A Gentleman Says "I Do" (22 page)

Iverson swallowed hard. He hadn’t even realized he’d said her Christian name.

“Yes, I see how conflicted you are,” Matson continued. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Iverson, and I know there is something there. I saw—”

“Nothing,” Iverson ground out tightly, cutting off Matson’s words.

“Don’t tell me—”

Iverson raised his hand to stop Matson. “You saw nothing, Brother.”

Matson stepped back. “All right, if that’s what you want me to believe, I will humor you and agree I saw nothing. But I still say it’s time for us, it’s time for you to let go of this vendetta against Miss Crisp’s father.”

“I’m not letting go until I find Sir Phillip and squeeze from his skinny throat his vow to never write about my family again.”

Iverson threw the newsprint down on top of the table and walked out of the dining room, calling for Wallace to see if his curricle was ready. Iverson wasn’t waiting until a respectable hour to go to Catalina’s house. He was going to pay a call on her as soon as he could get there, and he wouldn’t be taking her flowers or asking if she would like a ride in the park.

Now he knew what she and her aunt were doing at
The
Daily
Herald
that day. Delivering
Part
II
and
III
of
A
Tale
of
Three
Gentlemen
. His stomach wrenched just thinking about it.

After last night, he believed they could develop a relationship different from the antagonistic one they had started with. Damnation! He had wanted to court her properly. She was forthright, clever, and captivating. He enjoyed matching wits with her. He enjoyed being in her company. He enjoyed her being in his arms, and oh, how delicious she had felt beneath him. He wanted to teach her all the ways a man could love a woman.

But now he knew he couldn’t trust her.

She must have been laughing at how she had managed to dupe him. She certainly had the last laugh.

This time.

Iverson was already pulling his hat and coat off the hall stand in the corner of the vestibule when Matson and Wallace caught up with him.

“Will you at least come down to the docks with me first and greet the men?” Matson asked. “Let’s look over our ships before you go off in such a heated temper. It’s much too early to call on anyone, and it will give you the chance to cool down and quite possibly save you apologies later.”

“The only apologies I’m going to hear will be coming from Miss Crisp. There will be none coming from me this day, I assure you. I trust you to handle whatever needs to be done with getting the proper documents, fees, and bribes handled for the ships.”

Matson shook his head. “I can’t persuade you not to go see her until you’ve calmed down, can I?”

Iverson placed his hat on his head and said, “No. I can’t calm down until I see her. This has nothing to do with you, and it really has nothing to do with her father right now. This”—he laid his fist over his heart—“this is between me and the lovely Catalina.”

***

Catalina hadn’t slept well, yet she was up early. She had told Sylvia to wake her aunt, too. As soon as it was an appropriate hour, she wanted to be on her way to see Iverson. She wouldn’t feel at ease until she’d told him about the remaining parts of
A
Tale
of
Three
Gentlemen
and could be done with it. He may not forgive her for not telling him sooner, but she had to do it now. While she waited for her aunt to come below stairs, she decided to have a cup of tea and look over the newsprint in the drawing room.

She made herself comfortable in a chair by the window and read Lord Truefitt’s gossip sheet. Since Iverson had danced with Miss Babs Whitehouse, she was curious to see if there would be something written about the two of them in his column today.

“Dreadful,” she whispered to herself as she read the trite “roses are red, violets are blue” words. She was surprised he chose to write about her again, too, until she made it all the way down to the bottom. With so many people at the Great Hall last night, how in heaven’s name did that man or anyone else know she and Iverson had left the party early? The man must continually walk around parties and spy on people. And to imply they might have left in order to meet up later for a tryst was definitely beyond the pale.

“Lord Truefitt could use a few lessons in the art of writing poetry,” she murmured to herself.

She closed the newsprint. Oh, she hoped Agatha and Mable didn’t decide to show up at her door today! Maybe she and Auntie would spend the entire day out, just so there would be no possibility she’d have to see the two young ladies.

