More Than Charming (16 page)

Her fingers curled in the hairs on his chest. “James, please . . .”

James couldn’t hold his control much longer. He had to be inside of her. He placed his hands on her hips and gently lifted her.

“Lean back, sweetheart,” he rasped.

Catherine did as he asked. She gasped as he entered her completely. Over and over again he drove up into her, his eyes closed tight. She soon caught his rhythm. Her body bowed back as she neared her release. James felt her tremors, knew she was close. His thrusts became deeper, touching her very core.

She sobbed as her climax took her and he opened his eyes to watch her in her pleasure. He came in the next moment, letting out a shout as he exploded inside of her.

She collapsed against him, her breath coming fast. He felt her tears on his chest and lifted his head.

“Shh, love,” he soothed, stroking her back. “Shh . . .”

“Tell me I pleased you, James.” She sniffled and rubbed her cheek against him. “Tell me.”

“Pleased me?” James asked, his voice rough. “My God, Catherine. You very nearly killed me.”

She smiled shakily at that and rolled off him, turning away to cuddle into her pillow. James puzzled over her actions. She always lay in his arms afterward, her fingers gently caressing his chest as sleep claimed them.

“Catherine?” He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she didn’t move.

She was silent for a long while. “Yes?” she finally answered.

“Come here,” he gently instructed.

She shook her head. “James, you don’t have to—”

He hauled her to his side and cradled her in a tight embrace. “You’re my wife.” He dropped a kiss on her brow. “You belong here. In my arms.”

Catherine sighed and cuddled against him. James echoed her sentiment and placed his hand over hers where it rested on his chest. Her earlier words came back to him.

“Why would you think I don’t care for you?” he asked.

She stiffened. “It doesn’t signify.”

“Doesn’t signify?” James repeated. “How can you say that?”

Catherine said nothing, feigning sleep. James sensed her reticence and let the matter drop for the time being. He vowed to get to the bottom of matters in the morning.

She thought he didn’t care for her? My God, she was everything to him.

As he drifted off to sleep, a thought teased at the edge of his mind. Did he love her?

Catherine was the first to awaken the next morning. Her dreams had been strange, her sleep troubled. All of what Waltham had said came back to her. Although Waltham was the last person she’d look to for the truth, he had boldly stated that James didn’t love her as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and if he had noticed then everyone must know the same. How could she face the assembled guests today? Her brother and sister-in-law. Her host and hostess! Her marriage wasn’t of the same caliber as theirs.

Thoughts of last evening intruded, when James had found her in their guest chamber. How would she face him when he awoke? She’d thrown herself at him, begged him to take her. To love her! She let out a sob, causing James to shift in the bed beside her.

“Morning, love,” he said, stretching his big frame.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

James must have sensed something in her tone, for he opened his eyes and regarded her closely. “Catherine, are you still upset with me?”

She shook her head at him. “I was never upset with you, James. I was upset over my own foolishness.”

He sat up, causing her to draw away from him. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, holding it close to his chest. “And can you explain this ‘foolishness’ of yours?”

She ignored the beat of his heart, the heat from his skin, and withdrew her hand. “No I cannot.”

James pulled back at her conviction. She watched as his silver eyes began to glitter. “Catherine, last night was—”

“Don’t speak of it!” she said, covering her ears.

James pulled her hands away from her ears and stroked her cheek. “Sweetheart, you pleased me greatly. You’re not embarrassed by what we shared, are you?”

Catherine briefly thought to lie, to say that, yes, she was embarrassed. But pleasing him had given her more pleasure than she could have imagined. It seemed to her that her foolishness of the past evening was to accompany her into the new day.

“No, James. I’m not embarrassed. I’m just sorry.”

“Sorry?” He arched a dark brow. “Whatever for?”

She buried her face in her hands. “I begged you to make love to me. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

He was quiet for a moment then threw his head back and laughed, tears coming to his eyes. “My God, Catherine,” he said, getting control of his laughter. “You just look at me and I want to make love to you.”

