A Gentleman Says "I Do" (17 page)

It was amazing how easily she’d come to think of him as Iverson rather than Mr. Brentwood. She’d have to be careful and not call him by his Christian name to Aunt Elle or anyone else. At times, she laid her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes. It wasn’t long before her thoughts turned to Iverson’s kisses, caresses, and his strong embrace. It was no wonder there were such stirring words of poetry and prose about romance and lovers. She would never read poetry again without thinking of Iverson’s kiss and touch and the sensations they created inside her.

Whenever they stopped to rest the horses, he would walk over and talk to her and her aunt. At midday they ate leftover cheese and bread covered with some of Nancy’s apricot preserves. But by early afternoon, the gray clouds of morning had darkened, and the skies turned stormy. The wind kicked up, rocking the landau and whistling around the doors.

Catalina kept hoping they would make it home before the rain started, but late in the day they ran out of luck. A light mist started falling and quickly turned into a heavy, slashing rain that beat against the carriage. Catalina knew Briggs and Adam had cloaks and hats made especially to keep the rain off them, but through the gray swirls, she saw Iverson hadn’t put a rain garment over his greatcoat and had no hat for his head. He was getting soaked to the skin by the downpour. Surely if he’d had the proper clothing with him, he would have put it on.

He had admonished her for not being appropriately equipped for the journey, but he seemed to be the one ill prepared for the trip. She knew by how chilly it was inside the carriage that the temperature outside was dropping fast. She and her aunt had pulled out blankets long before the storm started.

When Catalina could no longer stand to see Iverson riding hatless in the cold rain, she turned to her aunt and said, “I’m going to ask Mr. Brentwood to come inside the carriage and ride with us. He has no cloak or hat.”

“In this weather?” Aunt Elle exclaimed. “What was he thinking? Of course, invite him in here with us.”

Catalina hit the roof with the tip of her closed umbrella, signaling Briggs she wanted him to stop.

As soon as Briggs opened the door, Catalina stuck her umbrella out the door and opened it. The wind almost whipped the umbrella from her grasp. She stepped down, and rain immediately drenched the hem of her dress and her soft traveling slippers. Her feet squished deeply into the muddy earth. When Iverson saw her walking toward him, he jumped down from his horse and went to meet her. His near shoulder-length hair lay flattened against his head, and the ends were running water. Streams of rain ran down his cheeks. His face was pale, and his lips had lost their healthy color.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stopping in front of her. “What are you doing out of the carriage?”

“Never mind about me. What are you doing riding in this storm without proper clothing?”

“You could have called me over to your window to ask me that. Your feet are getting soaked. Now get back inside.”

“I will not go back until you come inside the coach, too.”

“No, Miss Crisp. I will ride out here in the rain with your driver and footman.”

“But they have rain capes and proper hats to keep the rain off them. You don’t even have a hat for your head, and you dared to accuse me of traveling unprepared.”

“I came with them,” he countered. “It’s unfortunate, but in my haste, I left them back at the inn.”

“That was unwise, Mr. Brentwood.”

“Agreed, but as you know, I thought you were going to leave without me, and so I hurried out, leaving a few things behind. Now, you need to get back inside. I am good with riding my horse.”

“Do not be stubborn, Iverson.”

He smiled, and her heart tripped.

“Did you call me Iverson?”

“Yes. I can see you are chilled to the bone. You will catch a death cough if you stay out here any longer, and I will not have that on my conscience. Now swallow your stubborn pride and get in the landau.”

He grinned, and Catalina’s heart felt as if it melted.

“I like it when you call me Iverson. Be careful, Catalina. You sound worried about me. If you don’t watch out, I might start to think you actually care about my well-being.”

“Don’t flatter yourself so much,” she said sharply but knew he told the truth. “I am pressuring you only because Aunt Elle is worried sick about you. She is the one who has grown quite fond of you, because you remind her of her dearly departed husband. Now, I can stand out here in the rain as long as you can. I’m not getting back in the carriage without you.”

“Ah, you should have told me about Mrs. Gottfried in the first place.” He smiled. “Get back inside, Catalina. I will tie my horse to the back and speak to Briggs. I’ll see you inside shortly.”

