Now he had caught the same disease. Certainly, he was now victim to the same compulsion he’d long recognized in Devil.

He’d spent a restless night; by the time he’d finished breakfast this morning, he’d accepted that the hollowness centered somewhere below his breastbone wasn’t due to hunger.

Luckily, Caro had already been married once; she would doubtless take his reaction—his susceptibility—in her stride.

That, however, presupposed she’d recognized and accepted the true nature of his interest in her.

He was on his way to speak with her, to ensure that whatever else occurred between them, she was completely clear and unequivocally convinced on that point.

On the fact that he wanted her as his wife.

Leaving Atlas in the care of Geoffrey’s stableman, he walked up to the house through the gardens. As he started across the last stretch of lawn leading to the terrace, a distinct but distant snip, followed by a rustle, had him glancing to the left.

Fifty yards away, Caro stood in the center of the sunken rose garden clipping deadheads from the burgeoning bushes.

Garden shears tightly gripped, Caro snipped with abandon, plucking the sheared hips from the heavily laden bushes and dropping or tossing them to the flagstone path. Hendricks, Geoffrey’s gardener, would tidy up later and be grateful for her industry; meanwhile, attacking the bushes and cutting away the faded blooms, encouraging the rampant canes to flower even more profusely, was distinctly satisfying. Oddly calming, in some strange way soothing the panicky irritation she felt whenever she thought of Michael.

Which was far too often for her liking.

She had no idea what the feeling presaged, no prior experience to call on, but instinct warned she stood on tricky ground where he was concerned, and she’d long ago learned to trust her instincts.

The discovery that she couldn’t be sure of managing him, indeed was no longer sure she’d successfully managed him at any point, had undermined her usual confidence. Her exasperated capitulation the previous evening, wise though hindsight had proved it to be, was another cause for worry—since when had she become so susceptible to the pressuring persuasions of a presumptuous male?

True, he’d been absolutely determined, but why had she succumbed? Given in? Surrendered?

Frowning direfully, she viciously decapitated another shriveled set of blooms.

She paused, frown fading… and felt a tingle of warmth, felt a lick of rising excitement frizzle along her nerves.

Lungs tightening, she looked up—and saw her nemesis, large as life, lounging against the stone arch, watching her. Inwardly she swore in Portuguese; the effect he had on her—whatever it was—was only getting worse. Now she could feel his gaze across a distance of ten paces!

A smile curved his lips. He pushed away from the arch and walked toward her.

Ruthlessly suppressing her wayward senses, she responded with a perfectly gauged smile, one that was welcoming, suitable for an old friend, yet clearly stated that that was the limit of their association. “Good morning—are you looking for Geoffrey? I believe he’s gone to look over the south fields.”

His smile deepened; his eyes remained fixed on hers. “No. I’m not after Geoffrey.”

His long, easy strides carried him to within a foot of her skirts before he halted. She let her eyes widen, outwardly laughingly surprised—inwardly starting to panic. He surprised her even more—panicked her even more—by reaching out, plucking the shears from her right hand while with his other hand he captured her fingers.

Her gloved fingers, she reminded herself, struggling to subdue her escalating tension.

He smiled into her eyes. “It’s you I came to see.”

He raised her hand; thanking heaven for her gardening gloves, she allowed one brow to rise, waiting for him to realize he couldn’t kiss her fingers. Amusement gleamed in the sky blue of his eyes, then he turned her hand, long fingers flicking the wrist-slit of the glove wide, bent his head, and placed a kiss—a disturbingly firm, distractingly hot, far-too-knowing kiss—directly over the spot beneath which her pulse raced.

For one instant, giddiness threatened, then she snapped her gaze to his face, watched him reading her reaction, saw the satisfaction in his eyes.

Indeed?“ Preserving her expression of polite friendliness required considerable effort. She retrieved her hand; she didn’t need to tug—he released it readily.

“Indeed. Are you busy?”

He didn’t glance around at the severely denuded bushes, for which shle grudgingly accorded him several points. A lady of her standing vis-iting her brother’s house… if she was filling her hours deadheading roses, there was obviously nothing urgent on her plate.

“No.” Determined to meet his challenge, whatever it might be, she smiled. “Did you think of some suggestion for the ball?”

His eyes met hers; she tried but couldn’t read them. His expression remained relaxed, unthreatening. “In a manner of speaking. But come, let’s walk. There are a number of matters I’d like to discuss with you.”

He tossed the shears into the trug by her feet, and offered his arm. She had to take it and stroll beside him, and fight to appear unaffected. Her nerves were screamingly aware of his physical presence, of his strength, and that disturbing, distracting masculine aura that seemed, at least to her fevered imagination, to shimmer about her—reaching for her, enfolding her, as if it would surround and trap her.

She gave herself a mental shake, looked up as he said, “About Elizabeth.”

The words focused her wits wonderfully. “What about Elizabeth?”

He glanced at her. “I realize you—you, she, and Campbell—knew my intentions, or rather the possibility of my having intentions in that direction. I wondered how you knew.”

It was a reasonable question, albeit one he couldn’t have asked of anyone but a trusted friend. She looked down as they walked, rapidly considering how much she should reveal, deciding that in this case, the truth would be wisest. She met his gaze. “Amazingly enough, it was Geoffrey who first alerted us.”

“Geoffrey?” His incredulity was unfeigned. “How could he have heard anything?”

