She pulled the jacket close around herself, breathing in deeply. The garment smelled faintly of spice and brandy. And of James. She closed her eyes and sighed.
“Catherine,” he said, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling her close.
She gazed up at him and read the desire in his eyes. “James,” she whispered, reaching up to place her hands behind his neck. She placed her lips on his and rubbed gently. James sharply drew in a breath and crushed his mouth to hers. His tongue swept inside her mouth, stroking and demanding. He pressed her against the wall and ran his hands over her.
“Ah Catherine, this is what I wanted that night.” He breathed, kissing her cheek, her ear. “The night I asked you to marry me.”
She nodded and pressed herself to him. “I wanted it, too,” she whispered. “Only I didn’t know precisely what it was that I wanted.”
He smiled and ran his lips over her neck. “And now?” he rasped. “What is it you want now, love?”
He ran the tip of his tongue over the skin above the low-cut bodice. Catherine shivered, hot and cold at the same time. “I want . . . I want . . .”
Grinning, he tugged on her gown. She gasped as a blast of chilled air hit her flesh. Her nipples hardened before James even touched them.
He trailed one finger over her breast. “Beautiful,” he murmured.
He closed his mouth over one tip and she nearly burst into flames. The cold of the air, the wet heat of his mouth, affected her as never before.
“Oh, James,” she said in a trembling voice.
He moved to the other breast, gently teething the nipple as he reached under her skirts. Grasping her bottom, he pulled her close. She could feel his arousal through her skirts and rubbed herself wantonly against him. He pulled her hand from his neck and pulled off her glove. He kissed her palm.
“Touch me, darling,” he ground out, placing her hand on himself. “Please.”
Catherine caressed him through his breeches. Her fingers deftly worked the buttons loose. She reached inside and grasped him gently. His flesh was hot against her cool fingers as he grew even harder.
He moved against her hand, moaning softly. “Ah, what you do to me . . .”
He removed her drawers and thrust his fingers deep inside of her and she cried out.
“Tell me what you want, love,” he gently commanded as he slowly drove her mad. “Tell me.”
“You, James,” she softly sobbed. “I want you. Inside me.”
He grinned wickedly. “Never let it be said I don’t bow to my wife’s wishes.”
He placed her arms around his neck once more. He flipped up her skirts and lifted her. Catherine wrapped her legs around his waist as he entered her, hard and deep.
“Oh!” She gasped, the feeling intense.
James pressed her against the wall, his hands wrapping around her to cushion her as he thrust into her again and again.
Catherine sobbed as she neared her release, clinging tightly to him.
“Tell me, Catherine,” he rasped. “Tell me you love me.”
“Yes, James!” she cried out. “I love you!”
Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her as James drove deeper still. He joined her in fulfillment, shouting out his own intense pleasure.
“My God, love,” he said in a hoarse voice. “That was better than I imagined it would be.”
“Mmm,” she agreed, closing her eyes in bliss.
As their bodies cooled, the chill of the night intruded once more. They quickly rearranged their clothing. As James shrugged into his jacket, Catherine noticed the scratches on his hands.
“James, your hands,” she said, holding them to the light of the torch.
James regarded the scratches on his knuckles and shrugged.
“Better my hands than your gown. Or your lovely skin.” He grinned. “I am, after all, a gentleman.”
“Yes.” She tenderly kissed the backs of his hands. “My darling gentleman.”
“Come, wife,” he said gently, his eyes glittering with an unspoken emotion. “Before we catch our death in this cold.”
Catherine nodded as she smoothed her hands over her gown once more. She tugged on her glove and patted her hands over her hair. “How do I look?”
His gaze touched her lips, which were swollen and bee-stung from his passionate kisses.
“You look well-loved,” he said with a grin.
He took her hand and led her back toward the manor.
She stopped suddenly and turned to face him emboldened by the incredible passion they just shared. “Am I well-loved, James?”
He stiffened, then seemed to take her question at face value. “You’re extremely well-loved, Catherine.” He drew her into his arms. “And I plan to keep you that way.”
Her shoulders slumped a bit as she realized precisely what he meant. She shook herself and managed to smile brightly at him. They reentered the manor, joining their friends and family once more.
Passion, then. But how long would it be before he tired of a union that offered nothing else save love on her side?
Chapter 20
If anyone had noticed James or Catherine’s absence, no mention was made of it. The party was winding down, and most of the older guests had already retired to their guestrooms. James and Catherine strolled over to where Paul and Michelle stood.
Paul regarded them closely. “Brother,” he said to James, “what have you been about?”
James saw that Catherine couldn’t meet their eyes. He gave her arm a quick squeeze and smiled at her brother. “My wife asked me in a most pleasant tone of voice if I would join her for a stroll in the courtyard.”
“But it’s quite cold out, Catherine,” Michelle said.
“I . . . That is . . .” Catherine stammered.
James took her hand in his, rubbing gently. “I kept her warm,” he said. “Besides, Leed, those immense torches warm the space adequately.”
“The torches,” Michelle scoffed. “I would so prefer lanterns installed, but my husband favors those smoky torches.”
