Shattered Rainbows (7 page)

"This is a nice sketch of the children." As he turned the page, he added, "The first thing Molly said was that you were teaching them how to draw."

Kenneth smiled a little. "Both girls are good students. Jamie isn't interested in anything that doesn't have four hooves, a mane, and a tail."

After more sketches of the children and one of Anne Mowbry, Michael turned
the page and found himself looking at Catherine Melbourne. His heart constricted
at the image of her standing on a rocky shore, her expression otherworldly. A
sea wind unfurled her dark hair like a banner and molded her classical tunic to the curves of her splendid figure.

He studied the picture hungrily, in a way that would have been rude with the real woman. Trying to sound casual, he said, "A good drawing of Catherine. Is she meant to be a Greek goddess, or perhaps the legendary Siren whose songs lured men to their doom?"

"The Siren." Kenneth frowned. "The picture isn't that good, though. Her features are so regular that she's difficult to draw. Also, there's a sort of haunted look in her eyes that I didn't manage to catch."

Michael looked at the picture more carefully. "Actually, you did get some of that. What would haunt a beautiful woman?"

"I have no idea," Kenneth replied. "In spite of her easy manners, Catherine doesn't reveal much of herself."

There was definitely something his friend wasn't saying, for the very good reason that Catherine Melbourne's private life was none of Michael's business. Yet as he turned to the next page, he said offhandedly, "If you ever do a sketch of her you don't want, I'll be happy to take it off your hands."

Kenneth gave him a sharp glance, but said only, "Take that one if you like. As I said, I wasn't satisfied with it."

Michael removed the drawing, then continued paging through the sketchbook. He was a damned fool to ask for the picture of a woman who could never be part of his life. Yet when he was old and gray, if he lived that long, he would want to remember her face, and the way she had made him feel.

Wellington was right that the situation was a shambles. As soon as Michael appeared at headquarters the next morning, he was thrown a mountain of work involving supplies and equipment. As the duke said tartly, Major Kenyon might not be a quartermaster, but at least he knew what fighting men needed.

The work required total concentration, and by the end of the day, Michael's intense reaction to Catherine Melbourne was no more than a hazy memory. He headed back to the house on the Rue de la Reine for dinner, thinking it would be good to see her again. She was a charming, lovely woman, but there was no reason for him to behave like a love-crazed juvenile. A second meeting would cure him of his budding obsession.

Catherine had mentioned that the house custom was to gather for predinner sherry. After changing, Michael went down and found Anne Mowbry
and a gentleman already in the drawing room. "

"I'm glad you could be here for dinner tonight, Michael." Anne turned her head, setting her auburn curls dancing. "This is my husband, Captain Charles Mowbry."

Mowbry greeted him with a friendly handshake. "I've been admiring your
horses, Major Kenyon. It doesn't seem fair that such first-rate mounts should be
wasted on an infantry officer."

Michael chuckled. "No doubt you're right, but I have a friend who's half
Gypsy, and the horses he breeds are marvelous. I'm fortunate that he let me buy two. Usually he'll give them up only in return for a man's firstborn son."

Mowbry glanced teasingly at his wife. "It would be worth trading Jamie for that chestnut, wouldn't it?
^"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't ask me that today. After the trouble Jamie has been, I'm ready to consider any offers!"

They all laughed. Soon they were chatting like old friends. Then Catherine Melbourne appeared in the doorway in a shimmering sea-green gown that emphasized her remarkable eyes. "Good evening, everyone," she said lightly. ,

Michael glanced toward her, and his confident belief that he was immune to her beauty shattered into flinders. The best that could be said was that the shot-in-the-heart feeling he experienced was no longer a surprise.

He studied Catherine as she crossed the room toward the others. Her appeal was beyond beauty and warmth, though she had those in abundance. Kenneth, with his artist's eye, had seen the haunted vulnerability beneath her dazzling surface, and now Michael could see it, too. Catherine was that most dangerous of creatures: a woman who aroused as much tenderness as desire.

"Good evening." He had learned as a child how to conceal his emotions, and now he invoked a lifetime of self-control so that no one, especially not her, would suspect how he felt. "I'm thanking my lucky stars that I found this billet. It's the only one I've ever had that included a dog to sleep on my bed."

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Interesting. If I were a dog, I should think twice about pestering you. Obviously Louis knew better. He already has you wrapped around his paw."

While Michael wondered if he appeared that intimidating, the Mowbrys began offering Louis the Lazy stories. Clearly he was a dog who made an impression wherever he went.

Kenneth was not returning to dine, but a few minutes later Colin Melbourne appeared. The man was very handsome, with the confidence that came of a complete lack of self-doubt. Catherine went to her husband and took his arm. The two made a striking couple. "Colin, I want you to meet our newest resident."

After the introduction, Melbourne said heartily, "Good to meet you, Lord Michael. As long as that room was empty, there was a risk someone unsuitable might be billeted here. Another so-called officer who was promoted from the ranks, for instance."

