Читать книгу A Perilous Attraction - Patricia Frances Rowell - Страница 11

Lord Caldbeck waited so long to reply that Catherine feared he had suddenly changed his mind.

“I am relieved.”

Catherine shook her head in disbelief. If his lordship had been laboring under any anxiety whatsoever, it certainly was not apparent.

“When do you wish to have the ceremony performed? I…I may not be able to stay here much longer.” She gestured toward the door, through which the thump of boxes and trunks being moved about was audible.

“As soon as possible. I already have a special license. Perhaps you need to do some shopping. Have you a white dress?”

Catherine looked at him blankly. “A white dress?”

“To be married in. I would like to see my bride in white.” He paused and then inquired neutrally, “I assume it is appropriate?”

Catherine’s face positively flamed. “Of course, it is appropriate! Do you think…?”

Caldbeck held up a restraining hand. “Like you, I believe in the need for plain speaking. It is one thing I believe we have in common. Have you a dress?”

“Yes.” Catherine hated herself for stammering. How did this man manage to put her out of countenance so easily? And without ever raising his voice? “Yes, I have a white ensemble that will be suitable. It is quite new, in fact. When…?”

“This afternoon. At four o’clock. I have made the arrangements with the chapel. If you have anyone whom you wish to be present, give me their names at once, and I shall have my secretary send cards. I have already taken the liberty of inviting a few of the people I know to be your friends to join us for dinner at my London house.”

So soon! Irate again, Catherine put her fists on her hips. “Wait just a minute! You have already invited my friends to a wedding dinner? How could you be so sure I would accept your bargain?”

Caldbeck lifted her chin on one finger and looked intently into her outraged face. “You had very little choice, Kate. You were not bred to toil…and that would be a dreadful waste. I thought you would want to have your friends with you, and that you would wish to say goodbye. We shall be returning to Yorkshire very soon.”

This time Catherine could not fail to hear a certain gentleness in his tone. Perhaps he understood more of her feelings at this unsettling moment than she did. In her need to reach a decision she had not let herself feel the pain of losing her comfortable life, all her hope of independence, of leaving everything and everyone she knew. At the unexpected sympathy a lump formed in her throat. She nodded without speaking.

“Good. You will stay at my home, of course. You’d best have your maid pack your belongings, and I shall send my footmen to transport them.”

Lips compressed, Catherine nodded again, blinking back tears. Caldbeck extended a hand. She placed hers in it, and he carried it to his lips. Then, as if thinking better of it, instead of kissing her fingers, he pulled her to him. Catherine felt the warmth of his big hand on her back through her shift. Before she had fully taken in that sensation, the roughness of his coat pressed against her breasts. She felt the light scrape of a carefully shaved cheek as he lifted her face with his free hand and covered her mouth with his.

The warmth of his kiss flowed through Catherine from her lips to her knees. Without thinking, she leaned into the embrace. His arms tightened around her, pulling her up against a bulge between his legs. Catherine had never been kissed in her shift. Heavens, she could feel so much of him! She was aware of the bulge as never before. Apparently the Earl of Caldbeck was not devoid of all feeling.

The fabric of his breeches and the smooth leather of his tall boot brushed against the skin of her legs as he slipped a foot between hers. Catherine sighed and her legs went weak. The hand on her back pressed her closer, supporting her against him. Just as her senses began to reel, he released her and stepped back. She stumbled, and Caldbeck quickly steadied her.

He touched her face with one finger. “That’s better. I do not wish to have a red-eyed bride.”

Catherine hunted once again for traces of laughter—or perhaps displeasure—but as usual, found none. She drew in a deep breath.

Caldbeck turned and started for the door. “I shall call for you at half after three.”

Somewhat before half after three, Catherine sat at her dressing table, attired in the new white dress and pelisse. A good thing that white became her! Even though it was associated with young debutantes, she liked the dramatic effect it created with her vivid coloring. Satisfied by the reflection that looked back at her from the dressing mirror, she fingered the pearl necklace, which had been delivered to her an hour earlier. Lord Caldbeck was nothing if not efficient.

