Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (17 page)

S
lowly, the world came back into focus for Catherine. She was breathing again, she realized. But her heart was still hammering against her ribs like a bird trying to escape from its cage.

Marcus had removed his lips from hers and his hand from her womanhood. Disappointment shot through her, but it was overwhelmed by a sense of
awe
.

Dazed, she opened her eyes. Lying beside her on the bed, Marcus was watching her with hooded eyes. Desire still banked his gaze, sapphire coals blazing
for her
. Inside she thrilled, still amazed by the glory of it all.

She reached for him, and he came to her, his lips locking down on hers with fierce, searing kisses. His hips rocked, pressing his manhood deep against her heat, but not inside. The thin fabric of his breeches could not contain the evidence of his unyielding desire. It rubbed against her sensitive flesh, sending small waves of pleasure surging through her, reminding her of the crashing pleasure she’d experienced just moments before.

His lips moved to her neck just below her ear as he murmured, “My adorable feline, how I enjoy stroking you.” His words caused a delicate clenching deep inside her core. “Will you do the same for me?” he asked throatily. He waited, his breath drifting across the fine hairs on her neck.

Hesitant, yet curious, Catherine let her fingers explore the muscular arc of his shoulder. Slowly, her hand skimmed down his broad back to the enticing slope above his buttocks. She licked her lips; somehow touching him there brought a sudden rush of heat deep inside her womb.

She smiled with the pleasure of exploring his beautiful body. Her hand continued down, over his tight, round buttocks, back to his hip, to the seam where their bodies joined.

His breathing was coming in rapid pants and she felt his heart hammering against her chest where he lay on top of her. She wanted to touch him as he had touched her, but she could not reach.

As if understanding, Marcus reared up. Grasping her hand, he lay backwards and, although slightly nervous at this new experience, she followed readily, lying beside him. Slowly, she swept her hand over the large bulge in his breeches, amazed by its solidity and its heat.

“Let me make it easier for you.” The rasp in his voice betrayed his tension as he rose, then quickly whipped off his breeches and smalls.

Cat had seen young boys when they’d bathed, but nothing could have prepared her for Marcus’s long, engorged shaft, thick around as one of Mr. Graves’s prized cucumbers. It stood at attention from a mass of black curls between muscular white thighs lightly grazed in a sheen of dark hair.

For a moment, panic sliced through Catherine, but she
pushed it aside. She was a woman of two-and-twenty, if she didn’t do this now, she never would. A giggle escaped from her lips.

“What?” he asked, breathlessly.

“I was deciding to ‘take the bull by the horns.’”

“I’ve never heard it called that,” he bit out. “But taking it sounds fine with me.”

She reached for him. The tips of her fingers caressed the head of his shaft. “It moved!” she cried, yanking her hand back.

“That’s a good thing,” he replied gruffly, guiding her hand back to the tip of his manhood. “I like it when you touch me, Cat. Do you?”

“Yes,” she breathed, amazed. The velvety skin over warm, pulsing muscle really was quite stimulating. His member felt good under her fingertips; so good, in fact, that soon she was toying with it, touching it all over to see how it felt. It seemed alive as it pulsed and jumped and heated, reacting to her touch. Enthralled, she grasped him in both of her hands and squeezing, rubbed up and down.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, amusement coloring his tense tone.

“Actually, this is…fascinating.”

“Not so hard, Cat,” Marcus murmured gently, resting his fingers across hers but not stopping her.

“Oh, sorry,” she replied. “How’s this?” she asked, trying a little trick that she used while kneading piecrust.

“Oh, my God,” he gasped, his face contorting.

“Should I stop?” She froze.

“No!”

So she repeated the maneuver, adjusting her technique, enjoying the feel of him under her fingers and being amazed by his reactions. His breath came in short gasps, his every muscle braced as if waiting for violence and his
hands locked at his sides in tight fists. His whole body tensed to iron. Marcus panted. His hips bucked. He groaned, and the shaft beneath her fingers throbbed with sudden intensity. His back arched, just as he grabbed his smalls and held them over his groin. Catherine drew back, not knowing what to do.

After a moment, his body relaxed and he let out a long breath. She wondered if he’d experienced what she had just moments before, but she was too shy to ask. How could she explain what had happened to her, anyway?

Gently Marcus wiped his smalls across his shaft. “My God, Cat. You’d think you had practice the way you did that.”

“I have.”

His head whipped up. “What?”

