More Than Charming Read online

  “Yes,” James answered curtly.

  Giles arched a silver brow. “Has something happened?”

  “What? No, nothing,” James muttered.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think a young lady was involved.”

  James shot Giles a look of irritation the butler didn’t miss.

  “No.” Giles laughed. “It can’t be true. One of the young society ladies has captivated you at long last?”

  “Let it go, Giles.”

  James went up to his chamber and changed out of his formal attire. It was far too early for him to retire, so he donned his burgundy dressing gown. He belted the quilted satin around his waist and went down to the parlor.

  His brow arched as he spotted the tray Giles had thoughtfully left for him. On it sat a bottle of brandy and a glass. He smiled. Wise old fellow, that Giles.

  He poured a generous amount into his glass and settled himself on an oversized wing chair. He couldn’t get the image of Catherine out of his mind. Her scent, her touch. Waltham’s insinuations still burned. Bastard. James stared into the cold fireplace and let the brandy warm him.

  Sometime later, an hour or maybe more, he heard a light rapping at the door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened and there Catherine stood, framed in the doorway.

  “Catherine?” He came to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wished to thank you for this evening,” she said softly.

  James stared at her for a beat, unable to believe she was standing there in his parlor. “But who answered the door?” he heard himself ask. “Didn’t Giles—?”

  “He told me to come right in,” she told him.

  James shook his head, his lip curled slightly. That old man was too sharp for his own good.

  He smiled at Catherine, suddenly remembering his casual attire. “I’m sorry to receive you this way.”

  She waved her hand dismissively and took a seat on the chair he’d just vacated. He found her incredibly tempting in the pretty pink gown, even more so than when they’d danced together at the night’s bash.

  He took a step back. “Now, exactly why is it you wish to thank me?”

  Catherine cleared her throat. “Lady Brookdale told me what happened on the terrace,” she said in a small voice.

  His lips thinned. What was Priscilla’s game now? He took Catherine’s hand in his. “I’m sorry you had to hear of that, Catherine.”

  As he watched, her eyes filled with tears.

  “I’m so ashamed,” she sobbed.

  He sat beside her in the big chair. “Catherine, you have no reason to be ashamed.”

  She shook her head. “Lady Brookdale said that everyone assumes I’ll be open to such an arrangement with Waltham.”

  Anger burned in his gut. “Why that vindictive little—”

  He managed to keep his anger in check and looked at Catherine once more. She gazed up at him, vulnerability clear in her brilliant eyes, her trembling mouth.

  “Catherine, Lady Brookdale is mistaken.” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “No one who knows you would ever believe that.”

  Catherine closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. A surge of affection struck him. She was incredible, the way she’d endured the horrible gossip that evening. He was suddenly very aware of their position. She was a young woman alone with him, a man clad in only a thin dressing gown.

  He tried to do the right thing. He truly did.

  “Catherine,” he whispered.

  She opened her eyes and stared up at him. “Yes?”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  She gave a small nod and started to stand.

  He held her hand, unwilling to let her go. “But I’m so glad you are.”

  He brought his lips to hers and kissed her with all the tenderness she aroused. She leaned into him and he cupped her face in his hands, flicking his tongue over her lips. She opened her mouth instinctively, welcoming him. He moaned softly and took what she offered, stroking her tongue with his.

  Catherine twined her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck as she’d done earlier that evening on the dance floor, and it set him on fire again. His fingers tunneled through her hair, letting her curls loose from their pins. She gasped and he dragged his mouth from hers.

  James ran his gaze over her. Her eyes had darkened to a deep violet and her lips were swollen. He kissed her again, hungrily. She whimpered, the sound soft in her throat. Her hands caressed him, stroking his neck, his shoulders.

  He grabbed her to him, pressing his lips to the soft skin on her neck. “Catherine . . .”

  He ran his hands over her flesh and his mouth followed. His lips brushed over the swell of her breast. He breathed her in. God, she smelled so sweet. He pressed her back against the arm of the chair, eager to take all she had to offer.

  “Lord Roberts.” She sighed.

  The sound of her voice, husky with wanting, stopped him.

  He sat upright and held her away from him. “This isn’t right,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She shook her head in disagreement and reached for him once more.

  “No,” he said.

  The hurt in her beautiful eyes nearly broke his heart.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Before he could stop her, she ran from the room.

  He stood. “Catherine, wait!”

  He heard the front door slam, heard her carriage pull away, and sank back into the chair. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Ah, hell.”

  What was he going to do? He wanted her like he’d never wanted any other woman. And judging from the way she kissed him just now, she wanted him, too. But what could he do about it? She was his friend’s little sister. She was off-limits to him . . . Or was she?

  Lord, he was weary. He poured more of the fine brandy into his glass and took a long swallow.

  “Has Lady Catherine left?” Giles asked from the doorway.

  “You know damn well she left,” James grumbled. “What were you thinking, sending her in here?”

  Giles raised his eyebrows. “She said she needed to speak to you, so I simply—”

  “It won’t serve, Giles,” James cut in. “You put an innocent girl in a compromising situation.”

