There was the matter of food. He could sneak into the café and gorge himself on forbidden foods. Catherine mentally crossed that one out after a second thought. He wouldn’t deliberately cause himself pain. Not after what he’d been through.
She stared at her bandaged ankle. The fresh application of egg whites had calmed the painful throbbing. Rest was what she needed. Somehow, she had to put aside thoughts of what Mayfield was up to. And a day of complete bed rest now would save her more aggravation later.
“So, Ramon,” she began in a falsely cheerful voice, “tell me if Lord Romeo is still alive. And my chickens? None ended up in the señor’s soup pot?”
“There is no soup pot. The cat, he is in the tack room. I helped…” He stopped and offered a guilty look.
“Yes?” Catherine prompted. “What did you help him with?”
“This I cannot tell you. I promised.”
“Oh.” She managed a wealth of disappointment in one tiny word.
“It is a matter of honor between men, señora.”
Leave it to Mayfield to twist the boy’s thinking. And, she wanted to ask, what happened to the loyalty that came from our friendship? But she let the whole matter be.
“It’s all right. Why don’t you tell me about school.”
While she listened, Catherine closed her eyes. She couldn’t stop wondering what Greg was doing. Somewhere in the middle of Ramon’s story about the new schoolmaster, she dozed off. She dreamed she was married to Greg. She saw him through a hazy cloud, sitting before the fire in the parlor. Lord Romeo and assorted barn kittens were curled close to him. He smiled at her with such tenderness that Catherine swore she had tears of joy in her eyes.
She reached for his extended hand, only to wake with a start.
Lord Romeo lay beneath her hand, his rumbling purr loud within the room.
Catherine saw no sign of Ramon. She stretched and sat up. Shadows of early evening filled the corners.
And from the darkened rectangle of the doorway came Greg’s voice, heated and low, rich as thick golden honey with sensual promise.
“Disappointing to be sure. Sleeping beauty has awakened without a kiss.”
Still caught in the throes of her dream of him, Catherine gave no thought to her flirtatious response, given in a voice rife with hushed intimacy.
“And are you the dashing prince come to rescue me?”
“Do you,” he whispered, his half-lidded eyes raking her slender form, “require rescuing, Catherine?”
Chapter Eleven
There was an infinitesimal pause before Catherine answered. “That would depend.”
“On what?”
“On what you’re offering.”
“Pleasure.”
One word. She found he delivered it heated, soft, without promise, simply fact. Curious, and admittedly challenged, she had no choice.
“And for that I’ll give—”
“The same.”
“No strings?”
“Not a leading line in sight,” he returned calmly, so at odds with the hot spur of need that was pushing him to step over the threshold.
“And if I wanted more…” She left it half musing, half question, wishing he would come closer, wishing this had never started.
“Whatever you’d like. I can afford to indulge you.”
“Ah, yes, money.”
Greg hesitated. Unable to see her expression, he had only her voice to guide him. She spoke without inflection.
“Don’t you like money?”
Alarm bells held her silent. Where was this leading? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. If only she could see him.
“Catherine?”
“Yes. I like it well enough. But I like earning what I have so that it is mine.”
You’re stepping on cobwebs, he warned himself. One wrong word… “We’re both adults. Free of entanglements. Sharing pleasure brings no harm. Unless…”
“Unless?” she asked.
“There is someone else.”
“No. No men in my life at the present.”
“I’m here, Catherine.”
“Yes.” She wanted to recall that breathless word, to recall its hint of invitation, its assurance that he was the only man in her life now. But the wish went begging. He walked inside her room.
And with him came the flushed heat of need that she made no attempt to fight. She felt both fragile and strong. The fragility came from how easy it would be to love him. The strength from her own feminine power to excite him. Alarm bells were silenced. All she heard was the pounding of her heart as he stood next to the bed. And just as in her dream, he extended his hand to her.
The shadows were so deep she could barely make out the form of his body. But she felt the heat of him. Just as she heard Lord Romeo’s warning growl.
“No!” Hushed denial from her lips.
Greg dropped his hand to his side. “Another time, perhaps.”
“But I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, but I think you did.”
“The cat…” she began to say.
As if in response to her words, Lord Romeo rose and stretched. If he was aware that two pairs of eyes were targets on him, he gave no sign. He jumped off the bed, skirting Greg’s boots, and left them alone.
Catherine thought about explaining, but the intimate mood was broken. Perhaps it was for the best. She pushed her hair aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“Has Ramon gone home?”
“Ramon?” He sounded as distracted as he felt. Having stood in the shadows watching her sleep, his night vision—always strong—had had time to adjust to the gloom in the room. Her move to sit on the edge of the bed brought her in profile to where he stood. The woman had no idea of her provocative pose. Her hair rippled down her back. With her arms braced on the bed behind her, the curves of her breasts were lifted in offering. Below the hem of her gown he could make out the pale skin of one trim ankle and the bandage on the other.
The bandage threw a dose of cold reality in his face.
“Yes, Ramon left. I came to fetch you downstairs for supper.”
