Dangerous to Hold (19 page)

Catherine said, “David has invited us to visit him in Ireland. Isn’t that kind of him?”

Marcus answered curtly. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible at present. There’s too much that needs to be done at Wrotham.”

“Then,” said Catherine, addressing David, “you must visit us.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, smiling up at her. “I’m holding Marcus to his promise. Unless, of course, you were joking with me, Marcus, about giving me a better bargain than Penn.”

“Oh, Marcus would never go back on a promise,” said Tristram.

At the side table, Marcus was pouring himself a glass of sherry, and his temper was not improved when he discovered there was hardly enough sherry left in the decanter to half fill his glass. He looked at Tristram. “Didn’t we decide when we last spoke that you were going to concentrate on your studies so that you can return to university at half term?”

“Oh, but I have. I do.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“I am paying my respects to Catalina.”

“Marcus, how can you be so severe?” said Catherine, bestowing a brilliant smile on Tristram. “Who could be bothered with Latin and Greek on such a beautiful day!”

“This is a family matter, Cat,” Marcus snapped. “I’d advise you not to interfere.”

The amusement vanished from David’s face. Tristram threw Marcus a look of reproach, and Catherine looked daggers at him.

Regretting his outburst, Marcus said, “Why don’t we
all go down to Wrotham together—tomorrow or the next day? And Tristram is right, David. I always keep my promisees. I’d be happy to show you our stock.”

In spite of Marcus’s attempt to make amends, conversation became awkward, and David and Tristram soon rose to leave. Marcus repeated his invitation, and it was agreed that they would all travel to Wrotham together the following morning.

There was a long silence after their departure. Then Marcus said, “Didn’t you think how I would feel when I returned to the modiste—only to find you gone?”

“Hah! You should have thought of that when you took off with that woman. I’m not a parcel you can leave and pick up at your convenience.”

“I left you where I knew you would be safe. I left footmen and coachmen to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“From
El Grande.
In fact, I saw him out the coach window. I tried to chase him down, but I lost him.”

The paralyzing tension that gripped her mind eased. “You saw
El Grande
and lost him? When? Where?”

Marcus told her what had happened, ending with, “So now you know what kind of danger you were in. And I would like to know,” he went on sharply, “why you were entertaining guests against my express orders.”

“David and Tristram are hardly guests. They are family. How could I turn them away?”

She had a point, which infuriated him even more. “And was it necessary to conduct yourself like Haymarket ware?”

She showed him her teeth. “Would you care to explain that remark?”

“Batting your eyelashes. Swaying your hips. Dazzling poor Tristram with your smiles. Anyone can see he’s besotted with you. Does that please you? Well, it doesn’t please me. You were making a spectacle of yourself. I don’t expect my wife to act like a loose woman.”

“I was only doing what you told me to do! You told me to think myself into the part of the
incomparable
Catalina. Didn’t I do it right?”

His hands clenched. “That was only a game we were playing. I was only teasing you.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t amused.” She examined her manicure. “Actually, I thought it was David who was taken with me. And you say Tristram is too?”

It was the last straw. When he reached for her, he thought he was going to shake some sense into her. He was as surprised as she when he grabbed her in a bear hug and took her lips in a voracious kiss.

She didn’t struggle, didn’t try to fight him off. She was going to show her utter contempt for him by offering a passive resistance. And she would have resisted him forever if a wave of pleasure had not taken her unawares.

Marcus soon sensed that she wasn’t resisting him and the fierce pressure of his arms eased; his lips softened; he began to taste and tease. His lips moved to her eyelids, her throat, her chin, then returned to her mouth. At his urging, she opened her lips to him, and he entered her. Soft. Moist. Pliant. When he kissed her, his little spitfire became putty in his hands.

He pulled back his head to get a better look at her. In a low, husky voice, he said, “Cat, tell me what you are feeling.”

Confused. Dazed. Worried. Those hands, those clever hands were brushing with tantalizing slowness from her waist to the swell of her breasts. Breathing was becoming difficult. Her skin was so sensitive that her clothes hurt. She moved restlessly in his arms. “I feel … dizzy.” She moaned, and clutched at his shoulders as the room began to spin. “What … ?”

She was swept up then set down on the sofa in front of the grate. Marcus eased down beside her and gathered her close. She made a feeble attempt to rise but he forestalled her.

“Feel what you do to me,” he said, and eyes holding hers, he slowly unbuttoned the front of his shirt and placed her hand on his chest.

The beat of his heart against her hand made her own pulse leap in response. Warm masculine flesh tensed beneath the pads of her fingers. She began to tremble as need rose in her.

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be doing this.
You
shouldn’t let me.” She sucked in a sharp breath as his hand closed over her breast.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I just want to kiss you, hold you, touch you. Don’t you like what I do to you?”

Her neck felt boneless and her head lolled in the crook of his arm. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I can’t think when you touch me like this.”

She gasped when he kissed her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown. He began to work at the buttons on her bodice and when she tried to stop him he kissed her again. She was giving in to him. He could feel her surrender all through his body, and his blood began to pound.

Unrestrained now, he pressed her back among the cushions and he stretched out beside her. His hands moved on her, calmly, deliberately, taking an intimate impression of the softly flaring hips, the supple waist. When he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples and she jerked, he soothed her with kisses, but he didn’t stop what he was doing.

She whimpered when he slipped one hand under the hem of her gown and began to brush along the inside of her leg.

“Easy,” he said. “Easy.”

