A Perilous Attraction

Catherine felt the color flooding her face again. “I hope I am not so mercenary.”

“No, I don’t perceive you as mercenary—the word I would use would be desperate.” He waited patiently for a reply.

Catherine struggled with warring emotions. He was right—her situation was desperate. Still, she balked at being forced into anything, let alone a marriage she didn’t want to a man she hardly knew and had no hope of understanding. She took refuge in anger, a much stronger and more comfortable emotion than desperation.

“And you wish to take advantage of my predicament!”

Caldbeck’s expression never changed. “I simply propose a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“And what do you hope to gain?”

“Your beauty, your energy, your superb elegance. You…warm me….”

Harlequin Historicals is delighted to introduce debut author Patricia Frances Rowell

#619 BORDER BRIDE

Deborah Hale

#620 BADLANDS LAW

Ruth Langan

#622 MARRIED BY MIDNIGHT

Judith Stacy

A Perilous Attraction

Patricia Frances Rowell

Available from Harlequin Historicals and PATRICIA FRANCES ROWELL

A Perilous Attraction #621

For Judy Elise Rhodes,

my friend in this world and all others.

And for my chosen sister, Sue Harvey Harrison.

No one has encouraged me more.

And—always—for my hero, Johnny.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Prologue

Yorkshire, England, November 1783

The boy stood unmoving, one hand clutching his father’s, the other held rigidly in a fist at his side. The rain beat down on the umbrella his father held above them, while the sound of sodden clods of dirt striking the casket mingled with the vicar’s words.

“But thanks be to God who giveth us the victory….” The boy gritted his teeth, willing his lip not to tremble. He would not cry. He felt proud to be allowed to stand with the men of the funeral party. If they considered him old enough, he certainly did not want to disgrace himself with tears. Yet a very small, childish part of him wanted to turn and flee—back to the house. Back to hide his face in the skirts of the women waiting there, and to sob the pain away.

“In the midst of life we are in death. Of whom may we seek succor…?”

The child dared a glance up into his father’s face. It might as well have been carved in stone. He saw no tears. No sign betrayed the man’s thoughts or feelings, but his hand tightened encouragingly around his young son’s.

“Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, immovable….”

The boy took a long breath and drew himself up in emulation, schooling his own face to stern control. His father was strong. He would be strong. Men didn’t cry.

The vicar finished the reading and stepped forward to murmur a few private words. Then the boy’s father turned and led him away from the grave of the woman who had been the anchor of both their lives.

Chapter One

London, England, October 1810

“You did what?” Catherine leaned her clenched fists on her uncle’s desk and scowled at him across it, bristling with outrage.

He winced. “There is no need to shout. I am not deaf.”

“I can only wish that I were! I cannot believe I heard you correctly.”

“Of course you heard me. I said I have accepted an offer from Lord Caldbeck for your hand in marriage.”

Catherine straightened up and stared at him in disbelief. “But, Uncle Ambrose, why? Aside from the fact that I have no wish to marry at all, I hardly know the man. I’ve danced with him a few times, but he has never shown any partiality for me. I’ve never even heard that he was hanging out for a wife.”

“Caldbeck is well known for hiding his thoughts. One never knows what he intends. The man’s an enigma.”

“An automaton, rather.” Catherine spun away from the desk, snatched her modish hat from her head and sailed it across the room into a chair. She felt her hair spring forth in its flaming halo, and ran her hands over it in a vain attempt to restrain it.

“Lord Caldbeck might as well be made of wood. He never smiles, he never laughs, he never…” Having paced the width of the library, she whirled, savagely kicking the train of her velvet riding dress out of her way, and again bore down on the desk. “What can you have been thinking? You have no right….”

Ambrose Maury’s face began to show a tinge of red as he came to his own defense. “On the contrary. As your guardian it is my duty to speak for you. It’s a damn good match. Caldbeck is as rich as Croesus. He made a very advantageous offer. I accepted it. It’s that simple.”

Catherine, who knew her uncle well, stopped her pacing midway across the room and turned to look at him, eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Exactly what sort of offer?”

Maury fidgeted a bit, blotting perspiration from his bald pate with his handkerchief. “Now, Catherine, you must understand certain things.”

“What things? What sort of offer?”

“I’ve had a bit of bad luck investing in the Funds of late.”

“Ah. And Lord Caldbeck is offering a handsome settlement. I begin to understand. But you must understand that I will not marry—I can’t! I won’t! Within six months I come into control of my fortune, and I shall no longer be dependent on your hospitality. Can’t you wait until then to get me off your hands?”

“Catherine, I can’t wait six months—not even six days.”

“Are you run completely off your legs, then?”

“I don’t know why you insist on using these cant phrases, young lady, but yes. You could say that. In fact, I haven’t a feather to fly with. Caldbeck will settle all my debts, forgive my mortgages and give me enough to emigrate to America.”

