Kate: A Universal Truth (A Wish for Love Series Book 1)

by Shales, Mia

  The glamorous Lola stood by their table and Matthew turned his head, surprised to see her there. He rose to his feet. Kate was astounded at the model's height. She looked directly into his eyes.

  “I was expecting you,” she said stridently, “Alain told me you reserved a table.”

  “Are you spying on me?”

  Kate heard the bored and glacial tone of his voice. Exactly as he had spoken to her the first time they met, before she aroused his interest. He was an enigma. It was hard to square the impassivity, harshness and severity he had shown at the beginning of their acquaintance with the emotion and devotion he bestowed on Rebecca and with his close friendship with John.

  “We have some unfinished business, Matthew,” Lola replied. “We have to speak.”

  Kate was surprised at the woman's self-possession. She obviously didn't care that everyone at the table heard what she said. Kate noticed that Matthew appeared just as unperturbed. He stood in the now familiar pose, one hand in his pocket, the other negligently holding on to the back of Kate's chair.

  “Whatever there was between us is long dead and buried, and as you must have noticed, this is not the time to bring them to life.”

  Lola looked infuriated. “I'm not giving up so easily. You'll be back, Lord Camedon,” she said grimly, bitterly stressing his title, “you'll be back.” She looked at him intently and then, a faint smile on her lips, she turned and wended her way back to her table.

  Matthew sat down and shrugged his shoulders in apology. “I'm sorry,” he said and added nothing more.

  “They always do that to him,” Rebecca whispered to Kate who sat on her other side.

  Despite Kate's trepidation the scene didn't throw a pall over the dinner and the mood around the table soon turned spirited and convivial. The food was delicious and the wine, which flowed like water, was excellent. The conversation centered on literature and poetry and soon shifted to the romantic poetry of the nineteenth century, a focus of Kate's expertise.

  “Which poem expresses the truest love between a man and a woman, Kate?” asked Rebecca shyly. Kate felt the question was asked out of more than sheer curiosity. This reserved young woman was in love.

  Suddenly they all looked her way. Kate was glad Matthew sat beside her and not opposite. If her life had depended on it, she couldn't have quoted a poem of love in front of those splendid eyes.

  Calm down, she admonished herself, her heart accelerating its beat. Many times she had stood before tens, even hundreds, of people and quoted poetry. There was no reason she should disappoint her audience now.

  “There are many love poems I like but there is one I find especially lovely by Percy Bysshe Shelley." She cleared her throat before reciting.

  "The fountains mingle with the river,

  And the rivers with the ocean;

  The winds of heaven mix forever,

  With a sweet emotion;

  Nothing in the world is single;

  All things by a law divine

  In one another's being mingle;

  Why not I with thine?

  See! the mountains kiss high heaven,

  And the waves clasp one another;

  No sister flower would be forgiven

  If it disdained its brother;

  And the sunlight clasps the earth,

  And the moonbeams kiss the sea."

  Kate took a deep breath.

  "What are all these kissings worth

  If thou kiss not me?"

  Matthew concluded the verse for her.

  Slowly Kate turned her head. There was something in the brown, gold-rimmed pupils that had not been there before. Tenderness. Warmth.

  The others broke into applause.

  “No wonder the students worship the ground you walk on,” said Matthew, his smile lighting his eyes for a minute.

  Kate felt a keen stab of happiness. She smiled back.

  The conversation turned lively. Kate was soon sensible of his broad education. He had read the books mentioned by Kate and Jorge and his remarks were intelligent and provocative. He could recite entire poems by major poets and every poem Kate started, he finished. He's phenomenal, she thought.

  The wine continued to flow and the atmosphere became charged with unexplainable emotion; as though they were celebrating something, as though the meal signified a new beginning.

  Margaret told of several interesting cases she had come across in her psychiatric practice and Rebecca described her architectural studies in Italy.