“Baking,” she replied lightly, enjoying how his face quickly relaxed. “I like helping Cook with the dough. Pies, pastries and the like. Then I’m one of the first to enjoy the fruits of my labor.” Her cheeks heated and she could not help the smile that teased her lips as the taste of his kisses still lingered. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. “But today’s treat was a much better reward.”

“For me as well, Cat.” Kissing the crown of her head, he wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “You really are an extraordinary woman, Cat.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” she murmured, enjoying listening to his steady heartbeat. He smelled so good; earthy beneath his spicy scent and the hint of sandalwood.

“A very good thing,” he replied, his fingers gently grazing her shoulder.

Snuggling closer, she relished this intimate time.

Marcus kissed her head. “We need to get up, Cat. Before anyone misses you.”

“No one shall miss me.” But she sighed as she said it,
knowing that he was right. Some things were too good to last.

“I’m as loath to rise as you, and thankfully, not because my head aches from overimbibing.” Slowly, he sat up, stretching his strapping arms above his head. His muscles bulged under pale, smooth skin. Involuntarily, she licked her lips. Lord, he was a masterpiece to behold. And for a short time, he’d been hers. All hers.

Reaching over, he grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on.

Sighing, she rose. This had been too fantastic to last and duty beckoned to her with its shackles too heavy to ignore.

She inhaled deeply, amazed at how…buoyant she felt after everything, and so little sleep. Despite her insistent responsibilities, she still wanted just a few more precious moments with Marcus.

She ventured, “I must admit, what we did, well, that was not exactly how I envisioned coupling would be.”

“Well,” he replied gently as he pulled on his breeches, “what we just did was not exactly coupling, Cat.”

She started. “What?”

“Well, for all intents and purposes, you are still an innocent.”

“How can that be after…?”

“I did not breach your maidenhead. What we did was more like a…” He waved his hand as if searching for the right word. “First or second course to a meal.”

“You mean there are more…servings?” she asked, feeling very green and unsettled.
And after that, what on earth could be dessert?

He nodded as he stood. “The main course, so to speak.”

“But why didn’t we…?”

Stepping over to the dresser, he dipped his hands in the basin and splashed water on his face. “What we did…
well, I needed to be certain that you would not become with child.”

With child.

“Oh,” she breathed, as something inside her twisted with an ache she’d always known was there but had never wanted to recognize. No marriage meant no children for Catherine. Being around the babies at Andersen Hall had secretly fueled Catherine’s desire for a child of her own. But that was obviously not meant to be.
Servitude to a husband
, she reminded herself, was intolerable.

She shifted to another less excruciating hurt. “Do you do…the other courses with other women?”

He ceased wiping his face with the towel. In the mirror, his reflection frowned. “I don’t want to talk about other women, Cat. It’s irrelevant.” Wiping his hands on the towel, he turned.

“Not to me, it isn’t,” she retorted, suddenly knowing that he probably made it all the way to dessert with those other women.

“Don’t look so furious, Cat.” Dropping the cloth, he stepped near. “It’s not about my not wanting to do more, but I need to be realistic. I’m going to be heading back to the Peninsula shortly. I can’t leave you behind with child. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” she muttered, feeling cross. “You could have simply given me a crust of bread and called it a meal.”

“It was not my intention to touch you at all,” he replied seriously, lifting her chin with his finger. His blue gaze was gentle, yet still held the dark tinge of his passion. “But I couldn’t help myself. You really are extraordinarily beguiling.” His smooth lips grazed hers. “I don’t know how you’ve escaped other men for as long as you have.”

Perhaps because only Marcus seemed to awaken this amazing desire in her. The thought of him disappearing from her life again made her heart sink. Pulling away, she crossed her arms. “So you intend to go back to the war?”

“Of course,” he replied, stepping back. “You knew that.”

She nodded dumbly. Yes, he had said it all along, but that was before his father was murdered. And before Marcus had touched her. Somehow, she felt as if her world had irreversibly shifted by their intimacy, yet he, obviously, was not similarly affected. She needed to stop being so naïve, she chided herself.

Pasting a bland look on her face, she asked coolly, “How long, do you think, until you leave?”

“That depends upon my investigation.”

“Did…did you learn anything helpful from the man who killed your father?”

He scowled. “His name is Conrad Furks. Ever heard of him before?”

Mutely, she shook her head.

“The bloody knave was useless. He swears never to have heard of Renfrew…still, the bastard was probably lying through his teeth…” Looking up, he suddenly asked, “Have you ever seen Renfew with an exotic cane, by any chance?”

“What kind of cane?”

