“Yes, Bob. Gone. Like you should be.”
“I’ll just go into your bedchambers then and tidy up a bit—”
“No, Bob, you will not. You will go away. Far away. Now.”
Cat stood in barely contained anger as the foiled Bob sketched her a bow and retired, grumbling, from the room. She counted to ten. There was no perceptible lessening of her anger. She tried twenty. No good. So she shouted.
“Of all the callous, manipulative, deceitful and… and… childish things I have ever heard! Tell me, did you and Strand keep a daily correspondence concerning my amusing presumptions?” She stomped her foot. The delicate china service jingled on the table.
“Cat,” Thomas approached her warily, as though she might at any moment launch herself tooth and nail at him. “Cat.”
Did the blackguard actually sigh in relief when it became obvious she wasn’t going to physically attack him? She must reconsider that particular option. He motioned for her to take a seat. Cat flopped down. Merely, she told herself, to see what further horridness he would own up to next.
He poured her a cup of tea, liberally ladling in cream and sugar before handing it to her. “It will take more sugar than the world presently produces to sweeten my estimation of you!” she muttered, snatching the offered saucer and sloshing tea onto her skirts. It proved the final straw.
Tears welled up in her eyes. Angrily, she tried to blink them away. Jumping up, Thomas grabbed a napkin and knelt before her, industriously blotting away at her soaked lap. She slapped ineffectually at his hands. A wave of pure physical longing defeated her. She wanted nothing more than to feel those strong hands upon her, holding her, caressing her. Gazing helplessly down at his dark head, she noted the bright tracery of silver woven among the silky black curls. Her tears fell.
Finally flinging the soaked towel away, Thomas sat back on his heels and peered up at her from behind his ludicrously thick black lashes. He reached out his strong brown hands and captured her own. She tried to pull away, but his grip, though gentle, was intractable.
“When you first came to me,” he said, “you were to no end filled with the exemplary qualifications of Giles Dalton as a potential husband. You were also bursting with ill-concealed doubts concerning my own qualifications as a desirable, ah, suitor. It pricked my pride, Cat.”
She sniffed, half in misery, half in contempt.
“And because of that, it was simply irresistible to tease you.” He grinned, his teeth a white gleam in his dark face. It was a smile that invited her to join him, without derision or mockery. A beautiful smile.
“Because I was so insolently unappreciative of you?” she asked. “And what about the conniving you did in Paris? Setting Strand up as my beau?”
“Your beau?” Thomas’s expression was one of comical confusion. “I did no such thing. I knew, because of my connections with the foreign office, that Paris might be on the brink of another occupation. I asked Strand, as my friend, to watch out for you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did not think, at the time, that you would read any letter I had written. And I knew you had certain hopeful expectations of your relationship with Strand. I did not want to further intrude on your life,” he finished quietly.
Cat, however, seemed heedless of her destroyed prospects regarding Strand. “You are right; I would have consigned any missive from you to the fire.”
Thomas laughed, rocking back on his heels, though his hands still clasped hers firmly.
How could she not return his humor when so much of it was self-deprecatory? She would look a churl if she did not offer him at least something of a smile. His hands tightened on hers.
“And later,” he hurried to continue, “I simply forgot. And in Paris the subject of Strand, and whether or not I knew him, could not have been further from my mind. There were other things I felt I needed to tell you.”
“Mariette Leons?” Cat said quietly. “How long will you flay yourself for that tragedy, Thomas? You were in a war. War does not ask which of its victims deserves to die and which does not. It is indiscriminate. Innocent as well as guilty fall before it. You were trying to make sure that fewer of the innocent felt its deadly touch.”
She heard his breath catch. “My dearest.”
Something cold and tense, something that had begun to thaw when Thomas mopped the spilled tea from her skirts, melted completely in Cat’s heart.
“Cat, I would never knowingly hurt you.”
Just as she began to believe in his sincerity, a new doubt sprung up to eclipse the brief communion Cat felt. “But you have avoided me.”
He shook his head in denial, his eyes never leaving hers. “No. I deemed it best not to hover.”
“Hover? Well, you made a right good job of that. No one in their right mind could accuse you of having ‘hovered.’ ”
“Cat, my reputation is such that a young, unmarried woman of unexceptional birth could not associate herself with me and go unscathed.”
“But last summer you had no such qualms…”
“Last summer I labored under the ridiculous assumption that I’d been absent from society long enough to assuage a long-spent notoriety. You yourself encouraged that particular delusion.”
Cat frowned, perplexed. Turning over her hand, Thomas rubbed Cat’s soft palm with his thumb, an unconsciously comforting gesture. It did not comfort her; it excited her.
“You went on, ad nauseam, I might add, about my agedness. But while I am not in my first flush of youth, I have not yet attained the years necessary to distance myself from past transgressions. That realization was borne in on me acutely when we arrived in Brighton and almost immediately the snickers began. I had hoped to save you from the gossip mill.
“Cat, you must listen to me. It is essential that you not allow emotions to overrule your good sense.” His tone was serious, compelling. “Barrymore has sought to ruin you. He has somehow found out you were with me, unchaperoned, overnight in Dieppe. He has spread tales which no one, no matter how blameless a face they presented, could hope to overcome. Including you.”