“They’re quite medieval, love.” Paul grinned. “Most fitting when I feel like a good brood.”
James laughed at that. Michelle clicked her tongue and asked Catherine if she’d like some refreshment. Catherine nodded and followed her across the room to the refreshments and joined some of the other young ladies present. James watched her go. Lord, she was lovely. And passionate. His friends’ voices broke through his musings and he saw that Chester and Geoffrey had joined them.
“Lovely bash, Leed,” Geoffrey offered.
Paul nodded and asked a servant to bring some brandy for them. It arrived and Paul offered James a glass.
“This will warm you, brother,” he said.
James nodded and took it.
“Roberts, what happened to your hands?” Chester asked.
James glanced at his abraded knuckles. “I, um . . . I suppose I scraped them when I was out in the courtyard.”
Paul looked at him strangely, then suddenly threw his head back and laughed. The other two gentlemen exchanged a puzzled look. James bristled nervously as their gazes settled on him.
“You suppose so, brother?” Paul laughed. “Oh, come now. I can’t help wondering, however, if you scraped them on the bench or on the wall.”
“Never mind.” James turned to Chester, his mind returning to the puzzle of Diane Plymouth and her apparent interest in Waltham. “Chester, did Constance mention anything about Diane Plymouth regarding her absence?”
Chester took a sip of his brandy as he nodded his answer. “Yes,” he allowed. “Constance was quite surprised to find the lady absent.”
“Isn’t she here?” Geoffrey said. “My mother told me that Lord Henry was quite looking forward to a visit to the manor.”
James frowned. Could Waltham have something to do with her absence?
“What’s this about?” Paul asked James.
James let out a breath. “Well, it seems that our dear fr
iend Waltham has been crying on Lady Diane’s shoulder.”
“How did you hear of that?” Chester asked.
“Elizabeth has been in contact with her. The poor widower has been quite distraught, in the lady’s words.”
Chester snorted in obvious disgust. “Distraught,” he grumbled. “You should have seen him at the funeral, Leed, Kane. The only time he managed to show the least amount of sorrow was when the young ladies were about.”
“Really?” Geoffrey asked. “Was that how you saw it, Roberts?”
The memory of Waltham’s attentions toward Catherine made his hands fist. “The bastard couldn’t keep his hands off my wife, Kane. If Chester hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Chester barked out a short laugh. “I fear they would have buried two that day.”
“I wouldn’t miss the worm.” James shook his head. “And what of Joan’s mysterious illness? I’m still not satisfied he didn’t have some hand in his wife’s death.”
“No,” Paul said.
“I’m afraid Roberts may be right, Leed. Constance told me Joan didn’t suffer from bouts of stomach problems before, despite Waltham’s assertions.”
Geoffrey’s eyes grew round. “Stomach problems? You don’t think . . . No, that can’t be.”
“What, man?” Paul asked.
Geoffrey leaned toward the others. “There are certain substances that, when taken internally, could cause such problems.”
“Hmm,” Chester said. “Arsenic perhaps, or—”
“No,” Paul cut in. “The man’s a bastard, but even Roberts isn’t convinced Waltham had a hand in Joan’s death.”
“There’s his continued attention toward Catherine, Leed,” James pointed out.
“But what of Lady Diane?” Paul asked. “Did Waltham seem overly attentive to her?”
“Not that I noticed,” James said.
“That’s not surprising,” Geoffrey said with a chuckle.
“And what do you mean by that?” James asked him.
“I simply mean that when your wife is about, Roberts, you can’t see anyone but her.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Kane,” he snapped.
Geoffrey raised his brows, but he held his tongue.
James brooded for a few moments as his friends talked, regretting his outburst. He was still a bit perplexed by Catherine’s innocent question in the courtyard. Was she asking him if he loved her? Why the devil couldn’t he just say the damn words?
Giving his head a shake, he returned his attention to his friends and their conversation. Catherine caught his eye just then. She was currently the recipient of Elizabeth’s oration, and appeared to be tiring. As she stifled a yawn behind her hand, James excused himself from his friends’ company. Geoffrey eyed him, an expression of knowledge on his face James didn’t wish to consider.
James reached Catherine’s side. “Are you growing tired, love?”
Catherine smiled wearily up at him and nodded. “Would you be terribly disappointed with me if I told you I wish to retire?”
“You could never disappoint me, sweetheart.”
His words caused her tired smile to brighten. They made their excuses and climbed the grand staircase to their guestroom.
* * *
“What do you suppose is troubling Roberts?” Geoffrey asked.
Paul shrugged his puzzlement. Chester believed that he knew precisely what was disturbing their friend.
“It would appear, gentlemen, that Roberts seems unsure of his regard for his wife.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Geoffrey scoffed. “He’s obviously mad for the girl. Leed, surely even you can see that?”
“You’re forgetting his charming nature, Kane,” Paul pointed out. “He could urge any lady to eat from the palm of his hand.”
Chester shook his head. “He cares a great deal for her, Leed,” he insisted. “I believe, however, he’s uneasy with the possibility of any stronger emotion.”
“Ah,” Geoffrey said knowingly. “He believed he was in love with Rebecca and, well . . .”
