Patricia Frances Rowell - A Perilous Attraction

Catherine awoke shortly before noon the next morning, as Sally pulled back the bed curtains. The welcome smell of hot chocolate wafted to her from the bed table.

“Good morning, miss…oh!” Sally giggled. “I mean, my lady. Have you had a look at this house? Did you see your very own drawing room? Grand, miss, very grand! I believe his lordship’s room is through the dressing rooms. That door leads to his, and that one to yours.” She waved a vague hand and turned to open the window curtains. “And a fine day it is, too. Chilly a bit, but fine.”

Catherine sat forward while Sally arranged her pillows. “I must have slept half the day.”

“Very nearly, mi—my lady. And I slept till a sinful hour myself. So kind as Mrs. Hawes is, she told them to let me rest. I wouldn’t have waked you yet, but his lordship is to take you around the place himself. I know you’ll want to look your best.” Sally giggled again.

Catherine viewed her henchwoman through a half-open eye. Speculation must be running riot among the staff. Sally could not help but know that she and his lordship had not yet shared a bed, and if any member of a household knew something, everyone knew it. Catherine groaned to herself. Heaven help her the morning after they did take that step!

By two o’clock she had breakfasted and—dressed in a deep purple morning dress, her fiery hair subdued with many pins and a pair of gold combs—set forth to find his lordship. After asking directions twice, she discovered him in his library. He came quickly to his feet as she stepped through the door.

“Good day. I hope you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you. Sally let me sleep an unconscionably long time. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

“No. I wanted you to rest. I did not arise at my usual hour myself. Are you ready to meet your staff?” He offered her his arm.

They spent the next two hours in a tour of the reception rooms and introductions to every member of the staff, from Caldbeck’s secretary to the bootboy. Catherine found it astonishing that Caldbeck knew them all. Her head swam with names and faces. Without a guide, she might never find her way from the formal dining room to her bedchamber.

Caldbeck’s secretary, Richard Middleton, was the younger son of the local vicar. A slender young man with a shy expression, he greeted Catherine gravely, welcomed her to Wulfdale and quickly returned to his duties.

Caldbeck did not take her through every part of the mansion. “I’m sure you will find the older sections interesting, but you will likely enjoy exploring them at your leisure.”

Catherine looked sideways at him. “Is that where I shall find the headless bride?”

“Of course.”

“Then perhaps you’d best escort me.”

Caldbeck paused for a minute before answering. “That might be best,” he finally agreed.

Catherine eyed him suspiciously, but he made no further rejoinder.

They toured the gardens until the late-afternoon nip in the air sent them back inside.

“We dine at seven o’clock here. I trust that is acceptable to you?” Caldbeck paused at the foot of the stairs, but did not wait for an answer. “You have time enough for a nap.”

Catherine smiled, but shook her head. “I slept all morning. Besides, I am not accustomed to sleeping in the afternoon.”

“Nevertheless, it is advisable that you do so today.”

Catherine lifted her chin rebelliously. She was just opening her mouth to explain to him that she was not a child, when she looked into a countenance so chilling, the words froze in her throat. “Oh…oh, very well. I shall at least go to my room for a while.”

Taking no notice of her pique, Caldbeck lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes on hers. “Until later, then.”

After stalking around her room for fifteen minutes, muttering about men who thought they could order one about as soon as one married them, Catherine began to ask herself why this particular man insisted so firmly that she nap. The answer to that followed so closely on the heels of the question that she stopped dead still in the middle of the room, eyes wide.

A fierce tingling in her stomach dropped suddenly into her pelvis, creating a most disturbing sensation.

Tonight she would know.

Tomorrow she would be curious no longer.

Good heavens!

Catherine tried to lie down for a few minutes, but her agitation would not let her rest. Reading proved to be out of the question. She stared unseeing at the pages of a usually thrilling romance until, in annoyance, she tossed the book onto a table. When Sally appeared to help her dress for dinner, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Joining Caldbeck in the family dining room, Catherine tasted not one morsel of the food that passed her lips. The chef had completely wasted his skill on her. Caldbeck made polite conversation, as though she were no more than a casual acquaintance, but Catherine responded with monosyllables. Richard, the secretary, did his best to hold up his end, but excused himself and fled as soon as they finished the meal.

As the party included no other gentlemen with whom Caldbeck might drink his port, and no ladies with whom Catherine might drink tea, they each retired very early to their respective bedchambers. Catherine arrived at hers to discover a tray with brandy and glasses on a table near the sofa and a pitcher of mulled wine on the hob. She took a deep breath and tried to rub the knot out of her stomach.

She stared into the middle distance, her mind a blank, while Sally brushed her brilliant curls and pulled them up to the crown of her head, tying them with a satin ribbon. She didn’t question Sally’s choice of gown and negligee, but slipped her arms into the soft, creamy silk without comment.

The smooth fabric molded over her breasts and skimmed down her body, causing her to shiver. She was adjusting the lace edging the robe when a tap sounded on the door to the adjoining room. Sally quickly straightened the dressing table and looked inquiringly at Catherine.

“That will be all, Sally. You may go.” As Sally departed, and Catherine turned toward the door, a second knock sounded. Caldbeck stepped in, and the sight of him took Catherine’s breath away. He had removed his coat, his cravat and his shoes. His breeches clung to muscular legs, and the top few buttons of his shirt were unfastened, revealing the strong column of his neck. Sleeves turned back at the cuff showed sculptured forearms. As usual, he bowed.

“Will you take a glass of wine with me, Kate?”

Catherine nodded silently, suddenly acutely aware of the revealing neckline of her gown and diaphanous robe. The telltale warmth flooded her face and breasts, and she quickly turned and walked to the sofa. The clinging fabric whispered around her legs and generous hips, and she could all but feel Caldbeck’s gaze on her bottom as he followed.

Catherine sat, and after pouring the warm wine for her and brandy for himself, Caldbeck sat beside her. She kept her eyes on her glass and searched in vain for something to say. Caldbeck showed no sign of unease. He sipped his brandy comfortably and studied the fire. Catherine leaned into the sofa cushions and took a long swallow of the hot wine. The comforting heat seeped through her, spreading into her limbs. After several more swallows had warmed her, Caldbeck turned to look at her.

“Tomorrow, if you like, we shall ride, and I shall show you some of the estate.”

“Oh, yes. I love to ride. But…what happened to my horses?” She had had no time to think about them, but held little hope that they had survived her uncle’s fall from grace.

“I redeemed them. They arrived this morning. That is a very fine chestnut hunter.”

“Indeed she is.” Catherine always warmed to a discussion of her horses. “I have not tried her in the field yet. I’ll ride her tomorrow.” The wine and the fire began to have their effect. She relaxed a little more and leaned toward him. “And thank you so much for thinking of my horses. So much has happened.”