Nicole Jordan (6 page)

With a murmur of protest, Caro pressed her palms against Max’s chest, pushing him back a step.

Breathless, she moved to stand near the hearth, away from the threat of his embrace, putting the wing chair firmly between them.

Max watched her in silence, wondering at her skittishness. Surely she didn’t think he would harm her? No, more likely her unease was simply due to self-consciousness at meeting him again. He strongly suspected Caro Evers wouldn’t like exposing her defenses to him as she had that night. He’d recognized the hint of shyness in her lustrous gray eyes just now. Of vulnerability.

Yet he felt vulnerable as well. His relationship with her was unlike any he’d ever had with a woman.

He couldn’t remember ever being this damned intrigued by a woman, either. It was refreshing to find one he had to chase rather than the usual beauties who saw him as prey, but that didn’t wholly explain his fierce attraction to her. His desire for Caro hadn’t dissipated since that night; if anything, it was stronger.

Perhaps it was madness, Max admitted to himself. He’d known her for a few brief days, over a year ago, but his strongest drive now was to claim ownership. And now that he had found her again, he wasn’t about to let her go.

He had no intention of showing his hand, however.

“You mentioned that you have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow. Isn’t that rather sudden, when you just arrived?”

She looked relieved by the change of subject. “I accomplished what I came for.”

“And what is that?”

Her hesitation was curiously noticeable. “Actually I came to fetch Thorne. A very dear friend of mine is in grave trouble.”

“And he can help?”

“I hope so.”

“Thorne works for the Foreign Office, I understand.”

Caro looked at Max in surprise. “How did you know?”

“He told me.”

She frowned, wondering why Thorne had disclosed even that much about himself. That was the tale all the Guardians used to protect their identities and to explain their clandestine activities. In fact, Lady Hennessy believed her nephew to be one of Sir Gawain Olwen’s chief representatives in London.

It wasn’t precisely a lie. In theory the Guardians of the Sword reported to the British Foreign Office.

Publicly Sir Gawain was thought to head a select branch of the Foreign Office, and his work was considered a sanctioned government service. But few people realized the considerable number of agents he had under his command. Fewer still were privy to the secrets behind how the order had been established, or how deeply the Guardians permeated present British and European society.

There was a good reason for secrecy, since it provided a major advantage to their successful operations.

Caro started to reply, but her response was interrupted by another rap on the door.

“That should be Thorne now,” she murmured as she went to admit him.

He entered, carrying a leather pouch, which she knew contained dispatches for Sir Gawain. He handed the pouch to her, but before he could speak, she called his attention to her other visitor.

Thorne halted abruptly when he spied Max, arching an eyebrow in surprise.

“Mr. Leighton was just leaving,” Caro announced.

“Loath as I am to contradict a lady, I wasn’t,” Max refuted genially. “I was waiting to learn about the grave trouble her friend is in, and why you are being summoned to help.”

Thorne hesitated a long moment, looking from one to the other of them. “Lady Isabella Wilde,” he said finally. “Do you know her?”

“I’ve heard of her, certainly, although she was away when I visited Cyrene last year. An eccentric, wealthy widow.”

“She isn’t truly eccentric,” Caro said in her friend’s defense. “She is merely fond of exploration and less chained by convention than most women. Her father was the Count of Aranda, one of Spain’s greatest ministers.”

“But Bella’s adventures have been known to land her in scrapes before now,” Thorne added. “And this one is more serious than most. Her ship was likely seized by Barbary corsairs….”

He proceeded to tell Max much of what Caro had told him, including their suspicions that Isabella had been sold into slavery.

Thorne’s divulgences surprised Caro. She saw no reason to share any of the details with Max, since Isabella’s disappearance was none of his concern.

She couldn’t understand, either, why Max was still here in her bedchamber. Any gentleman would have acknowledged her requests and politely taken his leave. But Max Leighton was obviously not any typical gentleman. Rather, he was accustomed to command and to being obeyed. And unlike her, his consequence was exalted enough that he could choose to ignore the rules of polite society without causing a scandal and being shunned in disgrace.

