Then a more insidious thought crept inside his mind. Had she helped him with estate matters for some reason he had yet to understand? No, she had been dealing with his tenants long before Reeves’s request. Sebastian rubbed his aching head.
A low knock sounded at the bedchamber door and then an exchange of words ensued. Seconds later, his valet appeared in the sitting room doorway. “My lord,” Parker said in a near whisper. “Mrs. Ashcroft is here to see you.”
The mere mention of Catherine’s name made his body tense with anticipation. She came. Sebastian slowly turned toward his valet, his heart hammering inside his chest. “Show her in.”
Parker eyed Sebastian’s attire. “Sir, perhaps you’d like to adorn yourself of a neckcloth and trousers first? Stockings, too?”
“No need to whisper around me any longer, Parker,” Sebastian said. “The pain is down to a tolerable ache.”
“Very well, my lord.” He hesitated. “And the other?”
For his valet’s sake, Sebastian tightened the sash holding his banyan closed and made sure all his manly parts were discreetly covered. “This will do.”
Parker nodded and disappeared. The next several minutes seemed an eternity while he waited for his staff to escort Catherine above stairs. Why had she chosen this moment to check on him? Why not hours ago when her cool palm could have soothed his splitting head?
Sebastian stretched his neck first one way, then the other, and rolled his shoulders. The exercise relieved some of his tension but failed to calm his heart. Then he heard the light tread of feminine feet coming down the corridor.
Seconds ticked by, each holding a decade’s worth of time. He longed to see her, yearned to feel her body pressed to his. Through the haze of his need, he recalled his promise to Danforth. “I will keep my wits about me.”
Notwithstanding his imminent departure back to London, he had to maintain a level of emotional distance until he either absolved her of any involvement with Latymer or confirmed a connection. Yearning and longing had no place in their dalliance.
The door closed in the other chamber, and Sebastian’s chest rose high on a deep inhalation. His jaw ached from the pressure of his clenched teeth. And then he noticed the first hint of a feminine silhouette approaching the open doorway.
Within seconds, Catherine filled the frame. Beautiful, proud, tempting. Cautious.
“My lord.” Her voice held a slight quaver. “Mrs. Fox said you were attacked by a thief last night. Is this true?”
He studied her shadowed face, unable to make out her features. “We have yet to determine if the man was a thief. Nothing appears stolen. But yes, I came upon a man unawares in my study.”
She moved farther into the sitting room. Something was wrong with her eyes and her features appeared drawn and hesitant. Without thinking, he limped toward her. “What’s the matter?”
“You’re injured.” She rushed into the chamber. “How badly?”
“A bruise, nothing to worry over.” He tilted her chin up. “Have you been crying?”
***
“Of course not.” Catherine stepped away. She had hoped her bout of self-pity would not be evident by the time she arrived. Except for some sleepless nights over the last several years, she had done an admirable job not wallowing in the fact that she was alone. Every decision—good or bad—was hers to make. The only thing she hadn’t had to worry about was money. With Jeffrey gone, she would have to consider that issue now, too—once she cleaned up this espionage mess he’d left behind.
Since she could not discuss the reason behind her puffy, gritty eyes and her long face, she redirected the conversation back to him. “Besides your leg, where else are you hurt?”
“I am well on the mend, Catherine. No need to concern yourself.”
“Did Grayson send for the doctor?”
“Yes.”
She scrutinized him more closely. He balanced his weight on his right foot and he seemed to be squinting, almost as if it pained him to look upon her. Beyond those two indicators of discomfort, she could detect nothing else.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Saving my daughter. “I came to check on you.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Did you not just learn of the attack upon your arrival?”
“No, my lord,” she said. “You did not answer my knock this morning. At the time, I thought you needed the rest. However, when I returned later, Lord Danforth said you were unwell and couldn’t receive visitors. He said nothing about an attack, though.”
“If not now, when did you learn of the attack?”
His tone carried an air of interrogation, making her feel as though she had done something wrong. In truth, she had not planned on coming here tonight. But when she’d received his housekeeper’s response to her earlier inquiry, she’d had to come. “I sent a note around to Mrs. Fox, not long ago, asking for news of your recovery. A reply came but thirty minutes ago. Sophie wanted to bring you biscuits to speed up your recovery.”
By slow degrees, she watched the hardness in his features soften and the rigid set to his shoulders ease. On some level, she regretted his transformation. Now that she did not have his cold inquisition in which to focus her attention, she became keenly aware of him.
With his disheveled hair, scruffy face, and loosely tied banyan, he looked disreputable and wholly desirable. She wished they had met under different circumstances, at a time when they could have explored this attraction they held for each other. But their association was caged within the walls of deception, with no way to break the barrier.
He prowled closer, his unwavering crystalline gaze on hers. She held her breath, unsure of his mood and unable to block the memory of her daughter’s screams. She could do this. She could do whatever it took to secure the damned list, protect her daughter, and be rid of her gaolers. She could do this.
No matter how much it broke her heart.
