Catherine and the Marquis (Bluestocking Brides Book 4)

by Samantha Holt

  “Papa—”

  He left before she could call him back or make him stop. With the sudden coldness surrounding Lord Thornefield, she was not at all sure she wished to be alone with him.

  He waited until her father was long gone before addressing her. “You did not need to mention last night.”

  She lifted her chin. “My sisters were hardly going to come and demand you marry me simply because we had a few moments alone together.”

  “I still do not see what you wished to accomplish by mentioning it.”

  “I tell my sisters everything, my lord. I have no secrets from them. Surely you tell your sister all too?”

  “Certainly not. And certainly not when it could put someone’s reputation at risk.”

  “Oh, well forgive me. I did not realize I was of so much ill-repute that I could tarnish your reputation with a simple conversation.”

  She would not mention the touching—the arm around her and the brushing of their bodies. As far as she was concerned, that rather pleasant moment deserved forgetting if he thought her so awful that he did not wish it known he had spent but one moment with her.

  “I was not speaking of my reputation but yours.”

  Catherine gave an airy laugh. “Believe me, my lord, my reputation has survived worse than that. I think people would be relieved to know I was simply sitting and not doing something scandalously unladylike.”

  His posture grew more rigid, if that was possible. “I’d rather not know.”

  She exhaled. “Not like that!”

  Just wonderful, now he likely thought she was some crazed woman taking lovers all across the country. She did not mind him thinking her a bluestocking or slightly rude, but it would bother her indeed if he thought that. Why it should, she would rather not contemplate.

  “All I mean is I do not care what people think about something so harmless. Just because you would rather remain stiff-lipped and silent, does not mean I must.”

  “It is precisely that behavior that prevented Lilith from coming out into society. If that is your opinion, then perhaps I should keep my sister closer.”

  “Away from me, you mean?”

  His eyes hardened further. “Precisely.”

  Outrage made her cheeks burn. As if he considered a little outspokenness the same as endless love affairs, drunkenness, and the sort of manner that had people turning their backs.

  She took a step closer. “I know enough about the late marquis to know why Lilith never entered society. But not everyone is like him, my lord. You would be wise to judge people individually, without the taint of your father upon them.”

  He stepped up to her. “You think you know me so very well already, Miss Chadwick, do you not?”

  “I do not think anything, but I am no fool either.”

  “You have no right to speak of my father.”

  “And you have no right to threaten your sister’s friendships simply because you disapprove of me. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Yet.”

  She held a breath, keeping back any further response. The man was intent on judging her against his father’s behavior it seemed. She might not care much for silly rules, but she understood when to behave.

  “I think you had better leave,” she managed huskily.

  The desire to spill out further grievances against him made her chest tight. How could he go from this sweet, slightly amusing man who had comforted her when she was so fearful for Emma to this cold, hard, horrible creature she saw before her?

  “I better had.” He gave her a curt dip of his head. “Give your sister my best.”

  He strode past her and out, shutting the door with a finality that made her heart sink. Catherine stuck out her tongue at the closed door, but the moment did not lighten her mood. What did she care what he thought anyway? He could not stop her friendship with Lilith—she was a grown woman after all.

  No. She did not care on jot about the stuffy, uptight Lord Thornefield. Not one jot.

  Chapter Ten

  Sweat trickled down Thorne’s back. He swiped what he could from his forehead with a sleeve and placed the hammer in his hand down for a moment to wipe his palms against his trousers. Though grateful no rain meant he could take some time to replace the loose tiles on the stables, this heat was growing unbearable and they were nowhere near summer yet. Bloody unpredictable English weather.

  He set back to work, laying the tile in place and hitting it with ferocity. Too much ferocity. The tile cracked.

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Albion Lucas, seventh Marquis of Thornefield, I raised you better than that.”

  Thorne froze. First at the use of his first name which no one used and with good reason. He loathed it. Then at the sound of his mother’s voice. What the devil was she doing here?

