A Little More Scandal (6 page)

Ten

William did not wait for her answer. He had too much ground to cover.

Taking Catrin’s hand, he pulled her toward the ballroom. Only under such circumstances could they stand close, talking, even touching, while people feigned knowledge of their identities. The liberties taken at the annual masquerade would burst the boundaries of propriety at any other event. Here, at least, a modicum of deniability kept the worst gossip at bay.

The ceiling, decorated with twelve constellations and their mythological complements, was so high as to create a mass of echoing voices. Music from a small orchestra added to the din. Strategically placed candelabras permitted plenty of light for the dancers, but in turn created spaces between columns that were made private by shadow. The entire gala was designed to foster a sense of public discretion. Likely Lady Evelyn and her cohorts had developed just the right environment to both spawn and conceal scandal.

Far be it for him to go against the grain. If his discussion with Catrin went well, William hoped to make the most of such a darkened alcove.

She finally resisted his hold. Her wrist bones felt so fragile when wrapped in his big hand. He looked back to see her scowling, practically digging her heels into the sleek marble floor. Her forest green mask of shiny satin was rather ordinary except for the black lace edging. But there was no disguising the sharp censure in her shimmering honey eyes, nor the embittered frown that warped her lovely mouth.

“Pick a place and speak your mind,” she said tartly. “I won’t be dragged about like a hunter’s fresh kill.”

William let her struggle for a moment, if only to admire the determined tilt of her chin. Then he caught her other wrist and pulled her flush against his chest. She smelled of that same aroused sweetness. Without thought, he licked his lips in anticipation of tasting her again.

To rely on a clever, sound partner in his life was more of a temptation than he ever imagined. He was not used to decisions based on emotion. Not at all. Pushing her onto his desk had been the most decadent choice of his entire year. He had resisted the notion that a few chance meetings and a rush of sexual combustion could dictate his future as surely as his strategies. Yet as subsequent nights had crept by, he found no relief from the image of a new future.

He would marry Catrin.

She had been right. They were compatible. The decision was not his most analytically sound, but neither would it set fire to his ambitions. He could have both. But only if this unpredictable creature was as sure of her own mind. William had no such faith.

“Why me, Catrin?”

She stilled. Her wide, pale eyes darted between his mask, his mouth, and the bulk of the ballroom. Hundreds of people. Something had her rattled. He had yet to witness her so agitated.

He chanced the opportunity to touch her chin, to make her see him. “If you seek a husband . . . why me?”

“Because you seem kind enough, if a little gruff. You’re strong and wealthy. You kiss marvelously well—among other things.” A becoming blush colored the bridge of her nose. “I could be safe with you.”

He found himself smiling at her rather economical assessment of his attributes. “Could be?”

A little shrug lifted shoulders swathed in ivory lace. William caressed the petal-soft skin of her throat. No gloves for him tonight. He had left them aside by apparent accident, but with the very calculated intention of touching her.

“I hardly know you,” she said softly. “Yet I’ve never met a man whose attributes measure up to yours. But I’ll be honest. My time among these people is dwindling. I may have no more than tonight, and I approach every invitation with a ticking clock in my head. That terminus has not permitted the luxury of complete certainty.”

“Were you certain in my office?”

“No. I was carried away, as you likely were.” She inhaled, then let the breath rush free. “That makes what happened no less special to me.”

The skin he stroked harbored a buzzing tension. She was a woman made of a bee’s sting and a hiss. A similar anxiety had hummed through him across the past two weeks. He realized by slow degrees that he had made a mistake in letting her leave his home.

“Surely, you must see,” she continued, her voice accelerating and strengthening. “I cannot afford to be romantic, no matter my own wishes. As soon as they tire of guessing my particulars, I will no longer be their entertainment. They will take greater pains to ensure someone is on hand to sing or play the pianoforte, or they will find another penniless woman of respectable breeding to tempt with the pleasures of a higher sort of life. Right now they have no such need for diversions. ‘Invite Catrin Jones,’ they must laugh to one another. That will not last forever, especially as soon as . . .”

Her voice cracked. She looked toward the floor.

“As soon as what?”

“I refused to tell Lady Evelyn what I endured, just as I refuse everyone. She retaliated by relating new gossip, although I suspect she invented it to punish me.”

