Wedding of the Year

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  Jerking his arm away, he shook free of her grasp. “Well, pardon me if you find someone who takes responsibility seriously to be deadly dull.”

  “No, I just find it sad,” Catherine whispered, her heart aching for the wonderful man she sensed trapped inside him. “All of your dreams are of escape, John. If you let go of some of the unnecessary burdens, if you set your inner spirit free, you might find all you are searching for without setting foot from London.”

  “Forgive me for pointing out, Catherine, that your father handles all of your financial and physical needs, leaving you free to indulge in all of your flights of fancy,” he said stiffly. “You know nothing of a gentleman's burdens.”

  A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I feel sorry for you, John.”

  His shoulders snapped back. “Save your pity for someone who needs it, my lady,” he advised coolly. Bowing his head in farewell, he strode off without another word, leaving Catherine alone in the garden.

  14

  Douglas whistled a happy tune as he shut the door to his bedchamber. Tugging on his cravat, he tossed it onto the bed with a chipper flick of his wrist.

  “Margaret!” he exclaimed when he saw his wife's ghostly, translucent form near the fireplace. “I'm so glad you're here,” he began, excited to share his marvelous day with her. “I've so much to tell you about our daughters. Last night, Lady Wykham called upon me. She was most upset about the situation between our children.” Douglas paused in his tale to reflect upon that meeting. “A most delightful lady, she is, and quite intelligent as well.” Suddenly he remembered he was speaking with his wife about another woman. Flustered, he cleared his throat and continued with his story. “Anyhow, I was at a loss as to the best way to handle the problem, but then . . . all of a sudden . . . inspiration struck.” He gripped the back of a chair. “I know I usually discuss matters concerning our daughters with you, my love, but you weren't here. I'm sorry, but I had to make the decision on my own . . . especially since Lady Wykham was depending upon me, as well as our daughters.”

  “I'm positive you handled the situation perfectly,” Margaret said reassuringly.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Douglas confirmed, pride puffing up his chest once more. “Today I've played matchmaker and done a fine job, if I do say so myself. Our Elizabeth spent quite a bit of time in her workshop with Lord Wykham, and our Catherine took a long stroll with Lord Vernon.” He beamed at his wife. “And a splendid time was had by all.”

  Margaret floated closer. “Wonderful, Douglas.”

  “It was, wasn't it?” he murmured, distracted as it struck him that his wife was beginning to move more like a ghost now as well. “Did you just float?”

  Her laughter sounded like chimes in a soft wind. “That is what we ghosts do, my love.”

  “No, it's not,” he protested vehemently. “You've suddenly begun to look like a ghost, so pale I can barely see the color of your eyes.”

  The smile she gave him was filled with love. “I know, Douglas, and I'm so happy for you.”

  “Happy for me?” he repeated as a horrible suspicion began to form in his head. “You're leaving me, aren't you?”

  “I won't go anywhere until you're ready to let me,” she assured him.

  That stopped the panic clutching at him. “You promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why weren't you here last night?” Douglas demanded, fear making his voice harsher than he'd intended.

  “Because you didn't need me.”

  “I bloody well did!” he exclaimed. “Didn't I just tell you that I was confused about what to do for our daughters?”

  “And didn't you also tell me you'd found the perfect solution all on your own?” she countered softly.

  Feeling weary, he sunk into the chair. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  As she floated closer to him, cool air whispered across him. He wondered if that was her form of a caress. “You have to let me go sometime, Douglas,” Margaret said softly.

  Tears filled his eyes as he gazed upon her beloved face. “Why?” he rasped. “I love you with all that I am, Margaret. I can't let you go.”

  “Yes, you can, Douglas,” she murmured achingly. “You've already begun.”

  He spread his hands helplessly. “But I still miss you so dreadfully.”

  “I know you do, my love, but it is time for you to move on toward your future.” Margaret drifted away from him. “Hold me in your heart, think of me with fondness, speak of me with joy, but don't keep my spirit tied to you, for it keeps you locked into the past as well.”

