by Galen, Shana
She would probably not be so fortunate again. She needed to either convince Benedict to sign the papers or tell him the truth. She didn’t particularly care for either option.
The hired carriage finally stopped at a great green expanse, and Catarina felt her eyes widen. She’d thought London a warren of busy streets and limestone buildings. This pretty park was an oasis in that desert.
“Do you like it?” Benedict asked.
“I did not expect it to be so large.”
He opened the carriage and stepped out then handed her down. After paying the driver, he took her arm and led her toward the verdant walks. They did not have the park to themselves. Not by any means. Men rode on horseback along a path that was also traveled by open carriages carrying the most exquisitely dressed women. Catarina wished she could take a look at one of those women’s handkerchiefs. She was willing to bet the workmanship was superb.
Benedict led her toward the path where people were walking, pausing frequently to speak with others they knew. In the spring and summer, the path was probably lined with flowers, but this late into the fall most of the flowers were dead. The grass was still green and the leaves on the trees were turning vibrant shades of yellow, red, and orange. It was a chilly day, and she was glad the sun was out, else it would have been too cold to enjoy walking outside.
“Warm enough?” Benedict asked, as though he read her mind.
“Yes.” She was not used to a man like him, a man who seemed to care about her comfort and her well-being. This was why she’d married him. Well, she’d married him to escape the arranged marriage her father had ordered her into with the abusive Senhor Guerra, but Benedict’s character was why she’d chosen him as her savior. He was strong and powerful enough to gainsay her father. But she’d also observed him with his men. He was fair and, if not kind, concerned for their welfare.
“It seems everyone in London had the same idea we did,” she said. Even here at a park they could not seem to escape the crowds. And what fashionable crowds. The women were dressed so elegantly and the men impeccably. The horses were of the finest stock, those pulling the carriages inevitably matched pairs. Grooms and footmen in livery rode alongside or on the carriages, giving the occupants even more prestige. “Are the parks always so busy?”
“No. I daresay at other times of the day and in other areas of the park, you’d find much more solitude. This is the hour everyone comes to ride and walk. Well, everyone fashionable, that is.”
“I did not think you cared much for the fashionable set.” But perhaps she didn’t know him as well as she thought.
“I don’t. But I thought you might enjoy seeing the lady’s dresses and the spectacle of it all. You can’t see this anywhere else in the world, except perhaps Paris.”
Catarina did enjoy the dresses and the fashions. As a lacemaker, she was particularly interested in the lace the ladies wore, but she was unable in this sort of venue to see any real details. And so, as they walked, she found her gaze more often drawn to the lovely foliage. The park seemed to burn with a thousand hues of fall colors as the sun began its slow descent into evening.
“Colonel.” A man on horseback passed them, tipping his hat to her and then to Benedict.
Benedict tipped his hat as well. “Major.”
They walked on. “Do you know him?”
“Not really. We both served in the war and have a passing acquaintance. As you surmised, this isn’t really my set.”
“Your set?”
He smiled at her, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and her heart sped up slightly. “These are not my friends.”
“Who are your friends?”
“Mostly other soldiers. I still do some work for the Foreign Office, and I dine on occasion with the undersecretaries as well as ministers and diplomats. But most of the time I enjoy the company of men I’ve served with. I suppose once a soldier, always a soldier.”
She noted he did not mention any women acquaintances. Catarina would have liked to ask about the woman who had been at his flat the other night, but before she could, a carriage coming toward them slowed. Inside two ladies, one older and one younger, peered out at him.
“Colonel, how lovely to see you out and about,” the older woman said with a toothy smile.
“Mrs. Buford-Smythe, how good to see you as well. And is this your daughter?”
“This is my second born, Miss Eliza Buford-Smythe.”
He gave the pretty blond a slight bow then turned to Catarina. “Madam, I don’t believe you have met my wife, Mrs. Draven.”
The woman’s jaw dropped and her eyes bulged. “Your—I seem to have heard incorrectly, Colonel. I thought you said wife.”
“I did. Mrs. Draven has been recently in Barcelona, but she is in London now for a time.”
The two Buford-Smyth women blinked in silence. Finally, the mother cleared her throat. “I did not realize you were married, Colonel. You never said anything.”
“A man must have a few secrets, Mrs. Buford-Smythe.” He tipped his hat again. “Good afternoon, madam. Miss Buford-Smythe.”
They walked on. When they were out of earshot, Catarina gave him a little jab in the side. “Why did you tell her we were married? It was obvious she had you in mind for her daughter.” As they’d stood talking to the two women the thought that perhaps quite a few mothers had Benedict on the list of eligible men for their daughters occurred to her. Jealousy had bubbled up, much as it had when she’d seen the woman with him that night she’d waited in his flat.
“She’s a notorious gossip,” he said. “Telling her we’re married saves me the trouble of telling everyone else.”
Catarina froze, and Benedict was forced to look back at her. “What is it?”
“You want everyone to know we are married?”
“Of course. Why else would I bring you here? You didn’t think I merely wanted to parade you about as though you were some sort of medal on my sleeve?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to her until he said it. They began to walk again.
