by Amelia Grey
“Oh, yes, you are. You’re caught. You might as well admit it.”
What was Andrew saying? Chandler Dunraven had actually fallen in love with Millicent and married her. John didn’t love Catherine. He had no plans to marry her.
Did he?
No. He wanted her. She intrigued him. She enchanted him. Yes, he’d wanted to lay her in the carriage and make love to her, but love her? Wed her?
Whatever there was that made her special and different from all the other women he’d wanted over the years would pass soon. He was sure of it. It had to. John loved all women. He couldn’t love just one. He couldn’t.
“You’re sloshed deeper than a frog in the Thames,” John finally said. He reached over and took the bottle of wine that sat in front of Andrew and dragged it over by his own glass. “I can’t make sense of anything a drunken man says.”
“I might be well into my cups, dear friend, but you are lying to me and quite possibly yourself, too.” He pointed a finger at John. “It’s all right with me that you aren’t ready to admit that; however, it doesn’t change the fact I saw it in your eyes the first time you talked about her. It was different from the way you’ve talked about any other young lady.”
A rumbling laugh passed John’s lips. Andrew was right about one thing. Catherine had his attention like no other lady ever had. John couldn’t hide anything from his old friend, but he didn’t want to talk to him about Catherine. It was time to change the subject.
“Why are you in here drinking, Andrew? And don’t try to make me think it has anything to do with me or Catherine. I’m not falling for that.”
Andrew chuckled affectionately as he stared into his glass again. “You’re right. It doesn’t. You know me as well as I know you. What a hell of a pair we are.”
“That’s not going to change,” he said, wanting to reassure his friend.
“I know.”
“So tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ve just come to a very big decision in my life today, and I decided to celebrate the occasion.”
“A celebration without me? That’s a damned bloody thing to do. What’s happened?”
“I’m going to be leaving London soon.”
It was easy to see Andrew was serious about this.
John tensed. “What? Leaving? Where are you going and why?”
Andrew took another drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before looking at John. “I’m not sure exactly how many places I will go or how long I’ll be away. My main purpose is to visit all my estates first and then have a little chat with my manager.”
“I don’t think you’ve done either of those things since I’ve known you.”
“I know and unfortunately it has not been a good thing for my finances. I’ve always had too much going on here in London to worry about the stability of my lands and holdings. As long as I had all the money I needed, I never worried about financial matters. But the time has come that I must take my responsibilities seriously and give them attention.”
“That’s a good thing.”
Andrew’s expression turned serious. “I’m in debt, John, and I barely have enough money coming in to cover my wagers.”
It was no surprise to hear this, but it was to have Andrew finally admit it. There had been talk for over two years now that Andrew’s finances were in peril.
“If you need a loan to cover—”
“John, no—I just need to find out why my income has steadily gone down the past few years. I should have taken the time to look into this the first year it happened, but the draw of London and my life here has always been too great. I didn’t want any responsibilities. But now it’s time.”
“I can understand that.”
“My manager kept promising me it would be better the next year and my solicitor was agreeing with him, but my finances have come to the point where I can no longer trust either of them. I have to go and see for myself what is going on.”
“You know I’ll help you if you need me.”
His eyes brightened. “You could come with me. We could make it an adventure. We’ll stop at every tavern we pass and bed the wenches.”
The image of a big-bosomed tavern wench flashed across his mind and John cringed. Just as quickly Catherine’s beautiful breasts came to his mind and a satisfying feeling of contentment washed over him.
Leave Catherine?
“No, I can’t. It’s not a good time for me.”
Andrew shrugged. “So I thought. If you are going to marry Miss Reynolds, it better be soon if you want me to be at the nuptials.”
“There will be no marriage,” John quickly denied and immediately wondered why he did. And was that guilt he felt for saying it?
“Damnation, Andrew, I’m attracted to her and I don’t understand it. I think about her all the time. I enjoy being with her. I’m eager to be with her. I don’t want her to dance with anyone but me, but marriage?” John shook his head.
“Yes, John, marriage. I think those are the things men usually feel when they find the lady they want to marry.”
“That thought scares the hell out of me. I don’t think that’s something I want—”
“Mind if we join you?”
John looked up to see Wilkins and Phillips standing beside them.
“Not at all,” he said.
In fact he was happy to have someone interrupt this intimate talk with Andrew about Catherine, but he wasn’t happy to see Wilkins throw the latest column from Lord Truefitt on the table in front of him.
“Have you seen this?” Wilkins asked, pulling up a chair on one end of the table while Phillips took the chair on the opposite side.
“Probably all of London has seen it by now,” John mumbled under his breath.
“I haven’t. What’s this?” Andrew picked up the paper and started reading it.
“Why did you hold out on us?” Wilkins asked.
“Yes, we’re supposed to be your friends,” Phillips accused in a seldom used annoyed tone.
John looked at them as if they’d gone daft in the head. “You are my friends. What are you two going on about? I have no control over what is written in that damned thing.”
