There was no shame or degradation as there had been with Thomas, no humiliation, only an intoxicating heat that pulsed through every inch of her body as he filled her and claimed her with thorough possession. With masterly precision he moved within her with utmost care and, with each thrust, their rhythm was matched with ardour. She clung to him, her fingernails digging into his back, their crescents unconsciously marking him as the abandonment went on, forcing her to forget everything but assuagement as he brought her to peak after peak of emotion she had never known existed. She was almost delirious with the new sensations and the powerful response of her own body. She was conscious of an unfamiliar heat inside her as he began to move gently and slowly, seductively initiating her into the arts of love.
John’s body was huge and powerful, wonderful and glistening with sweat above her, his eyes dark with passion. The expanding pleasure, which she had never experienced before, made Catherine writhe and arch her hips against his as she allowed herself to be carried away again and again to the realms of ecstasy. She was unable to believe the delicious sensation of closeness as their bodies strained together. A small cry broke from her lips as the aura burst around them, bathing them in pulsating waves of pleasure.
When it was over Catherine’s senses were in absolute disintegration. They lay together, arms and legs entwined as they drifted up from the nether regions where their passion had sent them. She had never been cherished in a man’s tender embrace, or felt the singing in her blood as desire surged through her veins. John pulled the covers over them against the chill. The languor following their lovemaking was still with Catherine and she snuggled close to him, their legs entwined. Remembered caresses and murmured endearments added to her contentment. She stirred and opened her eyes to find John propped up on one elbow, staring down at her face which was delightfully flushed, her eyes liquid bright. She stretched her arms languorously above her head. Her breasts rose, their rosy peaks uptilted and beckoning.
‘I don’t suppose Thomas told you how beautiful you are,’ John said softly, his lips sliding along her arm, his tongue gently teasing her flesh.
‘I don’t think Thomas ever saw me,’ she answered, remembering Thomas’s fumbling and groping and the degradation and humiliation she had felt afterwards, so different from what she was feeling now.
He gently swept a lock of her hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. ‘And how do you feel?’ he asked, looking at her, at her eyes wide and filled with a confused assortment of emotions.
Catherine didn’t reply at once. How could she tell him that she was shaken by the force of what had happened between them—and shocked by the primitive intensity of emotions he had released inside her that had made her respond like some shameless wanton from the streets? She could not believe the delicious sensations of closeness and satisfaction.
‘I never realised making love could be like that. I have to say that it exceeded anything I could have imagined. I feel relieved,’ she murmured as a sense of well-being wrapped around her. All she wanted now was to sink into the bed against him and rest until it was time to repeat the wonderful experience.
* * *
The night seemed endless as they made love until just before dawn. Catherine lifted her head from John’s chest, having slept for a while. He had kept his arms and one leg thrown over her to keep her possessively close to him. Memories of what had taken place came flooding back. Unable to move, she felt the heat of her blushes cover her whole body. She studied his face, relaxed in sleep. A lock of his dark hair dipped over his brow. Her feelings for him overwhelmed her. Remembered caresses and whispered endearments added to her contentment. She was hardly able to believe he was her lover, that he had made her feel like a woman at last simply by making love to her.
She was suddenly conscious of the time they had spent behind the locked door and that the servants would soon be about. Trying not to wake him, she slowly eased her way to the edge of the mattress. At her movement John stirred. His eyes opened. There was such tenderness in their dark depths that her heart felt it would burst with her emotions.
‘Are you abandoning me so soon?’ he murmured. His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her to him, his lips kissing her throat. She gasped as his hand moved down across her stomach to her thighs. ‘It’s early. We have plenty of time before I have to leave for Windsor.’
Unable to deny him, she snuggled into him. His lips moved across her shoulder to her breast and his tongue teased its rosy peak. As his hand stroked the curve of her spine, she felt her blood answering in response, until she was consumed with a need that matched his own.
Eventually, fulfilled, they finally slept once more.
* * *
When Catherine awoke John was beside the bed, already dressed and ready to leave. With a yawn she stretched her body, raising her arms above her head. Excitement leapt into John’s eyes as he watched her, his eyes falling on the smooth roundness of her breasts, the gleaming shoulders, the exquisite length of her legs and the provocative roundness of her hips.
‘You are without doubt the most glorious woman I have ever seen,’ he murmured.’
He bent to kiss each of her breasts once more and then his mouth moved upwards until it reached hers. Still dazed and enchanted with the realisation that the lovemaking had been a sensuous, wondrous experience, she reached for him, unconsciously yearning upwards towards him. Her smile was tilted, her expressive eyes deliberately full of flirtatious mischief.
‘No more, my love,’ he whispered softly against her lips. ‘Though God knows it wouldn’t take long for my loins to recover with your sweetness beneath me.’
‘Then stay.’
‘We will be together again very soon and the prospect of that alone gives me the strength to wait. I have business in London and I’ll call on the way back to Windsor. Dear God, but you don’t know what you do to me, Catherine. You dazzle my senses, but I intend to leave you now with the pleasure of this first time still warm within you.’
