More Than Charming

by JoMarie DeGioia

  Michelle arched a brow. “Did he? Paul told me what Waltham did at Chesterfield, but to exhibit such behavior at his wife’s service?”

  Catherine fought back the urge to shiver at the memory of all that happened at Chesterfield.

  “I’m certain you misinterpreted Waltham’s actions,” Elizabeth said. “Diane told me of his great sorrow. The poor dear was beside himself. He was so distraught over Joan’s sudden passing.”

  Catherine straightened. “I won’t discuss what happened at Chesterfield, Elizabeth. Waltham had seemed a bit sad at the funeral, yes, but not distraught. I can’t imagine what Diane told you, but I assure you—”

  “Waltham has been in contact with Diane, Catherine,” Elizabeth said. “She’d know his state of mind far better than you would. He cast you aside, if you recall.”

  Catherine’s mouth fell open in shock.

  “Elizabeth!” Michelle cried. “How can you speak so to your sister?”

  Catherine took a calming breath and held up her hand. “It’s of no consequence, Michelle,” she said. “If that’s how Elizabeth views matters, then leave her to her own opinion.”

  With that, Catherine stood and crossed over to the window. She stared out at the night sky and pondered her sister’s remarks. Why would Elizabeth take up Waltham’s share in any matter? It was passing strange.

  * * *

  In the library James sat in a large wing chair, holding his glass of brandy and swirling the liquid within it. The older gentlemen passed the time playing cards over at one end of the room. James looked up as Paul folded his big frame and sat down opposite him.

  “So, brother,” Paul began. “How did you fare at Waltham’s wife’s funeral?”

  James shook his head and took a sip of brandy. “Ah, Leed. It was quite a strange affair.”

  Paul arched a brow. “How so?”

  “For one matter, the man didn’t seem very upset over his young wife’s passing.”

  “Well, when he deserted Catherine in favor of Joan, I had the distinct impression that the girl’s recent inheritance was a determining factor in his decision.”

  James nodded. “I suppose so. But that doesn’t excuse his behavior toward my own wife.”

  Paul leaned forward in his chair. “You mean at Chesterfield?” he asked, his voice low.

  “No,” James grumbled. “At the funeral.”

  “At the funeral?” Paul repeated. “What did he do?”

  “He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her.”

  Paul smiled crookedly. “I believe you’re quite sensitive where Catherine is concerned, brother.”

  James waved his hand. “Ask Chester, then. He’ll surely tell you what the man was about.”

  Paul’s eyes widened. Suddenly, a dark look crossed his face. “Roberts, you don’t think Waltham was somehow involved with Joan’s death, do you?”

  James rubbed his chin. “You know, Chester brought up the same question. I had thought it impossible, but if the two of you are of like minds . . .”

  “Perhaps I’m wrong.” Paul shrugged. “Perhaps the man seemed strange at the funeral simply because he’s unused to such occasions.”

  James shook his head. “I would agree, Leed, if he hadn’t sent Catherine a letter only last week.”

  “A letter?”

  “Yes.” James finished the brandy in his glass. “The bastard wishes to renew his attentions toward her.”

  “But he was widowed less than a month ago,” Paul said. “How could he do that?”

  “He certainly had no qualms about approaching Catherine when his wife was still among the living.” James shrugged.

  “The bastard.”

  James agreed whole-heartedly with his friend’s assessment.

  The gentlemen finished their drinks and headed into the parlor to join the ladies. Catherine was staring out the window when the men entered the room.

  James crossed over to her and brushed a stray curl away from her eyes. “Hello, love.”

  “James,” Catherine said softly.

  He sensed something in her tone. “Catherine, is something troubling you?”

  “No, not really,” she said. “Elizabeth and I had a bit of a disagreement, is all.”

  “In all the years I’ve known the two of you, I’ve never heard you argue over anything, big or small. You had a disagreement? About what?”

  She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “It seems my sister harbors some misconceptions about a certain widower of our acquaintance.”