She reached up to alter slightly the tilt of the tiny hat that Sally was fastening to the fiery mass of ringlets piled at her crown. Tipping her head, Catherine watched the play of sunlight from the window across her gleaming locks. She always marveled at the way the sun brought out the deep colors, turning them almost purple in the shadows.

Red hair was far from fashionable, but Catherine liked hers, nonetheless. It suited her. She dabbed a tiny bit of powder over the all but indiscernible freckles across her nose. Freckles were another matter. She really should wear nothing but wide-brimmed hats, she told herself for the thousandth time.

While Sally rummaged in the wardrobe for gloves and reticule, Catherine had time—unfortunately—to reflect on her situation. In less than a day she had gone from being a wealthy young woman, looking forward to the independent control of her own fortune, to being a pauper. Now, a few hours later, she faced becoming the bride of a man with a face of stone. She shivered.

His bride! She would spend tonight in his house. Her stomach sank. Now that her curiosity was about to be satisfied, she found herself pulling back. Tonight she would lie in the bed of a total stranger. She would be completely at his mercy, and she had no idea of his true nature or of what to expect from him. Catherine considered herself a bold woman, but even if he had not broken the door, those glacial eyes held enough menace to strike terror to a heart braver yet than hers.

For a moment panic gripped her. She jumped up from the vanity stool and strode around the room. She couldn’t go through with it! She couldn’t. She started at the sound of her maid’s voice.

“Miss Catherine? Come and sit down, do, Miss Catherine. I need to put your gloves on you. See? I’ve picked the stitches loose on the ring finger so you can tuck it under. And you’ve a strand of hair come loose.”

Catherine sighed and, returning to the dresser, sat and extended her hand. While Sally coaxed the tight kid gloves into place, Catherine took several deep breaths and strove for calm. It would not be so bad. Surely it would not. He was a handsome man, and the kiss they had shared…Oh, dear! This line of thought didn’t help. She was turning red again.

“Are you warm, miss? To me the room is just a thought too cool.” Sally began to fan her with the pierced ivory fan from her reticule.

“No, no.” Catherine pushed the fan away. “I’m fine.”

At that moment they heard the crunch of carriage wheels in the street. Sally hurried to the window. “I think that’s him, Miss Catherine,” she reported. “Oh! Would you look at that carriage! All silver-gray like, and with the finest dapple grays. Alike to a hair, they are!”

Catherine, none too fond of the idea of being caught peeking out the window at her bridegroom, peered over Sally’s shoulder. The shield and wolf’s head coat-of-arms on the door of the carriage undoubtedly identified it as the property of the Earl of Caldbeck. As the earl emerged and made his way up the steps, the hall clock chimed half after three.

“Well,” Sally observed, “at least he’s punctual.”

Of course he was punctual. What else would he be? Catherine stepped a little closer to the window and looked down into Caldbeck’s upturned face. Drat! She dodged back. And what else would he do but catch her peeping! Perhaps she should let him cool his heels awhile. Always begin as you mean to go on.

But even that bit of rebellion was to be denied her. A tap at the door and the footman’s voice announced that the Earl of Caldbeck awaited her downstairs. Sally slipped the cord of Catherine’s reticule over her hand and hustled her to the door.

“You best be going, miss. You can’t keep the vicar standing. Oh, wait. Let me pin up that curl. There, now. You’re done.”

Catherine allowed herself to be led to the door—and her waiting fate.

No guests waited in the quiet dark of the chapel when they arrived, save two. A well-dressed gentleman Caldbeck presented as his friend, Adam Barbon, Viscount Litton. The earl introduced the stylish, dark-haired woman—more handsome than beautiful—to Catherine as his sister, Helen, Lady Lonsdale. They made an attractive pair, he with his fair hair and laughing brown eyes, she with shining black curls and black-fringed eyes as blue as Catherine’s own. Startled, Catherine stumbled over her response as she clasped the other woman’s hand.

