by Amelia Grey
“You almost did. You had quite the lead on me.”
“But obviously not enough to elude you,” she teased lightly. “I’ll be more diligent next time. I can assure you, no matter where I go from now on, I will look behind me to see if you are catching up.”
There was seductiveness to his throaty chuckle, and Catalina’s chest tightened, her stomach fluttered, and her skin tingled. Oh, yes, if not for his threat against her father, this man could be the hero of all her dreams.
His blue gaze stayed on hers. “I’m not sure I want to get to the point where I’m that predictable, Miss Crisp.”
Catalina shrugged casually, easily, and laid her stitchery on the table by the teapot. “Too late, Mr. Brentwood, you already have.”
“You wound me again. Perhaps instead of admitting I am following you, I will just say I am looking for Sir Phillip at the same place you are looking for him.”
“Oh,” she said as innocently as possible. “Is that the reason you think I’m here?”
A moment of concern etched its way into his eyes. “Isn’t it?”
Catalina laughed softly. She enjoyed perplexing him. “Of course it is. But, unfortunately for me, he isn’t here.”
“Unfortunate for me, as well,” he whispered more under his breath than to her.
She smiled again, remembering how frustrated he was that first day she met him because her father wasn’t home.
“You know, if I hadn’t met Sir Phillip on more than one occasion, I might be tempted to think the man doesn’t actually exist.”
“I am living proof he does. Now, tell me which one of my servants you bribed.”
“Oh, no, Miss Crisp.” He shook his head. “A gentleman doesn’t divulge his sources. He may have to use them at another time.”
“But we’ve already established you are no gentleman, Mr. Brentwood.”
“Oh, I should have known.” A teasing light shone in his eyes. “That’s true, but I do have a code of honor I live by. I’d like to think most gentlemen would approve of it.”
He pulled a chair over opposite hers and sat down, extending his booted feet toward the fire and making himself comfortable.
“Sir, you can come in to say hello, but you can’t stay. You must go to the taproom where all the men are or into the dining room.”
“Not to worry, Miss Crisp, everything is fine. I had a talk with the innkeeper before I came in here, and a few extra coins turned the ladies’ parlor into a drawing room tonight, where everyone is welcome.”
Excitement danced through her senses, but she willed it to stay under control. “You didn’t.”
Mr. Brentwood made no effort to hide his grin. “I did.”
“In that case, we shouldn’t be in here alone. Someone might come in and see us and start more gossip.”
His brows lifted slightly, and a warm gleam sparkled in his eyes. “I don’t think that will happen, either.”
“We might be a long way from London, but Society’s rules still apply.”
“I agree.”
“What did you do?”
“The innkeeper assured me he wouldn’t let the two locals who are in the taproom know the ladies’ parlor had been converted into a drawing room.”
A feeling of expectancy stole over Catalina. “You paid for that bit of convenience, too, didn’t you?”
A possessive smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Well, the man does need to make a living. I’m happy to help him out however I can.”
“You are very sure of yourself. You do know how to get your way, don’t you?”
“Most of the time,” he said confidently but without arrogance. “It’s a rather skillful and useful asset to have. Now, tell me, were you hoping to find your father so you could warn him that I’m looking for him?”
Catalina bit down on her bottom lip and studied on his question. She could answer yes and be telling the truth. But she would be admitting to only part of the reason she wanted to find her father. Between A Tale of Three Gentlemen and the mounting bills, the reasons for finding her father were multiplying.
“Yes,” she finally said, “but there are other, private reasons I need to find him, as well. I believe I’ve mentioned he’s never been away this long before, and I find it a little disconcerting that he hasn’t returned.”
“I’m sure you would have heard if anything nefarious had happened. He’s probably holed up somewhere, writing more of his poetry, prose, or perhaps another parody of some unsuspecting family.”
Deciding not to comment on the parody, she simply said, “I keep telling myself no harm has come to him,” she answered a little more brightly than she was feeling at the moment.
“How is Mrs. Gottfried?”
“The traveling made her very tired. I’m sure she and her maid are already asleep.” Catalina paused and picked up her needlework. “I should be going up to my room, too.”
He reached over and touched her arm. “Wait. Don’t go yet.” He rose from his chair, took the embroidery from her hand, and laid it back on the table. “I’m enjoying sitting here alone with you. Stay a little longer.”
Catalina’s breaths shortened, and her heart started thudding. She was tempted, but she said, “I’m sure that is not a good idea.”
He looked down at her. “I promise your reputation is safe.”
“It’s not my reputation I’m worried about.” She started to add it was her heart that concerned her, but thankfully, she caught herself before she revealed that secret.
“What then?” he asked.
Catalina remained silent.
“I don’t frighten you, do I?”
“No, you know you don’t.”
In an easy, slow motion, he reached down and took hold of her upper arms and gently pulled her out of the chair so they stood face to face. She heard muted voices from the taproom, the crackling of the dying fire, and her own labored breathing, but the thought of protesting never entered her mind.
She watched as his handsome face descended toward hers in an unhurried manner. She knew he was going to kiss her. That didn’t surprise her, but that she wanted him to, did.