  “Waltham?” James asked, perplexed. “What would your sister know of that scoundrel?”

  She shrugged. “Diane Plymouth has apparently been going on about the ‘poor man’ and his terrible grief.”

  “Catherine, we were there at the service,” James pointed out. “Did you see any evidence of this grief?”

  “No, but Elizabeth said . . . Oh, never mind.”

  He studied her closely. Her brow was furrowed as she wrung her hands. Obviously, this tiny rift between the sisters was gnawing at her.

  “I don’t like to see you upset, Catherine,” he said, a bit bewildered.

  She looked up at him in obvious surprise, as if she too was astonished at his statement. She lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek. “Don’t fret, James.”

  James turned his face and placed a kiss in her palm, then was seized with the urge to grin. “I was right, love,” he said, staring into her eyes. “Violet.”

  She grasped his meaning immediately and blushed. James chuckled as she pulled her hand away.

  The midnight chimes rang, heralding Christmas Day. Glasses of festive punch were handed around and glad tidings were shared among those present. Beside him, Catherine stood stiffly as Elizabeth came to stand in front of her.

  “Catherine, I . . .” Elizabeth began. She suddenly threw her arms around her. “I’m sorry I spoke so harshly to you!”

  Catherine hugged her sister. “It’s all right, Elizabeth.”

  The younger girl sniffled as she wiped away her tears. James wished her “Happy Christmas,” and smiled his own pleasure at their reconciliation.

  * * *

  After readying themselves for bed in their guest chamber, James and Catherine climbed into bed.

  “I’m quite pleased all was settled between you and Elizabeth, love,” he said, drawing her into his arms.

  Catherine nodded and snuggled closer. “I can’t help but wonder what Waltham’s been telling Diane.”

  “He’s obviously been playing the grieving widower to perfection.”

  She sensed the anger her ex-fiancé never ceased to rouse in him threatening to surface. She leaned up to kiss him quickly on the mouth. “I don’t wish to speak of that man tonight, James.”

  His gorgeous gray eyes turned to silver. “And what is it you wish to do then, wife?” he asked, his voice low.

  The passion in his voice set a thrill to her toes.

  “I wish to give you another present,” she answered huskily, placing teasing kisses at the base of his throat.

  When he made a move toward her, she gently rebuffed his advances. He settled back and she grasped him gently in her hands. Her fingers stroked the deliciously hard length of him.

  “Ah, Catherine . . .” he murmured, closing his eyes.

  Coming to her knees, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled cheekily at him.

  He opened his eyes. “Catherine, what are you about?”

  She ran her tongue over her lips as she grasped him once more. His eyes glittered at that provocative action.

  “Happy Christmas, James,” she purred, lowering her head.

  Chapter 19

  The next morning, Catherine was slow to awaken. James roused her with teasing kisses.

  “Good morning, love,” he said, brushing the hair back from her face.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Good morning, James,” she said sleepily.

  He chuckled softly and stood beside the bed as he pulled on his bree
ches. Catherine donned her wrapper and stood. The sudden movement made her dizzy and she nearly lost her balance. Her stomach clenched sickeningly.

  James must have seen her grimace for he reached out quickly to steady her. “Are you all right?”

  Catherine licked her lips and took a deep breath. The nausea was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and her head seemed to ease its pounding.

  She nodded slowly and sat down on the edge of the bed. “It must be the excitement of the holiday,” she offered with a slight shrug. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  He sat beside her on the bed and took her hands in his. “Sweetheart, was I, um . . . ? Did I hurt you last night?”

  “What?” She grasped his meaning and flushed. “No, James. Last night was wonderful.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “I suppose I’m a bit hungry.”

  He studied her for a long moment, then dropped a kiss on her brow, and stood once more. “Then I suggest we ready for breakfast.”

  She nodded and arose. By the time they joined the others in the breakfast room, she’d all but forgotten her slight discomfort of the morning.