Catalina opened another section of
The
Daily
Herald
, and her breath caught in her throat. Her mind was screaming “no,” but no sound came from her open mouth. She blinked several times, but her eyes were not deceiving her. The newsprint fluttered from her hands, fell to her lap, and then slid silently to the floor.

She was too late.

She had waited too long.

The story had been printed.

Why hadn’t she told Iverson last night? No, why hadn’t she told him that very first day he’d come to her house? She could have accepted all his anger at one time and gotten it over with. What had made her think she could find her father and get the story back before it was published? She knew time was fleeing, and still she waited. When her father hadn’t come home after his usual week’s stay, she should have told Iverson. But she had wanted to save Iverson the pain and save herself the admission.

This was her fault. Her fault.

She looked at the clock. It was half past nine. Perhaps she could get to Iverson’s house before he read the newsprint. Maybe there was still time for her to tell him.

Catalina jumped from the chair and ran to the bottom of the stairs and called, “Auntie, I need you. Bring your bonnet and wrap and don’t dawdle, please. Come quickly! We must go now.”

With shaking hands and a dull ache in her chest, Catalina grabbed the bonnet her maid had laid out for her and quickly fitted it on her head. Her fingers trembled as she tied the ribbon under her chin. She then swung her lightweight cape over her shoulders and fashioned the satin strings into a bow.

“Auntie!” she called again.

She picked up her gloves and started to pull the first one on when she heard three loud raps against the door knocker.

Her hands stilled. Her breath lodged heavily, tightly in her throat. She was too late again. He was here.

Her first clear thought was to run and hide in her room, so she wouldn’t have to face him. But she quickly shook off that cowardly idea. There was nothing to do
but
face him. She had to. She wanted to.

“Catalina, what’s wrong?” her aunt said, coming down the stairs dressed in her night robe but with a wrap and bonnet in her hand. “I’ve not finished dressing yet.”

“It’s all right, Auntie. Nothing’s wrong. You go back to your room and finish dressing.”

“Must I continue to hurry?” she asked in a concerned voice.

“No, take your time.” She gave her aunt a shaky smile. “All is well.”

“Good.”

Her aunt headed back up the stairs, and Catalina saw Mrs. Wardyworth lumbering down the corridor.

“I’ll take care of the door, Mrs. Wardyworth. Go back to whatever you were doing.”

“Thank ye, missy.”

The housekeeper turned away as the door knocker was rapped again. Catalina took in a deep, steadying breath and opened the door. She was fully prepared for Iverson to look even angrier than he’d been when he saw her last night at Madame Shipwith’s. But it wasn’t anger she saw in his handsome face. She saw calm disbelief, and suddenly her heart felt as if it were breaking.

They stood staring into each other’s eyes. He seemed to be weighing what he wanted to say.

He took off his hat and asked, “Were you going somewhere?”

She remembered she had on her bonnet and cape, with her gloves still in her hands. “Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I was, but I don’t need to do that now. You’re here.” She laid her gloves on a table. “Would you rather talk in the drawing room, the garden, or perhaps you don’t want to come into my house at all and will remain in the doorway?”

He stepped into the vestibule and closed the door behind him. “Here is fine. You know why I’m here.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. She had such strong feelings for him deep in her soul. Looking into his questioning gaze, she feared she’d lost any chance of his ever wanting to be a part of her life.

Keeping his distance, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sensed the pain inside him and winced, knowing she had caused it and not knowing how to make it go away. “Will any explanation I give satisfy you?”

“Probably not.”

She devoured him with her eyes, knowing this would probably be the last time he would be this close to her. “Then why should I try?”

“Perhaps because I deserve some kind of answer, even if you can’t come up with the truth.”

His hurtful words and the disappointment she heard in his voice stung like a thousand needles. She took an imploring step toward him. “Of course you deserve the truth, but will you believe it when you hear it?”

“I can’t promise that.”

