by Amelia Grey
His lips slipped to her neck, and his hands found her breasts and kneaded their softness. Catalina moaned, glorying in his touch, his need to protect her.
But all too soon, his kisses gentled, his breathing calmed, and slowly he pushed away from her. Their intense moment of passion had passed. Sanity returned.
Catalina took in a deep, steadying breath and lowered her arms from around his neck. There wasn’t much light shining in the landau, but Catalina didn’t need to see Iverson’s face to know he was no longer angry.
“I can’t believe you followed me,” he said into the darkness.
His voice was calmer, his tone surprised.
“Was I following you or just looking for Sir Phillip in the same place you were looking for him?”
He grunted a laugh. “I’m in no mood to be taunted with my own words, Catalina. If I’d had any idea you would follow me tonight, I never would have told you I was going to look for your father.”
“If I had had any idea of where you were going to look for my father, you can be sure I wouldn’t have followed you.”
“Do you really mean that?”
She thought for a moment and said, “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
He caressed her cheek first with the backs of his fingers and then with his fingertips. Catalina felt a yearning deep in her abdomen. She wanted to grab his hand and place it on her breast and beg him to touch her with passion once again, but she remained still.
“Where is Mrs. Gottfried? I can’t believe she let you come after me alone.”
“She didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t leave her much choice other than to allow me to do what I wished.”
“I suspected as much. You take care of her better than she looks out for you.”
“She’s been delicate since her husband passed on, and I have to take care of her.”
“You couldn’t have been in that house long, but what did you—? Did you see anything or anyone? I mean you didn’t—?”
“No.” She shook her head and gave him a grateful smile. “I saw only the woman who answered the door. She thought I was there looking for employment. She took me to a room so I could change into something more appropriate. I thought she was talking about servants’ work until she mentioned Madame Shipwith.”
His fingertips glided over her chin and trickled down her neck and settled in the hollow of her throat. “You know about Madame Shipwith’s establishment?”
“No, no, I mean yes.” Catalina sighed, wishing he would take her in his arms and kiss her passionately. “I knew Mrs. Wardyworth had worked for a woman named Madame Shipwith, but I didn’t know who Madame Shipwith was. I certainly had no idea that house was hers until I was upstairs.”
Iverson’s hand stilled, and he stirred in the seat. “Your father employs a woman who used to work for—?”
“Iverson, please,” she interrupted. “Do not try to understand my father and the people he chooses to employ.”
Iverson shook his head. “Your father never ceases to amaze me.”
“Perhaps my father is different from most people you know, but it just seems to be in his nature to collect oddities.”
“I will agree with that.”
“And keep in mind if I hadn’t known Madame Shipwith’s name, there is no telling what I might have seen or heard before I realized I shouldn’t be in that house. I was trying to get out when I ran into that odious man.” She cupped his cheek with her hand and whispered earnestly, “Thank you for saving me.”
“You have no need to thank me, Catalina,” he said huskily. “You were doing a damned good job taking care of yourself. I saw the powerful blow you gave that cock-bawd oaf.”
She laughed softly. “What did you call him?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
His arms surrounded her shoulders and pulled her close. There was no anger in his touch, only warmth and strong gentleness. Catalina let out a thankful breath and laid her head on his chest, letting her cheek rest against the softness of his waistcoat.
He kissed the top of her head as his hands caressed her back. She snuggled closer to him, and he said, “You’re shaking again. There’s no need to fear that loathsome man.”
“I’m just cold,” she fibbed, knowing the man had been too strong, and she wouldn’t have gotten away from him if Iverson hadn’t found her.
“You know I kept telling myself I wouldn’t hit the man, even though I wanted to smash in his face the moment I saw him holding you. I didn’t want you to see me be violent, but when he made that inappropriate comment about you, I had to defend you.”
She looked up at him. “I’m not sorry you hit him. I slapped him, too, remember.”
Iverson’s arms tightened around her, and she slipped her arms beneath his coat to circle his waist. She took pleasure in the contented feeling of being comforted in his embrace. It made her feel safe and, though she had no idea why, it also made her feel loved, cherished, and cared for, and that was a glorious feeling. She took care of so many people every day it was heavenly to know that tonight someone had taken care of her.
Catalina raised her head and looked into his eyes. She wanted Iverson to see into her soul and know what she was feeling. Her emotions were running wild because of what had transpired at Madame Shipwith’s, but what she was feeling in her heart was because of Iverson.
She said, “I felt very foolish tonight, Iverson, and I need you to kiss me again.”
“You are the least foolish lady I know, and I was hoping you wanted me to kiss you again.”
His lips came down on hers with warm, moist softness. Catalina’s arms moved up his strong, firm back. She pressed her body to his, while his lips explored hers with an exquisite tenderness that touched the core of her being.
She pulled away from him and placed her hands on each side of his face and looked intently into the depths of his eyes. “I want to think only about you and the things you make me feel when you kiss me and touch me.”