“America! I have no more wish to live in America than to marry Lord Caldbeck. Surely, as my trustee, you can arrange for me to receive enough from my inheritance for me to set up a small establishment here for the next half year.”

Ambrose leaned back in his chair and folded his plump hands across his ample midsection. Just a hint of malice glinted in his eyes. “What you do not understand, Catherine, is that you no longer have an inheritance.”

Catherine stood for a moment dumbfounded. Then she spoke very carefully. “Do you mean to tell me that you have lost, not only your own fortune, but mine, gambling on the Funds?”

Her uncle nodded. “On the Funds and some other…er, unfortunate investments.”

“But…how…? You were supposed to hold that money for me—in trust—until I am five-and-twenty. How could you…?”

“Come now. Don’t be missish. You know I had the authority to invest it.”

“Yes, but not to gamble with it!”

“I used it better than you would—throwing it away on those damn brats at the foundling hospital.”

“You have bankrupted us both?”

“That’s the long and the short of it. You may make your own decision, of course, about what to do, but I strongly recommend that you accept Caldbeck.”

“You…you scoundrel! You have the nerve to sit there and tell me…I’ll have you before the magistrate!”

“Little good it will do you. If I could replace the money, I wouldn’t be emigrating to some backwater in America.”

Longing to slap the smug expression off her uncle’s face, Catherine fought for control. “You cannot make me do it!”

Scowling, Ambrose stood and stepped around the desk. “Now see here, young lady. Caldbeck has already bought up my mortgages and is prepared to pay my creditors. He will do so on the understanding that you will wed him.”

“You sold me!”

“Oh, have done with your dramatics! He is expecting that you will do as we agreed. It is going to be damned awkward for me if you don’t.”

“You should have thought of that before you created this situation.”

Maury lifted his hand in a threatening gesture, then let it fall to his side. “Let me make your situation abundantly clear. This house no longer belongs to me. As of today you have no home, no money and no source of income.”

Catherine stopped pacing and stood for a second as still as a statue. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m bloody serious. And let me tell you something else, Catherine Maury, I don’t give a damn what you do! Your aunt and I are both ready to wash our hands of you—and your bloody brats, and your temper, and your high-handed manner. Not marry indeed. You should have been wed and had a brace of children by now, but no! You must play savior to every sooty sweep’s boy, every street urchin and little thief who crosses your path. Much fortune you would have had soon, in any event, between your extravagance and your philanthropies. You may accept Caldbeck or go live on the street with your protégés. I don’t care, but you are not going with us!”

Catherine stared at him for the space of three breaths, then, grabbing her hat from the chair, turned with a great swish of skirts and marched out of the room.

Out of sight of her uncle, Catherine abandoned dignity and fled up the stairs to her bedchamber. Slamming the door, she turned the key in the lock, threw her hat at the bed and resumed her pacing, her thoughts boiling.

My God, this can’t be happening! Her uncle’s announcement refused to become reality in her mind. No home? This house had been a refuge for half her life—not a comfortable one, perhaps, but a home. No money? She had been counting heavily on quarter day, as she had already all but depleted her allowance for the current quarter. There had been the clothes for the boys in the new home and the new beds for the foundling hospital and the expense of the reception for the contributors.

And, of course, there had been the new hunter.

She brightened a bit. Her horses! The hunter alone would bring enough to lease a house for a year. She could sell her horses, but…what if Uncle Ambrose had already sold them? Or more probably, lost them? She had no doubt that many of his investments took place at the card table.

At that thought rage consumed her once again, and the kick she gave her train as she turned almost undid her. Her foot tangled in the fabric, and only sheerest luck stopped her from falling headlong onto the carpet. Too much! It really was too much.

She seized the edge of her jacket and yanked, all but pulling the buttons off. She struggled out of it and flung it at the wardrobe. Her boots followed, and she tore at the fastenings of the treacherous dress. It came to rest under the bed.

Thus liberated, Catherine resumed her prowling, trying to relieve her frustration. Greedy! A sofa cushion bounced off the wall. Grasping! The small footstool clattered as it fell on its side near the window. Stupid man! A book tumbled off the table she struck with her fist. Sucking her bruised knuckle, she looked about for something else on which to take out her fury.

She caught the barest glimpse of her maid’s head as Sally peeked around the dressing room door. The sight of her mistress stamping around her bedchamber in her shift evidently dismayed the abigail, for she quickly withdrew her head and closed the door. Catherine paused.

What would become of Sally? The question sobered her. Catherine suddenly realized that she was not the only victim of this disaster. All the servants would suffer. How could she prevent it? No home, no money, no income. Nothing with which to pay the loyal girl, no place for them to live. Fear began to replace anger. Her unseeing gaze fixed on the scene outside the glass, Catherine pulled the footstool to the window and sat down.

