A Hint of Seduction (15 page)

“That’s right and I think it’s time you called me John and not Lord Chatwin. And I will call you Catherine.”

She nodded. “All right, John, I think Vickie would approve of that. Tell me, how is your horse? Did you find him to be in good condition?”

“Yes. I never had any doubt that you would take excellent care of The General. Did I ever mention how impressed I was with how well you handled him.”

Pleasure filled her at his compliment and she smiled at him again. “I love horses and my favorite time to ride is in the quietness of early morning when dawn first breaks the sky.”

“We’ll have to do that sometime—ride in the early morning while others slumber.”

“And tempt fate yet again?”

“Yes.”

The way he looked at her reminded Catherine of how he looked that morning just before he kissed her. A sense of longing surged inside her, and with all her heart she wanted him to kiss her again. She knew that was impossible in a room that was filled with people, but that didn’t keep her from aching for his touch.

She needed to break the spell he had cast on her, so she said, “Your Christian name is John, but I do not recall hearing your family name.”

“A circumstance easily remedied,” he said.

He stopped in front of a large portrait of an older,
handsome man dressed in a stunning red coat adorned with shining gold buttons. His black waistcoat was quilted with gold thread and he wore fawn-colored pantaloons. He looked like an older Lord Chatwin.

“Here is a portrait of my father before he inherited the title.” Bowing he said, “Miss Reynolds, may I present the honorable George Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines.

It took a moment for it to register on Catherine what he’d said, and suddenly she gasped and jerked her head toward John.

She suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time and weak.

“You can’t be serious? This—this is your father? Your real father?”

“Unless someone has been fooling me for thirty years.”

This was no time for jokes.

“His name was George Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines?” Her breathing was so constricted she could hardly get the words past her lips.

He smiled at her, that devastatingly handsome smile that made her chest tighten with all those warm mysterious feelings he invoked in her. Obviously he didn’t see in her face the distress she was feeling.

“Yes, although my father has been dead for many years now.”

Catherine just looked at John, not wanting to believe what she’d just heard. What could she say? What was she going to do? She turned away from him and squeezed her eyes tightly.

The man who stirred her senses like no other man ever had could be her brother.

Ten

J
OHN LEFT THE
buffet room by way of the servants’ corridor and took the back stairs to his uncle’s book room. He didn’t bother to go over to his desk and light a lamp but instead went straight to the handsome mahogany side table and poured a large splash of brandy into a glass.

He took a swallow and let the strong liquor settle on his tongue for a moment or two before letting it wash down his throat. He breathed in deeply and took another quick sip.

He knew the room well. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered two walls, a fireplace and old paintings of Bentley’s deceased family members hung on a third wall. Twin chairs upholstered in the finest English fabrics stood on a hand-woven carpet. The room smelled of musty leather, stale pipe smoke, and melted wax. It was odd how he’d never noticed those scents when his uncle was present. They were always too busy talking about whatever might have brought John to the house.

John knew he’d bungled tonight as if he’d been a callow youth. No, he thought as he sipped the drink again and walked over to his uncle’s dark wood desk and sat down behind it.

It was worse than that.

He’d allowed himself to be drawn into a game he was beginning to believe he didn’t want to play. In his hopes of besting Mrs. Goosetree and remaining aloof he’d offended Catherine. Like a common scoundrel, he’d danced with first one lady and then another after Miss Reynolds had arrived, and all the time she was the only one he really wanted to dance with.

What was he thinking?

Was he trying to make Catherine jealous or was he trying to make Mrs. Goostree think he wasn’t interested in her sister?

He’d played this same game many times before. For years.

So why did it feel so wrong tonight?

Why was he left feeling bereft when Mrs. Goosetree suddenly appeared in the doorway telling Miss Reynolds they had to leave immediately? He’d tried to forestall her leaving, but she’d hurriedly brushed past him with a barely audible good-bye.

John stared at the dark liquid in his glass. He’d wanted to dance with her, so why was he playing the young and foolish games of the past?

He didn’t really know why yet, but he knew he no longer wanted to play those games with Catherine. He realized now that she was too important to him, and he didn’t want to treat her that way.

He didn’t understand his feelings for her.

She was beautiful, but beauty had never been a priority
for him when he sought a woman. Each lady had her own kind of loveliness. He had always accepted that and enjoyed the differences in them.

Catherine was intelligent, but he’d been attracted to many women who knew how to talk to him about politics, arts, or history. She could verbally spar with him, and he’d met a few, perhaps one or two who could hold his interest that way.

So what made her different? There was no doubt that she was. He felt it in the way he wanted to spend time with her, the way he felt good whenever he saw her walk in a room.

