More Than Charming

by JoMarie DeGioia

  Paul and Michelle also returned to town early, as they had many speeches to prepare for their clients. That night, James and Catherine were to join them at the theater. Catherine couldn’t wait to share their wonderful news with them.

  James emerged from the dressing room, clad in gray breeches topped with a silver waistcoat. “Sweetheart,” he said, hugging her from behind, “you look absolutely delicious.”

  Catherine smiled at his choice of words. Her hair was piled atop her head, long curls falling to brush her shoulders. He pushed the tendrils aside and ran his lips over her skin, making her shiver.

  She turned in his arms and favored him with a smile, placing her hands behind his neck. “Hello, husband.”

  James kissed her, gently at first. He pulled her close and ravaged her mouth, causing her to gasp. His hands were all over her, touching and teasing her through her blush satin gown. When he lifted his head, he was grinning broadly.

  “I’m so glad you’re no longer treating me like a piece of porcelain, James,” she said.

  “After that first night, love, you gave me no choice.”

  Her cheeks flamed. He’d nearly driven her mad with his gentle possession until she’d grabbed him and forced him deep inside her. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, he’d said. But now having gotten used to her condition, he held nothing back from her, much to the delight of both of them. Catherine clicked her tongue at him as she readjusted her gown, which he’d nearly worked down off her shoulders.

  He walked over to the mantelpiece. “I’ve got something for you, love.”

  He picked up a jeweler’s box of gold velvet and Catherine eyed him closely.

  “James, what is this?”

  “For you,” he said again, opening the box with a flourish.

  She gasped as she saw the long strand of pearls, large and round and perfect. There were matching earrings within the box, as well. James withdrew the necklace and draped it over her. The pearls reached the swell of her breast and felt cool against her skin.

  “James.” She gazed in the mirror. “These are breathtaking.”

  “They look beautiful against your skin, Catherine,” he said, trailing his fingers over the round beauties.

  He hesitated for a moment then slipped his hand into the bodice of her gown, cupping one breast. She gasped as he brushed his thumb over her nipple.

  “James, we can’t,” she said without any real conviction. “We’ll be late.”

  He lowered his head. “Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?” He ran his lips over her flesh. “Do you?” He pushed her bodice down and closed his mouth over her hardened nipple.

  She closed her eyes in bliss. “No.” She breathed. “Don’t stop.”

  James gently teethed her nipple as one hand worked its way under her skirts.

  “James.” She sighed as his fingers caressed her through her drawers.

  She placed her hand on him and felt him grow hard. He groaned as she gently stroked him. He was soon tangled in her skirts.

  “Ah, hell,” he muttered.

  With obvious reluctance, he released her. Catherine let out a whimper of protest and he let out a choking laugh.

  “I want you, love,” he said, his voice deep. “But not this way.”

  “Take me, James,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

  He grabbed her hands and kissed them. “We have to pick up Leed and Michelle at their home,” he said. “If we’re late, your brother is certain to guess what kept us.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” She sighed. “We must go, then.”

  Catherine fixed her gown and pulled on her long satin gloves. Taking her elbow, James led her downstairs. He assisted her with her cloak, a thick wrap of deep rose with a large and graceful hood. He adjusted the front of his breeches and pulled on his greatcoat. “Thank God it’s cold out.” She smiled as they went out to the waiting carriage.

  As soon as Paul and Michelle joined them in their carriage, they shared their news about the baby.

  “Catherine!” Michelle squealed happily, hugging her tight. “How wonderful!”

  Paul flashed a bright smile as he congratulated his friend and brother-in-law with a hearty slap on the back. “Quite expedient, brother,” he teased James. “I daresay you didn’t waste much time.”

  “Never mind.” James shook his head, hiding the grin Catherine didn’t miss.

  Talk in the carriage became quite animated as they made their way toward the theater.

