Neither was lust. And that was all he felt for Catherine, a deep, almost uncontrollable lust.
When he returned home, he was walking toward the library for a bit of whiskey to help him settle into the night when his gaze fell on the envelope sitting on the silver slaver on the table in the entry hallway. He recognized the hand that had addressed it—even though it was not quite as neat as usual. Catherine no doubt once again inviting him to one of her silly balls.
He wondered if she’d left the invitation before or after their encounter in the library, wondered if she was expecting him to bring Frannie.
With a sigh, he headed to the library. Her latest invitation was simply one more that would go unaccepted.
From the Journal of Lucian Langdon
Few came to the old gent’s funeral. Until that moment I’d not realized what it had cost him to take me in, to announce to the world that I, the suspected murderer of his second son, was in fact his grandson.
A week after his passing, I attended a ball. I knew it was in bad form, that when one is in mourning one does not attend affairs that exhibit gaiety. But I also knew that gentlemen were often forgiven for not adhering to the strictures of society.
Besides, I had a point to make. I wanted no one to doubt that I was taking my place as the old gent’s successor.
I remember little about the ball except that from the moment I began descending the stairs, I regretted that I’d come. People stared at me as though I were an unusual-looking creature on display at a menagerie and, with that thought, my head began to pound. I desperately craved a glass of whiskey. I desperately wanted to be at Dodger’s.
Ladies lowered their gazes. Gentlemen looked away. Some stepped back as though they feared being contaminated by my presence.
And then I spied her.
Her.
Lovely, elegant, and daring, she not only met my gaze, but she held it as though she was as fascinated with me as I was with her. For the briefest of moments, I contemplated asking her for the honor of a dance, but I knew such an action would tarnish her reputation. That night, for the first time in my life, I understood the sacrifices that were required to truly be a gentleman.
With regret, I turned away, the wonder of her in my arms to remain a mystery that would often haunt me.
Chapter 14
Catherine couldn’t sleep and it seemed a waste to lie in her bed alone with eyes open, staring at the canopy. She could at least be useful so she went to her father’s bedchamber and told his nurse to go rest for a bit. Catherine would wake her when she was ready to retire.
Her father appeared to be sleeping, but still she found comfort in holding his hand. Even if he were awake, she couldn’t tell him that she’d allowed Claybourne to kiss her three times now. Claybourne’s reasons for kissing her she understood: intimidation, distraction, frustration.
But her reasons for kissing him—because she had welcomed his kiss, all three times to her shame and mortification—were a mystery. It was only because she’d thought her legs were going to buckle that she’d pushed him away this evening. The truth of the matter was that she’d rather hoped he’d ravish her further. Even as she’d thought that, she’d remembered Frannie and Dr. Graves waiting for them to return to the dining room.
When they had finally returned, Frannie had refused to hold her gaze. Catherine wondered if something in her eyes or her swollen lips had screamed out that she was a wanton woman.
She didn’t want to desire Claybourne, but desire him, she did.
She shouldn’t have left the invitation, but she thought if she could just have one dance with him, she’d be content for the remainder of her life. Although she couldn’t imagine that a dance would be nearly as satisfying as his kiss.
“I’ve never known anyone like him, Papa,” she whispered quietly. “Sometimes I think he’ll break my heart. Not on purpose, because he doesn’t know how my feelings are shifting, but it will break all the same.” She stroked his hand. “Did you love Mother, I wonder? If so, how did you bear it when she was no longer here? I think that’s what worries me the most. I’ve grown so accustomed to being with him that I’m not sure how I’ll survive when he’s no longer a daily”—or more accurate, nightly—“part of my life.”
She pressed her cheek to the back of his hand. She would find a way to survive.
Catherine had thought it would be fun to bring Winnie’s son, Whit, to the Great Exhibition. Winnie had wanted to come along as well. Had insisted on it, actually, convinced that Catherine’s reputation would be irrevocably ruined if she were seen out in public without benefit of a chaperone, and as Winnie was married, she served nicely in the role.
They’d arrived at Hyde Park shortly after breakfast to wait in line. It was the cheap-ticket day, the day when tickets were only a shilling, and common folk more than the elite were about. Winnie’s bruise was almost gone, but still she didn’t want to meet up with anyone she might know. She thought it less likely if they came today.
The iron and glass building known as the Crystal Palace was an amazing twenty-six acres of exhibits, almost overwhelming with everything it had on display, especially for a child of four. The stunning glass water fountain in the center of the building had caused Whit’s eyes to widen, and Catherine had to hold tightly on to his hand to keep him from trying to climb in.
Now, three hours later, Whit was growing weary and grumpy because his legs were tired. Catherine had carried him for some time now, hoping to see more of the exhibits before being forced to leave because her arms were growing as tired as his legs.
Catherine understood now why the queen had come five times already. It was impossible to see everything in one go.
“Whit is getting so restless. Do you think we should go?” Winnie asked.
Catherine heard the disappointment in her voice, and she wondered if it was leaving the exhibition or returning home that left Winnie with regret. “Why don’t we push on for a little while longer? I’d really like to see the Koh-i-Noor diamond.”