He waited a moment to give her time to become accustomed to his touch, then he parted her knees. She made no move to stop him, and he gritted his teeth as his control began to slip. He slid his hand higher and into the opening of her drawers. His fingers found her and stroked the entrance to her body, then slipped inside. She was panting softly. His breathing was strident. She was ready for him, and he was so hard he ached with it.

Catherine couldn’t keep pace with what was happening to her. All her senses were focused on the brush of his lips, the touch of his hands. She wanted … she didn’t know what she wanted.

“Marcus, oh Marcus,” she said, pleading with him.

“It’s all right,” he said, hardly knowing what he was saying. “I’ll take care of everything, even if Catalina never agrees to divorce me.”

Her voice was thick in her throat. “What are you saying?”

“I’ll always take care of you no matter what.”

Catherine’s scattered thoughts suddenly snapped together. He couldn’t be suggesting what she thought he was suggesting. “How will you take care of me?”

“I’ll set you up in your own little house.”

“As your mistress?”

“It’s the only way for us.”

The wallop took him completely off guard, and for the second time that afternoon, his teeth jarred together. Shock held them both immobile; then, with a gasping cry, Catherine pushed out of his arms and scrambled to her feet. She lost no time in buttoning and straightening her disheveled clothing. This done, she rounded on him, and, hands on hips, bosom heaving, glared down at him. Marcus would have roared in frustrated desire if he’d been able to unclench his teeth. Hands cupping his sore jaw, he glared back at her.

“What the hell was that for?” he demanded through his teeth.

Her eyes sizzled. She couldn’t credit how close she had come to disaster yet again. Her body ached for him, burned for him, yearned for him, and this in spite of her knowing who and what he was.

Mistress.
That one little word had brought her to her senses. He was married to Catalina, or he thought he was, but that didn’t stop him trying to seduce another woman. She was a female and it was enough, A passing fancy, that’s all she was to him, a potential mistress.

“Well?” demanded Marcus.

“I don’t take up with married men.”

“Dammit, Cat, I don’t fee! married. I haven’t seen my wife for three years.”

“That’s irrelevant! I am a respectable woman. If you ruin me, no man will have me.”

His face set in stubborn lines. “I would have you.”

“Indeed?” Her nostrils quivered. “As you had Julia Bryce?”

“No, dammit. She’s not in the same class as you. I don’t think of you in that way.”

She said frigidly, “Wasn’t she a virtuous girl once?”

“She chose her way in life, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you lay her sins at my door. Women like Julia sell their favors for money, Cat. You are too inexperienced to understand.”

When he rose, she took a quick step back.

“Cat—”

“Don’t!” If he touched her now, she would fight him. Tears gathered, not for herself but for Amy. So this was how he had seduced her sister. Poor Amy hadn’t stood a chance. Just thinking about Amy and Marcus together in that way made her cringe. It was a pity that she hadn’t remembered before she let him kiss her.

“Decide,” she said, “right now, whether or not we are to go on with this. I won’t play the part of Catalina unless you swear to me that you won’t try to seduce me. I mean it, Marcus.”

“You think that was a seduction? If that’s the case, I’d like to know who was doing the seducing.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “You were as hot as I was.”

She ignored the taunt. “That’s not all.”

“Oh?” His eyes narrowed on her.

“I’m supposed to be your wife. You said that we’re supposed to give the impression that ours was an impetuous love match.”

“I did. What of it?”

“Only this. I won’t be humiliated by a husband who takes up with other women. I won’t have people laughing at me, Marcus, or pitying me, even if I am only playing a part.”

“I see,” he said. “I can’t have you, and I can’t have other women. Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“How long do you expect me to remain a monk, Cat?”

“How long do you expect me to play the part of your wife?”

Not another word was spoken, but she saw that he had taken her point, and she left the room.

•  •  •

Marcus drove the coach with a reckless disregard for the lashing rain or the gathering dusk. Beside him, his coachman shriveled into his sodden greatcoat. Marcus knew what James was thinking. He thought that his master had been tipping the brandy bottle after a lover’s tiff with his wife. It’s what all the servants thought. No sober gentleman would drive out on a wild night like this just for the pleasure of it, and they would be right, up to a point. It would never occur to them that this wild drive to Hampstead was a distraction, something to relieve the agonies of unsated desire. Only by pitting himself against the elements could he find a release of sorts.

Catherine.
He couldn’t believe how mistaken he’d been in her. He’d thought that behind the ladylike facade she was courageous and daring. He’d thought she’d had a sense of adventure. What other kind of person would agree to help him entrap his wife and
El Grande?
He didn’t know what to make of her. But one thing was clear: she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Damn the woman! What was it about her that he found so appealing?

He tried to bring Catalina’s face into focus, but he found that he couldn’t do it. His real wife was becoming more and more of a shadowy figure. It was Catherine who was responsible for that. Whenever he tried to think of Catalina, it was Cat’s face he saw, Cat’s way of moving, speaking, looking at him. His wife’s memory was fading into oblivion.

He cracked the whip and sent the team of chestnuts careering down a hill. James closed his eyes and prepared to meet his Maker.

They stopped for the night at the Falcon in Stratford-upon-Avon, twelve miles from Wrotham. The following morning, when they started on the last leg of their journey, Tristram and David decided to ride on to Wrotham, just to exercise their horses. That was, at least, what they told Marcus and Catherine. In private, they candidly admitted they’d had enough of being cooped up with a married couple who were barley on speaking terms.

Catherine was sorry to see them go. Now that she and Marcus were alone in the coach, their long silences would become more noticeable. The next twelve miles were going to be the longest twelve miles in her life. Marcus had brought a book with him and had become engrossed in it before they’d even left Stratford behind. She had only her thoughts for company.