Restraint (11 page)

“Bastard,” she spat.

And then he slapped her.

* * * * *

Thomas did not look up as Robert Wallingford sauntered into his den. Instead, he stared at the half-empty glass in his hand—the one he’d refilled far too many times.

“You look awful, old chap.”

Robert helped himself to Thomas’ whiskey and then plopped down in the chair across from him.

Thomas finally looked at him, burning inside from the whiskey and outright contempt for the man.

“Was she that much trouble to tame? Perhaps I owe you more money.”

“I don’t want your damned money.”

What he did want was to throttle Robert Wallingford. He lifted his gaze to the smiling man sitting across from him.

Wallingford sat casually dressed in smart white trousers and a navy jacket, leaning back with his legs crossed and one elbow draped on the armrest. Thomas literally shook as he forced himself not to lunge at the bastard.

“You didn’t fuck her, did you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Well I must say, I’m puzzled as to why you returned her early.”

“I was finished with her.”

Wallingford’s mocking laughter filled the room. Thomas smoldered. “Buggered her in the
arse
, ’eh?”

Thomas bit down on his tongue to keep from telling the bastard exactly what he thought of him.

“Good,” Wallingford continued. “I hope you loosened it up a bit because I certainly intend to—”

Thomas cut him off. “I told you I don’t want your damned money. You have no more business here.”

Wallingford eyed him warily and then downed his whiskey in one gulp. “Got under your skin, did she? She has a way of doing that to a man. It was lucky I won her in that card game. But between you and me, Tommy boy, I made certain I won that game, if you know what I mean.”

Thomas stared hard at Wallingford. Catherine’s father had gambled his daughter away to this cruel, cheating bastard? The thought of it made him want to vomit. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth gnashed. His fists ached to pummel Wallingford but somehow he refrained, and somehow, he reminded himself that he had no right to Catherine. She was Wallingford’s fiancée. Not his.

“Get out, Wallingford.”

Wallingford stood and straightened his clothing. “I brought you a banker’s draft.”

“I don’t want it,
dammit
!”

“Very well. I’ll just consider it your little wedding present to me,” he said with taunting hauteur and then he tossed something on the end table—vellum embossed with a gold seal.

Thomas stared at it and then at Wallingford. He could not believe the audacity of the man! To give him an invitation to the wedding after what he’d done with Catherine…

It was ludicrous. He would never go.

“You really could do with a shave, old man. You look like hell,” he said and swaggered out of the room.

Thomas waited until he heard the sound of the door close and then he hurled his crystal shot glass against the hearth. It shattered, leaving him less satisfied than he had hoped. “Fuck you, Wallingford,” he seethed.

* * * * *

Catherine stared at her reflection in the mirror. It had been two weeks since she’d last been with Thomas and all attempts she had made to find out who he was had been fruitless. No one would answer her questions.

Her mother had scarcely spoken to her and her father, not at all. Not even Robert had been to call on her. Not that she cared.

Marsha put a sprig of dried flowers in Catherine’s hair and she winced as the hard little stem scratched her scalp. She looked like the most miserable bride ever. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying—crying not because she had to marry Robert Wallingford but because Thomas had not sought her out. He knew her name. He knew who she was and undoubtedly knew where she lived.

Her stomach knotted. If he loved her, surely he would have come for her by now. She pursed her lips to stop their trembling. All they had done flashed through her thoughts. Everything…

And after all that, he still did not love her?

Catherine wanted to weep but somehow she refrained. Today, she would marry Robert Wallingford and she would make his life a living hell until he told her Thomas’ last name.

In the mirror, she could see all her things packed and ready to move to the Wallingford estate. Robert would never have to know about the little dildo that had been discreetly wrapped and brought back with her from Thomas’ house. It was her most prized possession, but in the past two weeks, not even that had brought her any joy. Every time she had used it, she’d thought of Thomas and she’d ached for him so badly she’d tossed the dildo aside and cried.

A knock sounded on the door. “Hurry up, Catherine. The carriage is waiting to take you to the church.” It was her father’s voice—and it was the first thing he’d said to her in two weeks.

