The Pleasure Garden: Sacred Vows\Perfumed Pleasures\Rites of Passions (20 page)

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she looked about the room, realizing that she was very much alone in the chamber. She had a vague, fuzzy memory of Mary coming in and laying out her gown and petticoats.

She had dreamed of Joscelyn, of running away with him. How desperately she wanted to leave her life behind and forge a new one, with him. But that was not to be.

The scene in the garden with Edward replayed itself, and she knew, unequivocally, that Edward would hold to his promise. He would ruin her parents if she decided to see Joscelyn again.

She wondered what had happened after she’d left the garden. Was Edward even now plotting his revenge against her, after Joscelyn had interrupted them?

“There, my lady,” Mary said. Standing back, the lady’s maid observed with pride the creation she had fashioned. “Your hair looks so lovely coiled like that. And the earrings, they sparkle so nicely in the gaslight.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

The sapphires were an extravagant indulgence. They were large, cut for maximum sparkle, and with the
diamonds edging them they glittered even more. They were stunning, but she would have been just as happy with jet, if it had been given to her by someone she loved, or at the very least cared for.

Looking at her reflection, she saw a woman who radiated purity and innocence. Her artless expression and wide eyes lent her the image of maidenly beauty and virtue. But inside she felt like a whore. She’d been bought, and she had allowed herself to be so.

“Come,” Mary murmured. She fixed her fingers on Catherine’s bare shoulders. “You will make such an entrance.”

Where was Joscelyn? she wondered. Would he be at dinner? She’d seen him, after all, and wasn’t that the reason he had used to hide from her? His face? His wounds?

She longed to talk to him, to touch him despite knowing it was utterly hopeless.

Leaving her chamber, she traveled down the stairs, gliding in her heels, the train of her gown trailing behind her. When she reached the first level, she turned past the earl’s study and down another hall that led to the dining room and adjoining salon. And that was when she heard it. The scrape of a boot. The sound of male breathing. The feel of him, and the way he had the power to fill up a room with his presence.

“Hello, Catherine.”

Stopping abruptly, she whirled around, only to see Joscelyn lounging against the silk-papered hall. One shoulder was propped against the wall, his arms were crossed over his chest. He was looking at her with such scrutiny that she backed away from him.

“Have you no welcome? No kind words for a future family member? No whispered expressions for a lover?”

She couldn’t speak, just kept walking backward, unable
to take her gaze off him. He had changed these past years, and not just his scars. There was a hardness about him now, even though he had only grown more handsome. To her, the wounds on his face did not detract from his handsomeness. The patch, worn over his left eye, gave him a rakish, dangerous appearance. Everything about him made her tremble. Made her want.

“Where is your fine gentleman now?” he asked. “The one who you said you would love forever? Gone. Left for dead on the fields. Replaced by this.”

The velvet timbre of Joscelyn’s voice caressed the length of her body and she tried to run from it, from that reawakening inside her. He captured her before she could dart away, trapping her against the wall with his broad chest and well-muscled thighs.

His gaze flitted over her hair and then down her face. Then his callused finger reached up and traced the contour of her cheek. His eyes lowered to her lips and she felt the rough pad of his finger slide along her cheek to her mouth, the sensation causing ripples of awareness along her nerves as her lips parted beneath his touch.

He peered into her eyes while his thumb caressed her lips, and she stared back, taking everything in, wondering how he had survived. How he had withstood the agony of healing from his wounds.

“It’s not the gentleman you want, is it?” he asked darkly, starting a thrilling tension knotting in her belly. He lowered his mouth to hers, all the while watching her with his unreadable, hooded gaze. “What gentleman could make you feel this way? It is the monster that you yearn for.”

“Joscelyn, please,” she whispered, weakening. She couldn’t, absolutely mustn’t weaken. Her family. Edward. He could arrive at any time and discover them. And then
it would be over. Her father’s debts would be called in, and with no means of paying them, they would be forced out into the streets.

“Tell me you want me. Tell me that you’re wet, dripping between your thighs.”

She was, and if he didn’t quit talking like that, she was liable to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.

