‘Really, John,’ she said as they headed for the nursery. ‘I am quite impressed. Never would I have believed you to be so good with children. I am pleased to see you do not view them as an encumbrance.’
‘I like children. My brothers have four between them. Unfortunately I don’t have the opportunities I would like to spend with them.’
‘Perhaps that will be remedied when you have left the army. You seem to be such an expert that should you have children of your own in the future, I think you will be able to dispense with the services of a nurse.’
He smiled into her eyes. ‘I’m not such an expert—or so patient. Where’s Blanche, by the way? She’s quite strict where James is concerned. I’m surprised she would let you bring him out to play in the snow.’
‘She went into the city shortly after breakfast—before the snow made the roads worse. Father and Blanche argued before she left.’ She sighed. ‘I wish they wouldn’t. She won’t return until tomorrow.’
John’s eyebrows rose with interest. ‘Really? Then I think we should make the most of it. Tomorrow I go to Windsor for a few days. I’m then going down to Sussex. I promised my mother I would be there for Christmas. So tonight is my last night. Will you have supper with me?’
‘Yes—yes—all right. That would be nice. I’ll have Cook prepare something special.’
* * *
Catherine was delighted that John had suggested they dine together. Before she went down to supper she took time over her appearance. She was strangely excited about dining with him alone. The mere idea brought a familiar twist to her heart, that addictive mix of pleasure and discomfort that came over her every time she was with him, a sensation that somehow made breathing difficult and made her heart race as if she had been running. She arranged her hair, fluffing it here and there, and pinched her cheeks to an attractive pink and was half-ashamed, half-gratified at what she saw as an improvement. As she dabbed rosewater on her neck and wrists, a voice jeered from inside her, which she quelled. Why shouldn’t she want to look nice? Wasn’t it a woman’s duty to herself?
* * *
Supper was a lovely, relaxed affair by the fireside in the parlour. It was served by Mrs Coleman, who brought them a bottle of claret from Edward’s cellar, then left them alone. John told amusing tales of his exploits in the army over the years and Catherine was content to listen in fascination. Afterwards she suggested a walk outside before going to bed. The night was cold. They walked just a short way, their feet crunching on the snow. Reaching the end of the garden, she stopped and looked back at the house. John stood beside her.
‘You look thoughtful. Memories?’ His voice was quiet, his mood pleasant and attentive.
Catherine nodded and turned and looked at him, lifting her face to his. The light from the moon and the reflection off the snow added to its beauty and John felt it strike to the very soul of him.
‘I was thinking of all the times I played in the gardens as a child. I loved spring in particular, when the trees and shrubs would burst into life. In summer they were a riot of roses and jasmine and honeysuckle. My mother was the gentlest, most caring of people and believed in the best in everyone. She would make a point of telling me the names of all the flowers and I would sit under that tree over there making daisy chains and lose myself in daydreams and wishes.’
‘And what did you wish for?’
‘That I would stay here for ever—and like every other little girl I wished that I would be pretty and that one day a prince would come and whisk me away and take me to live in a beautiful palace. The garden is an ideal place for a child to dream and play.’
‘You must have been a happy child.’
‘I was, but I didn’t know anything else so I thought that was the way of things.’
When she turned and strolled on he walked beside her with a long, casual stride. They proceeded for several minutes in silence and then he paused.
‘Tell me, Catherine, do you still dream?’
‘Yes, but my dreams are not those of a child any more. I’m glad I managed to persuade Jenny to let me bring James out to play. I don’t think he has much joy in his life and I know how much he enjoyed building the snowman—although see,’ she said, pointing to the object of their efforts, ‘already it’s beginning to melt.’
‘But you had fun. I’m sure James will remember it.’
‘I would like to think so. I’ve only just found out about his existence and I am already concerned for his future. My father refuses to accept the child as his—and I have to say that he does resemble Thomas. So what is to be done?’
‘I will see that she and James are taken care of—one way or another.’ He looked down at her. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘Yes, a little.’
‘Are you cold?’
She twisted her head round and looked at him, unsmiling. ‘No. It’s your fault.’
‘I have that effect on you?’
‘Don’t look so smug—but, yes, you do. You know, John, when you wrote informing me that you were bringing Thomas’s body back to Carlton Bray, I didn’t know what to think. I knew nothing about you. In fact, I was determined not to like you. It was no use. For the time we have been together I have seen a different man to the one I expected, a man who melted my resistance. And then you kissed me and scattered my wits.’
‘It would seem you are confused about me, Catherine. I can see your dilemma.’
‘Can you?’ She believed he could. John Stratton had a razor-sharp perception of her. ‘With everything that has happened of late, I have never been so unsure of myself. When I let you escort me to Oakdene I unwittingly made more problems for myself than I bargained for.’
‘And that scares you?’
‘Yes, yes, it does.’
John watched her, both touched and faintly amused by her confession and aroused by her nearness. ‘Do you fear me, Catherine?’
‘No, not you,’ she said quietly, feeling his eyes on her causing the colour in her cheeks to deepen. ‘It’s what you might do to me that I’m afraid of.’
