A Perilous Attraction
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Caldbeck pulled her to her feet and picked up her hat. He then silently examined her horse and led it back to where she stood. He did not give her the reins, but stood watching her for a moment. Finally, he spoke. Quietly.
“If you ever overface your horse like that again, I assure you that it will be the last time you ever see her.”
Even spoken softly, the words hit Catherine in the face like a freezing wind.
“How—how dare you!” She grabbed angrily for the reins. Caldbeck calmly moved them out of her reach.
“I mean it, Kate. You will not endanger yourself and your mount in that way again.” He handed her the reins and, putting his firm hands on her waist, tossed her up. She turned the chestnut and rode to the stables in haughty silence.
The knowledge that she was absolutely in the wrong did nothing to ameliorate Catherine’s anger. On the contrary. Just because she had acted imprudently, perhaps—well, perhaps rashly even…and, yes, possibly irresponsibly—he had no right to threaten her. Take her horse away, indeed! Treating her like a child! Just because she had agreed to marry him did not make him her lord and master. Never mind the law.
Never mind that he was right.
She plunked down in the chair and attacked the implements on her desk. Arrogant bore! Scolding her! A half-written letter she ripped into pieces, scattering them on the floor. Ordering her bath! Who did he think he was? She threw the pens into the pigeonhole and shoved the wax jack against the wall with a resounding thump. Telling her when to nap! Did he think her an infant? Nobly forbearing to throw the inkwell, she got up and stamped around the room.
She would not let him get away with such high-handed treatment. He would regret it. She wasn’t afraid of him. A little unnerved perhaps…on occasion. Just because he was tall and strong and smelled so like a man that she…He had no right! None at all. She did not wish to speak to him. She would not eat with him. He could have his dinner in solitary grandeur tonight. Every night! Sally could bring her a tray.
At that thought, Catherine went back to the desk and gathered up the torn bits of paper. No use making extra work for Sally just because she was in a dudgeon with her husband. She tossed the scraps into the fire and glared at the figurine of a china shepherdess that adorned the mantel. The shepherdess smirked back. Catherine did not care for that figure.
“Don’t you laugh at me! You are a very ugly shepherdess. Mind your manners, or I shall pitch you into the fire.”
Somewhat pacified by the making of this dire threat, Catherine sat down on the couch with a sigh, arms crossed over her breasts. Why did the man have to be so exasperating and still so damnably attractive?
So his lovely bride was in a snit, was she? Not coming down to dinner, eh? Her message to that effect had been distinctly chilly in tone. Charles basked in the inner amusement as he tied a fresh cravat.
What did she expect him to do now? Whatever it was, it was highly unlikely that he would do it. But if he was any judge of character, her indignation would not last long. He looked forward to a long life filled with her volatility and the inevitable reconciliations. Not that this little tempest qualified as a full-blown temper tantrum. The first real display of the infamous temper was still to be anticipated.
He could hardly wait.
But perhaps he should not have spoken so harshly. He had no intention of trying to rule her with an iron hand. Her impetuosity and her courage, her caring and her passion had attracted him to her in the first place. His words had threatened her. His actions had already forced her under his control. In fact, he had virtually kidnapped her. Perhaps he should be ashamed of himself. He wasn’t. Not the smallest bit. Charles told himself he appreciated her as few men could.
But he couldn’t let her risk herself that way. She or that hunter she was so proud of might easily have been killed. Charles shuddered afresh at the memory of Catherine sprawled on the ground, struggling to breathe. The thought of losing her and the beautiful fire he had wakened in her the night before filled him with a cold, bleak emptiness. A too-familiar emptiness.
He must take better care of her. It was his responsibility.
He saw Her fall. Saw Her skirts fly up. Her white legs. White legs! He moaned softly. Evil! Evil, evil. It was consuming him. Eating him from within and from without. It must be scourged, cleansed.
The power was growing within him. He felt it, tasted it, tried its strength. He flung his arms wide and lifted his face to the night sky, a cry wrenched from the depths of his being. Soon! Soon.
Chapter Five
By morning Catherine’s mood had significantly improved. As always, her anger flared brightly, but briefly, and she was ready to admit her error. Considering whether she should apologize to Caldbeck, she entered the breakfast parlor only to find that he had already finished and gone out. A certain disappointment stirred within her, followed by a definite sense of relief. She concluded that, if one must eat crow, it is far better not to do so for breakfast.
