The silence that followed was long and heavy. The firelight cast shadows over his handsome face, making his expression stern. ‘It is not a criticism, Catherine. You could not have done more, but it would be advantageous to me to have someone living there and who better than Blanche and Thomas’s son. You would probably say that Blanche’s fate is nothing to do with you or me, but you would be wrong. Do not shut yourself off from her. She is hurting more than she lets anyone know. Thomas’s death preys heavy on her mind. She loved him with her heart and soul and, as a mother, she wants the best for his son.’
‘Yes, I am sure she did love Thomas, but she did not set eyes on him again after he left her in York almost four years ago, which was when she returned to Oakdene. And please don’t tell me it was the war that halted communication between them because I won’t believe it. I believe the reason she didn’t inform him of James’s birth is because she knew she couldn’t have Thomas and tried to pass the child off as my father’s to legitimise him, but he was having none of it.’
‘This is nothing to do with war and divided loyalties, Catherine. This is about family and doing what is right. I will have to go down to Sussex soon to see her. I have to put things right. If I didn’t do this, I would have contempt for myself.’
‘Then you must do what you have to do, John.’ She got to her feet. ‘You said you were in a hurry. Don’t let me keep you. It’s dark and the road back to Windsor is not the best.’
Getting up, John faced her, studying her, his eyes devoid of emotion. For the first time she had been close to him and he’d let his guard down and revealed the man behind the title and the stern façade, but now, standing before her, he was a stranger, keeping his emotions and thoughts in check. She desperately wanted to know how to reach him, but could think of no way.
‘I’m sorry you have to go. Please take care.’
‘I don’t understand you, Catherine. I can still feel your coldness. Our friendship is special. You are special to me and I hate to quarrel over this. Have you so little faith in me?’ Even as he spoke he could feel her tension, tinged with sadness.
All the colour left Catherine’s face. ‘I understand what you are saying, but it changes nothing. Yes, our friendship is special,’ she said heavily. ‘It means a great deal to me and I value it greatly. But what happened between us will not be repeated.’
Suddenly there was such intensity in his gaze that Catherine felt her heartbeat quicken.
‘Why? Afraid?’ he enquired.
There was a challenge in his voice, in his eyes as well. She looked at him for a long moment before replying, ‘No, John. I’m not afraid.’
‘Then tell me that you haven’t thought about me every day since we met—that you haven’t dwelt on that one night when we became lovers. You cannot pretend it never happened, or that you weren’t a willing partner.’
‘Damn you, John. You know I can’t do that.’
‘I came here tonight to put things right between us. I hoped I had done that.’
She sighed. ‘Thank you for explaining everything to me. I do appreciate you coming.’
Without saying more he turned on his heel and walked to the door, halting to look back once more to where she stood motionless. The firelight gave her deep golden hair a halo of light. He hesitated, appeared to change his mind and calmly, deliberately, retraced his steps until he was standing before her. Catherine’s immediate action was to retreat, but before she could do so she found herself held by his arm about her waist, breathing in the sweet scent of her. He took her mouth with his own. It was possessive, thorough, a branding of ownership, and then he released her as quickly as he had taken her in his arms,
‘Do you really think you can dismiss me so easily? I spoke of friendship, but it is more than that. Understand me when I say I love you, Catherine. I will not give you up—nor will I let you give me up. You have been the victim of a terrible misfortune. I can only apologise for any part I played in that. It was never my aim to humiliate or distress you.’ He paused to register the moment of surprise and shock in her wide eyes at this unexpected declaration. ‘You have my heart—the whole of it. There,’ he said, stepping back. ‘That will give you something to think about in the days ahead.’
He stood tall and motionless, continuing to watch her reaction with enigmatic eyes, awaiting her reply. He was so sure of her, Catherine thought, so sure that no woman with fire in her veins could refuse him. His words revealed to her the depth of hurt he was feeling. How could she have been so blind to it? He continued to hold her gaze, reminding her that here was a man of strong passions, who would want a full and loving relationship with the woman he chose to spend his life with, no matter what. And yet for her own peace of mind and to hold on to her sanity, she must ignore the ache in her heart as she saw his pain.
‘I—I don’t know what to say. I—I never expected...’
‘Do you deliberately set out to stoke my anger—to provoke me? You clearly have a very low opinion of me and of my motives for trying to untangle this dilemma we find ourselves in.’
‘We? No, John, it is not my dilemma. Since my father died I’ve given much thought to my future. Never have I been more certain of what course my life will take.’
‘I see. Then perhaps I must finally accept that it is impossible for me to win your respect, much less your love.’ There was no hiding the bitterness of his words. When she would have opened her mouth to reply, he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her. ‘Don’t say anything just now. I may not be able to come for some time. With the King at Windsor, there are people coming and going all the time—but I will be back. I promise you.’
She followed him out of the house, her eyes shadowed by pain. He took possession of her hand and raised it to his lips. She longed to respond to the pressure of his hand, to feel his mouth on hers setting her skin tingling and her blood on fire, but with no words that would ease her heart or his own, she stood aside as he mounted his horse.