  He peered over the edge of the building. “Mother?”

  She looked up, hand to a red feathered hat. “Who else would it be?”

  “I did not expect you.”

  At all. He had thought his ancestral home was filled was rather too many unpleasant memories. Before his father had all but abandoned his mother in favor of lovers that he paraded in front of her, they had not enjoyed the most harmonious of marriages. Each of Thorne’s siblings had been born during one of the brief moments his father had come back to his mother, begging for forgiveness, but after Lilith’s birth, it had been clear the marchioness needed to cut ties. As far as Thorne knew, his mother had hardly spoken to the last marquis, except a few communications via letter.

  “Come down,” she demanded. “I cannot have a conversation with you whilst you are on a roof.”

  “In just a moment.”

  “A marquis does not belong on a roof. No wonder Lilith is concerned for you.”

  Thorne rolled his eyes. It seemed his sister had been writing to their mother about him. Though what either woman had to be concerned about, he did not know. He grunted. There was something to be said for being an only child. Or a man with only brothers perhaps. His one brother did not interfere in his personal matters.

  Regardless, Thorne made his way down the ladder and wiped his hands on his trousers.

  His mother regarded him with lifted brows. “If I did not know better I would think you a laborer.”

  He gave a shrug. “There are worst things to be.”

  “Yes, but you are a marquis, and you should learn to behave like one.”

  Thorne rather thought he’d been behaving like one for quite some time. Ever since he’d been old enough, he’d been managing all their affairs, including his mother’s. She had a decent income, having inherited from her grandfather who had taken a liking to her but if Thorne had not been in charge, she would have eaten through it before Lilith was but ten.

  “It is good to see you, Mother,” he said dryly.

  Her smile warmed. “It is good to see you, my dear boy. Even if you are filthy and rather more shabbily attired that I would prefer.”

  “There’s much to be done on the estate and we are not yet fully staffed. I am still waiting for the sale of some land to go through too, so I do what I must.”

  His mother shuddered. “That you should have to sell land that has been in the family for years breaks my heart.”

  “It’s but a small amount,” he assured her. “There is plenty left for the next generation.”

  She smiled. “I am glad to hear you say it. It is time for you to find a bride and work on that next generation.”

  “Is that why you are here? To ensure I find a bride?” He certainly hoped not. Such a task would be better put off until London, and he did not much relish the idea of his mother interfering.

  “Lilith is concerned for you. She says you are working too hard.”

  “Lilith says many things. It does not mean they are true.” He glanced over her perfectly pressed day dress, the red satin matching the hue of her dramatic hat. “Did you come far?”

  She shook her head. “I stopped in a charming inn a few miles away
last night. I was too tired to travel the last few.” She tapped his arm. “Now stop avoiding the subject. You are working too hard, and doing things a marquis should not. You cannot deny it now that I have seen it for my own eyes.”

  “A few tiles is hardly hard work. Besides—”

  “Oh.”

  Thorne turned to the new voice. A bolt of something struck in his chest and his heart picked up pace instantly. “Miss Chadwick.”

  The problem was, he could not tell if the sensation was from frustration, anger, or something else. In a delicate cream dress, she had that usual slightly disorganized look to her. Curls were tucked under a bonnet yet some escaped, trailing down her neck. The ribbon under her chin was tied a touch to one side.

  He should be furious. That was exactly what the sensation should be. She had no right to talk of such private matters those six days ago. He had the disconcerting feeling there were other reasons for it, though. Especially when he could not help skipping his gaze over her figure and admiring those high, pert breasts made obvious by the square neckline of her gown. Or when he admired the creamy arch of her neck or the freckles leaping across her nose. Her eyes were particularly distracting too, even though they were narrowed at him in slightly disdain.

  “Forgive me,” she said, backing away. “I did not mean to intrude.”