“Thank goodness,” she murmured and turned around.

Shivering, with her feet feeling like ice, Catalina climbed back into the carriage. She hovered beneath a blanket, waiting impatiently for Iverson to secure his horse. When he opened the door and stepped inside, he immediately filled the cab with his presence. Her aunt and her maid sat on one side, and he had no choice but to sit beside Catalina.

“Come in, come in, Mr. Brentwood,” Aunt Elle said. “We’ve been worried about you.”

While he spoke to her aunt, Catalina looked at him. His coat was drenched, and rain dripped from the ends of his loose hair. Obviously, when he raced to leave the inn, his hat was not the only thing he left behind.

With a shake, a jerk, and a rattle, the carriage started moving again. Catalina hoped they weren’t too far from London. She knew Iverson needed to get home and out of his wet clothing. She opened the brass catch to her reticule and pulled out a handkerchief with her initials embroidered on the corner and handed it to him. He gave her a grateful smile, took it, and wiped his face.

Aunt Elle opened her satchel and rummaged around in it until she pulled out a large, brown apothecary bottle with a stopper. With bloodshot eyes and a shaky hand, she extended it toward him and said, “Drink this. It will make you feel better and leave you feeling as warm as if you were sitting by a large fire at White’s.”

“Thank you, madam,” he said as he peeled his leather gloves from his fingers. “I don’t need a tonic.”

“My stars, but you remind me of Mr. Gottfried, God rest his kind soul. You are as stubborn as he was.”

Catalina took the bottle from her aunt and handed it to Iverson. “You’ll like her tonic, Mr. Brentwood. I think it’s mostly brandy.”

“Mostly?” Aunt Elle said with a smile. “It’s all brandy. I wouldn’t give Mr. Brentwood the watered-down spirits.”

“In that case, thank you, Mrs. Gottfried.” He took the bottle from Catalina and pulled the stopper from the flask and took a drink. He smiled at her aunt and said, “And a very good brandy, too.”

“You know, Mr. Brentwood, there is no need for you to continue to follow us. I will allow you to court my niece in the conventional way.”

“Auntie, that is not something you should be saying,” Catalina admonished.

“Oh hush, Catalina. I’m taking care of this. I just want Mr. Brentwood to know he doesn’t have to continue to take such unusual measures in order to see you.” She turned her attention to Iverson. “Though, I must say, I find what you’re doing very romantic. Did I ever tell you Mr. Gottfried was a romantic man?”

“No, madam,” Iverson said, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

“He was. He never let a week pass without bringing me flowers, even in winter.”

“I didn’t know. That made him a very thoughtful man.”

“Oh, he was,” she added wistfully as a faraway look clouded her eyes. She pulled a silver flask from her satchel. “And such a strong man. He was a very solicitous man, too. He’s been gone over ten years now, but I still miss him today as much as I did the day he died.”

“I’m told true love works that way, Mrs. Gottfried.”

“Indeed it does.”

Catalina listened and marveled at how caring and attentive Iverson was being to her aunt. He seemed to know just what to say to comfort and appease her, and it touched Catalina deeply. And then suddenly, love for him swelled in her heart.

Love?

Had
she
just
felt
love
for
Iverson?

Who was he? The angry man who’d threatened to harm her father for his writings, or this man who sat before her now, chilled and in rain-soaked clothing, doing his best to gladden the soul of an old lady who’d clearly had too much to drink?

Catalina realized tears had formed in her eyes, and she quickly made herself busy pulling the black drawstring twine from her reticule. She’d noticed Iverson kept brushing his hair away from his face. The cord had small, short tassels on the ends, and he might not want to use it, but she would offer it to him.

“Now, Mr. Brentwood,” Aunt Elle said, “I think this might be a fine time for you to tell me about America. Is it truly as uncivilized as I’ve heard?”

“Perhaps in some places, but not Baltimore,” he said as he stuffed his leather gloves into his coat pocket. “It’s a thriving city with plenty of industry and social life.”

Catalina extended the reticule twine to him. “Would you like to use this for your hair?”

