He smiled when Lady Wilmot returned to his side.
“Lord Huntley, would you escort me to the dining room? I have a special spot reserved for you to my right, and I’m looking forward to a lively chat.”
He kept his smile pinned in place as he offered his arm to the good lady. So much for talking to someone marriageable during dinner.
10 - Santa Lucia
It was with not some small measure of relief that Catherine discovered Lord Huntley would be seated to the right of Lady Wilmot, far from her own position mid-table. She found herself opposite the incorrigible Monsieur LeCompte.
“Last night, I was speaking with Lord Watters at the opera,” M LeCompte said. “Are you acquainted with him?” At her brief nod, he smiled. “He is such a droll young man. He was quite enchanted with the soprano. Someone should warn him to be more careful. Sopranos can be quite difficult, non? They can be annoyingly dedicated to their craft. They often view members of society as troublesome, but necessary, nuisances. He must not let himself become too attached to the young woman. N’est pas?”
If he only knew. Watters already had a reputation for falling in love in an instant and then falling out of love just as quickly. She paused as she tried to find something positive to say about him, and latched onto her favorite attribute. “He’s a kind man,” she stated with confidence, “but I don’t believe he’ll bother the soprano for long. It is unfortunate, but he’s become known for his quixotic attachments to various young ladies.”
LeCompte’s eyes lit up at this news. Clearly, he enjoyed learning about the foibles of other gentlemen. “How is it that a young lady such as you would come to know these things?”
“He has never been circumspect when discussing his enthrallment with certain performers at the opera or the ballet. It would be difficult to remain unaware of his interests.”
M LeCompte looked slightly deflated, and Catherine realized that, for him, it was not as interesting to know about something that was already common knowledge. He changed the subject, trying to find something more scandalous to discuss.
Catherine was amazed by the man’s detailed knowledge of the shortcomings of so many members of society. He had only been in town for a few months. She noted, thankfully, that he didn’t mention the name of her brother among his litany of scandals.
Throughout dinner, she cast an occasional glance down the table, but Lord Huntley seemed engrossed in his conversation with Lady Wilmot. When she looked once again, she caught him observing her. Catherine’s stomach clenched. Why was he looking at her in that assessing manner?
She quickly glanced back at M LeCompte and tittered in a silly way at something mildly funny he said. When she surreptitiously glanced back at the marquess again, she saw that his attention had returned to Lady Wilmot.
“Le marquis is said to be searching for a bride,” LeCompte said.
The comment startled her, and she couldn’t think of anything innocuous to say in reply. LeCompte must have seen her look down the table at Huntley and drawn the wrong conclusion.
LeCompte watched the man openly for a moment before sipping his wine. “Is it true he has a checkered past? His father is said to have been quite mad and to have forgotten that he even had a son, which left the boy all but orphaned, since his mother died in childbirth. The household servants raised him, which probably accounts for his rough manners.” He narrowed his eyes and frowned as he gazed down the table at Huntley. “At least the man has money. It may be difficult for him to find a bride, despite his wealth. Rumors of bad blood have a way of keeping brides at bay. Nobody wants to risk having a grandchild who suffers from melancholy.” He clicked his tongue. “At least he has the Midas touch. Every business endeavor he enters into is fruitful.”
“I hadn’t heard about his parents. That’s quite sad. Such a childhood must have been difficult for him.” She glanced back down the table at Huntley, noting his perfect posture and graceful movements. Why would LeCompte say he had rough manners? Huntley certainly looked the consummate gentleman, despite his neglected upbringing. One would never guess his childhood had been grimmer than most. What must it have been like to have no family to care for you? Mother dead, father mad? He probably hadn’t had any siblings, either, she mused.
Catherine pulled herself up short with a sort of mental shake. What was she doing, imagining Lord Huntley’s childhood? Was she mad?