“Tell me you want what we had last night. That you still want me after you’ve seen the horror of my face.”

Oh, that was so unfair. How could she admit the truth to him when she planned on turning from him forever? But then, how could she deny him the truth? To leave him with the impression that she was repulsed by what she saw…that was too cruel. Wrong. She could not hurt him. Not that way. Not when she saw the fear, the insecurity shining in his eye.

“Cathy,” he whispered, using his pet name for her. “Tell me you’re not lost to me.”

There was nothing she could do now. She was Edward’s. Forever. Steeling herself to be unkind to the only person she had ever loved, Catherine straightened her spine and summoned all her courage to do what must be done—the final betrayal. The act that would take Joscelyn away from her, and protect her family.

“You are misguided, sir,” she said, gathering her strength and wits, and evading his impending kiss by ducking beneath his raised arm. “I feel nothing for you—nothing deeper than a base instinct, which you satisfied last night.”

He reached for her and spun her around so that she was facing him. He drew her roughly to his chest, which was rising and falling much too fast. “You’re a damned liar,” he spat, then he brought his lips down to her mouth and kissed her with such mastery that she felt her knees tremble, and
she was obliged to take the lapels of his waistcoat between her fingers and grip them to save herself from running her hands through his silky black hair. He groaned, then deepened the kiss, his fingers caressing the column of her throat, and she knew that she was a fool to play into his hands this way. Just as she was about to break the kiss, he moved his mouth away, kissed her chin, tipping her head back and grazed his lips across the skin that crept up above the neckline of her bodice.

“Tell me, Cathy, does he know I had you first?”

She couldn’t hide the tiny whimper that escaped. “This isn’t right,” she said, with a gasp of shock and pleasure as he licked her throat where he knew she was most sensitive.

“And yet you want it.”

Her cored bloomed, dampening at the dark, erotic way he had said that. His tongue came out and licked the swells of her breasts that edged the silver lace of her blue gown and the sapphire pendants. Once again she was unable to hide the gasp that escaped. His palm, large and hot, engulfed her breast, and one long finger pulled at the fragile silk in an attempt to expose her nipple, which was erect and waiting to be touched.

“Admit you want it, Catherine,” he teased, as his finger circled perilously closer to her nipple. “Admit you want me. To be taken into my arms and fucked until you can’t breathe. Until you forget everything but us.”

Oh God, yes,
she wanted to cry, but she gathered her strength, her resolve. “Desist, sir,” she pleaded, shoving herself out his arms. “Or I shall scream and alert the entire household.”

His face darkened and he straightened away from her. “You’re very good at screaming and having every able-
bodied male come to your rescue, are you not? What a fool I was this morning to think you needed rescuing.”

There was barely concealed violence in his words, and she stepped back, pained that she was the cause of his anger.

“I would give anything for you. Do anything—” he began.

“Please don’t. You know this cannot go any further.”

“This is going to go much, much further.”

“What more do you want from me?” she demanded.

“Everything you can possibly give me.”

“You know I cannot. Edward…” She glanced away, moistened her lips with her tongue. “Edward is to be my husband.”

“Because of your parents’ debt. Yes, I know. I’ve always known that is the reason you agreed to marry him, when it was me you wanted.”

She could no longer look at him, ashamed that he knew the truth. “Yes,” she whispered quietly, “it’s true. My parents have all but sold me to Edward to have their debts cleared. And like a harlot, I agreed.”

Closing his eye, Joscelyn moved forward, brushed his lips against her forehead. “Many things in life are brought about by necessity, Cathy. This is one of them. I don’t think you a harlot, I think you a beautiful, selfless woman who is willing to give up everything in order to see her family safe—a family that cannot be bothered to learn from their past, and cease gambling.”

It was the truth, but it wounded her to hear it. Papa had learned nothing from his follies. She was their only child. After she was wed to Edward, there would be no other daughter to barter off. And what if Edward decided to no longer pay their bills? What then?

“At some point, sweetheart, your father will have to become a man and take ownership of his own debts. It is not up to you to pay them for him.”

