A Gentleman Says I Do

by Amelia Grey

  Humor lurked in her eyes, and amusement twitched at the corners of her lovely mouth. It made him desperate to kiss her. No doubt it amused her to see him in such a state of dishabille.

  Evidently, she’d had no unpleasant effects from last night and had slept very well. She looked as fresh and beautiful as an open rose in the middle of July. It seemed as if he was the only one who had gone to bed frustrated and in an ill temper.

  He wished he had time to just stand there and feast on her loveliness. He was utterly enchanted by her. He suddenly had the urge to untie the perfect bow of ribbon under her chin and strip off her bonnet. He wanted to unfasten her cape and kiss the hollow of her throat while he listened to her feminine sounds of pleasure.

  “I’m glad you caught us,” she said. “It gives me the opportunity to thank you.”

  “For kissing you, I hope.”

  “Shh,” she whispered and stepped closer to him. “Heavens no.”

  “I believe you thanked me the last time I kissed you.”

  “Yes, but that was because it was my first kiss.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you give thanks only for your first kiss and not the second.”

  “Mr. Brentwood, I’m not talking about kisses at all. You should have told me last night, that while you were paying Mr. Turner to turn the ladies’ parlor into a drawing room, you also paid for our lodging.”

  He shrugged. “I knew you would find out soon enough.”

  Her eyes softened. And he could see in her expression the small payment of her shot meant a great deal to her. He wondered just how light in the pockets her father had left her.

  “You shouldn’t have, but thank you. I’ve not done very much traveling, and I wasn’t as prepared for this trip as I should have been.”

  He gave her an understanding smile.

  “Good morning, Mr. Brentwood,” Mrs. Gottfried said, sticking her head out of the carriage door.

  Iverson sucked in a labored breath and managed to say, “Good morning to you, Mrs. Gottfried.”

  “I had no idea you were staying at this inn, too. I find that a strange coincidence.”

  “I arrived late last night,” he answered, trying to fasten his stiff collar at the base of his throat while his neckcloth dangled from his arm. “The innkeeper told me you had already retired for the evening.”

  “Yes, it was a terribly long day for us,” she said.

  “He’s following us again, Auntie.”

  Iverson glanced at Catalina. A wicked light of mischief danced in her sparkling eyes. No doubt it amused her to see him in such a state of dishabille and at the mercy of her teasing.

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Gottfried said. “Why would he want to do that? And how would he know we were here? We didn’t even know we were coming ourselves until the day before we left.”

  “Exactly, Mrs. Gottfried,” Iverson countered. He wound his neckcloth under his collar and tied the ends into a hasty bow. “I’m here for the same reason you are. I’m looking for Sir Phillip.”

  “The innkeeper said we missed him by two days,” she offered. “And unfortunately, my brother didn’t enlighten anyone here as to where he was going when he left. A bad habit he has.”

  “So I heard,” Iverson said to the woman, brushing his hair away from his forehead again and wishing like hell he had a string in his pocket.

  “It’s imperative we find him, Mr. Brentwood,” Catalina’s aunt continued. “Where are you going to look next? Perhaps this time we can follow you?”

  Catalina laughed softly. “Stop that, Auntie. We will not follow him or anyone. Besides, he has no more of an idea where Papa is than we do, and probably less.”

  “That is true, madam. I’m all out of ideas as to where the man could be.”

  “Then I suppose it is back home for us,” the older woman said. “Are you ready, Catalina?”

  “Mrs. Gottfried, before you go, may I have a word with your niece?”

  “Of course you may.”

  Iverson and Catalina walked a short distance away, and when he looked back at the carriage, Mrs. Gottfried had disappeared inside. He looked at Catalina and said, “Tell me you didn’t come all the way from London in the landau.”

  Another smile brightened Catalina’s eyes, and Iverson wondered how she could look so lovely so damned early in the morning and on such a gray day.

  “As you wish, we didn’t.”

  “But you did,” he said tightly, wanting to impress upon her his concern for her traveling in such an unsuitable carriage.