The Mowbrys and Catherine shifted uncomfortably, but Michael's anger was tempered with relief. He had feared that he might dislike Melbourne for being Catherine's husband. Instead, he would be able to dislike the man for his blatant snobbery. No wonder Kenneth had been guarded in discussing him. Voice edged, Michael said, "Someone like Kenneth Wilding, for example?"

Suddenly cautious, Melbourne said, "No slur intended. For a man of his class, Wilding does a good job of aping gentlemanly manners. Still, there's no substitute for breeding. As a son of the Duke of Ashburton, surely you would agree."

"I can't say that I've ever seen a strong correlation between breeding and character. After all, Kenneth had the poor taste to go to Harrow. One would have hoped for better from the only son of Lord Kimball." Michael downed the last of his sherry. "Still, even an old Etonian like me has to admit that Harrovians usually give the appearance of gentlemen."

Melbourne's jaw dropped. Since Harrow was as prestigious as Eton, even a bluff cavalryman couldn't miss the sarcasm.

Rallying, Melbourne said with disarming ruefulness, "Forgive me—I just made a bloody fool of myself, didn't I? I've never spoken with Wilding much, and I made the mistake of assuming he was no more than a jumped-up sergeant."

It was well done, though Melbourne's charm did not quite outweigh his boorishness. Michael replied, "It probably appealed to Kenneth's antic sense of humor to let you keep your preconceptions."

Melbourne's brow furrowed. "If he's actually the Honorable Kenneth Wilding, why did he enlist as a private?"

Michael knew the answer, but it was none of the other man's business. He said only, "Kenneth likes a challenge. He was my sergeant when I was a raw subaltern. I was fortunate to have him. After he and his squad captured three times their number of Frenchmen, I recommended him for a field promotion." He set his glass on a table with an audible click. "I was amazed the army actually had the sense to make him an officer."

His comment produced a lively discussion about the idiocies of the upper ranks of the army, a topic that occupied the group well into dinner. It was a pleasant meal, with excellent food and good conversation. Even Colin Melbourne wasn't bad company, though he'd obviously never had an original thought in his life.

Yet when dinner was over, Michael could not recall a single bite he had eaten. What he remembered was Catherine's elegant profile, her rich laughter, the creamy smoothness of her skin.

He resolved to dine out whenever possible.

It was well past midnight when Michael opened the door to the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks. "Sorry, I didn't expect to find anyone here."

Catherine Melbourne glanced up from the hearth where she was feeding the fire. "No reason why you should—all sane citizens are in bed." She rose and brushed off her hands. "The duke must be keeping you busy. You've been here a week, and I think I've only seen you once."

It might be wiser to retreat, but it would also be unpardonably rude. Michael entered the kitchen. "Most evenings I've been showing the flag at entertainments given by the English fashionables who have come to Brussels in hopes of excitement."

"I suspected as much. Wellington has always liked having his senior officers attend important social functions, and that must be particularly true now, when he doesn't want the civilians to become too alarmed over the military situation." She gave a teasing smile. "I'm sure you're much in demand to add your aristocratic luster to all of the routs and balls."

Michael made a face. "I'm afraid so. But why haven't I seen you? Wellington is also fond of the company of attractive ladies, so I would think you and Anne and your husbands would be on the prime guest lists."

"We're usually invited, but Colin is often… otherwise occupied." She lifted a wooden spoon and stirred a pot simmering on the hob. "When Anne and Charles attend, I usually go with them, but she has been feeling too tired for socializing, so I haven't been out lately. Except for the duke's own entertainments, of course. Everyone goes to them."

Michael hesitated before making the offer that would be automatic and uncomplicated with any other woman. "If you need an escort, I would be honored to oblige."

Her head came up quickly and she studied his expression. Apparently satisfied with what she found, she said, "Thank you. There are events I would enjoy, but I'd rather not go alone."

"Fine. Tell my batman, Bradley, which functions you wish to attend and I'll be at your disposal." He covered a yawn with his hand. "Today, though, I rode to Ghent and back. I haven't eaten since breakfast, so I decided to raid the larder. Have you also come in search of a late meal?"

She tossed her long braid over her shoulder as she straightened from the pot. Tendrils of glossy dark hair curled against her slim throat. "I couldn't sleep. I came down to heat some milk, but this soup smelled so good I changed my mind."

The pale edge of a nightgown showed above her lightweight blue cotton robe.
Though the garments covered her more thoroughly than a regular dress, the effect
was destractingly intimate. Worse, the kitchen was lit only by two candles and the fire, and the shadowy darkness was rather like a bedroom…

He looked away. "Is there a household protocol for late-night pantry theft?"

"Not really—whatever you can find is fair prey. There's generally soup simmering on the hob. This one is a rather nice chicken and vegetable concoction." She gestured toward the pantry. "There are also cold meats, cheeses, and bread. Help yourself while I set a place for you."