More Than Charming (6 page)

“I know. Thank God they know, as well. But how do I know what I feel for this girl isn’t infatuation?”

His father didn’t answer, but James knew it didn’t feel the same. He wanted Catherine with a passion he hadn’t felt for Becca. He also wanted to protect her and keep her safe. But did he love her? And if he thought he might—how could he be sure? On the other hand, did it matter? Love was the last requirement in a ton marriage. His friends had made love matches, but he was a fool to expect to have their good fortune. Worse, if he openly courted Catherine and it didn’t work out, then he wouldn’t be any better than that scoundrel Waltham. Not to mention she was his dear friend’s little sister. He’d lose Paul as a friend, as well.

“I fell in love with your mother at first glance, James.”

James faced him. “Mother was beautiful, inside and out.”

“Everyone told me she was wrong for me, that I should marry much higher than a baronet’s daughter,” the earl said. “And I almost allowed them to persuade me to let her go.”

“I never heard of this. Mother might be gone these past ten years, but even as a boy, I was aware of the affection between you.”

“Ah, she was wonderful. So sweet and kind,” the earl said, his eyes shining. “And beautiful. Lord, I’d never seen such beauty.”

James smiled. His mother was all of those things and more—always full of laughter and hugs and kisses for her only child.

“She was a strong woman, your mother,” his father went on. “She refused to let the hateful comments affect her, you know. She always kept her grace about her.”

James started. His father could have been describing Catherine.

“I trusted my heart, son. And I never regretted it.”

James stood and began to pace. “I’m not at all certain that what I feel is akin to what you and Mother shared.”

The earl shrugged his shoulders. “You never know for certain.” He winked. “That’s where the trust comes in.”

James nodded and let his mind work. Whatever he felt for Catherine, he’d never puzzle it through by avoiding her. When he looked back at his father, he saw the man had dozed off, a common occurrence in the late afternoons. A smile was on the older man’s face. No doubt he was wrapped comfortably in his memories. James pulled a blanket over his father, tucked it into place, and took himself upstairs to his chamber.

He crossed to the small writing desk in the corner of the room and picked up the letter still sitting atop as it had for the past two days. It was the invitation to Leed Manor, and James had met its arrival with a mixture of impatience and dread. He knew his course of action now.

He sat down and opened the drawer, withdrew a sheet of paper, and penned his response in the affirmative. He sealed the missive and went downstairs to see it delivered without delay.

*     *     *

Catherine strolled through the courtyard at Leed Manor, her brother’s magnificent estate. The home had been built nearly three centuries earlier and had always resembled a medieval fortress. Michelle had performed a wondrous transformation on the house, warming the spaces inside and softening the edges outside. The courtyard where Catherine strolled was enclosed by high stone walls, but alive with color. Surprising, given that Yorkshire was in the north and it was the middle of September. Catherine sat on one of the stone benches placed about the garden and sighed.

She’d come to Leed Manor a few days earlier, preceding the guests Paul and Michelle had invited. She knew Lord Roberts would be included in the party, for Paul was very fond of him. Happily, Chester and Constance had responded and would attend. With Geoffrey and Becca sure to come, it promised to be a very pleasant time indeed.

Would Lord Roberts attend? Or had her shameful behavior destroyed the friendship they’d shared for so many years? She recalled his demeanor when last she saw him at Paul’s townhouse. His eyes had held a coldness she hadn’t seen before, and his voice possessed a clipped quality that pierced her heart. She sighed again and took herself back into the house.

*     *     *

At teatime the family and guests sat in the great hall, a cavernous space made to seem less so by the strategic placement of furniture and decorations. A huge fireplace dominated the space designated as the parlor, and Catherine sat across from it on a rose-colored settee. Though the room was full of warmth and animated conversation, James kept his place at the entry.

He watched as Catherine took a bite of a lemon tart. She apparently didn’t notice that a biscuit had fallen onto the hem of her pale green tea gown. But Geoffrey and Becca’s son Michael spied it and ran up to her, grabbing the biscuit and popping it into his mouth. He laughed at his victory and spit crumbs all over the front of his new suit—much to his father’s delight and his mother’s consternation. James smiled at his antics. The little boy was almost three years old and full of laughter and mischief. He possessed his mother’s big green eyes, and knew precisely how to use them to his advantage. Geoffrey’s niece, Ann, who had just turned six, sat quietly beside Rebecca.

