More Than Charming (27 page)

Once upstairs in their chamber following their return from the theater, James quickly removed his boots and was in the process of taking off his waistcoat and shirt.

“Catherine,” he admonished. “Do hurry.”

She laughed as she struggled with the hooks on the back of her gown. “You’re quite impatient tonight,” she teased.

James divested himself of all save his breeches and came up behind her. “Here,” he said, working the tiny hooks free. “Let me play lady’s maid if just for tonight.” He quickly stripped her gown from her as she unpinned her hair.

She turned to face him, wearing nothing but her pearls.

His eyes glittered as they ran over her. “Magnificent,” he said, pulling her close.

Catherine reached behind her neck to remove her jewelry, but he halted her movement.

“Leave them on,” he gently ordered.

She dropped her hands to her sides, her pulse beating frantically. He traced his fingers over the pearls as he did earlier that evening, this time cupping a breast in each hand. His hands were gentle and insistent, and she reveled in his touch.

“Love me, James.” She breathed.

He did.

When James awoke the next morning, he wasn’t surprised to find Catherine still fast asleep. He’d taken her twice before letting her sleep, loving her with his hands and mouth until she’d been as wild for him as he was for her. His eyes fell on the strand of pearls where they lay coiled on the bedstand. In his mind he pictured Catherine as she was last night, her skin as lustrous in the firelight as the pearls. He knew full well that if he continued his train of thought, his delicate, and pregnant, wife would be denied her much-needed rest.

He had quite a few errands to run that day, errands that would more than likely keep him busy well into the afternoon. He quickly penned a note for his wife, leaving the paper on her vanity. He dropped a kiss on her tousled head and strode from the chamber.

When Catherine awoke and read his note, she gasped with bashful delight. As was his custom now, James alluded to the incredible passion they’d shared the previous night. She was touched that he reminded her to take care of herself that day, and to rest when she tired. With a loud, unladylike yawn, she rose and set about her morning toilette.

“Good morning, Giles,” she said brightly as she entered the breakfast room.

“Good morning, my lady,” the servant answered with a bow. “I trust you slept well?”

Catherine nodded as she helped herself from the sideboard. “Very well, thank you.”

After setting down a silver tray carrying a steaming pot of tea, Giles took himself off to see to the running of his master’s house.

As Catherine nibbled at the eggs and bacon on her plate, she thought of the few errands she needed to accomplish. It was only a matter of time before she’d need new dresses. She looked down at her still-flat stomach and happily imagined it round with their baby. Having been around Michelle during her time, she knew it was altogether possible for a woman to still look quite pretty while expecting, although she doubted she’d look as radiant as her sister-in-law had. She decided, however, to pick out some lovely fabrics and speak to the seamstress regarding fittings and such.

She also wished to pay a visit to Elizabeth. Her younger sister had not sent as much as a note since she and their father returned to town, and Catherine could scarcely wait to tell the two of them about the baby. James had encouraged her to share their news in his absence, as he didn’t wish her to wait until they could visit them together.

She finished her tea and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. She pushed her empty plate aside and sighed contentedly. Her bouts of morning sickness had all but disappeared, much to her relief, and she was able to eat a substantial amount at the morning meal. After asking Giles to have the carriage brought around, she went upstairs and donned her cloak and gloves. It was quite damp and chilly out, and she stepped from one foot to the other as she awaited the carriage. Accepting the driver’s hand up into the carriage, she gave the man his instructions and settled back against the cushioned seat.

*     *     *

Priscilla Brooks alighted her carriage that afternoon, parked farther down the street from Lord Waltham’s townhouse in an attempt at discretion. She walked briskly toward his residence. She tugged alternately at her gloves, making certain that the leather cuffs covered the faint red marks on her wrists. Waltham had been demanding the previous evening, much to her delight. He’d been quite insatiable. Shivering from the memory of all they’d shared, she stepped down to cross the street.