Grimly, she pushed herself up as Marsha continued to adjust the pale eggshell pink wedding dress. “That’s enough,” Catherine said. It didn’t matter to her what she looked like. The dress was heavy and confining, her corsets constricting. She could hardly breathe.

Still, she hesitated before a full-length mirror. She had to admit, she was stunning. She smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes. Robert would tell her Thomas’ last name tonight. If Thomas had taught her anything, he’d taught her how to wield her own power. Robert had probably not counted on that.

Holding her head high, she opened the door and descended the stairs. Her parents said nothing to her as the servants gathered her voluminous train and stuffed it carefully inside the carriage. Catherine, in turn, said nothing to them. She did not even look at them.

It was a short ride to Trafalgar Square and to the church, St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Catherine looked up at the imposing façade with dread. There would be over a thousand guests here today, including Queen Victoria herself.

But Catherine felt none of the nervousness a normal bride was supposed to feel. She felt sick. Her knees trembled as she was escorted out of the carriage by one of the liveried coachmen.

She gazed up at the steeple, salient against the gray London sky. Her heart sank. How she wished she were marrying Thomas instead of Robert. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. Her corset had been laced too tightly.

Once her train was fluffed and stretched out, she made her way to the door and stepped inside. A throng of people turned to watch and an organist began the strains of a Bach chorale. Someone thrust a bouquet in Catherine’s arms and she started down the aisle. A minister awaited her at the end and beside him, stood Robert. A sinister smile twisted one corner of his mouth.

Catherine tried to swallow against the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t think about this. She couldn’t. She just had to force herself to go through with it. She squeezed her eyes shut and then made herself open them once more, her gaze scanning the crowd, searching the smiling faces.

How could they be smiling? Did they not know she detested Robert? Did they not know what he had done to her?

Her gaze stopped on one man.

He was not smiling.

He was staring.

Catherine hesitated. There was something oddly familiar about him. Although he was quite a bit older than her, he was strikingly handsome. As she neared him, she felt suddenly naked beneath his penetrating gaze despite her multitude of skirts.

Still, she continued to boldly stare. He was tall, broad and dressed in a well-tailored charcoal suit that accentuated his black hair which was interspersed with distinguishing gray. Two steps closer, she discovered that his eyes were a glittering sapphire blue. He stared in the most intense manner and Catherine’s stomach tightened with recognition.

But it couldn’t be.

Could it?

No. Thomas would certainly not come here. She glanced back over her shoulder at him as she passed, knowing deep inside she knew this man.

Her father elbowed her in the ribs, abruptly drawing her attention back to Robert who loomed at the end of the aisle. She couldn’t marry him. She wouldn’t.

She stopped in the middle of the processional and turned back toward the man who’d been staring. He stepped out into the aisle and realization washed over Catherine in a deluge.

She knew.

She knew by the fervent way he looked at her. This was the man she loved. This was Thomas.

Wrenching away from her father’s grasp, she took a step toward him. “Thomas?”

The hint of a smile claimed his lips and that was all the impetus she needed. Joy flooded her being as Catherine rushed into his arms, threw her own around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I thought I’d never see you again!” she said, oblivious to the guffaws and gasps of the wedding guests.

Thomas hugged her, lifting her off her feet as he gazed into her deep green eyes. She was more beautiful than he’d remembered and looking into her eyes, he could see the love she felt—for
him
.

He cupped her cheek in his palm and stared.

She searched his gaze. “Take me away from here.”

“Catherine, what the hell are you doing?” Robert’s voice demanded.

“Catherine,” her father scolded. He strode toward them and tugged at her arm but she jerked free of his hold.

“No!” she wailed.

“This is scandalous!” George muttered beneath his breath.

Thomas tore his gaze away from Catherine just long enough to see Robert storming toward them and then he turned the full force of his stare on George Spencer. “You should have thought of that before you gambled your daughter away to a sadist.”

George gasped.

“Unhand her, Collins!” Robert said.

