by Tamara Gill
Kathryn had kissed many men in her twenty-three years, but never one who compelled such a response from her. Ryan's kiss was both tender and demanding, making her burn to give in to anything he might ask, and more. It was an unfamiliar and exciting sensation, and she gave herself up to it, twining her arms around his neck as his hands slid down to her waist. For a few incredible moments, no one existed but the two of them, pressed so closely that they almost became one.
Finally it was Ryan who pulled away, resting his hands on her shoulders. His eyes were aflame with desire, but she could see a question in them, as well.
“Who are you, Catherine Prescott?” he asked.
Kathryn felt her insides contract. What did he mean? How did he know? Panic warred with the desire he had aroused in her, but she forced herself to appear outwardly calm. “Who do you want me to be?” she finally responded, her heart hammering wildly.
Ryan smiled, a slow smile that made the warmth creep back through her body. “Whoever you are right now. Not the prim, innocent miss I met a few weeks ago, but the woman you've just shown me. This was hardly your first kiss.”
So that was it! “Surely you don't expect me to admit to that, sir?” she asked, lowering her lashes flirtatiously. Relief washed through her so strongly that she hardly knew what she said. He didn't suspect the truth after all.
Ryan regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “No, I will have to draw my own conclusions, I suppose. Dare I hope this means our engagement can be announced now?”
Kathryn blinked. Catherine had been convinced he only wanted the Prescott lands, she recalled. Nor was this a romantic proposal, in spite of that incredible kiss they had just shared. “Whatever is your hurry, Mr. James?” she asked, covering her conflicting feelings with a playful air. “Only yesterday you were willing to wait.”
“I find myself somehow more impatient today.” Again, he gave her that warm smile that turned her insides to jelly.
“I'll consider it.” She still forced herself to speak lightly, refusing to commit herself. After all, Catherine might well be back here tomorrow. She experienced an unexpected twinge of jealousy at the thought. “Didn't you say you had some business you had to attend to this morning?”
His gaze narrowed and the warm smile cooled slightly. “Yes, I did. And much as I would prefer to let it go hang, it really can't wait much longer. Would you care to ride into town with me, or shall I escort you home?”
“I have no desire to go home just yet. Would you help me up, please?”
He threw her into the saddle and they turned toward town.
“You asked who I am, but I could ask the same question of you, Mr. James,” ventured Kathryn after a moment. “I seem to know very little about you.” She hoped that this was true of Catherine. It did seem unlikely she'd have tried to find out much about a man she disliked.
“You never seemed particularly interested before,” he said pointedly, confirming her guess.
“Well, now I am.”
“Hmm.” He sent her a long, lingering look. “I'm from up north—Maryland—and have gradually wandered south over the years. When I found Columbia, I liked it and decided to stay, at least for a while. The land is fertile, there's plenty of space and the people are friendly.”
His smile on the last phrase made Kathryn look quickly away. How could this man affect her so strongly?
“I've done well for myself here and have every intention of doing even better. I'm really quite a catch, you know.” He grinned, waiting for her response.
Kathryn met his look squarely this time. “I can see that you're very highly regarded, Mr. James—especially by yourself.”
He choked on a laugh. “Touché, Miss Prescott. But why not? Everything I have I've worked hard for. No one has ever gone out of their way to make things easy for me, and I've learned to get what I want, whatever obstacles might present themselves.”
“The work ethic personified,” she said lightly, feeling a twinge of what might possibly be guilt for the easy life she had led. At his questioning look, she changed the subject. “So, what do you grow on that fertile land of yours?”
His expression told her she should have known. “Cotton, of course. Fair Fields is the third largest plantation in the area, in terms of acreage, though it may well be first in production. I think I've proved . . . Well, never mind that. I have also planted an apple orchard, but of course it will be some time before it produces.”
“So, it's true about the apples,” she said brightly, trying to cover her slip. “I think Father mentioned them.”
It seemed to work, for he talked of various types of apples and their characteristics, which he had obviously studied in depth, until they reached the downtown area of Columbia. “I fear we must part company here, Miss Prescott,” he said with a reluctance she couldn't help savoring. “I see two of your friends outside Beecher Porter's shop there. Perhaps I can escort you home after my business is concluded.”
Kathryn nodded, then crossed the street to join the young ladies mentioned, since they had seen her and were beckoning eagerly. She recognized both girls from the ball two nights ago, but could not at the moment remember their names. Her heart beat uncomfortably fast. This was going to be a hard act to pull off.
“Cathy, I am so glad to see you out today,” one of the girls, a tall blonde, exclaimed. “Leslie was saying that your father was angry and might not let you ride. It would have been such a shame, for Mr. Porter has some new lace that you simply must see.”
Leslie, a dainty brown-haired girl with an impossibly small waist, reddened slightly but gave Kathryn a dimpled smile as she spoke. “Yes, you see, my brother overheard your father telling mine how you had ridden that stallion he sold to Colonel Hampton, and how he was going to forbid you from riding. I am so glad he changed his mind!”
Kathryn, whose keen assessment of character had helped her countless times in the backstabbing social arena of Washington, decided that this girl would bear watching. There was something catlike about her.