His fingertips skimmed the curve of her cheek. “You have been crying. Why?”
She fought the compulsion to lean into his touch. “Meghan.” The lie fell easily, too easily from her lips.
“Catherine. Cat.” He clasped the back of her head, drawing her forward, into the comfort of his chest. “I’m sorry you had to witness such barbarity. Such things are not for the eyes of innocents.”
Her arms wrapped around his middle. “Why kill her? The babe’s father could have disappeared and never returned.” She burrowed her nose deeper into his silk wrap, absorbing his musky scent and banishing forever the stench of mud and death.
“Perhaps the father could not leave,” he said. “Maybe he had a family and was afraid Meghan would reveal their secret. Could be any number of reasons. None of them acceptable.”
His embrace tightened, and Catherine reciprocated. Air hissed between his teeth, and he jerked away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said through stiff lips.
“Liar.” She tugged on the end of his sash, pulling the tie free.
He backed up, securing his wrap. “What are you about?”
“You have another injury you failed to mention.”
“The doctor has already seen to it.”
“What is it?”
She saw him weighing his options, no doubt considering whether to brush off her question with a vague response or put an end to this line of query with the truth. From her perspective, the decision took much longer than it should have.
“A contusion,” he said finally.
She frowned, having never heard the term.
“Bruise,” he clarified. “A rather unpleasant one.”
“Is it the same on your leg?”
He nodded. “Thankfully, my assailant did not shatter my knee.”
“Oh, Sebastian.” She reached for his hand, and her chest clenched when his fin
gers grasped hers in return. “Where else?”
He released a long, heavy sigh. “Concussion.”
She peered at his head, seeing nothing amiss. “Where?”
“Are you this motherly to everyone?”
“Only to those who insist nothing is wrong. Point, please.” When he did nothing but narrow his gaze on her, she said, “Your attempt to stare me into submission will not work. That particular tactic ceased intimidating me many years ago.” She waved toward his head. “Where did he bash you?”
Rather than point to the location, he grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand to his hair. He carefully guided her fingers through the soft strands until she reached a large bump three inches above his left ear.
She sucked in an astonished breath. “Goodness, my lord. Why are you not abed?”
He closed his eyes, seeming to take comfort from her caress, although she did not touch the painful lump again.
“Hearing you say my name is so much more preferable than ‘my lord.’”
Heat rose into her cheeks. “Why do you always evade my questions?” Recalling his other injuries, she stepped around him, her fingers tracing down his nape.
“For the same reason you’re keeping the true source of your tears from me.” His luminous gaze followed her progress.
His wide shoulders filled her vision, and she once again experienced a sense of her own delicacy while standing next to him. With a feather-like touch, she skimmed her fingers down his back, circling the lower portion. “Is this where he hurt you?”
She heard him swallow. “Yes.”
“May I see?”
Over his shoulder, he said, “You might find more than an ugly patch of skin.”
She hoped so. Retracing her path, she memorized each silk-draped sinew before gripping the neckline of his banyan. With her eyes riveted on her hands, she drew the shimmering cloth off his shoulders. Something desperate and raw raked along her every nerve ending, making her hands tremble and her breaths shaky.
Once his upper arms were free, the silken wrap, secured by his sash, drooped over his bottom, revealing a long black bruise that ran perpendicular to his spine. It had to be six inches long and about two inches high. The visual evidence of the violence he’d endured and suffered alone forced her pleasurable thoughts to the wayside. “Sweet Lord.”
Further speech was impossible, for her throat had closed around that simple, inconsequential phrase.
“It’s nothing,” he said in a rough voice. “I hardly know it’s there.”
Fury replaced the ache in her heart. “Well, I know it’s there.” She reached around and freed the sash again. The length of cloth released, and his wrap melted in a pool of emerald silk at his feet.
Her heart hammered in her ears, nearly deafening in its ferocity. He was magnificent. Smooth angles and firm ridges. Taut skin and rippling muscles. Without moving a single inch, he stole her breath.
“Have your look, Catherine.” His blue-gray eyes pulsed with fire. “Because in ten seconds, I’m going to show you why that was a dangerous decision.”
His masculine perfection befuddled her mind so badly that it took her several precious seconds to work through his warning. When she finally did, she dropped to her knees and bent to inspect yet another injury. He stood with most of his weight on his right leg, his left leg cocked to provide a measure of balance but little else.
Similar to his lower back, a large bruise covered the underside of his knee. This one looked so much worse. Rather than a perfect outline of a geometrical shape, the bruise on his leg spread out in all angles like a slow-moving cancer. Her fingers hovered over the area, but she dared not touch. “What type of weapon causes this kind of damage?”
He shrugged. “Some type of cudgel, I suspect.”
She sat back on her heels. “You’re rather nonchalant about your attack.” Her gaze sharpened. “Does this sort of thing happen often?”
“Nine. Ten,” he said, ignoring her question. “Time’s up.” The rich timbre of his voice held both promise and foreboding.
