More Than Charming (15 page)

She held her chin high and smiled at him. “You’re most handsome in your formal attire, James.”

James shrugged and crossed to her. He placed his hands on her bare shoulders, lightly caressing her. She couldn’t ignore the pleasure his touch gave her.

“I believe that I’ll have to beat the men away from you, love,” he teased. “Remember,” he told her as he led her out of the room, “you’ll dance with no other man but me.”

Catherine nearly tripped, recovering her footing as she nodded. He was possessive, then.

“And will you dance with any other woman?”

He blinked. “I hadn’t thought to . . . Do you wish me not to?”

“You’re a charming dancer, James.” She forced a smile. “Far be it from me to deny any woman your attentions.”

He seemed to take her words at face value. God, the thought of any other woman in his arms for anything more than a dance! Again, her stomach churned.

They descended the grand staircase and joined the other guests in the ballroom. James was most solicitous to her as the evening began, keeping her close to his side. They spied Paul and Michelle across the room and he escorted her over to join them. Catherine couldn’t look them in the eye, so ashamed of what she’d heard them discussing earlier that evening. Michelle seemed to sense something in her demeanor.

“Catherine,” she said, causing her to lift her eyes at last. “Is something wrong?”

“Wh-what?” Catherine stammered, blushing. “No, I . . . No, everything is fine.”

Catherine turned and found James regarding her closely, a curious look on his face. She smiled weakly and turned her attention to brushing the nonexistent wrinkles out of her skirt.

Paul asked his wife to dance, and Michelle let him lead her out onto the dance floor. James took the opportunity to ask Catherine to dance. She stared up at him, this handsome, charming man she’d married, and nodded. He held her close to him as they twirled about the room and Catherine fell into rhythm easily, matching him step for step. The familiarity left her feeling more comfortable in his company.

“I so enjoy dancing with you, love,” he told her, flashing her a dazzling smile.

“You’re a wonderful dancer, James.”

By the time the number ended, she’d managed to put the matter of their forced marriage out of her mind. Almost. James led her over to the row of chairs lining the enormous room. She sat down as he held her hand to his lips, seemingly unable to keep from touching her. But how long would his attentions last without any real emotion behind them?

“Would you like a glass of punch, Catherine?”

Catherine nodded her acceptance and watched him go see to the refreshment, admiring the dashing figure he cut. She sighed and turned, surprised to see that someone sat beside her.

“Lady Joan!” She recovered herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Joan nodded as if well used to never standing out in a crowd. Tonight, she appeared agitated. What ailed the girl?

“Catherine,” Joan began haltingly, “I . . . I so wish to apologize for what happened between Thomas and myself.”

Catherine blinked in surprise. She reached out and placed her hand over Joan’s. Her fingers were like ice.

“You’ve nothing to regret, Joan,” she assured her. “If Waltham loves you, then everything worked out for the best.”

Joan had paled further and shook her head adamantly. “Catherine, he doesn’t—” Joan stopped and leaned closer. “How did you ever manage his fierce temper?”

Catherine was shocked. Temper? Waltham was never anything but calm and solicitous whenever they were together.

“Joan, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Waltham never showed a hint of—”

“Thomas can be quite cruel, Catherine,” Joan sobbed softly. “Why, one time he—”

Joan stopped her diction once more, her thin lips pressed tightly together. Catherine looked up to find James standing in front of them, two crystal glasses in his hands.

He arched a brow at Catherine then looked at Joan and smiled. “Lady Joan, would you like a glass of refreshment?” he asked, holding out his glass.

Joan shook her head and stood, her eyes darting about the room. “No, I . . . No thank you, Lord Roberts.”

She said a quick farewell to Catherine and dashed across the dance floor.

Catherine watched her go. “James, did you see how agitated she was?”

“Hmm?” James sat down beside her. “What do you mean?”

“She mentioned Waltham’s temper,” she whispered. “But he exhibited no such temperament with me.”

“She’s quite timid, Catherine,” he said. “Perhaps she misinterpreted his actions.”