Caldbeck had a sister! How little she knew of him, indeed.

She was just wondering whether her marriage would take place with only her bridegroom’s associates present, when Mary Elizabeth flew into the chapel. Catherine hastened to meet her.

“Oh, Liza, I feared my note had not found you at home.” Catherine gratefully embraced her dearest friend. “I am so glad to have you here!”

“I was out. You can’t imagine the hurry I have been in to be here by four.” As usual, Mary Elizabeth’s short, plump figure looked a bit rumpled. “I am positively out of breath. Oh, that plume on your hat is perfect, just perfect. You are getting married! I can’t believe…And without a word to anyone. How could you? And to Lord Caldbeck! I couldn’t believe my eyes when we received his invitation to dinner tonight. I told George—oh! George? Are you…? Well, of course you are. We came together….”

“How do you do? I am Caldbeck.” The gray-clad earl took advantage of Liza’s indrawn breath to cut through the monologue and extend a hand to her escort.

“Oh. This is my husband, George,” Mary Elizabeth finished, quite unnecessarily.

“George Hampton, your most obedient servant, sir.” The trim younger man bowed and shook Caldbeck’s hand.

Hampton then took his wife firmly by the arm and led her to where Caldbeck made the balance of the introductions. Those having been completed, Caldbeck gravely presented to Catherine a magnificent bouquet of white roses and lilies, with ribbons trailing to the floor. Their intoxicating scent flowed over her as she took them in her arms. Murmuring her thanks, she looked up into unreadable gray eyes.

The waiting vicar, balding and well padded, cleared his throat for attention and directed the party to assemble before him. Suddenly Catherine stood at Caldbeck’s side. The vicar was reading the service.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and these witnesses to join together….”

To join together! Oh, heaven, what was she doing here? She was marrying this man—this man who, until this morning….

Children. Oh, God! Children!

“Who giveth this woman in marriage?”

A resounding silence ensued. Catherine had not even invited her uncle to be present, let alone to give her away. She heartily hoped that the tearful, if insincere, farewell that her aunt had bestowed upon her would be the last she ever saw of either of them. Nonetheless, a major contretemps loomed.

She looked helplessly at the vicar, who was peering over his glasses at her. Stepping gallantly into the breach, George Hampton took her arm and announced, “I do.”

He placed Catherine’s shaking hand into the earl’s outstretched one, and Caldbeck’s fingers immediately closed warmly around hers. The vicar resumed his reading.

“If any man knows any reason that these two should not be joined, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.” The churchman looked sternly around the all but empty room.

Me! I do! The words echoed through Catherine’s mind, but apparently she had not said them aloud, for the vicar was again speaking.

“Do you, Charles Eric Joseph Randolph, take this woman, Sarah Catherine Maury, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold….”

Charles. His name is Charles Randolph. How could she not have known that? Did no one ever call him Charles? His strong voice answered.

“I do.”

“Do you, Sarah Catherine…” Now or never. Once the words of the vow passed her lips, she could never take them back. Children. Her children. Silence seemed to stretch into eternity. Then she heard a whispered, “I do.”

Was that she? Had she spoken those words? She must have, for the vicar was saying something about a ring. Catherine looked in confusion at the flowers in the crook of her left arm. Then she smelled Liza’s perfume, and the flowers disappeared. Caldbeck fitted a heavy band of gold onto her trembling finger. The vicar was praying.

She looked up at him as he placed a hand behind her head, her eyes questioning. He carefully drew her toward him. She felt his mouth warm on hers for a moment—then it was gone. Catherine took a deep breath and turned to Liza, who was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief and trying simultaneously to return the bouquet. The men were congratulating Caldbeck. Helen’s hand was soft on hers, and her voice warm.