‘John.’ About to ride off, he paused and looked down at her. ‘Please try to understand why I acted as I did when my father told me about what happened in Newcastle. I—I am sorry I misjudged you—truly I am.’
Leaning down from the saddle, he took her arm and drew her close. ‘I do understand, Catherine. We will speak very soon and, in the meantime, think about what I said. I love you—and that is something I have never said to any woman.’ He pressed her upturned lips with his own, his kiss brief.’
Catherine watched him ride away, fighting against the impulse to call him back. Her thoughts were in a turmoil. She stood there until she could no longer hear the beat of his horse’s hooves on the gravel drive. Her arms and her heart had never felt so empty.
Having no wish to dwell on her thoughts, she went to the library to find something to read that would occupy her mind. Idly perusing the many leather-bound volumes on the shelves, but unable to find a book that appealed to her present mood, she decided to abandon the idea.
What stood out in her mind above all else was that he had told her that he loved her. She had not chosen to feel so deeply for him and did not know the exact moment it had happened. She forced herself to go over every detail of that one night of blissful passion she had spent in his arms. It was like a self-scourging, a deliberate act on her part to try to purge herself of the feelings she had for him, but it was impossible, and, she thought, she no longer wanted to.
* * *
John had been unprepared for the cool young woman who had received him. On his mission to assist in escorting the King to Windsor he had thought of Catherine constantly, wanting her with a passion that shocked him. For the first time in his life his emotions were slipping out of his control. In his mind’s eye he had an image of her loveliness that had been displayed so temptingly when she had shared his bed, the way her hair had draped itself over his chest when she had lain in his arms. There was a sensual earthiness in her
lovely face, a proud elegance to her high cheekbones and a delicate curve to her slender neck.
It seemed he had been denied her for ever. Every nerve in his body was aware of her sensuality. He remembered the softness of her body, her submission to his caresses as her glorious body has yielded to his. What had followed had been the most erotic and sexual experience of his life. With this in mind he refused to allow her to disappear from his life.
She had been hurt by Thomas’s neglect and he knew she would never again bind herself to a man she did not love and who would not love her in return. John had never known that kind of love, nor had he sought it. But that was before he had met Catherine and she could never be a fleeting affair. Her body invited him with every graceful move, every look from her beautiful green eyes, every heart-stopping smile on her lovely lips.
But he could not ignore the shadow of guilt that touched his heart. Hers was indeed an unenviable position. When she had married Thomas she had been very young and a pawn in a vicious game of politics played out by her father and Thomas. She deserved better.
* * *
As the days passed in a haze of melancholy and heartache for Catherine, and she busied herself with the task of sorting out her father’s possessions and packing them up to store in the attics, she forced herself to smother all thoughts and feelings for John. In her quiet moments her thoughts would turn to him. Even when sleep embraced her, she had no respite, for he filled her dreams.
She longed to see him, to feel his lips on her, the touch of his hands, his presence—to hear the sound of his voice. When she thought that he might not forgive her for doubting him and he might not come back, she was engulfed with a sense of loss and sadness. Was that the price she must pay for her wilfulness and pride?
Chapter Ten
It was the feeling of nausea that first alarmed her, its continuation making her feel thoroughly wretched. At first she thought she was sickening for something as she moped about the house and did her chores in a depressed state. But when it did not subside, the idea that there was every possibility that she was with child, was carrying John’s child, hit her like some cold, unwelcome shockwave.
In her innocence and everything that had happened since their night together, she had barely considered the consequences. She had thought the failure of her monthly cycle was because she was upset. But now she knew differently. How stupid and naive she had been. She should have expected this from a man like John. Strong and full blooded, he had impregnated her with an ease she did not find surprising.
She knew a feeling of desperation. What could she do? In a few months, if she really was with child, everyone would know of it. What would she say? She was only recently widowed, but not so recent that she could tell the world that Thomas was the father. People would say that she was a wanton woman, a strumpet—unless she went to a retreat somewhere where she could hide away for the rest of her life. Or, she thought, hope beginning to stir in her, she could go to Wilsden Manor in Hereford. Faced with a situation she did not know how to deal with, the mere thought of going to the house her mother had bequeathed to her raised her spirits.
She did consider writing to John, informing him of her condition, but something stopped her doing this immediately. It was early days and she might be mistaken. She would write to him, telling him of her decision to leave and that she believed she was with child before she left for Wilsden, where she could put her life in order. Throughout the war she’d had so much to do, so many dependents at Carlton Bray who had relied on her to do the right thing, to keep them safe from marauding bands of soldiers on either side. And since coming to Oakdene she’d had her father to consider and the everyday running of the house, so she’d had no time for herself, no time to think about what she wanted to do with her life.
At some later date she would consider putting Oakdene House up for sale or rent it out. It wasn’t a decision she would have to make at present. Having decided, there was nothing to be done but pack her belongings, inform Mrs Coleman of her destination, and instruct her to carry on running the house until further notice.