She was definitely more of a challenge than any other woman had ever been. What other lady would steal his horse and later risk her reputation to return it? Her courageous spirit was appealing.

Catherine had said her sister wanted them to go to Lady Windham’s to see Westerland. John didn’t want her dancing with the Marquis. It was strange, but John knew he wanted her to be interested only in him. That was a big change for him.

“Is your uncle conserving oil?”

John looked up from the brandy in his glass and saw Andrew leaning against the doorjamb, one foot carelessly crossed over the other.

“With hundreds of candles and every lamp in the house lit, I doubt it.”

“Then why sit in the dark?”

I think better in the dark.

Until a few days ago Andrew could say anything to John and it didn’t bother him. In fact, he used to enjoy a good row with his friend, but recently he hadn’t been in the mood for Andrew’s mockery and especially not tonight.

“I assumed it would be obvious that I was hoping no one would see me in here.”

“Why?”

“Do you suppose it could be because I wanted to be alone?”

“No.” Andrew strode into the library and folded his arms across his chest. “How can you be alone in a house full of people?”

“There was no one in this room until you stopped at the doorway.”

“And it’s a good thing I did. Is that your uncle’s favorite brandy you’re drinking?”

“Bloody hell, Andrew, I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm tonight.” John put his glass to his lips and downed the rest of his drink.

“Then get up and let’s head to White’s and have a port there. It’s not like you to sit around brooding.”

“I’m not brooding.” John rose. “I was just thinking I might head over to Lady Windham’s soirée.”

“All right. Let’s go there.”

John hadn’t planned on Andrew going with him. He walked over to the side table and placed the empty glass by the brandy decanter.

“Did I tell you I met Miss Reynolds tonight?” Andrew asked.

Thankful it was dark, John turned toward his friend and tried to sound disinterested as he said, “No.”

“Yes. Fascinating lady. Quite fiery. I bet she would be a hot tumble under the covers for you.”

Without thinking, John grabbed Andrew by his coat and shoved him up against the wall.

“Don’t ever say anything like that about her again.”

John’s angry gaze locked with Andrew’s in the darkened room.

“I won’t,” Andrew said calmly. “I don’t have to now that I know where you stand concerning her.”

John saw there was no malice or resentment in Andrew. His friend hadn’t put up a fight or any kind of resistance when John grabbed him and pushed him against the wall.

He let go of Andrew’s coat and turned away from him. He swallowed hard. If Andrew had made that comment about any other lady, John would have probably agreed with him, but hearing it said about Catherine enraged him. He took a steadying breath.

“You said that about her on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to know if it would rile me.”

Andrew straightened his coat. “Yes. I thought I knew where you’re headed with her. I wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I know,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure that he did. She had him all twisted up inside. His loss of self-control disturbed him.

“And now so do I.”

“You could have just asked,” John said.

“I don’t think you knew the truth until just now. I’ll be at White’s if you decide to come in for a drink or a game of cards later,” Andrew said, then turned and walked out.

John took a deep breath and poured himself another brandy. He knew the truth now. For the first time in his life he’d met a lady who was more important to him than any one else. He didn’t want to believe that he could be close to falling in love.

P
OSSIBLY HER BROTHER
.

What was Catherine going to do? The feelings she was having for John were anything but brotherly!

After having spent a restless night and a miserable morning, Catherine walked into the discreetly accommodating parlor of Victoria’s home carrying her favorite book of poetry. She hoped to use it as a foil. She could pretend to be reading when she was really trying to come to terms with the possibility that she and John might have the same father.

Aside from her bedroom with its dark lilac colors, this room was her favorite. The walls were papered a pale yellow with hand-painted flowers. The velvet draperies were a light shade of amethyst adorned with fancy stitched embroidery of ferns and elaborate fringe cording.

The matching Hepplewhite settees were upholstered in a busy flower pattern that coordinated with the walls and the window dressings. Over the fireplace hung a stately portrait of Victoria’s dearly departed husband, flanked by silver-sheathed swords.

Catherine pushed aside the heavy velvet drapery panel and looked out onto the garden below. An unusual amount of sunshine for the past several days had many new flowers in bloom.

It knotted her stomach and caused heaviness in her chest to even think about the possibility of Lord Chatwin being her brother. She had enjoyed his kisses that chilly morning in the park. She’d welcomed the funny fluttering in her breast and low in her abdomen whenever he was near.

Catherine lifted her shoulders a little higher. She was strong, intelligent, and capable. She could do it. She had known it would not be an easy task when she set out to undertake this mission.