With a nod and that same intent look, he left.
She stood in the doorway listening to his retreating footsteps, and wondered…in agreeing to an affair, just what had she agreed to?
The question resonated in her mind the following afternoon when she stood on the terrace, hands on her hips, and glared at Michael.
She opened her mouth—
He pointed a finger at her nose. “Without argument. Remember?”
She let out her breath in an exasperated hiss through teeth unbecomingly clenched. “I—”
“You have precisely five minutes to change into your riding habit. I’ll meet you on the front steps with the horses.”
With that, he turned, went down the terrace steps, and strode away toward the stables—leaving her with her mouth open…and a sneaking suspicion she had no alternative but to fall in with his plans.
She’d never been so dictated to in her life!
Swinging around, muttering dire imprecations against males, all males, presumptuous or otherwise, she whipped off her apron, swung through the kitchens to check with Cook and Mrs. Judson, then hurried upstairs. Ten minutes later, after remembering and delivering the instructions she’d been on her way to give when the sight of Michael striding purposefully up to the house had distracted her, she hurried into the front hall.
Looking down, tugging on her riding gloves, she ran straight into a wall of solid male muscle her senses had no difficulty recognizing.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she protested, bouncing off.
He steadied her, then locked one hand about one of hers. “Just as well.”
His growl made her blink, but she couldn’t see his face—he’d already turned and was striding for the door, towing her behind him. She had to hurry to keep up, frantically grabbing up her habit’s skirt so she could clatter down the steps in his wake.
“This is ridiculous!” she grumbled as he towed her relentlessly to Calista’s side.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
He halted by the mare’s side, swung around to lift her up. He closed his hands about her waist, then paused.
She looked up, met his eyes. As always, she was screamingly aware of her giddy senses’ preoccupation with him and his nearness, but she seemed to be growing used to the effect.
“Have you had an affair before?”
The question had her blinking her eyes wide. “No! Of course not…” The words were out before she’d thought.
But he merely nodded, somewhat grimly. “I thought not.”
With that, he lifted her to her saddle, held her stirrup while she slid her boot in.
Settling her skirts, she frowned at him as he went to his horse and mounted. “What’s that got to say to anything?”
Picking up his reins, he met her gaze. “You’re not exactly making it easy.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I told you.” She brought Calista up beside him and they set out along the drive. “There’s the ball, the fete—I’m busy.”
“You’re not—you’re skittish, and looking for excuses to avoid taking the plunge.”
She looked ahead; she made no attempt to meet his eyes, yet she felt his gaze on her face.
“You’re the epitome of efficiency, Caro—you can’t expect me to believe you can’t take two hours out of the afternoon of the day before what for you is a relatively minor ball.”
He was right, at least about that last. She frowned, more inwardly than outwardly. Was he right about the rest, too? She knew what she feared; had it really cut so deep, did the fear hold her so securely that she would unthinkingly, instinctively as he was suggesting, avoid any situation that might challenge it?
She glanced at him. He was watching her but, as their eyes met, she realized he wasn’t seeking to pressure her. He was, most definitely, seeking to understand her; as yet, he couldn’t.