  They found the play quite enjoyable, one of Shakespeare’s comedies. After the performance, most of the theater crowd adjourned to the large and beautifully appointed lobby. Refreshments were set up at one end of the space and, after asking Catherine if she’d care for a cup of punch, James strode to that side of the room. She watched him as he went, a faint smile on her lips. Her sister-in-law’s voice soon drew her attention.

  “Oh, Catherine,” Michelle began. “I’m so happy for you and Roberts.”

  “Thank you,” Catherine said. “I can scarcely believe it myself.”

  “And how did he take the news?” Paul teased.

  She thought back to the comical shock on his handsome face, the love she’d seen shining in his eyes as he spoke of the coming babe.

  “James was quite pleased,” Catherine answered with a genuine smile.

  Over on the other side of the room, James waited patiently for the refreshments. The punch was ladled out by one of the elderly matrons who enjoyed being involved in the theater organization. James felt a small hand grasp his arm and turned with a smile, fully expecting Catherine to be at his elbow. He promptly lost that smile.

  “Priscilla.”

  “Hello, Roberts,” Lady Brookdale purred, her eyes running over him. “My, you look ever so handsome this evening.”

  James extracted his arm from her clutching hand and took a step back from her. The widow, not to be deterred, stepped closer.

  “I received your missive.” She pursed her lips in a practiced pout. “I must say I was quite disappointed with your response.”

  James shrugged. “You should expect disappointment when you approach a happily married man,” he said in a low voice.

  Priscilla visibly bristled at his harsh tone. She threw a glance over to where Catherine stood with Michelle, then looked back at James and sighed dramatically.

  “I’ll say that Catherine Talbot is a pretty little thing, but—”

  “Catherine Bradford,” James corrected in a firm voice. “Viscountess Roberts.”

  “Um, yes,” Priscilla allowed with a cool nod. She grabbed his arm once more and leaned toward him. “She was innocent when you wed, Roberts,” she whispered. “Surely she can’t please you in the manner to which I’m capable.”

  “I thought I made my meaning clear, Lady Brookdale.” James held his hands in fists at his side, anger coursing through him. “Don’t proposition me again.”

  Once more pulling out of her grasp, he picked up two glasses of punch and returned to his wife.

  Priscilla followed him with hungry eyes. A voice at her side broke through her reverie.

  “Hello, love,” Waltham said.

  Priscilla turned and flashed a smile at her friend and frequent bed partner. She sidled up close to him and placed her hand on his arm. “Thomas.” She sighed. “Whatever are you doing in society so soon after your wife’s unfortunate demise?”

  Waltham laughed softly at her statement. “I couldn’t bear to stay in the country another moment,” he told her. “There were some pressing matters needing my attention.”

  Priscilla cocked her head to the side as she flashed him a grin. “Were there no country girls willing to indulge your particular tastes, Thomas?”

  Waltham’s pale eyes narrowed slightly. His tastes were quite vigorous, as she well knew.

  He recovered his usual coolly handsome façade and smiled at her. “Not in the manner to which you indulge me, Priscilla,” he said in a low voice. “I saw you with him.” He flicked his
head in James’s direction. “What did the ever-charming scoundrel have to say?”

  Priscilla couldn’t keep her disappointment from her countenance. “I offered him a bit of sport.” She snorted. “The gentleman refused me without ceremony.”

  “He’s married now, love.” Waltham chuckled. “Ah, but how could he resist charms such as yours?”

  She clicked her tongue. “He seems content with that child.” She sneered. “Although I don’t know how she can possibly . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she caught Waltham’s eye roaming freely over Catherine’s form. The lust in his pale gaze angered her.

  “Thomas,” she hissed. “What captivates you so?”

  “God, she looks absolutely delectable,” he murmured.

  Another swain fallen under that chit’s spell? No. She might not have Roberts in her bed yet, but she knew Thomas’s particular tastes. She wouldn’t let him think to practice them on the prim Catherine Talbot.