  “You must visit me there, Kate,” she insisted when Kate regretfully admitted she had never visited the country. Indeed, she thought to herself, I haven't been anywhere.

  “We have a house in Florence. You'll love the place,” Rebecca added.

  After they ordered dessert Kate felt the material of Matthew's trousers brush against her leg. Decency demanded she move hastily away, but instead she let his leg range against hers. He didn't look in her direction and continued calmly talking to Jorge on a critique of his latest novel that had appeared in a literary magazine. The touch was innocent but the sensation that spread to the top of her thighs was devastating. She was conscious of nothing but the touch of his leg against hers. It was her good luck that Rebecca and Margaret were busy exchanging views on the beauty and charms of Italy and paid no attention as Kate closed her eyes, struggling to regain her composure. No man had caused her feelings to roil in such a tempest and she was unable to control them.

  She was lost. She wanted him.

  Kate never thought she was the reckless type but what happened then, what she did that minute, made her doubt she had ever known her true self. She acted, driven by a wild impulse, an irrational, uncontrollable compulsion. She twined the fingers of her right hand in those of Matthew's left hand, which rested on his knee under the tablecloth.

  The touch was electrifying, sensational.

  She caught her breath, looking apprehensively at Margaret and Jorge who paid her no mind. Jorge continued talking spiritedly with Matthew as did Margaret with Rebecca.

  He didn't respond at first and Kate was gripped by fear he would reject her touch. That would be the ultimate humiliation.

  Then his warm, strong fingers tightened their grip. She found it hard to breathe. The tingling between her thighs was stronger than ever. He said something to Jorge as his thumb slowly rubbed the back of her hand.

  Matthew felt his body charged with a galvanizing current. He could not remember a woman who had provoked such burning desire. The surprising touch of her fingers entwined in his aroused an urgent need and he felt his muscles tighten with a distilled concentration of pleasure. He had misjudged her. She was daring and gutsy and her soul that of a free spirit. Outwardly she radiated an ethereal gentility but the hand in his transmitted a message of sensuality, of vague desires that had never yet been satisfied.

  This woman was meant to be loved! And he intended to fulfill her destiny.

  Dessert was served and Kate released her hand despite the slight resistance of his fingers.

  How had she dared, she thought aghast, the full import of her act only now sinking in. She had lost the last shred of her sanity. But the yearning refused to fade. She still felt the touch of his fingers linked with hers and the weight of his hand gripping hers.

  Kate apologized, while rising to her feet. “Excuse me.” She entered the lounge and stared at herself in the mirror. She knew she looked good. Bless Margaret for the clumsy turn of her wrist. The dress was extremely flattering. She smoothed her loose hair and heightened the cherry hue of her lips.

  When she left, she faltered. Matthew was leaning nonchalantly against the wall. He straightened up when he saw her. Kate began to fear the dire aftereffects of her reckless gesture. She would just have to stand up to him and take the consequences of her impulsiveness. But she refused to run. She was responsible for her actions. She took a few steps and stood in front of him. She didn’t regret her spontaneous gesture at the table. The experience had been too arousi
ng for her to wish it undone. But she was afraid. Afraid of the unknown. The situation was getting out of hand and she had no idea where it was leading. A sense of panic gripped her as she defiantly lifted her eyes to his.

  For a second she was dazzled by the light she saw in their depths. The tiger was keen for the hunt. Primed for the chase.

  She retreated backwards toward the restaurant when his hand stopped her, grasping her exposed arm for a minute and then releasing it.

  “You want me, Kate. You want me as much as I want you.”

  He did not touch her but his tensed body was dangerously close to hers.

  “There can't be anything between us.”

  “Why?” His voice was low and his eyes turbulent, “why do you think that?”

  She stammered, “It simply makes no sense.”

