More Than Charming (30 page)

No. Catherine would never believe the words now, not given after such an altercation. She’d think them an apology or worse, given out of guilt or pity.

He snapped his fingers as a thought came to him. He’d tell her in a letter. She so loved to get his letters. She still kept all of them, tied in that neat little bundle in her vanity. Thinking himself the cleverest of men, he went into the parlor and penned her a note. In it he told her of his love for her, of his loyalty. He apologized for thinking ill of her for even the briefest moment. He even went so far as to apologize to the babe she carried, professing his love for the little mite. After signing the note, he sealed it with wax and a kiss.

Smiling to himself, James left the note for her on the small writing desk, certain she’d find it as she spent much time in the room doing her needlework and seeing to her correspondence.

He glanced at the clock on the desk and saw it was nearly time for his meeting. He slipped on his greatcoat and called for the carriage.

*     *     *

Catherine dried her tears as she sat at her vanity, James’s many letters held in her hands. She read over them, searching for any indication of his returning the love she felt for him. His passion was evident, that was certain. But apparently a man’s heart didn’t work at all like a woman’s. She thought to discard the letters, to stir up the embers in the fireplace and burn them there. In the last moment, she couldn’t. Calling herself every kind of fool, she retied the violet ribbon and set the pile of letters back in their place of honor in the vanity drawer.

After taking her midday meal, Catherine went to the parlor. The note on the writing desk caught her eye immediately. Slowly, she walked over to where the desk stood. She tentatively reached for the letter, stopping when her fingers were scant inches from it. No. She wouldn’t allow James’s very charming, very passionate, words to cloud her thinking.

Nodding to herself, she walked away from the desk and grabbed up her needlework, sitting herself down on the settee near the fireplace. She lightly fingered the stitches, her mind working. If she didn’t have his love, she didn’t want his passion. Ha! Even she couldn’t believe that bit of nonsense for a moment. No matter. She loved his child and she loved him. She wouldn’t think about the rest. About whether or not he was involved with Lady Brookdale.

Catherine sat there for a long while, her needlework forgotten, her hand on her belly. She lightly caressed the tiny bulge as she slowly cleared her mind of the beautiful widow and the very hateful words she’d said.

Perhaps she should pay a call on her father and sister. She hadn’t visited Elizabeth in some time, and now that they had returned to town seeing her family would go a long way toward forgetting her troubles this afternoon.

“My lady,” Giles said from the doorway. “You have a visitor.”

Catherine turned, her brows arched. “A visitor, Giles?”

“Yes, my lady.” Giles stepped farther into the room, his lip curled in disdain. “Lord Waltham would like to speak to you.”

“Lord Waltham?” she repeated in surprise. “Surely you’re mistaken.”

“No, my lady,” he insisted. “If you wish me to send him away, I will.”

What on earth did Waltham want with her? “Yes, Giles if . . .” Perhaps he could tell her why Lady Brookdale believed that she visited him last week. “No, no.” She set her work aside and brushed her hands over her skirts. “You may send him in, Giles.”

Giles bowed and left, returning shortly with Waltham on his heels. “Catherine, love,” Waltham said, rushing over to where she sat. “Hello, Thomas,” she returned politely.

Waltham smiled and sat down beside her, closer than was proper. His pale eyes were bright, intent in their gaze. “Catherine, I need to speak to you,” he said fervently.

Catherine blinked at his vehemence.

“I wanted to . . .” He stopped, flicking a disgruntled look in the butler’s direction.

Giles frowned at him and looked at Catherine. “My lady, is there anything I can get for you and your guest?”

“No thank you, Giles,” she said with a smile. “I’ll call you if we have need of anything.” She thought of something then. “Oh, Giles! Do have the carriage brought around. I would like to visit my father’s townhouse this afternoon.”

“Very well, my lady.” After another long look at Waltham, Giles nodded and took his leave.

“Quite forward.” Waltham sniffed. “Apparently, Roberts doesn’t possess the skills to train his staff properly.”

Catherine clicked her tongue. “Giles has been in the service of the Bradford family since he was a young man, Thomas,” she pointed out. “He’s quite proper. And loyal, as well.”

Waltham shrugged, obviously dismissing the man from his thoughts. “No matter.” He took her hands in his. “Oh, Catherine, how I’ve missed you.”

