by Amelia Grey
Love?
Had she just felt love for Iverson?
Who was he? The angry man who’d threatened to harm her father for his writings, or this man who sat before her now, chilled and in rain-soaked clothing, doing his best to gladden the soul of an old lady who’d clearly had too much to drink?
Catalina realized tears had formed in her eyes, and she quickly made herself busy pulling the black drawstring twine from her reticule. She’d noticed Iverson kept brushing his hair away from his face. The cord had small, short tassels on the ends, and he might not want to use it, but she would offer it to him.
“Now, Mr. Brentwood,” Aunt Elle said, “I think this might be a fine time for you to tell me about America. Is it truly as uncivilized as I’ve heard?”
“Perhaps in some places, but not Baltimore,” he said as he stuffed his leather gloves into his coat pocket. “It’s a thriving city with plenty of industry and social life.”
Catalina extended the reticule twine to him. “Would you like to use this for your hair?”
He gave her a sincere smile. “If you’re sure you don’t mind it getting wet.”
She returned his smile. “I don’t mind. I don’t need it back. Let me hold the tonic for you.”
Catalina held the brown bottle of brandy while he tied his hair into a queue. She thought to herself he was just as handsome with his hair hanging straight as when it was pulled back.
For over an hour, Catalina sat quietly and listened to Iverson and her aunt talk with few pauses in between. But when they stopped, it wasn’t long before Aunt Elle laid her head on Sylvia’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. Her maid fell asleep shortly thereafter.
“You still look cold, Mr. Brentwood,” Catalina whispered. “The color has not returned to your lips.”
“No matter,” he said softly. “I am feeling warm. Brandy will do that for you.”
“For once, I’m glad Aunt Elle had it with her.”
“I must admit I was glad to get it. It takes the edge off the chill.”
Catalina scooted on the seat and moved closer to Iverson, so her side, hip, and leg pressed against his.
“Catalina, what are you doing?”
“Shh,” she whispered with her forefinger on her lips. “Don’t talk too loudly. Auntie doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s snoring.”
Iverson chuckled silently, and keeping his voice low, said, “I don’t think she will awaken for a while, and I don’t want you to get wet from my coat.”
“I am not worried about getting wet.”
Catalina shared her blanket by pulling it over his legs. She leaned in close to him, pressing her breasts against the damp sleeve of his coat. “I want to help you get warm.”
His eyes questioned her as he said, “You are being very brave, Miss Crisp, with your aunt not two feet away.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t want you getting a chill. Give me your hands underneath the blanket, and let me rub them.”
“Gladly.”
He slipped his hands beneath the wool, and she caught them in hers. They felt larger than she expected, and they were still very cold. She placed one of his hands in her lap, and the other she massaged softly and slowly, rubbing the palm and then between each finger. She enjoyed being in his company. She enjoyed talking to him, sparring with him, and most of all kissing him.
Iverson’s gaze searched her face while she caressed his hand. “I don’t think you know what you are doing to me, Catalina.”
She tried to remain aloof, though that was far from what she was feeling. “Of course I do. I am warming your hands.”
“You are, and more than just my hands.”
She looked at him and said, “Your lips still look pale.”
Having no forethought about what she was going to do, Catalina suddenly stretched up and let her lips brush over Iverson’s once, twice, and on the third time they stayed on his. He leaned toward her, deepening the kiss. Catalina opened her mouth, and with her tongue, tasted the brandy. She continued to massage his hand, and wondered if her caresses made him feel the same warm sensations she felt.
“Does this warm you?” she asked against his lips.
“Hotly, Catalina,” he said, and pulled his hand from beneath the blanket, and untied the ribbon under her chin.
He kissed his way down one side of her neck and back up the other. The feelings he created in her were exquisite and heady. He then slipped his hand to the back of her neck, pressing her closer to him as his lips came down hard on hers again.
