More Than Charming (20 page)

James’s tasks finished, he returned to the stables, dismounted and handed the reins to one of the grooms. The glorious day left him feeling quite invigorated, the satisfying completion of his duties pleased him. He took quick strides toward the house, eager to see Catherine. Surprised to find her absent from the parlor, he mounted the grand staircase in search of her. Certain she was within, he entered their chamber.

“Catherine?” he called out, shrugging out of his jacket.

He walked through the sitting area. He opened his mouth to call out once more, but a note placed on her vanity caught his attention. He glanced at it absently, his eyes snapping back to it as the name of the sender jumped out at him. He picked up the letter and read the contents.

“Son-of-a . . .” he muttered. “Catherine!”

Catherine hurried out of the dressing room in alarm, clad in only her chemise and petticoat. “James, what are you yelling about?”

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, thrusting the offending letter in her face.

“Oh, that,” she said dismissively. “You had me worried that something was—”

“How long, Catherine?” he cut in.

She shook her head in confusion. “How long? I don’t know what you’re—”

“How long has this scoundrel been writing to you?”

She scowled at him. “James, that’s the first letter he’s ever sent me.”

James was confounded. He knew of Waltham’s desires where Catherine was concerned, and yet she’d never given him cause to doubt her faithfulness. Then again, just what had they been about those times he’d found them alone?

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why would Waltham think to renew his attentions toward you, Catherine?”

Her mouth gaped open at what he was intimating. “You can’t think that I’d ever encourage such attentions?”

He shrugged. “There must be a reason the bastard believes you’d be open to an arrangement.” His anger suddenly flared to full force. “Damn it to hell. You’re mine, and no one should even think to approach you.”

He brought his fist down on the vanity, hard. The delicate piece of furniture rocked on its slender legs, the drawers sliding open. James took a deep, calming breath and tried to rein in his anger. One look at the neatly tied bundle of letters nestled in the top drawer put any hope of that to an end. Flicking a glance in Catherine’s direction, he deftly plucked the stack of papers from their hiding place.

“What the hell . . . ? So, this is the first letter he sent you, is that right?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “Those others are—”

“I know what they are!” he raged. “I can’t believe you’d be so foolish as to save such damning evidence.”

Catherine shook her head in mute protest, her eyes filling with tears. James held the letters above his head, his eyes flying to the fire burning in the fireplace. He shot her another scorching glance and took quick strides toward the hearth.

She flew at him. “No, James!” she cried, grabbing hold of his arm with both of her hands. “You can’t!”

James froze, stunned by her vehemence. He lowered his arm and tossed the letters on the floor, defeated. They landed in a heap, the violet ribbon fluttering down to rest beside them.

Giving a yelp of dismay, Catherine fell to her knees and began to gather up the letters.

James watched her, a sharp pain settling in his heart. “Are the letters from your lover so important to you?”

“Yes,” she answered tearfully.

James combed his fingers through his hair, a ragged sigh escaping him. The proof of her betrayal cut him to the quick.

“You’ve cuckolded me,” he said in a low voice.

She stood at last, the beloved missives clutched tightly to her breast. She blew out a frustrated breath. “You’re being completely and utterly foolish,” she said, in an exasperated voice.

He fixed a steely glare at her. “I might be foolish, Catherine, but you’re a—”

“These are from you!” she cut in, holding the letters out to him.

James blinked in surprise and grabbed the letters from her hands. He thumbed through them, amazed. She was telling the truth. All of the letters were penned in his hand. Why, she’d even saved the note from Leed Manor! He turned to her. The warmth in her violet eyes seemed to confirm what the pile of letters in his hands suggested. Did she love him?

“Catherine,” he began, “if you saved all of these letters, then surely you—”

“Shh,” Catherine said quickly, placing her fingers over his lips.

He dropped the letters and drew her into the circle of his arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He stroked her hair. “I never should have doubted you.” He held her close, kissing her hair, her cheek. “Catherine,” he rasped. “What I feel for you . . .”