“Welcome to the family.”

Family. A husband. Children. God help them.

Once again Catherine sat at a dressing table while Sally fussed with her hair. This, however, was a completely different table in a completely different room in a completely different house. A very grand house. Sally was ecstatic.

“Did you never see such a place, Miss Catherine? And to think, you are mistress of it now!” She tugged the brush through Catherine’s springy curls. Catherine had removed the pelisse to reveal the elegantly simple silk dress beneath. The fabric skimmed low above her firm breasts—much too low, her aunt had insisted when Catherine bought the dress—and clung to her small waist and full hips. Satin slippers replaced the kid half-boots, and Sally replaced her hat with flowers from the bouquet.

“It sounds as though there are ever so many people here.” Sally readjusted a hairpin. “Must be half of Lunnun.”

Catherine had been wondering about that herself. His lordship had said that he’d invited a “few” of her friends. The windows of her new room opened onto the garden, so they were unable to see the carriages as they arrived, but certainly the hubbub rising from below required a great many voices.

The entrance of the earl himself followed a brief knock at the door. He yet wore gray, but now it was gray satin. He bowed and held out one hand, his eyes scanning her face. “Are you ready? Our guests are eager to meet the new Lady Caldbeck.”

Catherine nodded and got shakily to her feet. What ailed her? She loved parties. Why did her knees threaten to buckle? She was to make a dramatic entrance on the arm of her new husband. She loved being the center of attention. Why, tonight, did she want to bolt?

With great determination, she pasted a smile on her lips and laid her hand on Caldbeck’s arm. He covered it with his own briefly, then led her out of the room. They descended the marble stairs slowly, pausing at the first landing. The crowd at the foot of the staircase ceased their murmuring, and every head turned in their direction.

A cheer went up, and applause echoed against the tall ceilings. Catherine blossomed at the sound, and her smile became real. These were her friends. She glimpsed nearly everyone she knew in the assembled throng—and many, many more faces to boot. How had Caldbeck done this? And why? There was clearly more to Charles Randolph, Earl of Caldbeck, than met the eye.

The evening proved long, but exciting. Helen, elegant in lavender silk, assumed the duties of hostess so that Catherine had nothing to do but enjoy the attention. Surrounded by friends and well-wishers, Catherine found her misgivings beginning to fade. She pushed her anxiety to the back of her mind, talking and laughing with friends at dinner and afterward presiding over the dancing. She also made the acquaintance of several people whom she had long wished to approach as supporters for her charities. Already her alliance with Lord Caldbeck was bearing fruit.

Her uneasiness returned somewhat when Caldbeck led her onto the floor and took her in his arms for the first waltz. He was a superb dancer, however, and the pleasure of skimming over the floor with him soon overcame the strangeness. Catherine was acutely aware of the sureness of the hand on her back, of the power of the legs brushing against hers, the ease with which he moved her about the room. She had danced with him before. Why had she never noticed his strength?

Later, though she was claimed by other partners, her attention remained on Caldbeck. He played the perfect host, chatting easily—if solemnly—with his guests, but now and again she could feel his glacial gaze on her. Each time, rather than feeling a chill, a sensation of warmth washed over her. And each time she missed a step of the dance.

How different he seemed in his own home than he had at other social engagements. At those he seemed out of place—invariably serious in the midst of the flirting and laughter. Even his expert dancing had never captured her attention. Had he been watching her then as he did now? A little shiver trailed down her back.

Here he appeared confident and relaxed, comfortably conversing with men that she knew to be among the most powerful in the kingdom. He must wield considerable influence to be able to gather those men at his invitation. Was the purpose of this party to display his prize to them? At that thought Catherine bridled. She did not fancy figuring as the spoils of war!

Still, it was becoming clear to her that, in her sudden fall from affluence, it might be said that she had landed in a pile of feather beds. It remained to be seen what bruises she might yet sustain. In spite of his courtesy, she felt a tiny prick of fear when he pursued her with those frosty eyes.

