Stephanie Laurens - The Ideal Bride

“You mean he buried all mention of it?”

“If nothing came of it that subsequently affected the office for which he was responsible, then yes,” she nodded, “I can see that he might have.”

“But mention might remain in his papers.”

“Indeed.” She sighed. “I had better put more effort into reading them, but at least now I know over which period I need to search.”

At that moment, however, in the shadows of the night, standing within Michael’s arms, Camden’s papers were not uppermost in her mind. She tightened her arms, stretched up against his hold. “Kiss me.”

Michael smiled, and did, taking full advantage of her invitation— making a mental note to later ask who the old friend she’d entrusted with Camden’s letters was—but then her invitation deepened, broadened, sensual horizons expanding… capturing him, his thoughts, his body, his mind.

Ultimately his soul.

With no other woman had he shared such a connection; with no other could he imagine doing so. With every passing night, every day, every soiree, every hour in their mutual world, they seemed to become more definitely, ever more clearly the compatible halves of a powerful whole.

The knowledge shook him, and thrilled him. Sent impatient exulta-tion surging through him. No matter that she hadn’t yet recanted her opposition and agreed to their wedding, he couldn’t see—had no intention of countenancing—any other outcome. The path between now and then might be shrouded in impenetrable shadow, uncertain both in length and events, yet their eventual destination remained fixed and unwavering.

Later, sated and replete, he gathered her, boneless and drowsy, against him, settling them comfortably in the billows of her bed. He’d meant to ask her something… couldn’t quite focus his mind… “Who lectured you on your duty?” He hoped it hadn’t been Magnus.

“Therese Osbaldestone.‘ Caro sleepily rubbed her cheek against his arm. ”She’s pleased I’m not hiding myself away.“

He made a mental note to keep an eye on Lady Osbaldestone. He didn’t need her queering his pitch, pressuring Caro in any way whatever.

If he’d harbored any reservations that he needed her—specifically her—by his side, the past two evenings would have put the matter beyond doubt. Yet that was his professional life; while such considerations provided a major impetus—an increasingly powerful motive for him to marry her with all speed—the very same arguments were those she would most distrust… and he couldn’t fault her in that.

Marriage—the more he thought of it, considered it in its totality, the more he appreciated that it had to be based on more than professional interests, on far more than a sense of duty. Not only would Caro not bow to duty again, he didn’t want her to come to him that way. Not for that reason.

Above all, not for that reason.

As he lay in the warmth of the rumpled bed and let sleep draw near, heard Caro’s soft breaths, felt them ruffle the hairs on his chest, felt her soft warmth, her feminine curves, pressed to him, a promise clearer, more potent than any words, he was aware of impatience, yet equally conscious of the wisdom of waiting.

Of letting her make up her mind on her own, no pressure, no persuasions…

A thought rippled through his mind as sleep drew him under. Perhaps there was something he could do.

Subtly influencing people was a politician’s stock-in-trade. He was an excellent politician; the following morning, leaving Caro ensconced in the upstairs parlor leafing through Camden’s diaries, he reminded himself of that as he paced down Upper Grosvenor Street and into Grosvenor Square.

Not pressure, not persuasion, but there were other avenues, other means. Aside from all else, actions spoke loudest, were always more convincing.

Honoria was at home; she joined him in the sitting room. The children barreled in in her wake; after dutifully admiring Sebastian’s and young Michael’s new bat and ball, and spending a few minutes tickling Louisa, he glanced at Honoria. She saw and efficiently shooed her brood out through the terrace doors to play on the lawn where their nursemaids were waiting.

“There!” Standing on the threshold, she looked at him. “What is it?”

He joined her, allowing her to keep a distant eye on her sons’ antics while they talked. “I want to marry Caro, but …” Staring out at the lawns, he continued, “Her marriage to Camden was based on his need of her talents—what he correctly perceived as her potential hostessly skills. Those, of course, are precisely the same skills I need in a wife, but such a need is the very last thing that would persuade Caro to a second marriage.”

Honoria grimaced. “I can see her point. Camden was a great deal older than she.”

“Indeed. Worse, it was very much an arranged marriage, primarily for Camden’s benefit. Caro, however, was not initially aware of that.”

Honoria’s grimace turned pained. “Oh, dear.” She glanced briefly at him. “So if you approach her offering the position of your wife…”

He nodded, a touch grim. “If that was all I offered, I would stand no chance of winning her.” He drew breath, exhaled, stated his decision. “To win Caro, I need to offer more—a lot more.”

He looked at Honoria, met her eyes. “Which is why I’m here. I wanted to ask why, when initially you were so set against it, you changed your mind and accepted Devil’s proposal. What tipped the scales?”

Honoria studied his face, his eyes; she understood exactly what he was asking. Her mind flitted back seven years, to that long-ago summer. Remembered… recalled. Facing the lawn, she searched for words to explain what had compelled her to accept Devil’s offer, to seize the chance, accept the challenge—pick up the gauntlet fate had so unexpectedly flung in her path.

How could she explain the allure, the compelling temptation, of love? Of a heart offered, however reluctantly, however much against the grain. That that very reluctance could in certain circumstances make the gift even more precious, because it could never be seen as something lightly yielded.

She drew breath, thought how to phrase her answer. Eventually said, “I changed my mind because he offered me the one thing I most truly needed, the thing that would make my life into what—or even more than—I had dreamed it could be. Because he was prepared to give me that, and through that, all that was most important to me.”

Her gaze focused on her children. Should she mention that Caro wanted children, yearned for them in much the same way she had? A hidden, very private yearning that only another who had felt the same might guess. She’d guessed, and had seized the opportunity to let Louisa confirm it, prodding that yearning to life.

But if she told Michael… he was male—would he understand how to effectively use the knowledge? He might think the promise of children, of itself, was enough, and not see it as the outcome, the consequence of that even more precious gift.

Quite aside from her sisterly desire to see him happy and settled, married to a lady of the type he deserved, she also felt a compulsion to do all she could to see Caro happy, too. To have her childhood friend experience the same happiness she had found.

The last thing she wished was for Caro’s unsatisfactory first marriage to dim her chances of attaining that happiness.

She glanced at Michael, realized that despite his impassive expression he was wrestling with her words, trying to interpret them. “I can’t explain better than that. For each woman, the outward expression of what is most important will differ, yet giving her that one critical thing that enables all else, being willing to do so, is the key.”