As he angled his body around, Catherine’s eyes grew more and more round with every new inch revealed. Magnificent. All the adjectives she’d used to describe his body thus far were like defining the Crown Jewels as a set of pretty baubles.
Pretty did not come close to describing his baubles.
He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
Catherine glanced from his hand to his smoldering eyes to the pulsing length of his erection. And there her attention remained, fixed on the delicate smoothness of his flesh straining to accommodate his building arousal. Engorged veins lined the underside of his staff, leading to a round, velvety tip that pointed toward his navel. From there, she followed a slender line of dark hair down to his thick base, which led back to pulsing veins and straining flesh.
In all her years of marriage to Jeffrey, he had never been so blatant, so confident with his bare form. Catherine’s mouth felt suddenly dry, and that’s when she realized her jaw hung open. She closed her mouth so fast that her teeth clicked together.
He crouched down in front of her, the action causing him to wince. “I am inviting you into my bedchamber, Catherine. Do you accept, or must I persuade you?”
She was certain he could hear her heart pounding. What started out as a seduction to save her daughter was progressing into far more dangerous territory. She could no longer feel the guilt or the shame, only the hunger of her body. “Both?”
Bracing his hand on the floor, he leaned forward, sliding his nose alongside hers. The caress of his breath fanned over her lips, compelling hers to part. His kiss was warm and passion-filled, making her body tingle in glorious places and her heart sing with anticipation.
“Are you persuaded now?” His words were low, seductive.
Unable to open her eyes, she nodded. “Oh, yes.”
“Look at me.”
She blinked her eyes open, surprised by the heavy weight of her lids.
“Do you recall the terms of our affaire?”
A sharp ache pierced her chest. “Of course.”
“Then you recall that I will be returning to London in a few days.”
The ache spread to her throat. “You have nothing to worry about, Sebastian. I understand that our time together is ephemeral.”
His eyes hardened for the briefest of seconds, then he blinked and their glowing intensity returned. Catherine accepted his hand, and they strode into his bedchamber, one sporting nothing but the perfection of his bare flesh and the other draped in mournful black linen. The contrast was startling and evocative.
The moment she stepped into his bedchamber, Catherine’s senses sharpened. Candles flickered around the room—candles she didn’t recall seeing moments ago when Parker had let her in. The air was redolent with Sebastian’s special scent.
She gathered in a long breath, savoring the delicate woodsy bouquet. The mix of musk and violet suited him much more than the popular sandalwood or ambergris, known for their bold fragrance.
His thumb smoothed over the backs of her fingers. The tender caress drew her attention to the solid warmth of his hand while he guided her toward his massive curtained bed. Like most things in this house, the earl’s bed bespoke privilege, wealth, and an appalling flair for the vulgar. But in this instance, the ceiling-to-floor sapphire hangings, with their silver embroidered cuffs and their plush folds, compelled rather than repulsed.
He stopped near the side of the bed and cradled her flushed cheeks. Bending close, he kissed her forehead and then skimmed his mouth over hers. “I am going to do unspeakable things to you in that bed, Catherine,” he breathed against her lips. “If you have thoughts of fleeing, now would be the time.”
“The only place I wish to flee is deeper into your arms.”
The pressure on her cheeks tightened infinitesimally, and his nost
rils flared around a shuddering breath. “Then come, my sweet.”
At his urging, she carefully curled her arms around his back, sliding her trembling hands up the satiny planes of his shoulders. He was so large. So solid and strong. Yet his hands explored her body with a gossamer touch, with a skill that left her aching for more.
She pressed closer, delighted and aroused by the evidence of his desire. Every inch pulsing against her stomach was for her, for want of her. The realization was exhilarating. Tormenting.
She shouldn’t want him so much. Every act between them was nothing more than a link to a greater betrayal. They both had secrets, underlying motives for igniting their passions. And he would soon be gone.
The knowledge that he would leave her behind, as her father and Jeffrey had done, sent a bolt of realism straight through her heart. That flash of insight was all she needed to start mentally erecting a familiar barrier, one designed to keep her heart intact and her sanity in place.
“Turn around, please,” he whispered.
She swiveled around, and he began working on the fastenings of her gown. All the while, she continued building her protective wall, stone by stone. However, this particular barrier proved more challenging than past ones. The brush of his fingers along her back and the warmth of his lips pressed against her nape distracted her from her task.
Her gown sagged and then billowed to the floor. She evaluated her barrier and groaned. Large clumps of mortar dripped from the seams, and stones sat haphazardly within each row, leaving dangerous gaps. Cool air kissed her burning flesh, and Catherine scrambled to hold up her quivering wall.
His hands skimmed down her arms until he laced their fingers together. “Relax,” he said against her temple.
From his vantage point, she knew he had full view of her nudity, especially when she tilted her head back to rest on his shoulder and arched her arms around until she could clasp her hands behind his neck. With her breasts jutting forward and her bottom snuggled against his rigid length, she felt both vulnerable and luxuriant. His hands caressed their way over her quavering stomach to her swollen, tender breasts. She closed her eyes and tracked his movements with her sense of touch alone.
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