by Gayle Wilson
Seeing his tall form, she had surprisingly lost all her anger about whatever tricks he’d employed to get her to marry him and had felt instead a sense of relief and of safety. He’d been talking to a group of gentlemen who appeared interested in whatever views he was sharing, but he’d turned his attention to her at once when she’d appeared at his side. At her whispered suggestion, he had immediately arranged for their departure.
“I looked for you for the waltz you’d promised,” Raven said, hoping she’d relieve the pain eating his gut at the thought that she might again have been on some dark balcony in the arms of one of her former beaus, who had swarmed around her all night.
Catherine found that her hands were twisting the kid gloves she’d removed upon entering the coach, and she forced them to lie still in her lap. Guilt, she thought.
“Someone told me you were playing cards,” she answered, turning to watch through the window the sweep of the elegant facades of the town houses they were passing, revealed by the brilliance of the moonlight.
“For a while. Some of the men I wanted to meet were playing. I managed to lose and then returned to the ballroom.”
“Managed to lose?” she repeated, thinking of her own losses tonight.
“They really aren’t very good card players.”
“And you are?” she asked, smiling.
“Reasonably. It’s all numbers. I’m good with numbers.”
“I would have said it’s mostly luck and intuition.”
“And you probably lose more than you win,” he answered, that small smile playing again over the stern line of his lips.
“You might be surprised.”
“I might at that. Did you play tonight?” he asked casually, and she felt her heart stop.
“No,” she managed to say, but even to her own ears, the whispered response sounded unconvincing.
“That’s probably just as well. If youreally believe it’s all a matter of luck.”
She waited through the remainder of the ride for the question she had expected and for which she still had no answer.Where were you? Where were you when I looked for you to fulfill the promise of a second, more private waltz? And she found herself regretting having missed the pleasure of that dance.
But he never asked. And, because she had thought he might care, she was perversely disappointed that she wasnot going to be called upon to explain her absence from the ballroom.
The days preceding the first small dinner she’d planned were crammed with last-minute preparations. Catherine resolutely put from her mind the events of her great aunt’s party. She didn’t allow herself to think about the threat of having to redeem her wager or about Gerald’s seemingly genuine puzzlement about the announcement of their betrothal for theMorning Post.
She had found, on reflection, that it was rather flattering if Ravenhad taken the trouble to arrange that ruse. It must mean that he had really intended to marry her from the beginning and was willing to do almost anything to accomplish that. No woman could be very unhappy with that thought, whatever her husband’s reasons for desiring the marriage. Especially, she was honest enough to admit, if that woman had fallen in love with the man who had gone to all that trouble.
She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when it had happened, or even when she’d first acknowledged that it had. But there was no longer any doubt in her mind that she was, very unfashionably, in love with her own husband. She now knew how much she wanted their relationship to move into other directions, while he, it seemed, was content to allow their original agreement to stand. Of course, he didn’t yet know a great deal about Catherine Montfort Raven. He had likened her to steel, and in the face of her determined decision to enchant him, it seemed an apt description.
Every night she faced Raven over the dinner table, listening with what had become truly fascinated attention to his quiet discussion, made in response to her encouragement, of his various business dealings and of the men whom he needed to win over in order to carry out those activities.
She found herself watching his hands or his mouth as he talked or enjoying the laughter in his eyes as he answered some perfectly ridiculous question she’d asked. Or as he teased her about why she might possibly want to understand the process by which steel was cast. But he answered her, patiently explaining and even reexplaining whatever she questioned. And if in those few days their time at table, under the watchful eye of Edwards, stretched far beyond the proscribed dinner hour, she was pleased to think neither of them minded.
The afternoon before the long-awaited dinner party had finally arrived and, carefully reviewing her arrangements, Catherine believed there was nothing else that needed her attention. She looked forward to a long bath and several hours in the skillful hands of her hairdresser and her maid. Her dress had arrived the day before and, made up in blush taffeta overlain with cream lace, it was far more becoming than she had hoped. For the first time, she allowed herself to relax. She knew enough about her husband now that she had ceased to worry about how he would be accepted. His manners were as polished and his conversation as interesting, to her mind at least, as anyone she’d encountered in her long familiarity with the haut monde.
One of the maids tiptoed in, apologizing for interrupting her solitude. Catherine, seated at the small secretary in her bedroom, raised her eyes from the list she was checking off. She was still in her silk wrapper, having seen no reason to dress. Edwards would take care of everything downstairs, and she had thought he’d appreciate her being out of the staff’s way as they made the arrangements she’d carefully gone over with him.
“What is it, Maggie?” she asked, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong with her meticulous planning.
“It’s a letter, madam. They said it was urgent.”
Catherine wondered if her father had changed his mind and decided to attend after all. His refusal had been expected and his response had obviously been composed by his secretary, but at least it had been polite.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the proffered envelope.
