More Than Charming (18 page)

“The sky looks forbidding,” Chester said. “I hope the weather holds.”

“Yes,” Constance agreed. “We hadn’t planned on staying on after the service.”

“We won’t be staying,” James said curtly.

Catherine blinked in surprise at his tone. James saw her reaction and tempered his next words.

“I have no desire to reside under that man’s roof for one moment longer than necessary. Grieving widower or no, we won’t be staying.”

They arrived at Waltham Manor just past noon. The main house was quite large and grand, if in need of a few repairs. Leaving the carriage with the many others lining the stone drive, they alighted and climbed the wide steps to the entrance. A large wreath of black adorned the front door. Chester rapped loudly with the knocker and a liveried servant pulled the door open wide.

The servant bowed low and gave the mourners the requisite black gloves to wear. As Catherine slowly pulled on hers, James didn’t miss her shiver. They went into the parlor.

James knew a funeral was an important social event, with every propriety observed. Apparently, Lady Waltham’s would prove no exception. After assembling with the other mourners, Catherine and James filed out to follow the hearse to the family graveyard. The service was over quickly, the tolling of the bells for the death knell reverberating through the chilly air.

“I can’t get Lady Joan’s odd demeanor out of my mind, James,” she whispered as they returned to the house.

He nodded and patted her hand at the crook of his elbow.

“She’d seemed ill, but not gravely so. And . . .”

“And what?” James asked softly.

“She looked frightened.”

Her words brought Chester’s comments to his mind. Did Waltham have a hand in his wife’s death?

When they returned to the house, it was required that they pay their respects to Joan’s surviving relations. James had heard that Joan lost her parents a year ago, thus coming into the generous fortune that had undoubtedly added to her attractiveness. All that remained of her family was an elderly aunt and three cousins much older than Joan had been. James led Catherine over to them, his ease with such formal matters taking over.

He took the aunt’s hand in his and pressed it firmly. “We’re terribly sorry for your loss, madam,” he said with a bow.

The elderly matron smiled wanly, inclining her head to accept Catherine’s condolences, as well. After greeting the cousins likewise, he and Catherine continued down the line. James came to a stop in front of Waltham. The widower caught the motion and gazed at Catherine. Lust was clear in Waltham’s eyes. He stared at her as a starving man would contemplate a succulent roast.

“Catherine,” Waltham said, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I’m ever so grateful that you came.”

James took a deep breath to calm his ire. He stood ramrod stiff, his hands in fists at his side as he waited for what seemed like forever for Waltham to release her.

“I’m so sorry, Thomas,” Catherine said softly.

James arched a brow at her use of the man’s first name.

“My heart is heavy, Catherine.” Waltham held her away from him, keeping his hands on her arms. “But the burden is lighter with you here.”

It was all James could do not to grab the man by the neck and throttle him right there. He cleared his throat, demanding Waltham acknowledge his presence.

The grieving widower did at last, nodding his fair head. “Thank you for coming, Roberts.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Waltham,” James said, his propriety reasserting itself. “Lady Joan will be sorely missed.”

Waltham managed a weak smile and nodded in agreement. With obvious regret, he finally released Catherine and watched as James led her over to the refreshments. James didn’t miss the gleam in his eye mere moments before that morose expression once more covered his face.

James fumed as he thought of Waltham placing his hands on Catherine yet again.

Catherine accepted a cup of tea from him, regarding him closely. “Funerals are so difficult, aren’t they, James? Is that what is troubling you?”

“What?” he said absently. “No, it isn’t that precisely.”

“Then what has you in such a state?”

James shrugged and shook his head. He was quite furious with Waltham’s familiarity with her but could acknowledge, at least to himself, that something else was troubling him, as well. What the devil was ailing him?

The undertaker had provided “mutes” for the occasion, the silent professional mourners lending dignity to the affair. James balked at their presence. Apparently, Waltham wished to give the appearance of great sorrow. Perhaps the man wasn’t as upset at his young wife’s passing as he professed.

