More Than Charming (29 page)

“Lady Brookdale,” he said coolly, giving a curt nod.

He made a motion to step around her, but her hand on his arm stilled him.

“I wish to speak to you, Roberts,” she said with a sly smile.

“I have nothing to say to you, Priscilla,” he replied through clenched teeth. “I have to get back to my wife. Excuse me.”

Priscilla’s lip curled. “Your loyalty is to be commended, Roberts,” she said as he began to step away from her. “I do wonder, however, if your wife holds the same loyalty toward you.”

He stopped and turned. “Catherine is ever faithful to me, Priscilla,” he said in a low voice. “As you recall, she is a lady of virtue and honor.”

Priscilla apparently chose to ignore that thinly-veiled insult. “Then why, dear boy, did she pay a call upon Waltham just last week?”

He grabbed her by her arms. “What?”

She smiled. “She was at Waltham’s, Roberts. I saw her there with my own eyes.”

He blinked as he tried to absorb what the woman was telling him. “When?” he couldn’t help asking. “When did you see her?”

She shrugged her shoulders and tilted her head to the side. “So now you wish to speak to me?” she goaded.

He gave her a quick shake, his eyes flashing. “Tell me, Priscilla,” he ground out.

Priscilla closed her eyes for a moment, as if she enjoyed his rough handling. He dropped his hands from her. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, triumphant. “Last Monday,” she said with a sneer. “I saw her leaving his townhouse in a most furtive manner. I would know her anywhere, Roberts, with those mousy brown curls of hers, tendrils loose and in a tangle—”

He lowered his face to hers, effectively stopping her tirade. “You won’t spread your lies, Priscilla.”

She pulled away from him, sniffing in disdain. “I’m not lying. Waltham admitted she was there, although he wouldn’t admit that he dallied with her.”

James’s stomach clenched. Saying nothing more to the woman, he turned on his heel, bound for his wife.

From her vantage point on the other side of the room, Catherine watched James coming toward her. She’d seen him speak with Priscilla Brookdale and had felt a raw pain tear through her heart. When he’d held her arms, his head bent to hers, she couldn’t help but imagine the two of them together, pressed intimately to each other. Had he touched Lady Brookdale the same way he touches her? Suddenly feeling quite ill, she closed her eyes and leaned against the wall for support. James reached her side, causing her eyes to flutter open.

“James,” she whispered wearily.

James managed a small smile and led her outside to their carriage.

On the ride back home, Catherine noticed James’s discomfiture but didn’t remark on it. Surely he was busy thinking about his mistress and her offer to renew their relationship. She closed her eyes once more and leaned her head back against the cushioned seat.

When they arrived home, James helped her down from the carriage, albeit grudgingly. He obviously wanted to put some distance between them so he could ponder Lady Brookdale’s offer.

“Go on upstairs, Catherine,” he said stiffly. “I’ll be up shortly.”

She stared at him for a long moment, sensing anger in his tone. She was too tired to ask about it, too hurt by what she’d learned this evening. Nodding slowly in acceptance, she climbed the stairs to their chamber. She changed out of her beautiful gown and set it aside for Annie’s attention. The lady’s maid would certainly click her tongue at her when she saw the water stains on the hem. She donned her nightgown and sat at her vanity, happy for the cheery fire blazing in the hearth. She was chilled to the bone, but only part of that condition was due to the icy rain pouring down in sheets against the windowpane. She unpinned her hair and pulled her brush through the curls, letting the simple act soothe her.

How easily James could fall back under the pretty widow’s charms. Surely it was only a matter of time.

James entered the room, his mood fouler than even thirty minutes earlier. He scowled in her direction, but she had no desire to guess the cause.

“You’ll tell me the truth,” he said roughly.

She jumped, dropping her brush to clatter on the smooth surface of the vanity. She turned with a jerk. “What are you talking about?”

He slammed the door and crossed to her. “Where did you go last Monday, Catherine?”

She thought for a moment. “Last Monday?” she repeated, confused. “I went out, but I don’t see what—”

“Tell me,” he cut in, glaring down at her.

She stood and stepped away from him. “I don’t know what you wish to know, James,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I went to the seamstress and then to my father’s.”

