Page 19 of The Trouble with Tweed

“You needn’t sound so put out about it. Remember, you’re the one who trapped me into this arrangement.” He chuckled as if her petulance amused her.

Claire was discomfited to realize that the noise seemed to have a strange effect on her—every time he gave that low laugh, it felt as if someone drew a warm finger across her lower back.

Michael had always been handsome, and Claire had always been aware of it. There’d even been a time where it felt as if that was all she’d been able to focus on—the elegant slope of his nose, the way his eyebrows winged upward in amusement, the one freckle on his earlobe that was darker than the rest…

Of course, that had been before. And Claire had thought that her awareness of his handsomeness would have receded in the face of all she now knew about him. It was an inconvenient realization to find out that her irritation could reside quite comfortably next to her attraction to him. She’d much have preferred the irritation to drive out the other emotion altogether.

No matter—she would simply have to focus on the task at hand.

“Is this plan interfering with your plans to court another?” She felt a prickle of annoyance even as she said the words.

He laughed. “I have no plans to court anyone else.”

Claire nodded and ignored how pleased she was at his words. Michael was too good at this. She was already getting confused, and they’d only spent the span of several hours in each other’s company.

They didn’t speak again until they were perpendicular with her sisters. Lily was openly frowning at Dahlia now. She must have figured out that she was the subject of that morning’s rendering, after all. William was unabashedly staring at Dahlia, but with a completely different expression on his face. Dahlia was oblivious to her audience--a little furrow dimpled between her brows as her pencil flew across the parchment.

“Until tomorrow, Claire,” Michael said, directing her attention back up to him.

His eyes were a stunning blue, even more amazing close up. There were little flecks of ice all around the pupil, with a rim of darker blue surrounding it. Michael held her gaze as he slowly raised her knuckles to his lips. He pressed a kiss there, a longer one this time. The heat from his lips seeped through the lace of her glove instantly, and it was all she could do not to sway on her feet.

This was the danger of a handsome rake, she thought. Michael had so much experience wooing ladies, he could no longer differentiate between what was false and what was true. Or perhaps it was all false to him, and all true to the lady, Claire amended. In either case, Michael was exceedingly dangerous.

He was also a means to an end, and Claire intended to use him.

CHAPTER 6- MICHAEL

The following morning, Michael waited in front of a bustling tearoom. The crisp white paint of the bricks was set off by black shutters. Several large pots spilled flowers over their edges onto the cobblestones. It was a fashionable part of town, and not an unpleasant spot to pass the time—Michael just hoped that Claire wasn’t going to lose her courage and fail to show up.

Just as he frowned down at his watch fob for the third time, a black-lacquered coach as shiny as a beetle pulled to the curb. Michael hurried forward and offered his hand first to Claire’s maid and then to Claire herself as they descended.

Claire shook her head, her lips pinched together. “Apologies for my tardiness. My sisters heard I was going out and demanded to accompany me.”

Michael peered at the carriage behind her.

“Not here. Just into town in general. They’re all at some bookshop near the docks.”

“The docks?” His eyebrows raised. “No wonder you’re late. That’s all the way across the city.”

“Nothing stands between Beatrice and her books. Though I knew they’d make me tardy.” She looked up at him with clear green eyes, and he felt his heart tumble a bit farther down the ravine it had started down all those years ago. “I’m truly sorry, Michael. I detest being late.”

“Not at all.” He tucked her slim hand into the crook of his elbow. It was a heady thing to feel the flex of her fingers against the fine wool of his coat. “I wish I had thought of it myself, actually. Me waiting on the street for an hour helps sell the narrative we’re looking to spread—that I’m besotted.”

Claire shook her head, a smile teasing her lips. “It wasn’t an hour, and you well know it.”

“Very well, it was merely the majority of one. Quick—let’s go in and show all the settled couples how dreadfully happy we are to be in each other’s company.”

Though Michael would have preferred a table near the window, there were few left to choose from. The waiter seated them at a table in the center of the room. The surrounding conversation lulled when he held out Claire’s chair with a courtly flourish—Michael had been correct in thinking their attendance together would be noteworthy.

“You look exceptionally beautiful today,” he said.

Michael didn’t even have to pretend to appreciate her appearance. She wore a navy silk-satin day dress edged in a charcoal box-pleated ribbon. The ensemble illuminated the pale perfection of Claire’s skin and accentuated the elegant ratio of her waist and shoulders.

“Thank you. The dress is new.”

“Your brother must have spent a fortune,” he said as he settled into the chair across from her.

Claire’s eyes sparkled. “What a gauche comment. Really, Michael, you shouldn’t say such shocking things, especially when it’s obvious that Lady Commerant is struggling to overhear us.”