by Amelia Grey
“Did you hear anything more on the gossip about a mysterious lady who was seen riding Lord Chatwin’s horse yesterday?”
“I’m sure everyone has either heard it or read about it by now, but no, nothing new,” she said, hoping to avoid being downright untruthful about the incident.
“I have no idea who she might be, but I’m simply dying to find out. Do you know?”
Catherine hesitated and cleared her throat to cover it. “I came to Town only a few months ago. I really don’t know many ladies at all.”
“I won’t stop looking until I find out who she is. Everyone wants to know. You will tell me immediately if you hear, won’t you?”
“I’m certain I will be the last to hear anything about that, but should the occasion arise I will come to you,” she answered, wondering why it was so important that Lady Lynette know who rode the horse.
“There was talk today that it was really a ghost who rode his horse.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, yes it’s quite possible. According to the people I’ve talked to, the whole incident was really rather queer. It seems something mystifying and shadowy spooked his horse. It threw him and ran off. The next time the animal was seen a lady whom no one recognized was riding him. I’m beginning to think there might be some truth to this ghost story.”
“Surely, you don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do. It’s well known that there is a phantom lady who rides the hills looking for Lord Pinkwater’s ghost.”
They thought her a ghost! How did that happen?
“My goodness. I don’t believe I’ve heard that story before.”
“She’s Lady Veronica. It’s believed that at one time she was his lover.”
Catherine shook her head. What was she doing talking about ghosts and lovers? She needed to be asking more questions about her father.
“There are certainly a lot more intriguing people here in London than where I grew up. For instance, the gentlemen we were discussing last evening.”
“Oh, yes, I remember. Mr. Chatsworth and Mr. Beechman. They are odd, but harmless old gentlemen.”
“I’m sure of that. But there was one other man that I wanted to ask you a—”
“Good evening, ladies, how lovely to see both of you this evening.”
Catherine felt her heartbeat speed up the minute she heard his voice. It was amazing how her stomach contracted and how her pulse raced whenever he was near. She turned around and faced him. Her eyes went straight to his tempting lips. She kept remembering how delicious they had felt against hers.
Greetings were exchanged and Catherine could have sworn that Lord Chatwin’s gaze lingered on her own before he said, “Miss Reynolds, this dance is promised to Lady Lynette, but perhaps you will allow me a turn with you later in the evening.”
“If I’m still here when your dance card is empty, my lord, I would be happy to stand up with you.”
He gave her a “touché” smile and led Lady Lynette away.
How could Catherine be upset that he was dancing with Lady Lynette? Especially if what Victoria said was true and she had little chance of making a match.
Catherine turned to visit the buffet room to get something to drink and think about Lord Chatwin and about how she could go about meeting the two men she’d discussed with Lady Lynette when she saw Victoria striding purposefully toward her.
“I can’t believe this. This is an outrage. He dances with Lady Lynette and not you. Come, Catherine, we’ll leave immediately.”
“Calm down, Vickie. Lord Chatwin asked me for a dance later in the evening.”
“It’s about time, but it’s too late. We shan’t be here for you to have it. We shall leave. But before we do, come, I want to present you to Lord Chatwin’s best friend, Lord Dugdale. If we can’t have one earl, we’ll try for another.”
“Is he the one who is light in the pockets?”
Victoria frowned. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. He’s an earl. An eligible earl and there aren’t that many of them. I believe his financial disabilities are probably just rumor. If it were true, he would have made a match with a duke’s daughter—someone like Lady Lynette—if he were as financially embarrassed as the rumors say. No, no, dear, there is nothing wrong with Lord Dugdale that your dowry wouldn’t cure.”
Catherine shook her head in disbelief as she followed Victoria to the other side of the room. She was beginning to wish her father had never promised Victoria a bonus if she married a titled gentleman her first Season. It made Victoria at times seem mercenary and without feelings for Catherine.
They stopped beside a man who was only an inch or two shorter than Lord Chatwin but just as handsome in a more roguish sort of way. He was impeccably dressed in evening attire and he had the same dark hair as Lord Chatwin, but Catherine knew the minute his golden-brown eyes landed on her that he would not be nearly as friendly.
“Lord Dugdale, may I present my half sister, Miss Catherine Reynolds. Catherine, the Earl of Dugdale.”
“How do you do, Miss Reynolds?”
Catherine could have sworn he was decidedly cold toward her as he spoke. There was no warmth in his gaze and that was definitely not a welcoming smile he had on his face. She answered him and curtsied appropriately, but he made only the stiffest of bows.
Another lady arrived and claimed Victoria’s attention for the moment. Lord Dugdale immediately situated himself between Vickie and Catherine, turning his broad shoulders so that they hid Catherine from Victoria’s view.
In a low voice he said, “Why are you here at this party, Miss Reynolds?”
His voice was as cold as the look he gave her, and his question sounded much like an accusation. His manner shocked and intrigued her at the same time. What had she done to incur such a strong, adverse reaction from him?
Surely he knew she would have been invited to attend.