William listened in a red-hazed horror as she related Lady Evelyn’s claims. “That heinous bitch,” he rasped.

Catrin’s neck snapped back. Her lips parted on a gasp that sounded unbearably sexual. Her moment of anger dissolved into a stifled laugh. “You cannot say that about a member of the aristocracy. It’s simply not done.”

“I’m wearing a mask,” he said, smiling briefly. “They’ll never know it’s me.”

“But you’re unmistakable.”

The sound of wonder in her lilting voice warmed a chilled, walled-off place deep inside him. “How so?”

“Tall. Rough. Vigorous in a way these other men cannot claim, no matter how many sporting trips they may have made to the Lake District.”

“I own a fair piece of the Lake District.”

Those beautiful apricot lips turned up at the corners. “See? You could keep me safe.”

Forget the masquerade. He wanted more privacy, and he wanted to see her face. Those shadowed alcoves beckoned. With a gentle tug, one that said she was within her rights to resist, he urged her into the darkness.

“And that’s very important to you, isn’t it, Catrin? Being safe?”

A shaft of light spread along her neck, so perfectly that he could see her swallow. “Can you blame me?”

“I don’t know. Because I don’t know what you’ve endured.”

“Oh, and you expect me to open up now, Mr. Christie?”

“Yes.”

William reached behind her head and unfastened the lace ties holding her mask in place. Her cheeks and forehead were warm to the touch as he slid his fingertips from her crown, to the tip of her nose, to the full, perfectly plump lips he had been unable to forget. She opened her mouth and slowly, so very slowly, took his thumb inside. She sucked deeply, her gaze never wavering from his. Then, the slightest test of teeth. Only when he closed his eyes on a long, low hiss did she release him.

She smiled gently. “And why would I tell you anything without guarantees? I’m not a fool.”

“But you were drowning, weren’t you?” William was too caught up in her warmth, her delicate strength, to relish her flinch. “And I don’t just mean in the water as the
Honoria
sank. You’ve been drowning ever since returning to solid land. How can you not with so many curious people believing you a freak of nature? An angel. A heroine. An undeserving girl from the country.”

Although he believed Lady Evelyn’s comments were fabricated—to serve as punishment, as Catrin suggested—he had been privy to the lion’s share of rumors surrounding the HMS
Honoria
’s only survivor. To say it had become his obsession would be an understatement. But he hardly enjoyed seeing their effect, firsthand, on the woman who bore such hurt in her iridescent eyes.

“Don’t you think I know how that feels?” All he could do was whisper as he shoved his pride aside. “Don’t you believe I’ve heard the mockery and the speculation? I’ve been fighting to get here since I was old enough to throw a punch. A boy from the Glasgow slums. What were the chances? But I will never be admired the way these people are. Even my wife offered me no respite.”

“Did you love her?”

“No. But I respected her. I cannot say she returned the sentiment.” He shivered as Catrin slipped inside his coat and tucked her hands up the back hem of his shirt. Just a little touch to keep them both from flying apart. “She wanted to change me, make me into a more perfect gentleman, but I hadn’t the time. I was too busy keeping her family from falling into arrears. Yet she remained afraid of me, Catrin, poisoned by her parents’ warnings and her friends’ constant chatter. You’ve never . . .”

“Been afraid of you? No.” She hugged close, her cheek pressed against his shirtfront. “Afraid of my own impulses, yes. But I have little else to call my own.”

He stripped off his mask and leaned closer. Although he harbored no vanity about his appearance, he knew the aftermath of numerous fights affected many. “Look at me.”

Catrin smiled and cupped both hands against his cheeks. “I am looking.”

He could only frown in confusion.

“I must admit, you looked very handsome in the mask. Rather sinister and far too perfect.” She used his shoulders as support when she stretched up and kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m much more fond of
you
.”

Just as he had after reaching his climax, William tucked his face flush against the side of her neck. He nuzzled her hair, kissed just below her earlobe. “Would you like to risk a real scandal?”

“How so?”

He felt her tension beneath his lips, where it pulsed along her neck. After straightening, he traced the lace of her high collar. He tried to hide a quirking smile and failed. “Miss Jones, are you covering something?”

