Читать книгу A Perilous Attraction - Patricia Rowell Frances - Страница 12

Catherine wakened in the curtained bed to the sound of hot water cans scraping against the hearth, and the refreshing smell of lavender. Apparently Sally was preparing a bath for her. That was strange. Catherine hadn’t ordered one. She rolled over and winced, every part of her stiff and aching. Little wonder! She had spent several hours, with very short periods of rest, either twisting and moaning in ecstasy under his lordship’s expert hands and mouth, or caught up in the rhythm of his hard body against hers. A small, delicious shiver of remembrance took her. However icy his features and manner, the frost clearly did not extend to his blood!

She was no longer curious.

She sat up and cautiously peeked under the covers. Oh, yes. A largish red smear definitely stained the bedding. She groaned silently. Now there was no doubt at all that the whole staff would shortly be apprised of the change in status of their lord’s and lady’s relationship. How could she look Sally in the eye?

And what had happened to her nightgown?

She found it lying across the foot of the bed. Caldbeck must have placed it there when he arose, leaving her to sleep on. She gathered up his empty pillow and buried her face in it. Yes, she could still smell the smoky, masculine fragrance. It sent another shiver through her.

She pulled the gown over her head and slipped her feet out of the covers. Sally turned as she heard the rustle of the drapes, and hurried to help Catherine pull them back. The maid was all cheery nonchalance.

“Good morning, my lady. Hardraw gave me your message to prepare your bath.”

Hardraw? Oh, yes, Caldbeck’s valet. That explained the bath—the earl’s instructions, no doubt. A twinge of annoyance swept through Catherine. What did he think he was doing, ordering her bath? She pushed the irritation aside and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She needed that bath.

“I hope you slept well, miss. It’s another lovely day.”

Sally bustled about pouring hot water into the copper tub. When the temperature satisfied her, she motioned to Catherine, who stepped into it. Ahh! She slid down until the hot water lapped at her chin.

“Mrs. Hawes suggested I steep the lavender first. So refreshing it is.” Sally handed her a face cloth.

Catherine resisted making an unladylike grimace. Another person minding her business. She replied with noncommittal murmurs until the warm water and soothing herbs had soaked away her discomfort.

An hour later, feeling quite renewed, Catherine made her way to the breakfast parlor and found her husband—yes, truly her husband now—finishing his breakfast. He stood as she entered the room.

“Good morning. I trust you rested well?” Caldbeck’s cool gaze took in the flush that Catherine could feel burning in her face.

“Uh…yes.” She decided to be gracious. “Thank you for ordering the bath. You are very considerate.”

“The mark of a gentleman.” His eyes never flickered, but this time Catherine was sure she detected the slightest change in his voice. Was he teasing her? It seemed so unlikely, yet…

“I see you are attired for riding. Are you certain you still wish to do so this morning?”

Catherine could feel her face positively flaming. “I believe I do. I…I do not ride astride.”

“A fortunate circumstance.”

Catherine cast him a suspicious glance. There it was again—that minute change of tone. He was teasing her.

Wasn’t he?

“Indeed.” She put a touch of ice into her own voice.

His lordship, of course, did not react to it. “Then when you have eaten, let us be on our way.”

They rode in the crisp fall air across the rolling dales, Catherine’s new hunter and Caldbeck’s dapple gray cantering along companionably. The hills, crowned here and there with autumn woods and dotted with white sheep, rose green against an indigo sky. Small watercourses raced down from the heights, cutting into the soil and plunging over outcrops of stone in diminutive waterfalls. A hint of wood smoke prickled their nostrils.

Catherine flung a quick look at her husband. He sat ramrod straight in the saddle, his shoulders square, his muscular thighs expertly guiding his mount. The superfine of his coat fit smoothly across his back, and his hat rested at what could only be called a dashing angle. How could she ever have missed that bold physical aspect of him? Now she could see nothing else.

Her happy mood expanded to encompass the whole landscape. To her, all the colors glowed with unusual brightness, and the breeze blew soft and caressing. “Oh! This is so beautiful.” Catherine’s gesture took in a complete circle. “Is Yorkshire always so lovely?”

