“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.
