by Amelia Grey
John’s heart rate increased. “Scotland. Yes, I vaguely remember being there, and you say it was seventeen ninety-eight? Are you sure of the date?”
He rapped on the book with his knuckles. “I have it recorded right here.”
“How long were we gone?”
He thumbed through the yellowed pages more quickly, scanning the top portion of each page. “It appears we left as soon as the Season had ended and didn’t return until just before Christmastime.”
John’s breathing was laborious with excitement. “And my father was with us all the time?”
“Yes, I just said so. There is no doubt about this.” He closed the book and pushed it toward John. “Take it with you and read it all for yourself. It tells all the places we visited and mentions you and your father. I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten everything. I would have remembered if your father had left the trip early.”
If they were gone from summer through the end of that year, Catherine couldn’t possibly be his sister. Relief drenched John.
Some other man was her father.
John rose and picked up the book from the desk. “I’ll get this back to you.”
His uncle looked up into his eyes. “No hurry. What is this about, John?”
“I would confide in you if I could, but there are other people’s feelings to consider. Suffice it to say I was made aware of something that happened a long time ago and there was a possibility—” He paused and drew a heady breath. “A slight possibility that my father had been involved in something, but since you are certain he was in Scotland with us, then there is no way he could have been involved.”
“That’s good to hear. I’d hate for anything to tarnish your father’s good name.”
“It won’t.”
“While you are here, John, I’ll mention something I’ve been reluctant to bring up lately, but maybe with this incident and the one with the horse I should.”
“What’s that?”
“You need to think seriously about your responsibilities and duty to the title. And I don’t say that because I have an interest in it. You know I don’t. But your father has been gone a long time now and you are past thirty.”
John nodded. “You needn’t say more on the subject. I’ve been recently thinking about the same thing myself.”
“Good. I won’t say any more.”
“Thank you for understanding, Uncle. I’ve always appreciated that you’ve let me be my own man.”
Bentley sat back in his chair and smiled. “How could I do it any differently? You are the earl even if I am the elder.”
“And far wiser than I.”
John walked out with the book under his arm, anxious to read for himself what the journal said.
Twelve
“A racehorse needs only a touch of the whip; a clever man needs only a hint.” But what does Lord Chatwin need to tell us who rode his horse? Bets are on the rise as to the identity of the mysterious lady rider. More than twenty pounds was recently placed on Lady Veronica, the lovely phantom who prowls the darkened hillsides searching for Lord Pinkwater’s ghost.
Lord Truefitt
Society’s Daily Column
“DID ANY OF you see Lord Truefitt’s column this afternoon?” Rachel Dawson asked the group of five ladies who were standing with her at Lady Waverly’s soirée.
“No, what did it say?” The bright-eyed Beverly Moorehouse responded first.
“They now think it was a lady ghost riding Lord Chatwin’s horse in the park.”
A collective gasp came from all the ladies, but none of them was as loud as Catherine’s. All that nonsense about a lady ghost was printed in the scandal sheets? How outrageous.
“A ghost?” Margaret Anderson exclaimed, her dark eyes wide with disbelief. “You must be teasing us.”
“I’m not. It’s true. Gentlemen are already placing bets that she’s the lady rider. You’ve heard of the phantom Lord Truefitt referred to, I’m sure. It’s Lady Veronica. Some say she was once Lord Pinkwater’s lover. She now roams the hillsides at night looking for him. She wants their souls to be united.”
Catherine remained amazed as she stood among the young ladies and listened to them converse. Candles glistened, music played, and people chatted and laughed throughout the large home in Mayfair. Everything was perfectly normal except this unfortunate spreading of the story of the ghost and John’s horse.
Where on earth could such a bizarre idea have come from? The story of who rode John’s horse should be old news by now, but it seemed to be growing bigger and more preposterous every day instead of fading away.
This latest addition was lunacy.
“Did you see the article?” Rachel turned to Catherine and asked.
“Ah—no, I didn’t,” she answered, trying not to sound as astonished as she was.
And she could only hope John hadn’t seen it. She’d thought he was just beginning to forget about her taking his horse that morning, but he never would if the gossips wouldn’t stop. How could something so utterly unbelievable have gotten started?
And to think men were placing bets on it.
“I don’t believe it because I don’t believe in ghosts,” Margaret said disdainfully and sniffed into her lace handkerchief.
“I don’t know whether or not there are ghosts, but if there are, can they ride a horse?” Beverly asked as she looked from one lady to another.
“Of course,” Rachel said with conviction. “A ghost can do anything it wants to do. And, for your information, Margaret, the sightings of Lord Pinkwater’s and Lady Veronica’s ghosts are well documented.”
“Maybe in poetry and horrid novels,” she responded and followed with a short laugh.