  “You are coming with me tonight.” The tone softened but Kate could clearly hear the steely edge in his voice. “I won't let you go. I want to see the sun rise with you by my side, to feel your silken hair brush my face and shoulder, its velvet length sliding through my fingers. I want to hear you repeat my name over and over again, imploring me to love every inch of your bare body.”

  She had expected polite phrases about his desire to meet her again but had not anticipated the urgency and forcefulness of his request. Matthew Camedon went the limit. He wasted no time.

  She wanted to tell him to forget it. That she would never be his. That she would never yield. But she could only gape at him, her heart beating wildly under the impact of his sensual dictate. She finally managed to speak. “This is absurd. I don't want you. You'll never be able to give me what I need.”

  “You’re mistaken, I can give you all you have ever dreamed of.”

  Could he give her all she had ever dreamed of?

  She sensed he would be a fiery lover. If the merest brush of his hand could stimulate such concentrated desire, she could only imagine the lust that would be aroused when her entire body would be exposed to his touch. To his mouth. To his lips.

  But what about his lack of compassion and excess of pride? What of all Lindsay had said about him? How could she give herself to so pitiless a man? Even if she paid no heed to all this, what of the trail of broken-hearted women he always left behind? What would become of her after a few hours, or at the very most a few nights, with him?

  No. The risk was too overwhelming. It was hard for her to admit she was so vulnerable. It was not the weak-willed and hypocritical Patrick she was facing but the Marquis Camedon, strong, sensual and overpowering. A man one met but once in a lifetime. If she should fall in love with him and he should tire of her, she would never be able to feel anything for another man. She would rise above herself and overcome the mesmerizing attraction that caused her to practically fall in his arms. She must gather the remnants of her self-respect and stand up to him. No one, not even the Marquis, would break Kate Evans's heart.

  She drew herself up and Matthew knew the chase was still on. She had not yet conceded.

  “I would be lying if I didn't admit the attraction I feel for you,” she spoke slowly, cautiously, choosing her words with care, “but it's an attraction of the body and not of the soul. For you to give me all I've ever dreamed of you have to win my heart, and you are very far from that.”

  “I wouldn't bet on that if I were in your place. Sometimes I feel I know you better than you do yourself. I'll let you go now. You can enjoy your little victory for now, but tomorrow evening you and I will have dinner together and that, my dear, is not a request.”

  Of course it isn't, thought Kate resentfully, it's an ultimatum. The Marquis expected instant compliance.

  “I'm returning to Oxford tomorrow,” she riposted, but knew that this time he would not relent.

  He surprised her, “I'll drive you back to Oxford after the meal.”

  Perhaps he was a gentleman after all. “Then I accept.” she said, leveling her eyes with his.

  Chapter Six

  As they returned to the apartment Margaret told her Jorge had invited them to the theatre the next night.

  “I won't be staying over. I've decided to return to Oxford tomorrow evening, so you can accept Jorge's invitation with a clear conscience.” She hesitated whether to tell Margaret about the dinner invitation.

  “Are you sure? Despite the way things are going with Jorge I'd be delighted to stick to our original plan and have you stay over until Wednesday morning.”

  Kate assured Margaret she preferred an early return to Oxford and Margaret finally acquiesced. She continued talking enthusiastically about Jorge. “It's great just to be in his company. I hope he feels the same about me.”

  “I'm sure he's fallen captive to your charms. How can somebody not fall in love with you? You are so pretty and good-hearted and smart.”

  “Thanks, sweetie, and as long as we're talking of falling in love you must have noticed the Marquis is absolutely mad over you. The truth is I'm surprised to find you here with me. From the impression I got, I would have expected you to be in his bed by now.”

  “Thanks very much,” Kate flashed back sarcastically.

  “Don't misunderstand me,” Margaret countered, missing the sting in Kate's reply. “I'm partial to Matthew Camedon. He's gorgeous. Like a prince out of a fairy tale. And if somebody deserves a prince, Kate, it's you.”