  “Of course,” she said, smiling again and stretching her arm out toward the carriage. “We had no other to use. My father has our coach, and I didn’t have—” She moistened her lips. “I didn’t want to take the time to hire a larger coach. Why are you interested?”

  “Because I know that”—he pointed to the landau—“was not built for long-distance traveling. You could have broken a wheel, and then what would you have done?”

  “We would have changed it. Briggs keeps an extra boarded under the carriage.”

  “And speaking of your driver, please tell me you have someone other than him with you.”

  “Adam is with us.” She pointed to a young lad standing beside the horses.

  “That stable boy is Adam?” Iverson felt his anger rising again that she would travel so ill prepared. “He can’t be considered a qualified guard. He looks barely old enough to be away from his mama.”

  “Adam is not that young, Mr. Brentwood. He’s not sure of his exact age. He thinks he is fifteen or sixteen, but he is a young man for sure. He’s simply short and has a small build for his age.”

  Iverson grunted a laugh. It did not surprise him she defended yet another servant. “He might be small and short for his age, but he has certainly learned how to fool you. He’s not even shaving yet. That youngster can’t be more than twelve or thirteen at the most. You need a guard who is armed with a sword, a pistol, and a musket. You need a driver who can talk and hear other coaches, or, God forbid, highwaymen approaching.”

  Much to his aggravation, Catalina remained nonplused. “When we were outside The Daily Herald you said you didn’t notice that Briggs doesn’t speak or hear very well.”

  “At the time, I was trying to be kind.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. But it seems that Mr. Brentwood obviously woke on the wrong side of the bed this morn. Perhaps you should go back to bed and try getting up on the other side to see if it improves your disposition.”

  Iverson shifted his stance. He didn’t know how she remained so calm. “You can’t be careless with your safety when traveling, Catalina. You should be worried about bandits waiting to rob you or worse.”

  “Or worse?” Her eyebrows lifted, and she gave him an exaggerated expression of doubt. “What kind of stories have you been reading, Mr. Brentwood? On our journey here yesterday, we encountered no trouble with our carriage or its wheels. We were not set upon by thieves or any other unscrupulous kind of scoundrels. And even if we had been, why should I be worried? We have no money or jewels with us and very little clothing anyone would want to take from us. You probably have more coins in your pockets than we do.”

  “That might be,” he argued, “but I also have this, should I encounter trouble.” He pushed his coat aside with his elbow and lifted his waistcoat, showing the intricately carved handle of a large dagger. “And I have a pistol in my satchel, should I need it.”

  Her gaze stayed on his as she moistened her lips and then gave him another teasing smile. “You are quite well armed, and I’m sure it makes you feel powerful and safe.”

  As she teased him unmercifully, Iverson was having a hard time focusing on his reprimand. And when she looked at him with that shimmering light in her eyes, all he wanted to do was take her into his arms and kiss her.

  “As anyone who is traveling outside London should be, Miss Crisp,” he insisted.

  “You know what I think, Mr. Brentwood?”

  If she kept up that
wickedly beautiful and amused smile, he would chance Mrs. Gottfried catching them and kiss her before she boarded her carriage. She enchanted him to distraction. “That you are careless with your safety?”

  “No, for I am not. Briggs is well armed, and he is an excellent shot. Adam is his ears and voice. Now why don’t you admit you are simply upset because I left to search for my father without telling you about it?”

  “Catalina, I will gladly admit that. I am.”

  “Good,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  “But I’m also concerned for you.”

  As if she finally understood what he was telling her, her eyes and expression softened again. “I think you are also upset and quite possibly angry with me because I wanted you to kiss me last night.”

  A soft laugh passed his lips. “My sweet Catalina, I might be angry and upset, too, but I’m certain it’s not because we kissed. Why would I be?”

  She blinked several times. “Because I am Sir Phillip’s daughter.”

  “I am not sorry we kissed, Catalina. And I might as well let you know it will not be the last time I kiss you. If your aunt wasn’t in that carriage, I would kiss you right now.”

