He glanced at her, his arm resting on his knee. ‘Are you missing Carlton Bray?’
‘Yes—sometimes I do. Here, being close to London, everything is so different. At Carlton Bray if I wanted to disappear and be anonymous I could. Here I feel—visible.’
John smiled lazily. ‘Careful, Catherine. You’re beginning to reveal your insecurities. Do you feel you have the need to disappear?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘You are too warm and vitally alive. It would be a sin to hide yourself away.’ Stretching out beside her, he ran the tips of his fingers across her lower lip. ‘Tell me. How does a woman who has lived most of her adult life in a cold and dank castle on the Welsh Marches manage to have skin so soft?’
Her mouth opened against his fingertips. ‘I am not old, John, so my skin is not aged. I think it is because I lived in a cold castle—although it was not always cold. In summertime, when the sun was hot, the castle was a relief in itself.’
‘Was it, now?’ he murmured as he continued to trace the outline of her mouth. Only a slight, momentary quiver of her jaw told him she was at all affected by what he was doing. All that passion just under the surface—what would happen if it were ever allowed to come out? He moved his hand to cradle her chin, and her hand moved as if to push it away, but stilled in the air, hesitant. ‘What would it take for you to let your guard down now, Catherine?’
‘I was not aware that my guard was up.’
‘I have always prided myself on my self-control, but you are an expert at it. Would you mind if I kissed you again?’
She hesitated. ‘I—I...’
‘It shouldn’t be too difficult. Why did you let me kiss you before?’
Her gaze was fixed on his mouth. ‘I suppose when emotions are running high people do mad things.’
‘And are your emotions running high now?’
‘When I’m with you my emotions are always running high, even though I try to suppress them. You asked me why I let you kiss me.’ Her lips curved in a slow smile. ‘I wanted you to do it. I ignored all my instincts and let you do it without reservation, but then I told myself I must not be tempted again.’
‘But you want me. You can’t deny that.’
‘I’m human, John. You’ve proved that.’
For a long moment John’s gaze lingered on the elegant perfection of her glowing face, then settled on her entrancing green eyes. He wanted more than anything to snatch her into his arms to kiss that full, soft mouth until she was clinging to him, melting with desire. And then she totally surprised him by leaning forward and doing to him what he had been tempted to do to her. He could feel her desire and her apprehension as she kissed him gently, moulding her lips to his, touching them with the tip of her tongue. Her artless passion took his breath away. It was a kiss unlike any other. He could not remember being kissed like this before. Raising his hand, he pushed his fingers into her wealth of hair and cupped the back of her head.
The day had cast a spell on them and they had not the strength to escape it as they became lost in each other. They were each aware that they were completely alone. Raising his head, he looked down at her, smiling slightly as he stared into her eyes before allowing his gaze to travel, slowly, over every inch of her face. He was fascinated by the wisps of hair that clung to her flesh and how her pink tongue licked the moisture from her lips in an innocently sensual gesture. He felt heat pulsate through his veins and he could not look away. Again their lips met.
After a moment Catherine drew back a little and looked at him and he could feel the warm, beguiling sweetness of her soft breath on his skin. He could see her desire was as great as his own, but she seemed so very vulnerable, almost fragile. More than anything in the world John wanted at that moment to take her to bed. Had she then made the smallest seductive gesture—had she indicated that she was willing—he might have taken her quickly there and then, but this was not the place and honour, which dictated everything in his life, dictated his decision now.
Drawing in a deep breath, summoning the iron will that had made his reason the master of his emotions since he was a child, he released her. ‘We must stop now, Catherine. I think I should let you go while I still can.’ He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it, forcing her to meet his steady gaze. His serious expression remained as he studied her upturned face. Her eyes were still languorous, her lips soft from his kiss. ‘I want you—and you want me. Ever since I first laid eyes on you at Carlton Bray you have no idea how much I have wanted you. It cannot end here. I won’t let it.’
Gathering the basket and the blanket from the ground, they swung up on to their horses, gathered their reins and road back to Oakdene.
* * *
When they parted, John stood and watched as Catherine strode towards the house and disappeared. Even when her body was no longer in sight he could see the flashing lights of her hair in the dying light of the sun. He watched spellbound until even that disappeared before turning back to his horse and thoughtfully heading towards Windsor. He murmured her name and it echoed through his mind over and over again, accompanied by the ache in his loins and the disturbing, haunting image of flashing green eyes and cascading honey-gold hair.
* * *
Over the following days John was occupied at Windsor with military affairs so Catherine did not see him, but the memory of the kiss was still warm and happy inside her.
It was December and very cold. Oakdene saw a steady number of visitors as Edward’s physician and friends came to see him. He had grown weaker since Catherine’s arrival and suffered small seizures, each one leaving him more incapacitated than the last. In his measured opinion, the physician held out little hope of recovery.
When Blanche was alone with him, raised voices could often be heard coming from the sick room. When Blanche emerged on one such occasion her eyes were glittering with anger.
‘The man’s a devil,’ Blanche told Catherine, who was hovering on the stairs, ready to go to her father’s aid should things get out of hand. ‘He thinks he knows everything. I can feel him watching me, hating me. He knows he is finished and I will soon get what is my due as his wife. It stings him to realise that I have beaten him, after all.’