She must think. What was she to do? Income represented the greatest problem. Even if she could wrest her horses from Uncle Ambrose’s grasp, the money would not last long enough to give her the independence she’d so eagerly anticipated.

At least, whatever she decided, she would be free of her venal uncle and his lachrymose wife. What a relief that would be! They had never wanted her in their home. The control of her fortune was the only reason they had accepted the guardianship of a twelve-year-old girl at all. At least Papa had been shrewd enough to link the two in his will. But apparently even he had not realized to what depths his brother would sink.

Catherine sighed and rested her elbows on the window ledge, chin on hand. She had friends who would take her in, but having been an unwelcome addition to one household, she did not relish the idea of repeating that experience. Could she possibly find gainful employment? For a gently bred young woman it would prove almost impossible. So…what?

A tentative tap sounded at her door, followed by the voice of her uncle’s footman. “Miss Catherine, are you ‘in’?”

“Not now.” In no frame of mind for visitors, she turned on the stool to face the door. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“The Earl of Caldbeck is below stairs, miss. He requests a few minutes of your time.”

“I said no! Tell him I cannot see him now.” Hearing the retreating footsteps of the servant, Catherine returned to staring out the window. Caldbeck himself—the last person she wished to see at that moment. Heaven help her, what could she do? Her thoughts simply would not come to order.

Reluctantly she considered Lord Caldbeck. She found nothing objectionable in his person—quite the opposite, in fact. Tall and elegantly slender, but with shoulders whose width owed nothing to his tailor, he might be very attractive were he not so cold. She could do worse.

But she had been determined for so long to avoid marriage. For one thing, Catherine had learned the hard way not to trust anyone but herself to take care of her, and a husband, by law, would have so much power, so much control over her.

Giving up her longed-for independence would be a bitter pill to swallow, but it was already lost. Her money was gone. Swallow she must. But the other thing, the bigger thing…So much more important; the loss of the decision so much harder to accept.

And so tempting to accept.

Children. Marriage meant children, and nothing stirred her heart as a child did. It fell within her reach at this moment to allow herself her dearest, most secret wish—a family of her own, a home of her own, children on which she could lavish the love and attention she had lacked since she was twelve years old.

But children were so appallingly vulnerable!

Catherine sighed. She could not take the risk. She’d long ago made up her mind to that, though it tore her very soul. Now, if she accepted Caldbeck, that wonderful, terrifying possibility again became a reality. But if something happened to her…If her children were left alone in the world as she had been, as the waifs she befriended were…The very thought brought tears to her eyes.

She dashed them away. She must think. Could she possibly live with someone like the reticent earl? Her emotions were always evident and vigorous. Surely a man so reserved would stifle her, try to restrain her, want her to be a docile and efficient wife. Could she change her nature enough ever to be that? Very unlikely—not for anyone. They would both be mad with aggravation within six months!

A half-smile touched her lips. Caldbeck obviously did not know what he had bargained for. What a shock he would get if she did accept him. He might find this a marriage of inconvenience. It would serve him right, thinking he could buy her.

At that moment a firmer knock rattled the door panels. Annoyed, she glared at the door.

“I told you, I am not to be disturbed.”

“It is I, Caldbeck. I would like to speak with you.”

Catherine sat silent for a startled moment. Good heavens, the man stood at her door! How dare he? What in the world could she say to him? She couldn’t talk now. She needed more time. Time to think…

“I do not wish to talk now. Come back tomorrow.” As soon as she spoke the words, Catherine realized that she might not be in that house tomorrow. She no longer lived here. Already she heard the sounds of packing and the preparations to close the mansion. She began to feel a bit panicky.

“I believe it would be of benefit for us to talk now.” The voice on the other side of the door was flat, without inflection. Catherine heard not a smidgen of persuasion in it. How could he sound so…so unfeeling at a time like this? Had the man no sensibility at all?

“Of benefit to whom? You are trying to buy me. Go away!” She turned her back and resumed staring at the street.

An instant later, with a thunderous crash, the door flew open.

Catherine leapt to her feet. Strangling on a scream, she spun to face this new menace. She beheld Lord Caldbeck, his tall frame filling the doorway. As she watched with frightened eyes, one hand pressed against her mouth, he straightened his dove-gray coat and tugged his snowy shirtsleeves into position.

Catherine stood frozen in place, for once in her life speechless. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth, and her heart pounded in her ears. Caldbeck pushed the door shut, and after a cursory inspection of the broken latch, nudged a dainty boudoir chair in front of it to hold it closed.

He then turned to her and bowed politely.

“Miss Maury.”

