More Than Charming

by JoMarie DeGioia

  James pulled back at her conviction. She watched as his silver eyes began to glitter. “Catherine, last night was—”

  “Don’t speak of it!” she said, covering her ears.

  James pulled her hands away from her ears and stroked her cheek. “Sweetheart, you pleased me greatly. You’re not embarrassed by what we shared, are you?”

  Catherine briefly thought to lie, to say that, yes, she was embarrassed. But pleasing him had given her more pleasure than she could have imagined. It seemed to her that her foolishness of the past evening was to accompany her into the new day.

  “No, James. I’m not embarrassed. I’m just sorry.”

  “Sorry?” He arched a dark brow. “Whatever for?”

  She buried her face in her hands. “I begged you to make love to me. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

  He was quiet for a moment then threw his head back and laughed, tears coming to his eyes. “My God, Catherine,” he said, getting control of his laughter. “You just look at me and I want to make love to you.”

  She blinked at him. “Truly?”

  “God, yes.”

  “Then you’re not angry?”

  “Your boldness pleased me. Surely you could tell?”

  Catherine shrugged as he embraced her. He gently stroked her hair, whispering sweet words in her ear, and Catherine fancied she could hear a touch of affection in his voice.

  “James, I realize that you care for me.”

  “You’re the most important person in the world to me.”

  She pulled back to gaze at him.

  He cupped her face in his hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “Catherine,” he whispered. “What I feel for you . . . That is, I . . .”

  Say the words, James. Catherine held her breath. Say the words!

  But he said nothing more. She lowered her lashes, sighing softly. After several moments of awkward silence, she moved out of his embrace, picked up her nightgown from the end of the bed, and turned her back to him.

  Catherine used the brief time away from his gaze to rein in her emotions. He didn’t love her. She wouldn’t profess her feelings. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

  She squared her shoulders and turned to face him, a bright smile fixed on her face. “We don’t have to talk of feelings and emotions, James,” she said, amazed at the steadiness of her voice.

  “Catherine, I—” he began, making a move toward her.

  She held up her hand to stop him. “We’re fond of each other,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a gesture of nonchalance. “We get along well. Why should we fret over such matters as emotions?”

  He watched her, his eyes wide with what, relief?

  “I’ve got to get dressed,” she said lightly.

  Only after she’d breezed into the dressing room and quietly closed the door did she lean against the wood panel and let out a ragged breath. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

  James sat in the bed for a long moment. He felt immense relief over what she’d said. And disappointment, as well. He hadn’t seen any indication that she didn’t mean precisely what she’d said. But only last night, as he was falling asleep, he was filled with the certainty of his feelings for her.

  He admired her. He was fond of her. He wanted her like no other. He wished to keep her safe from heartless gossip and scoundrels like Waltham. He could love her. But with her dismissal of such feelings in the light of day, he was once more unsure. He knew nothing of love, that was certain.

  With a sigh, he rose to ready himself for the day.

  When Catherine emerged from the dressing room, she once more wore a smile on her face. She’d chosen a lovely day dress of light blue, the color of the winter sky.

  He smiled at the pleasing picture she made and crossed to her. “Catherine, I thought to stay here with you today.”

  She stiffened, then went to the vanity and settled herself before the mirror. “I thought you were going hunting this morning, James.”

  He watched her, unsure. If he did join the others for a hunt, he could keep his mind occupied and put aside their halted exchange of the morning. Coward.

  He shrugged. “I suppose I can catch up with them.”

  The relief on her face was clear. She was obviously not as comfortable as she professed. Pleased to put the matter aside, he kissed her lightly and took himself into the dressing room to don his hunting clothes.

  * * *

  Catherine went down to the breakfast room. Michelle and Elizabeth were seated there, plates of eggs and ham and sweet rolls in front of them.

  “Good morning, Catherine,” Michelle said with a smile.

  Catherine nodded and crossed to the sideboard to serve herself some of the delicious fare. She sat down as Constance joined them.

  “Good morning, all,” Constance said. “Catherine, were you ill last evening?”

  Michelle and Elizabeth looked at Catherine with concern. Catherine smiled shakily.

  “You didn’t feel well?” Elizabeth asked her.

  Catherine shrugged and concentrated on pouring herself a cup of tea. “I had a bit of a headache, is all.”

  Constance breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.” She set her plate down and joined them at the table. “I was worried you caught whatever is ailing Joan.”

  Catherine blinked. “Is Joan ill?”

  Constance nodded. “She has terrible pains in her stomach. And last evening, she was frightfully pale.”

  Catherine had taken note of Joan’s pallor, as well. And when she’d spoken of Waltham, Catherine thought she saw fear in the woman’s eyes, as well. What was going on?

  “Waltham told me she has frequent bouts of stomach problems,” Constance said. “But I recall no such thing.”

  Catherine thought for a moment. Hmm. Maybe she should attempt another conversation with the woman while the men were out.

  “Catherine,” Michelle began, drawing her attention. “I trust Roberts caught up with you last evening?”

  “What?” Catherine asked.

  “After his, um, discussion with Waltham, he was most anxious to find you,” Michelle elaborated.