  The desire in her eyes let him know she would accept his kisses if they were alone.

  “We have a long ride ahead of us,” he said. “We’d best get started. I’m going to ride beside the coach and see you get into London safely.”

  “We will be quite fine without you.”

  “Probably,” he added, “but I’ll be traveling with you anyway.”

  ***

  Catalina couldn’t keep her gaze off Iverson. And she had the distinct feeling he didn’t want her to. He rode his magnificent horse right beside the small window in the door of the carriage. Throughout the morning, she tried to concentrate on other things: her aunt’s chatter, the maid’s grunts, the scenery, but nothing else held her attention, and her gaze kept straying out the window to Iverson. Sometimes he would catch her watching him, and he would smile. He was enjoying the fact she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

  It was amazing how easily she’d come to think of him as Iverson rather than Mr. Brentwood. She’d have to be careful and not call him by his Christian name to Aunt Elle or anyone else. At times, she laid her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes. It wasn’t long before her thoughts turned to Iverson’s kisses, caresses, and his strong embrace. It was no wonder there were such stirring words of poetry and prose about romance and lovers. She would never read poetry again without thinking of Iverson’s kiss and touch and the sensations they created inside her.

  Whenever they stopped to rest the horses, he would walk over and talk to her and her aunt. At midday they ate leftover cheese and bread covered with some of Nancy’s apricot preserves. But by early afternoon, the gray clouds of morning had darkened, and the skies turned stormy. The wind kicked up, rocking the landau and whistling around the doors.

  Catalina kept hoping they would make it home before the rain started, but late in the day they ran out of luck. A light mist started falling and quickly turned into a heavy, slashing rain that beat against the carriage. Catalina knew Briggs and Adam had cloaks and hats made especially to keep the rain off them, but through the gray swirls, she saw Iverson hadn’t put a rain garment over his greatcoat and had no hat for his head. He was getting soaked to the skin by the downpour. Surely if he’d had the proper clothing with him, he would have put it on.

  He had admonished her for not being appropriately equipped for the journey, but he seemed to be the one ill prepared for the trip. She knew by how chilly it was inside the carriage that the temperature outside was dropping fast. She and her aunt had pulled out blankets long before the storm started.

  When Catalina could no longer stand to see Iverson riding hatless in the cold rain, she turned to her aunt and said, “I’m going to ask Mr. Brentwood to come inside the carriage and ride with us. He has no cloak or hat.”

  “In this weather?” Aunt Elle exclaimed. “What was he thinking? Of course, invite him in here with us.”

  Catalina hit the roof with the tip of her closed umbrella, signaling Briggs she wanted him to stop.

  As soon as Briggs opened the door, Catalina stuck her umbrella out the door and opened it. The wind almost whipped the umbrella from her grasp. She stepped down, and rain immediately drenched the hem of her dress and her soft traveling slippers. Her feet squished deeply into the muddy earth. When Iverson saw her walking toward him, he jumped down from his horse and went to meet her. His near shoulder-length hair lay flattened against his head, and the ends were running water. Streams of rain ran down his cheeks. His face was pale, and his lips had lost their healthy color.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, stopping in front of her. “What are you doing out of the carriage?”

  “Never mind about me. What are you doing riding in this storm without proper clothing?”

  “You could have called me over to your window to ask me that. Your feet are getting soaked. Now get back inside.”

  “I will not go back until you come inside the coach, too.”

  “No, Miss Crisp. I will ride out here in the rain with your driver and footman.”

  “But they have rain capes and proper hats to keep the rain off them. You don’t even have a hat for your head, and you dared to accuse me of traveling unprepared.”

  “I came with them,” he countered. “It’s unfortunate, but in my haste, I left them back at the inn.”

  “That was unwise, Mr. Brentwood.”

  “Agreed, but as you know, I thought you were going to leave without me, and so I hurried out, leaving a few things behind. Now, you need to get back inside. I am good with riding my horse.”

  “Do not be stubborn, Iverson.”

  He smiled, and her heart tripped.

  “Did you call me Iverson?”