Catherine shrugged. “She was just about to tell me about one time in particular—”

“Love,” James cut in. “I believe Lady Joan feels badly for running off with that scoundrel. Perhaps she wishes to put a negative face on her marriage for your sake.”

“But that’s silly, James. I don’t wish to be married to Waltham now. Not when I have you.”

“You do have me.” He leaned over and placed a kiss on her temple. “Forever.”

Catherine pondered his words. Why weren’t they enough tonight?

Upon Catherine’s return to the ballroom, her feelings of unease bubbled anew as she watched the loving exchanges between the other couples of their acquaintance. While James was ever so gallant toward her, his usual charm evident, Catherine longed for the love she saw flowing freely between Chester and Constance, Paul and Michelle. Her gaze settled on Geoffrey and Becca as they twirled about the room, their great affection plain to see. Catherine watched as James danced with Elizabeth, smiling down at her as the girl chattered on. Warm regard was in his gaze. Was that tepid emotion also evident whenever James danced with her? Pitiful.

Suddenly, the room seemed stifling. Before James could return to her side, she took herself out to the terrace. Large lanterns lit and warmed the space. Nevertheless, it was still a bit chilly but she welcomed it, hugging herself as she stared out at the clear November night sky.

“I see you felt the need to escape, as well,” Waltham said from behind her.

Catherine started, then recovered her composure and nodded curtly at her ex-fiancé. “Waltham.”

Waltham flashed a sly grin, gone in an instant as he stepped closer. “You seem as miserable as I, love,” he said softly.

She faced him fully. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve made a huge error in judgment, Catherine.” He stroked his finger over her bare shoulder. “I never should have married Joan.”

Catherine pulled away from him toward one corner of the terrace. “Waltham, you shouldn’t speak to me of such matters.”

A slow smile spread across the man’s coolly handsome face as his pale eyes raked hungrily over her form. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

She gasped at what he was intimating. She shook her head. “I’m married, Waltham. I want no other but my husband. I love him.”

It was the first time she’d spoken the words aloud, but she knew them to be true. Waltham shrugged and placed his hands on her waist. She started to pull away, but his next words stilled her.

“Your husband doesn’t love you.”

“What?” Catherine whispered.

“Roberts is quite a charming rogue, love,” he allowed. “But he’ll never love any one woman.”

Catherine shook her head.

“He charms his way through the young society ladies,” Waltham continued, his mouth curved in an ugly sneer. “Leaving naught but broken hearts in his wake.”

“You don’t know him,” she argued. “My husband cares for me.” God, the words sounded so weak to her ears.

“Cares for you? Perhaps.” Waltham’s smile reappeared. “But he doesn’t love you. If he did, Catherine, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. If you were my wife, I certainly wouldn’t.”

He brought his lips to her ear. “If you were my wife, I wouldn’t be able to keep from touching you. I would pull up the skirt of this incredible gown and take you right here, all of those people but a few feet away.”

She was stunned speechless. A tall figure in the doorway suddenly caught her attention. “James,” she whispered.

James stood there, shock on his face. His shock gave way to palpable anger, his hands held in fists at his side.

Waltham pulled back to stare down at her, misunderstanding her meaning. “Roberts doesn’t deserve you, Catherine,” he said dismissively. “Come with me to my chamber.”

“Get your hands off my wife!” James grabbed him and hurled him across the terrace.

Waltham grunted in pain as he landed on the hard stone floor.

James turned back to Catherine. “What the bloody hell did he do to you?”

Catherine found her voice. “N-nothing. He said that . . . that . . .” She couldn’t go on.

She turned and fled.

James watched her go, stunned. He turned back to Waltham, his eyes narrowed to slits. He grabbed him up off of the floor and pulled him close. “What did you do to her, you bastard?”

“I assure you, Roberts,” he said, sniffing in disdain, “I did nothing to compromise your wife.”

James studied him as his mind worked. He believed the man, albeit grudgingly. Physically at least, Catherine had seemed unharmed. But her eyes had welled with tears, her skin turned as pale as moonlight.

“Pray tell me, then. Why is she so upset?”

Waltham shrugged as he brushed off his clothes. “I don’t purport to understand the workings of your marriage.”

