“Catherine, you can’t climb rope ladders,” was all he could think to say.
She turned to face him then, her sweet face pink with the effort of her descent. She smiled as bright as a summer sunrise, clearly delighted with herself. It would seem that not only young men had a taste for danger. He tried to rein in his tongue so that he would not offend her.
“Indeed I can, Mr. Waters. And indeed I shall, if I so choose. I enjoy a bit of a climb, I find. Who knew?”
“Who knew indeed? And will you climb back up again?”
She looked at him, still smiling in triumph but clearly puzzled. “Whatever for? The object is to escape a burning house, not to climb back into it. I am safe and on the ground now, and not one hair of my head singed. A successful climb.”
He wanted to drag her into his arms and check the soundness of her limbs. Another, darker part of him wanted to drag her away from her family, behind a tall bush, and discover what else he might find beneath the frothy petticoats of her skirts. He could not get the sight of her knees and those pink ribbons out of his mind. That view was going to haunt him until he saw more.
He would have to marry this girl, and quickly. He had never thought anything on earth could tempt him to give up the sea, but now he had found it. He would keep this girl safe for the rest of her life. Lord Loverboy might fancy her, but he did not have the mettle to face her down, year after year, and save her from herself.
Alex Waters knew that he was man enough to do it.
The terrifying thought of marrying a woman who never listened to him, who scoffed at every word he said save when she was in his arms, did not give him pause. He was a doomed man, and only now did he accept it. Perhaps he would learn to live with the fact that she would never agree to anything he said for all their married life. Perhaps he would learn to live with the fact that despite her sweet, demure exterior, she was still a girl who scrambled out of windows onto hemp rope ladders twenty feet above the ground, and then climbed down.
His father had warned him that living with a woman was like living with the weather. A man might try to predict what she would do next, but God help him, he would most likely fail.
Alex stared down at his angel, feeling a ridiculous smile spreading across his face. He would doom himself to a life of failure then, and take what came.
Catherine saw his smile and must have noticed that something was amiss. For all her lack of worldliness, she was a clever girl. “What is it?” she asked him, as if her family and his were not standing by.
“I’ll tell you later,” he said, taking her elbow to steer her away from the blasted rope. He cursed the day Ian had ever taught Mary Elizabeth to climb the rigging of the family schooner. He turned on his sister then, and found Mary Elizabeth squaring her shoulders, readying herself for the tongue lashing she knew was coming.
“Mary Elizabeth Waters, what would your mother say if she knew what you’d been up to?” He heard his brogue coming into his voice, but he could not help himself. His sister responded in kind, her own accent thicker than his.
“And what business is it of hers, I ask you? Am I the one who sent my only daughter to marry among the damned English?” She blinked, and spoke for a moment to his angel. “Begging your pardon, Catherine.” She turned back on him at once. “Our mother cannot have a care for me nor for what I do, or she would have kept me by her, among our people, in our homeland. Since I am here, I will do as I bloody please. And you may tell our mother that.”
Mary Elizabeth stormed off then, to hide the tears that had come into her eyes. His angel turned on him like the wrath of God.
“Alex, you have made her cry! I swear, if I were your mama, I would thrash you.”
His body tightened deliciously at the thought of Catherine with a whip in her hand. He set the happy image aside, for she had slipped away from him and followed his sister into the house. He sighed, and watched her go.
Alex turned to the rest of the company, only to find Mrs. Angel ignoring all that went on, her attention completely taken up with Mr. Pridemore and her tea cakes. Miss Margaret stood at his elbow, looking after where her sister had gone.
She sighed, and blinked up at him. “You had better go after her,” she said.
“Mary Elizabeth?” he asked.
“No. Catherine.”
The little girl turned away then and went to fetch her own tea and cakes. Alex took her advice, and followed the girls into the house.
* * *
Catherine felt her face blazing with a blush, as she always did when she was caught unawares by Mr. Waters. Of course, such a thing had become a daily occurrence, so she ignored it and went to find her friend.
Mary Elizabeth had shut herself in the music room, and Jim stood outside the door, looking perplexed. “The young lady will not answer my knock, miss. Should I bring tea and cakes?”
“Not just yet, Jim. Let me speak with her a moment. I will ring if we need you.”
“Very good, miss.”
Doing a wonderful impression of Giles, Jim bowed solemnly and disappeared at once.
Catherine turned and knocked on her own music room door. “Mary Elizabeth? May I come in?”
She heard a sniffle from within. “Not just now, Catherine. I am in the midst of disgracing myself. I cannot let you see me do it.”
Catherine was certain she heard her friend crying, and she cursed Alex Waters in silence.
“If you like, Mary, I will thrash him for you. He is a gentleman and as such, he cannot defend himself.”
She heard a watery laugh from within, which cheered her. Mary Elizabeth’s brogue was so thick, it was difficult to understand her, but Catherine managed. She must be getting used to these passionate, half-wild people.