  “Yes. I can see you are chilled to the bone. You will catch a death cough if you stay out here any longer, and I will not have that on my conscience. Now swallow your stubborn pride and get in the landau.”

  He grinned, and Catalina’s heart felt as if it melted.

  “I like it when you call me Iverson. Be careful, Catalina. You sound worried about me. If you don’t watch out, I might start to think you actually care about my well-being.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself so much,” she said sharply but knew he told the truth. “I am pressuring you only because Aunt Elle is worried sick about you. She is the one who has grown quite fond of you, because you remind her of her dearly departed husband. Now, I can stand out here in the rain as long as you can. I’m not getting back in the carriage without you.”

  “Ah, you should have told me about Mrs. Gottfried in the first place.” He smiled. “Get back inside, Catalina. I will tie my horse to the back and speak to Briggs. I’ll see you inside shortly.”

  “Thank goodness,” she murmured and turned around.

  Shivering, with her feet feeling like ice, Catalina climbed back into the carriage. She hovered beneath a blanket, waiting impatiently for Iverson to secure his horse. When he opened the door and stepped inside, he immediately filled the cab with his presence. Her aunt and her maid sat on one side, and he had no choice but to sit beside Catalina.

  “Come in, come in, Mr. Brentwood,” Aunt Elle said. “We’ve been worried about you.”

  While he spoke to her aunt, Catalina looked at him. His coat was drenched, and rain dripped from the ends of his loose hair. Obviously, when he raced to leave the inn, his hat was not the only thing he left behind.

  With a shake, a jerk, and a rattle, the carriage started moving again. Catalina hoped they weren’t too far from London. She knew Iverson needed to get home and out of his wet clothing. She opened the brass catch to her reticule and pulled out a handkerchief with her initials embroidered on the corner and handed it to him. He gave her a grateful smile, took it, and wiped his face.

  Aunt Elle opened her satchel and rummaged around in it until she pulled out a lar
ge, brown apothecary bottle with a stopper. With bloodshot eyes and a shaky hand, she extended it toward him and said, “Drink this. It will make you feel better and leave you feeling as warm as if you were sitting by a large fire at White’s.”

  “Thank you, madam,” he said as he peeled his leather gloves from his fingers. “I don’t need a tonic.”

  “My stars, but you remind me of Mr. Gottfried, God rest his kind soul. You are as stubborn as he was.”

  Catalina took the bottle from her aunt and handed it to Iverson. “You’ll like her tonic, Mr. Brentwood. I think it’s mostly brandy.”

  “Mostly?” Aunt Elle said with a smile. “It’s all brandy. I wouldn’t give Mr. Brentwood the watered-down spirits.”

  “In that case, thank you, Mrs. Gottfried.” He took the bottle from Catalina and pulled the stopper from the flask and took a drink. He smiled at her aunt and said, “And a very good brandy, too.”

  “You know, Mr. Brentwood, there is no need for you to continue to follow us. I will allow you to court my niece in the conventional way.”

  “Auntie, that is not something you should be saying,” Catalina admonished.

  “Oh hush, Catalina. I’m taking care of this. I just want Mr. Brentwood to know he doesn’t have to continue to take such unusual measures in order to see you.” She turned her attention to Iverson. “Though, I must say, I find what you’re doing very romantic. Did I ever tell you Mr. Gottfried was a romantic man?”

  “No, madam,” Iverson said, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

  “He was. He never let a week pass without bringing me flowers, even in winter.”

  “I didn’t know. That made him a very thoughtful man.”

  “Oh, he was,” she added wistfully as a faraway look clouded her eyes. She pulled a silver flask from her satchel. “And such a strong man. He was a very solicitous man, too. He’s been gone over ten years now, but I still miss him today as much as I did the day he died.”

  “I’m told true love works that way, Mrs. Gottfried.”

  “Indeed it does.”

  Catalina listened and marveled at how caring and attentive Iverson was being to her aunt. He seemed to know just what to say to comfort and appease her, and it touched Catalina deeply. And then suddenly, love for him swelled in her heart.