“I am,” she said with the faintest tease. “You can see it again if you like.”

His body stiffened. How easy would it be to take this woman, right here? They could be quiet, at least initially. She was certainly not one for silence. Yet the idea of claiming her in such a public place thrilled him with a dark, primal urge. He would be inside her all that much sooner—sinking into her hot depths once again, slaking the need that had grown by exponential leaps since their first kiss.

They would be forced to marry. No more second-guessing. No well-considered plans.

Instead he settled for a glimpse of the forbidden. He touched the line of lace that hugged just beneath her jaw, then rolled it slowly down. Two buttons parted. Finally, a little pull. He revealed a faint mark in the shape of his teeth. The bruise was almost gone. Chancing the urge to repeat his fierce claim, he leaned down and kissed that precious skin. Just once. A field of goose bumps blossomed beneath his lips.

He could risk no more. He replaced his mask, then hers.

“Now, to our scandal.”

Catrin’s smile was pure wickedness. “I should think it as simple as continuing that kiss.”

“Yes, but not so rewarding as what I have in mind. You will walk with me through the ballroom, arm in arm. Then you will join me in my carriage. If we’re recognized, so be it. If not, we’ve lost nothing at all.”

“And where would you take me, Mr. Christie?”

“To my home, Miss Jones.” He leaned nearer and kissed the top of her head. With more confidence than he felt—disconcerting for a man who was used to fat stores of confidence—he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Where you will tell me exactly what happened aboard the
Honoria
.”

“I will not!”

“You will. Because you must understand, Catrin,” he said, his words low and deliberate. “I know I am a rich man. But never again will I marry a woman who desires my fortune but cannot stand the man who bears it. Our discussions began with a very poor first attempt. No honesty. Certainly no trust.”

“Agreed.”

“So you will give me your secret, and I will give you mine.”

Her slanted brows lifted. “You have such a secret?”

“How I spent last year’s Season. In Paris.”

“Oh.” She inhaled through her nose. “Yes. That has been quite the mystery.”

“Our secrets laid bare, Catrin. We both deserve as much before I propose to you.”

Eleven

Catrin had never been more aware of whispers and stares as she crossed the ballroom. She was none so naïve as to believe the slight disguise of her mask would protect her. The twirling colors and twinkling jewels, the boisterous chatter and laughter—it blended into an aura that choked all her air.

Suddenly she was back in the water. Her fingers were chilled to the point of frostbite as she clung to a jagged piece of driftwood. The ache in her chest was grief, fatigue, and the cloudy, awful pain of drowning. Breathing . . . She could not. Water was in her mouth, all salt and putrid death.

“Catrin,” came a voice from very far away.

A comforting blackness shaded her eyes. Nothing more to see. No more pain. Floating in a way that was at once terrifying and comforting. How could that be?

“Catrin, look at me.”

That voice. She had come to relish its slurred brogue. Fighting past the foggy daze, she welcomed her sense of touch. William. His fingers on her face, gently stroking her cheeks. Then smell. She took her first deep breath, so welcome after the moment when her lungs had turned inside out. His scent was a sharp blend of shaving soap and his distinct masculine spice. She wanted to lick and keep licking.

“Come back, my darling. Look at me.”

And finally, sight. She blinked, blinked again, and found William’s bright hazel eyes. His sunny brown brows were furrowed, and that beautiful, sensual mouth was twisted around a grimace. He had appeared equally intense when readying to kiss her, but with none of the deathly serious concern.

“You’re so handsome,” she murmured.

“Oh, bloody hell, Catrin.”

Only then did she realize they were not alone. Dear Lord, far from it. William knelt on the ballroom floor. His arms cradled behind her back. Her mask was gone. She lay against his body, with her legs splayed gracelessly along the gleaming white marble. Futilely, she tried to tuck her skirts around her ankles, draw up her knees, hide. Around them gawked a circle of grotesquely blank expressions—dozens of masked faces with mouths active around hissed whispers.

Everyone looking at her.

She had never felt such overwhelming embarrassment. Sheer, painful, hot mortification swept up from her stomach and clustered below her voice box. She gulped, trying to swallow, and barely kept from being sick all over the Duchess’s polished floor. Or her own dress. Or William’s lovely new charcoal suit.