“It is not Alex’s fault,” Mary Elizabeth said. Or at least, that is what it sounded like. “My mama sent me packing because she is ashamed of me. It hurts my heart, but there it is.”
Catherine felt tears rise in her own eyes, and she blinked them away. At least her mama loved her, as troublesome and difficult as she was.
“Your mama was wrong to send you away. But I am glad you are here. My life would be far too dull without you. You must stay and look after us, or we might all burn to death one night in our beds.”
“God forbid,” Mary Elizabeth said, opening the door at last.
Alex Waters spoke. “Amen.”
He lurked in the hall, leaning against a false pilaster that her grandfather’s architect had thought looked smart. He did not smile in his usual smug, superior way, so Catherine did not chastise him. She turned back to his sister in the doorway, and gave her a handkerchief.
“I will launder this and give it back,” Mary Elizabeth said, blowing her nose loudly.
Catherine flinched at the indecorous display, but forced herself to smile. “Keep it, with my compliments. I sewed my initials and a butterfly onto it myself.”
“Very pretty,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Perhaps you might teach me to do that.”
“I would be delighted.”
Mary Elizabeth nodded to her brother, tucked her new handkerchief into her sleeve, and went back outside to find a tea cake and a sandwich. Catherine was left alone with Alex, his dark eyes boring into her where she stood. For once she did not blush, but turned and stepped into the music room. She pushed away all thoughts of Lord Farleigh, and what she owed him. She walked into the sunlit chamber, knowing that Alex would follow her.
True to himself, he did.
Twenty-four
He closed the door behind them, and for a moment, neither one of them spoke. They stood looking at one another, the heat of a flash fire rising between them. Catherine did her level best to keep her head, to keep her breathing even and her heart calm, but her breathing was quick and light, and her heart thundered in her ears like a runaway horse. She wanted to turn away from him. She wante
d to touch him. She did neither. It was Alex who came to her.
He crossed the music room in three long strides and his lips were on hers in the next instant. He had to bend down to kiss her, for he was almost a foot taller than she was. Before she met him, she would have thought such an arrangement inconvenient at best, but he curled around her, succoring her, protecting her from everything in the world but himself.
He smelled delicious, as he always did, and his lips tasted of cider. She wondered where he had been before he came to her house. But then his tongue asked hers to dance, and all her thoughts fled, save for how he felt against her.
She pressed her body to his, reveling in the hard muscles of his chest and thighs against her softness. She tried to burrow closer, but did not know how. It was Alex in the end who kept a clear head. His black-gloved hands took hold of her upper arms, and he pushed her away.
“Catherine, we must stop.”
She blinked up at him, all thought gone, knowing only that her prize had been taken from her. “Why?”
“It is my duty to protect you, Catherine, even from yourself. We stop here. You must trust me.”
She took a deep breath and felt the thunder of her heart begin to slow, along with her breath. She ached, both in body and mind, though she did not know for what. It seemed there was a great deal she did not know about herself. A great deal it had never occurred to her to learn, save when she was in Alex’s arms.
She stepped away from him then, and he let her go. She crossed to the pianoforte and picked out a small tune. She had not the passion Margaret did, but she loved music too, as an amateur might, a girl who had learned to play in the schoolroom and who would never be any good at it.
The bit of Beethoven brought her back to her good sense. She turned back to him. “I lured you in here not for kisses, but for talk.”
“More’s the pity,” he said, shifting where he stood.
She smiled at him, for she heard the laughter in his voice. It was odd that she felt so comfortable with him. She had never dealt with a man like him before, and likely never would again. She would enjoy him for this short while, and remember him always. In so many ways, he was unique.
She felt a pang at the thought of putting him aside, as she knew she must. He stood, wearing a dark blue coat over buff trousers, his boots polished to a high sheen, though she knew he did not keep a man to tend them. His cravat was tied as all men should tie them, without fuss but with a hint of style. His dark hair was drawn back in a ribbon of blue to match his coat, and his brown eyes watched her even now, bemused, as she stood there simply taking him in. She spoke, trying to break the moment between them, and failing.
“You have news of my mother’s suitor,” she said.
“I would rather speak of us,” he answered.
She raised one hand, and felt her heart clench. She knew what she owed to Lord Farleigh. She also knew what she owed to herself, and to Alex. But she could not speak openly of it. She knew she could not bear it.
“No. Please. Not today.”
“What better time than now?” He stepped toward her, and she backed away, almost stumbling over the piano bench. He saw she was in earnest then, and the smile drifted away from his face. He took her in, as if trying to read the thoughts behind her eyes. She was grateful that he could not.
“Please, Alex. What of my mother?”
He sighed, staring at her for one long moment—a moment during which she wondered if he would hold his knowledge hostage until she dealt first with him. But he was a gentleman, if occasionally a rascal, and he gave her what she sought.