Without a word he lifted his hands and tucked her cloak close about her neck to keep out the cold before drawing her into his arms. His mouth covered hers, moist, firm, lightly touching at first, then probing and demanding, and, as the ache spread to her bones, sensations that prolonged the exquisite torture, she wondered how long she could withstand him. When at last he lifted his mouth from hers, Catherine was trembling with awakened desire.
‘John,’ she whispered. ‘I—’
He interrupted her in a deep, quiet voice. ‘I like to hear you say my name and take you in my arms.’
Again his lips covered hers and he kissed her for a long time, tenderly, carefully, deliberately, holding back the urgent passion that possessed him. It was a restrained kiss, because he exercised the greatest control. Then he raised his head and their eyes met and held, touching hidden places and already imagining the possibility of a next time.
‘I think we should return to the house,’ he said, taking her hand.
They walked, holding hands like lovers, making no conversation. The moon shone down on them and only the faintest of breezes rustled through the empty branches of the trees, making time unimportant. Catherine looked at the house and it reminded her of the reasons for her being here, but on a night such as this she did not really want to think—either of the past or the future. It seemed that John felt the same, for he appeared content to simply be there, with her.
I am happy at this moment, Catherine thought contentedly. And then, without wanting to, she wondered, Will I always feel so with him?
No matter what events had led up to this moment, she was happy and everything seemed changed between them—the past and all its hardships vanished like mist clearing before the rising of the sun.
When he would have drawn her into his arms once more, she stepped away.
‘I must go and say goodnight to Father—and to make sure he has everything he needs.’
* * *
This she did. Entering her father’s room, she found him on the verge of sleep. After ensuring a maid was on hand should he wake, she left him, intending to go to her own chamber.
‘Catherine.’
There was a movement behind her and the voice that spoke her name was deep, warm and loving. She closed her eyes, feeling the dizzy aura of him, unable to resist it. Wanting to savour the sound of it, she didn’t turn, although she could imagine his eyes in the candlelight shining with an expression she would like to think he had given to no woman but her.
She heard him come closer, his footsteps almost soundless on the thick carpet, then he was directly behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of him on her back. Then his arms snaked around her waist. He pulled her back and she sank into him, unable to resist. He held her to his chest and buried his head into the curve of her neck, his lips warm, caressing her flesh. Sighing, she began to melt, feeling languorous magic drift over her.
‘Mmm,’ he breathed. ‘You smell of roses.’
‘And you, my lord, smell of brandy and fresh air and manly things’
‘Do you mind?’ he asked, his teeth gently nibbling her earlobe.
‘Not in the slightest,’ she whispered, a thrill of excitement tingling along her nerves. ‘I like it. It’s a pleasant smell.’
‘Are you tired?’
She shook her head. ‘I should be after our fun and games earlier in the snow. But I don’t feel like going to bed just yet,’ she said softly, covering his hands at her waist with her own.
‘Neither do I—at least, not alone.’ His arms tightened about her and his voice was husky. ‘Have you the slightest idea how much I want you, Catherine? Will you not turn round and tell me you feel the same?’
She turned slowly, shivering slightly, for she felt the power of his masculinity, the strong pull of his magnetism, which she knew was his need for her, wrap itself about her. His face was all shadow and planes in the soft light. She felt a hollow ache inside as he gazed down at her. He framed her face with his hands and bent to brush her lips with his, a mere whisper of a caress, gently, barely discernible. Raising his head, he took her face in his hands and splayed his fingers over her cheeks, looking into the liquid depths of her eyes.
‘You’re incredibly lovely, Catherine. Do you know how lovely you are? Come to bed with me.’
She paused, considering the question. What would it mean to be alone with him? Should she be afraid of that moment, afraid of what would happen between them—and the surrender for which, after Thomas, she was wary of? The fear she was feeling grew sharper. What madness was it that made her feel she knew this man at all? When he again took her lips, in an instant her fear of him dissolved.
She moaned with pleasure. Did it matter that they weren’t wed when his mouth, his hands, his powerful body were demanding things from her that she knew she could give him? She was a widow, no longer a virgin—although she had no tender memories of what Thomas had done to her. If anything at all, memories of his rough handling were enough to put her off having any other man in her bed for all time. She had never experienced the glorious sensations she felt when John held her. As she looked at him now, something in those brilliant blue eyes made her catch her breath. Once more her body flamed with passion and for once she did not care. She had so long been denied this intimacy with a man, and had determinedly kept her mind from any such feelings, that she now recklessly welcomed it.
Taking her silence as acquiescence, he took her hand and led her to his bedchamber. She wanted him desperately and just now nothing else mattered. She went with him willingly, knowing it was wrong—and yet she argued with herself as he drew her inside.
‘Wait,’ he said as she was about to move further into the room. ‘If you are not comfortable with this, you need not stay with me. I ask nothing of you but to be with you, Catherine. I will do nothing that you do not allow.’