  “But I don't mind,” he protested.

  “Ah, but I do.” Clasping her hands together, she pressed them against her heart. “You are such a wonderful man, Douglas. You have a great capacity for love . . . and you need to find someone new with whom to share your gift.”

  “Someone new?” Horror filled him at the mere thought. “I shall never love again.”

  “Yes, my darling husband,” Margaret whispered. “You will. It is your destiny, you see, for you have many years to live yet . . . and you are far too good a man to live them alone.”

  Rejecting even the thought of it, he put up both of his hands as to ward the idea off. “I don't even want to think about that, Margaret, much less discuss it.”

  “I know, my sweet, but someday, after I'm the warm memory I was meant to be, you'll learn to live again.”

  “But not now,” he insisted fiercely. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the chair, knowing in his heart that Margaret was right, even though he desperately wished he could deny it. “I'm not ready to say good-bye to you yet, Margaret,” he rasped, lifting his lids to gaze at his wife's fading form. “Not yet.”

  He felt rather than saw her smile. “Soon.”

  The ghostly whisper touched him with bittersweet softness. “Yes,” he agreed after a moment. “Soon.”

  “Please come in, Lady Catherine,” John said formally as he opened the door to his study. Before Catherine could make one of her flippant remarks about the polite title, he gestured toward the short, well-groomed gentleman who rose from his chair. “Mr. Lewis, might I have the pleasure of introducing Lady Catherine Everley.”

  “My lady,” Lewis said, bobbing into a bow.

  In her usual fashion, Catherine greeted him warmly as she stepped into the room. “Good day, Mr. Lewis. I'm glad to have a chance to meet you, sir.”

  Obviously uncomfortable around ladies, Lewis swallowed and jerked his head into a nod.

  Taking control of the situation, John laid a hand upon the back of a nearby chair. “Lady Catherine, you may have this seat.”

  She murmured her thanks as she gracefully accepted the offer. John had to bite back a smile over Catherine's ladylike compliance. Reclaiming his own chair, John turned his attention to Lewis. “Have you any new information for me . . .” As Catherine cleared her throat, he glanced over at her, then corrected himself. “. . . any new information for us, Mr. Lewis?”

  “After receiving your note last night, I did some digging into the lady's background.”

  “Excuse me,” Catherine said, raising her finger. “Sorry to interrupt, but I seem to have missed a portion of the discussion. What note did you receive, Mr. Lewis? And about what lady?”

  Shifting toward her, Mr. Lewis explained, “Lord Wykham sent me a note last night stating that there was a possibility that the woman you seek might be Lady Serena Cole.”

  The warmth and admiration in Catherine's eyes as she looked toward him made John feel like twice the man he was. Lord, it amazed him that with one look she could turn him into a love-starved swain.

  “As I was saying,” Lewis began again, “I checked into Lady Serena's background and found little of interest. Having lost both her parents when she was five, she's been raised primarily by her brother.”

  “Anthony Cole,” Catherine supplied, surprising John with her answer until he remembered she'd met Morrow in the park.

  “Precisely
, Viscount Morrow,” Lewis confirmed. “Now here's where it gets interesting, for Lord Morrow has a besmirched past and, if he doesn't reverse his fortunes soon, a very bleak future.”

  “Many gentlemen have a spotted past,” John pointed out.

  “True enough, my lord,” conceded Lewis. “But very few have ever been accused of blackmail.”

  Immediately intrigued, John leaned forward. “ Blackmail?”

  Lewis nodded firmly. “More than once, according to my informants. Apparently, the gent would cuckold a wealthy personage, then blackmail the female by threatening to tell her husband or protector of the affair.” A look of disgust crossed Lewis’ face. “Nasty business.”

  “As distasteful as that might be, Mr. Lewis, I don't see how that has any connection with our case,” Catherine said politely.

  “I think it might,” Mr. Lewis disagreed. “The last time Lord Morrow tried to blackmail a . . . kept woman, she got nasty right back and hired a few fellows to . . . dissuade Morrow from his course of action.”