“I fear I know very little. He is a military man who has now turned to trade, and has done quite well. He deals openly and honestly with all, which bodes well. He has made a great success of it. Some might call him a nabob.”
Catherine smiled at that outlandish term, but would not be distracted. “And what of his intentions toward my mother?”
“Those I do not know.”
“Did you ask his butler? His valet?”
Alex laughed outright at that. “Did I ask his servants to spy for me? No, indeed, Catherine, I did not.”
“But servants know everything. You would have to pay them, of course. If it is a question of money, I can give you some of my allowance—”
He raised one hand before she could finish her thought. His eyes darkened, along with his countenance, and a strange thrill ran through her. For a moment, he looked almost dangerous. For some reason, that danger did not frighten her, but made her think of delicious things, like hot chocolate, and his kisses.
“I do not take money from women. I certainly would not take money from you.”
Catherine felt an odd buzz of excitement underneath her skin, something akin to the way she felt when he touched her. She had to stop herself from smiling for fear of offending him, and perhaps irritating him more. She kept her tone even and her voice cool, though she feared her eyes were dancing.
“And your honor will not allow you to purchase information from servants,” she said.
“No, Catherine. Not even for you.”
She felt her heart lift then, though she had no idea why. There was something beautiful about this man that went far beyond his good looks, far beyond his soft, dark hair, wide shoulders, and dark brown eyes—all the things that had first drawn her to him. He was a man of honor in a world without, and she found that she loved that about him, more than she would have thought possible.
She loved him.
It did not matter that she could not keep him. Her love was real, and a blessing to her, as all love was.
She felt tears rise in her eyes. She blinked them away.
“You are a good man, Alexander Waters,” she said, her heart aching but, at the same time, filled with joy.
He looked bemused, befuddled at the sudden change of topic. He stared at her, as if once more trying to see behind her eyes to her thoughts. She knew that he could not.
“We must talk, Catherine. And not about your mother and Mr. Pridemore.”
“About us?” Catherine asked, though she knew the answer to her question already.
“Yes.”
“Not today,” she said again.
“Tomorrow then?”
“I don’t know.”
“I must speak with you soon, Catherine.”
She did not answer him this time, but crossed the room instead. He followed her and stopped close as he met her in the doorway. She took in the sweetness of his scent, wishing that she might press her face to his linen, that she might tell him her troubles. But she knew that she could tell him nothing. For his part, Alex kept watching her as if he might discover her thoughts among the curves of her face. She knew he would not find them there, or anywhere. They would have to talk, she owed him that much, but not that day. She leaned up, straining on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek.
“I am going upstairs now,” was all she said. “Please give my regards to your sister, and tell her that I will see her tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“We are picnicking in Richmond Park. I believe you are invited.”
Twenty-five
She left him flat. She did not even go back outside to say good-bye to his sister. He watched from her marble foyer as she climbed the stairs, most likely to go to her room.
The room where she slept.
The room that had her bed in it.
As he began to fantasize about whether or not such a room was done in lace or silk, muslin or lawn, he shook himself and went outside into the back garden. Perhaps one day, once they were married, they would come back to this house at the holidays, say, and sleep in that room. He would know then what it looked like. For now, his speculation was pointless and only served to give him pain.
He shifted in discomfort, and strode outdoors to collect his sister.
“Indeed it must,” Mary Elizabeth answered. “The trick is to make the fish at home, until the barb is sunk and you have him in your grasp.”
“Then you reel him in,” Mr. Pridemore said.
Mrs. Angel clearly could not care less about fly-fishing, but she seemed to be listening to whatever he said, simply because he said it. Margaret was not listening to the adults talk, but was running through the grass, chasing butterflies. He knew that she would have more space to do so in Richmond Park on the morrow. She seemed a sweet girl. Since she was soon to come under his protection, it seemed he had better to get to know her. Did she like to read? Was she fond of sewing, as her sister was? Was she good at math? Was she a clever girl who might one day want to go away to school? Or would she prefer a decent tutor at home?
The last question gave him pause, for they had engaged a tutor for Mary Elizabeth, and look what had become of her.
He pushed all such thoughts out of his head and raised one eyebrow at his sister. She stopped her story of fishing flies in mid-speech, and rose to her feet.
“It is time we were off,” Mary Elizabeth said. “My brother Robert is waiting dinner for us. He is a bit bored in London.”
Alex winced at that indiscretion. Their brother wasn’t bored. He simply hated the city and all the English in it. And as it turned out, there were quite a lot of English.
Mr. Pridemore stood and helped Mrs. Angel to her feet. Margaret stopped chasing butterflies in the slanting light, and they all trooped to the garden gate, where the older couple waved them off.
Alex drove the duchess’s open carriage into the busy street. He was grateful that it was the fashionable hour, and everyone who was anyone was already clogging the roadways of Hyde Park.
“You love Catherine,” Mary Elizabeth said without preamble. She did not look at him, but took in the greenery of Regent’s Park as they passed it.
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