* * *
The King had been brought from Windsor to St James’s the day before the trial. The next day he was taken in a closed sedan chair to Whitehall and thence, in his own barge, to Westminster. The weather was bitingly cold. Attired in her breeches and shrouded in a fur-lined cloak, a wide-brimmed hat on her head, Catherine went into the city, tired of the inactivity forced on her now she had put the house in order. She intended to see her father’s lawyer to settle some of his affairs, which she had reason to regret and wish she’d left it for the time being since London was a heaving mass of people who had poured in to witness the trial. There were a large number of soldiers on the streets, keeping an eye on the crowds. Frost whitened the roofs and spires beyond the city walls and the smoke curling out of the chimneys was sluggish in the dull light of day.
Her business completed, she found herself among the spectators that thronged the river and banks to watch as the King’s barge passed by. Dismounting and keeping firm hold of her horse, she stood among the crowd as people jostled with each other, the odour of unwashed bodies rank in the air. Some cheered, but the barge, closely followed and preceded by guards, was enclosed so no one could get a glimpse of the beleaguered monarch. Catherine felt the chill of the day, but the greater chill came from within as she stared at the barge.
Unable to see more when the crowd surged in front of her, she led her horse away, only to feel someone trying to pull the reins from her grasp. Catherine started in surprise, her blood running cold. Two men stood in her path. At first she did not heed them and made to pass them by, but they lunged at her horse, a fine specimen of horseflesh, with the intent of stealing it. The horse tossed its head and skittered sideways. Somehow Catherine managed to keep a firm hold on the reins. Another man with long greasy hair and ill-fitting grubby clothes jumped out and seized its bridle. She let out a cry as she struggled to keep hold of the reins.
The man gave a bitter laugh, his thin lips drawing back over blackening teeth. ‘Let go if you know what’s good for you,’ he growled, grasping and twisting her arm and trying to prise her fingers off the reins. ‘’Tis a fine horse. ’Twill do me well.’
‘Let go of my horse,’ she cried, hoping and praying someone would take note of her plight and come to her aid.
With a coarse chuckle the man eyed her closely. ‘Well, and just look at what we ’ave ’ere. A beauty if ever I saw one. Pity we can’t take you along with the ’orse, but it’d be too troublesome.’
Frost hung in the air, making Catherine’s breath steam. She did not feel the cold. She felt anger and there was a wildness in her eyes as she pushed her cloak back over one shoulder, revealing that she was dressed in man’s attire. Seeing this, the man with the greasy hair relaxed a little, exhaling a breath, his eyes getting their fill.
‘Well, now, what have we here—a lass dressed as a lad.’
When he reached out to take hold of her, she whirled around and planted her elbow in his soft gut. He staggered backwards, cursing loudly. His accomplice was too busy trying to hold on to the horse to go to his companion’s aid. Mercifully, when the man she had lashed out at found his feet and would have taken hold of her, three soldiers rode up to them, one of them dismounting and pushing the thief to the ground. The thief, his eyes wide and fearful, looked up at the soldier, holding his belly where Catherine’s elbow had connected.
‘We weren’t doin’ any ’arm,’ he gasped, shoving himself backwards on the ground and then scrambling to his feet.
‘No?’ one of the soldiers said, having drawn his sword and holding it in a threatening way in front of the thief. ‘You were about to steal this young gentleman’s horse. Away with you, both of you,’ he said, ‘before I find a soft place to stick my sword. Get on your way.’
His companion, seeing the soldiers bearing down on him, let go of Catherine’s hor
se and bolted, to be quickly followed by his accomplice.
Catherine turned to thank the soldiers, only to be invaded by a nameless horror as she saw who stood there. It was John. His tall, broad-shouldered figure blocked the light and seemed to fill her whole vision. That was the moment she wanted the ground to open and swallow her up. The blood left her face and rushed to her heart, which seemed to have stopped beating. She tried to pull her broad-brimmed hat down over her face, but it was no good. He had recognised her. A mixture of puzzlement and anger crossed his face. Her eyes never left his, which were wide and savagely furious as he looked at her in murderous silence, his lips curling with anger as he absorbed the scene.
‘You!’ he gasped. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
With a wildly beating heart, she stammered, ‘John... I...’
His temper threatening to explode on finding her in such a dangerous situation, he uttered, ‘Wait here.’ Turning from her, he went to his two companions. He spoke to them quietly and, after glancing in her direction with knowing, almost lecherous smiles, they rode away.
With a terrible dread Catherine waited in a state of jarring tension for the inevitable moment when John would turn his attention on her. Her trembling had finally ceased, but she kept playing the thief’s terrible attack over and over in her mind, remembering the loathsome feel of his hands on her arm, and then her feeling of absolute relief when the soldiers had appeared. She would be forever grateful for their timely arrival and relieved that they had dealt with the situation quickly. But it must have been a shock to John’s sensibilities to find her on the London streets being attacked by a couple of horse thieves. She was deeply concerned that she would receive the brunt of his anger.
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