She waited until the maid had left before breaking the wax seal, which she had recognized at once.
The words, after the first, began to run together, and with a growing sense of unreality, she was forced to reread what Gerald had written, the salient part of the message coming after the usual vows of friendship couched in rather flowery terms in the first paragraph.
… I now find myself strapped for funds for a minor undertaking. With my heartfelt apologies for any inconvenience it might cause, I thought it fair to tell you I intend to apply to your husband for the repayment of the debt you incurred on Thursday last. He has agreed to a six o’clock appointment today. If, however, this arrangement presents a problem for you, I will, as a gentleman, be forced to accept the forfeiture we previously agreed upon. I look forward to hearing from you.
Yours faithfully, Amberton
Faithfully, she reread with bitterness. The scoundrel. To think that she had been so foolish as to place herself in his power like this. And then, knowing that there was nothing to be gained by useless recriminations, she glanced at the clock. It was already past four, and the first guests were to arrive at eight. Apparently Gerald had planned his revenge with precision. And with some knowledge of her arrangements.
She wondered suddenly if it were a trick. Would Amberton be brazen enough to apply to her husband for payment of a wager he had won in their very clandestine and improper game? But, of course, the chance that he really didn’t intend to meet with Raven was not one she could afford to take.
Reacting as decisively as she ever had in her life, she swiftly rang for her abigail, and before five she was in Raven’s town coach heading to Gerald’s apartment.
She had worked herself into a froth of rage by the time she arrived, and it wasn’t in the least mitigated by the almost contemptuous fulsomeness of Amberton’s greeting.
“My dear, what a delightful surprise,” he enthused as he held open the door for her
furtive entry. She could imagine what the wagging tongues of the ton would say if anyone saw her entering the apartment of an old beau less than three months after her runaway marriage. There would be a great many I-told-you-so’s exchanged across the ton’s dinner tables if her visit today became public knowledge.
“How dare you approach my husband about a very private wager? Have you no honor at all, Gerald?”
“But you were quite insistent that your Mr. Raven didn’t attempt to censure your behavior. And my financial need is, I’m sorry to say, quite pressing.”
“How much?” she asked, opening her reticule, into which she’d stuffed every pound left out of this quarter’s pin money. She knew that her useless anger was only playing into his hands and making this entire episode even more distasteful. Her temper had gotten her into this situation, and she must control it until she had gotten herself out. Whatever value he put on the bracelet she’d gladly pay, just to have done with this farce. In her head, a clock ticked ominously, measuring the brief hours before she would be expected to be at home, poised, assured and beautifully turned out, to play hostess to the beau monde. And the even briefer time until Raven’s threatened arrival here.
“You surely didn’t believe this to be a matter of money?” Gerald asked silkily.
Glancing up, Catherine was surprised to see a very smug expression on his handsome features. “Your letter indicated that you were strapped for cash.”
“I assure you my pockets are not quite empty, my love. Though not, of course, as deeply lined as they would have been had you gone along with the plans for our nuptials. That really was too bad of you, Cat. I had such hopes for our union, an opportunity to see you really tamed. You always were such a hellcat. I wonder how your Mr. Raven is enjoying all that fire and passion.”
Gerald paused, considering the effect of his comment. Because he did know her very well, he believed he could read the answer in her blush. What he’d begun to suspect about this very strange marriage was apparently true. It was a marriage of convenience, and not at all the love match the ton had proclaimed it.
“You never did anything by half measures,” he continued smoothly. “And because of that, I don’t believe anyone will be surprised that you’ve managed to become bored with your marriage to that barbarian after only a few short weeks.”
“Leave my marriage out of this,” she said coldly. “And he’s not a barbarian.”
“Oh, of course he is. That, and his unlimited funds, of course, are probably why you were attracted to him. He’s rich enough that you didn’t have to worry about whether he wanted you or your father’s money, and you were always attracted to the bizarre. Your American husband certainly is that. Does he beat you, my sweet, when you make him angry?”
“He’s never given me occasion to make him angry,” she answered sarcastically, and was rewarded by the rush of furious color into the viscount’s pale cheeks.
“Damn you,” he said softly.
“If not money, what do you want? I have guests coming.”
She hoped her cold display of rigidly controlled impatience was successfully masking her fear. Somehow Catherine knew that Gerald wanted to make her afraid. That it was part of the revenge he had planned to take on her for marrying Raven instead of him. He wanted her to be afraid of her husband finding out about the card game and afraid of what his own intentions were during this highly improper meeting, here in the privacy of his home.
“I think, my darling, you owe me what you promised. A kiss. If you’re not giving those delightful embraces to that dolt of a husband, you might at least give the one you promised to me.”
It was indeed what she had so foolishly agreed to. She found it hard to believe Gerald had gone to all this trouble simply for a kiss, but she couldn’t take the chance of refusing him. Unrequited love? Could that be motive enough for all this elaborate plotting? He had never seemed that passionate before, so it didn’t really fit.