  Priscilla straightened her shoulders and tugged firmly on Waltham’s arm. “Thomas, take me from here.”

  Waltham turned back to her with a contemplative look on his face. “Take you?” he teased. “Just where is it you wish me to, um, take you?”

  Priscilla felt her pulse race. Waltham was the most inventive lover she’d ever known. And if his methods sometimes left marks on her flesh the next day, she didn’t mind. Just the thought of his lean body poised above her. Behind her. Ooh.

  She leaned toward him. “My place, dear boy,” she answered in a whisper.

  Waltham’s lips curved in a slight smile as he gave her a nod. They departed the throng of theatergoers and went out into the chilly night.

  * * *

  Catherine sipped delicately from her glass of punch as the four of them discussed the more humorous aspects of the play. James’s rich laughter washed over her and she smiled in reaction.

  “Paul,” Michelle said, drawing Catherine’s attention. “Isn’t that Waltham?”

  Paul and James both turned to the wide glass doors leading out to the street. The thin man accompanying Lady Brookdale did indeed resemble Waltham, but from their particular vantage point, they couldn’t be certain.

  “It can’t be,” Catherine said. “He shouldn’t be out in society so soon, should he, James?”

  James shrugged, a dark look crossing his face. “If Waltham is indeed with Lady Brookdale, I couldn’t think of two people more deserving of each other.”

  “But, if he—”

  “There’s no telling what that bastard is capable of, Catherine,” he growled.

  Catherine sensed his anger rising and placed her hand on his arm. He lost his scowl and smiled down at her. James’s jealousy where that man was concerned was something they seldom discussed after Lady Joan’s funeral. In silent agreement, they spoke no more of Waltham that evening, either.

  Once upstairs in their chamber following their return from the theater, James quickly removed his boots and was in the process of taking off his waistcoat and shirt.

  “Catherine,” he admonished. “Do hurry.”

  She laughed as she struggled with the hooks on the back of her gown. “You’re quite impatient tonight,” she teased.

  James divested himself of all save his breeches and came up behind her. “Here,” he said, working the tiny hooks free. “Let me play lady’s maid if just for tonight.” He quickly stripped her gown from her as she unpinned her hair.

  She turned to face him, wearing nothing but her pearls.

  His eyes glittered as they ran over her. “Magnificent,” he said, pulling her close.

  Catherine reached behind her neck to remove her jewelry, but he halted her movement.

  “Leave them on,” he gently ordered.

  She dropped her hands to her sides, her pulse beating frantically. He traced his fingers over the pearls as he did earlier that evening, this time cupping a breast in each hand. His hands were gentle and insistent, and she reveled in his touch.

  “Love me, James.” She breathed.

  He did.

  Chapter 24

  When James awoke the next morning, he wasn’t surprised to find Catherine still fast asleep. He’d taken her twice before letting her sleep, loving her with his hands and mouth until she’d been as wild for him as he was for her. His eyes fell on the strand of pearls where they lay coiled on the bedstand. In his mind he pictured Catherine as she was last night, her skin as lustrous in the firelight as the pearls. He knew full well that if he continued his train of thought, his delicate, and pregnant, wife would be denied her much-needed rest.

  He had quite a few errands to run that day, errands that would more than likely keep him busy well into the afternoon. He quickly penned a note for his wife, leaving the paper on her vanity. He dropped a kiss on her tousled head and strode from the chamber.

  When Catherine awoke and read his note, she gasped with bashful delight. As was his custom now, James alluded to the incredible passion they’d shared the previous night. She was touched that he reminded her to take care of herself that day, and to rest when she tired. With a loud, unladylike yawn, she rose and set about her morning toilette.

  “Good morning, Giles,” she said brightly as she entered the breakfast room.

  “Good morning, my lady,” the servant answered with a bow. “I trust you slept well?”

  Catherine nodded as she helped herself from the sideboard. “Very well, thank you.”

  After setting down a silver tray carrying a steaming pot of tea, Giles took himself off to see to the running of his master’s house.