At last, in the small hours of the morning, the company departed, leaving Catherine, Caldbeck and Helen bidding the last lingerer farewell. Helen excused herself, and her carriage bore her away to her own London home. Catherine glanced uncertainly at her new husband.

Before they reached whatever came next, she recognized something she needed to do. As often happened to her, her agitation had run away with her tongue this morning. She must put her pride aside and recognize the unfair things she had said to Caldbeck. She cleared her throat.

“My lord, there is something I must say to you.”

Caldbeck tipped his head a fraction of an inch in inquiry.

“I…I am sorry for what I said earlier today. About your buying me, I mean. You have, in fact, rescued me, and you have gone to a great deal of trouble to provide me with a real wedding celebration and lovely flowers and these beautiful pearls.” She touched the strand at her throat. “You did not have to do that under the circumstances. I…it….You were very kind. How in the world did you manage it?”

Caldbeck did not quite shrug. He simply opened one hand, palm up. “Most of the arrangements were Helen’s doing. She is an excellent hostess. I have known for some time in what case your uncle stood and have been making plans.”

Catherine shook her head, eyes wide in amazement. “You have been planning….And you never even asked me?”

Caldbeck nodded. “I should have, perhaps. However, I thought it highly likely that you would refuse my suit if not given a compelling reason to accept it. I did not want you to develop a resistance to the notion.”

Some of Catherine’s annoyance returned. “And you had the effrontery—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowed in thought. “But this doesn’t make sense. If you knew that I would soon be in a desperate situation, you had no need to contract with my uncle. Knowing I would be destitute, you might have just as easily given me the same argument that you did this morning. I would have had no more options. Why did you go to such expense?”

“The arrangement with your uncle made the idea of marriage to me appear a fait accompli. Besides, if Maury remained in England, he would forever be an embarrassment to you and an annoyance to us both.”

Catherine digested this information in silence, then asked, “Did you suggest that he emigrate to America?”

“I insisted on it.”

Catherine’s mind swam with revelations about this man that she had wed. “Well…I must offer my thanks for that. However, I must also say that I resent your arranging for my capitulation without ever considering my feelings! What if I had wished to marry someone else?”

“You would have said so.”

“You might have at least talked to me.”

“I did talk to you—this morning. Or, rather, yesterday.” He looked at her with mild interest.

“Yes…well…Still, if you knew about Uncle Ambrose, why did you wait so long and rush me into it this way?”

“I have always found timing to be of the essence in accomplishing one’s goals.”

Catherine heaved a frustrated sigh. Apparently, his lordship was a very cool gambler. And, damn him, he had an answer for everything—and all the efficiency and sensibility of a machine!

Suddenly Catherine felt very tired. It had been a grueling twenty-four hours. She had suddenly lost all control of her life—her home, her money, her dream of independence. And, she realized with a stab of alarm, the hardest part yet loomed. She would soon lose control of even her body. She felt the blood flooding into her face.

Caldbeck brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “Do not be anxious, Kate. You are exhausted, and while I could not give you the time you wanted to become accustomed to the idea of marriage to me before, I now can. I shall not press you tonight to fulfill your part of our bargain. We have a great deal to do tomorrow, and I then wish to be on the road to Yorkshire the next day. I shall welcome you to Wulfdale as my bride.”

Relief and disappointment fought for ascendancy in Catherine’s breast. It seemed she was to remain in ignorance for a few more days. Yet she could not but be glad for the reprieve. Perhaps she would be better prepared to accept this man as her husband after being in his company for the time it would take to travel to Yorkshire.

She smiled up at him. “You are very considerate, my lord. I am very weary. However, I do keep my word. If you want—”

“No, Kate. Even though I am eager to consummate our agreement, I shall wait.”

Eager? Caldbeck sounded as cool and polite as if they had been discussing a trip to the theater.