“The Dales are well known for their beauty,” his lordship replied with his usual moderation.

Today his tone did not dampen Catherine’s spirits. “I have always loved visiting in the country, though I wanted more opportunity to do it. My uncle always lived in London.”

“I much prefer the country.” Caldbeck drew rein. “I especially wish to show you an old manor house on a piece of land I am thinking of buying—known as the old Buck Manor. It might make just the headquarters for your children’s relief work. It has plenty of room to house orphans, also. Like Wulfdale, it has some very old sections, plus some newer ones, and a home farm.”

“Oh! That would be wonderful. I would love to see it.” Catherine restrained herself with difficulty from bouncing excitedly in her saddle. “A farm would be perfect. Children need chores to teach them responsibility—but not all the time, mind you. They need some time to play. In some of the institutions for homeless children the conditions are so strict as to be abusive. Even in the foundling hospitals so many of the babies die. I don’t want mine to be like that. I want them to have a home.”

Caldbeck nodded his head to the west, and they cantered off in that direction. “And were you assigned chores, Kate, as a child?”

Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yes. Or, at least, while my parents were living. My aunt and uncle never bothered. They let me do pretty much as I wished, as long as I stayed out of their way. But when I was little, I had to sort and wind all Mama’s embroidery silks and yarn, and to walk her little dog and read to my grandmother when I grew older. I never minded reading to Grandmama, though. She was such a dear.” Her face clouded a little. “I missed her very much when she died.”

“You have a tender heart.”

“Do you think so?” Catherine pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I never thought of myself that way, nor has anyone else, apparently. Everyone talks only of my terrible temper.”

The earl glanced at her again. “So I have been told.”

She rolled her eyes skyward. “You are very calm about it now. I wonder how you will feel when you encounter it.”

“An interesting speculation, indeed.” Caldbeck reined in his mount and pointed down into a little valley. “There is the house, and just beyond it is the byre. Shall we inspect it now?”

“Certainly!” Catherine nudged her horse, and Caldbeck followed her down the hill.

The house was, in fact, quite large. Four wings enclosed an old courtyard, and numerous chimneys made their way to the roof to stand out against the blue of the sky. The mildewed gray stones needed mortar in places, and shrubbery grew over the few windows that were visible.

“Why are most of the windows filled in with stone? Did they do it for defense?” Catherine turned to her husband.

“More likely because of the window tax. It should be no great task to uncover them.” Caldbeck evaluated the structure with narrowed eyes. “The house is defensible, however. The windows were probably added long after the house was built.”

Squinting dubiously, Catherine urged her chestnut through the portal into the courtyard. Following her in, Caldbeck dismounted and lifted her from the sidesaddle. As Catherine scanned the yard, a shudder ran down her spine. She stopped in her tracks. “My lord, do you feel that someone is watching us?”

“No.” Caldbeck looked around. “And I don’t see anyone.”

Catherine’s gaze followed his around the enclosure. “I…it’s odd. Probably I am just being fanciful.”

He looked down at her and took her arm. “You do have a lively imagination, Kate, but also a strong intuition, I should think. But there does not seem to be anyone here.”

Catherine nodded, gratified by his seriousness. Her uncle had always declared her notions to be foolish past permission. Together they entered the largest door opening onto the yard. The hall smelled musty, but not damp. As they wandered from room to room through lopsided doors and up and down odd little staircases, Catherine’s enthusiasm for the house increased.

“This is a delightful place! One never knows what lies beyond the next door. Children will love it.”

“Very well, then. If you like it, I shall complete the sale.”

“You believe it can be restored?”

Caldbeck examined the plaster near him. “Yes, it’s sound enough. We can begin with the newer portions and leave the very old ones to the end.” He pushed open a door and stopped in the doorway. “That must certainly be removed. It’s a wonder the place has not burned to the ground.”

Catherine squeezed past him to look and giggled. Hay filled the room. “Oh, my. Someone has used it as a hay barn.” She kicked at a pile of hay. “But not recently, I think.”