What had she said? He was once again coldly formal. Just as well. All he had offered was pleasure. I can afford to indulge you. But could she afford to indulge herself? Wild oats could lead to a sad harvest. The words sounded like Sarah’s practical advice. Ah, Sarah, I could do with your presence. You’d keep me on the right path.
“You are hungry, aren’t you, Catherine?”
Such a simple, normal question. But he’d asked it in that heated, deep, low voice and caused a hitch in her breathing. She had to do something to regain control or she’d be racing him for the nearest bed. Her hands curled around the quilt. She’d beat him if she remained where she was.
A strong body builds a strong mind. She knew that was Mary’s sage wisdom. Still, she hesitated.
“I know you are, Catherine.”
“You know nothing at all about me. And yes, I am hungry. I’ll be right down.”
“You can’t,” he said with a hint of laughter, “do it alone.”
“Get down the stairs?” she replied with perfect innocence.
“But of course, what else would I have been suggesting?”
“Satisfying hunger.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. His laughter filled the room but did nothing to stop her from damning her impulsive nature for blurting that out.
Before she took another breath he had her snugly scooped up into his arms. “Supper, Catherine. That’s all.” He carefully maneuvered her through the doorway and into the hall. At the top of the stairs, he nuzzled her ear. “For now.”
Then it was Catherine’s turn to laugh, for he couldn’t hide his reaction to the way she tunneled her fingers beneath his hair at the back of his head. His arm muscles tensed, she felt the shudder that ran through him, heard the quickening of his breath.
“Madam likes to live dangerously.”
“How so?” She rested her head on his shoulder.
“I’ve made no secret that I want you, Catherine. Arousing me while I’m negotiating the stairs could lead—”
“To an enticing adventure?”
He closed his eyes briefly, thinking again of his dream and his amorous pursuit of the lovely widow on these very stairs.
“A serious turn of events you’re not ready to—”
“Handle?” she finished for him.
“Now who is constantly interrupting whom?”
“I’ve never teased a man like this.”
Greg stopped midway. He angled his head so his lips could touch hers. Lightly. Softly. ‘‘I said I could afford to indulge you, Catherine. I meant in all things.”
“Yes, I know.” And she gave in to the temptation to kiss him, gently tracing the shape of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. With a shaky sigh she withdrew. “But I can’t afford to indulge myself.”
Instantly, Greg went to war with himself. He knew the sexual attraction between them didn’t need much to flare into flame. He sensed how close she was to yielding. He hadn’t made an idle promise. He could bring her pleasure.
But there was an innocence about her that held him in check.
But a devilish voice whispered how easy it would be to arouse her past the point of refusing not only him, but herself. Incredibly responsive Catherine. Temptation slid beyond beckoning; it held aloft a prize.
So very, very easy…
“Greg?” she whispered.
“Say yes. I won’t hurt you, Catherine. You do know that, don’t you?”
No, she didn’t know. But she had to defuse this situation right now.
“Oh, but you will.” Her hand slid down to his shoulder. “We’re certain to take a tumble if you keep us standing in the middle of the stairway. You did say you were taking me downstairs to feed me. Didn’t you?”
“If that’s all that you want.”
Catherine didn’t answer him.
And that was answer enough.
The kitchen, she saw, was bathed in candlelight. He had taken pains to set the table with their best tablecloth. Each darned spot was covered with flowers that Mary had embroidered. The result was a pretty cloth. There was even a small rosebud in a glass. He set her down and pushed her chair closer to the table.
“Your supper awaits.”
“I see you’ve been very busy.” Her gaze passed over the good china and the silverware she had brought with her. But how could she reprimand him when the man was accustomed to having the very finest when he dined.
She reached out to touch the rosebud. “Where did you—”
“Mrs. Pettigrew was kind enough to cut it for you.”
“Me? No. She did it for you. And the sliced roast beef and potatoes? Baby peas, too? You didn’t—”
“Ramon told you.”
“No. I knew you had left, but not the reason why.” She blushed to remember all manner of evil things she had thought of him doing. Eyes alight, she smiled at him. “You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble.”
“Catherine,” he said, leaning over the back of her chair so that his lips brushed against her hair. “I would do a great deal more if you—”
“Would enjoy this meal you’ve provided? Did you cook any of it?”
“I wish.” He sighed and stepped around the table to sit across from her. She looked even more lovely by candlelight. He’d be the envy of every man who saw her take tea at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Or at the theater. Greg shook his head. What was he thinking of to imagine Catherine in New York by his side?
He saw that she watched him with a puzzled expression. Her head was tilted to one side and he was lost in watching the play of light against her blond hair.
“Go on, enjoy your dinner, Catherine. Your friend Caroline at the café supplied it all. She even included an apple pie for dessert.”
“And I’ll guess she made you pay a pretty price for it, too.”
“Desperate men don’t count cost when they need something.”
“Or want it,” she softly noted.
“Or want it,” he agreed.
She reached for the soup ladle, only to find that he beat her to it.
“I’ll serve you this evening.” He caught her quick look toward the stove.