With a kiss and a promise to return later, he left her then, only the familiar scent of his body lingering on the sheets. She was too inexperienced to know whether this was arrogant masculine talk or not and she didn’t care. He had brought her to an awareness of her deeply hidden passions. With a new maturity born out of the night past, she accepted everything he said as the way she herself felt.
Blinking the lingering slumber out of her eyes, she flushed as the memories came rushing back. A rosy hue crept into her cheeks when she remembered the incredibly wanton things they had done. They had shared the most intimate of experiences and her body still tingled with their lovemaking. Even though the physical part of him had gone from her, the essence of him remained. There wasn’t an inch of her that he hadn’t touched or tasted as he had aroused her body with such skilful tenderness and shattered every barrier of her reserve. The night had held a thousand exquisite and unexpected pleasures for them both. With a sigh she stretched with languid contentment, thinking of him and the extraordinary things that had happened to her, to her body, when she had been in his arms.
But what now? she thought. What did she want—for she knew there would never be any peace of mind for her as long as John Stratton remained on earth? Time and distance were of no consequence, for he was already in the heart and soul of her and there he would remain.
Chapter Eight
As John rode towards Windsor, his thoughts turned to Catherine and the singular pleasure of taking her into his bed. He had been assailed by doubts before he had done so. Because of Thomas’s harsh treatment of her he had been afraid that she would reject him. But she had come to him willingly, almost as if she wanted to erase the damage Thomas had done her and reassure herself that not all men were like him. John had known he wanted her from the moment he’d looked into those mesmerising green eyes. It had started then and strengthened the more time they spent together.
He had tho
ught it would take considerable patience and sympathetic handling for him to build a relationship with her and it surprised him how willing she had been and that what they had done had not been the horror she had feared. She had responded hesitantly at first, but then she had warmed to him and welcomed his attentions, opening herself to him. He held a certain pride that she had not found the experience distasteful. But what a terrible burden she had carried throughout her years at Carlton Bray with no one to help her, disguising her fears and existing behind a barrier of self-possession and competency. Thomas might not have loved her, but he could not be forgiven his cruel, thoughtless treatment of her. He had taken her for his wife and she had deserved better.
He could only marvel at how much she had lowered her defences toward him, like a wild horse that gentled only to his touch. It was no small honour, for he knew how reticent she had been towards him. Even now, he could feel her vulnerability and it made him tremble inside to see how much she trusted him when he wasn’t even sure if he could trust himself. Once he had won her confidence she had responded to his lovemaking with a violence that had startled them both. He was completely absorbed in her and he told himself she was the best thing he had ever found.
* * *
As Catherine went about her duties, she had never thought it possible to be so happy, to feel such wonderful elation glowing inside her. The fear that she might be with child crossed her mind and part of her yearned to be with child, John’s child, but how would she explain it? Common sense told that she was wrong to have gone to his bed, but she found that, when she was with him, common sense played no part. She enjoyed feeling his hard body pressed to hers and experiencing the intimacy only two people who are strongly attracted to each other can ever really know. When she thought of the night they had spent together, she smiled and hugged herself, wondering how she could contain her happiness until she saw him again.
He had not said he loved her, but he must feel something for her. This comforting theory produced in her a mood of indulgence and gaiety. It was December already and she began to think about Christmas, as it had been when her mother was alive. Not since she was a young girl had there been such a bright sparkle in her eyes and a soft flush on her cheeks. Unfortunately her happiness was not to last.
* * *
It was mid-morning and Catherine went to the nursery to see James. He was seated on a chair near his bed, his short legs dangling over the edge of the seat. He kicked them idly back and forth as Jenny busied herself with tidying the room.
‘Hello, James,’ Catherine said. ‘Did you enjoy yesterday, playing in the snow?’
His eyes lit up and he nodded shyly. ‘I liked building the snowman and throwing the snowballs. Can we do it again?’
Catherine laughed. ‘When it snows some more I don’t see why not.’ She looked at Jenny, who was disappearing into the adjoining room, a pile of linen in her arms. ‘I thought I’d come and see if everything is all right, Jenny, with Blanche being away.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ she called. ‘Master James has had his breakfast. We’re going to draw some pictures when I’ve sorted out this laundry.’
‘Then perhaps I can join you. I have to go and check on my father and then I’ll come back. I like drawing and I’d like to see what James can draw.’ She smiled at the dark-haired child. He really was adorable. Blanche must be very proud of him. ‘Would you like that, James? Perhaps we can draw and colour a snowman since we can’t go outside.’
Nodding his head enthusiastically, he slid off the chair.
Catherine left James building some wooden bricks into a tower, excited that she was going to return to play with him. She sighed, feeling sorry for the child. Her father refused to let him have the run of the house so he spent most of his time confined to the nursery.