Again, his hands caressed her face. “Where are you?” he asked, the question rife with strain. “Can you answer that?”

“I need to leave.”

The words came out as a gasp. Another attack awaited her. She was losing her senses again, her sight dimming, her ears clouding with cottony distance. Only her hands seemed to work. When William lifted her straight off the floor, she clung to him as she had once clung to driftwood. He was her lifeboat now—her only hope of escaping that huge ballroom with some semblance of a future.

The crowd parted, but Catrin ducked away from those eerily still faces. Ghouls from a nightmare. She huddled against William’s chest, with her fingers laced behind his neck. At least she could still feel: her cheek rubbing his starched shirtfront, her forehead brushing his silk cravat, and her body being borne by his strong, impossibly strong arms, as if she weighed no more than a kitten. He breathed evenly as he walked her into the night.

Moments later, she sat curled against him in his carriage. His words were a softly rumbled cadence—the distinct cadence of a man raised in distant Scotland. What he said hardly made sense, just reassurances that all would be well, that they were safely away. But such a comfort he provided! No one had offered anything of the kind after she was hauled off that deserted beach. Only questions.

She had waited for other survivors to join her. None had.

“They were drunk,” she whispered into the darkness.

The enclosed carriage bumped and rattled along the cobblestones. The wheels were smoothly oiled and the driver competent, but the noise of such travel could not be avoided. In this instance, it was a welcome shelter. William leaned closer. His mouth hovered so near to hers. Their foreheads rested together.

And she released the secrets that pressed behind her breast.

“We were only two days from home. It was the captain’s birthday. The first mate suggested a little nip for all the boys.” Frozen images of their faces flashed in her mind. Their names came next. Wallace. Peter. Quinn. John. Bradford. All dead, swallowed by the sea. “Ours was a transport ship, you see. We were taking the wounded back home. The winter siege at Sevastopol meant starvation, frostbite, gangrene. Yet those men had survived—some of them only just. They would see their families again, and perhaps learn to live with their limitations. Limbs lost, William. Hideous scars. They were lucky to be alive. I think the captain thought so too.”

She shivered. The August night was not cold, but she wished she had brought a shawl. William must have felt her chill because he tightened his hold. He was her strong, firm armor.

Her champion.

“They drank too much rum?”

“Yes. Everyone.”

“Even you?”

Catrin shifted slightly, just enough to meet his mouth with hers. Soft kiss. Greedy kiss. Something to hold the awful memories away from her soul, even as she described them. William cradled the back of her head, their faces so intimately close. She could not have spoken with any less protection.

“I’ve never been one for spirits,” she said. “But the other nurses partook as liberally as the men. After months of tending broken bodies, they wanted an escape. I could hardly blame them. Had I not feared being ill, I would’ve joined them. Those poor boys were in such pain, in their bodies and their hearts. One barrel of rum became two, then more, until even the crew toppled this way and that. The storm was our undoing. The hands weren’t steady, let alone able to react with much speed.”

“You don’t need to say any more.”

“I must,” she said on a shuddering exhale. “Because it was chaos, William. The ship listed. The mizzenmast snapped in two. Maybe we could’ve evacuated had everyone been clearheaded, but panic and fear took over so quickly. They weren’t in their right minds.”

William’s hands tensed. “That captain should be punished posthumously.”

“No!” Catrin sat up. She scrambled back to the opposite end of the bench.

Shadows overwhelmed light as they passed dim lamps. That distortion made William’s nose appear even more abused—broken and put back together countless times—but it also accentuated the lush beauty of his lips. She had joined the two irrevocably in her thoughts. Not one without the other.

Only now he was scowling. “But had it not been for that captain, those men would still be alive.”

“I’ve believed that, yes.” Her throat was raw and aching. “Especially during the first few days after I was rescued, I blamed him. But likely he suspected what they faced when they returned home. Their families might not even want them. Wives and children and parents might see them as cripples—less than worthy. For some, invalid homes and asylums would be their fate. So the captain wanted to give them one last taste of being men, raising a glass among their brothers. No condemnation or shame.” She hugged her arms around her waist. “How can I blame them for wanting to feel normal, perhaps for the last time?”

“It was the last time, Catrin. People need to be told.”