James guessed that the pretty blonde-haired girl was shy around the guests as she sat quite closely to Becca, holding fast to her hand. Ann was Patricia’s child with Geoffrey’s late brother John. After the terrible ordeal with John several years ago, Geoffrey and Becca insisted that Patricia leave the child with them. The woman held little affection for her own daughter, having always been more concerned with her own frivolities. Her name was never mentioned in company. Without Geoffrey and Becca’s love and guidance, James was certain that Ann would have been a little girl lost.

Paul and Michelle’s daughter, Rose, eyed Michael closely as she toddled about the space, a much-loved rag doll clutched in her arms. She made her way toward Catherine and held her arms high in the air. “Up!”

Catherine set her teacup aside and lifted the little girl onto her lap. Rose immediately began to play with Catherine’s skirts, twisting them in her chubby little hands. Her gown was soon pulled up to mid-calf, giving James a delightful glimpse of shapely legs and ankles. He lifted his eyes to her face and found her regarding him closely. He started to smile, at which she lowered her eyes. She was still hurt, then.

He turned and joined his friends where they stood by the mantle.

“Roberts,” Paul said in greeting. “We wondered if you would show yourself.”

James held up his hands in a show of defeat. “I couldn’t stay away.”

“It does promise to be most enjoyable,” Chester put in. “It’s all Constance has been talking about.”

“And Rebecca,” Geoffrey said. “Although I daresay after a week or so of my son’s running about, we may find the manor in crumbled ruins around us.”

James chuckled. “Where is the little mite?”

Geoffrey flicked his head in Catherine’s direction. James’s eyes followed, widening as they found her once more. He watched as the little boy sat himself down at her feet and wrapped his arms around one of her bared legs.

“It seems he’s jealous of little Rose’s monopolizing Catherine’s attention.” Geoffrey chuckled.

“I don’t blame him,” James found himself saying. He flushed hotly. “It’s obvious she’s wonderful with the children.”

Geoffrey nodded and turned back to the other gentlemen. James, however, couldn’t drag his eyes from Catherine.

Becca stood then, announcing the child’s naptime.

“Oh,” Michelle added. “I should put Rose down, as well.”

“Let me do it?” Catherine offered, standing up with the little girl perched on her hip.

Michelle smiled gratefully and nodded her assent. Not to be left out, Michael grabbed on to Catherine’s skirt. James watched her as she smiled down at the little boy.

“You may come, too, Michael,” she soothed, taking the child’s hand. “Ann, I could use your help.”

Ann hopped off the settee, taking measured steps toward Catherine. With a shy smile on her fair little face, she stepped close to Catherine and matched her steps with hers.

James caught Catherine’s eye as she passed him. She nodded to him stiffly and walked quickly toward the stairs, bound for the nursery. He bit back a groan. He had a feeling he was in for a challenging time.

*     *     *

The next morning, all in attendance at the manor fell into the routine of a long country visit. The gentlemen left early to go hunting, leaving the ladies to sit and chat as they sipped tea or worked on their needlepoint. Talk soon turned to the past Season, and specifically, the Markham’s ball. Catherine felt her cheeks burning as Lady Brookdale’s name was mentioned.

“To think she uttered such hateful comments about Catherine,” Elizabeth said.

Catherine feigned intense interest in her needlework.

“Hush, Elizabeth,” Michelle said.

Elizabeth giggled. “I could scarcely believe it when you put that awful woman in her place.”

Catherine picked her head up. “Michelle did what?”

Michelle flashed a look of irritation at Elizabeth, at which the girl looked down at her lap.

“It wasn’t anything at all,” Michelle told Catherine.

Catherine saw the looks being exchanged among the women present and knew that Michelle was making light of it. “What precisely did you do, Michelle?”

Michelle set her needlework aside. “I merely told Lady Brookdale that she was mistaken in her appraisal of you.”

“Hardly!” Elizabeth cut in. “You told her she had no virtue.”