“No, I didn’t make the soup. You’ll have to wait to sample my try at culinary delights. Your cat effectively put an end to any thoughts I had of cooking.” He shuddered expressively.
“I could almost find it in my heart to pity you.”
“I hope you will. At this point, I’ll take whatever I can get.” He smiled that impossibly charming smile that invited hers in return.
Catherine struggled to find a safe topic of conversation. He seemed to turn everything she said into a personal reference to their attraction to each other. For her peace of mind she had to stop him. And yourself? And myself. She couldn’t have it within herself to be insulted. Not when she wished…no, she would stop now.
She sipped at the savory vegetable broth. “Delicious. Greg, will you tell me the terms of the bet you have with Suzanne?”
“Now?”
He sounded disappointed, but she remained firm and nodded.
He set his soup spoon down and folded his arms across his chest.
“It is a safe subject,” she said truthfully. “Unless there is some reason I can’t know them.”
“How much do you know about Suzanne’s recent activities?”
“My friend, the social butterfly? She writes pages of her social life, describing this ball or theater parties. I know about her work at the orphanage. The suppers she gives, and the weekend sailing trips or visits to country estates. She loves writing about the children. I know she adores her husband. And you. But I don’t think that’s what you mean. Oh, and she does tell me that she shops a great deal. I can’t imagine any woman needing as many gowns or accessories as she describes. I know that she requires new furs by Gunther every season. And gowns by a designer from Paris—”
“Worth,” he supplied.
“Yes, that’s the name. She loves jewels. I guess she has close to a queen’s ransom—”
“More like an entire royal family’s worth. It’s true that those of us who know Suzanne are familiar with her spending habits.”
“But I understand that her husband can afford to indulge her every desire. And there were those years when she couldn’t have anything new, Greg. Suzanne has never forgotten that.”
“I know,” he stated in a soft voice. His gaze met hers and found compassion within her blue eyes. Once again he found himself thinking how unique Catherine was of all the women he had known. Honest, sincere, loyal. And she had no idea of the thoughts she was putting into his mind.
“Greg? You are going to finish, aren’t you?”
“Finish?”
“Suzanne, remember? You were telling me about the bet.”
“You were right. These things that she’s written about to you are not my concern. Her joining the Ladies Liberation League is.” Her blank stare made him thank the Lord that she didn’t know anything about the league. One woman in his life involved with them was enough. But Catherine isn’t a woman in your life. Or at best, only a temporary one.
“What’s wrong? What did I say to make that black scowl appear?”
“Am I scowling?” he asked. “It’s not at you. It is the mere thought of those militant women determined to see that women are given the right to vote.”
“Then I must support my friend and applaud her effort.”
“You would.”
“Pardon?”
“Your loyalty is a commendable trait, Catherine.”
“Thank you. I think. You don’t sound happy to admit it. But, please, whatever has this to do with your bet?”
“I might have known that you’d be a kindred spirit.” He expelled a deep, heartfelt sigh. “Woe to manhood if such strong-minded women have the right to direct—”
“Gregory Michael Mayfield, if you wish to survive your visit
here, refrain from such remarks.”
“So noted. I shall endeavor to obey. As for my sister, she took advantage of me in a weak moment. Why should I protect her? You’re her loyal friend. She blackmailed me.”
“Suzanne? I won’t—”
“Oh, yes, you’ll believe it. She cornered my doctor and used her considerable feminine charms to pry information about my health from him. I wanted to sue the man for breach of ethics, but to be fair, I know my sister when she’s after something. The man didn’t stand a chance against her.”
Catherine smiled, but inwardly she couldn’t help envying Suzanne just a little. He obviously adored his sister despite her attempt to blackmail him.
“Since you know my sister, there is no need for me to elaborate on her quick use of the doctor’s prognosis.”
“Are you telling me that Suzanne only had a mercenary reason for sending you here?”
“Lower that arched brow, my dear. I am trying to tell you—”
“I won’t believe that of her. She loves you. She would never endanger your health over a bet for any cause.”
“My dear and most lovely Mrs. Hill, am I here?”
That gave Catherine pause. She glanced down to find her soup bowl empty and Greg reaching across the table to remove it. She looked up to find his dark eyes watching her.
“Yes,” she whispered, “you’re here.”
“Then, Catherine, I rest my case.”
“I still find it difficult to believe. Suzanne wrote her concern for your deteriorating health. Her instructions to me were exacting as to the care you required to make changes.”
“I am not arguing that she is not concerned. I am stating that my darling sibling is not above using any situation to achieve her own ends. As to her instructions,” he said with mock severity, “her orders were so stringent that I’d balk at them and return to New York within the week.”
“And lose the bet?”
“And lose the bet.”
Catherine took a few moments to think about what he said. The longer she took, the more truthful his explanation appeared. Suzanne had been overly strict with her orders for his care.
She observed his strong fingers toying with the fork. A delicate shiver ran down her spine and left a wake of heat behind. She closed her eyes briefly. Warmth pooled in her breast where he had touched her. She couldn’t shake the feeling.
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