“Where else?” he asked, grabbing her by the arms.

She lost her confusion in a heartbeat. She narrowed her eyes at him in anger. “Don’t think to manhandle me, husband,” she said sharply. “Your mistress may prefer that sort of treatment, but I don’t!”

“My what?”

She pulled out of his grasp. “Your mistress!” she shouted back. “I know all about you and Lady Brookdale.”

He shook his head. “You believe that Priscilla and I—?”

“I know you were together before,” she went on. “But you promised you’d honor our marriage vows.”

He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’ve honored our vows, Catherine,” he stated. “You can’t believe I would play you false.” His eyes narrowed. “And what of you, wife? Just what were you doing at Waltham’s townhouse last week?”

Her mouth fell open in shock. “I didn’t go to Waltham’s,” she insisted. “Not last week, not ever.”

“Priscilla saw you there,” he countered, his eyes dark.

“Oh, and you would take the word of your mistress over mine, is that it?”

He grunted in obvious frustration. “She’s not my mistress. How dare you go to another man, with my child inside you.” His eyes flashed silver fire at her. “If it is my child.”

She cracked her palm across his cheek. “I won’t dignify that with a reply,” she said, tears threatening. She turned and pulled on her wrapper. Curling her fingers in toward her stinging palm, she hurried toward the door.

He caught her arm to still her. “And where do you think you’re going?”

She jerked out of his grasp. “I won’t spend the night with a man who thinks so ill of me. You can sleep alone, with thoughts of your mistress to keep you warm.”

With that, she exited the chamber and took herself off to one of the guestrooms and proceeded to sob herself to sleep. Tears, of pain and anger, clung to her lashes as her sobs quieted. How could James think so little of her? And what of all Lady Brookdale had told her? He’d been with the widow, no matter his denial. Would he return to her when Catherine was large with child?

How dare he think she’d involve herself with Waltham! She was too tired to puzzle it through any further tonight. She placed her hand on her stomach, cradling the child within. At least she’d have her child’s love. That would have to be enough.

Sighing in defeat, she let sleep claim her.

*     *     *

James collapsed into the chair beside the fire and closed his eyes, letting his mind work as he rubbed his cheek. His dainty wife certainly packed a wallop.

His anger cooled quickly, turning to shame as he recalled the pain evident in Catherine’s beautiful eyes. She believed he was involved with Priscilla? That was utterly absurd. He wanted none other than Catherine. He’d never want any other woman. Couldn’t she see that? And what of Waltham? Surely his sweet wife would never betray him. He’d been a bloody fool to give any credence to Priscilla’s ranting.

He suddenly came to his feet and left the chamber, bound for the guestroom. Finding her in the pretty little room did little to soothe his guilty conscience. Tracks of tears showed silver on Catherine’s smooth cheeks, causing guilt to slump his shoulders. Bending over her still sleeping form, he brushed a damp curl away from her brow.

“I was wrong, Catherine,” he said softly so as not to wake her. “Forgive me.”

He suddenly shivered. He turned toward the hearth and quickly noted that the fire was banked within. He took a few moments to stir it into flames and returned to stand over her. Lord, she was lovely. And he’d never known a sweeter, gentler woman. He smiled when he touched his sore cheek this time. Dropping a kiss on her brow, he took himself back to their chamber.

He stripped off his remaining clothes and settled into the big bed. He buried his face in Catherine’s pillow, breathing in her scent. Tomorrow. He’d make amends for his hurtful words tomorrow. And he’d happily accept her forgiveness, and kiss her tears away.

He fell asleep with that final thought, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

James came awake with a start. Catherine stood before the bed, obviously on her way to her dressing room.

“Catherine,” he said as he sat up quickly, the sheets falling down to his waist.

Catherine ran her eyes over him and he felt her gaze like a caress.

“Good morning, James,” she returned.

“You . . .” He swallowed and tried to ignore the way her dressing gown hugged her beautiful curves. “You slept well?”

“I slept deeply.” She met his gaze. “I must commend your attentive staff.”

“My staff?”

“Yes. I saw the remnants of that fire. What they must think to find me sleeping in the guest chamber . . .”

“I lit that fire.”

He read the relief in her eyes. “Oh. Then I thank you.”