  Catherine's eyes widened. “You mean she hired someone to hurt him?”

  “Indeed, she did, my lady, but you must remember that she was fighting for her life . . . or at least her livelihood.” Shrugging, Mr. Lewis dismissed Catherine's shock. “In my mind, fair is fair.”

  “I suppose,” Catherine murmured, but John could tell she found the woman's behavior shocking. Then again, Catherine had never been faced with such a dire situation, never had to fight to keep from losing everything, so she had no idea as to the lengths someone would go.

  “I take it Morrow lost his taste for blackmail after that incident,” John remarked dryly.

  “Apparently so,” confirmed Mr. Lewis. “However, it did nothing to curb his expensive lifestyle. At this moment, the gent is mere days away from being tossed into debtors’ gaol.”

  Rubbing his chin with his forefinger and thumb, John made the logical conclusion. “So, if he was truly desperate for money, perhaps he would return to his old ways to acquire funds . . . only add a new twist. He might use his sister as a lure.”

  Mr. Lewis nodded in agreement. “It's a possibility, and since we have no other leads, I think we should follow this one up.”

  “Catherine,” John said, forgetting to use her title. “Do you truly believe that Lady Serena was the woman we saw?”

  “Without question,” Catherine agreed firmly.

  “Then let's assume that Lady Serena was indeed the blonde lady at the theater that evening.” His thoughts whirling, John thrust to his feet and began to pace as he worked out a possible scenario of events. “What if she'd garnered the interest of a nobleman's son, a fellow whose father would be displeased if he knew his son was interested in a penniless lady. But let's say that the boy's love was stronger than his fear of his father, so he met Lady Serena in secret.” He warmed to the tale he was spinning. “If Morrow discovered their liaison, it would provide him with the perfect opportunity to kidnap the son and ransom him back to his father, wouldn't it?”

  “What of that, Mr. Lewis?” Catherine asked, looking expectantly at the runner. “Doesn't that make perfect sense?”

  Mr. Lewis shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Er, it does sound logical . . . but you're making quite a few assumptions.”

  “Ungrounded assumptions,” John stated. Leaning against the mantle, he gave Lewis an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Mr. Lewis, for getting caught up in my own imagination.”

  “But you didn't,” Catherine protested, thrusting to her feet. “Nothing you said was outside the realm of possibility.”

  “No, just probability,” John countered. “And Mr. Lewis can hardly accuse Morrow of committing such a serious crime as kidnapping without more proof than my fanciful imaginings.”

  “I know that, my lord, but that doesn't mean that he can't look into the situation and see if perhaps Lord Morrow was behind the entire matter.”

  “That's quite true, my lady,” interjected Mr. Lewis, who rose as well. “I shall look into Lord Morrow's whereabouts on the night in question, then I shall put my ear to the street to see if anyone's squawking about a kidnapping job; it's doubtful that an earl would do the actual nabbing.”

  Catherine smiled at the runner. “Very clever of you, Mr. Lewis.”

  Flushing a brilliant red, Mr. Lewis scraped a booted foot against the carpet. “Thank you, my lady.” He bowed to John. “I shall be in touch as soon as I have any additional information.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lewis.” Slapping a hand upon the runner's back, John walked him to the door. “Good day, sir.”

  “Good day to you, my lord.” Mr. Lewis looked at Catherine and swallowed again. “To you as well, my lady.”

  As John shut the door behind Mr. Lewis, he turned to find Catherine beaming at him. “Delightful fellow, your Mr. Lewis,” she observed. “And I do believe he shall find that poor man . . . especially since you told him about Lady Serena.” Her expression softened as she pressed a hand against her heart. “I can't tell you how much it means to me that you not only heard what I had to say, but really listened to me as well.”

  “Of course, I did,” he said, feeling uncomfortable with the weight of her gratitude. “I know I promised you I would meet with Lady Serena, but I couldn't devise a way of doing that without making her feel hunted.” He lifted a shoulder. “So, instead I asked Mr. Lewis to look into the matter.”