“I—I— You must understand, Joscelyn, the amount he owes…” There was no hope left. “I’m marrying Edward.”

“And what of tonight? What of Gretna Green, and our plans to run away?”

She wanted to go. To flee and never look back. How alluring the offer. How tempting he was. How she struggled to do what she must.

“Here,” she said, tugging a diamond-and-sapphire ring from her finger. She shoved it at him, waving for him to take it. “This will get you at least a thousand pounds.”

“For what, Catherine? My silence? How badly do you want to hide from your betrothed that we’ve been lovers?”

Her gaze shot to his face. Was he blackmailing her for more? Was it possible? Had he plans to tell Edward that she had slept with him? She thought of her parents, and such panic rose in her breast that she dashed forward, shoving the ring into his hand, then pulling the earbobs from her lobes. “Take them. Everything. Just…don’t…”

“Don’t say a word?” he asked quietly, as he looked down at the handful of jewels in his palm. “Pretend as though it never happened?”

“Is that enough for your silence?” she asked, afraid to meet his gaze.

“What do you think?” he snapped. “Nothing would be enough to make me forget what we’ve shared. I spent the past three years wishing for you. Hoping for a future with you, and with one action, you’ve taken it all from me.”

“Joscelyn,” she cried, but then stopped. She had been
successful in turning him away. She should let it be. It was, after all, what she needed to do.

“Enjoy your intended,” he grumbled. “You deserve one another.”

Then he stalked to the door and pulled it open with such force she wondered that the knob did not come loose in his hand. He did not look back, and Catherine was rather glad he didn’t. Her thoughts and emotions where still spiraling out of control, and she had no wish to have Joscelyn see the confusion he created within her.

“Ah, there you are,” Edward said as he came into the hall from the dining room. “I thought perhaps you were lost.”

“No, just delayed.”

“Are you well? You’re flushed.”

“I am very well, thank you.”

“Well then, let us go in to supper. And then we might adjourn to the garden, eh?”

Any hunger she felt quickly evaporated. She did not know how she would get through the night, or which excuse she could use to extricate herself from the after-dinner festivities. She only knew she must.

Catherine glanced over her shoulder, only to find Joscelyn in the hall, watching them.

Please don’t hate me,
she silently asked him.
Please understand why I must do this.

But with a glare he turned from her, telling her that he did despise her. And with a heavy heart, and the threat of tears, she took her place opposite Edward and tried to forget about what she had done.

6

IT HAD NOT BEEN DIFFICULT AT ALL TO FEIGN illness. Everyone had remarked how pale she was, and she readily admitted that she had the headache. When it was noted that her plate had hardly been touched, Lord Fairfax had offered to send for his physician.

“Just wedding nerves,” Edward had said, teasing her. Everyone at the table had laughed.

Oh, God, in less than a week, it would be Beltane. Then their wedding.

What would Joscelyn think of her then?

Roaming her chamber, Catherine could not settle. Every thought came back to her lover. Where was he? What was he thinking? Did he despise her?

Of course he did, she told herself. She’d spent the night with him, loving him, and then come the next day, she’d tossed him away, making him believe it was his wounds—suffered in the war, protecting their country—that made her spurn him. What sane person would not hate her? She detested herself, in fact.

Standing before the looking glass, she gazed at the reflection there. She was wearing a lovely nightrail made of
the sheerest silk, and edged in lavish lengths of Honiton lace. It was part of her trousseau, bought, of course, by Edward.

Any woman would be thrilled with something so feminine and beautiful, but she hated it. It reminded her of what she was. A sensual prize in the game of men. Her father, so irresponsible and frivolous with his money, had sold her. Edward, the spoiled aristocrat, wanted to put her on his arm and shower her with clothes and jewels that marked her as his possession. No, she was the pawn of men. What she wanted hadn’t mattered.

Her bedroom door creaked, and she glanced up, half expecting it to be Edward. He would not be put off by a mere headache. He had every intention, she knew, of finishing where they left off in the garden. But it was not her fiancé come to ravish her. It was Joscelyn.