To Charm a Naughty Countess Read Free Page B

touched his arm. “Ah, here you are. It is time for our dance. I’ve been looking forward to it with such anticipation.”
    The female voice that had bitten so coldly at the unwanted suitor. Now it was warm, even flirtatious. Michael’s skin prickled under the pressure of the slim, gloved hand. He turned his head to the side, to see who had approached him.
    “Caroline Ward.” His numb lips shaped the name before consulting with his brain. His brain conjured delight and dread, then was unable to decide between the two.
    His eyes alone were unbothered, gulping the sight of her. She was still a vision of loveliness, tall and curving and fair-haired, with light eyes and a cherry-ripe smile.
    And she was touching his arm .
    Too close. She was too close. His muscles went into spasm, painful twitches that yanked at his bones. “I beg your pardon, Miss Wa… madam.” Was she married? Surely she had married by now. “You must have mistaken someone else’s dance for mine.” Michael rolled his forearm in an attempt to remove it from her grasp.
    “Nonsense, Wyverne. I could never mistake you.” Her voice was sweet and warm, but her gaze remained flinty. Her fingers tightened on his arm as a man drew near them.
    Anyone observing her from a small distance would see only the brightness of her smile, the intimacy of her possessive hand. But Michael stood close enough to see the plea in her eyes. Ignorant though he might be of the ton ’s rules and foibles, this message was clear enough.
    She needed his help. That was all. Wyverne , she called him. He was used to being Wyverne, to offering help to his tenants. He could help her too.
    If only she would stop touching him. The sensation was too unsettling to be borne.
    “Of course,” Michael choked out. “It would be my honor… ah…”
    “Wyverne, I’ve told you time and again. You absolutely must call me Caroline, or Caro if you like. There’s no need for this silly formality of Lady Stratton between us.”
    Clever woman, to supply him with her name so smoothly. “As you wish, Caro.” So. She had married, and married an aristocrat. He supposed that was what she had always wanted.
    Her unwanted companion drew alongside Michael and Caroline. He made an unlikely predator: mild featured, of middling height, with light brown hair that was beginning to race away from his temples and forehead. His clothing was fashionable without being flamboyant.
    “Who have you here, Caro?” said the new arrival, a haughty expression sitting oddly on his rounded cheeks. “Another of your little friends?”
    Michael lifted his chin. “You may refer to me as the Duke of Wyverne.”
    Caroline smiled. “Your Grace, might I present the Earl of Stratton? My late husband’s great-nephew.”
    Late husband, she said.
    Before Michael could tease out more meaning from her words, the earl was bowing to him. “Earl of Stratton, Your Grace, as Caro said. Well, well. This is a pleasure. I’ve heard a great deal about you.” He smirked his way upright again. “You have just arrived in Town, I think?”
    Michael acknowledged the bow with a tilt of his head. “Very recently. Yes.”
    Stratton seemed unsure whether this was a snub or not. After a pause, his smirk folded into a fair approximation of good cheer. “Well, society stands ready to offer you a welcome. No doubt we will all enjoy your stay. Caro, come inside with me.”
    “I think not.” Caroline fired a gleaming smile at the earl. “Wyverne and I might not dance after all; it is so pleasant out here. I am inclined to stay on the terrace for quite some time. But there is no need for you to wait for me, Stratton. Do go inside and find someone to dance with.”
    Unmistakable dismissal. Though he glared, the earl had no choice but to slither away. Michael fixed his eyes on the cleverly chased buttons of his own coat sleeve but monitored the sounds of Stratton’s retreat. Footsteps decreased in volume as he crossed the terrace; then a burble