Catherine watched her go. Let Blanche think she had beaten her father if that pleased her, but if she really thought she could get the better of him then she was mistaken. The days were long gone when he would concern himself with household matters. Since he had become ill and taken to his bed, life slipped by for him in a blur. But this one thing with Blanche was immediate and would not be put aside.
Catherine did not see the boy James, but she heard his childish chatter and laughter sometimes. She was tempted to seek him out in the nursery, but having no wish to encounter Blanche she kept away. The nursemaid took him outside in the mornings and Catherine would sit on her cushioned window seat and watch them walk around the garden and sit a while before disappearing back into the house.
* * *
After another bitter altercation with her husband, Blanche had gone into town and was to remain overnight with friends. Snow had been falling since early morning and had begun to settle. Feeling restless and thinking she would benefit from some fresh air, Catherine made her way to the nursery. James was playing with a spinning top, watching it whirl over the carpet in a blur of bright colours, his dark eyes alight with excitement. Jenny was sewing in front of the fire. She looked up and smiled when Catherine entered.
‘I’ve come to see James,’ Catherine said, glancing at the little boy who was looking at her with childish interest. ‘When I saw him last he had a tooth coming through. Is he better now?’
‘Yes, he’s much better, although he’s fretful at having to stay indoors.’
‘And who can blame him.’ Catherine went to the child and smiled down at him, admiring his spinning top. His dark curly hair clung around his face. His eyes wer
e grey, his jawline square—exactly like Thomas’s, she thought, feeling an instinctive poignancy. She had no doubt that this was Thomas’s son—the child that might have been hers. ‘Teeth are nothing but trouble. Would you show me your new tooth, James?’ He opened his mouth willingly, eager for her to see. ‘Ah, there it is,’ she said, peering inside. ‘It’s a fine tooth. See, it’s snowing. It looks much more fun to be outside.’ She looked at Jenny. ‘Might I take him outside? You look as if you have plenty to occupy you.’
‘I have. Master James grows out of his clothes so quickly I’m forever altering them. As you see he’s still in skirts. It will be a relief when he’s out of them. I haven’t had time to take him outside yet, but I think it should be all right for you to take him—if you would like to.’
‘Would you like that, James?’ Catherine asked. ‘We could make a snowman, if you like, and snowballs.’
His face was a delight to see. Jenny lost no time in dressing him in his outdoor clothes and little boots and mittens. As soon as they left the house James was off, running gleefully about the garden, kicking up the snow as he went. Holly bushes, bright with berries, and trees, their branches heavy with snow, stood sharp against the azure-blue sky and the sun shone on the glittering white unblemished gardens. The air was sharp and crystal clear and everything was still.
In no time at all the sound of shrill childish laughter rose and fell in paroxysms of uncontrollable mirth as they began to build the snowman. Together they rolled the bottom half of the body. The larger it got, the heavier it was to push. When it was halfway built, James made snowballs and threw them at Catherine, uncaring that his clothes were getting hopelessly wet. Leaving off rolling the snowman, Catherine made snowballs of her own and gently tossed them at him. Gazing up at her, he gave her a heart-stopping grin and threw another.
Chapter Seven
Having ridden from the city, it was into this setting that John appeared, being drawn to it by the ringing tones of laughter. He stared in astonishment to see Catherine sitting on the ground covered with snow, the child taking great delight in pelting her with snowballs, a ball of snow rolled to make the body of a snowman. Clearly it had proved too much for her.
Taking a moment to observe her, John felt his stomach churn. Seeing her like this, dishevelled, with her rich curtain of hair long and silky and every shade of autumn, almost took his breath away and he could not take his eyes from her.
She was magnificent. She turned her head to where he stood. He had appeared too suddenly for her to prepare herself, so he could almost sense the heady surge of pleasure she experienced on seeing him again, for it was stamped like an unbidden confession on her lovely face. For a long, joyous interval they held each other with their eyes, savouring the moment, enjoying afresh the powerful sexual force that sprang between them.
She held her head proudly, her green eyes burning up into his, showing neither alarm at his appearance or caring much for modesty. He was disturbed by the sight of her sitting in the snow, feeling a stirring of warmth in his loins. When he held out his hand, she took it and he hoisted her to her feet. She brushed the snow from her skirts with her hands. He noted how her eyes shone and how rosy her face.
‘You look as if you’re having a good time.’ He watched a smile appear, lighting up her whole face, and John melted beneath the heat of it.
‘We were indulging in happy playfulness—which is quite normal when it snows. It might be gone tomorrow. See—we’re building a snowman, aren’t we, James?’
‘Yes,’ squealed James, throwing another snowball at her.
With his hands on his hips, John inspected the ball of snow gravely, looking the picture of vastly amused male superiority. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ he said, unable to resist joining in the fun. ‘It looks like a man’s job to me.’
Catherine gasped, her look one of mock offence. ‘How dare you say that. We haven’t finished it yet.’
‘I can see that. But I still say you need a man to roll it up. Permit me.’ And without further ado he rolled the ball of snow a bit further.