“I beg your pardon, my lord.”
“And so you should,” he whispered only loud enough for her to hear. “You made Lord Chatwin the laughingstock of all of London by stealing his horse and riding it out of the park.”
So he knew.
But that didn’t keep Catherine’s spine from stiffening at his allegation. “I did not steal his horse, sir. I borrowed it.”
“Without permission, which is the same thing as stealing no matter how you try to twist what you did with words and make him believe otherwise.”
His anger was real and harsh.
“I really don’t see how any of this is your concern.”
“John is my friend.”
Catherine realized that was the first time she had heard Lord Chatwin’s name.
“I’m aware of that, but your friend and I have already settled the matter between us. Civilly, I might add, so your intervention is not necessary.”
He cut his gaze around to make sure that Victoria was still engrossed with the talkative lady who was demanding her attention.
“I hardly call it settled when your stunt is still making the scandal sheets and still the subject of conversation in half the clubs in Town.”
“I can assure you I have no control over what gentlemen say to each other.”
“You would do well to stay away from Lord Chatwin. You’ve caused him enough trouble.”
“Are you threatening me, sir?”
“Take it however you wish, but understand that I intend for you to heed me.”
“How dare you be so boorish?”
“I dare because I don’t know what you are up to and I intend to protect my friend.”
Catherine didn’t know how she remained so calm and collected as she said, “I don’t know Lord Chatwin very well, but this I do know: He does not need his friends to threaten ladies on his behalf. If he wants me to stay away from him, he is quite capable of speaking for himself. I have no doubt now which one of you the word terrible was directed at when the term Terrible Threesome was coined.”
/>
“What was that you said?” Victoria asked, turning back to the two with a questioning expression on her face.
Catherine realized the other lady was gone. She could only hope she didn’t look as angry as she felt.
She cleared her throat and tried to speak calmly as she said, “I was just telling Lord Dugdale that I was sorry he must leave so soon.”
“Yes, please excuse me, Miss Reynolds, Mrs. Goosetree,” Lord Dugdale said and walked away.
“Well, Catherine,” Victoria said, “he certainly left in a hurry. I don’t think you charmed him.”
What an understatement!
“Not in the least.”
“You weren’t impolite to him, were you? He is an earl, you know. I thought I detected a note of annoyance in your voice.”
It was more like outrage.
“Ill-mannered? Me? No, no. I think we caught him at a bad moment,” Catherine said, almost holding her teeth together as she said it.
“Well, we’ll see him again another time. I do believe I’m ready to quit this party. We’ll go to Lady Windham’s. No doubt the Marquis of Westerland will be there, and I’m sure he will be more receptive than either earl has been tonight. I must pay a visit to the retiring room first and then we shall leave.”
Catherine nodded and said, “I think I’ll have something to drink while I wait for you. I’ll be near the buffet table.”
Catherine walked into the dining room and asked for a glass of champagne. She took a sip of the bubbly liquid and let it fizzle down her throat. She had never been spoken to in such a manner as she had just now with Lord Dugdale.
In a way she admired him for wanting to help, or was it to protect his friend? Loyalty was no small matter. Friends couldn’t survive without it, but even giving him credit where it was due, Lord Dugdale went beyond the line in speaking to her about John’s horse and suggesting she stay away from him.
And she would bet her next quarter’s allowance that Lord Chatwin had no idea what his good friend had just said to her.
Catherine took another sip of her champagne and turned away from the table and right into Lord Chatwin.
They just stood there looking at each other for a few moments, neither of them saying a word. All thoughts of Lord Dugdale’s rude behavior faded from her mind. She was sorry that by taking his horse she had caused Lord Chatwin so much trouble, but she wasn’t sorry that incident had created an unusual bond between the two of them. She hoped nothing his friend could say would change that.
“Will you walk with me?”
She should resist him. Victoria was right; he had ignored her all evening. His friend had threatened her. Finding her real father was supposed to be uppermost in her thoughts, and she was allowing this man and her unexpected feelings for him to overshadow that.
She opened her mouth to decline but couldn’t. How could she not talk to him?
Just for a moment.
She said, “I have only a few minutes. I’ll be leaving when Victoria returns.”
His gaze stayed on hers, and for a moment she thought she saw disappointment in them. “We haven’t had our dance yet.”
“That is because you are too much in demand, sir. Besides, I believe there is one other party my sister wants us to attend this evening.”
“Why? Anyone she should want you to see tonight is right here.”
“You would think so, but Victoria would not agree with you. She believes the Marquis of Westerland will be at Lady Windham’s, while she’s fairly certain he will not be at this party.”
“That’s for sure,” he said dryly.
Catherine couldn’t believe she’d told him that Victoria wanted her to see the Marquis tonight. Was she trying to make the earl jealous?
Surely not.
“Victoria insists that we need to make an appearance at Lady Windham’s.”
“You do not need to spend any time with Westerland,” he said with no hint of a smile on his face. “He is not a likable chap.”
“That almost sounds like a jealous remark.”