  That evening, upstairs in their guestroom, they dressed for the ball. Catherine wore a gown of silver gray, quite daring in cut. The tiniest sleeves draped off her shoulders, the bodice dipping low. Annie had styled her hair simply, sweeping the curls into an artful pile and allowing a few strands to brush her shoulders. Catherine now stood in front of the washstand, trying in vain to check her appearance in the mirror atop. How she missed her cheval mirror back at Bradford Hall.

  Giving in to defeat, she turned as James reentered the room. A low whistle coming from his lips.

  “My God, wife.” He came to stand in front of her. “You look magnificent. Like a dream.”

  Catherine blushed at his praise. She took in his appearance in her turn. He wore his formal black, his snowy-white cravat in stark contrast. Paired with a waistcoat of charcoal, the effect was devastating.

  She placed her hands on his chest and splayed her fingers wide. “You, dear husband, look frightfully handsome.”

  James simply grinned. He reached out one finger and stroked the skin around her amethyst pendant, making her shiver.

  “This does look marvelous on you, love.” He took a step back and cocked his head to the side, apparently sizing up her attire. “But something is missing, I fear.”

  Catherine raised her brows at that. James reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet jeweler’s box.

  “James, what have you done?”

  Flashing her a big smile, he opened the box. Inside sat earrings to match her pendant. Stunned, she withdrew the pair and turned to the mirror as she fastened them to her ears. She faced him expectantly.

  “They look beautiful on you,” he said. “But then again, I was quite certain they would.”

  He traced his finger over the shell of her ear. “You have such perfect ears, Catherine,” he said, bending his head to hers. He gently tugged at her ear with his teeth, causing her to gasp. “Perfectly lovely ears . . .” He breathed, running the tip of his tongue over her lobe.

  “James.” She sighed as he moved to nuzzle her neck.

  “Do you think anyone would notice if we didn’t attend the ball?” he asked, rubbing his hands over her bare shoulders.

  “I do believe we’d be missed,” she answered him, a bit out of breath.

  “That,” he drawled, bringing his lips to hers, “is a shame.”

  Catherine closed her eyes and leaned into him as James deepened the kiss, pressing her close to him. Their tongues touched, first lightly, then tangling wildly. James groaned softly. With obvious reluctance, he released her and stepped back.

  “If we continue, love,” he told her with a crooked grin, “we’ll never make it downstairs.”

  She caught her breath and nodded. He gave her one more quick kiss and, taking her elbow, led her from the room.

  They met Paul and Michelle where they stood welcoming their guests as they arrived at the grand entrance. Paul wore his formal black, as well, while his wife wore a dazzling gown of topaz.

  Michelle smiled widely at them as they descended the staircase. “Good evening, Catherine. Roberts.”

  James bowed low to her, turning to nod in Paul’s direction. Catherine’s brother gave him a hearty slap on his back.

  “We were worried, brother,” he teased. “Michelle was afraid you’d miss the ball.”

  “I’m afraid we were, um, delayed,” James answered, hiding his grin.

  Paul nodded, a glint in his blue eyes. “I daresay we nearly missed our own party, didn’t we?” he said to his wife. “Ah, when I saw Michelle in this sinful gown, I simply couldn’t resist—”

  “Paul!” Michelle cut in, reddening.

  James shot Catherine a knowing look and she was certain she turned nearly as red as her sister-in-law.

  James turned to Paul. “And what do you think of your sister’s perfect ears, Leed?”

  “What lovely earrings, Catherine,” Michelle said.

  Paul shrugged. “I suppose they’ll serve to divert attention from her bosom, which even now is in full view of all of our male guests.”

  “Oh, Paul.” Catherine laughed.

  “Now, as for my wife’s wicked gown,” Paul went on, “I fear I’ll have to keep very close to her this evening.”

  The women’s eyes met, knowing full well that neither gentleman was apt to leave their respective wives throughout the ball. As if to confirm Catherine’s assumptions, James simply nodded and grasped her elbow once more. He led her into the ballroom and to the festive time awaiting them.