She smiled, genuinely this time. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but I don’t think he knew anything of your intentions. As I understand it—and no, in the circumstances, I haven’t broached the subject with him—it was his intentions he was pursuing. When Elizabeth returned from London and admitted she hadn’t developed a tendre for any gentleman of the ton, Geoffrey turned his mind to what I believe he thought would be an advantageous match. He tried to sound out Elizabeth, but…”

She caught his eye. “Geoffrey singing any gentleman’s praises was bound to put the wind up Elizabeth.”

He raised his brows. “Especially given her attachment to Campbell.”

She smiled, commending his intelligence. “Precisely.”

As she watched, his eyes widened, his gaze momentarily distant, then he glanced at her. “Just as well I didn’t sound out Geoffrey over the possibility I came here to assess.”

“Indeed not—he would have taken the bit between his teeth and run.”

“Which would have been deuced awkward.” He caught her gaze. “It appears I have to thank you for stopping me from speaking with him—that was why you came to see me that first day, wasn’t it?”

A betraying warmth crept into her cheeks. “Yes.” She looked away, shrugged. “Of course, I didn’t intend to make quite such a dramatic entrance.”

The comment reminded Michael of that earlier incident; a shaft of pure fear lanced through him. He damped it down, pointing out to his newfound vulnerability that she was here, walking, warm and feminine, by his side.

They strolled for a few paces, then he murmured, “But you—you knew more definitely about my direction. How did you learn of it?” He’d decided the simplest way to make her see and appreciate the Tightness of his new direction was to lead her mind along the same track his had taken.

“Elizabeth sent frantic summonses to me and Edward—I was staying with Augusta in Derbyshire. We both thought Elizabeth had misinterpreted, so we stopped in London on the way down. There, however, Edward learned about your pending promotion and the Prime Minister’s directive. So I visited your aunt Harriet and she told me of your intentions regarding Elizabeth.”

“I see.” He made a mental note to have a word to his aunt, but reading between the lines, it seemed Caro already knew all she needed to know about his present state and the reason behind his sincere need of a suitable wife.

Indeed, he couldn’t see any benefit in explaining further. At least not in words.

He glanced at her. The summerhouse built out over the ornamental lake—his chosen destination—was still some way ahead.

She looked up, caught his eye, and smiled—perfectly genuinely. “I’m so glad you understood about Elizabeth, that you and she really wouldn’t suit.” Her smile deepened. “I’m relieved and very grateful.”

He returned her smile with one he hoped wasn’t wolfish. He wasn’t above exploiting her gratitude—in her own best interests, of course.

And his.

He searched for topics to keep her distracted until they gained the summerhouse’s relative privacy. “I presume you have hopes for Campbell. He’ll need to advance further before he and Elizabeth can hope to secure Geoffrey’s blessing.”

“Indeed.” She looked down, then said, “I was thinking of speaking to a few people when Parliament reconvenes. If there’s to be a reshuffle, that might well be a propitious time.”

He nodded. Saw no reason not to add, “If you like, I could sound out Hemmings at the Home Office, and there’s Curlew at Customs and Revenue.”

She looked up, her radiant smile dawning. “Would you?”

Taking her elbow, he guided her up the summerhouse’s steps. “Campbell’s experience is sound; I’ll watch him while I’m here and make my own assessment, but with both Camden’s and your impri- matur, it shouldn’t take much effort to set his feet on the next rung.”

Caro laughed, softly cynical. “True, but it does take connections.” I Walking across the summerhouse to where open arches with low railings looked out over the lake, she halted, turned, and smiled. “Thank you.”

He hesitated, his blue gaze on her, then walked slowly toward her.

Her lungs locked; with every step he took, the vise clamped about her chest tightened, until she felt light-headed. In the most severely lecturing tones she could muster, she told herself not to be stupid, to simply keep breathing, to hide her silly sensitivity at all costs—how mortifying if he should realize…

This was Michael—he posed no threat to her.

Her senses refused to listen.

To her mounting surprise, the closer he got, the more clearly she could read the intentness in his gaze. Realized with a jolt that he’d dropped his politician’s mask, that he was looking at her as if…

He didn’t stop his prowling advance.

Full realization struck. She felt her eyes widen. Abruptly, she swung around. Gestured to the lake. “It’s a… very pleasant view.”

She’d barely managed to squeeze the words out. She waited, tense, almost quivering.

“Indeed.” The deep murmur stirred the fine hairs at her nape.

Her senses flared; he was like a caressing flame burning at her back. So near. About to reach around and engulf her. Trap her

Panic struck, full blown.

“Ah”—she stepped quickly to her right, walked to the far side of the next arch—“if you stand over here, you can see down the lake to where the rhododenrons are in bloom.”

She didn’t dare look his way. “And look!” She pointed. “There’s a family of ducks. There’s”—she paused to count—“twelve ducklings.”

Senses at full stretch, she waited, mentally scanning for movement from her left.

Suddenly realized he’d circled to her right!

“Caro.”

She swallowed a shriek; she was so tense she felt dizzy. He was beside and just behind her; stepping left, she whirled. Her back to the other side of the arch, she stared at him. “What—just what do you think you’re about?”

Given her panic, her wide eyes, manufacturing a scowl was beyond her. Besides, this was Michael…

Beyond her control, puzzlement and a certain hurt filled her eyes.

He’d halted; he stood perfectly still, his blue gaze on her face, searching, studying… the impression she received through the jibber-ing of her senses was that he was as puzzled as she.