She blinked at him. “Truly?”

“God, yes.”

“Then you’re not angry?”

“Your boldness pleased me. Surely you could tell?”

Catherine shrugged as he embraced her. He gently stroked her hair, whispering sweet words in her ear, and Catherine fancied she could hear a touch of affection in his voice.

“James, I realize that you care for me.”

“You’re the most important person in the world to me.”

She pulled back to gaze at him.

He cupped her face in his hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “Catherine,” he whispered. “What I feel for you . . . That is, I . . .”

Say the words, James.
Catherine held her breath.
Say the words!

But he said nothing more. She lowered her lashes, sighing softly. After several moments of awkward silence, she moved out of his embrace, picked up her nightgown from the end of the bed, and turned her back to him.

Catherine used the brief time away from his gaze to rein in her emotions. He didn’t love her. She wouldn’t profess her feelings. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

She squared her shoulders and turned to face him, a bright smile fixed on her face. “We don’t have to talk of feelings and emotions, James,” she said, amazed at the steadiness of her voice.

“Catherine, I—” he began, making a move toward her.

She held up her hand to stop him. “We’re fond of each other,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a gesture of nonchalance. “We get along well. Why should we fret over such matters as emotions?”

He watched her, his eyes wide with what, relief?

“I’ve got to get dressed,” she said lightly.

Only after she’d breezed into the dressing room and quietly closed the door did she lean against the wood panel and let out a ragged breath. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

James sat in the bed for a long moment. He felt immense relief over what she’d said. And disappointment, as well. He hadn’t seen any indication that she didn’t mean precisely what she’d said. But only last night, as he was falling asleep, he was filled with the certainty of his feelings for her.

He admired her. He was fond of her. He wanted her like no other. He wished to keep her safe from heartless gossip and scoundrels like Waltham. He could love her. But with her dismissal of such feelings in the light of day, he was once more unsure. He knew nothing of love, that was certain.

With a sigh, he rose to ready himself for the day.

When Catherine emerged from the dressing room, she once more wore a smile on her face. She’d chosen a lovely day dress of light blue, the color of the winter sky.

He smiled at the pleasing picture she made and crossed to her. “Catherine, I thought to stay here with you today.”

She stiffened, then went to the vanity and settled herself before the mirror. “I thought you were going hunting this morning, James.”

He watched her, unsure. If he did join the others for a hunt, he could keep his mind occupied and put aside their halted exchange of the morning. Coward.

He shrugged. “I suppose I can catch up with them.”

The relief on her face was clear. She was obviously not as comfortable as she professed. Pleased to put the matter aside, he kissed her lightly and took himself into the dressing room to don his hunting clothes.

*     *     *

Catherine went down to the breakfast room. Michelle and Elizabeth were seated there, plates of eggs and ham and sweet rolls in front of them.

“Good morning, Catherine,” Michelle said with a smile.

Catherine nodded and crossed to the sideboard to serve herself some of the delicious fare. She sat down as Constance joined them.

“Good morning, all,” Constance said. “Catherine, were you ill last evening?”

Michelle and Elizabeth looked at Catherine with concern. Catherine smiled shakily.

“You didn’t feel well?” Elizabeth asked her.

Catherine shrugged and concentrated on pouring herself a cup of tea. “I had a bit of a headache, is all.”

Constance breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.” She set her plate down and joined them at the table. “I was worried you caught whatever is ailing Joan.”

Catherine blinked. “Is Joan ill?”

Constance nodded. “She has terrible pains in her stomach. And last evening, she was frightfully pale.”

Catherine had taken note of Joan’s pallor, as well. And when she’d spoken of Waltham, Catherine thought she saw fear in the woman’s eyes, as well. What was going on?

“Waltham told me she has frequent bouts of stomach problems,” Constance said. “But I recall no such thing.”

Catherine thought for a moment. Hmm. Maybe she should attempt another conversation with the woman while the men were out.