James came to his feet, clutching the linens at his waist. “Catherine, we need to talk.”

“No.” She turned from him. “We have nothing to discuss.”

He could only watch as she walked into the dressing room and shut the door with a quiet click.

“Ah, hell.”

He saw to his own morning toilette and pulled on his breeches. When Catherine emerged after what seemed like an eternity to him, she was fully clothed, wearing a lovely day dress of soft violet. She stood still when she saw him, her eyes huge. His breath caught. She looked exquisite. But he couldn’t ignore the hurt visible in those incredible eyes.

“Catherine,” he began.

She held up one slender hand to quiet him. “We have nothing to discuss, James,” she said again. “What was done can’t be undone.”

She looked so brave to him, standing there completely composed. He swiftly saw through that composure, for she couldn’t keep one fat tear from spilling over her lashes to slide slowly down her cheek. Wiping at it in frustration, she ran back into the dressing room.

James closed his eyes and sighed, loud and long. He’d get through to her. She had to listen to him, damn it to hell! Determined, he hurriedly dressed himself and sent her lady’s maid in to her.

He waited for her in the breakfast room. She soon sat across from him barely picking at the plate of eggs in front of her. Giles set down a fresh pot of tea and shot a dark look at him, the accusation clear on his face. No doubt Giles knew that he was the cause of her distress. Returning the man’s scowl, he silently ordered him to keep his opinions to himself.

Giles sniffed and turned to Catherine. “I brought you more honey, my lady.”

James blinked at the pleased expression on Catherine’s face. She managed a smiled for Giles today.

“Thank you, Giles,” she answered. “I believe this baby has developed quite a fondness for it.”

Returning her smile, Giles left the room. James sighed audibly. Catherine kept her eyes downcast as she sipped at her tea. He watched her closely as he started on his meal, chewing mechanically. They ate in silence for long minutes. He took a long drink of tea and set his cup down. Suddenly, he slammed his fist down on the table, causing her to flinch.

Her head snapped up, her eyes round. “James!”

“We need to talk, Catherine,” he said again. “This isn’t finished.”

Catherine dabbed her mouth with her napkin. Her hands shook but whether from hurt or anger, James couldn’t guess.

“I’ve said all I will on the subject,” she said evenly. “If you persist in your ill opinion of me, there’s nothing I can say to dissuade you.”

James grunted in frustration. “Catherine, I don’t believe that you—”

“Excuse me, my lord,” Giles said from the doorway.

James spat out a curse. “What is it, Giles?” he ground out.

“A missive has just arrived, my lord,” he returned, holding the letter out to his master.

James took the note and gave a curt nod. Giles remained in the doorway. James saw it then, the protectiveness in the man’s demeanor, and was more than irritated. As if he would ever harm a hair on Catherine’s head!

“That will be all, Giles.”

After a brief hesitation, the butler took himself off. James tore open the letter and quickly scanned the contents. It was a note reminding him of a meeting he had need to attend, one with his solicitor and that of a neighboring property in Yorkshire. The meeting was unavoidable and would probably take up much of the day. He swore softly, causing Catherine to raise her brow in question.

“I have a meeting today. Some estate business.” He folded the note and set it on the table. “Now, where were we? Ah yes, Waltham—”

“That’s enough, James!” she snapped. “I don’t have to defend myself to you.”

James was pleased at the anger in her eyes. At least the hurt was cast aside for a moment. “Catherine, I know you didn’t betray me with that bastard.”

Her lips pursed. “I wish I could be as certain of your loyalty.”

His mouth gaped. “You doubt me? How can you believe I would ever betray you?”

“You’ve forgotten one very important fact, James. A large difference in our circumstances, if you will.”

“Catherine, our marriage vows are sacred.”

“You don’t love me,” she stated.

“What?”

Catherine stood then, her tears running unchecked down her face. “You don’t love me.”

She held herself ramrod stiff as she quit the room. He heard her footsteps quicken as she hurried away from him. James watched her go, speechless. He didn’t love her? My God, he loved her more than his own life!

He’d never told her of his feelings. Coward that he was he’d been afraid of being wrong, afraid of opening himself up for hurt. Cursing himself for every type of fool, he stood and thought to go to her.