Anger burned in Cat’s green eyes. Not fear, not even consternation, but pure outrage. She pulled free from his clasp, clenching her hands together in her lap.
Thomas stood up. If he remained this close, he would gather her to him, and frighten her, thereby relinquishing this one opportunity to make her his own. He must appear reasonable, sober, moderate, not a man governed by a passion that might alarm her in its intensity. He had deemed it wiser not to reveal all of it, that it had been torturous for him to be with her in Brighton; an avuncular figure hiding his jealousy as other men courted her as he so wished to do. And yet his care had not stopped the gossip—or his desire.
“The damage is done. It is now up to us to decide what to do about it.” He picked up the teapot and poured her a fresh cup. Handing it to her, he dragged a chair forward, seating himself on the edge, facing her. “Have you any suggestions?”
She had obviously considered the problem. Her answer was quick. “I have thought I might join my mother and Philip on their travels. I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue on as they already have been for some years before we all finally return to England.”
Thomas leaned forward, offering her a piece of toast. “And what of your siblings?”
A crease appeared between her dark brows. She accepted the toast, absently staring at it. “Well…” she said slowly, “what with Great-Aunt Hecuba gone now, that has been a concern. But Marcus tells me cousin Emmaline is happily dug in and hasn’t been too much of a trial.” She bit into the toast, crunching thoughtfully. “And really, I am most impressed with how Marcus has matured. He seems able to take over the reins of management. Though I would have wished I could have set up a few of the newer husbandry techniques reported in last month’s—”
“Yes, yes,” Thomas broke in gently. “I am sure Marcus is well able to handle the estate and your cousin is probably capable enoug
h to handle whatever it is she handles. That is not, however, what I was referring to, Cat. You have two sisters, am I correct?”
She nodded.
“And neither of them has yet made her bow?”
Cat stopped chewing in mid bite. She finally understood his direction. “They wouldn’t. No one could hold my sisters responsible for—”
“It isn’t only your sisters, Cat. It’s your brothers, too. Particularly Marcus. He has been a hairsbreadth from a duel for the past fortnight. It is only a matter of time before he, or one of the twins, is provoked into one.”
Thomas felt like a brute, even though what he said was true. Cat’s anxiety was palpable, her eyes stricken.
“Dear lord.”
“Cat, this next question is very important. Please, trust me here, and answer as honestly as you can.”
She nodded mutely. Her failure to rail at him for the suggestion that she would be anything less than honest testified as to the extent of her distress.
“Why did you refuse Strand?”
“I… I do not…” Cat trembled. “Lord Strand does not love me. It was obvious his offer was made from a sense of chivalry. I could not allow him to sacrifice himself on my behalf. It wouldn’t be honorable. He is innocent of any involvement in my present situation.”
Thomas watched her, oddly dissatisfied with her reasoning but unable to criticize it. In a similar situation, he would have acted much the same.
“I am involved.”
She had no reply to this.
“I want you to hear me out before you make any decisions. I suggest we follow the most obvious and reasonable course open to us. As I am the author of your current predicament, I am clearly the most logical choice to be your husband.” Holding up both hands to stem the protests he knew were coming, he sought to forestall her. Cat remained unnaturally still, watching him intently.
“I propose we wed,” he hurried on. “By doing so, most of the outraged matrons will be assuaged. Those sticklers who are not will, over the course of time, slowly readmit you to their circle. After a while, you will be seen as an overly emotional, impulsive girl seduced by a seasoned roué who finally had the decency to own up to his culpability and marry you. I realize it is not what one would wish in the best of circumstances, but neither is it the worse possible scenario. At least, any assault on your honor will become my responsibility. Indeed, it would only further provoke scandal were your brothers to involve themselves after our marriage.”
Thomas realized he had rushed the proposal. He was breathing quickly. But she had not interrupted him to laugh or scorn him, and he took heart. Gulping down a bit more tea, he continued. “And too, Cat, this would have the benefit of providing you with just the sort of marriage you originally sought with Strand. In spite of what you believe, I am quite, quite wealthy. I can easily afford to bolster up your family’s fortunes without feeling any pinch. I am sophisticated enough to allow you to go your own way. I would make an undemanding spouse.
“We have the added bonus of actually getting on well together. The boredom many wives feel when they are forced to their country estates does not affect you. We might… work together to improve the productivity of the home farm.” It might work. He could see she was considering his words. He pressed on, convinced he was taking the right tack.
“We will have a magnificent estate. I am certain of it. Together we will raise the most prime merino wool. What a nice flock of sheep we could have! Your input as a land manager will be invaluable. I can promise you, Cat, a perfectly civil, mutually beneficial union.”
He sat back, well pleased with himself. To his mind, he had just sweetened the pill considerably. How could Cat fail to respond affirmatively?
“You think we will make a good team. Produce good wool.”
He nodded vigorously. “I have no doubt about it.”
“I see.”
Thomas beamed at her. He knew what would appeal to Cat. “It all makes perfectly good sense, does it not?”