  Catherine closed her eyes in shame. What an embarrassment for a man like James to withstand. She opened her eyes and found the other ladies looking at her with open curiosity.

  “I . . . Yes, Michelle. James found me,” she said. “I went up to our guest room to rest. My head was fairly pounding.”

  Elizabeth gave a vigorous nod of her head. “I told Michelle that your running off had nothing whatsoever to do with that worm Waltham.”

  Catherine gasped. This was just too much! She pushed her plate away from herself and stood. “If you’ll excuse me. I just remembered that there is a matter that requires my attention.”

  Upstairs, Catherine walked purposefully toward their guestroom. A tall figure in her path blocked her progress.

  “Waltham!” she exclaimed in surprise.

  “Shh,” Waltham urged. “We don’t want anyone to find us together now, do we, love?”

  She shook her head. “Waltham, what are you doing?”

  He opened the door to her room and urged her inside.

  “Waltham!”

  He closed the door and faced her. “Catherine, you look incredible.” He fixed a look of concern on his face. “I was very worried about you last evening.”

  “Worried about me? Why?”

  “Roberts was quite angry, love.” He stepped closer to her. “I was afraid he might do you harm.”

  “James would never hurt me, Waltham.” She reached for the doorknob. “Now if you would please leave . . .”

  Waltham raised his hand to his cheek. “Your husband had no qualms about hurting me without cause.”

  Catherine gasped as she noticed the bruise there. “James did that?” she said, leaning toward him to get a better look.

  Waltham grasped her tightly in his arms. “Catherine, how I want you.”

 
; Catherine struggled in his embrace. “Let me go, Waltham.”

  “Call me Thomas, love,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “We were very nearly married. You would now be mine if not for that twit I married.”

  “What a horrid thing to say about your wife.” She shook her head and renewed her struggles.

  Waltham finally released her, but only after letting his hands roam over her form. “God, love,” he said, his eyes on her bosom. “You’re absolutely delectable.”

  “Waltham.” Catherine stepped back from him and tried a different tack. “Thomas, you must go.”

  He gave a deliberate shake of his blond head. “I need you, Catherine,” he said, following her across the room. “Joan isn’t the woman for me.” His lip curled cruelly. “Such a simpering fool. She turns my stomach.”

  “You shouldn’t be speaking to me so.” She was disgusted that he could say such cruel things about his own wife let alone behave so toward her. “Leave me, Thomas. Now.”

  “Not until I show you what we can share,” he said, grabbing her once more.

  He brought his lips to hers. Catherine turned at the last moment, evading his kiss as she heard the door to the chamber open.

  “What the devil . . . Let go of her, you bastard!”

  Thank God! She breathed a sigh of relief that her husband walked in.

  Waltham immediately stepped back. “Roberts,” he said smoothly. “Catherine was upset. I was merely offering her comfort.”

  James swung his gaze to Catherine then looked back at Waltham, a fierce scowl on his face.

  “Get the hell out of our room, Waltham,” he said through clenched teeth. “Get out, or so help me I’ll throw you out that window.”

  Waltham bowed graciously to Catherine and beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind him.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” James muttered, his eyes on the door.

  Catherine finally found her voice. “What are you doing here, James?”

  He turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean? This is our room, wife.”

  “I thought you’d gone hunting.”

  James’s scowl cleared. “No,” he said. “I was unable to catch up with the party, so I rode a bit before returning to the house.” He looked at her closely. “Were you sorry for the interruption?”

  “No! Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know, Catherine,” he said, stepping closer. “It seems I’m forever finding you alone with that scoundrel. And in our room, yet.”

  Catherine gasped at what he was suggesting.

  “James, you don’t think that I . . .” she sputtered. “That we . . .”

  James let out a breath and raked his fingers through his hair. “No, no.” He shook his head. “Forgive me for saying that.”

  She gave him a nod of acceptance.

  “Pray tell me, then, Catherine,” he began, his voice controlled. “Why was he in here with you?”

  “I’m not at all certain,” she said. “He told me that he wanted—”

  “I know just what the bastard wanted,” James growled. “You’re my wife, damn it, and I won’t have you meeting other men behind my back.”

  “James, I didn’t meet with him. He followed me in here.”

  “Never mind.” He turned away from her in an obvious attempt to rein in his anger. “Ah, hell,” he muttered. “I don’t know what the devil’s wrong with me.”

  If she didn’t know better, she might believe he was jealous. But how could that be? He didn’t love her, let alone marry her of his own free will.

  She touched his arm. “Don’t fret about it, James.”

  He looked at her in confusion, then drew her into his arms. “Catherine.” He kissed her hair, her ear. “Forgive me for my outburst.”

  She couldn’t resist him. He smelled so good and his hands felt so right on her, especially after Waltham’s pawing. If only he loved her.

  “Why don’t we go downstairs, love?” James asked. “Perhaps you would like to play a game of cards?”

  Catherine smiled in genuine delight. “That sounds lovely, husband.”

  He took her hand and led her from the room.