Before he could make mention of it to Catherine, Constance drew her attention away from him. The woman gestured, bidding her to join her on the settee. Catherine looked at James in question, at which he nodded. He watched as she made her way over to join Constance. He thought once more of her easy use of the widower’s first name.

“Just what’s troubling you, Roberts?” Chester asked, drawing him from his reverie.

“Hmm?” James answered, turning quickly to his friend. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Chester eyed him closely. “You looked quite furious just then, friend.”

James shook his head. “I’ll be pleased when we’re well away from here, Chester.”

Chester opened his mouth to make a comment about that, but was stilled as James frowned in Catherine’s direction. He followed James’s line of vision, his brown eyes widening as they watched Waltham settle himself between Constance and Catherine. Two other ladies joined them, sitting themselves across from the threesome.

“Just what is that scoundrel about?” Chester asked.

James snorted in disgust. “He’s playing the role of grieving widower to the hilt, damn him to hell,” he muttered.

Waltham, a bereaved look fixed on his face, welcomed the attention from the young women surrounding him.

“I can’t believe she’s gone, Waltham,” Constance said, placing her hand on his.

“Nor can I,” he said, giving a very convincing sniffle.

“She was so kind,” one of the other women, Diane Plymouth, offered.

Catherine nodded her agreement at that. “Joan didn’t have an unkind bone in her body.”

Waltham turned to face her fully. “Catherine, I’m doubly glad you came today. I desperately wished to speak to you.”

“To me?” Catherine asked. “But, Thomas, why would you need to speak to me?”

Waltham bent his head to Catherine’s, but James couldn’t make out his words. As he watched Catherine inclined her head in agreement, Diane gently patted Waltham’s hand before rising to her feet. She and her companion stood and left them, walking in the direction of Joan’s elderly aunt. Constance, imparting a look of confusion on Catherine, took her leave, as well.

She joined her husband and James at the refreshment table.

“What the devil was that, Constance?” James asked her pointedly.

Constance gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. Waltham said he needed to speak with Catherine.”

“What?”

He made a motion to go to them, but Chester’s hand on his arm stilled him. “Roberts, you don’t believe he’d try anything here with all of these mourners present, do you?”

James’s stomach churned, but he had to acknowledge the wisdom of Chester’s words. He contented himself to watch the scoundrel, seeking to decipher the blackguard’s words from where he stood.

*     *     *

“Oh, Catherine,” Waltham said, taking her hands in his. “I’m so sorry for all that happened at Chesterfield.”

Catherine blinked in surprise. “Thomas, what are you—?”

His sudden grin stopped her in mid-sentence. He recovered himself, the dour, grieving look settling upon his features once more. “It pleases me to hear you say my name, Catherine.”

She gave a small nod, accepting his words in the manner in which they were spoken. She glanced down at her hands.

“You please me, Catherine,” he whispered.

Her head shot up. “What?” she asked, perplexed.

Waltham cocked his head to the side. “Even dressed in mourning, you look delectable.”

Catherine’s mouth dropped open.

“Forgive me,” he said, his tone contrite. “I should never have made such comments to you. Now, or before, at Chesterfield. I suppose I was distraught.”

She looked at him closely. He certainly hadn’t seemed distraught. No, his pale eyes had glinted with lust then. “But when you—”

“Shh,” he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “I was upset over Joan’s illness and spoke out of turn.”

Catherine pulled back at the contact, so Waltham contented himself with placing his hand on her arm.

“I never meant to upset you, Catherine,” he said fervently. “I pray Roberts hasn’t made it difficult for you.”

“He hasn’t,” she allowed.

“Oh, Catherine,” Waltham said, letting out a heavy sigh. “How I wish we could go back in time, love. To last year.”

She shook her head. “No, Thomas. I am a happily married woman now. That’s in the past, and we can’t change that.”

James stepped closer, apparently just in time to hear the last bit of their conversation.

“And just what is it you would like to change, Catherine?” he asked.

“James!” she said, startled.

He gently grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. “We must leave, wife, if we’re to beat the foul weather that threatens.”

