More Than Charming

by JoMarie DeGioia

  A dark thought flitted through her mind. She remembered hearing of James’s feelings toward Lady Kanewood a few years ago. Had he loved her? Did he love her still? She’d seen them together many times, and nothing was evident to suggest he’d renewed his attentions. She knew Lord Kanewood counted James as a friend. Would that be so if James still had feelings for the man’s wife?

  James was friendly toward Becca, but he was so to everyone. He was the most charming man Catherine had ever known. No. She didn’t think he harbored any deep affection for Becca.

  But did James love her? He was so attentive to her, so tender. Perhaps that was simply the way it was between a man and a woman who shared intimacies. She squared her shoulders and focused once more on the book in her lap.

  * * *

  James rode the estate, making mental note of such matters as what lengths of fencing needed repair, what trails needed grooming. He paid his respects to his father’s tenants, informing them of his marriage. Without exception, they expressed delight over his news. Apparently, the Earl of Bradford had often shared his wishes to see his son settled down. James accepted their kind words and made note of any repairs that needed to be done to the various cottages.

  He left the last cottage and turned his mount toward the main house, eager to see Catherine. On the ride back, the strange feelings that had assailed him that morning surfaced anew. He didn’t much favor such vulnerability. Not one bit. Surely he could charm his way through such feelings. He wouldn’t puzzle through them now. Catherine had made no declaration of love to him, and asked for none from him. Did she love him?

  “She damn well better,” he grumbled. He shook his head at that. What place did that prickly emotion have in their marriage? He and Catherine were well-suited to each other. God, how she fit him . . . “Very well-suited.” He chuckled.

  And if she came to feel love for him? He’d accept it. As long as she didn’t expect it from him. He’d be damned if he behaved foolishly over a woman again. He almost lost a lifelong friendship the last time he “fell in love”. No, that messy emotion had no place in his life. After the disaster with Geoffrey’s wife, Becca, he’d decided he would keep a tight rein on those sorts of feelings and not allow himself to lose all reason.

  He dismounted in front of the stables, handed the reins to the groom and strode purposefully toward the house.

  * * *

  Stepping out of their dressing room that evening before dinner, his muddled thoughts of the morning fled as he spied the stunning beauty before him. Catherine stood in front of the cheval mirror, a lovely gown of deep green wrapping her slender form. Her hair was upswept, teasing curls framing her face. She smiled widely at him, that adorable dimple showing in her cheek.

  “Good evening, James,” she said, crossing to him.

  “Hello, love.” He held out his arm to her. “Shall we go down to dinner?”

  She nodded and placed her hand on his arm.

  After dinner, James and Catherine adjourned to the parlor for some cards. They decided to play a game of Commerce, a kind of poker game. Three cards were dealt face down on the table, which the players could discard if they wished. The object was to make pairs, flushes, threes of a kind, and so on.

  James dealt the first hand and settled back in his chair. “Do you wish to discard, Catherine?”

  Catherine smiled cheekily at him. “Oh, no, James.”

  He arched a brow at her. He discarded and took new cards. They turned their cards over and he let out a low whistle. Her hand showed three tens.

  “You’ve luck on your side, wife,” he teased.

  She grinned and shrugged her shoulders. Play continued.

  Catherine won almost every hand, much to his chagrin. After nearly an hour of play, she stilled. James held his cards, puzzling over them as he felt Catherine’s regard like a caress. He looked up as her gaze fell on his mouth. Heat filled him.

  “Catherine,” James said in a low voice.

  She lifted her gaze a fraction to meet his gaze. “Yes, James?”

  “If you continue to look at me in that manner, I’ll have to kiss you,” he told her. “And if I start kissing you, I won’t be able to stop.”

  Her breath caught and she licked those luscious lips. “But I don’t want you to stop. Ever.”

  He placed his cards deliberately on the table. Standing, he took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. “Upstairs.”

  She nodded and preceded him out of the parlor and up the grand staircase. When they reached the chamber, James pulled her close, his eyes settling on her rosy lips. He bent his head and gently captured her lips in a kiss.

  He pulled back to smile down at her. “Why don’t we get ready for bed, love?”

  She nodded and crossed to the dressing room. He removed his jacket and waistcoat, laying both across one of the overstuffed chairs. He sat down and pulled off his boots, his eyes continually settling on the closed door of the dressing room. God, how he wanted her! With barely a kiss, she could set his pulse to pounding. He stood and tugged his shirt out of his waistband and froze, stunned as two slender arms hugged him from behind. “Catherine, you gave me quite a start.”

  She moved her hands slowly up inside his shirt, trailing her fingers over his stomach, his chest. James sucked in a breath and turned to face her.

  “Hello, husband,” she said softly, smiling up at him.

  He stared down at her. She wore only her thin nightgown, her hair a wild tumble of curls. But the invitation in her gorgeous violet eyes? “Your boldness pleases me, love.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Hmm.”

  “Just what are you about, wife?” he asked, the delicious possibilities running through his mind.

  She shrugged her slight shoulders. “I thought I’d help you undress,” she said, a trace of shyness in her voice.