Well, perhaps ‘mad’ was a poor choice of words when contemplating Huntley, but really, she shouldn’t be mooning about the man. She needed to avoid him.
Throughout the remainder of the meal, Catherine tossed a few surreptitious glances down the table, but she never caught Huntley looking at her again. Still, the man’s presence presented an enormous risk. She needed to convince Mother to leave early.
As she rose to exit the dining room, she glanced back one last time and was surprised to see Lord Huntley’s gaze upon her again. She scurried through the doorway, eager to put some distance between them.
§
Catherine joined her mother, Elizabeth, and the other ladies in the drawing room. Not all of the gentlemen seemed inclined to linger over glasses of port, and a few of them soon began to rejoin the group.
"There's Lady Cecilia,” Elizabeth said. “Remember the jewel theft I mentioned? They belonged to her mother."
"And they were recovered?" Mother asked.
"Yes, but not before her fiancé, Mr. Montlake, was accused of the theft. Lady Cecilia refused to believe he was guilty, even when Mr. Montlake was discovered with a necklace in his pocket. The real thief deposited it there! Lady Cecilia insisted it wasn't in his character to do something so immoral. He was too honorable "
"Such devotion,” Mother murmured. “And he was innocent all along?"
“Oh yes,” Elizabeth said, with a sharp nod that caused her black curls to bounce. “They caught the real thief.” She tucked a strand that had been brushing against her cheek behind her ear. “He’s in prison now, and Lady Cecilia was free to marry to Mr. Montlake."
"I'd love to meet her,” Catherine said.
"I hoped you’d say so,” Elizabeth said. “You'll get along marvelously. I already like her ever so much."
As they crossed the room toward the couple, Catherine glanced back toward the door leading to the dining room, but she didn’t see any sign of Lord Huntley.
Lady Cecilia's eyes seemed to light up as they approached. "Lady Elizabeth. It was so kind of you to invite us this evening."
"I’m pleased you could come. Have you settled into your new home in Maidenhead yet?" Elizabeth asked.
"Oh, yes, and we love it there. Of course, London still holds its attractions for us."
"Please allow me to introduce you to Lady Kensington and her daughter, Lady Catherine Williams,” Elizabeth said. “And ladies, this is Lady Cecilia Montlake." She glanced up as an attractive gentleman joined them. "And this is her husband, Mr. Montlake."
"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," Catherine said, and her mother murmured her agreement.
“Lady Elizabeth has been quite generous in her attention to us,” Cecilia said. “She has made our entry into society that much easier.”
“She’s a wonderful friend.” Catherine slid her gloved fingers around Elizabeth’s. “You couldn’t have a better champion.”
Before Catherine could say more, two gentlemen joined them. “Mr. Montlake,” one of them said. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to speak with you.”
Catherine’s mother took that moment to pull her to one side for a private word. “You seemed to be having a pleasant conversation with Monsieur LeCompte,” her mother observed. “I noticed you laughing. He must have been quite entertaining.”
“Yes, but you should be careful of him,” she replied, keeping her voice low. “He’s a dangerous rumor-monger and seems to enjoy sharing everything he knows.” Catherine smiled as she remembered some of the more colorful stories he had shared.
“Hmmm... thank you for the warning,
dear.” She had a calculating gleam in her eye. “I think, however, that I might try to engage him in conversation. I need to keep abreast of the most recent gossip.”
Catherine looked at her curiously for a moment, and then realization dawned on her. Of course. Mother wanted to know if any rumors regarding Charles had reached London.
“I don’t see LeCompte,” Mother said. She peered around the room, trying to spot the Frenchman, but instead her gaze fell on the marquess. Catherine’s stomach fell. She recognized the look in her mother’s eyes.
“There he is.” Mother’s voice came out in a sharp whisper.
“There who is?”
“The marquess. Come with me.”
“But Mother, we can’t just walk up to him. What will he think?”
Mother shot her a sharp look. “What’s wrong?”