  She thought she saw a flash of color in one of the doorways as they passed, maybe an impression of blond hair. Was Waltham hanging about? She wouldn’t think about him again. She had her husband to herself today and would focus on that. For as long as it lasted, in any event.

  Chapter 14

  Two days later, the guests took their leave of Chesterfield. James and Catherine stayed on for another week however, at Lord and Lady Chester’s insistence. James and Chester hunted in the mornings while Constance and Catherine passed the time gossiping and working on their needlepoint. Without the others in attendance, the two young women were free to speak of whatever was on their minds. Lady Joan and her mysterious illness were discussed quite a bit between them, leaving Catherine with the distinct impression that Constance was as troubled by it as she.

  One afternoon, three days into their extended visit, the four of them sat in the parlor sharing a pot of tea.

  “What a pleasant morning’s hunt today, eh, Roberts?” Chester said. “I so like it when there’s a frost in the air.”

  “Quite pleasant, Chester.” He sat beside Catherine. “And how was your morning, love?” he asked her. “Did you get any work done on that little hanky?”

  Catherine slanted a look at him. He and Chester both teased the women mercilessly on the amount of chatter heard whenever the two of them were together, their work all but forgotten in their laps.

  “Yes, husband.” She laughed.

  He draped his arm comfortably over her shoulders and gave a little squeeze.

  “Roberts.” Chester set down his cup. “I nearly forgot to ask a favor of you.”

  James straightened and looked at him expectantly. “What can I do for you, friend?”

  “I’d like your opinion on some purchases I’m contemplating,” Chester said. “Perhaps you could come into the study?”

  “Certainly.” James stood and looked down at Catherine. “If the ladies will excuse us?”

  Constance and Catherine both nodded their assent, and Chester turned to exit the room. James kissed Catherine lightly and followed his host into his study.

  Catherine watched him go, a small smile on her face. She turned back to find Constance regarding her closely. “What are you looking at?” she asked, a bit embarrassed.

  Constance shrugged, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “You appear quite taken with your husband, is all.”

  Catherine bristled at the innocent comment. “I . . . I’m, um, fond of James, yes.”

  Constance laughed. “Fond of him?” she repeated. “You love him. Admit it.”

  Catherine opened her mouth to protest, but shook her head instead. “You’re right,” she said in a small voice.

  Constance’s brow furrowed. “If I didn’t know better, Catherine, I’d think you’re troubled by that fact.”

  Catherine looked toward the doorway to make certain the gentlemen were well away from the parlor and leaned toward Constance. “I’m most troubled by that fact, I’m afraid.”

  “But why?”

  Catherine twisted the skirt of her tea dress in her hands. “Because James doesn’t love me,” she admitted on a whisper.

  “Catherine, Roberts loves you. Don’t shake your head at me. He loves you.”

  “You don’t understand.” Catherine sniffed. “He’s fond of me, that is all.”

  Constance set her teacup aside and faced her. “My own husband has remarked upon the affection between the two of you, Catherine. Don’t tell me Roberts isn’t in love with you.”

  But as much as she wished to believe it, Catherine couldn’t be swayed by her friend’s insistence. He’d had any number of chances to profess such tenderness since the night she’d thrown herself at him.

  “No.” Catherine wiped at her eyes. “James cares for me. Nothing more.”

&nbs
p; Constance opened her mouth to make another protest, but Catherine raised her hand to still her. “Pray, don’t speak of it. I’ve reconciled myself, Constance.” She lifted her chin. “Believe me.”

  To Catherine’s relief, Constance bowed to her wishes and turned the conversation to other topics.

  * * *

  In his study, Chester outlined some of his intended purchases. “I value your opinion, Roberts. I know how well you’ve managed your father’s properties during his illness as well as your own.”

  “Thank you. I believe you’d do well with that property on the west side, Chester. The water on it would adequately irrigate the fields to the south.”

  Chester nodded. “That’s what I thought. I noticed the stream one morning when I was out riding with Waltham.”

  James lost his relaxed stance at the mere mention of the man’s name. Chester apparently noticed the change in his demeanor at once.

  “Roberts,” he said with a crooked smile. “What’s ailing you?”

  “Don’t mention his name.”

  “What happened the night of the ball?” Chester asked. “I heard something of an altercation on the terrace.”

  “The son-of-a-bitch offered my wife an arrangement.”

  Chester wore a look of surprise. “You must be jesting,” he said. “Surely he’d do no such thing here. Not with you present.”

  “He would and he did.” James stood and paced about the room. “And what’s more, I found him alone with her in our room the next day.”

  “What?”

  “The scoundrel said he was comforting her because she was upset,” James said, raking his fingers through his hair.

  “And was she?” Chester asked. “Upset, I mean?”

  “Yes,” James admitted.

  “Well then, perhaps—”

  “The bastard shouldn’t have been alone with her. I very nearly threw him out the window.”

  Chester cleared his throat. “And did, um, anything happen between them?”

  “God, no. Catherine would never betray me.”

  “I believe you have nothing to fear from Waltham,” he assured James. “He enjoys his wife’s fortune far too much to risk an assignation with another man’s wife.”