Hawes informed her, as he brought in a fresh supply of scones, that his lordship had ridden out to one of his estates, which lay some distance from Wulfdale. “He asked me to express his regret that he will be very late getting home. He may not see you until tomorrow.”
Bleakness settled over Catherine as she picked at her breakfast. It seemed that his lordship might be even angrier than she had supposed. She had been herself so infuriated when he had rung his peal over her that she had hardly noticed his manner. Not that she would have been able to tell what it meant, anyway. Sighing, she turned her mind to what to do with herself for the whole day.
The idea of exploring the old section of the house presented itself, only to be rejected. It would seem very flat without Caldbeck’s company. The thought startled her. When she had first met him in London, she had found him dull—handsome, perhaps, but dull. When had that changed?
And where had he really gone? A sick sensation gripped her. What if he did have a mistress? He must have a great deal of experience in lovemaking to be able to arouse the feelings that had overwhelmed her. But with whom?
Had Catherine so disgusted him with her childish temper that he had returned to a former love? Must she share him with some shadowy figure, everyone else knowing, but keeping it from her?
How humiliating!
She bit her lip and choked back tears. Loneliness washed over her. What had she done? Had she already ruined her chance for happiness? Had she ever had a chance of happiness in this senseless marriage at all? She pushed away her plate and fled up the stairs to her bedchamber.
Catherine did not spend a pleasant day. She had treated herself to a good cry and felt a little better afterward, but the emptiness in her persisted. She had not felt so isolated and lonely since her father died. Writing a long letter to Liza only made her wish all the more for the depth of love that Liza and George Hampton shared—the kind of love that Catherine had seen between her parents. She had not recognized it as a child, but now…Staring out her window at the hills that had seemed so magically beautiful the day before failed to cheer her. The overcast sky drizzled rain, the dim light fading the colors.
Eating her own dinner in solitary grandeur, Catherine found that she did not like it at all. How could she have been so foolish as to have kept to her room like a sulky child last night? She retired to her bedchamber and was brooding as Sally brushed her springy hair for bed.
When a knock sounded at her door, she almost jumped off the dresser stool in her surprise, causing Sally to drop the brush.
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, Sally. That must be his lordship. You may go.” Then, turning toward the door, she called, “Come in.”
Caldbeck came through the door and paused by the dressing table as Sally hastily took herself off. Her manner stiff with constraint, Catherine indicated the sofa, where wine and brandy sat on the side table.
“Will you have some refreshments, my lord?”
“Thank you.” The earl strolled to the table and poured for each of them, handing Catherine her glass as she sat on the sofa. He sat beside her, perfectly at ease. “Are you recovered from your fall?”
“Yes. A few bruises only.” Catherine sat silent for a moment, playing with the tie of her wrapper, her eyes downcast. At last she took a deep breath and plunged in.
“I…I feel…I should…I should apologize to you, my lord.” There! She had said it. “I showed very poor judgment in putting my horse at that ravine yesterday. I might have injured her badly—strained a hock, or even broken a leg.”
He did not speak, and she peeped up at his face. She could read nothing in it, so she gathered her courage and went on. “And then for me to have been in such a temper…No wonder you did not visit me yesterday evening, and took yourself off today!”
Caldbeck reached out and lifted her face, obliging her to look at him. “You think that is the reason I did not come last night? That I feared your temper?” Catherine thought that hint of something might be back in his voice, but if so, it disappeared as she searched for it. His expression remained cold. “You do not know me very well, Kate.”
“That is quite true, my lord. As you know.”
“Yes, quite true. I also regret the way I spoke to you yesterday. I was the more angry for also being frightened. You might have broken your neck.”
“You? You were frightened? I never guessed.”
“Just because I do not give outward evidence of my emotions, Kate, does not mean that I have none. You will come to know me better.” He took possession of her hand. “I had business that I had been putting off. Since it was raining, today seemed an opportune time to take care of it. Had I seen you this morning, I would have explained.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the palm, letting his tongue touch it. “But neither did I stay away last night out of anger. I did not come because I subjected you to some very hard use the night before. I thought you might need some time to recover.”
The heat crept up from Catherine’s breast to her face. She dropped her gaze. “Oh.”
Much later, Catherine looked up into her husband’s face as he lay beside her in the cave of the big curtained bed. “I need to say something else, my lord. I haven’t yet thanked you for buying the manor house for me and my orphans.”
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