Chester clapped him on the shoulder. “He was mistaken, Kane,” he said simply.
“No matter,” Paul said. “He obviously makes my sister happy, and that’s utmost in my concern.”
“But what of Waltham?” Chester asked. “Do you believe that scoundrel will attempt to renew his attentions toward Catherine when we all return to town?”
Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Apparently, he wrote a letter to my sister requesting such,” he informed them.
“No!” Chester exclaimed.
Paul nodded solemnly. “But I have the utmost faith in Roberts’s ability to keep that bastard away from her.”
* * *
The next morning Catherine was the first to awaken. She donned her wrapper and stood. Immediately, a wave of nausea struck her. Her head fairly pounded as she gripped the bedpost for support. After one long minute, the feeling passed.
She padded over to the washstand. Splashing some water on her face, she rid herself completely of the strange feelings. She dabbed her face with a towel and stared at her reflection. What was ailing her? Suddenly, her eyes widened as recognition dawned on her. My God! Was she expecting?
Catherine glanced quickly at James, certain that he could read her thoughts from where he lay in the bed. He was still asleep, his lashes dark and thick against his finely chiseled cheekbones. What of his feelings on the matter? Would he be pleased? Or would he feel more put-upon than he must already?
Having the marriage forced upon him was one thing, but to bring a child into their union so soon would surely trouble him. She wouldn’t tell him of her suspicions, at least for the time-being. They were to return to London in three short weeks. And if her symptoms persisted, she’d have Dr. Morgan, their family physician, call on her. If she was indeed having a child—James’s child!—she’d tell him then.
James awoke at the moment she reached what she felt was a very reasonable decision. He gave a loud yawn as he stretched his arms above his head.
Placing his arms behind his head, he opened his eyes, immediately settling his gaze on her. “Good morning, love.”
Apparently, her face still wore its look of resignation for James regarded her closely.
“Catherine, why do you look so dour?”
She shook her head firmly and favored her husband with a small smile. “I was thinking of nothing dour or dismal, I assure you,” she said lightly. “Um, I was simply contemplating the aspect of ringing for a bath.”
He nodded and pulled himself to a sitting position. “I’ll see to it, sweetheart,” he said, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed.
She thanked him and went into the dressing room to see to her morning toilette.
When she emerged, she was quite surprised to see an enormous tub set in the center of the room. Servants were in the process of filling it to the brim with steaming water. Her gaze flew to James where he stood beside the tub, a crooked grin on his face. He wore one of his satin dressing gowns and Catherine thought he looked positively wonderful. Her attention went once more to the tub.
“James, it’s so big. Have you ever seen such a tub in your life?”
He chuckled. “Apparently everything in this castle is oversized. Are you displeased?”
She shook her head, her eyes on the huge tub once more. It looked so tempting. She fairly shivered as she imagined sinking into its depths. Surely the water would come up to her chin!
“But, it’s so . . . decadent,” she finished in a whisper.
The servants left the room then, closing the door behind them. Movement to the side of her caught her eye. James untied the belt of his dressing gown and began to remove it.
“James, what are you about?” she asked, her eyes caressing the hair-roughened skin he was revealing.
“I thought we could bathe together, wife.” He stepped into the tub. “Ah.” He sighed, resting his back against the rolled edge.
The
tub was large enough for him to stretch out his long legs. He held a hand out to her. Catherine stood for a moment, unsure.
“I don’t know,” she demurred.
“Come and join me, Catherine,” he ordered with a grin. “I want you in here with me this instant.”
Shyly returning his smile, Catherine untied her wrapper and let it fall to the floor. She grasped her husband’s outstretched hand and gingerly stepped into the tub. Turning, she came to rest between his knees, leaning back against his chest. She reveled in the heat of the water, in the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her.
He suddenly stiffened. “What’s that scent?”
Catherine bit her lip to hold back a giggle. “Lavender.”
“Oh, wonderful,” he groaned. “I can hardly wait for your brother to get wind of it.”
Smiling to herself, Catherine thoroughly scrubbed his body with the scented soap, even his thick black locks. James rinsed the soap from his hair and wiped the water from his eyes.
“Equal measure, love,” he said, taking the soap from her.
Catherine turned her back to him once more. James began with her hair, twining the curls through his fingers as he worked the fragrant lather along the strands.
“Mmm,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
James lifted the pitcher of rinsing water and gently poured the water over her head. When all traces of the soap were gone, he picked up the cake of soap and the washcloth. His eyes glittering, he set the cloth aside and worked the soap with his bare hands. Catherine sighed as he ran his hands over her back, past her shoulders and down her arms. She gasped as he cupped a breast in each hand.
“James!” she exclaimed, her eyes flying open.
James nuzzled her neck as he touched and teased her, one hand stealing down to the curls that shielded her womanhood. Catherine turned to face him, thrilling as his hands slid down to her bottom and held her tightly against him. He was unmistakably aroused beneath the soapy water.
“What are you about?” she asked breathlessly.
He grinned and proceeded to show her.
There was more than a little water on the floor by the time they finished their bath. Her head resting against her husband’s chest, Catherine let out a small sigh. James dropped a kiss on her wet locks.
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