He gave her a sincere smile. “If you’re sure you don’t mind it getting wet.”

She returned his smile. “I don’t mind. I don’t need it back. Let me hold the tonic for you.”

Catalina held the brown bottle of brandy while he tied his hair into a queue. She thought to herself he was just as handsome with his hair hanging straight as when it was pulled back.

For over an hour, Catalina sat quietly and listened to Iverson and her aunt talk with few pauses in between. But when they stopped, it wasn’t long before Aunt Elle laid her head on Sylvia’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. Her maid fell asleep shortly thereafter.

“You still look cold, Mr. Brentwood,” Catalina whispered. “The color has not returned to your lips.”

“No matter,” he said softly. “I am feeling warm. Brandy will do that for you.”

“For once, I’m glad Aunt Elle had it with her.”

“I must admit I was glad to get it. It takes the edge off the chill.”

Catalina scooted on the seat and moved closer to Iverson, so her side, hip, and leg pressed against his.

“Catalina, what are you doing?”

“Shh,” she whispered with her forefinger on her lips. “Don’t talk too loudly. Auntie doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s snoring.”

Iverson chuckled silently, and keeping his voice low, said, “I don’t think she will awaken for a while, and I don’t want you to get wet from my coat.”

“I am not worried about getting wet.”

Catalina shared her blanket by pulling it over his legs. She leaned in close to him, pressing her breasts against the damp sleeve of his coat. “I want to help you get warm.”

His eyes questioned her as he said, “You are being very brave, Miss Crisp, with your aunt not two feet away.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t want you getting a chill. Give me your hands underneath the blanket, and let me rub them.”

“Gladly.”

He slipped his hands beneath the wool, and she caught them in hers. They felt larger than she expected, and they were still very cold. She placed one of his hands in her lap, and the other she massaged softly and slowly, rubbing the palm and then between each finger. She enjoyed being in his company. She enjoyed talking to him, sparring with him, and most of all kissing him.

Iverson’s gaze searched her face while she caressed his hand. “I don’t think you know what you are doing to me, Catalina.”

She tried to remain aloof, though that was far from what she was feeling. “Of course I do. I am warming your hands.”

“You are, and more than just my hands.”

She looked at him and said, “Your lips still look pale.”

Having no forethought about what she was going to do, Catalina suddenly stretched up and let her lips brush over Iverson’s once, twice, and on the third time they stayed on his. He leaned toward her, deepening the kiss. Catalina opened her mouth, and with her tongue, tasted the brandy. She continued to massage his hand, and wondered if her caresses made him feel the same warm sensations she felt.

“Does this warm you?” she asked against his lips.

“Hotly, Catalina,” he said, and pulled his hand from beneath the blanket, and untied the ribbon under her chin.

He kissed his way down one side of her neck and back up the other. The feelings he created in her were exquisite and heady. He then slipped his hand to the back of her neck, pressing her closer to him as his lips came down hard on hers again.

Catalina sighed softly, contentedly, as her breath mingled with his. Desperately, but quietly, their lips clung, and their tongues tasted, stroked, and explored with leisure. She tangled her hands in his wet hair and traced the top of his wide shoulders with her forearms. Being with him like this brought her immense satisfaction but also a yearning for more.

When she realized she wanted him to touch her breasts again and kiss her with wild, unrelenting passion as he had last night, she knew she had to stop before she was completely lost in the moment.

Reluctantly, Catalina broke the kiss.

As if sensing her reticence, Iverson turned her loose. Leaving the blanket with him, Catalina put as much distance between them as she could and looked out the window. The earlier slashing rain had become a drizzle. Through the fog, she saw lighted streetlamps and knew they were coming into London.

Catalina felt an overwhelming need to tell Iverson there were two more parts of
A
Tale
of
Three
Gentlemen
yet to be published.

He deserved to know.

But…

Was it so wrong of her to hold out hope her father would return in time, so she wouldn’t have to? Dare she hope he was at home, waiting for her right now?

She had no doubt if she told Iverson the truth he would never speak to her again. If she waited, and by some chance her father had made it home, Iverson would never have to know what she had kept from him.