He said nothing more. He captured her lips with his, letting his gentle kiss tell her what he couldn’t put into words. Catherine melted against him, relishing the tenderness of their embrace as he did.

He quickly removed her underclothes, running his hands lovingly over her. He laid her on the bed and stripped off his own clothes, joining her on the big bed. There he cherished her, kissing every bit of her silken skin. When he entered her, she held tightly to him, her body arching as she reached her peak.

“I love you, James!” she cried out.

He held himself perfectly still for a moment. He finally let go, joining her in fulfillment. He leaned up on his elbows and tunneled his fingers through her hair. “Catherine,” he whispered reverently. “Catherine . . .”

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face from him, but James wouldn’t let her escape him.

“Did you mean what you said, Catherine?” He kissed her brow, her eyelids. “Do you?”

“No,” she insisted in a small voice.

James stared down at her. “Tell me the truth, sweetheart,” he gently commanded.

She opened her eyes, shiny with tears, to gaze up at him. “Yes, I meant what I said,” she sobbed. “I love you, James.”

James said nothing, his throat tight. Catherine obviously misinterpreted his silence.

“I’m sorry, James,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, darling. I’m pleased that you love me.”

She gave a small nod of acceptance and he rolled onto his side, taking her with him.

“I can scarcely believe you saved all of those letters.”

“They mean everything to me, James,” she admitted shyly.

He turned to her. “Because you love me?” he asked, still unsure.

“I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t love you,” she admitted.

That night, after Catherine had fallen asleep in his arms, James lay wide-awake in their bed. She loved him! A silly grin split his face. Her simple declaration made him feel as though he were invincible. But did he love her in return? He was still so unsure, so unwilling to return her sentiments. He’d thought himself in love with Becca, and had been quite mistaken. Physical love he knew much about, having bedded many a wench in his time. But his wife’s response to him . . .

Why hadn’t he realized she loved him? No untried girl could give herself to a man the way she did and not give her heart, as well. He’d have to ascertain his own feelings sometime soon. He dropped a kiss on his wife’s tousled head.

But not tonight.

*     *     *

The day soon arrived to travel to Leed Manor for the long Christmas holiday. Michelle had written to Catherine that the family planned to celebrate together on the night before Christmas. The other guests were to arrive on Christmas Day for the ball to be held that evening. The trip to the manor was not a long one, which was a relief since the weather had turned decidedly colder in the past several weeks. Sharing the carriage with the Earl of Bradford, the couple sat as close together as was proper.

“I daresay this promises to be a most pleasant holiday, James,” the earl said with a grin. “’Tis a pity about the dreadful weather.”

“I’m well aware you had entertained notions of the hunt, Father,” James said. “But given your health, you really shouldn’t have given thought to—”

“Bother my health. I feel quite well, thank you very much.”

Catherine watched the two men as they conversed. James looked very much like his father, who no doubt had been quite handsome and dashing in his day. His lingering illness had aged him beyond his years, but today’s happy grin and easy laughter lent him a more youthful countenance.

She looked forward to spending the holiday with her family, and with her little niece. She’d seen very little of Rose since the wedding and was eager to give the child the presents they’d chosen for her. Catherine glanced over at James once more, her head tilted to one side as she pondered his very handsome visage.

What would their children look like? That question brought her up short. James had yet to tell her of his feelings, despite his easy acceptance of her love. Should she even entertain the notion of having children with a man who didn’t love her?

But she loved him, beyond what she’d ever dreamed possible. She’d happily bear his children. And perhaps his love for their offspring would extend to her eventually. How pitiful. Catherine let out a sigh. 

“What is it, love?” James asked.

Catherine shook her head and smiled. “I was thinking about Rose,” she told him, a half-truth. “I do hope she likes the doll we brought her.”

“She’ll adore it, no doubt. Any gift from her favorite aunt would surely please the little mite.” After glancing at his father to be certain the man wasn’t listening, James leaned closer. “I can only hope she enjoys it half as much as my wife did her present.”