Catherine nodded silently as he crossed the room to stand a few feet from her. She looked up into an impassive face dominated by ice-gray eyes. The mouth did not smile. The once raven-black hair brushed severely back from the face was now so liberally streaked with gray that it shone the color of gunmetal. Catherine swallowed, trying in vain to think of something to say.

Running footsteps in the hall mingled with alarmed voices.

“Miss Catherine, are you all right?”

“What the devil is going on here?” Her uncle shoved past the footman, pushing the chair out of the way to stick his head into the room. “Oh. Caldbeck. I see you found my niece. Did you make that confounded racket?”

Lord Caldbeck nodded wordlessly at the door. Maury examined the broken wood and scowled. “I told you she would be unreasonable, but couldn’t you find some way of gaining admittance without destroying my door?”

Caldbeck sent him a level stare. “I believe the door is now my property.”

Maury flushed. “Yes, of course.” Then, with a sneer, “Very well, we shall cease disturbing your visit with your bride.” His glance took in the clothes scattered around the room. “You certainly have not wasted any time.”

He jerked his head at the footman, and they both departed, the servant covering a grin with one hand. Caldbeck replaced the small chair holding the door and returned to Catherine.

Catherine felt the wave of heat creeping up from her breasts to the roots of her hair. Great heavens! She stood before his lordship in nothing but her shift!

How could she have forgotten that rather significant fact? What must Lord Caldbeck be seeing, with the light from the window behind her shining through the sheer linen? And what must he be thinking of her? Catherine started to cover herself with her hands, realized the futility of that measure, and was about to turn her back to Caldbeck when his voice arrested her.

“It doesn’t matter. His opinion is no longer important.”

The blush deepened. Catherine, knowing her milk-white complexion, inwardly cursed it. Her face must be absolutely crimson! And she could not fathom the least clue to his thoughts. Even though he had kicked the door in, neither his face nor his voice betrayed any sign of ardor or anger. His eyes gleamed as cool and gray as ever. Stabbed again by fear, she wanted to turn and run, but her pride would not let her.

She decided instead to muster what dignity she might.

Catherine lifted her chin and drew herself up, her face a haughty mask. “Well, my lord? What is it that you are so eager to discuss?”

“The conditions of our marriage.”

“I thought that you and my uncle had already made those arrangements.” Catherine’s voice dripped acid. “That the two of you had completed the terms of sale.”

Caldbeck raised one eyebrow a hair’s breadth. “I am sorry to hear that you view the contract in that light.”

He watched silently as Catherine stalked past him to the other end of the room, then stalked back, anger gradually replacing fear.

“How else am I to view it? How my uncle thought he could force me into it, I can’t imagine. I fear you have spent your money for nothing, my lord.”

“Indeed?” Caldbeck’s expression held nothing but the smallest amount of polite inquiry.

Catherine considered herself the equal of any man in a verbal battle, but she found Caldbeck’s icy reserve to be just the least little bit daunting. He did not rise to the hook of her barbed words. Hunting for a new tack, she cleared her throat. “It is obvious, my lord, that I can’t marry you. I hardly know you, but surely you must see, as I do, that we are utter opposites.”

Caldbeck nodded in agreement.

“You are aware of that?”

“Of course.”

“But…but surely we would drive one another into Bedlam within a twelve-month!”

“I believe the results of our marriage may not be quite so unpleasant as all that.”

His tone was as even as ever, and Catherine studied his expression once again for some clue to his feelings. Finding none, she sighed in exasperation. “My lord, this is madness in itself. We would not suit.”

“On the contrary, Miss Maury, I believe we shall deal together very well.”

“You can’t mean that. How could two such different people possibly live together?”

“Very happily. We each have that which the other needs.”

Catherine felt intrigued in spite of herself. “What in the world could that be?”

“I think we can agree that, at the moment, you are badly in need of a means of support. Your uncle—” somehow, without having altered his tone of voice whatsoever, Caldbeck imbued the word with disdain “—has placed you in a highly untenable position. You need money. I have a great deal of it.”

Catherine felt the color flooding her face again. “I hope I am not so mercenary.”

“No, I don’t perceive you as mercenary—the word I would use would be desperate.” He waited patiently for a reply.

Catherine struggled with warring emotions. He had the right of it, of course. Her situation was desperate. Still, she balked at being forced into anything, let alone a marriage she didn’t want to a man she hardly knew and had no hope of understanding. Nor any hope of his accepting her. She took refuge in anger, a much stronger and more comfortable emotion than desperation.

“And you wish to take advantage of my predicament!”

Caldbeck’s expression never changed. “I simply propose a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“And what do you hope to gain?”

“Your beauty, your energy, your superb elegance. You…warm me.” Even as he searched for the words, his countenance remained composed, his voice without emotion. “I also admire your ability to consider the plight of those less fortunate than yourself. It is a very rare trait in our time. I need someone to assist me with my responsibilities to society.”