Catalina sighed softly, contentedly, as her breath mingled with his. Desperately, but quietly, their lips clung, and their tongues tasted, stroked, and explored with leisure. She tangled her hands in his wet hair and traced the top of his wide shoulders with her forearms. Being with him like this brought her immense satisfaction but also a yearning for more.
When she realized she wanted him to touch her breasts again and kiss her with wild, unrelenting passion as he had last night, she knew she had to stop before she was completely lost in the moment.
Reluctantly, Catalina broke the kiss.
As if sensing her reticence, Iverson turned her loose. Leaving the blanket with him, Catalina put as much distance between them as she could and looked out the window. The earlier slashing rain had become a drizzle. Through the fog, she saw lighted streetlamps and knew they were coming into London.
Catalina felt an overwhelming need to tell Iverson there were two more parts of A Tale of Three Gentlemen yet to be published.
He deserved to know.
But…
Was it so wrong of her to hold out hope her father would return in time, so she wouldn’t have to? Dare she hope he was at home, waiting for her right now?
She had no doubt if she told Iverson the truth he would never speak to her again. If she waited, and by some chance her father had made it home, Iverson would never have to know what she had kept from him.
Fourteen
Our desires always disappoint us; for though we meet with something that gives us satisfaction, yet it never thoroughly answers our expectation.
—François de La Rochefoucauld
Iverson’s throat still hurt like hell.
He was sore all over, too, he found as he stepped out of his carriage in front of the well-lighted Great Hall. How did a little cold rain make one so blasted sick?
He’d spent the last three days in bed, shaking like a leaf, but finally his fever broke yesterday, and today he was stronger and feeling more like himself. He couldn’t miss the first official pre-Season party. He cared nothing for the revelry, but he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to see Catalina. On their way back to London, her aunt had mentioned they would be attending the ball at the Great Hall. Catalina would never know the determination and sheer willpower it took him to brave the early crowds just for her. He knew she’d be gone if he waited until later in the evening.
No doubt the Earl of Bighampton would be there, as well, fawning over Catalina, wanting to dance with her, Iverson thought as he climbed the stone steps. He was determined to see that didn’t happen.
Matson had come to see him the first day he was back from The Cooked Goose Inn but stayed only long enough to tell him he had discovered the Duke of Windergreen was out of Town, and his man of affairs wouldn’t even discuss the possibility of a lease with them until the duke gave him permission. They had quickly decided to send the duke a letter by private courier in hopes he would agree to their proposal and send back word to his administrator. Now that he was better, Iverson wanted to know if his brother had heard from the duke. And if he stayed long enough at the ball, he would probably see Matson.
There was nothing good about being in bed with chills and fever, but it had given Iverson time to think about Catalina. And think about her he had—night and day. The knot that had settled in his stomach wasn’t because he hadn’t eaten much the past couple of days but from wanting to see her. He never dreamed he’d be smitten by Sir Phill
ip’s daughter. And he had fought it for as long as he could.
He touched his pocket as he made his way up to the entrance. He’d had the handkerchief she’d given him laundered and pressed. It was safely tucked away to return to her tonight.
The tall double doors of the Great Hall were open wide and held back with flower-filled urns. Music, chatter, and laughter roared from the doorway where he left his hat, cloak, and gloves with the servant. He walked to the opening of the ballroom and stood there for a moment, looking at the vast sea of people.
The large hall was flanked down each side by immense, fluted columns that had been decorated with flowers and streams of yellow and blue ribbons woven together. Hundreds of candles burned brightly on hanging chandeliers, multipronged candelabras, and tall, brass candlesticks placed strategically around the room. The grandeur and scope of the space was tremendous.
After Iverson’s eyes adjusted to the light, he scanned the crowd, looking for Catalina. It wouldn’t be easy to find her. Unlike the small parties he’d attended all winter in private homes, this event had turned out most everyone in Polite Society. No one wanted to miss the first pre-Season ball of the year.