Her eyes closed, and her lips parted slightly as his warm mouth descended slowly, lower and lower, until his lips settled over hers. She felt magical sensations speeding across her breasts, spiraling through her stomach, and tumbling down into the lower depths of her abdomen, to then spread between her legs.
The kiss was slow, languid, and potent. Sweetness filled her.
His lips moved back and forth over hers with controlled leisure. Brushing, nipping, and sometimes hovering just above hers, making her want to reach up and demand kisses from him. But always just before she did, his lips would claim hers again, sending shimmers of euphoria washing through her.
She tingled with discovery when his tongue grazed hers. She sighed and opened her mouth to him. His tongue searched the inner surface of her lips and then probed the depths of her mouth without hesitating.
His lips left hers, and he kissed her forehead, the corner of each eye, the tip of her nose, and across both cheeks. Catalina closed her eyes, savoring the touch of his lips all over her face.
“It feels like it is raining kisses,” she whispered breathlessly.
“It is,” he answered huskily. “Are you enjoying it?”
“Very much,” she said and arched her neck back so his kisses could flow over her chin and down the slender column of her throat. She leaned toward him and felt him back away.
Her eyes opened to find his blue, blue gaze set on hers, his lips just above hers. His expression was serious. “Tell me you want me to kiss you, Catalina.”
His demand confused her. “Why?” she whispered. “Don’t you know I do?”
His large hand slipped around her neck and cupped it, while his thumb caressed her bottom lip. “I need to hear from you that you want this as much as I do. I won’t kiss you again unless you tell me to. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
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br /> “Yes,” she answered softly without hesitating. “I want you to kiss me. I want you to show me how to kiss you.”
A soft chuckle rumbled from his throat. “So you want to give me pleasure, too?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Is that not the way it is supposed to be?”
“Yes, but few women recognize that. I’m not surprised you do.”
He smiled and slowly took hold of her wrists and placed her arms around his neck. Catalina locked her fingers together at his nape. He slid his arms around her waist and gently pulled her tightly to his chest. Cuddled in his arms again, she felt safe, delicious, and very daring.
He bent his head and kissed her temple and then rested his cheek against her hair. He breathed in deeply and whispered, “I love the way you fit into my arms, and the way your hair smells.”
Chills of desire prickled across her skin. She gloried in the strength of his body nestled so close to hers.
He ran his hand up and down her back, pressing her tighter against his hard body. Lowering his lips to her ear, he murmured, “You feel so soft and womanly.”
He slowly outlined her lips with his tongue. “You taste sweet, so very sweet.”
Following his lead, Catalina rose on her toes and placed her cheek against his. She felt the stubble of his day-old beard, but whispered, “I like the feel of your skin against mine.” Her hands spread over his wide shoulders and then slid down his strong arms. “I like the power in your embrace.” She kissed him gently and then moistened her lips. “I like the taste of your lips on mine.”
Iverson smiled with appreciation. “You learn fast.”
Catalina returned his smile. “This is not a difficult lesson to learn.”
“What about this?” he asked and then placed his hand over one breast, cupped it in the palm of his hand, and squeezed ever so gently.
Catalina stopped breathing. Her eyes opened wide. He was massaging her breast. Even if she’d known what to say, she couldn’t speak. Somehow she felt as if he was settling his claim on her. And more surprising still, she was content with that.
She felt his thumb hunting for her nipple hidden beneath her dress and undergarments, and it tantalized her. A slow ache started low in her abdomen and quickly became intense. Her body trembled with a surging, urgent need that built inside her.
“Have I finally found a way to silence you, Catalina?”
She swallowed hard, and her breath returned. “No. I’m simply marveling at how a man who talks like a brutish rake at times and insists he’s no gentleman can have such a tender touch.”
For a moment, Catalina thought her compliment might have made him hesitant, but then in a raspy voice, he answered, “You make it easy for me to be gentle.”
She raised her head to his and whispered, “Stop torturing me, Iverson, and kiss me again before I faint.”
“With pleasure, Catalina,” he murmured, and his lips covered hers once again.
The kiss deepened, and their hands found freedom. She explored the breadth of his shoulders and back. He caressed, molded, and flattened her breasts against his hands while his tongue swirled inside her mouth. She felt his body tremble, and it thrilled her to know this passion between them made him weak, too.
His eagerness to kiss her harder, press her closer, fed hers. She lifted her hips toward him, and he pressed against her softness. His lips left hers, and he fluttered kisses down her neck, leaving shivers of pleasure everywhere they touched. With deft fingers, he pulled on the high neckline of her dress, trying to move his kisses lower. She knew there were more than kisses and caresses to explore with him, and she wanted to experience everything.
“Oh, God, Catalina,” he whispered huskily against her lips before kissing her passionately once again. And then he abruptly let go of her and stepped back.
Catalina heard his labored breathing and her own. Her body yearned for his touch to return, though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew he had done the right thing in stopping this madness. She certainly didn’t have the willpower to do it.