“Ivory and black-tipped. In the shape of an eagle’s head.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“You’re as white as a sheet, Cat,” Marcus cried, alarmed. Grabbing her arm, he asked, “So you’ve seen it.”

Yes, she’d seen something like it, but it had been over ten years before. Her uncle, Dickey Caddyhorn, had loved that blasted accoutrement more than his own children.
He’d claimed it was a gift from his benefactor, the Earl of Yardley, just before the man had passed away. More likely, Dickey had purloined the thing while the body was barely cold and everyone was too grieved to notice. But it couldn’t be the same cane. That was impossible.

“Furks claimed that a hooded man with such a black and white-tipped cane hired him to kill my father,” Marcus explained, excitement infusing his voice. “If you can link Renfrew to the cane, it’s not much, but it’s a connection I can work with.”

No, the Caddyhorns couldn’t know about her and Jared or they would have swooped down and claimed guardianship. There was no connection. Catherine blinked, realizing that Marcus was expecting answers. “Uh, no, I’ve never seen Lord Renfrew with anything like that.”

“Oh.” He released her, obviously disappointed. “Then what upset you?”

“I was just remembering,” she evaded. “All the blood…”

He took her hands in his, explaining gently, “The memories will fade, Cat. They might jump back at you at the oddest moments…but for the most part, they will go away.”

“Is that what happens to you, with the war?”

He nodded. “After a while you learn to close your mind to it.” Marcus squeezed her hands. “Look, Cat. Before you go back inside, I just wanted you to know that I never intended for…” He waved to the bed. “This to happen. I respect you. I still do.” He bit his lip, his sapphire gaze earnest. “I just…well, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I would hate that, Cat.”

“I wouldn’t like that either,” she replied truthfully.

“Then we’re still friends?”

Friends
?
After that heart-stopping, world-spinning flight
to the stars?
Quickly she looked down so he couldn’t read the disappointment in her eyes. What had she expected? Him on bended knee with a ring in his hand?

She couldn’t afford to get distracted by girlish fantasy. Her only hope was to enjoy the precious moments she had with Marcus until they were lost forever.

Looking up, Catherine pasted a smile on her wooden lips. “Of course we’re still friends.” She tried to ignore the relief flashing across Marcus’s features. “Always.”

“M
iss Miller! Miss Miller!”

Catherine awoke with a start and realized that she was not on a ship rocking to the sway of the waves with Marcus at the wheel, but in her drab office reading accounts. Or at least she was supposed to be, until she’d apparently fallen asleep sitting up.

“Taking a snooze, eh?” Gardener Graves intoned from the threshold, his shoddy cap in his hands before him. His fingers gnawed at the already threadbare rim. He always carried his vocation with him in every aspect of his person: from his earth-stained fingers, to his craggy teacolored skin from years of exposure to all weathers, to his grass-stained breeches, to his mud-crusted shoes.

“Uh, I suppose I must have,” she murmured, wiping a drip of saliva from the corner of her mouth.

“Accounts would put me down, too.” He chuckled. “But for good.”

Rubbing her eyes, she asked, “Ah, what can I do for you?”

“Just wanting to let ya know that I weeded the vegetable garden.”

An outsized cucumber suddenly flashed in Catherine’s mind. Her cheeks warmed and she coughed into her fist, scrambling for composure. She had tried not thinking about Marcus all day, yet often unbidden reminders popped into her mind at the oddest times.

“And,” Graves added with a shrug, “just wanted to thank ya again, fer giving me me job back.”

“As we discussed, with everything so…upset, it’s a good idea to keep things on as even a keel as possible.” Catherine knew the man was contrite and furthermore, she couldn’t face having a stranger around. For all of his faults, Gardener Graves loved Andersen Hall well.

Whipping a dirty cloth from his pocket, he pressed it across his eyes. “Well, I thank ya just the same.” Then he was gone.

Catherine stared down at the ledger once more, wondering if she should go get a cup of tea.

“Miss Miller,” Mr. Gillis intoned, standing in the threshold.

She stood and curtseyed, pasting a smile on her face. Her little office was so busy it was starting to feel like the town square on market day. “Mr. Gillis.”

The gray-haired attorney was a handspan taller than she, but Catherine was used to looking up when dealing with most men. Especially tall, brawny gorgeous ones. She wondered what Marcus was doing this afternoon while she withered away in her tiny office.

“I came as fast as I could when I heard the dreadful news,” the attorney murmured, pushing his gold-rimmed spectacles up his nose with one hand as he gripped his papers’ case to his chest with the other. He always seemed a bit disheveled, giving him an air of confusion. But Head
master Dunn had once told Catherine that Gillis was too busy in his brain to focus on material things such as properly knotting his cravat.