“I may be an old man, but I’m not so vain as to use you to convince everyone I am still strong and virile.”
“I doubt anyone would think otherwise. You are not old.”
“Old enough to be your father.”
“You would have been a very young father then.” But she did not wish to move away from the topic of the reason for their visit to the park. “I do not understand why you want everyone to know we are married. I am seeking an annulment.”
“And I am not. I thought I made that clear.”
“But why?” She stopped again and waited until he faced her. “You said I am not a medal to you, a prize to show off, and you say you think you are too old for me. Why do you want to remain married to me?”
He leaned close to her, so close she thought he might actually kiss her. “Because you still need me. And I’m not so much the fool as to pretend I don’t need you. Shall we walk on?”
She stumbled after him, not certain what to make of his statement. He needed her? And how could he possibly know the trouble she was in?
“Colonel Draven!” A man on a white horse waved then directed the beast toward them. Even Catarina, who knew nothing of horses, could tell the creature was magnificent. The animal reminded her of Benedict’s horse in Portugal. This beast all but pranced toward them.
“It’s good to see you here, sir.” Handing the reins to a groom who rode beside him, the man dismounted and shook Benedict’s hand. “I haven’t yet had a chance to congratulate you on that business at the Ashmont ball. But Jasper certainly came out the better for it.”
“All in a night’s work, my lord.”
The man, who had lovely green eyes and honey-colored hair, scowled. “Don’t you start with that. Call me Duncombe, as you always did. Better yet, call me Phineas.” The man still smiled at Benedict, but his eyes had slid to her. He was plainly curious about her but far too deferential to ask about her. Benedict didn’t keep him waitin
g.
“Mrs. Catarina Draven, this is the Lord Phineas, brother of the Duke of Mayne. He served under me in the war and was, without doubt, the best strategist on the Continent.”
Lord Phineas bowed. “Mrs. Draven. How good to meet you. The colonel never talks about his family. Are you married to his older brother or his younger?”
Catarina looked from Benedict to the Lord Phineas, uncertain how to answer. Benedict only smiled as though he were enjoying this.
“Actually, my lord—or is it your lord?”
He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. Every time I hear the courtesy I think one of my brothers is behind me. I’m much more apt to answer to Duncombe or Phin. You’re not English.”
“No. I am from Portugal.”
“Ah. That’s the accent.” He nodded, his manner friendly. She imagined the ladies thought him quite charming, especially with that pretty hair that was just a bit too long to be respectable. “Lovely country, Portugal. Is that where you met the colonel’s brother?”
“Actually, I have not met any of the Draven family.” She glanced at Benedict, still uncertain whether he wanted to claim her. He gave her a nod. “I am the colonel’s wife,” she said, warmth at the idea of being wanted seeping into her. No one had ever wanted her before—not her father, not the man he’d promised her to, and not Miguel de la Fuente. Benedict wanted her. He wanted everyone to know she was his.
Lord Phineas blinked and stared at her, obviously taking time to digest what he’d heard. He glanced at Benedict, but when her husband merely looked back at him, the man burst out laughing.
The response took Catarina by surprise. She didn’t know why her marriage should be amusing. But Lord Phineas clapped Benedict on the shoulder, seeming genuinely happy. “Good for you, sir. I’m surprised the Foreign Office didn’t ask you to do espionage. You can obviously keep a secret.” Then his smile faded and his yes narrowed. “Or am I the only one who doesn’t know?”
“Grantham knows,” Benedict said. “No one else. Catarina has been in Spain these past few years. We’ve only recently been reunited.”
“That explains all then. I would invite you to dinner or the theater, but I know you hate that sort of thing.”
Catarina’s hopes rose and then plunged. How she would have loved a night at the theater.
Benedict looked at her then back at his friend. “I could make an exception.”
Lord Phineas’s brows lifted. “Good. Then I’ll arrange it. In the meantime, I will see you at the club.” He turned to Catarina. “I look forward to coming to know you better, Mrs. Draven. Truly, it was a pleasure.”
“For me as well, sir lordship.”
And with a bow, he mounted his horse as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he saluted and continued his ride.
“I don’t know about you,” Benedict said after a moment of silence, “but I’ve had quite enough of the social scene. Shall we walk for a bit in the direction away from the crowd?”
She did not mind at all. It felt as though a thousand eyes were on her. Catarina’s heart kicked when Benedict led her toward the trees. They were by no means thick, especially as their leaves were beginning to fall, but among them she and Benedict would be much more alone than they had been.
Would he kiss her again? Would she allow it? There was nothing improper about it. After all, they were married in the eyes of God, if not in the eyes of this country.
But they walked for some time without Benedict making any move to kiss her. Perhaps he did not want her after all. Perhaps he had merely wanted to scare away persistent mothers of daughters.