Feeling surprisingly calm, Catherine remembered how different it had been when she had married Thomas out of duty and obligation, which, since meeting John, she would toss into the teeth of the wind to be blown away. Tonight she was her own person and sure of herself. John wanted her and she knew he spoke the truth, and hugged the knowledge and the thought to her as a talisman against the past.
‘I have thought about it,’ she said. She wanted to know if she would find the experience as distasteful as she remembered. She wanted to know—to feel that there was more. ‘There was nothing loving about my relationship with Thomas. His treatment of me was harsh. My memory of the times he took me to his bed is of pain. I thought that was all there was. I thanked God every day that for the short time we were together he left me alone. It was clear he did not see me as desirable—I thanked God for it. For the first time, since I met you, I know it doesn’t have to be like that.’
* * *
John took her into his arms and kissed her soft mouth again. Her lips trembled and then finally parted helplessly, allowing him full rein. Making the most of his plunder, he kissed her long and deep. It was a kiss so poignant, so filled with sensual promise, that she found herself melting against him, her senses scattered in a storm of unexpected desire. Her tongue flirted with his as her fingers drifted over the muscles of his shoulders.
Raising his head, he gazed down at her upturned face. ‘I want you in my bed, Catherine. I want to see you. I want to touch you, to taste you.’ His lips found hers once more, gently caressing before slowly moving to her cheek and down the column of her throat to the tender hollow where her pulse beat beneath her skin. And then, with slow deliberation, he began to undress her, his burning eyes devouring every inch of her exposed flesh. When she stood in her chemise the firelight betrayed her beauty through the filmy cloth, showing the slender curves of her body in silhouette. His hands stroked down her arms and back again, caressing her shoulders. He felt her tremble beneath his touch. His clever fingers continued with their caress, setting the pace to slowly arouse and seduce until she had no will of her own under his skilful hands.
He drew back, his eyes dark with passion as he studied her intently. ‘Do you fear it, Catherine?’
‘A little.
‘Then don’t. Ever since I kissed you that first time I’ve been fighting against my need for you.’ He put his fingers beneath her chin and turned her face up to his. ‘I am nothing like Thomas and I feel a need for you to trust me. I will give you pleasure. It is my wish to erase your memories of Thomas’s harsh treatment of you. Do you trust me to do that?’
‘I trust you to try.’
Catherine was aware of him touching her skin once more, aware of every caress with his lips, his fingers, and the moment his arms were about her, her almost naked body caught against the hard pressure of his body. Her passion exploded into fire. The attraction between them had been denied for too long. Her body became a flame as it moved against his and desire ravaged her senses. She felt his hot breath on her flesh and experienced the same rush of helplessness as before when he held her, the same yielding softness. The image of Thomas which had fleetingly occupied her mind was gone in a blur of savagery and passion as John’s mouth ground down on to hers, his lips possessive and demanding, holding her warm and pliant body utterly captive. His kiss was devastating and a shudder ran through her to delight him.
Taking her hand, he led her to the bed where she stretched out on the covers. John knelt beside her and raised her up. Holding her tight against him, he kissed her throat before releasing her and getting off the bed to divest himself of his clothes. When he joined her she raised up on her knees and pulled the curtains, shutting out the light from the candles and leaving just the bottom of the bed exposed so they could see the glow of the fire across the room.
Beside him once more, Catherine passed her eyes over his body with admiration. It was
strong and hard, his muscles clearly defined. With his hands on her shoulders he slipped the flimsy material of her chemise down her arms, then this final garment was quickly removed and floated to the floor. Stretching out alongside her, he gathered her close, the warmth of his body pressed full against the coolness of her own. The heat of his lips made Catherine lose touch with reality. The attraction which had always been between them blazed into something more profound. It was impetuous, an abandoned sensual action, but impossible to halt or deny.
The feel and the taste of him filled her soul. His mouth moved to circle her breasts, kissing each in turn until her nipples hardened. Consumed by him, she gasped in pleasure as his mouth moved down over her ribs, his tongue teasing the taut skin of her stomach and the soft swell of her hips. When he pressed his mouth to her softness she threw back her head and her fingers laced through his hair as she abandoned herself to the waves of pleasure that expanded and mounted until finally pulsating into release. She could not stop his hands from roving. Her body was unchartered territory and her flesh was satiny soft and quivered under his inquisitive touch. A need began to grow inside her as his caresses grew bolder. It was a hollow feeling that ached to be filled. She felt on the threshold of some great and already overwhelming discovery.
John took control, rolling her on to her back and taking his weight on his elbows so that he might look down at her and watch the play of emotions on her face and see the darkness of her eyes. For a moment, a small lance of sanity seemed to make her pause and gape at her behaviour. She was like a crazy woman, writhing on the bed in her father’s house with a man who was not her husband. She was shocked, but only for a moment, for in the next John was raising her hips to accommodate him. The moment he penetrated her silken heat, finding solace in the pulsating softness of her body, their shocked gasps of pleasure were as one.
Resisting Her Enemy Lord Page 14