“I... I met him earlier and made a fool of myself. I don’t want to face him again.”
“Stiffen your spine, girl.” She wrapped her arm through Catherine’s and took an unswerving path toward Huntley, her daughter firmly in tow. “You need to rectify that impression.”
Catherine felt a flash of trepidation as Mother pulled her across the room toward the man. What was it about him that she found so daunting? Was it simply the element of danger he represented?
Or was it his eyes?
Those eyes took in everything in the room, including her reluctant approach. But she could also sense a fire burning deep within him. Something controlled, something intense, something he restrained with firm command.
As they stopped in front of him, Catherine looked away, not wanting to witness his amusement at her predicament.
“Lord Huntley, did you have a pleasant dinner?” Lady Kensington asked. “I found the chocolate torte delicious.”
Catherine spared him a quick glance. His thick black hair, a tad too long, curled slightly around his ears, and his sharp blue eyes met hers briefly before glancing away in boredom.
“Yes, quite so,” he replied. Catherine had the impression that he was acutely aware of her, even as he focused his gaze on her mother. “Lady Wilmot sets a wonderful table.”
The crowd in the drawing room thinned. Quite a few people were moving through the door into the adjoining music room, and Huntley appeared to watch them with a pensive expression.
Abruptly, he turned to her. “Lady Catherine, it was brought to my attention that you’re an accomplished pianist, and I can see a piano sitting idle in the next room. I would love to hear you perform.” He gave her an unexpected look of entreaty as his bold, piercing eyes locked with hers. “Would you allow me to help you select a piece of music to play?”
Surprised by his request, she wasn’t even sure if she nodded her assent before he took hold of her elbow. She found herself being swept toward Lady Wilmot’s piano as she hurried to keep up with his purposeful strides. He gave her no chance to protest, but forged ahead. Perhaps this is what LeCompte meant when he mentioned Huntley’s rough manners.
This situation didn’t make sense. What did he want? How did he know she played piano? Did this mean he’d been asking questions about her? Gathering information?
She glanced over her shoulder to see her mother’s pleased expression. Lady Kensington arched her eyebrows in approval, silently encouraging Catherine.
Once her mother sank her teeth into something, it became nearly impossible to make her let go, just like a bulldog with a hunk of steak. Had her mother set her mind to making a match between Catherine and Lord Huntley? Why did it have to be him, of all people?
This can’t be happening.
The music room seemed warmer than the drawing room. Catherine noted the glowing red embers in the fireplace and decided that they must be providing a great deal of heat. The servants probably built it up to help combat the gusts of wind that had chilled everyone as they entered the house. At least, she convinced herself that the source of the heat she felt was all external, and not her body’s response to the man gently clasping her arm, his fingers intimately curled around her bare skin as they lingered in the crook of her elbow.
She willed herself to relax, but found the tension building inside her difficult to quell.
Catherine slid onto the piano bench, her back erect, carefully arranging her full skirts. Lord Huntley sat next to her, a trifle too close for comfort. This forced interaction with a man she wanted to avoid made her heart race.
Catherine took a deep breath, as deep as her tight corset would allow, and slowly released it, feeling a small amount of the tension leave her body.
Huntley had gathered a stack of music from the table next to the piano as he sat down, and now he started to rifle through it. “What would you prefer, Lady Catherine? Do you have a favorite you’d like to play?” His tones were low and confiding. She caught the faint scent of his after-dinner brandy on his breath.
She’d prefer him to leave her alone. But she couldn’t say that. “You should choose, my lord,” she said formally. “I’m familiar with most of Lady Wilmot’s selections, since I’ve enjoyed the privilege of playing here on many occasions.” She nervously tugged at a tendril of her hair. Normally, it became easier to talk to men when she relied on the formal rules of social interaction.
So why weren’t those rules giving her a sense of control right now? The irony of finding herself clutching at the very formalities she’d been railing against earlier today wasn’t lost on her.
