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brace herself against it.

      ‘Gosh, do women really fall for this stuff?’ she asked.

      ‘It’s working, isn’t it?’

      For one horrible moment, Caro wondered if he could see her toes curling. ‘Working?’

      ‘You haven’t been looking at what’s-his-name at all.’ It was true. She had completely forgotten about George for a while there. ‘But he’s been looking at you,’ Philippe went on in the same disturbingly arousing voice, ‘and he’s very much afraid that you’ve found yourself a much, much better lover.’

      Caro’s eyes flickered to George, who was looking as if he’d been stuffed. Maybe there was something in this technique of Philippe’s after all.

      Philippe sat back smugly. ‘And that’s how it’s done,’ he said. ‘Now you have a go.’

      Her hand was throbbing where his lips had grazed her skin. Flustered by Philippe’s abrupt transition from lover to teacher, Caro tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ears and assumed a nonchalance she wasn’t feeling.

      ‘Well, I would, but the food will be arriving any second and I don’t want to spoil your appetite.’

      ‘Coward,’ he said softly. ‘Besides, it’s good practice for you. You’re going to have to do better than screwing up your face if you’re going to convince the Dowager Blanche that we’re mad about each other.’

      ‘Oh, all right.’ Caro took a fortifying sip of her champagne and moistened her lips nervously while she thought, and saw Philippe’s gaze fix on her mouth. She hadn’t even started yet! Surely it couldn’t be as easy as that?

      Leaning forward, she rested her arms on the table, hugged them together and tried a seductive smile. She felt a fool, but Philippe’s eyes dropped to her cleavage, and his eyes darkened unmistakably.

      Encouraged, Caro felt around with her foot and managed to hook the toe of her shoe around his ankle. With a little manoeuvring, she could rub her foot tantalisingly up and down his calf. It felt awkward but it seemed to be working.

      She waited for Philippe to burst out laughing, but he didn’t. There was just the suspicion of a smile around his mouth as the light gaze returned to her face.

      ‘How am I doing?’ she asked.

      ‘I think you may be a natural.’

      Was he being sarcastic? Caro eyed him suspiciously but it was impossible to tell what he was really thinking.

      It was a relief when their starters arrived and she could sit back. Funny, she had forgotten about how hungry she was while Philippe had been kissing her fingers. Now she picked up her fork to dig into her wild mushroom risotto and discovered that for possibly the only time in her life, her appetite had deserted her.

      But Caro wasn’t going to waste her one and only opportunity to eat at the Star and Garter. She made herself savour the food and refused to let herself think about Philippe sitting opposite her with his warm hands and his warm mouth.

      ‘That was delicious,’ she said, putting her fork down at last.

      ‘Yes, it wasn’t bad,’ said Philippe indifferently. Michelin starred restaurants would be two a penny to him, of course. He held out his hand. ‘Come on, back to looking besotted.’

      ‘Must I?’ sighed Caro, but she took his hand and, at the feel of his strong fingers curling around hers, a shiver of pleasure snaked through her.

      Clearing her throat, she said, ‘We ought to talk about practicalities.’

      ‘Practicalities?’

      To her consternation, Philippe turned her hand over so that the soft skin of her forearm was exposed. Now he was rubbing his thumb softly over her wrist, where her vein pulsed with awareness.

      Caro swallowed hard and soldiered on. ‘What’s going to happen next?’

      He would go back to Montluce in the next couple of days, Philippe told her. He would break the news about their supposed relationship to the Dowager Blanche and give Lotty a chance to make her own plans to leave. Then he would escort his father to Paris for his treatment.

      ‘He won’t want me, but he ought to have someone other than servants there for the operation,’ he said. ‘Once he’s through that, I’ll come and pick you up, and we’ll go back to Montluce together. Will ten days or so be enough time for you to get ready?’

      She nodded, desperately trying to ignore that stroking thumb, which was playing havoc with her breathing. ‘I’m only temping,’ she said unevenly. ‘I just need to give a week’s notice.’

      ‘Once we’re there, you won’t have to do much,’ Philippe said. ‘Hang around with me. Convince my great-aunt that you adore me. Hold my hand like this. The usual stuff.’

      ‘It doesn’t sound very interesting,’ said Caro austerely to cover the booming of her pulse.

      ‘No, but it shouldn’t be hard either.’

      ‘Where—’ She stopped, mortified by how high her voice sounded, and coughed. ‘Where will I stay?’ That was better, huskier, almost normal.

      ‘With me,’ said Philippe. ‘We’re not going to convince anyone that it’s a serious relationship if we’re not living together. I’ve got apartments in the palace in Montvivennes. Not where I’d choose to live, but it’s comfortable enough.’

      Apartments, plural? That sounded big. Caro was reassured. ‘Plenty of space for both of us, then?’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ His eyes met hers, clearly knowing exactly the way her mind was going. ‘Of course, we’ll have to sleep together,’ he said.

      ‘That won’t be necessary, surely?’ Caro stiffened and tried to pull her hand away, but he held her tight. ‘No one need know where I’m sleeping as long as I’m staying with you.’

      ‘That’s what you think.’ Philippe’s voice was crisp. ‘There are servants in and out of the apartments all the time, and it would be a miracle if they didn’t talk to each other. They’ll wonder just what kind of relationship we have if we’re not sleeping together, and word will get back. My great-aunt knows everything that goes on in the palace. She’s got a spy network that would put the CIA to shame.’

      ‘Couldn’t we tell her you respect me too much to sleep with me before marriage?’

      He offered her a sardonic smile in return. ‘Yes, she’ll believe that!’

      Caro managed to tug her hand away at last. It was all very well for Philippe to sound coolly amused about the whole business, but he must have slept with millions of beautiful women. He was probably used to sleeping with strangers. The thought of sleeping with her clearly hadn’t left him with an unnerving fluttering underneath his skin and in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t been misery-eating, so he didn’t have to worry about what she would think when he took his clothes off.

      Philippe naked … Caro’s mind veered off track momentarily to imagine him pulling off his shirt with a grin. She could picture the lean, hard planes of his body with startling ease: the flex of his muscles under his skin, the broad chest, the flat stomach. The power and the grace and the sheer, sinful sexiness of him.

      Her cheeks burned at the thought. She really didn’t want her imagination to start running wild like that, especially not when taking off her own shirt would reveal all those extra pounds she had put on since George dumped her … and it wasn’t as if she had been sylphlike to start with. No, there would be no undressing going on, under any circumstances.

      ‘We can put a pillow down the middle, if you like,’ said Philippe, apparently reading her mind without difficulty.

      Without being aware of what she was doing, Caro cupped the wrist where he had stroked her with her free hand as if to calm the soft skin there, which was

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