  As Catherine nibbled at the eggs and bacon on her plate, she thought of the few errands she needed to accomplish. It was only a matter of time before she’d need new dresses. She looked down at her still-flat stomach and happily imagined it round with their baby. Having been around Michelle during her time, she knew it was altogether possible for a woman to still look quite pretty while expecting, although she doubted she’d look as radiant as her sister-in-law had. She decided, however, to pick out some lovely fabrics and speak to the seamstress regarding fittings and such.

  She also wished to pay a visit to Elizabeth. Her younger sister had not sent as much as a note since she and their father returned to town, and Catherine could scarcely wait to tell the two of them about the baby. James had encouraged her to share their news in his absence, as he didn’t wish her to wait until they could visit them together.

  She finished her tea and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. She pushed her empty plate aside and sighed contentedly. Her bouts of morning sickness had all but disappeared, much to her relief, and she was able to eat a substantial amount at the morning meal. After asking Giles to have the carriage brought around, she went upstairs and donned her cloak and gloves. It was quite damp and chilly out, and she stepped from one foot to the other as she awaited the carriage. Accepting the driver’s hand up into the carriage, she gave the man his instructions and settled back against the cushioned seat.

  * * *

  Priscilla Brooks alighted her carriage that afternoon, parked farther down the street from Lord Waltham’s townhouse in an attempt at discretion. She walked briskly toward his residence. She tugged alternately at her gloves, making certain that the leather cuffs covered the faint red marks on her wrists. Waltham had been demanding the previous evening, much to her delight. He’d been quite insatiable. Shivering from the memory of all they’d shared, she stepped down to cross the street.

  She came to an abrupt halt as the front door of Waltham’s townhouse opened. Pulling back to stand behind one of the trees that lined the thoroughfare, she watched as a young lady emerged. Her head was all but hidden in the voluminous hood of her cloak and Priscilla narrowed her eyes as she sought to ascertain the girl’s identity. The wind suddenly picked up, sweeping back the girl’s hood. Dark glossy curls billowed in the breeze as the girl hurriedly recovered her hood. She ducked around the corner, but she wasn’t fast enough to prevent Priscilla from seeing her prof
ile.

  Catherine Talbot! How dare she go to Waltham when she was the reason Roberts wouldn’t come to her! Squaring her shoulders, she hurried to Waltham’s door and rapped sharply upon it. The butler, with his customary blank expression, escorted her to his master’s study and left her there to cool her heels. Catherine Talbot, that little bitch. She thought to have Waltham and Roberts? Not bloody likely.

  Waltham soon entered the parlor, wearing his smooth smile. “Priscilla, what a surprise,” he said glibly. “I would think that after our night together, you would need your rest.”

  “Never mind that!” she snapped.

  He arched a fair brow at her.

  Priscilla pulled off her gloves and wrap and turned back to him, her hands on her hips. “What was that silly chit doing here?” she demanded to know.

  “Silly chit?” he repeated. “I don’t know to whom you’re referring, my dear.” He brushed his long fingers over the sleeve of his brown jacket. His clothes looked a tad rumpled, his cheeks a bit ruddy. Had he engaged in love sport with that girl?

  Priscilla glared at him. “You know damn well whom I mean, you cur,” she spat. “That Talbot girl!”

  Waltham laughed low. “Ah, that silly chit.”

  “You won’t dally with her, Thomas,” Priscilla warned. “I forbid it.”

  He lost his smile, the dangerous glint in his eye putting her on her guard. “My dear Lady Brookdale,” he began, his tone harsh. “Don’t attempt to tell me my business.”

  Priscilla saw the flash of anger in his pale eyes and chose to ignore its implications. She stepped closer to him. “You won’t have her.”

  His brows arched. “Oh, I haven’t had her. Not yet.” He licked his lips. “But her skin was delicious.” His smile was devilish. “Her release was . . . surprising.”