She sighed inwardly on entering her father’s room, pausing on the threshold, momentarily overcome by the closeness of the room. To ward off the cold a fire blazed in the hearth. Her father was sitting up in bed, swaddled in blankets. She found it hard to hide her shock at his appearance. The pallid flesh and shrunken eyes and sparse white hair covering his skull gave his face the appearance of a death mask.
‘How are you feeling today, Father? No worse, I hope?’ He was alone, the servant who tended him having gone to the kitchen to fetch him a cup of ale.
‘Much the same,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m dying—I know it, so don’t tell me I look well—but the good Lord keeps me hanging on. I like to keep the curtains pulled round the bed to keep out the draughts. I feel the cold in my bones.’
‘Yes—well—that’s hardly surprising. It’s very cold outside. Is Blanche back yet?’
‘No, not yet. I expect she’ll be back any time.’
Catherine was aware that the door was being pushed slowly open. Thinking it was the servant returning with her father’s ale, she didn’t turn round immediately. It was only when she heard her father’s sharp intake of breath that she did so. It was James, who, unbeknown to Jenny and hoping Catherine would change her mind and take him outside to build another snowman, had followed her. He peeked round the door and stepped into the room. Catherine tried to step between them so she blocked her father’s view, but she was too late.
Edward’s face worked. ‘Get him out,’ he spat, tiny flecks of spittle at the edges of his mouth. ‘Get him out,’ he repeated, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl, rising up from the pillows, a maddening rage filling his eyes. ‘I won’t have him in my sight. Look what his mother’s done. Brought shame on us all—shame, I tell you.’ His hands gripped the sheets, furious at his inability to rise.
He fell back, his skin sheened with sweat. Afraid he was going to have a seizure, Catherine hurried to him and tried to calm him. By the time she turned back to the door, James had disappeared. Deeply concerned, she called for someone to sit with her father while she went to check on James. For as long as she lived she would never forget the look of fear on the child’s face. Jenny looked up when she entered the nursery. There was no sign of James.
‘Where is he, Jenny? Where is James?’
‘I don’t know, my lady,’ Jenny replied, looking nonplussed. ‘I thought he was with you.’
‘He followed me to my father’s room. Unfortunately he’s not in the best of spirits this morning and I think he upset James. I’ll go and look for him. He can’t be far away.’
Catherine searched all the chambers on the upper floor, looking behind curtains and doors, anywhere she could think a small child could hide, but there was no sign of him. Rallying the servants to join in the search, she called his name again and again, trying to keep her voice calm so as not to alarm him more than he already was. She searched downstairs and along the corridors in the domestic quarters, but to no avail. No one had seen the child. The kitchen was the last place she looked. According to Mrs Coleman he loved the kitchen. Red coals glowed in the gigantic hearth and an orange light flickered on the copper pans hung on the walls. She searched the pantries and wash house at the back of the house, but James was nowhere to be seen.
As she stood in the hall, wondering where to look next, the door opened and Blanche swept in, having returned from her trip to London. In good spirits she removed her bonnet and placed it on the hall table before turning her attention to Catherine. Seeing the stricken look on her face, she walked towards her.
‘Catherine—what is it? Has something happened? Is it Edward?’
Pulling herself together, Catherine shook her head. Her expression of mingled guilt and dismay took a moment to penetrate. ‘No, Blanche. It’s James. Don’t get alarmed, but he’s gone missing. He can’t be far away.’
There was a moment of frozen stillness, of utter clarity. ‘Missing? What do you mean—missing? How can he go missing? Have you lost him?’
‘I went to the nursery to see him and he followed me when I left. He—he followed me into Father’s room...’
&nb
sp; Blanche paled as she clutched at the frayed edges of her control. ‘He actually went into Edward’s room? My God! James must have been terrified. He always said there was something horrid in that room. He was right.’ She looked stricken and was twisting her hands in anxiety. Her eyes flew round the hall and to the stairs, as if expecting to see her son at any moment. ‘How could you let him wander like that? He never leaves the nursery unless he’s with me or Jenny. You should have watched him, made sure he was safe. You should have known I didn’t want him anywhere near Edward. He has to be somewhere in the house. Where have you looked?’
‘Everywhere. I cannot imagine where he might be.’
‘Have you looked outside?’
She shook her head. ‘No—but I will.’
‘He can’t have gone far. I’ll check the house again while you check the stables. He likes to look at the horses so he might have wandered round there.’
Instructing the servants to continue searching the house and grounds, Catherine hurried to the stables. Informing the grooms that James was missing, they separated to join in the search. After a thorough look inside the stables she emerged, just as John was dismounting, having ridden from London. Alarmed at seeing her so distraught, he went to her.
‘Catherine? What on earth has happened?’
Quickly she explained, telling him that they had searched everywhere, but he seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Her eyes were wide, fixed in horror on the agony of losing James. ‘He followed me into Father’s room. Oh, John! He was so frightened. I couldn’t go after him straight away because I thought Father was about to have a seizure. When I went to the nursery, Jenny hadn’t seen him. I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t think where he can have gone.’
Resisting Her Enemy Lord Page 15