But whatever his reasons, she knew she had little choice. A kiss and then make her escape. She would still have time to dress and meet her guests with some modicum of composure.
“All right,” she whispered. Seeing his smile at that small revelation of her distress, she said more loudly, “Let’s get it over and be done with this business.”
Business. Raven’s word for their agreement. Here she was, again kissing Amberton, when all she really wanted was her husband’s love. And that, of course, Raven had never offered. Only business.
“Such an eager lover,” Gerald said chidingly. His smile was too smug, altogether too satisfied with his attempt to embarrass her. She wondered again if something else was going on, but her temper quickly overcame that whisper of suspicion.
“Never your lover,” she answered mockingly.
She had gone too far, she knew, as he ruthlessly caught her wrists. She fought, realizing suddenly that he was not going to be satisfied with the chaste kiss she had intended to bestow. But he soon had her arms twisted behind her back, her wrists securely held in one of his hands.
He bent her uncomfortably over the back of the high sofa, pushing his body familiarly into hers. She struggled fiercely, even trying to kick at his legs. Her thin slippers made negligible impact against the leather of his high boots, and he ignored her. With that effort, however, she lost her footing and slipped farther back, her body totally in his hold now, only the tip of one foot still making desperate contact with the floor.
His lips descended with determination, but she turned her head away. He caught her chin with his free hand, his fingers brutal, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, she thought in panic, remembering the very observant people she would have to confront tonight. He turned her face until his wet mouth fastened over hers. He pushed his tongue past her lips, moving it against hers until she thought she might be physically ill with disgust.
Some inarticulate sound apparently made her nauseated response clear to him, for suddenly his mouth was removed from hers, and he lifted his head to look down on her in fury.
At least she was free from the subjection of that revolting kiss. But before her relief had fully registered, his fingers were digging into the bodice of her gown. His hand slipped under the globe of her left breast and lifted. For the first time, she felt terror replacing her fury. The cool air touched her exposed flesh, and then, unbelievingly, his mouth fastened over her nipple, biting and sucking.
At that painful contact, she twisted, bringing her knees up automatically in a protective gesture, and felt the right one connect sharply with Gerald’s body. His reaction to that unintentional blow was startling. He released her with a howl, and unbalanced, she slid backward onto the seat of the sofa and then down in an unladylike heap onto the Turkish carpet.
She never even looked at Amberton or tried to guess the cause of the keening noises that were coming from his huddled figure. She scrambled to her feet, stumbling awkwardly over the skirt of her gown, which had caught under her knees. She heard the material rip, but nothing mattered except getting out of here. She was up and running, trying with trembling fingers to pull the material of her dress up over her breast, thankful that in his wrath Gerald hadn’t torn the delicate muslin bodice.
She reached for the handle of the door, only to watch in dismay as it swung away from her searching fingers. She looked up to find her husband standing in the doorway of Gerald’s small salon.
“Hello,” Raven said simply.
She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them, the hallucination would have disappeared. Raven could not—oh dear God, she thought despairingly, he couldnot— be standing in the door of this room where Lord Amberton had just attacked her. But when she opened her eyes, her husband was still there, his slight smile touching his lips.
“You’re leaving it very late, my dear,” he said, his tone as relaxed as his greeting had been. “You have little more than two hours until our guests arrive. And I don’t believe you’re dressed for dinner.”
With somethi
ng approaching horror, her gaze fell, following the slow appraisal of his blue eyes. She found what had attracted that calm survey—her gown so disarrayed that the dusky rose areola that surrounded her left nipple was still exposed.
There seemed nothing she could say, and so she yielded to the impulse she had had since she had looked up to find him there. She threw herself against his chest and with unbelievable relief felt Raven’s hard arms close securely around her.
Chapter Six
“May I see you home?” Raven asked.
Thank God she was safe, he thought. He had arrived in time to prevent whatever Amberton had been attempting. Catherine was trembling in his arms, but she was safe. That had been his only concern when he’d gotten the anonymous note inviting him to this address to witness his wife’s indiscretion. Despite the terms of their agreement, he had been certain she had not come here to cuckold him, that something else had brought her to Amberton’s apartment. Unable to force a reply past the lump in her throat, Catherine nodded, her curls brushing against his shirtfront.
Raven’s thumb and forefinger touched her chin and he raised her face to meet his gaze. His fingers were determined, but there was no painful pressure. He studied the tear-washed eyes, surrounded by the wet tangle of lashes. “Youwere ready to leave?” he inquired, and at the small, sobbing intake of breath that accompanied her nod, his lips lifted again in that slight smile. He had promised her freedom, and so he was honor bound to ask.
“I tried to leave,” she whispered, wanting him to know that it was not by her choice that he had found her in this situation.