Rachel’s brows shot together in a deep frown, and she pursed her lips for a moment before saying, “Many people have reported seeing Lord Pinkwater’s ghost in their homes and gardens, and remember he was once accused of stealing art objects from members of the ton.”
“Yes, I remember something about that a couple of years ago,” Beverly said.
“I remember the Mad ton Thief, too,” Margaret said. “And as I recall, it was discovered that a member of the ton was the thief, not a member of the spirit world.”
“I’ve never seen Lord Pinkwater’s ghost or any other specter,” Beverly said. “Do you personally know anyone who has ever seen one?”
“It so happens I do,” Rachel answered. “My maid told me that one night she saw a ghost in her bedroom in a house where she worked. She left her employment and that house the very next morning and never went back.”
“It’s my guess that she left her employment because it was the master of the house who’d slipped into her bedroom, not a ghost.”
“Margaret!” Rachel exclaimed, her pale face turning a bright shade of pink.
All the young ladies laughed except Catherine, and she managed a smile big enough to make the ladies think she was enjoying their conversation as much as they were, but she wasn’t.
She was responsible for this tittle-tattle.
Had she known that such ridiculous gossip would have swept through Society like a practical joke gone awry, she would never have borrowed John’s horse. But no way could she have foreseen something like this a few mornings ago. Her only desire had been to get help for the groom.
“All of you are wrong,” Evelyn Wintergarden said, speaking up for the first time. “I don’t think she was a ghost at all, but a flesh-and-blood woman. It’s my thought that she was Lord Chatwin’s latest lover, not Lord Pinkwater’s mistress.”
A couple of the ladies giggled again while Margaret nodded her head in agreement and said, “I believe you are right.”
Catherine didn’t like the sinking feeling in her stomach when Lord Chatwin’s lover was mentioned. Perhaps the best thing for her to do was to excuse herself from the group. It was amazing to her how freely the young ladies talked to each other about lovers.
“I’ve heard that Lord Chatwin has many lovers, but
I don’t think he would give his horse to any of them for any reason.”
Catherine winced inside but tried not to let it show. She must get away from these ladies before they decided to bring her into the conversation and ask her something she didn’t want to answer.
She looked around the room to see who else might be available for her to talk to when she noticed John standing by a doorway watching her. Her heart felt as if it dropped to her knees.
Did he have news? Her gaze held on his. She couldn’t tell from his expression if he had information about whether she was his sister or not.
He motioned with his head and eyes that he wanted her to follow him through the doorway, and then he disappeared.
Should she follow him?
How could she not?
Even if he had news she didn’t want to hear, she had to know. She swallowed her trepidation of hearing the truth and took a deep breath.
Catherine glanced around and saw that Victoria was deep in conversation with a group of matrons on the other side of the room. The coast was clear.
Catherine excused herself and slowly made her way to the spot where she’d seen John. She had to slip out of the room without her sister or anyone seeing her.
As she leisurely made her way to where John had just exited, she smiled at a gentleman who waved to her, then she nodded to a Countess she had met the night before. When she stepped through the doorway, it took her into another room that was just as crowded as the one she left.
Unobtrusively she looked around the room in a manner so as not to bring attention to herself. Finally she saw John standing by another doorway.
When he was sure she had seen him, he went through it. Her pulse rate shot up. She glanced around and it didn’t appear that anyone watched her, so she followed and slipped through the doorway that led her directly into another large room.
There was the clatter of silverware on plates, lively chatter from guests who were enjoying the food and the now distant sound of music. An older gentleman had cornered John and was talking to him, so Catherine eased over to the table that held the punch. She asked the servant for a cup and then strolled along the food-laden tables while she waited for John’s next move.
She helped herself to a sugary fig pudding. When she looked at John again, he had extracted himself from the man and was standing near yet another opening. When their glances met, he disappeared through the doorway again.
Catherine’s heart pounded in her chest. The stealth with which they were maneuvering through the rooms in the house left her breathless. Excitement unfurled low in her stomach, filling her with anticipation. Was she really playing this “follow me” game with John and right under the watchful eyes of half the ton?
Another glance around the room told her yes. Fortunately, no one was paying attention to her.
She handed her cup of punch to a passing servant and followed John through an archway that this time led into a long, narrow, dimly lit hallway.
The passageway was empty. She didn’t see John or anyone else.
Had she lost him? She glanced down the corridor behind her. He was nowhere in sight. The seconds ticked by. Maybe she’d missed him. She peeked back into the buffet room, but he wasn’t there, either, so taking a deep breath, she cautiously started tiptoeing down the corridor.
Suddenly John grabbed her hand and pulled her into a small, dark room and closed the door behind them.
There was very little space, and she found herself squeezed between John and something hard and uncomfortable pressed against her back. At first it was too dark for her to see him even though he stood only inches from her. She heard his breathing; she felt the seductive heat from his body wrapping around her.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“In a closet filled with furniture.”