She came to an abrupt halt as the front door of Waltham’s townhouse opened. Pulling back to stand behind one of the trees that lined the thoroughfare, she watched as a young lady emerged. Her head was all but hidden in the voluminous hood of her cloak and Priscilla narrowed her eyes as she sought to ascertain the girl’s identity. The wind suddenly picked up, sweeping back the girl’s hood. Dark glossy curls billowed in the breeze as the girl hurriedly recovered her hood. She ducked around the corner, but she wasn’t fast enough to prevent Priscilla from seeing her profile.

Catherine Talbot! How dare she go to Waltham when she was the reason Roberts wouldn’t come to her! Squaring her shoulders, she hurried to Waltham’s door and rapped sharply upon it. The butler, with his customary blank expression, escorted her to his master’s study and left her there to cool her heels. Catherine Talbot, that little bitch. She thought to have Waltham
and
Roberts? Not bloody likely.

Waltham soon entered the parlor, wearing his smooth smile. “Priscilla, what a surprise,” he said glibly. “I would think that after our night together, you would need your rest.”

“Never mind that!” she snapped.

He arched a fair brow at her.

Priscilla pulled off her gloves and wrap and turned back to him, her hands on her hips. “What was that silly chit doing here?” she demanded to know.

“Silly chit?” he repeated. “I don’t know to whom you’re referring, my dear.” He brushed his long fingers over the sleeve of his brown jacket. His clothes looked a tad rumpled, his cheeks a bit ruddy. Had he engaged in love sport with that girl?

Priscilla glared at him. “You know damn well whom I mean, you cur,” she spat. “That Talbot girl!”

Waltham laughed low. “Ah, that silly chit.”

“You won’t dally with her, Thomas,” Priscilla warned. “I forbid it.”

He lost his smile, the dangerous glint in his eye putting her on her guard. “My dear Lady Brookdale,” he began, his tone harsh. “Don’t attempt to tell me my business.”

Priscilla saw the flash of anger in his pale eyes and chose to ignore its implications. She stepped closer to him. “You won’t have her.”

His brows arched. “Oh, I haven’t had her. Not yet.” He licked his lips. “But her skin was delicious.” His smile was devilish. “Her release was . . . surprising.”

“You . . . you won’t have her,” she stated again. “Not before Roberts warms my bed.”

Waltham let out a grunt of frustration, losing any appearance of control now. “What is it about that scoundrel that so captivates you?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“He’s most charming,” Priscilla answered. “And a more handsome man I’ve yet to meet.”

Waltham’s anger flared to full force. “Roberts, that bastard,” he growled. “I’m sick and tired of that man’s many attributes falling from the lips of every woman in England!”

“What?” Priscilla asked. “Does another woman have designs on him?”

Waltham shook his head as if to clear it and managed to smile once more at her. He grabbed her roughly by her arms, bringing his lips to her ear. Priscilla gasped as she felt his body pressed so intimately to hers. She could smell the scent of arousal on him, could feel his hardness against her belly.

“Priscilla,” he said, his voice as smooth as velvet and as hard as his cock. “You have no claim upon the charming Lord Roberts. Nor any upon my own manly self, for that matter.”

Her mouth gaped open at that. She struggled to release herself from his hold on her. “How dare you?” she sputtered, incensed. “If you believe that you can simply use me and—”

Waltham pushed her away from him, letting his eyes run over her. Priscilla’s blood raced at the carnal glint in his pale eyes.

“You need to remember your place, my dear,” he said, his eyes boring into hers.

Her breath caught as she ran her own eyes over him, his aroused state obvious through his thin tan breeches. She licked her lips in nervous anticipation. “And,” she began in a whisper, “precisely where is my place, Thomas?”

Waltham grinned savagely as he began to unbutton his breeches. “Why, on your knees, of course.”

*     *     *

When Catherine returned to the townhouse, she was quite done in. Her errands were not without success, as she’d managed to choose quite a few fabrics and designs during her visit with the seamstress. However when she stopped at her father’s home, she’d curiously found her sister absent. Despite the fact that she’d wished for her father and Elizabeth to be together when she told them about the baby, she’d given her happy news to the earl alone. Lord Talbot was so pleased that his blue eyes had fairly shone with it, his strong arms grabbing her up in a great bear hug. She’d laughed and laughed as he’d twirled her about the room.