  The evening proved quite wonderful, full of much merry-making and laughter. Elizabeth seemed her usual cheerful self, much to Catherine’s great relief. Even though they’d settled matters the previous evening, Catherine had harbored the disturbing thought that her younger sister would behave oddly again. Instead, Elizabeth spent the evening dancing with several gentlemen in attendance and driving Catherine quite mad with her incessant chatter.

  After taking a late supper, James escorted Catherine to the chairs set up around the enormous ballroom. Elizabeth joined them, fairly trembling as she took a chair beside her sister.

  “Oh, isn’t the ball just lovely, Catherine?” she gushed.

  Catherine nodded, smiling at her.

  “I’m quite surprised Diane isn’t here, however.” Elizabeth pouted.

  James arched a brow at the girl’s innocent statement. “Diane Plymouth isn’t in attendance?” he asked, looking at Catherine in puzzlement.

  Catherine turned to her sister. “Perhaps the weather kept her away, Elizabeth. It’s quite cold outside.”

  “Yes.” The younger girl sighed. “I suppose Lord Henry would worry about such matters. He’s positively ancient.”

  “I daresay he isn’t much older than your father, Elizabeth,” James said.

  “Oh, but Father isn’t old,” she insisted, looking at her brother-in-law as if he was quite mad. “Tell him, Catherine.”

  Catherine hid her smile. “No, Elizabeth, he isn’t,” she agreed. “And neither is Lord Henry, if memory serves.”

  “I suppose not,” Elizabeth allowed. “But I’m miffed at Diane Plymouth, I tell you. I fully expected her to be in attendance.”

  Catherine opened her mouth to offer some sort of response, but Elizabeth’s happy squeal put an end to that.

  “Oh, there’s Constance!” she exclaimed, Diane’s absence obviously forgotten. “I must tell her how much I adore her splendid gown.”

  With that, she took off toward the other side of the room. Catherine watched her retreating form. James placed his hand on hers and she turned to face him.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Was I ever that utterly disconcerting?” she asked him.

  James blinked for a moment. Suddenly, a big grin spread across his features. “That and more.”

  Catherin
e tried to look indignant. She failed miserably, laughing lightly at her husband’s statement. He stood and tugged on her hands, pulling her to her feet.

  “James, what are you about?”

  “Dance with me,” he said, bringing his lips to her ear. “Puzzle me. Confound me. In short, captivate me, wife.”

  She felt that familiar warmth course through her. She followed his lead out onto the dance floor, reveling in the fine music and the wonderful way they fit each other.

  As he held her a bit closer than was proper, he brought his lips to her ear once more. “Ah, Catherine,” he said, his breath tickling her ear. “You truly captivate me. And I must say I love the way you feel in my arms.”

  Love. He’d said the word and hadn’t perished, though it wasn’t quite the declaration she so anticipated. She looked at him then and his eyes glittered in response.

  He opened his mouth to say what, she could only imagine, but the musical number ended just then.

  “You’re an excellent dancer, James,” she said, unable to step out of his arms.

  He dropped a quick kiss on her lips, taking her by surprise. Glancing toward an alcove, he spied the doors leading out to the courtyard beyond. He looked back at her, his eyes offering an invitation.

  “The courtyard, love,” he whispered, sweeping her off the dance floor.

  “But,” she whispered back, “it’s bitterly cold outside.”

  They reached the doors and he paused. “I’ll keep you warm.”

  Her eyes widened as she looked about the room. She was relieved to note that no one appeared to notice their departure as James quickly opened one of the doors and slipped outside. Several torches were lit and placed about the courtyard.

  “You see, darling?” James nodded in apparent satisfaction and turned to her. “I knew your brother would have such ancient devices. He absolutely relishes all things Gothic.”

  She smiled and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow as he led her toward the far corner of the space. The air was brisk despite the torches and she shivered.

  He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Here, sweetheart.”