“Then think only of me,” he murmured softly, “and I will think only of you.”
She smiled. “That almost sounds like poetry.”
“Like hell it does,” he murmured and then chuckled softly under his breath.
His lips quickly covered hers with the same desperate passion they’d experienced earlier. His mouth and tongue ravaged hers in slow, savoring kisses that thrilled her, filled her. His hands brushed down her chest to her waist and back up again. They kissed and touched and embraced, fueling their desires to continue.
“I want to make you mine, Catalina.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
He scooted her down and carefully leaned her back into the corner of the cushion. With gentle hands, he lifted one of her legs onto the seat, and then he stretched his body over her, fitting the junction of his thighs against her softness. Catalina’s heart lurched. She’d never felt a man’s weight before, and there was something richly sensuous and deeply satisfying about the pressure of it. A new expectancy filled her, and by instinct, she lifted her hips toward him.
A long, low sigh whispered past Iverson’s lips. It thrilled her that her action pleased him so much. He lifted himself a little, looking down at her. She smiled and kissed him sweetly, lingeringly on his lips, his cheeks, his closed eyes. His lips moved across her cheek, trailing little moist kisses over her jaw and down her chin to her neck, making her achingly aware of every masculine contour of his body. He cupped her backside and pushed her up closer to the hardness beneath his trousers. Something she didn’t know how to explain was building inside her, and she was eager to experience it.
With one hand, he reached down the scooped neckline of her gown, and with little effort, lifted the swell of her breast from beneath her undergarments, freeing her nipple to his view. He covered it with his mouth and hungrily sucked. Catalina gasped and arched her body toward him as hot, delicious sensations spiraled through her. Her arms circle
d his head, and she held him to her chest as wave after wave of thrilling desire racked every inch of her body.
Her breathing was shallow. She gloried in his touch as he feasted at her breast.
“Catalina, you shouldn’t be this sweet, this eager,” he whispered against her heated skin. “I shouldn’t want you this desperately.”
Though she didn’t know exactly what it was, she answered, “But I want you desperately, too.”
“Please don’t tell me that. That is not what a rake needs to hear.”
“But it is the truth,” she said, sliding her arms under his coat again and stroking the width of his powerful shoulders, down his strong spine to his slim waist, over the firm swell of his buttocks and back up again. He moaned again.
“Your touch is more than I can bear, Catalina,” he said on a shaky breath. “I want to, but I can’t do this to you. I want you, but you are not mine for the taking.”
He pushed away from her quickly, stood, and rapped three times on the roof with his fist.
The carriage jerked, and Briggs started slowing the horses.
Catalina was shocked beyond belief. She rose in the seat, pushing her gown down over her legs as she sat up. “Iverson, what did I do?”
“Nothing.” He fell to his knees in front of her, helping her straighten the bodice of her gown. With caring eyes, he touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers, letting them drift across her lips. “That’s just it, Catalina. You haven’t done anything to me, and I can’t take your virtue away from you.”
“But it’s mine to give,” she argued.
“Yes, but this is not the time or the place. And though I have been a rake many times in the past, I don’t intend to be one tonight.”
The carriage stopped, and Iverson rose.
“I’ll follow you in my carriage and make sure you get safely home.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, knowing she would feel better with him near. “You’d best take your cloak,” she said, handing it to him. “I have a blanket to keep me warm.”
He took his cloak and opened the door, but before he could jump down, Catalina said, “Iverson?”
He turned back to her. “Yes?”
She hesitated but knew she had to ask. “Was my father in that house?”
“No. He had been there but was gone. I’m still looking for him.”
Iverson jumped down and quietly shut the door.
Catalina shivered and wrapped the blanket tightly around her, wishing she could feel the warmth of Iverson’s arms once more. For all his rough talk and his reputation as the Rake of Baltimore, he had proven tonight he was a gentleman. The carriage started rolling again. She remembered the first day she had met Iverson. On first appearance, he seemed so tough, so rigid, so aggressive, but somehow she’d known he had a softer, gentler side, too. Tonight she had seen both sides: the strong protector, and the gentle and passionate lover.
Pulling the blanket up under her chin, Catalina knew she was in love with Iverson—deeply, longingly, and irrevocably in love with him. She didn’t know when or how it had happened. He certainly hadn’t encouraged her.
And because of her love for him, she wouldn’t wait any longer for her father to come home and work a miracle. Tomorrow morning she would go to Iverson’s home and tell him there were two more parts of A Tale of Three Gentlemen to be published.
He deserved to know.
And if he decided never to speak to her again because of it, she would have to find a way to live with his decision.
Seventeen
Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.
—Walter Scott
He felt damned good.
Iverson was up and dressed earlier than usual and down in his book room. He had done a lot of thinking after he left Catalina last night. One conclusion was clear: he intended to court Catalina.
The thought made him chuckle silently. Everyone in Society thought he was courting her, anyway. Why not make it official? He certainly had Mrs. Gottfried’s blessing.