The next morning Catherine, an early riser, surprised his lordship at the breakfast table. He rose and helped her seat herself across the table from his own place, drawing out her chair.

“You are abroad early. It is my experience of ladies that they rarely appear before noon.”

My experience of ladies? What experience? Catherine racked her brain for some gossip that she might have heard concerning Lord Caldbeck’s mistress—or lack thereof. Nothing came to mind. Could it be possible, at his age, that he did not have one? And come to think of it… “Excuse me, my lord. May I know how old you are?”

It could not be said that Caldbeck appeared startled, but he lifted his gaze from his breakfast and looked at her. “I am five-and-thirty. Why do you ask?”

Catherine flushed. “No real reason. I have just been realizing how little I know about you. Your hair…” She stopped, fearing to offend him. He, of course, showed no sign of offense, or of anything else.

“Yes. The men of my family gray very early.” The earl returned his attention to his beef and eggs. Catherine studied her new husband. Five-and-thirty. Yes, in spite of his hair, he did not look old. A few marks of maturity could be seen. Just the slightest receding at the temples, perhaps, revealed by the austere style. How did he keep his hair so smoothly brushed back without the pomade so many men used?

Only a few lines marred his face—a handsome face of angular planes, narrow with a straight nose and a decisive jaw. The firm lips did not frown, but neither did they smile, remaining consistently uncommunicative. But warm. Warm lips. Catherine flushed a bit at the memory.

The object of her scrutiny had a few more bites of his beef, flicked a crumb from his dove gray coat and changed the subject. “I would like for you to be present today for a meeting with my man of business. We must finalize the arrangements for your jointure.”

“My jointure! Good heavens, this is the first I have thought of that. Surely my uncle did not—”

“No. Maury did not think of that, either.”

Did she hear a hint of sarcasm in his voice—of contempt, perhaps? Catherine could not be sure. “Then why…?”

“Because, along with your beautiful person, I have accepted a responsibility. I must see you are provided for in the event of my demise. Would you like to have your uncle’s house as a part of the settlement? We have no way of knowing at this moment who my heir might be in future years. You should have a place of your own.”

His heir! Catherine swallowed her bite of eggs abruptly. Another issue that had not been discussed. She put her fear firmly aside and considered his question for a moment. She had never been happy in that house. “No. I am not fond of the place.” A roguish expression lit her face. “Besides, it has a broken door.”

Her husband looked at her quickly, and one eyebrow twitched. “So it does.”

“However, since you already own it…”

“No. I shall sell it and buy something you prefer. We shall meet with Guildford at two. Until then I have other errands. Meantime, you should be preparing to get an early start in the morning.”

Rising from the table, he started for the door, then turned back. “If you need to do any shopping in London, I have had your allowance deposited to your account. Good day.”

Catherine watched his departing back thoughtfully. Perhaps she had not made such a bad bargain, after all. Her new mate might not be as exciting as she could wish, he might be just a bit intimidating, and he was definitely controlling her, but he also had a number of sterling qualities. At the present they were behaving as strangers—courteous, distant, uninvolved—as if they were both taking care to be on their best behavior. How long would that last? And what would replace it?

She still simmered over his high-handed arrangements to constrain her to accept him. He had not exactly tricked her into marriage, but he had certainly maneuvered her, and she resented it. She knew that in time she would erupt. How would he react? The small spark of fear flared for moment, but considering his restrained manner, Catherine did not believe he would hurt her in anger. Perhaps he would not react at all.

A depressing thought.

At least she would not have to worry about her security.

Stifle her he might, but abandon her he would not.

It was upon him again. The restlessness, the guilt, the disgust. The peaceful Yorkshire Dales held no peace for him, gazing at the soft moon, no solace. He jabbed the horse’s sides impatiently, cursing when the animal reared before pounding down the slope into the valley. It was of no use. He could not outrun the torment. Soon he must act. Soon.