Iverson didn’t see Catalina on his first or second quick glance around the room, so he took his time and gave the stirring mob a slower perusal.
“Mr. Brentwood, what a delightful surprise to see you tonight.”
Iverson turned to see Miss Mable Taylor walking up to him with a delighted smile on her face. He took an unconscious step backward when she stopped close to him. In her hair she wore an extremely high, pointed crown that seemed to be made from some kind of thin gold and silver metal. He assumed she wore it to make her look taller, but to him it made her look ridiculous.
He got the uneasy feeling she’d been watching the door for him, because he’d been standing there for less than a minute when she approached him. He was not up to her idle chatter tonight and would have to think of something quick and clever to get away from her.
“Good evening, Miss Taylor. That headpiece you’re wearing is extraordinary.”
Her eyes brightened, her smile widened, and her squeal of glee as she clasped her hands together under her chin could have been heard above the chatter, laughter, and music on the dance floor. “I’m so glad you noticed it. It was my mother’s artful creation, and my father said it makes me look like a princess. Do you think so?”
“It does. In fact, I know my brother, Mr. Matson Brentwood, would want to see how lovely it looks on you.”
“He would?” Her eyes frantically searched the ballroom. “Is he here? Where is he? I haven’t seen him come in tonight.”
“You must have missed him. He’s probably at the buffet table, or perhaps he’s already taking a turn on the dance floor. I can’t see it from here, so I’m not sure.”
She looked back to Iverson and batted her lashes rapidly. “Oh, then perhaps I should go look for him? What do you think?”
“I think he would be disappointed if he missed seeing you tonight.”
Miss Taylor reached up, touched her crown, and smiled. “In that case, I should look for him immediately. Do excuse me, Mr. Brentwood.”
Iverson chuckled to himself as he watched Miss Taylor skip merrily away. Of course, if Matson were indeed here, he wouldn’t be too happy Iverson had sent Miss Taylor his way. But it wouldn’t be the first or last time his brother would be unhappy with him.
Iverson took his time and slowly looked over the ballroom once again. He saw no sign of Catalina or her aunt, and he was beginning to wonder if they had come. The thought that Catalina might be sick, too, entered his mind. But then he caught sight of Lord Bighampton. He was leading Catalina onto the dance floor.
Iverson’s chest tightened.
Damnation. He hadn’t been able to see her because the portly earl was standing in front of her. Obviously, Iverson was too late to keep Catalina from dancing with the oaf.
Iverson walked over to a column and leaned against it. He watched as Catalina’s and the earl’s hands met and clasped over their heads and held as other dancers sashayed under the arch their arms made. He didn’t like seeing that man’s puffy hands touching Catalina’s, even if she did have on elbow-length gloves. For a moment, Iverson thought about tramping down to the dance floor and pushing the barrel-shaped earl out of the way and taking his place with Catalina.
“Mr. Brentwood, are you hiding behind this column?”
Iverson straightened and smiled at Miss Babs Whitehouse. Unlike Miss Taylor, Miss Whitehouse was a delectable feast for a man’s eyes. Her face was beautiful, her bosom full, and she knew how to invite a man to enjoy looking at her. She was also clever enough to know how to get a man interested in her—if he were so inclined.
“No, I just arrived and was looking around.”
“The hall is already filled. I think everyone is ready for the Season to begin. I know I am, so perhaps you will ask me for a dance later tonight.”
“Why don’t I ask you right now?” he said without hesitating. “The current dance started just moments ago, and I’m sure we can find a place to fit in on the floor.”
Miss Whitehouse smiled. “I think I would like to dance with you right now.”
Iverson led the way and took the longer route around the sides of the hall. He could have elbowed his way through the center of the crush of people and ended up right on the dance floor, but Iverson didn’t feel up to wading through the swell of expensively gowned ladies and impeccably dressed gentlemen.
