Twice the Temptation (40 page)

“Yes, but Rhys has never done that sort of thing before. He quite adores women and they are most fervent in their adoration of him, if you understand my meaning.” Olivia gave her a conspiratorial wink. 

Catherine had to choke back a burst of laughter. “What do you take me for, an imbecile? Of course I understand your meaning. You are telling me it is men like your brother the women who seek our help need guard themselves against.” 

“Before the past year, I should have agreed with you on that but I got the sense Meghan was different. As I said, he gave up his mistress to pursue our Meghan and I suspect he’s taken another since.” 

“How do you know? I can’t imagine he confided in you about that.” 

“Hardly. I am his innocent baby sister,” Olivia said fluttering her eyelashes, feigning demureness. “I can’t be sure he hasn’t taken up with someone else but I met his former mistress. She came to his townhouse when I called on him one day. Made quite the scene, I’ll say.” She rolled her eyes as if caught up in the memory of the incident. “In any case, I heard enough of it to know he’d broken it off with her to pursue Meghan. Now you know, he swore me to secrecy. I’m never to say a word of it to her. But I don’t believe he specified that I could not tell you. You are not just
anyone
, am I right?” 

Catherine’s laugh escaped this time and it was loud enough to draw attention. Several men continued to watch, their gazes and interest sharpening on them. 

“What is so amusing? He specifically said not to ever tell Meghan and then he went on to say I wasn’t to tell anyone. Obviously, had you been included in that crowd, he’d have mentioned you by name. He knows you are not just anyone to me,” she protested and managed to remain straight-faced while uttering the utterly ridiculous. 

Olivia turned her attention back to the dance floor, her mouth fighting a smile that threatened to transform the compressed line of her mouth. 

Catherine did nothing to suppress hers, continuing to chuckle. 

“Lady Olivia. Miss Rutherford.” 

The feminine voice drew their attention to their hostess, Lady Summerville. A tall woman, the baroness had to be close to six feet in height and was wiry with no discernible breasts to speak of. Despite her boyish figure, she wore a gown that flattered it, managing to make her appear stately and elegant. 

Beside her stood a dark-haired young woman in a white gown, the delicate lace trim containing exquisite rose-shaped embroidery. The girl was pretty and petite the way most men preferred their wives—and their women. 

“I hope you are enjoying yourselves. Though I have yet to see either of you on the dance floor,” the baroness chided. “How many gentleman have you refused tonight? I wager already half a dozen.” 

“Only three that I can remember,” Olivia said, her smile indulgent. “But the evening is young and I expect to claim a place on the dance floor before long.” 

The baroness made a
tsking
sound and peered down at the young woman at her side. “You would think that with faces and figures so stunning, they would mingle more. You mustn’t follow in their example.” 

The girl giggled. 

“Lady Meghan Townsend, Miss Catherine Rutherford, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Eleanor Shipley. She is most eager to make your acquaintance.” 

Catherine found Miss Shipley thoroughly delightful, her laugh infectious and uncontained. If she appeared a little young, that was because she was, only celebrating her nineteenth year two months past. 

Once the introductions were made and general pleasantries exchanged, Lady Summerville quietly slipped away to continue with her hostess duties. The moment, the baroness moved out of earshot, they steered Miss Shipley to the opposite side of the room from where the orchestra had been setup. They found a small, unoccupied alcove that offered a modicum of privacy and quiet amidst the crush. 

“Now you do understand that things may not work out as you hope?” Olivia asked gently, preparing the girl for the worst possible scenario in an as compassionate manner as she could. 

Big blue eyes stared back at them. Blinking, Miss Shipley nodded mutely. 

“Very well then. I shall signal to Meghan and then we must take our places on the terrace before she and Mr. Templeton go outside. Where is your chaperone?” Olivia asked, glancing around. 

“She is in the refreshment room,” Miss Shipley said. 

“Very good. Now you must remember, should Mr. Templeton fail, you cannot say or do anything that will draw attention to yourself. No one can know what transpired except the parties involved.” 

“I shan’t cry or carry on if that’s what you mean. If he fails, he will not be the man I thought he was and I shall consider myself fortunate,” she said and gave a tremulous smile. 

Brave words. 

Catherine hoped she truly believed them. 

H
er task was two-fold, the most important of which was to alert her friends of interruptions in form of other guests or servants. If indeed Mr. Templeton proved not to be the man Miss Shipley thought he was, she would escort her to the retiring room, where she’d do her best to help ease the pain done to the poor girl’s young heart.

Therefore Catherine stood ostensibly watching the dancing just outside the paned double doors when they were yanked opened. Cool night air rushed in to meet the bare flesh of her upper arms. Instinctively she stepped back, expecting to see Miss Shipley and Olivia should things not have gone well. 

Instead she stared into the face of the man himself. His blue eyes looked frantic before they landed on her. His jaw literally dropped then. 

“Lady Avondale? Charlotte?” 

Catherine vaguely heard her friends’ voices beyond the open door. Her heart was pounding too loud in her ears to make out what was being said, her gazed trapped by the man standing before her. She wasn’t certain which surprised her more, that it was apparent he was acquainted with her sister or that he spoke like an American. 