“Or did Mr. James talk him round?” Leslie continued, her green eyes glittering. “I can't believe it was your idea to ride out with him!” Both girls tittered and looked across to the saddlery warehouse, where Ryan's horse was tethered.
“You had better be nicer to him, Cathy, or you're going to lose him to someone else,” confided the other girl in an undertone as the three of them entered the shop. “I know several ladies, some younger than you, who would accept him in a second, despite his reputation.” She said this with a significant glance at Leslie, who'd gone ahead to the counter.
“I'll keep that in mind,” Kathryn replied with a smile. But then her attention was claimed by the charming little shop. It was like a small fabric store, but with far more character, packed almost to overflowing with miscellaneous trinkets, many of which she had never seen before. On the counter were displayed gloves in every pastel shade from white through beige to gray, and a basket on the floor at one side was filled with frilled parasols. And here she was without any money!
Kathryn had always adored shopping and had no intention of changing her ways because of a mere time displacement. She examined the goods intently, wondering if credit existed yet. The laces the blond girl—her name turned out to be Priscilla—had mentioned were exquisite, and Kathryn was already imagining what they'd look like with two or three of Catherine's dresses.
She was a decent seamstress, thanks to her stints on theater costume crews, though she was sure sewing without a machine would get tedious after a while. Still, it was something she could do instead of the bewildering embroidery Mrs. S-P expected of her.
Watching carefully as her two companions made their choices known to the shopkeeper, Kathryn was relieved to see no money changing hands. Credit was alive and well, thank heavens.
“I'll take two cards of this lace and the pink parasol,” she informed the plump little man when he had wrapped Leslie's and Priscilla's purchases. It wouldn't do to go
overboard while she was still in disgrace.
“Certainly, Miss Prescott,” responded the shopkeeper eagerly. “Will there be anything else?”
“Not today, thank you, Mr. Porter.” Her smile assured the man that she'd soon be back for more.
Once outside, Leslie left them, explaining that her mother expected guests for dinner. Kathryn was just as glad to have an opportunity to talk with the friendlier Priscilla.
“This is a lovely time of year, isn't it?” she began. The weather seemed like a safe topic to begin with.
“Yes. Before long it will be too hot, but right now I love being out of doors,” replied Priscilla. “The next month or two are the best time for flowers, too,” she added with a sidelong look at Kathryn. “If I were getting married, that's when I would want my wedding to be held.”
Kathryn chuckled—she wasn't the only one hoping to pick up information during this conversation. “I'll admit Ryan can be pleasant when he tries, but I haven't agreed to a wedding yet.”
“Oooh, Cathy! Is it 'Ryan' now? Your feelings toward him have changed.”
Oops.
“I daresay he can be pleasant,” Priscilla continued. “He certainly is handsome enough! And he may change his ways after marriage. Many men do, I hear. You just need to keep him busy at home.” She held a handkerchief to her lips and giggled at her own naughtiness, which Kathryn found amusing. Priscilla would be awfully easy to shock—she'd have to watch her mouth.
“Many men don't change their ways after marriage,” she pointed out.
“He might, though,” insisted Priscilla. “And it's not as though you have any particular woman to worry about—just all of them! I've not heard that he's lost his heart to anyone, at any rate. If you can capture that, I have a feeling he is the sort who would be yours forever. There is something—well—intense about him.”
Kathryn had noticed that, too, almost the moment she met him. No wonder he drew women like flies. But she herself could not afford to get involved with him, since she had no idea how long she'd be here. Nor did she dare do anything that would force Catherine's hand when she returned. The idea of her ancestor being forced into marriage, even with someone like Ryan—especially with Ryan—disturbed her greatly.
Perhaps there was something she could do. At the very least, she could teach Mr. James a lesson about his wandering ways. And maybe she could find a way to give Catherine more options. A woman should be free to choose her own future.
Priscilla's elbow prodded her ribs, interrupting Kathryn's noble plans. “Speak of the devil,” she whispered, gesturing down the street.
There was Ryan, in conversation with three fashionably dressed ladies whose ages appeared to range from about eighteen to forty. All three were giggling and flicking their fans at him. He seemed to be enjoying himself enormously.
Kathryn watched the group for a moment, then turned to Priscilla. “Please come to visit me soon, maybe even this evening if you can. It seems ages since we've had a good talk.”
Priscilla blinked, then smiled. “Certainly. I'll come after tea if my father has no plans. It has been a long time.”
“Mr. James offered to escort me home, so I'd better reclaim him. Care to come along?”
“No, no, you go on. I still have some shopping to do, and our groom is to meet me at Mr. Arthur's bookstore.” She paused for a moment, following Kathryn's gaze before adding, “Good luck,” under her breath. It was almost as though she knew what Kathryn was planning. Their glances met in understanding before they exchanged farewells.
Kathryn's mouth curved in a small, secret smile as she began walking slowly in his direction. Her smile broadened as Ryan tweaked the cheek of the youngest of the three ladies and whispered something in her ear that made her blush and rap his knuckles with an ivory fan.
You may be too much for poor innocent little Catherine to handle, but I'm just the one to tame you. En garde, Mr. James!