There was no use in trying to fool himself. He wanted much more than just to court Catalina and had for a long time. He wanted her beneath him, to make love to her all night long. And he almost had last night. She was so damn willing it had been sheer hell pushing away from her.
But he was not such a coldhearted rake as to take her in a carriage as if she were a common trollop, and certainly not half an hour after that whoremaster had accosted her in the brothel. She was a lady and deserving of being treated like one.
But there was no doubt he’d wanted her.
Fiercely.
And he was no longer willing to wait until he’d settled everything with her father. There was no telling when the man might actually come back home.
Iverson took a sheet of vellum out of his desk drawer and opened the ink jar. He dipped the quill into the ink and started writing.
My dear Miss Crisp,
I would like the pleasure of your company in Hyde Park this afternoon. I will pick you up at half past three.
Iverson stopped and looked at what he had written. He laughed at how stiff that sounded. He crumpled the vellum and took out another sheet.
Catalina,
I will pick you up at half past three today for a ride in the park.
Iverson
Much better, he thought, and blew on the paper to dry the ink.
At the sound of a knock, Iverson looked up and saw Wallace standing in the doorway.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir.”
“Not a problem, Wallace. What is it?”
“Your brother is here. He wanted to know if you were feeling well enough to see him.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m fine now.”
“Yes, sir. I showed him into the dining room and offered him a cup of coffee while he waits for you. Should I tell him you will be there directly?”
“No need,” Iverson said, folding his note. “I’m almost finished. And Wallace, have my curricle brought around front. I want to buy some flowers.”
“Would you like for me to take care of the flowers for you, sir?”
No. He wanted to pick out the flowers for Catalina. Mrs. Gottfried had told him her husband had brought her flowers every week. He needed to give Catalina flowers.
“I’ll handle it. Just get the curricle.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Wait.”
Iverson finished sealing the envelope with hot wax and gave the note to Wallace. “It’s early still, but in about an hour have this note sent around to Sir Phillip Crisp’s house and delivered to Miss Catalina Crisp.”
Iverson grabbed his black coat off a chair and shoved his arms into the sleeves as he walked toward the dining room. Rounding the doorway, he saw Matson standing in front of the back window. The draperies had been pulled back, and bright sunshine spilled into the room. Iverson could see his brother was deep in thought. An odd feeling prickled Iverson’s skin, and it was more than twin intuition. Something wasn’t right. Matson wasn’t a daydreamer, but then, Iverson wasn’t one to borrow trouble, either.
He walked into the sunlit room, saying, “Good to see you, Brother.”
Matson turned and faced him. “You, too. You’re feeling better?”
“Yes, I’m good as new.”
“Really? Then you must not have read Lord Truefitt’s column.”
“No, did I make the man’s gossip page again today?”
“Hmm. Apparently you were at the Great Hall last night, but I never saw you.”
Iverson walked over to the buffet and picked up the silver pot and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I went early and left early.”
“Unusual for you. Obviously you can take crowds better than you used to.”
“I’m learning.” Iverson cleared his throat. “Tell me, what did Lord Truefitt have to say this time?”
“Something along the lines of:
“Roses are red
Violets are b
lue
Is it the poet’s daughter
The Baltimore Rake will woo?”
“Bloody hell, that sounds awful,” Iverson said, slightly amused by the inference.
“Yes, I suppose he likes to fancy himself being as good at poetry as Miss Crisp’s father.”
Iverson sipped his coffee and watched Matson over the rim of his cup. It was unlike his brother to brood. Something was wrong, and Iverson had the feeling it didn’t have anything to do with Truefitt’s gossip.
“In that case, someone needs to tell the man he’s more in the category with Lord Snellingly,” Iverson said, knowing his brother would eventually get around to telling him what was on his mind.
“Yes, he went on to say both you and Miss Crisp were seen leaving the party early and quite hastily.”
Iverson set down his cup. “Damn that man! He must have eyes in the back of his head and spies everywhere, too. Someone needs to find out who the bugger is and put a stop to his constant prattle about other people’s lives.”
“Is what he indicated true?” Matson asked.
Iverson remained quiet. Iverson was still trying to figure out what was bothering Matson. There had to be something more than this silly gossip vexing him.
“Did you have a rendezvous with Miss Crisp last night?”
“Do I hear a reprimand in your tone?” Iverson asked, hoping to lighten the atmosphere between them.
“You hear only concern.”
“Good. But in any case, I wouldn’t tell you if I did, but I will tell you I didn’t plan a meeting with Miss Crisp last night.”
“Perhaps you didn’t plan an encounter, but you did see her after you both left the party, didn’t you?”
“Is that your brotherly intuition again, or are you fishing and expect me to take the bait?”
“I know you well.”
“Obviously, too well,” Iverson muttered. “So you think I had my way with Miss Crisp last night?”
One corner of Matson’s mouth lifted with a smile. “Well, it had crossed my mind.”