“Thomas, you shouldn’t speak so.” She pulled away from him, no longer even caring why Lady Brookdale would make up such a story. “Please state your business and go.”

Waltham suddenly hung his head, sobs coming from deep in his throat.

“What is it?” she asked, placing her hand on his arm.

He looked at her, his mouth turned down in misery. “I’m so alone, Catherine,” he said. “I have no one.”

Her brow furrowed at that. He didn’t expect her to think him distraught over poor Joan’s death, did he? She’d seen no indication of his grief at the poor young woman’s funeral.

“Thomas,” she began firmly. “You have many friends here in town. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I assure you—”

“I need someone special in my life, Catherine,” he told her. “I recognize now that I wasn’t a good husband to Joan,” he went on. “We were never a good match, that’s certain.”

“Joan was a lovely person.”

A dark look crossed his face for a split-second. He quickly schooled his expression. “Yes,” he allowed. “Everyone has been so wonderful to me since her passing. Why, even Diane Plymouth has been most kind.”

“You’ve seen Diane? No one has heard from her in weeks.”

Waltham let his mouth curve in a small smile. The expression seemed almost sly to her, if not for the anguish in his eyes. “Diane was most sympathetic to me, I daresay,” he said. “I had hoped to see her in town, but she and her father remain in the country, I imagine.”

Catherine stared into the fireplace, her thoughts on Diane. Where was the girl? And when had Waltham seen her last? She barely noticed when Waltham moved even closer to her. He ran his gaze over her, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. She caught the motion and jerked her head to face him.

He grabbed her to him and nuzzled her cheek, her ear. “Oh, Catherine, it’s you I need!”

“Thomas, please!” she cried, pushing him away.

Loosening his hold on her, he relented. Waltham cast a furtive glance toward the door. Was he checking for Giles?

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, sincerity clear on his face. “I’m beside myself, is all. I so need to speak to a friend.” He leaned closer to her. “We were almost married, my dear. I always did care about you. We are friends, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so.”

His face suddenly brightened. “Come for a ride with me, Catherine,” he beseeched. “Around the park, perhaps?”

“Thomas, I am a married woman. That would not be proper.”

“Please?” he cajoled. “I need to talk to someone, someone who is kind and compassionate. Someone with a sympathetic ear. You’re the only person I can trust.”

She chewed her lower lip, contemplating the wisdom in joining him for a ride. Waltham did look quite put out, upset nearly to the breaking point. She’d never seen him look so distraught. And she wasn’t exactly feeling warmth toward her husband at the moment. She loved James with all of her heart but knowing that he didn’t return her love hurt her unbearably. She looked closely at Waltham. He wore a look of abject misery . . . No. She was still wary of Waltham’s past actions. She wouldn’t give possible gossip-mongers any credence to Lady Brookdale’s lies by spending undue time with him now. Besides, his particular company would do nothing to soothe her state of mind. Only her family could do that.

She came to her feet. “I am off to visit my family, Thomas. I’m afraid I must bid you good day.”

He scowled, then gave her a rueful smile. “As you wish, Catherine.”

Giles brought Catherine her cloak, all the while eyeing Waltham with open suspicion. “My lady?”

“Lord Waltham was just leaving, Giles,” she told him. “Is the carriage ready?”

“Yes,” he answered. He stared at Waltham until the man bristled.

Waltham sketched her a quick bow and left the parlor.

Giles then turned to Catherine. “When will you return, my lady?” he asked.

“I shan’t be gone long, Giles,” she answered. “Please tell Lord Roberts . . .” She remembered that she wasn’t even speaking to her husband at present. She wouldn’t let Giles speak in her place. “I shan’t be gone long,” she said once more.

She went out the front door and into the chilly February afternoon. She was shocked to find Waltham waiting for her on the walk, steely intent in his pale eyes.

“We will have our ride, Catherine,” he said.

Irritated, she shook her head. “I am going to visit my family, Thomas.”

He stepped closer, grasping her elbow tightly. “I shall drive you.”

She began to refuse, then she felt the prick of something sharp in her side. She didn’t dare breathe lest the blade cut her.

“Thomas.” She gasped in alarm.

“Get in my carriage, Catherine.”

With no other recourse left to her, she let him escort her into his carriage.

