Then she had taken the chemiseoff. His options had been reduced to taking her on the dais in front of Mrs. Warburton or leaving the room altogether.
In moments, he had to meet her in the study, to root through his father’s old papers. If anything served as a reminder of why he couldn’t ravish Catherine on any Edington Hall surface, it was this task.
He hated that room.
And he hated that Catherine’s proximity would make him want to do indecent things in it anyway.
He was still anguished about what had almost happened in the study, how history had almost repeated itself. Henrietta had almost discovered him and Catherine as he had once discovered his father and Mary Forster.
Now he had to dig for information about the scandal. He had to try and learn more about the day that he had always only wanted to forget.
Except now he didn’t want to forget it just because it was painful, but because he wanted Catherine. He desperately wished he could abolish those memories from his consciousness and start with her anew.
The only problem was that he couldn’t.
He was infected with the memory of what he had seen as a boy.
He swore to himself.
He had arrived at the study.
Of course she was already there, sitting in his father’s chair, the candle burning before her.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
He shut the door behind him.
When he looked back at her, his mouth went dry.God, she was beautiful.
“Do not call me Your Grace.” He glowered. “Wehavebeen over this.”
“My apologies,” she said, coolly. “I forgot we are alone. Where should we begin?”
This question brought him back to their surroundings and the task at hand.
“The desk. It’s the only place I can think of where he might have left any letters.”
“This whole manse and it is the only place? What of his rooms?”
“I checked. Yesterday.”
“So youhavebeen doing something for the past three days.”
“Yes,” he bit off, not enjoying her insinuation.
John moved towards the desk and knelt before the drawers. One by one, he emptied them of their papers onto the desk.
Then, he drew up another chair and sat across from her. He reached to pick up one of the letters, but she didn’t move.
“Aren’t you going to help?”
“It feels…” she said, seeming to search for the word “…wrong.”
“He’s dead,” John said, affecting a hard-heartedness he was not sure he felt, “and all of this is mine now. Anyway, I thought you wouldn’t mind the violation. As I recall, you didn’t like the man. And, at this point, I can’t say I much do myself.”
It felt a small thing to admit to her now. Only a few days ago, it had felt like a betrayal of his family, a surrender to the enemy, but now it felt easy to say.
Catherine shook her head. “Once, yes. But it is more complicated now.”