“No, the hay is old.” Caldbeck came up behind her and circled her waist with his arms. “It is dry, however.”

He bent to kiss the back of her neck. A tiny quiver ran through Catherine. The familiar melting sensation started in her stomach as he touched his tongue to her ear. His hands slipped, one upward and one downward, cupping her breast and stroking her belly. Catherine relaxed against him.

Just as Caldbeck turned her toward him, they heard a rustle in the hay, and something darted across Catherine’s foot. She shrieked. Caldbeck tightened his hold and swung her quickly away from the pile of hay.

“There are rats!” She shrunk back against him.

Caldbeck ushered her toward the door. This time she was certain he sighed. “Yes,” he agreed, “there are rats.”

Riding homeward, Catherine discoursed on her plans for the orphanage. Her husband listened indulgently, occasionally offering a comment or suggestion. She rattled on about tutors and a matron and a manager for the farm. She describe her vision for the interior. She debated what livestock would be suitable and how the children should be dressed. “And we shall call it the Buck Orphan Asylum.”

“I believe,” his lordship interjected, “that the Lady Caldbeck Home for Orphans would be more appropriate.”

“Do you think so? I would love that!” Catherine launched anew into her vision for her charges.

At last the earl threw up an arresting hand. “Enough. I can see that you are going to bankrupt me in a twelve-month.”

Catherine looked quickly to see if he were in earnest. Of course, she could not tell. Annoyed by that fact, she looked at him archly. “Worrying about your investment, my lord?”

“Not yet.”

“Very good, then. I shall race you back to the stable.”

Without further warning she kicked her mount and tore away at a gallop. She could hear the thunder of hooves behind her as the gray responded to her challenge. Laughing, she leaned into the wind and urged the hunter on. The stable could be seen across a gentle hill, and she made for it, easily clearing several dry-stone walls as she came to them.

Her mare came from fine stock, but the earl’s stallion was both larger and stronger. Inexorably the gray head began to pull alongside her. As she coaxed the chestnut to greater speed, she realized that it was Caldbeck’s superior knowledge of the terrain that was going to bring about her certain defeat. He was veering off to the right.

Seeking the reason, Catherine spied, hidden in a fold of the land, a small watercourse with a low stone wall on the other side. She would have to turn to the right, also, and that would throw her far behind her husband. She considered her options.

If she followed the earl and avoided the barrier, she would never catch the faster horse. The ravine, however, extended too far for an easy jump, and the wall on the other side might conceal a yet unseen hazard. It was a dangerous obstacle. Apparently, Caldbeck did not want to make the attempt, and he knew the land. Or perhaps he thought that she could not manage it and thus led her away.

Suddenly Catherine fervently wanted to win.

She did not want to lose to this icy, enigmatic man who had taken control of her life. She eyed the ravine, gauged the narrowest spot and put the hunter straight at it.

The hunter was a good horse. With a mighty lunge she sailed over the ravine and cleared the wall, her hind hoof just clipping the stones. As the chestnut landed on the rough ground, her speed carried her too far forward, and she broke stride to regain her balance. The change of rhythm, added to the momentum of the leap, jarred Catherine’s knee free of the saddle, and she parted company with her mount.

She fell hard. The breath knocked out of her, she sat up gasping like a landed fish, her skirts around her waist. She vaguely heard pounding hooves coming toward her. Caldbeck had come around the end of the ravine and had his horse at a dead run. He pulled in a few feet from her, vaulted out of the saddle before his mount had stopped moving, and ran to where she sat.

“Kate! Are you hurt?” For once she could actually hear urgency in his voice.

“N-no. I’m fine. I think.” She became able to breathe again. “‘No fence you can’t get over with a fall’,” she quoted, trying to grin carelessly. She looked up into her husband’s face. He did not wear a comforting expression, and she hastily looked elsewhere. The small tingle of fear returned as he looked coldly down at her. The fall had shaken her worse than she wanted to admit, and she didn’t feel up to bravado.

