A wave of daring washed over her. Caro hadn’t done anything so audacious since she’d danced with a handsome dandy soon after her debut, against her mother’s wishes. Her mother had been right, of course, as the gentleman had turned out to be a capricious philanderer, but the brief sensation of the forbidden had been heady.
But no, she’d been plenty audacious at the ball, dancing with Eamon in front of half of polite society instead of remaining decorously against the wall. She’d been audacious when she’d not fled from the sitting room where Eamon had found her, when she’d let her fingers explore the fascinating planes of his body.
That abrupt need for wildness took hold and would not release her. Caro put her hand in Eamon’s, swallowing a wash of yearning as he closed his over it.
Eamon did not seem to notice her sudden elation. He led her up the stairs to the next landing and patted the railing. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
Caro eyed the wide banister, which, if truth be told, she’d pictured herself riding down on more than one occasion.
“I cannot possibly leap up there as you did,” she said. “I did not rush about ridges in the war, leaping streams and evading soldiers.”
“No streams were leapt.” Eamon’s voice rumbled tantalizingly close. “My wet boots and cold feet attested to that. But no fear, Duchess. I will assist.”
Before Caro could argue, Eamon closed his hands around her waist and lifted her easily to the banister.
Caro clung to his shoulders as she sensed the empty air behind her. “Perhaps this is not such a good idea,” she said quickly.
“I’ll not let you fall, my duchess.”
Caro gazed at him, standing so close, his eyes deep blue and holding mysteries. His hands on her waist were strong and sure. They’d been thus in the upstairs chamber in Jo’s house, when he’d kissed her …
“I know you won’t,” she whispered.
Eamon’s eyes darkened, a spark of desire in their depths. He’d kiss her here and now, she sensed. Caro wouldn’t stop him—she’d hold onto him and kiss him back with all her might, never mind that Singleton or her son might reappear at any moment.
Her heart stung when Eamon retreated slightly, though he didn’t release her.
“Off we go, Duchess.”
His hold loosened, but only enough to start her sliding along the railing, her skirts fluttering. Caro whooped as she picked up speed, torn between terror and delight.
Eamon steadied her all the way. He descended the stairs beside her, hands on her waist, guiding her down to the newel post. When they reached it, Eamon quickly lifted her off the banister and set her down, unhurt and exhilarated.
Caro laughed out loud, her merriment ringing through the stairwell. She tried to pat her loosened hair into place, her hands shaking.
“Can we go again?” she heard herself ask.
Once ought to be enough. Caro should put her skirts to rights, beg Eamon to tell no one of her indignity, and retreat upstairs to her correspondence.
“Of course,” Eamon answered readily.
He took her hand, and they ascended the stairs at a run. This time, Eamon hopped onto the railing first.
“We’ll go together. Shall we?” Eamon held out one arm, encouraging Caro to step into its circle.
Without hesitation, Caro did. Eamon lifted her the short distance to his lap, steadying her with his enclosing embrace and wrapping a strong leg around hers.
It was an intimate position, and one that should embarrass her, but Caro felt only exhilaration.
This was followed by a burst of alarm as they hurtled down the railing, but Eamon kept them secure. Caro shouted for the joy of it.
Even with Eamon guiding them, the newel post came up very fast. Caro yelped as they neared it, only to find Eamon lifting her off the railing at the last second.
They both lost their balance, feet tangling as Caro fought to remain upright. Eamon grabbed for the post, but their combined weight took them down.
The gallery’s carpeted floor rushed toward her, then Caro found herself falling onto the strong body of Eamon, he cushioning her fall.
One stunned moment of silence followed, and then they both burst into laughter.