“So you intend to search for Lady Isabella?” Max asked Thorne at the conclusion.

“Yes. I leave first thing tomorrow for Algiers. Meanwhile, several other of Isabella’s friends have been summoned to Cyrene to be available in the event we must plot her rescue. It may take a few weeks for them all to gather there, but by then I hope to have some tangible information as to her whereabouts.”

“Perhaps I could be of help,” Max said slowly.

“You are volunteering to aid us?” Thorne asked.

Max nodded. “At least a half-dozen times during my military career, I orchestrated the liberation of captured British soldiers. I would be happy to offer you the benefit of my experience.”

“You shouldn’t have to make such a sacrifice, Mr. Leighton,” Caro replied swiftly. “You only recently returned from years of war, and it would be asking too much of you to embroil yourself in further conflict.”

Max’s glance focused on her. “You saved my lieutenant. I could begin to repay that debt if I could help you save your friend.”

“He has a point, love,” Thorne said. “And Max is said to be a brilliant military tactician. He could be of significant value in any rescue attempt.”

She gave Thorne a puzzled frown, surprised by his obtuseness. To maintain their effectiveness, the Guardians needed anonymity. If Max became involved in a rescue attempt, it would be difficult to keep the order a secret from him. And only Sir Gawain made the decisions about whom to invite into their confidence.

“I think you are forgetting Sir Gawain’s dislike of involving outsiders,” Caro said pointedly.

Thorne grinned. “In this instance I’m certain Sir Gawain will forgive me. Max isn’t considered a war hero for no reason. In countless battles he succeeded against overwhelming odds when he was outmanned and outgunned. His efforts made the war come to an end that much sooner. We could use someone with his skills and keen intelligence.”

Caro raised an eyebrow at Thorne, silently trying to convey her concern. “Might I have a word with you in private?”

“There is no need for privacy, love. We can speak freely in front of Max. He doesn’t need to be employed by the Foreign Office to participate. I have no doubt Sir Gawain will eventually want to recruit him, but for now he can simply join us as a civilian.”

Perhaps it was true, Caro admitted reluctantly. Max wouldn’t need to be told about the Guardians, just that Isabella had a group of protectors who were determined to rescue her. And any newcomer would have to prove himself before being extended an invitation to join the order. Clearly Thorne saw this as an opportunity for Max to prove himself as a future Guardian.

She highly doubted that Max Leighton would want to commit his life to their endeavors, but she could hardly debate the matter when he was standing right here, attending their interchange with avid curiosity.

“It is quite simple,” Thorne said. “Max can accompany you back to Cyrene tomorrow, and he can billet at my house there until we recover Isabella.”

Caro hesitated, all her instincts urging her to resist. No doubt Max
would
be a highly valuable asset. And she shouldn’t let her own personal reservations interfere with far more important goals.

Yet she much preferred to have no further involvement with Max at all. She wasn’t prepared to deal with the complications of his returning to Cyrene with her. He would prove too great a distraction, she was certain. Already whenever he came near her, his potent effect made her so flustered and self-conscious, she could scarcely keep her wits about her. If he accompanied her on the journey, her nerves would be in a constant state of chaos.

Moreover, she didn’t want to risk repeating her brazen, foolish seduction of him. Or the inexplicable sense of loss she’d felt after he had gone.

She couldn’t possibly admit her reasons to him, though.

“I still don’t think it a good idea for him to become involved,” Caro murmured.

“Why not?” Max asked curiously.

“For one thing, I could never forgive myself if you were to be hurt helping us.”

“I doubt the danger will be anywhere near the magnitude of the recent war.”

“If we mount a rescue in Barbary, it won’t be a mere lark, Mr. Leighton. You could risk serious injury or even death.”

“I am willing to chance it. And while I’m not particularly eager for the thrill of adventure, I could use the diversion. All these months of soft civilian life are beginning to wear on my nerves.”

“You find it tedious and dull, you mean?” Caro asked sweetly.

“Something of the sort.” His tone was dry.