  “He really has charmed you," sighed Kate. “You're aware how he treats women. His much publicized love affairs, the wreckage of broken hearts he leaves behind with not a backward look of remorse. How can you even conceive I would get involved in a light-hearted flirtation after all that?”

  “Who is talking about a light-hearted flirtation?” Margaret smiled, surprised. “Allow me to open your eyes. I haven't the slightest doubt that from the day Matthew laid his dazzling eyes on you his heart is in grave danger and I'd venture to guess that he himself is very aware of that.”

  “You are stark, raving mad! What on earth can you be thinking of?"

  “A wedding, darling.”

  Kate looked at Margaret in astonishment.

  “Don't look at me that way. I'm not crazy. I'm a psychiatrist and I have a fairly good understanding of human nature.”

  “Let me disagree with you on this specific matter,” Kate muttered. She knew she could never convince her stubborn friend she was mistaken. When Margaret formed an opinion a herd of elephants couldn't budge her.

  Kate could not sleep. It was two in the morning and she had said good night to Margaret only a few minutes ago, before curling up in the comfortable bed in the guestroom. She hugged the white pillow. What should she do? Matthew Camedon needed no more than twelve days to get under her skin and she needed but a split second to conjure up his magnificent image, to feel the warmth of his hand over hers. How would she ever get through the meal with him tomorrow? Worse than that, how would she survive three whole days at Bellewoodplain in his company? Dangerous cracks were breaching the tranquillity of the wall she had built around herself. She knew he would know no peace until he stormed the entire wall. Matthew Camedon was not a man to stop at half-measures.

  Finally, exhausted by attempts to clear her head of him, Kate sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  It was past ten when Kate awoke the next morning. After washing and dressing she went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. Margaret had left for the clinic and Kate didn't expect her back until six that evening. She left the apartment, locking it with a key Margaret had given her. Later, on her way home, she would pass by Leonora's store in Notting Hill.

  The weather was warm and balmy and Kate tied her sweater around her waist, resembling a high school student far more than a literature professor at Oxford.

  She started walking downhill when she heard a feminine voice call her name. She stopped and turned around. Rebecca Camedon, loaded down with groceries, rushed to her.

  “Rebecca! Good morning. What are you doing here?”

  “I live here, a bit further down the block. And you?�
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  “Margaret also lives on this block.”

  Although Kate was curious whether Matthew Camedon and his sister shared the same apartment when in London, and whether Rebecca was aware of the dinner Kate and her brother were to partake of that evening, she decided not to ask any questions.

  “What are your plans for the next few hours?” Rebecca asked her.

  “I thought I'd visit the Tate Gallery to catch a new show and then visit a friend.”

  “How about a cup of tea with me? I'd love to show you my place.”

  Kate couldn't resist the entrancing invitation. “Alright, but only on condition you let me give you a hand with all those packages.”

  Rebecca laughed, “Nonsense, they're not heavy at all.”

  Rebecca's apartment was in a late eighteenth century building. Although approximately the same size as Margaret's, with a view on the river, it was far more modern.

  “I designed it myself,” Rebecca told her.

  Kate couldn't help herself. “Does Matthew live here when he's in London?”

  Rebecca looked at Kate as though she had fallen from the moon. “Matthew? Here?” She laughed heartily. “My God, no. He has a splendid apartment in Belgravia Place. Although Matthew is a wonderful brother and we're on excellent terms, he likes his privacy and so do I.”

  Rebecca put up a pot of tea and they sat opposite each other by the window. From her seat Kate overlooked the river, bustling with activity on the water and on the shore. They talked easily, and Rebecca showered her with attention.

  Suddenly the thought arose in Kate's mind that Rebecca might be starved for female companionship. Growing up without a mother or a sister, she probably hungered for a woman to confide in, one who would guide and comfort her in difficult times. I'm very fond of her, she thought to herself. Despite the lack of affection and regard I have for her brother, there is no reason she and I shouldn't be friends.