  “I wasn’t the one who compromised her.” Giles slanted him a look. “And here I believed I was jesting when I mentioned debauching young ladies in the parlor.”

  James was too tired to argue with the old man, not that he’d any hope of winning. He rubbed his hand over his face. “What am I going to do?”

  Giles said nothing, but James saw the smug expression on the butler’s face.

  “Good night, Giles,” he said pointedly.

  “Good night, my lord.”

  James would have sworn he could hear the man whistling as he took himself off to the servants’ quarters.

  Chapter 4

  Catherine sobbed all the way home. After Lady Brookdale told her what had happened, Catherine asked her father to take her home. But Elizabeth had balked at such an early end to the evening, so Paul and Michelle offered to take her and the earl home later, leaving Catherine the use of the carriage on her own. On an impulse she’d instructed the driver to Lord Roberts’s townhouse. What a disastrous decision that turned out to be.

  She threw herself at him! He’d looked incredible in his satin dressing gown, the fabric draping elegantly over his body, dark hairs visible at the base of his strong throat. She’d wondered if the silky-looking hairs covered his chest. But it was the concern in his silvery eyes that had been her undoing.

  She never should have gone to him. Surely he thought her a wanton. But his kisses made her feel so wonderful, like nothing in the world could ever hurt her. What was she going to do?

  Catherine arrived home and hurried up to her bedchamber. When she saw her tear-stained face in her vanity mirror, she was thankful she had told her maid not to wait up. She quickly washed all traces of
those shameful tears and got ready for bed. She planned to be fast asleep by the time her father and sister returned.

  Catherine stayed away from the parties for the last week of the Season. It wasn’t only Lord Roberts she was avoiding. She had no desire to see Waltham again and, with the terrible rumors of which Lady Brookdale had spoken, the bashes held no attraction for her. She spent her nights alone in her father’s townhouse and her days at Paul and Michelle’s. They were quite busy writing speeches, what with Parliament set to adjourn shortly. Catherine was only too happy to help, watching little Rose so the child didn’t have to spend her days shut in her nursery.

  One such afternoon she sat crossed-legged on the floor of the parlor, playing with the toddler. Rose had golden-red curls, big blue eyes, and a charming personality. She was also willful and very vocal. Catherine smiled as her niece told her dolls precisely what she wished them to do. The little girl’s chatter sent any dark thoughts fleeing from her mind, and Catherine hugged Rose to her and cradled her in her lap.

  She caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye and lifted her head to see Lord Roberts standing in the doorway. Her silly heart skipped a beat and she swallowed.

  “Hello, Catherine,” he said stiffly.

  She winced at his chilly tone. “Hello, Lord Roberts.”

  The silence between them was deafening as they stared into each other’s eyes. Paul’s voice broke through.

  “Roberts,” Catherine’s brother called. “There you are.”

  James bowed to Catherine and left her to follow Paul into his study.

  Catherine’s shoulders slumped a bit. Rose apparently sensed the change in her and turned in her lap. She reached up and brushed her hand over Catherine’s cheek. Catherine kissed the chubby little hand and smiled once more. Forcing Lord Roberts from her mind, she returned her attention to her little charge.

  * * *

  James tried to concentrate on what Paul was saying, but thoughts of Catherine intruded. Had he known she was here, he never would have come. He was struck by the pleasing picture Catherine made in the parlor, her head bent to Rose’s as she listened raptly while the tot told a story in baby talk. God, the hurt on her face after his cold greeting had been palpable.

  He forced his attention back to his friend. “I wished to tell you I’m leaving for Yorkshire, Leed,” he told Paul. “I realize your work will keep you in town for a while yet.”

  Paul nodded. “Michelle and I are merely finishing a few speeches, but we don’t expect to get to Leed Manor for at least a fortnight.”

  James cleared his throat. “I see Catherine is minding Rose,” he said, keeping his voice even. “How has she been?”

  “She’s been well.” Paul’s brow furrowed at Roberts’s concern. “Why do you ask?”

  James thought of the last time he saw her in his townhouse, both the desire on her face and the hurt in her eyes. He could say nothing of it to her brother, however. He couldn’t compromise her reputation. Not after Priscilla’s spiteful words.

  “I’d heard of the vicious rumors circulating,” James said.

  “Oh, that.” Paul grinned. “Michelle told Lady Brookdale in no uncertain terms that Catherine was a lady of virtue, something of which she’d have no knowledge.”

  James blinked. “She didn’t.”

  “You know my wife. Lady Brookdale has ceased spreading her lies, I’m happy to say.”

  “Good.”

  “You must come to stay at the manor, Roberts. Michelle will send out the invitations when we’re more firm in our plans.”

  James could only nod. No doubt Catherine would be in attendance, but to refuse his friend would seem strange in the least and rude in the worst.

  “I’ll try my best to get away.” He rose. “I’ll leave you to your speeches.”

  “Good day, Roberts.”

  James took his leave. He peeked cautiously into the parlor as he made his way to the front door, but he didn’t find Catherine within. Relieved and disappointed, he headed out into the August sunshine.