Clutching his case to his chest, he stepped forward. “I’m beside myself with Headmaster Dunn’s murder, Miss Miller. Positively beside myself.”

“Thank you for coming, sir. It is a terrible, terrible day for us all.”

“Cat,” a familiar voice rumbled from the doorway.

“Marcus!” Again, it was as if a window had opened in her airless office. The never-ending foot traffic, the dreary details, the depressing calls all melted away, leaving only golden sunbeams shining through.

Marcus stood on the threshold, resplendent in his navy blue coat with shiny brass buttons lined in military rows, crisp white breeches only marred by the thick bandage. His crutch hardly diminished his imposing stature as he towered over the diminutive attorney.

Conscious of Mr. Gillis standing beside her, Catherine tried to act composed when she was thrilling inside. “Mr. Gillis, Major Marcus Dunn.”

Marcus tilted his hat to the attorney. “It’s been a long time, Mr. Gillis.” Catherine was surprised at the distaste darkening his handsome features. His black-winged brows were knitted, his sensual mouth pressed tight and his nostrils flaring.

“Marcus.” Gillis hugged his satchel to his chest like a shield.

“It’s
Major
Dunn now.” Ice encased Marcus’s tone. “State your business and begone, we haven’t much use for back-alley scribblers today.”

Catherine blinked at the insult, wondering what was going on between these men. The tension was thicker than a midnight fog in winter.

“I’d have thought the army would have whipped the insolence out of you by now,” Gillis huffed.

“No, only my patience to deal with cockroaches like you.”

Gillis’s lips pinched. “If it weren’t for your father…” Suddenly the man blinked rapidly and closed his mouth. Rubbing his hand over his forehead, the attorney sniffed. “He was probably delighted beyond reason to see you again. It’s what he wanted most…More than anything…The blasted sentimentalist.”

For an instant, the anger on Marcus’s face cracked, exposing a searing grief that tore at Catherine’s heart. Then his features fixed once more. Except for his azure eyes being shiny, he looked hard as granite.

Gillis seemed oblivious to Marcus’s pain. Scowling, the attorney reached into his satchel and removed an oblong box. “I brought your father’s will.”

Marcus stiffened.

Gillis slapped the box onto Marcus’s chest. “I thought you might want to read it, if you give enough of a damn about your father’s last wishes on this earth.”

Marcus clasped the package to his chest, the skin of his hand dark on the ivory box.

Gillis faced her. “And I will return later, Miss Miller, to discuss another matter with you. When we can speak privately. Good day.” He tipped his hat and shuffled out the door.

Wordlessly, she and Marcus stared at the box in Marcus’s arms. Reaching out, Catherine squeezed his hand.

He did not meet her eye. “Gillis…a long time ago, Gillis did not do right by me.” He looked down. “I’m not one to forgive easily.”

“He could have been kinder, as well.” She didn’t know
what else to say to this man who was wracked by so much pain.

“How are you holding up, Cat?”

That he could think of her when he was so obviously hurting melted her heart. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” she answered truthfully. “It’s been a long day.”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Cook happened to mention that you hadn’t eaten much today. I thought…you might like a respite.”

“That would be lovely,” she replied quietly, amazed that he could think of her hunger when he was facing so much.

“I hope that you don’t mind,” Marcus added. “I had a small meal set out in the guest quarters. I thought you could benefit from some time away from the main house.”

“Oh.” Inside, she thrilled. To be alone again with Marcus. She wanted to dance a jig.

But she reminded herself that her behavior had to set an example at Andersen Hall. To go to Marcus’s quarters alone was exceedingly improper. It was daylight, there were no spirits to add as an excuse. Her duties pressed upon her like creeling stones.

But then again, as secretary she might have matters of importance to discuss with a member of the board of trustees. Especially during such an unsettling time. And Marcus had been so considerate; it would be exceedingly rude to turn him down.

She nodded. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

As they exited into the bright sunshine, Catherine blinked, suddenly realizing that she had been closeted in her office for most of the afternoon. She inhaled deeply, glad for the opportunity to loosen the knots of anxiety sewn in her shoulders all day. She’d been too tense to eat;
the last thing she truly enjoyed was the mint candy she and Marcus had shared last night.

The thought stirred a heat deep in her middle, but she tried to ignore the memory and not assume anything from Marcus’s invitation. They were friends. Friends broke bread together now and again, didn’t they? He was probably trying to reestablish their relationship; to ensure that there were no misunderstandings.