“But don’t you see? Right now, each man and woman who died when the
Honoria
sank is considered a hero. If I disclosed what I know . . . Just consider how they would be remembered.”

His expression became perfectly blank. Nearly calm. But she knew enough about him to recognize the intensity in his eyes. He could not have achieved his successes without being brilliant, without being quick to react, without being able to see the myriad ways a deal could proceed. That depth of insight almost scared her, knowing he could puzzle her out equally well.

“They died serving Her Majesty.” His brogue was nearly too thick to discern, so full of deep, rumbling emotion. “But with the truth in the papers, or before a military inquest, that respect and honor would be stripped from them. The final moments of their lives would tarnish all they sacrificed.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I won’t be responsible for that. Some had been away from England for more than three years. The whole of the war! William, they were heroes. Those mistakes need to stay at the bottom of the ocean.”

He exhaled a long sigh, then reached out to touch her upper arm. The invitation was subtle, just as subtle as his slight nod—the admission she was right. Catrin almost smiled as she returned to his arms. He would always be that way. Boisterous and arrogant in all things business, where his brash style and dockworker’s fists kept the world from crashing around him. But when it came to his emotions, he kept them safe and tight. Little movements. Little concessions. The man’s pride was bigger than he was. Maybe even bigger than his ambition.

“I was on deck when the mast broke.” She needed to finish her tale, there, while he still held her. Otherwise the memories would drive her mad, clawing and scratching to escape. “I think now standing there saved my life. Had I been in the hold with the men, I would’ve tried to help. No way of knowing when it was too late.

“There on deck, I was tossed by the wind and the spray. I don’t know how many minutes passed, but I was thrown overboard, a few hundred yards distant. I’ve never been that near to death, William, even in battle. Just sucking in gulps of water. A chunk of wood hit my head as I surfaced, so dizzy. It was a piece of the mast, about four feet long. I clung to it, then watched as the ship buckled, turned in on itself, and split in two. The waves devoured it.”

He wiped tears from her cheeks. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Another flash of embarrassment covered her skin, but he only tucked her closer.

“Soon I found more wood. A larger piece. The storm scattered everything. I was thankful, because a dead calm would have meant floating with the bodies . . .”

“Catrin—”

“Days! Oh, God, how was I out there for days? How is it I’m even here? It’s not just, William! I’m the only one left! All alone with this secret!”

The cheeks he smoothed were covered in tears as she sobbed. Every mournful moment alone, every nightmare she had kept close and quiet came bubbling out of her like a vicious hot spring. She balled her fists and pummeled the granite wall of his chest. So hurt. So frustrated and wretched.

William remained her rock.

“Enough now. Enough, my darling. You’re not alone anymore.”

He gathered her fists and kissed each one. Implacable arms eased her frantic outburst. He guided her hands to his neck, urging her to cling. She did with all her strength, nearly as close as they had been in his office. Only now, comfort and safety had replaced their passion. The carriage moved. Even the world moved. But he held still so that she had a place to cry.

The fire in her chest burned until she was weak with exhaustion. The back of her neck ached. Her limbs trembled. And yet for the first time in the months since the HMS
Honoria
had slipped into its watery grave, she felt quieter. Her mind did not shout so loudly. Her heart did not thunder as if she still battled the ocean.

She had survived.

Catrin lifted her face. She knew she must have passed the worst because she was suddenly aware of how she must appear: a tear-streaked witch instead of the beautiful woman she wanted to be for William Christie. Yet his intensity had not wavered. Although he eyed the rest of the humanity with roving suspicion, he looked upon her with a clarity of vision that was nearly alarming.

Nearly. Because for the most part, when William watched her that way, she wanted more.

The carriage slowed, then jerked to a soft stop. He kissed her cheeks. Her heart flew apart at that tenderness from such a gruff man. “We’ve arrived. But I’ll take you to Lady Julia’s, if you want. Or even back to your family in Wales.”

Catrin leaned her cheek into his hand. He inhaled through his nostrils, appearing the perfect balance of animal and gentleman. Rough and tender. Rugged, yet willing to wipe away her tears. After sharing such an intimate confession, she set aside any lingering question as to what William would do with her secret.

“No, I’m going home with you.”