“What?” Catherine came to her feet.

“No, not you.” Elizabeth giggled again. “Lady Brookdale.”

Catherine closed her eyes. How could she bring her sister-in-law into such an ugly business? She sat back down and said no more, letting the conversation lead itself away from the topic and toward more mundane subjects.

Long after dinner, which the ladies took without the men present, Catherine went up to her guestroom. The gentlemen had taken their midday meal in the field as expected, and Catherine was glad to pass the day without Lord Roberts’s handsome visage intruding upon her. Not that she didn’t see him constantly in her mind, as dashing as he’d been the previous evening. She caught his gaze but once, and it was enough to set her pulse racing.

Thinking to put both him and the unpleasant conversation of the morning out of her mind, she ordered a bath and stripped out of her day dress.

*     *     *

James spent the morning and early afternoon in pursuit of partridge, as its season opened September first. The true pleasure of the outing was, of course, camaraderie. The Earl of Talbot was quite pleased to hunt with the younger men in attendance, expressing to James his regret that his father couldn’t join them. James sorely wished his father was as hale and hearty as Paul’s.

Despite the exhilarating pastime, James found his mind occupied with images of Catherine: as she sat in the parlor with her lovely legs in plain view; as she appeared at dinner looking incredible in her elegant gown. The one and only time he’d managed to meet her violet gaze during the previous evening, the passion clear in her eyes had shaken him. He tried to put her out of his mind as he and the other gentlemen returned to the manor.

Catherine stepped out of her bath and picked up a fluffy towel to dry herself, inadvertently tipping over the pitcher of clean rinsing water. Thankfully, there wasn’t much left to spread across the floor. She quickly donned her chemise and petticoat and proceeded to rub the towel over her hair. After a few moments, she set the towel aside and ran her fingers through her dark curls, spreading them to dry more quickly. The spilled water forgotten, she studied her reflection in the mirror atop the washstand.

Her cheeks were rosy from the steamy bath water and her hair was curled about her face. Did Lord Roberts find her pretty? The look he’d given her last evening told her that it might be so. But then again, she’d thought Waltham quite taken with her and he obviously hadn’t been since he ended up marrying another woman. Tired of the endless circles in which her mind was running, she turned and hurried across the room to finish getting dressed.

She stepped into the spilled water and lost her footing. Letting out a yelp of surprise, she crashed to the floor.

Suddenly, Lord Roberts opened her door and rushed inside. “Catherine?” he called. “Catherine! Are you all right?”

He helped her to her feet and Catherine laughed shakily, clinging to him. She quickly recovered her footing and held herself away from him, heat creeping up her cheeks. “Thank you, yes. I spilled some water, is all.”

She finally looked at him. He was magnificent in his hunting clothes, masculine and virile. And mmm, he smelled of the outdoors.

He ran his gaze over her and she flushed hotter. No doubt she looked like a hoyden, her hair a tangle, her chemise soaking wet.

His eyes settled on her face, intensity in their glare. “Catherine,” he whispered.

She gasped at the heat in his gaze. “Lord Roberts, I . . .”

“Catherine,” he said again, his voice lowered to a husky rasp.

He pulled her to him, sealing his mouth to hers. Catherine opened her mouth for him, timidly rubbing her tongue against his. He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, slanting his mouth over hers again and again.

She reached up, her fingers running through his hair, and pressed herself against him. How wonderful his hard body felt against her soft one! His hands were everywhere, in her hair, on her waist, cupping her bottom. She gasped as she felt the hardness of his arousal pressed against her belly, feelings she couldn’t name pulsing through her. He started to lift her petticoat, his fingertips stroking the backs of her knees, her thighs, as he reached higher toward her—

“What’s going on here!?” Paul roared from the doorway.

Lord Roberts froze. He lifted his head and glanced over at her brother. Catherine followed his gaze. Oh, the look in Paul’s eyes was chilling.

“Leed,” Lord Roberts said hoarsely.

Catherine’s arms were still up around his neck, her head resting against his chest. She sighed, taking much longer to recover than he apparently had. Lord Roberts stroked her back as if pleased to have her draped all over him. Oh, his hands felt wonderful on her, warm and strong.