  He grinned and dropped his hands to his sides. She untied his cravat, slowly pulling the neck cloth free. She placed the length of silk around her own neck and he laughed softly. She worked the buttons of his shirt free, caressing his chest with her palms flat, her fingers splayed. James couldn’t be still any longer. He unbuttoned and opened her nightgown, feasting his eyes on her exquisite form. Such full breasts, pert rosy nipples. His mouth went dry.

  His shirt fell to the floor only moments before her nightgown. Catherine began to unbutton his breeches, her fingers a bit clumsy. Many women had undressed him, but never before had he felt such desire as when his sweet wife ran her fingers over him, gently stroking him through his breeches. She reached inside to grasp him.

  “My God, Catherine,” he moaned, stilling her hand with his own.

  She looked up at him, confusion clear on her face.

  “If you continue, love,” he told her, bringing her fingers to his lips, “I fear I won’t make it to the bed.”

  He grabbed the ends of the cravat, twisting the silk in his fists, and pulled her closer, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She whimpered and leaned into him, rubbing her breasts against his chest. He pulled back and scooped her up in his arms. When she was cradled in the center of the big bed, James removed his breeches and lay down beside her. She gazed up at him, her eyes dark. He bent his head to kiss her, when something else caught his attention.

  His cravat was still around her neck, only now it lay tantalizingly over one breast. James could see her nipple through the silk, the sight arousing him even more. He reached out and brushed his hand over it, the fabric gently caressing her. Catherine gasped at the gentle contact. James tugged on the neck cloth, slowly removing it. When she closed her eyes as it trailed over her skin, a delicious notion came to him.

  Taking the length of silk, James wrapped it loosely around his hand. He brushed the silk over her face, her lips. Catherine sighed and kissed his fingers. He moved lower, letting the soft fabric run over her neck, her breasts.

  She arched in response. “James, please . . .”

  He stared down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips
parted. Her body was flushed, her nipples erect. He passed the cloth over her once more, thrilled with her response.

  “Catherine,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips across her breast.

  He paused for a long moment, finally closing his mouth over her nipple. She let out a sigh. He kissed the valley between her breasts.

  “Do you like this, love?” he asked, his breath hot on her skin. “Do you like my mouth on you?”

  “Mmm, yes . . .”

  He ran his lips over her, down to the curls that shielded her womanhood. When he gently parted her legs, she held herself still, no doubt thinking he’d enter her. James waited for her to open her eyes. She did, puzzlement cutting through her passionate gaze.

  “James.” She breathed. “What are you—?”

  “You’ll like this, Catherine,” he told her. “I promise.”

  He lowered his head to place his mouth on her very center.

  “James, you can’t—!”

  His lips caressed her, his tongue teased her. She grabbed the sheets and cried out. He found the extra-sensitive nub hidden in the folds of her, rubbing the tip of his tongue over it again and again. Her taste was incredibly sweet and tart. His cock swelled as he felt her shudder against his tongue. She cried out as her climax took her.

  James came over her then and entered her with one smooth thrust. He could feel her quivering, still in the throes of her orgasm. He drove into her, eager to join her in fulfillment. Catherine reached up and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down for a hot, wet kiss. James thrust his tongue into her mouth, lost to everything but the taste of her, the feel of her. He felt her tighten around him, close to her second release, and came with one final deep thrust. She joined him, holding tightly to him as her body shook.

  He whispered her name as he kissed her, waiting for her to come back down to earth.

  She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. “James, that was . . .”

  “Did you like that?”

  She lowered her lashes. “Very much.”

  He hugged her to him. Maybe it wasn’t love, but what they’d just shared brought him more pleasure than he’d ever felt. Damn, he was a lucky man.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, James was the first to awaken. Catherine rested beside him, her arm thrown over his chest. He saw the cravat beside her and grinned, his blood warming as he remembered all that had happened last evening. He shifted in the bed and gently rolled with her until she was beneath him on her back.

  He nuzzled the soft skin of her neck, nibbling her ear. She shifted beneath him and let out a sigh. He placed light kisses over her throat, her breasts, drawing a response from her even though she was still half-asleep. His fingers moved between their bodies, caressing the folds of her.

  “James,” she whispered, parting her legs for him.

  James proceeded to make slow, sweet love to his wife. What a bloody wonderful way to start the day.

  Afterward, Catherine cuddled into the pillows. James kissed her tenderly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had a busy day ahead of him, with many repairs to see to, and wished to get an early start. He hurried through his morning toilette and dressed.

  When he emerged from the dressing room, he wasn’t surprised to see that Catherine was once more sleeping soundly. Little wonder his sweet wife was so tired. After dropping a kiss on her tousled head, he stepped into the sitting room adjoining their chamber. He crossed to the writing desk near the window, sat down, and withdrew paper and pen. In the note he wrote to Catherine, he explained his absence and his duties of the day. And he couldn’t resist making mention of the wonderful night of passion they’d shared, imagining the pretty blush covering her cheeks when she read his words. He folded the missive and wrote her name on the outside.

