notion just how devastating that sensual half smile of his was.

When Julia Trant, however, returned a dazzling smile of her own, Caro swore a very unladylike oath.

She had known that two such beautiful, alluring people would be attracted to each other. She should be delighted her efforts were so successful. But still, observing Max now gave her cold comfort. It
hurt
to see him holding the glamorous, graceful beauty so closely.

Julia was a former London actress and the closest thing to a demimondaine that Cyrene had to offer. And from the wanton way she was looking at Max, she clearly was eager to have him in her bed. No doubt he would be there soon, perhaps even tonight.

Feeling a fierce ache, Caro turned away abruptly. She could never compete with such feminine perfection. She had little of the dash or flair or elegance that men like Max seemed to admire. She didn’t belong at a ball, either. Her gown, although well tailored, was five seasons out of date. But then, she had never placed much emphasis on her appearance, for she’d always had far more pressing matters that required her attention. She was a practical,
sensible
woman, Caro scolded herself, without much vanity.

So why did she suddenly have this rash longing to be exquisitely beautiful? Why this fervent wish for Max to look at her as if she were, the way he’d looked at her that night at the ruins? Why did she want him to hold her as he was holding Julia Trant? Why did she feel so damnably hot and restless?

Determined to conquer her pathetic feelings, Caro skirted the crowd and headed toward the stone stairway at the far end of the great hall. She intended to make her way outside the castle, where she could enjoy the spectacular view from the parapet walls.

Perhaps in the cool peacefulness of the night she could find a cure for her foolish yearnings.

“Your lack of attention is hardly flattering, darling,” Julia Trant murmured, a hint of petulance in her tone.

Max dragged his gaze back to the woman waltzing in his arms. He had been following Caro’s progress from the hall instead of concentrating on his dance partner. A tactless lapse on his part.

“Miss Evers is certainly amicable, but I frankly cannot comprehend why the gentlemen are so fond of her,” Julia complained with genuine puzzlement. “She has only a small claim to beauty, and she has such extremely odd interests for a female.”

Max could have told her why gentlemen were partial to Caro Evers: because she was accepted as one of them. She had been admitted into their fraternity, where bonds of friendship were nearly as meaningful as honor.

Yet Max could understand why that rare camaraderie would be a source of jealousy for ladies such as Julia Trant; they felt resentful of the rapport they couldn’t share, as well as challenged by Caro’s uniqueness. Caro was not only a healer, she was a warrior.

Yet she had fire and passion in her veins, Max knew firsthand.

Unlike the blond beauty in his arms, he suspected.

He gave Julia Trant a charming smile and a reply that flattered her wounded vanity, but he made his escape as soon as the dance ended.

Standing at the parapet, Caro stared out at the shimmering sea. The waning moon was nearly full, bathing the night in beauty, while a fragrant breeze caressed her flushed skin.

It was times like this that her loneliness was most acute. When she felt a discontent that was palpable. She relished her life, yet she still felt as if something was missing.

Max was greatly to blame, she knew. Only since coming to know him had she even been aware of her loneliness, or realized how deep the ache ran.

But she herself was even more to blame, a prodding voice insisted.
She
had chosen this life, no one else. She alone had denied herself the comfort of male companionship for fear of hampering her dual vocations. She had turned ignoring her womanly needs into a practiced skill.

Yet none of her determined reminders could soothe the yearning inside her. No amount of brutal honesty could make her view the empty future with eagerness.

It startled her when she heard a familiar male voice lightly chiding her. “So this is where you have hidden yourself.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Caro found Max moving toward her. “You should not have left the ball,” she replied, forcing a smile. “You will disappoint all your admirers.”

“Damn my admirers,” he said devoutly. “And damn you for abandoning me. I needed you to protect my virtue, and yet you disappear at the first opportunity.”

She couldn’t repress her unwilling amusement. “I imagine you lost your virtue long ago.”

“Very well, then, let me be blunt. I would far rather be with you than suffer the attentions of all those fawning females.”

The corner of her mouth curved. “If you don’t return, you will miss the best part of the ball. A late supper is to be offered shortly.”

“I know. The feast they are laying out would have fed Wellington’s army for a month. But my appetite has failed me after my efforts to dodge your scheming. I thought I might persuade you to waltz with me instead.”

Her smile faded. “I told you, Max, I don’t dance.”

“What do you have against dancing?”

Embarrassment flushing her face, Caro ducked her head as she admitted in a low voice, “I feel foolish when I attempt it. I have felt awkward at every ball I have ever attended. In London I was a total—” Suddenly she shook her head and managed a short laugh. “I didn’t mean to sound so self-pitying. But you must see what a misfit I am.”

Max leaned casually against the parapet. He himself considered her remarkable, yet he was beginning to comprehend how little faith Caro had in her own allure. It surprised him to see her discomfort in a social setting. In her own world she was assertive and confident and outspoken, but here among the Beau Monde her insecurities were more obvious. She seemed actually intimidated by her lack of feminine graces.

Max felt a surge of protectiveness at her unexpected vulnerability.

He could have told Caro how enchanting he found her, but he doubted she would believe him. No, Max reflected tenderly. He would have to show her instead.

“Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.

“Why?” was her wary response.

“Because I want to dance with you.” One hand swept wide, indicating the stone floor of the parapet. “We have our own private ballroom, with only the moon and the stars and the night sky for an audience.”

Caro studied him for a long moment before giving a brief laugh. “If this is your idea of retribution for my plotting, I wish you would think of some other punishment.”

“I am vexed enough with you to want retribution, witch, but I promise you this will not be punishment.”

Still Caro hesitated. “Even if I knew how to waltz, you would not want me for your partner, I assure you. I would be hopeless.”

“If Yates can dance with his wooden leg, so can you.”

“But John Yates has always relished dancing. I have not.”

“You know how to fence, didn’t you tell me?”

“What does that matter?”

“Dancing is no more difficult than facing an opponent with a rapier. Indeed, most people would consider it a far less dangerous pastime. Now come here. I mean to teach you to waltz.”

“Aren’t you concerned that I might throw you to the ground again?” Caro asked, a smile in her voice.

Her dismissive humor was her shield, Max realized, her means of defense. He found it endearing. “Not at all, for I will be on my guard this time. Pray now, pay attention and follow my lead.”

Lightly grasping both her hands, he showed her the steps and the rhythm. They could hear the faint strains of a waltz coming from the great hall, and Caro found herself emulating Max with surprising ease as he counted time…one-two-three…one-two-three…coaching her now and then, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

Finally, though, he drew her into his arms. “Now close your eyes, angel, and simply feel.”

She obeyed, matching his effortless rhythm, letting the lilting music flow through her. In only moments they were moving together as one.

She could scarcely believe it. Yet as she gave herself over to his embrace, Caro was filled with a strange tangle of emotions, exhilaration and joy and gratitude. She had always wanted to feel graceful, to dance as she saw other women dancing, and somehow Max had managed to turn her into a swan.

An uneven breath escaped her. For the second time in her life, this man was making her feel beautiful. Making her feel desirable.

She felt as if she were moving in a sensual dream.

A long while later she became vaguely aware that Max had slowed their steps. He drew back, his eyes half closed, surveying her.

Their dance dwindled to a full stop, and suddenly the night was alive with sound and sensation.

His eyes locked with hers, molten sapphire. “I intend to kiss you,” he warned, his voice deep and hushed.

Her breath caught like warm liquid in her lungs. His gaze hypnotized her as he held her in the light protective circle of his arms. She felt the heat of his body, felt her breasts swell and tighten. Against all wisdom, she hungered to be kissed.