He could not read the emotion gleaming in her moss green eyes. Though her features were composed, there was something tense in her posture; a frown of—what? concern? marred her smooth brow. Thinking he knew what had caused it, Thomas quickly tried to form words that would be truthful, yet unthreatening.
“Cat, I cannot tell you what you doubtless want to hear. I will not gloss over a subject which so intimately involves you, nor allow you to go into a marriage with me with unreasonable expectations,” he said gravely. “While I am willing to offer you a marriage free of many impediments, and the chance to live as you would like, I will never divorce you.”
His gaze sought hers, but Cat’s head remained bowed, a troubled expression on her face as she studied something of interest in the bottom of her teacup.
He took a deep breath. “It is a convenient marriage I propose, but not a marriage of convenience. I expect to have children.”
He was aware he was holding his breath. If he were made of nobler material, he would have given her the sanctuary of his name without making any demands on her body. But he had never lied to himself and he would not start now. There was simply no possibility he could be married to Cat without loving her… in every sense of the word. If she accepted his suit, she would have to know that.
He waited while she considered his words. Nothing in his entire life had been as important as her answer. And yet there were no other words of persuasion he could employ. His fingers ached to touch her vulnerable throat, the silky down at the nape of her neck.
Finally, Cat lifted her head and met his gaze.
“All right,” she said.
Chapter 30
For all the haste and confusion that marked the two days between Thomas’s proposal and the wedding, the service itself was curiously tranquil. The afternoon sun streamed through the high stained-glass windows, dancing jewel-like prisms across the centuries-worn slate on the nave floor. Their small group was clustered around the altar, dwarfed by the huge, nearly empty edifice, their voices hushed by its cavernous proportions. The air within was chill and their breaths turned to shimmering vapor as they spoke.
All right, Cat told herself as she mounted the shallow steps to the altar. It is time to be honest with yourself. For all the logical, judicious, irrefutable reasons why she should marry Thomas, the pure, unadulterated truth remained: she was marrying him because she loved him. She wanted to be with him, converse with him, touch him. Thomas’s ridiculous reasons for marrying her may satisfy him, but they merely offered Cat the opportunity to have the thing she wanted above all others: Thomas. For the rest of her life.
That not withstanding, she had come drat close to throwing Thomas’s abhorrent proposal back in his face.
Luckily, prudence had urged her to wait, delaying her imminent eruption of temper long enough for her to notice the slight quiver in Thomas’s hand and the plea in his eyes. It was enough. Whether she saw Thomas’s love or merely his desire, she did not know. But it was enough to throw herself at the mercy of her own desires and agree to this marriage.
Now, standing at the altar, Cat was conscious of Thomas’s tall, broad form and acutely aware of each unintentional brush of his black-clad arm against hers. She heard the low, even cadence of his breath as he listened to the words the bishop spoke and the calm, level tenor of his answers to the ritual questions.
When it was over, Thomas turned and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, bestowing a look of heart-twisting tenderness on her. Cat answered him with a smile, hoping he might see how much he meant to her. How much he had always meant.
Only Marcus brought a jarring note of skepticism to the ceremony. He had spent the preceding night questioning the wisdom of the marriage. He’d told Cat she need not offer herself for society’s sake, promising he would defend her honor. Cat had tried to assure her brother she didn’t feel she was sacrificing herself at all, that she wanted the marriage and that she and Thomas would deal very well together.
She did no
t tell Marcus she loved Thomas. She was unsure of Thomas’s feelings. If it became obvious that he did not return her love, she did not want Marcus to add pity for her to his litany of grievances against Thomas.
Marcus left immediately after the service, nodding curtly to Thomas before silently bowing to Cat. She felt guiltily relieved.
Afterward, Thomas took her to a fashionable café for dinner. He ignored the stares that met their entrance, but Cat could not prevent the warmth from creeping up her cheeks under the openly speculative glances.
“My wife and I require a table. Preferably near the window, well away from the inquisitive proletariat,” Thomas said, his voice pitched to carry.
Excited, murmured conversation immediately arose in response to this interesting news. Thomas disregarded the hushed whispers with imperial disdain. Over the course of the meal, he put himself out to entertain and charm Cat. He pointed out many of the room’s occupants, relating pithy, and often farcical, anecdotes about the rudest of starers until he had Cat laughing, her discomfort forgotten.
Finishing a nonsensical tale about a would-be toast and her refusal to eat her hostess’s shrimp because their color clashed with her gown, Thomas leaned back. “But I understand the poor lady’s dilemma,” Cat teased. “You’ll recall I was quite the mode in Paris, Thomas.”
“So I saw.”
“Indeed,” she went on, “Lord Brent named me a diamond of the first water.”
Thomas smiled, his fathomless eyes gleaming as he caught her hand. “You, m’dear, are a veritable lake.” His gentle tone robbed the words of sarcasm, and he carried her unresisting hand to his mouth, pressing warm lips to the inside of her wrist. Cat nearly gave in to the impulse to touch his head as he bent over her hand. The sudden hush of the room awoke her to the spectacle they were making of themselves.
Thomas seemed to know her thoughts, for he lifted his head and said, “Be damned to them, Cat. Courting their approval is the surest way to win their contempt.”
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