Catherine’s fingers went to the exquisite amethyst pendant James had gifted her with the previous evening. She could feel the jewel through the thickness of her cloak. Suspended by a thin gold chain, the jewel was pear-shaped, large and flawless. James had told her that the stone was nearly the color of her eyes when they darkened with passion. When he’d fastened it around her neck the previous evening, the pendant resting at the swell of her breast, he’d placed teasing kisses on the back of her neck. She blushed hotly as she recalled the loving that came afterward. He’d insisted she keep the necklace on as he made love to her.

“James,” she whispered, scandalized.

He moved closer still. “You quite enjoyed your present, didn’t you?” he said, nuzzling her ear.

“Oh, yes.” She sighed. She remembered the earl then and straightened, her eyes opened wide. “Stop that, James.”

James chuckled and leaned back against the seat, a wicked grin on his face.

She shot him a look of mild irritation, nervously adjusting her cloak. “And what of your present, husband?”

She’d given him a set of monogrammed handkerchiefs, embroidered by her own hand. He reached into his pocket and withdrew one of them, snowy-white with silver threads shaping his initials.

“They’re quite handsome, Catherine,” he said. “But I much prefer the other gift you gave me.”

“Other gift?”

“The words, love.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Ever since making her declaration the day he found the letters, he insisted she repeat her words each time they made love. And each time she felt more at ease professing her love. He had yet to say the words in his turn, but she put that matter out of her mind. It was enough that he accepted her love and appeared to take pleasure in receiving it.

James wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close. He placed a kiss on her temple and settled back with a half-smile.

She leaned back against him once more, staring out the window as they rode on toward Leed Manor.

The carriage rocked to a stop before the massive stone structure that was Leed Manor. They alighted and James helped his father down. He then took Catherine’s hand and escorted her to the entrance. They left their outerwear with the servants and went into the parlor where they found Paul and his wife awaiting their arrival.

“Roberts!” Paul boomed, a big grin on his face. “Come in, come in.”

“Hello, Leed,” James returned. “Happy Christmas.”

Michelle crossed quickly to where they stood and wrapped Catherine in a warm embrace.

“Happy Christmas, Michelle,” Catherine said.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Paul asked James’s father.

“Just fine, my boy. Has your father arrived as yet?”

Paul shook his head. “We expect him and Elizabeth shortly.”

“Catherine, you look well.” Michelle tugged on her hand to bring her to one of the settees flanking the fireplace. “And that necklace! It’s exquisite.”

Paul glanced over at his sister and let out a low whistle. “My God, brother.” He grinned at James. “That jewel would rival anything in my wife’s collection.”

Catherine knew well that Michelle was an heiress who possessed a stunning jewelry collection. James shrugged dismissively and came to stand beside Catherine. He placed his hand beneath the stone, cupping his fingers around it.

“I tried to find a stone the exact color of my wife’s beautiful eyes,” he said. “I’m afraid this was as close as I could get.”

“But Catherine’s eyes are blue, Roberts.” Michelle laughed.

“Not quite blue.” James gazed into Catherine’s eyes, his own glinting silver. “Not always. Sometimes they turn violet, like when she—”

“James!” Catherine cut in.

“Now, wife,” he said with a crooked grin, “I was merely going to tell them that when you’re angry with me, you—”

“And just what is it you do that angers my sister?” Paul asked.

Michelle clicked her tongue at him. “Oh, Paul. Catherine is no longer under your protection. Content yourself with Elizabeth’s welfare, at least until Rose is out.”

Paul closed his eyes and groaned. “That’s a frightening thought. I can’t imagine the trials we’ll be put through when that little piece of baggage comes out.”

“It pleases me to know Michelle and little Rose will keep you on your toes, Paul.” Catherine laughed. “You do tend to be . . . overprotective.”

Michelle’s mother, Lady Helen, was also in attendance for the festive holiday and entered the parlor just then.

“Lord Roberts,” Lady Helen began. “Catherine. I’m so pleased to see you both.”