Waltham stood up beside her. “You’re not staying?”

James favored him with a dark look that chilled Catherine. It cleared as a grim smile curved his lips. “No,” he said. “But we thank you for your generous offer of hospitality.”

Before Catherine knew what he was about, Waltham embraced her once more. “Thank you so much for coming, Catherine love.”

Catherine was stiff in his embrace. She patted his shoulder and pulled back. “Do take care of yourself, Thomas.”

With a curt nod to Waltham, James led her from the room and strode quickly to the foyer.

Catherine took the cloak he unceremoniously thrust into her arms. “James, what—?”

“We’re leaving, Catherine,” he said, his words clipped. “Now.”

He went outside to call for the carriage as Catherine waited for Constance and Chester to join her. Their expressions of bemusement mirrored her own feelings. What ailed James?

The return trip to Bradford Hall was a near-silent one, with James speaking nary a word. Catherine finally ceased trying to draw him into a conversation and stared out the window at the darkening sky.

By the time they arrived at the hall, well toward the dinner hour, an icy rain had begun to fall. Lord and Lady Chester were shown to their room and Catherine watched them ascend the grand staircase with a touch of regret. Without their company at the moment, she’d have to suffer James’s very odd behavior on her own. She sighed and turned to face him, startled to find him eyeing her speculatively.

“Go upstairs and change,” he tersely instructed. “I’ll order you a bath.”

“A bath?” she asked. “At this hour?”

James pulled her close, causing her breath to catch in her throat. “I want any trace of that man’s hands washed from your body, Catherine,” he said, his mouth a breath away from hers.

Catherine lifted her lips to his, stunned when he abruptly set her away from him.

“Go.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Now.”

Catherine stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. His back was ramrod straight, his manner brusque. Shaking her head, she turned and climbed the stairs.

Catherine finished quickly with her bath and stepped out of the tub, covering herself with her wrapper. James’s strange behavior was still on her mind, his very odd request for her to bathe still quite baffling to her. She heard the door to their chamber open and turned, surprised to find James there and not her lady’s maid. The dark scowl he’d worn for the past few hours was once more evident. She turned toward her dressing room, anxious to bring some normalcy to the evening. Perhaps when they joined their friends downstairs for dinner, James would once more regain his good humor.

“Hello, James,” she said with a small smile. “It’ll take me a few moments to ready for dinner.”

James said nothing as he removed his jacket and waistcoat. Catherine reached the dressing room, but his voice called her back.

“Come here,” he said softly.

Catherine blinked and did as he bade her. Her heart pounded as she noted the change in his demeanor. His scowl was a memory, replaced by a look that was blatantly carnal. She stopped in front of him and stared up into his face, her breath catching at the hot glare in his beautiful silver eyes. As if from far away, she watched herself untie his cravat, pulling the black silk from his neck.

He gently grasped her chin and tilted her head up to him. “Catherine,” he murmured, brushing her lips with his. “You’re mine.”

She could smell the brandy on his breath, mingling with the scent that was wholly male and completely James. “Yes, James.” She sighed into his mouth.

James crushed her to him, sealing her mouth with his. Catherine moaned softly and pressed herself against him. He groaned and held her away from him. She opened her eyes in surprise, then smiled as she watched him fumble with the buttons of his shirt. She took over the task and let the garment fall to the floor, running her hands lovingly over his broad chest.

“James.” She sighed. “You’re mine.”

She placed kisses on his chest, his stomach, coming to her knees in front of him. She caressed him through his tight breeches, making him shudder. She unbuttoned his pants and reached inside to stroke him.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he said in a near-groan. “Ah, God . . .”

She kissed and stroked him, letting her tongue caress him. When she took him fully into her mouth, he groaned again, loud and low. He quickly grabbed her and pulled her up to him, his hands cupping her bottom and pressing her tightly to him. Catherine gasped as she felt his burning heat through her thin wrapper, the strength of his arousal branding her.

“Can you feel how much I want you, love?” he rasped. “I want you now.”