“You could have been truthful and told us it was a lady who needed your horse that day in the park. We had to find out in Lord Truefitt’s column.”
Andrew laid the paper on the table and asked, “Why are you two giving him grief over this? Go play a game of cards or billiards and forget about it.”
“But we’ve lost money on him twice now,” Wilkins argued.
“How?” Andrew asked.
“There was that morning in the park when he lost the horse race with Westerland, and now we lost money again because we’ve just found out there wasn’t a ghost riding his horse in the park.”
“Bloody hell,” John said. “You two didn’t bet on that ghost wager here at White’s, did you?”
“Of course we did. I think everyone has. You did, didn’t you, Andrew?” Phillips asked.
John looked at Andrew and his friend smiled rather grimly. “Ah, no, I intended to, but I never got around to placing my bet. Good thing, too, don’t you think?”
“It’s your fault, Chatwin. When you said you didn’t see what spooked your horse, I thought maybe it was a ghost or phantom or something of that ilk,” Wilkins grumbled.
John had to force himself not to laugh, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. These bucks would bet on anything.
“My, my, what do we have here? Isn’t this a nice little chat among friends.”
The Marquis threw a copy of Lord Truefitt’s article on top of the one Wilkins brought.
The smile faded from John’s face. He looked up and saw Westerland and two of his chums standing behind Phillips’s chair.
“Don’t bother to pull up a chair, Westerland, you won’t be staying,” John said.
Westerland sniffed. His thin upper lip curled in a sinister way as a grunt blew past his lips. “You cer
tainly know how to make a name for yourself, Chatwin.”
“I don’t have to; other people seem to do it for me.”
“You took the win from me, Fines, and I don’t like it.”
John picked up his wineglass with seeming indifference and took a drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“Everyone is saying I didn’t really win the race because you had to stop and help an unidentified lady who was in trouble.”
“Since when do you listen to others? You won. Go and gloat about it somewhere else. I’m not interested in your shortcomings.”
“This visit has a purpose. I’m here to challenge you to another race.”
John looked up at Westerland again and realized that for the first time he had no desire to race him. He had no desire to race anyone. He wanted to help Catherine find her father. He wanted to be with her, not his friends and not his enemies.
“No” was all he said.
Gasps sounded all around him.
“You can’t do that,” one of Westerland’s friends said. “You can’t just say no.”
“He just did,” Andrew said.
“He’s a marquis and he’s challenged you. You’ll be laughed out of London if you don’t accept it,” Wilkins said.
“I’ll make it an official challenge.” Westerland took his gloves out of his pocket and threw them down on top of the papers.
So the prig had thrown down the gauntlet. John still didn’t care.
“We’ve already lost money on you twice,” Wilkins reminded him in a whisper across the table. “You know The General can beat his horse. You need to show your mettle and shut him up once and for all.”
Now, that thought was tempting.
Westerland laughed. “If you want to win your money back, you should bet on me, but Chatwin and I won’t be racing for money. I have something more important in mind than money.”
“What’s that?”
“If Chatwin wins, I’ll stop pursuing a certain young lady. If I win, he will stop pursuing her.”
John made a growling sound in his throat, and he stood up so quickly his chair tumbled behind him and the table shook. Andrew, Wilkins, and Phillips jumped up, too.
John centered his gaze on Westerland’s face and spoke quietly but menacingly as he said, “I’m not interested in your wager, your race, or anything else you have on your mind. As far as I’m concerned, you won fair. That’s the end of it.”
The Marquis didn’t blink. “Are you afraid you’ll lose the right to pursue the lady?”
“No. Don’t try to bring her into something that’s between you and me.”
“She is between us. You could just stop pursuing her and let me have her.”
I’ll see you in hell first.
“Come on, Chatwin. You know you can win and we’ll get our money back.”
John scowled at Wilkins.
He swallowed hard. “You’ll get the lady, too.”
“What if he doesn’t want her?” Andrew said.
For once John was glad Andrew spoke up for him. He was getting really close to smashing in Westerland’s face, but he knew that was the last thing he needed to do.
“He wants her,” Westerland said with a half laugh. “But the question is does her sister want him to have her? My father can offer her a lot more than you can.”
“Let’s forget it. He’s a coward,” one of the Marquis’s friends said. “He doesn’t think his horse can win. Let’s go.”
“I know you took the lady for a ride in the park today,” Westerland said and then laughed before saying, “I’ll take her for a ride tomorrow.”
“When and where do you want to meet?” John said.
Westerland smiled. “I’ll let you know.” He then turned and left. His two friends followed him.
John drained his glass. Phillips and Wilkins clapped him on the back, congratulating him for accepting the Marquis’s challenge.
Andrew gave him a worried look.
John signaled for another drink.
Eighteen
CATHERINE STOOD STRAIGHT and still on the small box in her bedroom while Madame Parachou pinned the hem of her latest gown. For once she didn’t mind the fittings and constant chattering in French going on between Victoria and the modiste. Victoria liked to impress the older lady with her excellent command of the French language.