Still, excitement surged through her, simply to be in his presence. It had been a difficult day, and being with him made everything somehow seem more bearable.

She inhaled a deep breath, trying to enjoy the moment. Birds twittered overhead, leaves shimmered on a spring wind that carried the scent of pine and the trees gave pockets of shadows every few feet, making the air warmer and cooler with every few steps down the path to the guesthouse. As Marcus loped along beside her, his off stride with the crutch clattered a nice rhythm on the pebbled trail.

The golden rays glistened on his dark hair, making it look like shiny black silk. She resisted the urge to reach up and liberate the raven curl that had snaked under his collar. Even after this morning, she had no right.

“I confess,” Marcus stated slowly, as they traveled along the path, “I struggled with myself over whether or not to stay away from you today.”

She blinked, her heart sinking. “Why would you want to do that?”

“It’s one thing to say that we are friends, but after last night…” He shrugged.

“We are friends, Marcus. And nothing really has changed,” she lied.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Stepping along, Catherine tried not to be disappointed
that he didn’t want more. But then again, where could it lead? He was an honorable gentleman and she never wanted him to feel duty-bound to marry her, something she would never allow, anyway. So, friendship was the best she could hope for, she told herself. She should be happy for what they’d shared.

“It was very thoughtful of you to have a meal prepared for me,” she ventured. “I know how busy you must be…”

“Oh, it was not out of consideration for you, Cat. I just wanted to see you again.” Marcus smiled a wide, white smile. “And you know what a selfish bastard I can be.”

Some of the tension inside of her loosened, and, smiling, she shook her head. “Rumor and innuendo.”

“My reputation precedes me!” he cried, feigning shock.

“You and your reputation do not have much in common, Marcus Dunn. And it’s your own fault.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Sometimes, you invite discredit.” Abruptly she recognized that this was something that bothered her about Marcus. Catherine peered at him sideways hoping that she had not insulted him with her frank reproach.

“How do I invite discredit?” he asked, seemingly interested.

Raising a shoulder, she explained, “You assume that you are going to be condemned, so you start off in a very defensive manner—”

Abruptly, he stopped. “And this is what you think of me? A man who does not have a civil tongue?”

She squinted up at him in the bright sunshine, having to crane her neck to look up at him. “No, of course not. You get along quite amiably with me, now that you trust me anyway. But seeing you with Mr. Gillis, Nick Redford—”

“You think I trust you?” His dark brows were furrowed and his azure eyes seemed to be puzzling something out.

“Don’t you?” Catherine blinked, surprised that this was the source of his perplexity. “Even a little bit?” As she stood waiting for an answer, she realized that she was holding her breath, and schooled herself not to act like an infatuated adolescent. It didn’t matter if he trusted her. Did it?

He seemed to consider the idea for a moment. Then, placing the ivory box under his arm, he held up his hand, fingers wide. “I can count on this hand the people whom I would consider trustworthy, Cat.”

She felt her lips droop. “Oh.”

He shook his head, as if surprised. “Yet, somehow, you have managed to be among them.”

She couldn’t help her pleased smile. “I feel honored, Major Dunn, to be in such small company.”

“Watch out, Cat.” He wagged a finger teasingly. “You may yet redeem mankind in my eyes.”

“I’m not a man,” she huffed playfully, crossing her arms.

“That, I noticed.” Turning, Marcus motioned to the four short stairs leading up to the guest quarters. “After you, my fair lady?”

Catherine started, not having realized that they had arrived.

Now that the prospect of going inside was upon her, Catherine hesitated. Yes, her new mantra was to enjoy the moments with Marcus, but still, he was bringing out all sorts of strange feelings in her, making her long for things she’d never considered to be part of her spinster existence. To be with him, alone, in his quarters went beyond the pale, even if no one bothered to condemn her. The question was: Would she eventually condemn herself?

Marcus stood, watching her, the epitome of patience. Somehow he seemed to sense that this was a big step for
her. Was it likewise a test to see if she trusted him enough to enter? Her mind raced madly from one possibility to the next, with one clear imperative: She wanted to go inside. She wanted to be with Marcus. She wanted to experience some of the excitement that overcame her when he was near. For all of her concerns about propriety and temptation, Catherine longed for the thrills that only Marcus seemed to bring.

Taking a deep breath, Catherine grabbed the wooden railing and climbed the stairs. She tried not to focus on the enormity of the course she was taking.