“I’ve become quite fond of Santa Lucia,” he said, plucking the music score from the stack. “I wish I had a voice that would do it justice, but that’s not where my talents lie.”
He gave her a seductive smile that sent a ripple down her spine, and Catherine had to force herself to look away.
He’s much too dangerous.
He grinned at her. He knew he had rattled her, the dratted man. “My friend might be encouraged to sing once he hears the opening notes. Let’s see if he finds you tempting.” His eyes met Catherine’s as he gave a rakish smile.
She placed the music on the stand as she suppressed a small shiver of excitement, certain that his double entendre had been intentional. She realized, with some surprise, that she was beginning to like Huntley in spite of the unsettling effect he had on her. He certainly hadn’t recognized her as Gray. Perhaps she could allow herself a moment of mild flirtation.
She dipped her chin and smiled up at him. “This is one of my favorites as well. Let’s see if I can tempt your friend to sing,” she emphasized.
His smile deepened as Catherine placed her fingers on the smooth ivory keys and quickly ran through a scale before beginning to play. She intentionally bumped her arm into his side in an attempt to make him move.
Really, he’s such a large man.
Agreeably, he shifted over a bit and murmured in her ear, “May I serve as your page turner?” His breath caused a strand of her hair to shift against her neck.
Catherine smiled her assent. As soon as she played the opening measures of Santa Lucia, Lord Wentworth’s head popped up from the crowd as his eyes sought them out. When he spotted Huntley, he hurried over to join them at the piano.
“Lady Catherine,” said Lord Huntley, “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine, the Earl of Wentworth.”
Her stomach dropped another inch as she glanced up to see Wentworth eying her closely. Did he recognize her? She quickly glanced away, unwilling to meet his gaze. Now she had them both to contend with: the panther, and her new nemesis, Wentworth. She swallowed. What if having all three of them together triggered a memory? What if one of them recognized her as Gray?
Focus. You can do this. She stiffened her spine, refusing to give in to her fear. Since she was still playing, she dipped her head in a silent greeting.
“You’ve chosen one of my favorite pieces. Would you mind if I sing while you play?” He leaned closer. “I must admit,” Wentworth confided in lilting tones, “It’s difficult for me to refrain from singing along when I hear this tune.” He grinned.
“It’s almost impossible for me to resist.”
Despite her tension, Catherine found some of her unease dissipating under Wentworth’s charm. How could he be so different from the tempestuous man she’d met last night? But perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps a man of strong passions, like Wentworth, could be as charismatic in a ballroom as he was fiery in a fencing match.
“Certainly, Lord Wentworth.” She paused in her playing. “I’ll begin again.” She struck the opening notes as Lord Huntley turned back to the first page, and when Lord Wentworth launched into the song with a brilliant tenor voice, the strength and power of his delivery astounded Catherine. Everyone in the room immediately fell silent to listen.
“Sul mare luccica l’astro d’argento.
Placida è l’onda, prospero è il vento.”
Guests from the drawing room began to migrate to the music room to enjoy the impromptu entertainment.
Catherine had learned this familiar song years ago. Normally, she wouldn’t have needed to follow along with the sheet music, but with Huntley sitting next to her, she found she needed to concentrate more than usual.
Wentworth’s vibrant tenor voice filled the room, and she tried to focus only on the music and push away all thoughts of her seat-partner, but it was difficult. She smirked. If not for her page turner distracting her, she wouldn’t need a page turner. Each time he reached across to turn a page, she caught a whiff of cologne. The pleasant woodsy scent reminded her of the forest near her parents’ country estate.
Venite all’agile barchetta mia,
Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia!”
The room burst into applause as the final notes drifted away.
“Wentworth, c’est très magnifique. You made me feel as though I were actually in Venice!” LeCompte applauded enthusiastically as the guests pressed around the piano, congratulating Wentworth on his performance.
Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book Page 7