A Hint of Seduction (29 page)

“I haven’t. What’s this?” Andrew picked up the paper and started reading it.

“Why did you hold out on us?” Wilkins asked.

“Yes, we’re supposed to be your friends,” Phillips accused in a seldom used annoyed tone.

John looked at them as if they’d gone daft in the head. “You are my friends. What are you two going on about? I have no control over what is written in that damned thing.”

“You could have been truthful and told us it was a lady
who needed your horse that day in the park. We had to find out in Lord Truefitt’s column.”

Andrew laid the paper on the table and asked, “Why are you two giving him grief over this? Go play a game of cards or billiards and forget about it.”

“But we’ve lost money on him twice now,” Wilkins argued.

“How?” Andrew asked.

“There was that morning in the park when he lost the horse race with Westerland, and now we lost money again because we’ve just found out there wasn’t a ghost riding his horse in the park.”

“Bloody hell,” John said. “You two didn’t bet on that ghost wager here at White’s, did you?”

“Of course we did. I think everyone has. You did, didn’t you, Andrew?” Phillips asked.

John looked at Andrew and his friend smiled rather grimly. “Ah, no, I intended to, but I never got around to placing my bet. Good thing, too, don’t you think?”

“It’s your fault, Chatwin. When you said you didn’t see what spooked your horse, I thought maybe it was a ghost or phantom or something of that ilk,” Wilkins grumbled.

John had to force himself not to laugh, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. These bucks would bet on anything.

“My, my, what do we have here? Isn’t this a nice little chat among friends.”

The Marquis threw a copy of Lord Truefitt’s article on top of the one Wilkins brought.

The smile faded from John’s face. He looked up and saw Westerland and two of his chums standing behind Phillips’s chair.

“Don’t bother to pull up a chair, Westerland, you won’t be staying,” John said.

Westerland sniffed. His thin upper lip curled in a sinister way as a grunt blew past his lips. “You certainly know how to make a name for yourself, Chatwin.”

“I don’t have to; other people seem to do it for me.”

“You took the win from me, Fines, and I don’t like it.”

John picked up his wineglass with seeming indifference and took a drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Everyone is saying I didn’t really win the race because you had to stop and help an unidentified lady who was in trouble.”

“Since when do you listen to others? You won. Go and gloat about it somewhere else. I’m not interested in your shortcomings.”

“This visit has a purpose. I’m here to challenge you to another race.”

John looked up at Westerland again and realized that for the first time he had no desire to race him. He had no desire to race anyone. He wanted to help Catherine find her father. He wanted to be with her, not his friends and not his enemies.

“No” was all he said.

Gasps sounded all around him.

“You can’t do that,” one of Westerland’s friends said. “You can’t just say no.”

“He just did,” Andrew said.

“He’s a marquis and he’s challenged you. You’ll be laughed out of London if you don’t accept it,” Wilkins said.

“I’ll make it an official challenge.” Westerland took his gloves out of his pocket and threw them down on top of the papers.

So the prig had thrown down the gauntlet. John still didn’t care.

“We’ve already lost money on you twice,” Wilkins reminded him in a whisper across the table. “You know The General can beat his horse. You need to show your mettle and shut him up once and for all.”

Now, that thought was tempting.

Westerland laughed. “If you want to win your money back, you should bet on me, but Chatwin and I won’t be racing for money. I have something more important in mind than money.”

“What’s that?”

“If Chatwin wins, I’ll stop pursuing a certain young lady. If I win, he will stop pursuing her.”

John made a growling sound in his throat, and he stood up so quickly his chair tumbled behind him and the table shook. Andrew, Wilkins, and Phillips jumped up, too.

John centered his gaze on Westerland’s face and spoke quietly but menacingly as he said, “I’m not interested in your wager, your race, or anything else you have on your mind. As far as I’m concerned, you won fair. That’s the end of it.”

The Marquis didn’t blink. “Are you afraid you’ll lose the right to pursue the lady?”

“No. Don’t try to bring her into something that’s between you and me.”

“She is between us. You could just stop pursuing her and let me have her.”

I’ll see you in hell first.

“Come on, Chatwin. You know you can win and we’ll get our money back.”

John scowled at Wilkins.

He swallowed hard. “You’ll get the lady, too.”

“What if he doesn’t want her?” Andrew said.

For once John was glad Andrew spoke up for him. He was getting really close to smashing in Westerland’s face, but he knew that was the last thing he needed to do.

“He wants her,” Westerland said with a half laugh. “But the question is does her sister want him to have her? My father can offer her a lot more than you can.”

“Let’s forget it. He’s a coward,” one of the Marquis’s friends said. “He doesn’t think his horse can win. Let’s go.”

“I know you took the lady for a ride in the park today,” Westerland said and then laughed before saying, “I’ll take her for a
ride
tomorrow.”

“When and where do you want to meet?” John said.

Westerland smiled. “I’ll let you know.” He then turned and left. His two friends followed him.

John drained his glass. Phillips and Wilkins clapped him on the back, congratulating him for accepting the Marquis’s challenge.

Andrew gave him a worried look.

John signaled for another drink.