  * * *

  Two weeks later James sat in the parlor of his family estate, passing teatime with his father. James had access to all the holdings that went along with his title, but he preferred spending time at Bradford Hall. It was a grand home, but it was also full of warm memories for him. He looked over at his father, a still-handsome man in his early sixties. The Earl of Bradford coughed, causing James to jump to his feet.

  The earl caught the motion and smiled. “Easy, my boy. I merely felt a tickle, is all.”

  “You’re feeling better these days, Father. Aren’t you?”

  The earl nodded, adjusting the wool blanket that lay across his lap. “Yes, son. I must say that having you here is quite a tonic for me.”

  James smiled and sipped his tea.

  “And how did you leave London?” his father asked.

  “Hmm?” James started. “Fine. Why do you ask?”

  The earl got a gleam in his eye. “Did you enjoy the company of any particular lady while in town?”

  James’s eyes widened, a reaction his father didn’t miss.

  “I knew it,” the earl said.

  “And what is it you believe you know?”

  “You’ve been brooding quite a bit of late, James.” He grinned. “Not like you in the least.”

  A smile teased the corner of James’s mouth. “Never mind.”

  “Who is she, son?”

  James stood and crossed to the window. Catherine’s image floated before him, not as he’d seen her at Paul’s home but as she’d left him at his own. The pain visible in her violet eyes . . .

  “Well?” the earl prodded. “Do I hear wedding bells?”

  “What?” James said, turning to face his father. “No, no.”

  “Are you not fond of her?”

  “Of course I’m fond of her. But she won’t suit.”

  “Whyever not?”

  James stared out the window once more, quiet.

  “Is she married?” his father asked.

  “No.”

  “A commoner?”

  “No.”

  “Too young?”

  James shook his head.

  “Too old, then?”

  “No, no,” James said in irritation. “She’s none of those.”

  “Son, if she’s none of those, what’s stopping you from pursuing her?”

  James let out a long sigh, sitting down once more. “It’s impossible.”

  “I’ve never seen you like this.” His father shook his head. “You need to listen to your heart.”

  “How on earth can I trust my heart to tell me what to do?” James frowned. “I thought myself in love before and nearly ruined two people’s lives because of my ridiculous declaration.”

  “You weren’t in love with Kane’s wife, James.”

  “I know. Thank God they know, as well. But how do I know what I feel for this girl isn’t infatuation?”

  His father didn’t answer, but James knew it didn’t feel the same. He wanted Catherine with a passion he hadn’t felt for Becca. He also wanted to protect her and keep her safe. But did he love her? And if he thought he might—how could he be sure? On the other hand, did it matter? Love was the last requirement in a ton marriage. His friends had made love matches, but he was a fool to expect to have their good fortune. Worse, if he openly courted Catherine and it didn’t work out, then he wouldn’t be any better than that scoundrel Waltham. Not to mention she was his dear friend’s little sister. He’d lose Paul as a friend, as well.

  “I fell in love with your mother at first glance, James.”

  James faced him. “Mother was beautiful, inside and out.”

  “Everyone told me she was wrong for me, that I should marry much higher than a baronet’s daughter,” the earl said. “And I almost allowed them to persuade me to let her go.”

  “I never heard of this. Mother might be gone these past ten years, but even as a boy, I was aware of the affection
between you.”

  “Ah, she was wonderful. So sweet and kind,” the earl said, his eyes shining. “And beautiful. Lord, I’d never seen such beauty.”

  James smiled. His mother was all of those things and more—always full of laughter and hugs and kisses for her only child.

  “She was a strong woman, your mother,” his father went on. “She refused to let the hateful comments affect her, you know. She always kept her grace about her.”

  James started. His father could have been describing Catherine.

  “I trusted my heart, son. And I never regretted it.”

  James stood and began to pace. “I’m not at all certain that what I feel is akin to what you and Mother shared.”

  The earl shrugged his shoulders. “You never know for certain.” He winked. “That’s where the trust comes in.”

  James nodded and let his mind work. Whatever he felt for Catherine, he’d never puzzle it through by avoiding her. When he looked back at his father, he saw the man had dozed off, a common occurrence in the late afternoons. A smile was on the older man’s face. No doubt he was wrapped comfortably in his memories. James pulled a blanket over his father, tucked it into place, and took himself upstairs to his chamber.

  He crossed to the small writing desk in the corner of the room and picked up the letter still sitting atop as it had for the past two days. It was the invitation to Leed Manor, and James had met its arrival with a mixture of impatience and dread. He knew his course of action now.

  He sat down and opened the drawer, withdrew a sheet of paper, and penned his response in the affirmative. He sealed the missive and went downstairs to see it delivered without delay.

  * * *

  Catherine strolled through the courtyard at Leed Manor, her brother’s magnificent estate. The home had been built nearly three centuries earlier and had always resembled a medieval fortress. Michelle had performed a wondrous transformation on the house, warming the spaces inside and softening the edges outside. The courtyard where Catherine strolled was enclosed by high stone walls, but alive with color. Surprising, given that Yorkshire was in the north and it was the middle of September. Catherine sat on one of the stone benches placed about the garden and sighed.