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked behind her and saw a small window that wasn’t much bigger than a single pane of glass. If not for it, the room would have been totally black. Shadowed moonlight filtered inside, and she could see that chairs, small tables, and lamp stands had been stacked on top of each other.
“I should have guessed. I think I have a chair leg sticking in my back.”
“Come here,” he said and pressed her up close to him and away from the furniture. His arms sailed around her waist, and he turned her so that the furniture was to his back and she was against the door.
He settled himself against a chair and pulled her to his chest, closing her in his embrace. The lower part of Catherine’s arms rested on his chest, keeping her from falling flat against him.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“Mmm, yes,” she said, knowing she was talking about the way she felt with his arms around her, and his hands moving up and down her back. “But why didn’t you just ask me to dance or to take a walk with you on the terrace?” she whispered.
“There was too much of a chance of someone overhearing us or Mrs. Goosetree following us. I’ve noticed she seldom lets you out of her sight. Besides, if I had done that—I couldn’t do this.”
Suddenly his head dipped low and he kissed her soundly, briefly on the lips, and then he lifted his head and said, “You are not my sister.”
Relief and happiness mixed with a little doubt flooded her. She needed to be convinced. “Are you sure?”
“Very,” he answered as his open hands continued to move up and down her back, keeping her warm and feeling protected.
“How? Tell me what you found out that makes you so positive.”
“I went to see my uncle—my mother’s brother.”
Her body went rigid under his touch. “You didn’t tell him what I told you about my search, did you?”
His hands tightened on her. “No. I promised I wouldn’t. I only mentioned to him that I needed his assistance with my father’s whereabouts for the year in question. I couldn’t believe it either when he told me that he had it written in a journal that he, my father, and I spent the last six months of seventeen ninety-eight touring Scotland. My father was nowhere near London that fall and could not have fathered you.”
She wanted to believe him so much she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “Is he sure of the dates?”
Keeping his voice low, he said, “Yes. And I’m sure. I took the journal home and read it for myself. I found out things about my father I never knew, some things I didn’t remember from our tour because it was so long ago, but most important it told me that he never left Scotland while we were there and that means there is no way that you and I could be related.”
She smiled, almost feeling giddy with relief. “I’m so happy about this, John. I don’t know how, but deep inside here”—she put her hand on her heart—“I knew you were not my brother, yet it had to be verified since your father’s name was in my mother’s diary.”
“And now I’ve made certain.”
She paused. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
“You’re welcome.”
It also meant she could now mark Mr. George Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines off her list, leaving only two. But she didn’t want to think about those men right now. She only wanted to think about being in John’s arms.
She could see him smiling down at her. She smelled the scent of his shaving soap and felt the worsted wool of his coat beneath her thinly gloved fingers.
His hands moved to her upper arms, that small area of exposed skin between the capped sleeves of her gown and her long white gloves. His touch warmed her cool skin, and his fingers lightly caressed her.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“Not anymore. In fact, I’m beginning to feel quite flushed.”
With confidence his hands slid across her shoulders all the way up her neck to cup each side of her face. She remained very still as first one thumb and then the other caressed her lips once, twice, three times.
“Catherine, you set me on fire,” he whispered as he reached down and tenderly kissed her cheek, then inhaled her scent. “You
have from the first moment when I held you in my arms and you started kicking me and demanding that I set you down.”
“I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Not at all.”
Suddenly she reached up and grabbed one of his wrists and guided his hand to her lips. She planted a soft, moist kiss in his palm.
She heard his breathing change tempo to choppy gasps and it thrilled her.
“What was that for?” he asked huskily.
“To thank you for helping me. I’m one man closer to finding out who my real father is.”
“That wasn’t my reason for doing it, but if it helps you in your quest, that’s all the better.”
She smiled up at him, wishing she could see his eyes more clearly. “It helps me more than you could know.”
“And you tempt me more than you know.” He placed the palm of his hand to her lips and she kissed it again. “If you only knew what your kisses did to me, you would run out of this closet screaming for help.”
All of a sudden she reached up and kissed him on the side of his mouth. She didn’t know how or why such a simple kiss should send a thrill of desire shooting through her, but it did.
She said, “I’m not afraid of you, John.”
He pulled her closer, and held her tighter. “You should be. You know if we are caught in here like this your reputation will be ruined forever.”
A small confident laugh passed her lips. “I also know you would be forced to marry me, so I’m confident you have made sure no one will find us alone together in here.”
He chuckled lightly, too. “You are right, beautiful, and ever so tempting.”
John bent his head and his lips touched hers. The kiss was warm, pleasing, and brief.
“And you are reckless, sir.”
“I know. I’ve had a few close calls over the years, but none more worth the risk than what I’m doing right now.”
His fingers played with her earlobes, the soft skin at the back of her ear, and down her neck. She loved the tightening low in her abdomen at his touch.
“Then perhaps you are just brave.”