Caldbeck pulled her to her feet and picked up her hat. He then silently examined her horse and led it back to where she stood. He did not give her the reins, but stood watching her for a moment. Finally, he spoke. Quietly.

“If you ever overface your horse like that again, I assure you that it will be the last time you ever see her.”

Even spoken softly, the words hit Catherine in the face like a freezing wind.

“How—how dare you!” She grabbed angrily for the reins. Caldbeck calmly moved them out of her reach.

“I mean it, Kate. You will not endanger yourself and your mount in that way again.” He handed her the reins and, putting his firm hands on her waist, tossed her up. She turned the chestnut and rode to the stables in haughty silence.

The knowledge that she was absolutely in the wrong did nothing to ameliorate Catherine’s anger. On the contrary. Just because she had acted imprudently, perhaps—well, perhaps rashly even…and, yes, possibly irresponsibly—he had no right to threaten her. Take her horse away, indeed! Treating her like a child! Just because she had agreed to marry him did not make him her lord and master. Never mind the law.

Never mind that he was right.

She plunked down in the chair and attacked the implements on her desk. Arrogant bore! Scolding her! A half-written letter she ripped into pieces, scattering them on the floor. Ordering her bath! Who did he think he was? She threw the pens into the pigeonhole and shoved the wax jack against the wall with a resounding thump. Telling her when to nap! Did he think her an infant? Nobly forbearing to throw the inkwell, she got up and stamped around the room.

She would not let him get away with such high-handed treatment. He would regret it. She wasn’t afraid of him. A little unnerved perhaps…on occasion. Just because he was tall and strong and smelled so like a man that she…He had no right! None at all. She did not wish to speak to him. She would not eat with him. He could have his dinner in solitary grandeur tonight. Every night! Sally could bring her a tray.

At that thought, Catherine went back to the desk and gathered up the torn bits of paper. No use making extra work for Sally just because she was in a dudgeon with her husband. She tossed the scraps into the fire and glared at the figurine of a china shepherdess that adorned the mantel. The shepherdess smirked back. Catherine did not care for that figure.

“Don’t you laugh at me! You are a very ugly shepherdess. Mind your manners, or I shall pitch you into the fire.”

Somewhat pacified by the making of this dire threat, Catherine sat down on the couch with a sigh, arms crossed over her breasts. Why did the man have to be so exasperating and still so damnably attractive?

So his lovely bride was in a snit, was she? Not coming down to dinner, eh? Her message to that effect had been distinctly chilly in tone. Charles basked in the inner amusement as he tied a fresh cravat.

What did she expect him to do now? Whatever it was, it was highly unlikely that he would do it. But if he was any judge of character, her indignation would not last long. He looked forward to a long life filled with her volatility and the inevitable reconciliations. Not that this little tempest qualified as a full-blown temper tantrum. The first real display of the infamous temper was still to be anticipated.

He could hardly wait.

But perhaps he should not have spoken so harshly. He had no intention of trying to rule her with an iron hand. Her impetuosity and her courage, her caring and her passion had attracted him to her in the first place. His words had threatened her. His actions had already forced her under his control. In fact, he had virtually kidnapped her. Perhaps he should be ashamed of himself. He wasn’t. Not the smallest bit. Charles told himself he appreciated her as few men could.

But he couldn’t let her risk herself that way. She or that hunter she was so proud of might easily have been killed. Charles shuddered afresh at the memory of Catherine sprawled on the ground, struggling to breathe. The thought of losing her and the beautiful fire he had wakened in her the night before filled him with a cold, bleak emptiness. A too-familiar emptiness.

He must take better care of her. It was his responsibility.

He saw Her fall. Saw Her skirts fly up. Her white legs. White legs! He moaned softly. Evil! Evil, evil. It was consuming him. Eating him from within and from without. It must be scourged, cleansed.

The power was growing within him. He felt it, tasted it, tried its strength. He flung his arms wide and lifted his face to the night sky, a cry wrenched from the depths of his being. Soon! Soon.