He had no idea he was going to ask Miss Whitehouse to dance when she walked up beside him, but he was glad the idea popped into his mind. He wouldn’t mind at all keeping a closer eye on the earl and Catalina.
With patience, he guided Miss Whitehouse onto the dance floor, and they fell in line with the other dancers. There were several couples between them and Catalina and Lord Bighampton, so he started working his way toward them. He knew the moment Catalina saw him, and the pleasure in her eyes pleased him. Just looking at her made him feel better. She kept glancing his way, and so did Lord Bighampton, but not with the happiness Iverson saw on Catalina’s face.
It wasn’t easy, but Iverson took his time and made a few calculated moves and eventually stepped his way around and through the other dancers, until he and Miss Whitehouse were right beside Catalina and the earl. Lord Bighampton tried to move away from them but succeeded only in confusing the couple on the other side of them and causing the four of them to miss several steps in the dance and scramble awkwardly to catch up.
Iverson smiled when he saw the sparkle of amusement in Catalina’s eyes and the look of aggravation on Lord Bighampton’s face. He had no doubt the earl was once again throwing imaginary daggers.
Through the next several steps, Iverson glanced over at Catalina and was satisfied to see she was watching him and Miss Whitehouse as raptly as he watched her and Lord Bighampton. Iverson then divided his attention between smiling at Miss Whitehouse and wanting to growl every time he saw the earl inappropriately let his hand slide down Catalina’s forearm, or let his stubby fingers tickle the underside of her wrist before letting go of her. For the first time, he was thankful ladies wore gloves. Iverson had an intense desire to wipe the touch of that man from Catalina and to erase all thoughts of him from her memory.
The time finally came in the dance where he and Lord Bighampton exchanged partners for a series of several steps. Iverson felt an immediate sense of relief as he held up a flat hand and Catalina pressed her palm against his. There was something about her touch that comforted him and eased his longing to be with her. As he looked at her lovely face, he remembered how she had caressed his hands and warmed them under the blanket on their journey back to London.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Catalina?” he asked as they walked in a circle.
“Very much, Mr. Brentwood. I love to dance.”
“So it’s just me you didn’t want to dance with when your aunt suggested it a few days ago.”
They switched hands and turned and walked in the opposite direction. “That’s because I knew you wouldn’t accept.”
“Ha!” she said with a teasing smile. “You knew no such thing. Besides—”
He knew she deliberately left her sentence unfinished, so he took the bait she threw out and asked, “Besides what?”
“A lady can always change her mind.”
In seconds, Iverson would have to turn her back over to the earl, so he quickly whispered, “Meet me on the south terrace in half an hour.”
“I will not,” she whispered back to him.
“Do it,” he commanded gently and turned and caught Miss Whitehouse’s hand without missing a step as he returned Catalina to the corpulent earl.
After the long dance, Iverson was in need of some nourishment, so he excused himself from Miss Whitehouse and went to find refreshment and to rest before he met Catalina. He knew she would join him on the terrace, even though she declared she wouldn’t.
As she said, ladies could always change their minds.
He found the food table filled with such delicacies as marinated oysters and clams, pickled fish and vegetables, and carvings of various cuts of pork and beef. He ate his fill, and as he was leaving, feeling stronger once again, he looked up and saw Sir Randolph Gibson watching him from the doorway. Iverson hoped the man was not looking to talk to him. He wasn’t in a mood to be nice to him after discovering he owned the warehouse space he and his brother were leasing and hadn’t bothered to reveal that bit of information.
Iverson stopped and talked to a group of gentlemen but excused himself shortly after one of the men mentioned how much he’d enjoyed A Tale of Three Gentlemen. It still amazed him people thought he approved of the story and wanted to hear they had liked it.
He spoke to Lady Windham, hoping Sir Randolph would be gone by the time he was ready to leave the buffet room, but he had no such luck. The dandy was still lingering around the doorway when Iverson headed that way.