She tried to not let this fact rule her existence. After all, she told herself, they had had a whirlwind two weeks together, in which so much had happened. Perhaps, she thought, they had merely fancied themselves in love; perhaps their intense connection was just an illusion—for him.Shecouldn’t forget him, of course. She found herself flashing back at odd moments to those nights in his bed, when he said her name with that exquisite yearning, as if, in giving herself to him, she healed him, made him whole.
Nevertheless, if he had really wanted her, she reasoned, he would have appeared and begged for her back. It had certainly been long enough for him to show up and declare himself.
She scolded herself for this longing. Why pine after a man and wish he would chase after you, when you knew you couldn’t accept him? It was nonsense.
Catherine tried to distract herself with Lady Wethersby and Ariel.
Luckily, it was a busy time for their little family. Her total payment from the Duke of Edington had made their estate whole and then some. They were soon to resume residence at Wethersby Park. Their tenants were to be out by the end of the month. They had traveled up to the estate—only two hours from London by carriage—to look over the old place and note any improvements that might be made now that the family would take up residence again.
Catherine had pulled Lady Wethersby aside last week and told her that Ariel needed to go to school. They hadn’t had the money for Eton in years past, so it had been little issue, but now they could easily afford the fees. Lady Wethersby had resisted. She didn’t want to send her boy away, but Catherine had told her that it was necessary for Ariel to take his place in the world—and the college still wasn’t as expensive as private tutors. She acquiesced and, in the fall, Ariel would be off to school for the first time, an event that he eagerly anticipated, his jubilation somewhat ruthless to his mother’s feelings.
At this moment, however, these changes had not yet arrived. They were back at Halston Place, sitting in the newly appointed drawing room, after the supper hour. Ariel was constructing a model boat they had bought from a fancy shop earlier that day. Lady Wethersby was splitting her attention between a new French novel, the biscuit on her plate, and superintending Ariel’s project. Catherine was looking out the window, trying not to think too much of John.
The new footman entered their little drawing room, and said, “A caller, ma’am.”
“At this hour?” Lady Wethersby said, casting a look at Catherine, but she didn’t move from her spot on the sofa.
“It’s probably your dress, Elena,” Catherine said, thinking of the new, somewhat impractical gown that Lady Wethersby had ordered from the new French modiste on Bond Street.
Then she turned towards the door and saw John. He looked a little tired and uncertain of his reception, but it was really him, with his green eyes and inky curls. His expressive mouth was curved into a half-smile. She stood when she saw him but didn’t move any further.
“Your Grace!” Lady Wethersby said, sweeping into an elaborate curtsey.
When Ariel did not give any sort of bow, she turned to her son, and barked, “Ariel!”
Ariel looked at John and gave him a slight, aristocratic nod.
“Edington,” he said, which, while a perfectly natural response for a jaded London rake, sounded ridiculous coming from a ten-year-old boy.
“Lady Wethersby, Sir Ariel,” John said, giving each an elegant bow, and then turning to her. “I have come to speak to Miss Forster. I beg you to allow me an audience with her.”
His words made her recall their first reunion in this very drawing room. She had been so surprised to see him then and so filled with that peculiar mixture of animosity and attraction that had marked their first days together. Now, she felt only yearning and love as she gazed upon him.
“Come at once, Ariel,” Lady Wethersby yelled. “We must leave Catherine and Lord Edington alone.”
“Mother,” he said, in a tone that always indicated trouble. “It is not proper for an unmarried lady to speak to an unmarried gentleman unchaperoned.”
Catherine laughed despite herself. When they were in Bond Street the other day, Lady Wethersby had bought a book for Ariel on the manners, forms and customs of society. On the return home, he had studied it with avid attention for a few minutes and then cast it aside as “pure bosh.” Apparently he had absorbed something.
“At once, young man!” his mother called from the doorway, and Ariel grumbled before making his way to the open door.
“Iknewthat book was bollocks,” he said to his mother, who swatted him on the arm and scowled, before turning to Catherine with a smile.
“We’ll be very near, if you need anything, my dear.”
Catherine nodded. “Thank you, Elena.”
And then she and Ariel were gone. Catherine was alone once more with John.
She turned to him when the door closed. She felt the absence of two weeks crackle between them as she looked into his green eyes and he stood there, stiffly, on the carpet.
Just as she tried to think of something to say, he closed the space between them and took her in his arms, placing his mouth on hers in a hungry, devouring kiss that almost made her swoon. She knew she shouldn’t—she would have to, in just a few moments, refuse him, if he had indeed come here to renew his addresses.
Still she couldn’t resist meeting his kiss with her own. When he pressed her body into his, her mind went black. The conversation that they must have soon enough disappeared from her consciousness. She lost herself to the feeling of this embrace.
He broke the kiss and looked down at her.
“Catherine,” he said, his breathing ragged. “We must speak.”