  His mother gave him a puzzled look, likely not understanding why he was being so rude. He straightened.

  “Mother, this is Miss Chadwick. You may remember the Chadwick family.”

  His mother smiled at Miss Chadwick. “Oh yes, of course. You were but a babe when I saw you last so you will not remember me I am afraid. You are the younger Miss Chadwick are you not? Your sisters are all married.”

  “That’s correct, my lady.” Miss Chadwick kept her gaze pointedly on his mother and away from him. “You must forgive the intrusion. I was going to meet Lilith. She told me to wait here.”

  Thorne tightened his jaw. Lilith knew how he felt about their friendship and he’d hoped his sister might respect that, though he should not have been surprised she had gone against his wishes. It seemed even without Miss Chadwick’s influence, his sister was becoming increasingly headstrong.

  “Lilith is still at the house, but you must come in for tea,” his mother said.

  Miss Chadwick lifted a hand to protest but his mother cut her off.

  “I absolutely insist. I have heard all about you in Lilith’s letters, Miss Chadwick, and I would like to hear more. My daughter thinks the world of you and I am certain I shall not think any differently.”

  Miss Chadwick swung a look at him, but he glanced away. If his mother wanted to entertain such a girl, then let her do it. He would not stand in the way.

  His mother motioned to him. “Come now, Thorne. You need a break too.”

  He grimaced. He’d far rather be back up on the roof, taking out his frustration on a few tiles than sitting down to tea with the one woman who seemed to be causing said frustration.

  Thorne took his time cleaning up and changing before heading downstairs to the drawing room. Unfortunately, Miss Chadwick had yet to leave. Lilith sat on the sofa next to her while his mother sat opposite, looking as though she had always lived at Easton Lodge even though she had not returned to the house for nearly seventeen years.

  Tea and biscuits were laid out on the table between the chairs. There was no footman—he had yet to hire one—but a maid lingered in the corner who he promptly dismissed. Knowing how few servants he had, she did not have the time to be waiting on his mother and with an extra guest staying, there was a room to prepare and extra food to plan for. He’d have to send Lilith down to the kitchens later to ensure all was well for his mother’s stay.

  “Ah, there you are, my dear. Join us.” His mother motioned to the seat next to her. “We were just talking of the birth of the next Earl of Radcliff. No doubt there shall be a celebration soon. I hear you were present.”

  Thorne sat. Miss Chadwick gave him an uneasy look. After their exchange of heated words, he had rather hoped he would not see her for a good while. Whether he was still angry with her, he could not say, but he could certainly do without her sitting in his drawing room whilst his mother played host.

  “I was in a fashion, yes,” he said stiffly.

  “He was an immense help to my brother-in-law.” Miss Chadwick glanced at him then away again.

  “My Thorne was always willing to lend a hand.” Mother smiled. “Too much so it seems if he is climbing on roofs and doing hard labor. Tell me, Miss Chadwick, do you think it becoming of a marquis to be partaking in such activities?”

  He saw Miss Chadwick’s throat work. How his mother was intimidating people already when she had hardly been here for an hour, he did not know. What her intentions were was a mystery too but his mother never did anything without intention. After years of avoiding the drama that followed his father, his mother trod carefully at every moment.

  “I think…” Miss Chadwick stared at her cup. “I think there are worse things a marquis could be doing than climbing on roofs, my lady.”

  The little flash of insolence, said so meekly, almost made him smile. It should not really. After all, that outspokenness was what frustrated him most about her, was it not?

  Amusement glistened in his mother’s eyes. “Yes, yes, I suppose you are right. Lilith said her new friend was exceedingly clever and it seems she is correct.”

  “Well, I—”

  Lilith gave a sharp cough. “Oh, Mama, there is that thing we must do. Quickly, remember?” Lilith winked awkwardly at his mother and tried to look innocent when he caught the movement.

  “Yes, of course. That thing,” his mother agreed. “I do not mean to be rude, Miss Chadwick, but I have travelled a good while.”