As they walked, they discussed ordinary things like the changing seasons and how the weather in London differed from that in Portugal and Spain. He told her a bit about his work for the government, which he claimed was usually quite tedious. Walking with him like this, speaking with him about such mundane matters was like something out of a dream. For so long she’d imagined what it would be like to see him again, but she had never thought it would be so ordinary. And yet, being this close to him, feeling his arm under her hand, was not ordinary at all. Her senses were acutely aware of him—his scent, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his body. All of these elements served to remind her that her desperation to escape Senhor Guerra was not the only reason she’d wanted to marry Benedict Draven. She’d been attracted to him the first time she saw him.
Of course, she’d been a silly young girl then. She had found many men attractive. She was not so innocent or so undiscerning now. She knew what qualities made a man desirable, and appearance was far down the list. She admired men who were honest, responsible, loyal, honorable, and unselfish. She didn’t know if Benedict Draven had all of these qualities, but he’d showed several of them in the little time she had spent with him.
Not that it mattered what a wonderful man he was. She was with him to obtain his agreement to annul their marriage. After that, she’d never see him again.
“Shall we stop here for a moment?” he asked.
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t paid much attention to the path they’d walked. Now she looked about and saw they were quite alone. He was pointing to a stone bench covered in leaves. “Let me clear this for you.”
She shook her head. “The stone will be too cold. I do not mind standing.”
He cleared the bench anyway with a sweep of his hand. “Now that we’re alone, I wanted to ask. What’s the real reason you came to London?”
DESPITE HER PROTESTS about the bench being too cold, she sank onto it. She looked so small there, sitting all alone. With all the colored leaves about her, she made a stark contrast wrapped in her white cloak. Strange, he’d always remembered her as alive and vibrant. Where had the spark that had driven him mad when he’d first met her disappeared? He’d seen glimpses of it, but it was merely flickering as though on the verge of being extinguished.
“I told you. I want an annulment.”
“To marry Juan Carlos?” He’d intentionally misspoke to provoke her. It worked. Her eyes flashed annoyance.
“His son, Miguel.”
“You’ve fallen in love with him.”
“Yes.”
“What made you fall in love with him?”
She stared at him. “W-what do you mean?”
“What about him do you love?”
“I...” Her eyes skittered left and right, and she swallowed convulsively. Quite obviously, the question had taken her completely off guard.
“It’s a simple question, Catarina. You love him so much that you came all the way to London, found me, and agreed to meet with me twice now, even though I have said I don’t plan on granting the annulment. It should be easy to explain why you love him so much.”
“It is not your concern.”
He put a foot on the bench and rested an arm on his knee, leaning down close to her. “Ah, avoidance. The refuge of those with something—or everything—to hide.”
“I have nothing to hide—”
“Who is Juan Carlos?”
“I told you—”
“What does he hold over you?”
“Nothing!”
“Then why do you look scared in his presence?” His questions were rapid-fire, designed to make her speak without thinking.
“I am not scared in his presence.” There was the spark he loved.
“Then why do his bidding? Is he blackmailing you?”
She rose. “I do not have to answer these questions. You said you wanted to spend time with me before you would grant the annulment. That does not mean you can harass me with questions and...what is the word?—insinuations.”
He hadn’t thought it would be easy to get the answers he sought. He liked her all the more for that. She started to walk away—in the wrong direction if she meant to return to the hotel—so he called out. “You’re right. In fact, there’s only one question I really want answered.”
He thought for a moment she would keep walking. She took three more st
eps before she slowed, them turned. “What question?”
“If kissing you now will be as memorable as it was the first time.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and he wondered how he could ever have thought the leaves around them outshone her. Her dark eyes lifted and settled on his face. “I do not know how to answer that question.”
“I do.” He walked to her, telling himself if she showed any signs of reluctance, he would keep his distance. He would take her back to the hotel, if that was what she wanted. But she didn’t move except to reach behind her, grasping a tree trunk with one hand.
Benedict stopped mere inches away from her. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, but now that she was here and the moment upon him, he hesitated. How could she see him as anything other than an old man? Except he didn’t feel like an old man. He just felt like a man who was attracted to a woman.
He removed his gloves, tucked them into his coat pocket, then leaned forward and placed a hand on the trunk, just above her head. For a long moment, he looked down at her. She looked right back up at him, her eyes bright, her lips parted, her breath coming quickly. She wanted this too.
She wanted him.
He dropped his hand to touch her hair. It was soft and thick, and he let his hand skate over it until he reached her cheek. As soon as he touched her flesh, she closed her eyes, turning her face toward his palm. Benedict let his fingers drift down her silky skin until they reached her jaw. Then he slid his hand back and cupped her neck gently.
“I want to kiss you.”
She opened her eyes.
“May I kiss you?”
“Please,” she whispered.
His mouth lowered to meet hers. The moment his lips touched hers, he felt the spark of heat and the punch of arousal. There hadn’t been another woman in so long that he’d almost forgotten what this was like.
Almost.
Catarina must have felt the heat between them too because she made a soft sound low in her throat and lifted her arms to wrap around his neck. Benedict forced himself to keep his hold on her light even as he deepened the kiss, pressing his mouth to hers more firmly, exploring the shape of her and the feel of her lips.