Eighteen

C
ATHERINE STOOD STRAIGHT
and still on the small box in her bedroom while Madame Parachou pinned the hem of her latest gown. For once she didn’t mind the fittings and constant chattering in French going on between Victoria and the modiste. Victoria liked to impress the older lady with her excellent command of the French language.

Their preoccupation with Catherine’s dress gave her time to think about John. She hadn’t seen him at all yesterday. Had they just missed each other? There were so many soirées given each evening, it was quite possible. Or could there be another reason she hadn’t seen him?

She knew John wasn’t happy the night before last when Victoria wouldn’t let her stay at Lord Baxley’s long enough to dance with him, but surely he knew she’d wanted to. She’d only seen him long enough for him to say he had spoken with his uncle and he would tell her about it when they were alone.

But that hadn’t happened.

Yesterday afternoon she’d spent two torturous hours in the company of the Marquis of Westerland. Not only had he tried to hold her hand more than once, but he’d also reached over and kissed her as they passed a tall hedge and couldn’t be seen by anyone.

John had been right when he said men kiss differently. The Marquis’s lips were cold and dry compared to John’s warm and moist lips. She hadn’t felt any strength or confidence in the Marquis’s touch, and she certainly hadn’t felt any of the stirring sensations that flooded her whenever John touched her.

After the Marquis’s kiss, she had quickly faked a cough so she could wipe her mouth with her handkerchief. His lips on hers was not something she wanted repeated. She decided that she would not see him alone again even if Victoria tried to insist.

The afternoon with the Marquis had made her painfully aware that John was the only man she wanted to be alone with.

When she and Victoria had returned from the parties last night, she’d lain awake in her bed remembering each kiss, each touch, and each whispered word that had come from John since they first met. And slowly she came to a very heart-wrenching conclusion. She knew that despite her bravado to the contrary, she had fallen hopelessly in love with John.

She hadn’t expected to. She hadn’t wanted to. But it had to be love. Why else would she shrink so fiercely from another man’s touch, a handsome titled marquis? Why else would she feel such an unsatisfied hunger deep inside to be with John?

She knew it was foolish of her. John was known for
loving all women, which she knew meant he loved no one woman. She had been warned about him, but her heart wouldn’t listen.

She wanted to tell him of her feelings for him, but she knew if she did she would be added to a long list of heartbroken ladies who had tried to capture his heart and failed.

There was nothing she could do about her love for him but remain quiet. She feared if she even hinted that she loved him he would immediately stop seeing her for worry that he would be caught in a parson’s mousetrap or a compromising situation. She would never do that to him, but John didn’t know that. All he knew was that marriage didn’t fit into his life.

Right now she needed him to help her find her father. She was eager to know what his uncle had told him about Mr. Beechman and Mr. Chatsworth. She wanted to know if he’d had the time to read her mother’s diary. She’d read it too many times over the past several months to believe she had missed anything, but she was pleased he wanted to look at it.

And she wasn’t going to wait any longer for John to come to her. She had sent him a note this morning asking that he pay her a visit this afternoon. She had to know what he had found out so far.

“That’s perfect right there,” Victoria said in English. “There’s no need to do anything more to it. Don’t you think so, Catherine?”

Jerked out of her thoughts by Victoria’s question, Catherine looked down at the fawn-colored gown with its three flounces and delicate lace trim.

She smiled and said, “It is lovely, Madame Parachou. You do beautiful work.”

The dark-haired lady with small, wide-set eyes returned
her smile and in broken English said, “It is the lady who makes a dress beautiful and don’t you forget it. Now, I must go. I will see you at my shop in a few minutes.”

She picked up her sewing basket and headed for the door.

Victoria clasped her hands together under her chin and declared, “With you in this dress I think we may be able to win over Lord Dugdale.”

That won’t happen.

Catherine laughed. “Do you never think of anything other than making a match, Vickie?”

Victoria put her hands on her hips. “Not since you arrived in London. I’ve never been so busy and I’m enjoying every moment of it.” Suddenly her eyes softened and she let her arms rest calmly by her side. “My husband and I, God rest his soul, were very happy together. But I never realized that I missed having a child until you came to live with me.”

Warmth settled over Catherine at Victoria’s heartfelt words. She stepped down off the platform and took Victoria’s hand in hers.

“And I’m happy here with you, Vickie. Why must you rush me into marriage?”

“I must.” Vickie squeezed her hand. “That is the way of things. Children grow up and they marry.”

“I might not be ready to make a decision to marry by the end of the Season.”

Victoria pulled her hand from Catherine’s, the tender moment gone from her eyes and her expression firm once again. “What a horrible thought. I won’t allow it. Seeing to your future is my only desire. Now, change quickly. We are going to Madame Parachou’s shop to look at some divine fabric she just received yesterday from Paris. She said it is blue velvet.”

“Oh, Vickie, may I beg off this outing? I’m rather spent
from all the parties and late nights. Besides, you are so much better at things like that than I am.”

“You do look a little tired. All right, you spend the afternoon resting, my dear. I will see to the fabrics and designs for you.”

Catherine sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

Shortly after Victoria shut the door, Catherine donned a scoop-neck, gray-and-white striped dress. She had faith that if John received her note, he would come see her, and she was rewarded a short time later when her maid brought her a note.