Thomas looked into Catherine’s green, green eyes once more. Dear God, he loved her. It was real—and it was worth it.

Suddenly, he swept her off her feet and rushed out of the church, clambering back into the carriage with her. “Go!” he told the driver. “Go now!”

With a lurch, they were off. The horses’ hooves pounded on the cobblestones. Catherine laughed and waved gleefully at Robert and her father, who were standing slack-jawed in the street.

Breathless, she turned to Thomas. “I knew you’d come. I knew you wouldn’t let me go through with it.”

“I couldn’t.”

She reached up to caress the hard line of jaw. She knew the feel of him so well but the sight of him was something altogether new and wonderful. Her lips burst into a smile. “God, I’ve missed you.” She searched his blue eyes. “Why did you send me back?”

His smile faded. “I’m not for you, Catherine.”

She seized his hands in hers. “Thomas, I could never love anyone but you.”

He seemed surprised. “Look at me. I’m an old man.”

Her gaze scanned him from head to toe. He was older, yes, but he was still stunningly handsome and devastatingly sensual. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

The sound of his surprised laughter filled the carriage. But Catherine didn’t laugh. She just stared. And suddenly he had her in his arms, crushing her body to his, holding her head tightly against his chest. “I love you too, Catherine,” he whispered into her hair. “God help me, I love you too.”

She closed her eyes and let out her breath in a long, soft sigh. She had not married Robert Wallingford after all. She was with Thomas! She loved him and he loved her. It was too perfect to be true. Joy flooded her.

“How did you know who I was?” he asked softly.

She breathed in the familiar scent of him. “I just knew.”

He pushed her away and tilted her face up to his. “Marry me,” he said. “Today. Right now.”

More joy filled her heart and she managed to nod. He brushed a kiss across her lips before he turned to the driver. “Don’t stop until we’ve reached Gretna Green.”

* * * * *

The wedding ceremony had been short and intimate, with only Thomas, Catherine and a rotund little vicar who had been awakened from his afternoon nap. Thomas had procured a room for them at the nearest tavern and although it didn’t boast much in the way of amenities, it was everything to Catherine.

He’d carried her across the threshold and now she stood in the middle of the tiny room as he turned down the bolt on the door and then faced her.

A smile claimed her lips. She was now married to Thomas Collins, the Earl of Claymore. Lord and Lady Collins. They were husband and wife and she could scarcely believe it.

She rushed into his arms and closed her eyes at the feel of his hard body encompassing hers once more. This was bliss. This was perfect.

Her eyes fluttered open as she tilted her head back, as his mouth sought hers. He kissed her softly at first, stopping to gaze into her eyes before claiming her lips again. And then his tongue was inside her, forcing her mouth open. He kissed her hungrily, greedily and all the while, his hands furiously worked the endless row of satin-covered buttons on the back of her dress. Her breasts were freed first and he slanted his head down to take each one into his mouth.

Catherine watched and brushed her fingers through the graying hair at his temples as his kisses scorched her flesh before she helped him wrest the corset and dress from her body, leaving them in a crumpled eggshell pink heap on the plank floor.

Thomas lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, still clad in her thin silk camisole and drawers. Catherine yanked and tugged at his tie, at his starched white shirt, at the sapphire buttons which glittered at his throat and cuffs. He leaned over her and kissed her mouth as he shed his jacket and then his shirt. Catherine fought with his trousers until she had them unfastened and then she pushed them down, freeing his aroused cock.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight of him. Dear Lord, he was big. She’d had that inside her? Back there? She trembled.

Kneeling on the mattress, she took him in her hand and examined every inch of him before she bestowed a kiss on the swollen, purplish head.

He groaned and his fingers wove into her hair, heedless of the hairpins and combs Marsha had so carefully placed there. It all fell and Catherine’s long black hair tumbled around his hands.

“Oh yes,” he whispered.

She glanced into his eyes as she brushed the tip of his phallus along her bottom lip and she was rewarded with an expression of pure passion. His eyes clouded. He gnawed his bottom lip. His forehead furrowed.