“Catherine,” Michelle began, drawing her attention. “I trust Roberts caught up with you last evening?”

“What?” Catherine asked.

“After his, um, discussion with Waltham, he was most anxious to find you,” Michelle elaborated.

Catherine closed her eyes in shame. What an embarrassment for a man like James to withstand. She opened her eyes and found the other ladies looking at her with open curiosity.

“I . . . Yes, Michelle. James found me,” she said. “I went up to our guest room to rest. My head was fairly pounding.”

Elizabeth gave a vigorous nod of her head. “I told Michelle that your running off had nothing whatsoever to do with that worm Waltham.”

Catherine gasped. This was just too much! She pushed her plate away from herself and stood. “If you’ll excuse me. I just remembered that there is a matter that requires my attention.”

Upstairs, Catherine walked purposefully toward their guestroom. A tall figure in her path blocked her progress.

“Waltham!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Shh,” Waltham urged. “We don’t want anyone to find us together now, do we, love?”

She shook her head. “Waltham, what are you doing?”

He opened the door to her room and urged her inside.

“Waltham!”

He closed the door and faced her. “Catherine, you look incredible.” He fixed a look of concern on his face. “I was very worried about you last evening.”

“Worried about me? Why?”

“Roberts was quite angry, love.” He stepped closer to her. “I was afraid he might do you harm.”

“James would never hurt me, Waltham.” She reached for the doorknob. “Now if you would please leave . . .”

Waltham raised his hand to his cheek. “Your husband had no qualms about hurting me without cause.”

Catherine gasped as she noticed the bruise there. “James did that?” she said, leaning toward him to get a better look.

Waltham grasped her tightly in his arms. “Catherine, how I want you.”

Catherine struggled in his embrace. “Let me go, Waltham.”

“Call me Thomas, love,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “We were very nearly married. You would now be mine if not for that twit I married.”

“What a horrid thing to say about your wife.” She shook her head and renewed her struggles.

Waltham finally released her, but only after letting his hands roam over her form. “God, love,” he said, his eyes on her bosom. “You’re absolutely delectable.”

“Waltham.” Catherine stepped back from him and tried a different tack. “Thomas, you must go.”

He gave a deliberate shake of his blond head. “I need you, Catherine,” he said, following her across the room. “Joan isn’t the woman for me.” His lip curled cruelly. “Such a simpering fool. She turns my stomach.”

“You shouldn’t be speaking to me so.” She was disgusted that he could say such cruel things about his own wife let alone behave so toward her. “Leave me, Thomas. Now.”

“Not until I show you what we can share,” he said, grabbing her once more.

He brought his lips to hers. Catherine turned at the last moment, evading his kiss as she heard the door to the chamber open.

“What the devil . . . Let go of her, you bastard!”

Thank God!
She breathed a sigh of relief that her husband walked in.

Waltham immediately stepped back. “Roberts,” he said smoothly. “Catherine was upset. I was merely offering her comfort.”

James swung his gaze to Catherine then looked back at Waltham, a fierce scowl on his face.

“Get the hell out of our room, Waltham,” he said through clenched teeth. “Get out, or so help me I’ll throw you out that window.”

Waltham bowed graciously to Catherine and beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind him.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” James muttered, his eyes on the door.

Catherine finally found her voice. “What are you doing here, James?”

He turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean? This is our room, wife.”

“I thought you’d gone hunting.”

James’s scowl cleared. “No,” he said. “I was unable to catch up with the party, so I rode a bit before returning to the house.” He looked at her closely. “Were you sorry for the interruption?”

“No! Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, Catherine,” he said, stepping closer. “It seems I’m forever finding you alone with that scoundrel. And in our room, yet.”

Catherine gasped at what he was suggesting.

“James, you don’t think that I . . .” she sputtered. “That we . . .”

James let out a breath and raked his fingers through his hair. “No, no.” He shook his head. “Forgive me for saying that.”