“My marriage?” James repeated. “You son-of-a-bitch.” He slammed his fist into Waltham’s face.

Waltham slumped against the wall and rubbed his jaw.

James fixed a cold glare on him. “Don’t let me catch you alone with my wife again, Waltham.”

“Perhaps I’m wrong,” Waltham murmured.

“What, you cur?”

Waltham held up his hands. “Nothing.”

James turned on his heel and returned to the ballroom in search of Catherine. He had to know she was all right. When he’d seen Waltham with her, an incredible feeling surged through him. She was his! Yes, Catherine had been a virgin when he married her. But had Waltham taken any other liberties with her? What had he been attempting out on the terrace?

He sought out Michelle where she sat in conversation with Elizabeth. “Excuse me, ladies. Have you seen Catherine?”

Michelle blinked up at him. “No. Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” He just had to find her. “Excuse me.”

James didn’t find Catherine in the front parlor, either. Paul was there, however, with Chester. James crossed to Catherine’s brother. “Have you seen Catherine?”

Paul shook his head and straightened. “What happened?”

“That bastard proposed an assignation with my wife.”

“Son-of-a-bitch. Where is he?”

James placed his hand on Paul’s arm. “Don’t worry, Leed.” James gave him a grim smile. “I took care of him.”

Paul nodded and James left him. Running out of places to search, he decided to return to their guestroom. He opened the door, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the gloom in the chamber.

“Catherine?” he asked into the dark.

A soft sob was his only answer. He crossed to the bedstand and lit the candle there. He turned then and discovered her, sitting gracefully on the floor. Relief flooded him.

“Catherine.”

“James.” She breathed, a tear spilling over her long lashes to trail down her cheek.

Catherine stared up at him, her eyes huge. He let his eyes drink her in. Her hair was in loose curls about her shoulders. Her dress pooled around her, her hands clutching the smooth, luxurious fabric of her skirt. She looked like a beautiful, exotic flower.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He crouched down beside her and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head in answer.

James took her hands in his and studied her once more. “Come,” he said finally, standing up.

“No,” she said in a small voice.

James ignored her plea and gently pulled her to her feet. She suddenly collapsed against him, fresh tears falling from her eyes to soak the front of his jacket.

“Catherine, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, James,” she sobbed. “Tell me you care for me, even a tiny bit. Tell me, if only for tonight.”

“Of course I care for you,” he said, rubbing her back. “Why would you think—?”

“Love me, James,” Catherine said, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. “Make love to me. Now.”

James sharply drew in a breath, her softly-spoken command making him hard. She untied his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. She placed hot kisses on his chest.

“Catherine . . .” he murmured, unhooking the back of her gown.

He let her gown drop to the floor, her chemise, stays, petticoat, and stockings soon followed. She stripped him out of his finery and ran her hands over his back, pressing herself tightly to him. James moaned softly and scooped her up in his arms. He laid her on the bed and slowly trailed his lips over her skin. As if unable to withstand his unhurried possession, Catherine pushed at his shoulders. James looked at her in question and rolled onto his back as she came over him.

“I’ll be a good wife, James,” she said fervently, lightly kissing his shoulder, his chest. “I’ll never hurt you.”

Those were nearly the same words he’d used when he asked her to marry him. What was she about?

“I’ll make you happy, James,” she whispered, kissing the flat of his stomach. “Even if I was forced on you.”

“Forced on me?” he puzzled aloud. “Catherine, what do you mean? Ah, God—!” he groaned as her lips brushed the tip of his arousal.

All thought left his mind as his sweet wife caressed him. Her delicate tongue stroked the length of him, making him rock-hard. Her lips fairly burned along his shaft, causing him to arch off the bed. When she closed her mouth over the tip and gently suckled it was all he could stand. With a loud groan, he pulled her up to him, crushed his mouth to hers. He kissed her with all the passion she’d aroused, running his hands over her skin.

“God, love,” he rasped, nibbling on her ear. “You set me on fire.”

Catherine whimpered in response. James moved her legs until she straddled him. He reached between their bodies and stroked her, driving her to the very brink of ecstasy.