“Maybe,” he added with a twinkle shining in his eyes. “I’m not sure that term has ever been accurately applied to me before.”
“And it’s probably not now,” she admitted with a gentle laugh. “So tell me about you, Lord Chatwin. I just found out tonight that your first name is John.”
“That’s right and I think it’s time you called me John and not Lord Chatwin. And I will call you Catherine.”
She nodded. “All right, John, I think Vickie would approve of that. Tell me, how is your horse? Did you find him to be in good condition?”
“Yes. I never had any doubt that you would take excellent care of The General. Did I ever mention how impressed I was with how well you handled him.”
Pleasure filled her at his compliment and she smiled at him again. “I love horses and my favorite time to ride is in the quietness of early morning when dawn first breaks the sky.”
“We’ll have to do that sometime—ride in the early morning while others slumber.”
“And tempt fate yet again?”
“Yes.”
The way he looked at her reminded Catherine of how he looked that morning just before he kissed her. A sense of longing surged inside her, and with all her heart she wanted him to kiss her again. She knew that was impossible in a room that was filled with people, but that didn’t keep her from aching for his touch.
She needed to break the spell he had cast on her, so she said, “Your Christian name is John, but I do not recall hearing your family name.”
“A circumstance easily remedied,” he said.
He stopped in front of a large portrait of an older, handsome man dressed in a stunning red coat adorned with shining gold buttons. His black waistcoat was quilted with gold thread and he wore fawn-colored pantaloons. He looked like an older Lord Chatwin.
“Here is a portrait of my father before he inherited the title.” Bowing he said, “Miss Reynolds, may I present the honorable George Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines.
It took a moment for it to register on Catherine what he’d said, and suddenly she gasped and jerked her head toward John.
She suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time and weak.
“You can’t be serious? This—this is your father? Your real father?”
“Unless someone has been fooling me for thirty years.”
This was no time for jokes.
“His name was George Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines?” Her breathing was so constricted she could hardly get the words past her lips.
He smiled at her, that devastatingly handsome smile that made her chest tighten with all those warm mysterious feelings he invoked in her. Obviously he didn’t see in her face the distress she was feeling.
“Yes, although my father has been dead for many years now.”
Catherine just looked at John, not wanting to believe what she’d just heard. What could she say? What was she going to do? She turned away from him and squeezed her eyes tightly.
The man who stirred her senses like no other man ever had could be her brother.
Ten
JOHN LEFT THE buffet room by way of the servants’ corridor and took the back stairs to his uncle’s book room. He didn’t bother to go over to his desk and light a lamp but instead went straight to the handsome mahogany side table and poured a large splash of brandy into a glass.
He took a swallow and let the strong liquor settle on his tongue for a moment or two before letting it wash down his throat. He breathed in deeply and took another quick sip.
He knew the room well. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered two walls, a fireplace and old paintings of Bentley’s deceased family members hung on a third wall. Twin chairs upholstered in the finest English fabrics stood on a hand-woven carpet. The room smelled of musty leather, stale pipe smoke, and melted wax. It was odd how he’d never noticed those scents when his uncle was present. They were always too busy talking about whatever might have brought John to the
house.
John knew he’d bungled tonight as if he’d been a callow youth. No, he thought as he sipped the drink again and walked over to his uncle’s dark wood desk and sat down behind it.
It was worse than that.
He’d allowed himself to be drawn into a game he was beginning to believe he didn’t want to play. In his hopes of besting Mrs. Goosetree and remaining aloof he’d offended Catherine. Like a common scoundrel, he’d danced with first one lady and then another after Miss Reynolds had arrived, and all the time she was the only one he really wanted to dance with.
What was he thinking?
Was he trying to make Catherine jealous or was he trying to make Mrs. Goostree think he wasn’t interested in her sister?
He’d played this same game many times before. For years.
So why did it feel so wrong tonight?
Why was he left feeling bereft when Mrs. Goosetree suddenly appeared in the doorway telling Miss Reynolds they had to leave immediately? He’d tried to forestall her leaving, but she’d hurriedly brushed past him with a barely audible good-bye.
John stared at the dark liquid in his glass. He’d wanted to dance with her, so why was he playing the young and foolish games of the past?
He didn’t really know why yet, but he knew he no longer wanted to play those games with Catherine. He realized now that she was too important to him, and he didn’t want to treat her that way.
He didn’t understand his feelings for her.
She was beautiful, but beauty had never been a priority for him when he sought a woman. Each lady had her own kind of loveliness. He had always accepted that and enjoyed the differences in them.
Catherine was intelligent, but he’d been attracted to many women who knew how to talk to him about politics, arts, or history. She could verbally spar with him, and he’d met a few, perhaps one or two who could hold his interest that way.
So what made her different? There was no doubt that she was. He felt it in the way he wanted to spend time with her, the way he felt good whenever he saw her walk in a room.
She was definitely more of a challenge than any other woman had ever been. What other lady would steal his horse and later risk her reputation to return it? Her courageous spirit was appealing.