After stopping to pay a few overdue calls on several friends of hers, Catherine was quite relieved to step back up into the carriage and head for home. When she arrived back at the townhouse, she was famished, as well. Why, she’d eaten a hearty meal with her father only a few hours ago! Perhaps she’d have need of those new dresses sooner rather than later.

She quickly changed into her tea gown and went downstairs to the parlor. She settled herself upon the oversized chair, brushing her hands over her skirt as Giles entered the room with a heavily-laden silver tray. She took note of the fact that Giles had thoughtfully included a pot of honey to accompany her tea and biscuits and smiled cheekily at him.

“Giles,” she playfully chided, “you’ll spoil me terribly.”

“Never, my lady,” he returned with a bow. “The viscount would have my head if I didn’t anticipate your every whim.”

Catherine laughed at that ridiculous and endearing statement and poured herself a cup of tea. Giles bowed once more and left her to her repast.

Still smiling, she chose a biscuit from the tray and reached for the honey pot. The fluffy cookies were delicious on their own, but with the honey drizzled over them, she found them absolutely scrumptious. She happily proceeded to consume her fill of the sweet tea and the delectable biscuits.

“Mmm.” She sighed as she finally sat back, one hand pressed to her stomach.

She lifted her other hand to her lips and daintily licked at her fingertips.

“That good, is it?” James said from the doorway, startling her.

“James!” she exclaimed, her eyes flying open.

He walked into the room, a wide smile on his face. “You resemble a cat who’s just finished off a bowl of cream, love.”

She sat up and grinned at him. “Not quite,” she answered. “But I did eat a fair amount of these biscuits. They’re heavenly, James. You must try them with the honey.”

James joined her on the chair and reached for a biscuit. Her hand stilled his.

“Let me,” she said, breaking off a piece of the sweet cookie.

She drizzled honey on the cookie and held it before him. James let her feed him. After a few bites, he gently grasped her wrist and licked the honey from her fingers, his eyes staring into hers. He pressed her hand against his chest.

“Catherine,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, James,” she said in a whisper.

He brought his lips to hers, letting his tongue slowly explore her mouth. “You taste incredible.”

“It’s the honey.”

“Mmm. Honey.” He kissed her again. “And Catherine.” He pulled back and smiled, gently patting her stomach. “How do you feel today, love?”

“Fine,” she returned, placing her hand over his.

“And you, little mite?” he directed toward her belly.

Catherine smiled. “I’m certain the babe is fine, as well,” she said. “And as happily stuffed on biscuits as its mother.”

His laughter joined hers as he hugged her gently. They finished their tea and discussed the coming evening’s activities.

“I ran into Chester this morning,” he told her. “He and Constance returned to town early, as well.”

“Oh, we simply must call on them,” Catherine said with a smile. “How are they?”

“Constance wasn’t with him,” he answered. “Apparently, she’s been feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Oh,” she said, “I do hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Chester didn’t appear overly worried. They’d like us to visit them this evening. For cards and other amusements.”

“That would be most pleasant, James.”

“Eager to make the rounds?” he teased.

“I confess that with Michelle busy helping Paul with their speeches, I’ve been quite starved of female companionship of late.”

James chuckled and held her close. “Then we shall remedy the situation directly. Perhaps then, love,” he added with a grin, “you can show your poor husband some much needed companionship.”

“Oh, James.” She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck.

*     *     *

That evening at the Earl of Chester’s townhouse, the four of them sat in the parlor and played a game of Whist. As play went around the table, they chatted amiably about the coming round of parties as Easter was but two weeks away.

“Constance,” Catherine said, looking absently at the cards in her hands. “You’ve been ill?”

Constance nodded, a small smile on her face. Chester nodded to his wife, an obvious sign of encouragement.

She set her cards down on the table and widened her smile. “Catherine,” she began, “Roberts. We’re expecting.”

Catherine gave an excited squeal and stood, embracing her friend. James shook Chester’s hand, pulling the man up out of his chair.

“Oh, Constance!” Catherine gushed. “I’m so happy for you both.” She pulled back. “Have you seen Dr. Morgan?”