An American.
The sinking feeling in her stomach returned with a quiet vengeance. 

Her appearance had stopped him in his tracks and he stared at her, his expression horror-filled. She could surely relate to that. She was no less affected. 

“N-no, I’m her sister Catherine.” 

“Right. Of course. Lucas said she had a twin,” he said, muttering to himself. Then his eyes widened and he shot another frantic look around. “Luke isn’t here is he?” 

A young American man who was not only acquainted with her sister but who was intimate enough with Lucas to abbreviate his first name. 

Dear God.
This could not be a good thing. 

Catherine shook her head, trying to collect her thoughts as her stomach churned the way it did after she had eaten some bad fish. 

Mr. Templeton glanced behind him through the partially open door and if ever a man looked pained, he did. 

“Katie, where are—?” Meghan broke off the moment she spotted them standing in a tableau of shock and horror, each for their own reasons. 

Behind Meghan, Catherine could now clearly hear the quiet sobs of Miss Shipley and Olivia’s soothing voice trying to placate her. 

Mr. Templeton’s regard swung to Olivia and then back to her. “It’s not— You won’t tell Luke will you?” he asked, his trepidation obvious. “There’s been a mistake. Landry will be able to explain,” he said, before striding off, Catherine assumed in search of Lord Landry. 

Her stomach dropped another notch. 

She turned and watched him enter the ballroom and shoulder his way through the crowd, his head swiveling this way and that, his eyes performing a frantic search of the room. 

Mr. Templeton. Lucas. Lord Landry. 

Catherine’s stomach could not possibly sink any lower. This was what her gut had been warning her of.  

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
E
IGHT
 

“S
he broke it off with you?” Lucas stared at his brother in disbelief.

Patrick nodded, shifting his arm a fraction of an inch to peek up at him. 

“What the hell happened?” He had not been gone two full days and this is what he was met with upon his return? His brother lying prone on his bed in the dark informing him that he was not to marry Miss Shipley?  

“She saw…” And that is all he heard for the rest of his brother’s statement sounded like garbled nonsense. 

“Dammit, Patrick, speak up and move your damn hand from your face. What the hell happened?” 

Agitated, Lucas crossed the room and drew the curtains to let in some light. He then walked over to the bed, where Patrick lay sprawled, his arm covering his eyes as if he couldn’t bear the brightness of the midday sun that now flooded his chambers. 

“Are you drunk?” he snapped, staring at his brother’s supine form under the covers. 

“Not anymore,” came Patrick’s grim reply as he lowered his arm from his eyes. 

“Let us try this again. Why did Miss Shipley feel fit to call off the engagement?” 

“No announcement was made or papers signed,” Patrick replied wearily, still refusing to look Lucas in the eye, instead taking an abundance of interest in the cotton threads of his bed sheets. 

“Yes but those were mere formalities.” Lucas felt the familiar clenching in his belly that foretold a coming disaster or scandal. “I repeat, what the hell happened?” 

Finally and with what appeared to take considerable effort, his brother lifted his gaze to his. Resignation was sketched with sharp clarity on his face. “I am in need of fifty pounds.” 

Lucas gaped at him, speechless. He took several fortifying breaths to calm himself. His brother had been known to test his patience to its last frayed nerve. He was doing that today. 

When he spoke again, Lucas did it with such utter calm and dispassion one would think he lacked all there was in human emotions. “I give you a generous monthly allowance, which by all rights could keep a family of four more than comfortably off for a year. For what possible reason would you require more?” 

“A wager.” The reply came as little more than a whisper. 

“You placed a wager for double the amount that I give you monthly?” Lucas now hung onto his control by a thread. 

Patrick dropped his gaze and shook his head as if to say, he too didn’t have the answer to what had been a rhetorical question. 

“Too whom do you owe this fifty pounds and what if anything does this have to do with Miss Shipley breaking it off with you?” 

“I’d rather not discuss what occurred between myself and Miss Shipley. She won’t have me and that’s the end of it. And I owe the money to Lord Landry.” Suddenly, his brother bolted from the bed to stand in front of him. Up this close, Lucas could see his sleep must have been fitful at best. “I give you my word, if you advance me the sum, I’ll never place another wager as long as I live.” 

Lucas huffed a humorless laugh. Such magnanimous promises. He would never hold his brother to a promise he would not be able to keep. “No—” 

Patrick’s face visibly fell. 

“—I shall agree to pay your wager but you’ll no longer receive an allowance from me. No, from now on you will have to work to earn a living.” His brother was twenty-five years and well past the age at which Lucas had started to work at his father’s steel plant. It may have become his by inheritance but Lucas had worked hard and worked his way up, learning all aspects of the business. He’d not only
earned
his current position but that of the trust and respect of the men who worked for him. There was no reason his brother should not do the same. 

“What would I do?” Patrick sputtered, throwing up his arms helplessly. 

“I’ve decided to purchase the mill in Manchester. You shall work alongside me until I feel you have the ability to take over the running of it yourself.” 

“But—” 

“If things are as you say between yourself and Miss Shipley, you’ll have no other option, unless you choose to return to America. There you could work at the plant.”