He nodded, and Caro watched him retreat. Realizing she was staring at the tempting curves of his buttocks outlined by his tight, damp breeches, she forced herself to look away and get to work.
Chapter 5
As soon as he was sufficiently far away, Max allowed the laugh that had been brewing in his chest for the past hour erupt. He shook his head at the shameless tales Caro Montgomery had concocted.
Destitute groomsman, indeed!
Oh, she was a little minx.
When he’d first opened his eyes this morning and seen her angelic features surrounded by a blinding halo of sunlight, he’d experienced a brief, understandable, moment of confusion. Since he only awoke next to Caro Montgomery in his wildest, most wicked dreams, he’d assumed he was still asleep.
That delusion had disappeared almost immediately, but when Caro had started spouting her outrageous torrent of misinformation—presumably just for the perverse pleasure of bedeviling him—he’d been so entertained that he hadn’t bothered to correct her.
It had ever been thus between them.
She’d been right to say that he loved to tease her. As a schoolboy, he’d looked forward to his visits to her family home with breathless anticipation, hiding his delight at sparring with her behind mock disapproval and counter-teasing that had developed into a dangerously thrilling flirtation.
Fantasies of kissing her, and more, had invaded his dreams for years.
As they’d grown older, and Caro had ventured out into society, he’d watched with increasing disapproval as other young men had begun to appreciate her sparkling eyes and irreverent wit. But despite lusting after her to an inordinate degree, she was still his best friend’s sister—which meant she was not the girl for a quick tumble in the sheets, but rather the kind of girl one married.
Back then, Max had considered himself far too young to settle down, but he’d breathed a silent sigh of relief each time he’d heard she’d turned down another marriage proposal.
In his foolish immaturity, he’d been a classic dog-in-the manger; he hadn’t been able to admit that he wanted her for himself, but he hadn’t wanted anyone else to have her, either.
He shook his head at his own youthful stupidity.
Caro put him in mind of the butterflies her father was so fond of studying; effortlessly beautiful and yet elusive, flitting from one group of people to another, delighting all she encountered, but never settling in one place for too long. A transitory beauty as beguiling as a South American swallowtail.
He’d missed her whenever she’d accompanied her parents and twin sisters on their various specimen-hunting expeditions around the world.
When he’d defied society’s expectations and joined the fight against Napoleon as a cavalryman alongside her brother William, he’d come to realize just how much she meant to him. His numerous brushes with death, culminating in the nightmare of Waterloo, had solidified his feelings. He loved Caroline Montgomery with every thump of his still-beating heart.
Unfortunately, his determination to court her in earnest had been stymied by the fact that she’d left for a six-month-long trip to Brazil not three weeks after he’d returned to England. They’d been like ships that passed in the night.
Since London was a miserable place without her in it, Max had headed to his country seat, Gatcombe Park, and busied himself with setting the affairs of the estate in order. His uncle, the thirteenth duke, had—contrary to Caro’s assertions—left the tenants happy and the ducal coffers full, and Max had quickly grown restless.
To pass the time until Caro came home, he’d taken a long-overdue trip to see his cousin in India. When Will had written to him, mentioning that Caro and the rest of her family would be traveling to Madagascar, in the Indian Ocean, the following month, Max had decided the fates were finally smiling down upon him.
He’d hastily arranged his own passage to the island to intercept them, and secured a cabin on their return ship, the Artemis, with the delightful prospect of spending the journey back to England wooing Caro so thoroughly that she’d finally see him as her perfect match.
That, clearly, hadn’t gone to plan, but Max found that he couldn’t be annoyed at the situation they’d suddenly found themselves in.
Was there such a thing as wishing for something too hard? He’d wanted to be alone with Caro, after all. Perhaps destiny had concocted this unlikely state of affairs to grant him his heart’s desire in the most emphatic, inescapable way possible.
Because now he had her, all to himself.
For days, if not for weeks.
It was either the very best, or the very worst thing that could possibly have happened to him.
Obviously, he would have preferred somewhere a little less life-threatening. To be snowed in together at a cozy coaching inn, for example. Or stranded at a house party in the Highlands. Somewhere with decent food and adequate facilities.
Here there was the possibility of real bodily harm. Either one of them could get sick, or injured. They could slowly starve to death.
Max shook his head again. No. No harm would come to Caro. He’d die before he’d ever let that happen.
His protective instincts had always been strong, perhaps from having lost his father at such a young age, and he’d cared for the men under his command in the army as if they’d been his own flesh and blood. He’d done as much as humanly possible to keep them all alive while on campaign, and he would do exactly the same for Caro, now.