His voice was low and husky. Suddenly she felt as if she was suffocating, and her breathing became shallow. She untied the ribbon of her cape and calmly laid it on the table. She then took off her bonnet and placed it on top of the cape.

Her breaths were still rapid and shallow, but she set her gaze on Iverson’s face and said, “I didn’t tell you because I had hopes of sparing you the anguish of knowing there was more to come. I thought I could get the rest of the story back from Mr. Frederick before it was published. You made me realize how callous it was of my father to poke fun at your family. I went to
The
Daily
Herald
the day after you first came to my house. I insisted, and then I begged Mr. Frederick to return the story to me, but he wouldn’t and demanded he talk to my father.”

“So you didn’t turn in the rest of it that day?”

She shook her head. “No. No, I never would have turned it in after I talked to you. It had been delivered earlier in the week. I didn’t worry overly much at first, because it was time for my father to return. I knew I could convince him to get the story back from Mr. Frederick. But the days continued to pass, and Papa didn’t return. I knew time was running short, but then I had reason to believe he was at The Cooked Goose Inn, so I went there, hoping to find him and bring him back home.” Catalina took another step toward him. “That’s why I followed you to Madame Shipwith’s. I knew if I could just find Papa, he could get the story back. Iverson, after last night, the way I was feeling when we—”

“Don’t, Catalina,” he whispered with dark emotions clouding his eyes.

The earnestness she heard in his voice made tears form in her eyes. It hurt her deeply that he wanted no reminder of what they’d shared in her carriage. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a step back. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting her near him.

She cleared her throat, willing the tears that burned her eyes not to spill over. The hope that he could see sincere sorrow and regret in her eyes faded, yet she had to try again. “I want you to know that after last night I knew I couldn’t wait any longer for Papa to return. I had to tell you today, no matter the damage. That’s not an excuse for not telling you that first day you were here. It’s the truth. And I’m sorry.”

His gaze fluttered down her face for a moment, and she wasn’t sure he believed her. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t think he wanted to hear more from her.

“Will there be a
Part
IV
?” he asked, sounding more disillusioned than angry or frustrated.

“I promise there is no more, and there will be no more.”

“So tomorrow will be the end? There is nothing else to tell?”

For a moment she had the urge to disclose she had written the last few pages of the story. She had Sir Mortimer die at the end of it, so the story would be complete and there would be no reason to continue the tale. Iverson probably deserved to know that, as well. But what would happen if he was so angry with her and her father he told others she had finished the story? If that became common knowledge, her father would never earn another penny as a poet or a writer.

She wanted to tell Iverson, but should she? Could she trust him not to make that information known to others?

She thought of her aunt and the staff. Who would take care of them if her father could no longer earn a living? Who would hire Briggs, Nancy, or Mrs. Wardyworth? Could she tell on her father and risk the livelihoods of so many for the sake of being totally truthful to the man she loved?

Her shoulders relaxed. “There is nothing else to tell. The story is complete and finished after tomorrow.”

Iverson turned around, opened the door, and walked out.

Catalina winced and hugged her arms to her chest as she looked at the closed door, the symbol of Iverson gone forever from her life. Tears welled in her eyes again. Her throat ached from holding them at bay. She turned and slowly walked back into the drawing room and stood in front of the window. She closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sunshine fall on her face.

She had expected him to be implacable, half mad and demented with anger, with rage, but he was none of those things. She wished he had been. She could have borne his anger much easier than the cool, distant, wounded man who turned so effortlessly away from her and left. He would never know how deeply it hurt her to disappoint him so severely.

She should have known she and Iverson were doomed from the start. Just like Romeo and Juliet. A lifetime of love for them wasn’t meant to be.

Oh, she had many regrets concerning Iverson. But she had wondrous, happy memories, and intensely sensual ones, too. And perhaps the one that would stay in her mind the longest was the few moments she spent with Iverson last night with his weight settled possessively upon her.