  “Most commendable, John.” Walking toward him, Catherine placed a hand upon his lapel. “But what impressed me most was the way you created that brilliant scenario. I couldn't have done better myself.”

  “Catherine, I . . .” he began, uncertain of what he could say to make her understand how much she tempted him, so he fell silent once more.

  “Thank you for including me in this meeting, for making me feel like an equal.” A soft smile curved her lips upward as she lifted her hand to his face. “There are times, John, when I think you could be so easy to love.”

  His heart contracted at her softly spoken words and, for that moment, all his concerns and fears were swept away beneath the surge of desire. “Catherine,” he rasped, lifting his hands to cup her face, his fingers burrowing into the wealth of her silky hair.

  Claiming her mouth, he boldly took all she offered and returned it with a matching hunger of his own. Need pulsed through him, hardening him into a mass of aching desire. Lord, he could so easily lose himself in this woman.

  Catherine's moan vibrated against his mouth as she slid her hand from his face onto the back of his head, clutching at his hair as if she were using him to steady herself. But he didn't want her steady. No, he wanted her reeling with passion, weak with desire, swaying with need.

  Curving his hand downward, he trailed his fingertips down her neck, along her collarbone, onto the lace edge of her high-cut bodice, and finally over the peaked rise of her breast. Satisfaction roared through him as he claimed her breast with his hand, molding the soft flesh to his palm, feeling her pebbled nipple pressing against his fingers.

  Breaking off the kiss, John bent his head further into the curve of her neck, touching his lips to the slender arch. “Catherine,” he murmured softly, hearing the aching need in his voice.

  “Yes, John.” Her whisper feathered along his ear, sending a shiver along his spin. “Oh, yes.”

  Dear God, he wanted to unfasten her bodice, bare her to his hungry eyes and hands, sweep her onto the floor, and . . . and . . . what? Take her like a whore on the floor of his study?

  That thought sobered him from the heady spin of desire. Lord, had he really sunk so far that he would even consider, for one moment, fulfilling his passion upon an innocent like Catherine? Jerking back his head, he gazed down at her, seeing her passion-swollen lips. Dropping his eyes further downward, he looked at his hand, still holding onto her breast, like she was no better than a demimonde.

  “Oh, God, Catherine,” he rasped, pulling away from her as if he'd been burned. “I'm so sorry.”

  She offered him
a soft smile. “I was as swept away as you, John.”

  The innocence blazing out of her eyes made him feel even more the heel. It was up to him to treat her with respect. She was an innocent, well-bred lady who had been swept along with his passion. True, she hadn't protested his touch, but that didn't make it any more acceptable for him to take advantage of her inexperience.

  John raked his fingers through his hair. Lord, another minute and he would have pulled her to the floor of his study and . . .

  Shutting his eyes against the erotic images burned into his mind, John forced himself to take calming breaths and ignore the pounding hunger inside him.

  “John?” Catherine said softly, placing her hands onto his chest.

  Sweet Heaven, he felt her touch clear through to his bones. His eyes flew open as he stepped backward, breaking her hold upon him. “I'm sorry,” he said again. “I took advantage of you, and it won't happen again.”

  Catherine's brows drew together. “But I enjoyed your kiss,” she said hesitantly.

  “Bloody Hell, Catherine! Don't say things like that to me,” John snapped harshly. Didn't she realize that he was a hairsbreadth away from claiming all she offered in her innocence? No, she didn't, he realized, which was precisely the problem. If he took what she offered, he'd be making a different offer to her the very next day . . . and tying himself to her for the rest of his life.

  With his thoughts in a tangle with his emotions, John needed time to sort through the mess. Time without Catherine around to muddle everything up again. While he wanted her more than he wanted anything else in his life, did he want to spend the rest of his life a jumble of emotions?

  John pressed two fingers to his temple, trying to still the pounding inside his head, before he inhaled deeply and looked at Catherine. “I will show you out now, Catherine. If I hear from Mr. Lewis, I shall contact you immediately.”