  “That’s a lie,” Thorne muttered.

  His mother ignored him. “And I have not seen my daughter for some time. I must just attend to this…thing…before we rejoin you.”

  Before anyone could protest, his mother and sister had swept from the room. Catherine kept her gaze fixed on the cup in her hand. Why the devil did they want them alone? He’d told Lilith of the birth of the new duke and his frustration at Miss Chadwick. Though he had not necessarily banned her from seeing Miss Chadwick, he had mentioned that he was concerned she was not a good influence.

  Apparently, his sister had ignored his caution entirely.

  Several moments passed. The clock on the mantlepiece ticked loudly—far too loudly. Somewhere outside, a bird squawked. Thorne was far too aware of his own breaths. Miss Chadwick tapped a finger against the delicate china of his cup.

  She lifted her head. “I did not mean to—”

  “I think—” he started and stopped. “Forgive me.”

  Her throat bobbed, and she set down the cup. “I did not mean to be invited in.”

  He gave a dry smile. “I am aware my mother gave you little choice.”

  “Lilith and I only intended to walk into the village. You need not have seen me at all but of course you would be up on a roof, because why would you not? Naturally a marquis would be fixing stable roofs. I should have expected it.” The words seem to spill out of her.

  “Miss Chadwick—”

  “I know you are angry with me. Rightly so I am sure. But I shall impose no longer. Perhaps you can make my excuses to your mother, and Lilith and I can walk to the village another day. She wants to spend time with her mother, no doubt.”

  Miss Chadwick stood abruptly, nearly knocking into the table and sending the cups jingling against one another. She paused and gave the table a wider birth. Thorne stood and before he could quite understand what he had done, he’d grabbed her arm.

  Warmth from her skin spilled through the fabric and into his palm. Aware of the fragileness of her limb, a pulse of sensation darted through him and made his throat tighten. “Stay.” That one syllable rang through the room like a cannon shot, despite its gritty quality.

  Her green eyes were wide, her dark red
lashes fanned up against her face. “Why?”

  He fought for a response. Everything he did was always considered, even climbing on roofs. He thought out each scenario then made his decision. Except, it seemed, when it came to Miss Chadwick. He had not considered taking her arm. He had certainly not thought of telling her to stay. And yet, he did not want her to leave. Why the devil was that?

  “I know you dislike me. I understand why,” she said. “I am not typical or traditional. Most think me spoiled, I should imagine. Though, I do not think I am spoiled in the usual sense, but I have been allowed my freedoms.” She took a breath. “Of course that would surprise a man like yourself. I am sure you have been around fine women all your life who have plenty of experience in society. I am not without awareness of the requirements of a girl in society, naturally, particularly with brothers-in-law like mine, but I do not see why I should live by them every waking moment. It would be so terribly dull, do you not think?”

  Thorne hardly heard the words. All he could focus on was how her mouth formed each one of them as she continued, her voice growing breathless.

  “I do not expect you to understand. Nor do I even expect you to like me, but I am sure we will not be able to avoid each other forever and I do adore Lilith. Please believe me when I say I only want the best for her. I shall try my best not to lead her astray. Besides, she loves you. She would never do anything you would disapprove of. We may not see eye to eye but at least we have her welfare in mind, do we not? I think—”

  Thorne shook his head. Would the woman not cease? “Catherine,” he barked.

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  It was all the opportunity he needed. He brought his mouth down fast and hard on hers. A squeak of surprise escaped her. Her lips were soft, and she tasted of tea and sugar. Heat rolled through him like waves battering a ship. He could not control himself any more than he could control the seas. When he moved his mouth over hers, she softened into him, giving him the chance to release her arm and bring her close.

  A hand in her hair and another to her spine, he molded her body to his. She fit so perfectly that the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Her hands gripped his arms, digging in with a slight bite that set him on some sort of delicious edge.