***
CHAPTER SIX
As Kathryn approached the charming little group, Ryan took the hand of the prettiest lady, whom Kathryn judged to be a year or two older than herself. If she'd expected him to be disconcerted when he noticed her, she was disappointed. He smoothly brushed the lady's fingertips with a brief kiss and turned toward Kathryn with an apparently genuine smile of welcome. The echoing smiles of the ladies were both less genuine and less welcoming.
“Miss Prescott! Do I take it that you are ready to return, or have you more shopping to do?” Neither his voice nor his manner held the slightest trace of embarrassment.
“I'm quite finished, thank you,” she replied, with a similarly carefree smile.
The ladies murmured insincere greetings while looking daggers at her. Kathryn, never good with names, used the technique she'd cultivated in recent years of smiling to acknowledge the greetings, without revealing that she had never met these women before. They hadn't been at the Prescotts' ball, which told her their social standing was probably a notch or two below hers, so she allowed the merest touch of condescension to creep into her manner.
After five minutes of polite nothings, Ryan made his bows and led her to where their horses were tethered. “Mrs. Hankins was just mentioning how you had matured during your stay in London,” he remarked as he mounted. “I told her that I prefer a woman with some polish.”
Kathryn chuckled. “I doubt she intended it as a compliment, but I thank you, sir.” She was careful to keep her smile cool. She knew from experience that a man like Ryan would be far more attracted to a challenge than to an easy conquest. She intended to be the greatest challenge he had ever encountered.
“As she has at least ten years on you, she construed my response as a personal homage. Perhaps I should have been more specific in my praise,” replied Ryan with a searching look.
Kathryn slanted him a glance from beneath her lashes. “Perhaps you still can be.”
Ryan shot her a wide grin. “Fishing for flowery phrases, Miss Prescott? That's hardly my style, but I'll do my best to oblige you.”
“I would never want you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable,” replied Kathryn archly, softening her words with the curve of her lips.
They continued in a bantering vein during the short ride, and Kathryn reveled in the lingering looks he sent her way though she sternly refused to return them. The more firmly hooked he was before Catherine's return the better, she decided, feeling almost protective of the girl whose place she'd taken.
“Thank you, Mr. James,” she said with a polite smile when they reached the sandy drive of her house.
“Do let me know if you need rescuing again, Miss Prescott. It will be my extreme pleasure.” His gaze held hers.
“Hopefully, it won't be necessary,” she replied coolly, turning to glance at the house before her eyes could betray her. “My mother is at the window. I'd better go in. Goodbye, sir.”
“Until next time, Catherine,” he replied softly.
She didn't dare look directly at him, but nodded in his general direction before trotting up the drive to the waiting Jeller. Mrs. S-P was not actually in evidence when Kathryn quietly opened the front door, nor were any of the servants, so she was able to whisk up the stairs to change for dinner without being seen. It seemed that Catherine was adept enough at getting into trouble without any help from her. Nancy was puttering around her room, making a show of straightening the trinkets on the dresser when she came in.
“How long before we eat, Nancy?” asked Kathryn breathlessly, closing the door behind her.
The maid gave her a long, knowing look before answering. “Jes' five minutes or thereabouts, Missie. We'd best get you out of that habit and into something fit for the table right away.” Kathryn was sure Nancy was well aware not only that she was in disgrace—the entire household had to know that—but also that she'd ridden without Jeller.
“Thank you, Nancy,” she said sincerely as the woman helped her to change. “I don't know how I'd manage without you.” She wondered whethe
r the maid's first loyalty was to her or her parents.
Deftly, Nancy brushed and repinned her hair, sending her out the door only four minutes after her arrival. Her reassuring wink told Kathryn her secret was safe.
Catherine's parents were entering the dining room as she descended, and she quickened her steps to follow. Once they were seated, Mr. Prescott turned to her with an accusing glare that made her tremble, more at the thought of missing another meal than in fear of another tirade. She was ravenous, and the mouth-watering aromas assailing her from the kitchen made her want to postpone any further confrontation until after the meal.
“Your mother tells me you managed to cozen young James into riding out with you, after all.” At least he was not shouting.
“Now, Joseph, that is not what I said at all,” interposed Mrs. S-P, obviously wanting to avert another scene. “There is no possible way she could have got any sort of message to Mr. James before he called. She had been in her room only half an hour, and had not even spoken to any of the servants.”
Kathryn wondered if Catherine's mother remembered that she'd already been dressed for riding. In her time, half an hour would have been plenty of time to call or text Ryan—if she had his number. But here . . . well, at least the lack of phones gave her an alibi.
“You said I might ride out with him, Father,” Kathryn murmured, keeping her eyes downcast. You're playing a sweet little Southern belle! Remember that!
“I also said that you were to spend the day in your room, or had you forgotten that?”
Kathryn felt her temper rising, but forced herself to keep her eyes on her plate. “Am I not even allowed to eat? You sent me upstairs before I had any breakfast, and I'm hungry.” She had been blinking rapidly during this plaintive speech and was able to lift tear-filled eyes to convince Mr. Prescott. Her last statement, at least, was absolutely true.