James though it was hilarious to see him flounder beneath the strain. Plonking her hands on her hips, Catherine gave John a look of comic disapproval. ‘There, you see—it’s not as easy as you think.’
John was not done. Determined to roll it a bit further and tensing his muscles, he rolled it until Catherine told him it was quite large enough, thank you, and if he left it where it was James would be able to see it from the nursery window. Standing back and slapping the snow off his gloves with a triumphant grin, he looked with admiration at the huge ball of snow.
‘There you are. That is much improved. Do you not agree?’
Beckoning James to come and stand beside her, when she replied her voice was soft and very sweet. ‘Yes, John. It certainly is,’ she said with uncharacteristic meekness—and the next thing John knew, two pairs of hands, one large and one small, had hit him squarely on the chest and knees, catching him completely by surprise and sending him flying backwards to land spread-eagled in a snowdrift.
‘Why, you—you hellions,’ he cried with a bark of laughter as he struggled to get out of the drift.
‘That,’ she told him, joining in his laughter, ‘was for arrogantly assuming that James and I are incapable of building our own snowman.’
‘My pride is in ruins.’ John laughed. Getting to his feet and brushing the snow off his clothes and hair, he knew he wasn’t immune to the absolute exhilaration that came from being out of doors surrounded by snow—which he’d always hated before—while Catherine, her hair in a wet tangle about her shoulders, cheeks the colour of a bright red poppy, was a breathtaking marvel, with her huge jewel-bright green eyes and wide, laughing mouth.
‘It’s dangerous being within our range,’ she shouted, handing James a snowball and making one for herself. ‘We have excellent aims.’
‘That does it. You’ll pay for that,’ John shouted as the snowballs hit him on the side of his head.
Scooping up some snow and moulding his own snowball, grinning broadly and with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, he purposefully advanced on them. Uncaring who might be watching, they cavorted about in the snow, shattering the quiet with their laughter. James squealed with excitement and ran away, while hoping John would chase him. Which he did, scooping the child up into his arms and tossing him playfully in the air before catching him, James’s delighted laughter mingling with John’s. Placing him back on his feet, John then turned his attention on Catherine.
‘Oh, no—no, you don’t,’ she cried, beginning to back away and choking on her laughter. ‘Stop it, John. You must be sensible about this. I’ve decided I don’t like snowballs—’
‘It’s too late for that.’ Suddenly John lunged and landed a direct hit on her shoulder. With a shriek, bent on revenge, she dipped her hands in the snow.
‘You—you devil. I’ll get you back for that. I swear I will.’ And so saying, she quickly made another snowball and threw it at him before making a dash for it.
‘And I’ll teach you the folly of daring to provoke me,’ John shouted after her, scooping up more snow and giving chase. James stood aside, jumping up and down with excitement and clapping his hands.
Encumbered by her skirts and the deep snow, Catherine pitched forward with a screech, landing face down in the snow. Rolling on to her back and laughing helplessly, she made an attempt to get to her feet, but James ran to her and sat on top of her, having the greatest time of his young life.
John, hands on hips and breathing heavily, stood looking down at them. ‘Enough, you two,’ he said, lifting James off an exhausted but laughing Catherine and helping her to her feet.
Reluctant to return to the house and end this pleasant interlude, she turned her attention to the more serious business of finishing the snowman. ‘Don’t think you’re going to escape just yet,’ she said.
‘You me
an there’s more snowballing?’
‘No. We have to give the snowman a face. Is that not so, James?’
‘Yes,’ he cried, running to the half-built snowman.
Catherine quickly rolled another ball of snow, smaller this time, for the head. John stood it on top of the large ball while Catherine collected twigs for its nose and mouth and stones for its eyes.
‘There,’ she said, standing back to admire their work. ‘I think that’s the finest snowman I’ve ever seen—don’t you agree, James?’
James nodded in agreement, his crop of wet curls clinging to his cheeks.
‘And now, young man,’ Catherine said, taking James’s hand, thinking he looked quite worn out but happy, ‘I think we had better get you back to the house and out of those wet clothes.
John scooped the child up into his arms and the three of them made their way to the house.
* * *
Walking beside John, if Catherine had thought James would be subdued by his presence she was soon proved wrong. At first he had fixed him with dubious, uneasy glances, but John soon captivated his attention, possessing a natural ability to break down James’s reserve. He seemed to have an easy rapport with him and it was quite a novelty to see him scooping up the snow and making snowballs, sending James into gales of laughter as they rolled about in the snow.
This new John was so surprising that Catherine could not restrain her amazement. She felt a tingling of exhilaration, drawn to him against her will by a compelling magnetism that radiated from his very presence. She looked at him as though for the first time and saw that, with his dark hair wet and ruffled and falling over his brow, he looked much younger and less formidable. For a moment she had the impression that he was little more than a boy himself. He did seem genuinely fond of James and he of him. When she managed to catch his eye there was so much laughter on his face that he seemed a long way removed from the serious-minded man she had come to know. It gave her an insight into a different side of him she was looking forward to knowing better.
Resisting Her Enemy Lord Page 13