She didn’t understand the confusion she saw in his eyes, until he said, “I didn’t know you would be so sweet, so eager, so tempting. I didn’t know you would be so willing. Damnation, I didn’t mean to kiss you and touch you like that.”
“I was startled by the urgency between us, too,” she admitted. “Is it always so thrilling to kiss and touch with such abandon?”
“Yes,” he said, and then quickly shook his head and added, “No.”
Catalina could tell he was almost flustered. “Are you confused?”
He grunted a laugh and sucked in a heavy breath. “No, no, I’m not confused, but it’s difficult to explain to such an innocent.”
“I’m sure I can understand if you will just tell me,” she insisted softly.
“It’s not that simple, Catalina. Besides, feelings and desires are different for a man.”
“In what way?”
“It’s always thrilling, but even more so if it’s…”
“If it’s what?”
“With the right person. And that doesn’t explain it well, either. This isn’t even something we should be discussing, Catalina. I shouldn’t have touched you as I did. There are reasons why we can’t—”
“Say no more,” she said, feeling a great sense of rejection and loss for what might have been if he hadn’t suddenly remembered she was Sir Phillip’s daughter. She was not the right person for him. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“Of course I do,” she whispered softly. “My father stands between us, and I fear he always will.” She reached down and picked up her sewing. “Good night, Mr. Brentwood.”
Catalina hurried out of the room without looking back.
Thirteen
Love is lost in men’s capricious minds, but in women’s, it fills all the room it finds.
—John Crowne
The rattle of harness and neighing of horses woke Iverson. He lay still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the faint gray light of early morning that filtered in from the small, uncovered window. The memory of soft lips beneath his tumbled through his mind, awakening the pleasure he’d enjoyed last night. Catalina had bewitched him for certain. She was now filling his waking and sleeping hours.
His body responded with a throb at the thought. Pleasure was not near strong enough a word for what she’d made him feel when he held her, kissed her, and touched her.
His eyes closed again, and he relived the exquisite torture of Catalina’s soft body pressed tightly to his. She was beautiful and so responsive to his teaching. She was a sensual woman and eager to know a man’s touch. He would have loved to be the one to awaken her banked desires and show her all the many delights that awaited her. But until after he’d had his talk with Sir Phillip, he didn’t need to become any more entangled with the man’s innocent daughter, no matter how much his body had begged him to do it.
He chuckled to himself and threw his forearm over his eyes to shut out the light of dawn seeping into the room. He needed more sleep and more dreams of Catalina. If he was the blackguard he always claimed to be, he wouldn’t think twice about deflowering the lovely, tempting Catalina. What better way to get back at the man who had sullied his mother’s memory than to ruin his only daughter?
But that idea held no appeal for Iverson. Catalina was not at fault. Sir Phillip was. And Iverson intended to have a very serious talk with the man and impress upon him his responsibility, including the necessity of assuring no further slurs on Iverson’s family.
Muted, distant voices broke through his thoughts, and his eyes popped open again. If there was a coach preparing to leave, it had to be Catalina’s. His mind came fully and instantly awake. He threw the thin woolen blanket aside and rushed to the window. He wiped condensation off the pane with his open palm. In the swirling fog below, he saw Catalina’s driver, Briggs, standing beside a landau, and that was definitely Mrs. Gottfried clutching her satch
el beside him. Bloody hell, had they traveled to the inn on that lightweight carriage, and with a driver who could barely speak and couldn’t hear at all?
What was Catalina thinking?
Didn’t she know the roads between London and Brighton Hollow were watched by thugs and highwaymen just looking for a poorly equipped and unarmed carriage?
There was no time to shave or even to dress properly. They were preparing to leave. As hastily as he could, Iverson stepped into his trousers and buttoned them. He threw his shirt over his head and packed it into his waistband. He grabbed a leather belt holding a dagger on one side and buckled it around his waist.
His boots were not as easy to put on, but he pulled on his stockings and shoved his feet into them as fast as he could. After throwing on his waistcoat, he buttoned it as he searched the top of a small chest and the surrounding floor for the braided cord he used to tie back his hair. But in the near darkness of the room, he couldn’t find it. He swore with a heavy sigh and gave up his hunt, leaving the room the way no self-respecting gentleman ever should, with his collar, neckcloth, and coat in one hand, traveling satchel in the other, and his uncombed hair hanging straight.
Iverson made it outside in time to see Briggs helping Mrs. Gottfried into the carriage and Catalina standing next in line to board.
“Miss Crisp!” he called, wondering if she would even speak to him after the way he’d bungled their time together last night. Truly, he’d meant only to give her a few chaste kisses.
“Wait.” He set his satchel down and jogged toward her while pulling on his black coat.
Catalina stepped away from the carriage and looked at him curiously. “Mr. Brentwood, what’s wrong? Has something happened? You look”—she paused—“disheveled.”
“That’s because I am, Miss Crisp.”
He stopped in front of her and raked his long hair away from his face and forehead with his palm. There was nothing to be done about his hair until he found something to tie it with.
“I woke to hear you preparing to leave and knew if I was going to catch you before you took off, I had to hurry outside.”