Their preoccupation with Catherine’s dress gave her time to think about John. She hadn’t seen him at all yesterday. Had they just missed each other? There were so many soirées given each evening, it was quite possible. Or could there be another reason she hadn’t seen him?
She knew John wasn’t happy the night before last when Victoria wouldn’t let her stay at Lord Baxley’s long enough to dance with him, but surely he knew she’d wanted to. She’d only seen him long enough for him to say he had spoken with his uncle and he would tell her about it when they were alone.
But that hadn’t happened.
Yesterday afternoon she’d spent two torturous hours in the company of the Marquis of Westerland. Not only had he tried to hold her hand more than once, but he’d also reached over and kissed her as they passed a tall hedge and couldn’t be seen by anyone.
John had been right when he said men kiss differently. The Marquis’s lips were cold and dry compared to John’s warm and moist lips. She hadn’t felt any strength or confidence in the Marquis’s touch, and she certainly hadn’t felt any of the stirring sensations that flooded her whenever John touched her.
After the Marquis’s kiss, she had quickly faked a cough so she could wipe her mouth with her handkerchief. His lips on hers was not something she wanted repeated. She decided that she would not see him alone again even if Victoria tried to insist.
The afternoon with the Marquis had made her painfully aware that John was the only man she wanted to be alone with.
When she and Victoria had returned from the parties last night, she’d lain awake in her bed remembering each kiss, each touch, and each whispered word that had come from John since they first met. And slowly she came to a very heart-wrenching conclusion. She knew that despite her bravado to the contrary, she had fallen hopelessly in love with John.
She hadn’t expected to. She hadn’t wanted to. But it had to be love. Why else would she shrink so fiercely from another man’s touch, a handsome titled marquis? Why else would she feel such an unsatisfied hunger deep inside to be with John?
She knew it was foolish of her. John was known for loving all women, which she knew meant he loved no one woman. She had been warned about him, but her heart wouldn’t listen.
She wanted to tell him of her feelings for him, but she knew if she did she would be added to a long list of heartbroken ladies who had tried to capture his heart and failed.
There was nothing she could do about her love for him but remain quiet. She feared if she even hinted that she loved him he would immediately stop seeing her for worry that he would be caught in a parson’s mousetrap or a compromising situation. She would never do that to him, but John didn’t know that. All he knew was that marriage didn’t fit into his life.
Right now she needed him to help her find her father. She was eager to know what his uncle had told him about Mr. Beechman and Mr. Chatsworth. She wanted to know if he’d had the time to read her mother’s diary. She’d read it too many times over the past several months to believe she had missed anything, but she was pleased he wanted to look at it.
And she wasn’t going to wait any longer for John to come to her. She had sent him a note this morning asking that he pay her a visit this afternoon. She had to know what he had found out so far.
“That’s perfect right there,” Victoria said in English. “There’s no need to do anything more to it. Don’t you think so, Catherine?”
Jerked out of her thoughts by Victoria’s question, Catherine looked down at the fawn-colored gown with its three flounces and delicate lace trim.
She smiled and said, “It is lovely, Madame Para
chou. You do beautiful work.”
The dark-haired lady with small, wide-set eyes returned her smile and in broken English said, “It is the lady who makes a dress beautiful and don’t you forget it. Now, I must go. I will see you at my shop in a few minutes.”
She picked up her sewing basket and headed for the door.
Victoria clasped her hands together under her chin and declared, “With you in this dress I think we may be able to win over Lord Dugdale.”
That won’t happen.
Catherine laughed. “Do you never think of anything other than making a match, Vickie?”
Victoria put her hands on her hips. “Not since you arrived in London. I’ve never been so busy and I’m enjoying every moment of it.” Suddenly her eyes softened and she let her arms rest calmly by her side. “My husband and I, God rest his soul, were very happy together. But I never realized that I missed having a child until you came to live with me.”
Warmth settled over Catherine at Victoria’s heartfelt words. She stepped down off the platform and took Victoria’s hand in hers.
“And I’m happy here with you, Vickie. Why must you rush me into marriage?”
“I must.” Vickie squeezed her hand. “That is the way of things. Children grow up and they marry.”
“I might not be ready to make a decision to marry by the end of the Season.”
Victoria pulled her hand from Catherine’s, the tender moment gone from her eyes and her expression firm once again. “What a horrible thought. I won’t allow it. Seeing to your future is my only desire. Now, change quickly. We are going to Madame Parachou’s shop to look at some divine fabric she just received yesterday from Paris. She said it is blue velvet.”
“Oh, Vickie, may I beg off this outing? I’m rather spent from all the parties and late nights. Besides, you are so much better at things like that than I am.”
“You do look a little tired. All right, you spend the afternoon resting, my dear. I will see to the fabrics and designs for you.”
Catherine sighed with relief. “Thank you.”
Shortly after Victoria shut the door, Catherine donned a scoop-neck, gray-and-white striped dress. She had faith that if John received her note, he would come see her, and she was rewarded a short time later when her maid brought her a note.