  Smiling broadly, he strode into their chamber and placed the note beside her head on the pillow. He stared down at her for a long moment, an emotion he dared not name bubbling up inside of him. He cared deeply for Catherine. He desired her like no other woman. Could he? . . . No! He wasn’t the young fop he’d been with Becca. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.

  * * *

  Catherine awoke and stretched languorously, a smile curving her lips. Reaching over to James’s side of the bed, her hands came into contact with nothing but sheets and pillow. She opened her eyes and sat up in confusion. “James?”

  When no answer came, she turned to climb out of bed. She stopped when she saw the note resting on her pillow. Her heart gave a tiny flip. She snatched it up and opened it, wildly curious. She read his words, feeling a touch of regret when she realized she in all likelihood wouldn’t see her husband until late that afternoon. Her breath caught as she read what was penned next. “Last night was incredible, sweetheart,” he wrote. “You pleased me greatly.” Catherine sighed. The words were not flowery but incredibly provocative. He even made mention of the cravat.

  She read the note again. No mention was made of his feelings for her. No matter. He desired her and she pleased him. That would have to suffice.

  Catherine rose and padded over to the vanity. Annie had seen to all of her mistress’s belongings, the previous notes from James included. Catherine pulled open the drawer and added this note to the others, letting her fingers trail over her name on the smooth paper.

  “He must care a bit for me to be considerate enough to write before leaving for the day,” she told herself. “So what if he doesn’t love me?”

  Her heart clenched and she knew in that moment that she loved him. Should she tell him? He’d feel obligated to return the sentiment. She closed the drawer firmly and forced the issue from her mind. “I won’t put that pressure on him. Not now.”

  She set the notes and his heated words out of her mind and set about readying for her day.

  * * *

  Their days fell into a pattern. Nearly each morning James woke his wife with kisses and, sometimes, more. He was a busy man, with both his father’s and his own holdings to oversee. While he had work to attend to on the estate, Catherine occupied herself in the main house. There was much correspondence to be seen to, invitations requiring responses and notes of thanks for wedding gifts received. When she wasn’t working at the writing desk in the very large, very impressive library, she tucked herself into the window seat of the parlor, a book or a little piece of needlework in her lap. The spot soon became a favorite of hers.

  Catherine was surprised to find another of his notes to her on the window seat one morning, one that simply stated that he missed her and couldn’t wait to hold her, wearing nothing between the two of them. His words never ceased to cause her to blush, and she added this heated note to the growing stack in her vanity.

  The next afternoon, nearly two weeks after their wedding, the Earl of Bradford returned to the hall. James headed to the parlor when he overheard his father addressing Catherine with obvious fondness.

  “Daughter, how has my son been treating you?”

  “James has been wonderful to me, sir.”

  James felt a smile curve his lips.

  “Is that so?” the earl went on. “You’re happy, I take it?”

  “She’s very happy, Father,” James said from the doorway.

  “James!” the older man exclaimed, coming to his feet.

  The earl gave his son a firm embrace and sat back down on one of the settees. James sat down beside Catherine, taking her hand in his. His father apparently didn’t miss the gesture.

  “It appears that marriage agrees with you, my boy,” he said, helping himself to the sweet biscuits accompanying the hot tea.

  James simply nodded, letting his thumb caress Catherine’s palm.

  “I had been telling him that for months,” the earl added.

  “Months?” Catherine asked in obvious confusion.

  “Never mind,” James said with a grin.

  Catherine stood, causing the men to follow suit. “I’m
certain you and your father have estate concerns to discuss, James. I’ll be abovestairs.”

  James’s father kissed her cheek, then watched his son’s exchange with Catherine very closely.

  “I’ll soon be upstairs to ready for dinner, Catherine,” James told her.

  She nodded to him. He couldn’t resist the lure of her perfect mouth, and kissed her tenderly. Catherine left the parlor and James watched her go, that odd, soft sensation filling his breast. He turned back to find his father regarding him closely and arched a brow.

  “Was there something you wished to say, Father?” he asked, sitting once more.

  “You love that girl,” the earl stated simply.

  “What? Why, that’s . . . I don’t think . . .”

  “Don’t fight it, my boy.” The earl laughed.

  James’s befuddlement turned to pique. “Pray, don’t tell me of my feelings.”

  His father blinked. “I didn’t mean to upset you, son. I merely thought that—”

  James let out a loud sigh, raking his fingers through his hair. “No, Father,” he cut in. “It is I who should apologize. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

  The earl apparently accepted James’s apology, and thankfully said nothing more of love. What James felt for Catherine . . . He’d puzzle it through some day. He didn’t need anyone, even his well-meaning father, to tell him his feelings.

  * * *

  One week after the earl’s return to the hall, Catherine tore into the pile of correspondence awaiting her attention. An invitation to Chesterfield caught her eye. The Earl of Chester and his wife wanted them to come for an extended visit and Catherine was quite happy to be included in the party. It was the first such invitation she and James had received as husband and wife and it was sure to be a pleasant time. She set the missive aside, planning to show it to James when he returned to the house. The small clock on the desk showed her it was time to ready for tea. She turned quickly to leave the room and bumped into James in the doorway.