*     *     *

James returned from his meeting by teatime. He shrugged off his greatcoat in the entryway, a smile on his face. Surely Catherine had read his love note and was ready to welcome him with open arms.

“Catherine!” he called, striding into the parlor. He glanced about the empty room and turned, bound for the stairs. “Catherine?” he called once more, taking the steps two at a time. No doubt he’d find her in their chamber, sitting at her vanity readying for tea. And looking so soft and lovely and . . .

“She isn’t here, my lord,” Giles said, bringing him up short.

“What?” He descended to the entry and faced Giles. He could read the worry on the man’s face. “My God, Giles. What happened?”

“Lady Roberts went to the Earl of Talbot’s, my lord.” Giles shook his head. “I thought she’d be back by now.”

“When was this?”

“Approximately two o’clock, my lord.” Giles frowned. “And after Lord Waltham’s visit.”

“That— Lord Waltham was here?”

“Yes. I called for the carriage as she requested, but she did not take it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Waltham was here and they talked for a time, but I believed he left before she did. She must have let him drop her there.”

James’s mind worked. Catherine went with Waltham? He could scarcely fathom it. What could she be thinking, being alone with that man? Unless she still believed he didn’t love her. Would she throw in with him in retaliation?

“No.” Catherine loved him. She’d never betray him. “Had my letter meant nothing?”

“My lord?”

“Doesn’t she know I love her?” He paced the entry. “I should have made certain she knew, damn it. From the very beginning.”

“As you say,” Giles offered in a soft voice.

“Ah, God.” James stopped his pacing and sat down on the stairs. “How could I be so dense?”

“No, my lord,” Giles said. “If she did go in his carriage, it couldn’t have been willingly.”

“What are you saying?” James asked sharply.

“Lord Waltham was cajoling her, my lord. I had to give him my fiercest stare to get him to vacate the house.”

James came to his feet. “Son-of-a-bitch!”

“Indeed.”

“Where did he want to take her?”

Giles widened his eyes and fixed an innocent look on his face. “My lord, you don’t think I eavesdropped, do you?”

James slanted him a look. “I’m counting on it, Giles.”

Giles managed a small smile. “He wanted to take her to the park. To talk,” he said. “He said he needed a sympathetic ear.”

“That bastard wants something from Catherine,” James growled. “And I would wager it has nothing whatsoever to do with her ear.”

James grabbed his coat and dashed back out. He’d find her. He’d bloody Waltham’s fine straight nose and bring his wife home.

Catherine grew more nervous by the passing moment. Waltham was nearly silent on their ride, a dark brooding look on his thin aristocratic face. There was no appearance of the knife again, thank goodness. Had she imagined it? There was no imagining the change in his demeanor since leaving her parlor. Gone was the grieving widower. She now saw no sign of the lonely man desperate for a sympathetic ear. The sun was setting, the hour growing late. She was hungry and tired.

Squaring her shoulders, she faced him. “Thomas, take me home.”

Waltham turned slowly toward her, a wicked smile on his face. Catherine’s breath caught in her throat at the mad glint in his pale blue eyes.

“Oh, no, my love,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “You’ll be staying with me.”

Catherine shook her head in disbelief. She opened her mouth to protest when his actions stilled her. He opened the window and signaled to the driver with two sharp whistles. He closed the window slowly, deliberately, and turned back to her once more.

The carriage gave a lurch in the next moment, quickly changing direction. She glanced out the window. Even in the fading light, she could see they were riding away from the park, away from the main thoroughfares. Away from James.

“No.” She hugged herself. “God, no.”

Waltham flashed his knife and an ugly smile, an expression she’d never before seen on his face.

“Oh, yes, Catherine,” he countered, reaching for her. “Oh, yes.”

*     *     *

Where the devil was she? Yes, the man would drive her to her family’s townhouse. But surely only after pouring his wounded heart out to her in the park. Taking his fastest horse, James had raced to Hyde Park. He’d ridden nearly every trail, even the ones too narrow for a carriage to pass. There was no sign of them. He stopped at the Earl of Talbot’s townhouse but was shocked to learn that neither Catherine’s father nor Elizabeth had seen her that afternoon. He’d somehow managed to contain his worry at that discovery and left them. Now he rode on to Waltham’s townhouse, his anger and concern mounting. If that bastard dared to touch her . . . He couldn’t finish the thought, a sharp pain twisting through his gut.