“Then you don’t want to come to our little island, I assure you. Our community is highly rural and extremely slow compared to anything in London. You will find few of the amenities you are accustomed to, and certainly not much of the social life. You will come to miss civilization as you know it. And the ranks of admiring ladies eager to worship you will be exceedingly thin.”

His slow smile was quite devastating. “That, frankly, is a point in favor of my going. There are countless matchmaking mamas sharpening their knives for me here. Participating in your venture would provide me a good reason to escape all the ardent young misses who are looking to snag me as a marriage prize.”

“Exactly,” Thorne agreed with a chuckle. “And I’m sure Max will appreciate the chance to enjoy some peace and quiet. Furthermore”—Thorne fixed Caro with a stern look—“you, my sweet hoyden, could use the diversion yourself. Having Max around for company will help take your mind off Bella’s fate. It might even help pry you out of your shell.”

Caro’s eyes narrowed at his deliberate provocation. “I don’t have a shell.”

“You do, love. And I’ll wager it’s only grown thicker without me there to poke and prod you. You need someone like Max to challenge you and keep you sharp in my absence.”

“Your absence has been a pleasant respite, I must say!” Caro retorted.

Max watched their lively sparring, watched her gray eyes flashing, and felt a renewed surge of fascination—along with a more inexplicable craving.

His reaction confounded him. He had spent the final, hellish year of the war dreaming about this woman, but he’d considered her his guardian angel, not merely an object of desire. He hadn’t expected his response now to be so…carnal. Hadn’t expected his hunger for her to rekindle with such intensity.

When earlier he’d moved close enough to touch her, he’d felt the overpowering need to kiss her, to taste her, to drive himself deep within her sheltering warmth. Even now his loins were half-hard.

It had stung when Caro claimed their lovemaking had been nothing more than a curiosity for her, although Max suspected that night had meant more to her than she was willing to admit.

It also stung to see her evident close friendship with Thorne, Max acknowledged. He’d never felt this savage slash of jealousy over any other woman.

His eagerness to accompany her to Cyrene amazed him as well. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of the war by becoming involved in another rescue mission. But he owed Caro a great deal—not only for saving his lieutenant, but for virtually saving his own sanity this past year.

An artillery barrage could not have kept him away now.

He could lie to himself and offer any number of excuses to justify his reasoning. Quite possibly a sojourn in the golden serenity of the island could help him find the peace that had eluded him since the war ended.

But he knew his true reason for wanting to return to the island was much more profound: this was his chance to discover if the enchantment he had felt with Caro Evers that night was real or simply a spell cast by the island’s beauty—one that wouldn’t survive a deeper acquaintance in the harsh light of day.

He’d spent countless months haunted by her image. If he let her go now, he would forever wonder if he’d made a vital mistake.

He had to return, if only to prove to himself that her strange hold over him could be broken. That the vaunted power of the island was no more than myth.

Surely then he would be able to drive Caro out of his thoughts, his dreams, and he could move on with his life.

It remained to convince her to accept him, though, Max knew. She obviously didn’t want to capitulate.

His gaze locked with hers. “I thought you said you aren’t afraid of me, Miss Evers.”

The spirited flash of defiance in her eyes told him he had struck a nerve.

“I am
not
afraid of you!”

“Then I don’t understand your objection.”

“Very well,” she said, not hiding her exasperation. “You may come if you wish. In truth, I would use the devil himself if he could help find Isabella.”

Max couldn’t help but smile. “Are you putting me in the same league as the devil?”

“I’m beginning to think you belong there,” she snapped. Her hands went to her hips. “Of course I will be grateful for any assistance you can give us, but pray don’t blame me if you go mad from boredom.”

“I suspect boredom will be the least of my worries,” Max murmured half under his breath, hiding his exhilaration at Caro’s surrender.

“Then it’s settled,” Thorne declared with satisfaction. “The two of you sail for Cyrene tomorrow.”

At that pronouncement, Max felt the muscles of his belly clench. He recognized the sensation; he’d felt it before every battle: his entire body taut with tension, nerves alert with anticipation, with excitement, with fear.