More Than Charming (4 page)

He let out a ragged sigh, the sound loud in the quiet of the chamber. He closed his eyes and immediately thought back to their encounter on the terrace. That brief moment of contentment as he’d held her in his arms had startled him. But their kiss . . . Her lips had been so soft, so sweet, his body had reacted swiftly with desire. Even now, his blood warmed as he thought of her lovely mouth and the way it had welcomed him.

When sleep finally claimed him, he dreamed of the girl once more. Only this night he could see she had glossy brown hair, stunning violet eyes, and a soft husky voice that promised to love him forever.

A few days later James stood in front of his washstand, readying himself for the coming evening’s festivities. He finished shaving and wiped a cloth over his face, stopping to stare at his reflection. Catherine would be in attendance tonight. Gorgeous, available Catherine Talbot. Sister to his very good friend. God help him.

He’d been successful thus far in his efforts to avoid her, staying away from the parties and even declining an invitation to dine at Paul and Michelle’s townhouse two days prior. Paul had looked at him slyly and James had easily guessed what he’d been thinking—another trip to the pubs. How wrong he was. Ever since holding a certain girl in his arms, he couldn’t arouse much desire for the experienced wenches at the public houses.

Sighing in irritation, he donned his shirt and tied the neck cloth his valet had set out. He shrugged into a waistcoat of deep blue, and the color immediately brought to mind Catherine’s beautiful eyes.

“I’m a fool,” he grumbled.

Later, James stood with some acquaintances at the Markham’s bash when he spied Catherine in the doorway. The dress she wore, so dark a pink it was nearly red, hugged her luscious figure. Her hair was piled in an artful mass atop her head and curls framed her face. He watched as she looked about, her beautiful eyes opened wide as she listened to something her sister said. A smile spread across her face and James mirrored the motion. The widow commanding his attention must have seen where his was focused for she harrumphed beside him.

Priscilla Brooks, Lady Brookdale, shot a glance at Catherine, her eyes narrowed. “Oh, there is Catherine Talbot. Quite a shame, that.”

“What?” James said absently, turning to face her fully.

“Ah, to think she let Waltham get away.”

He frowned slightly. “I believe Catherine was quite fortunate to let him ‘get away,’ as you put it.”

Priscilla hid her vexation but barely. James knew she wanted an assignation—she’d been after him for some time. He doubted she’d lacked for lovers over the past year he’d been in the country, or even since the night three years ago when he’d grappled with her lover John on the stairwell of his best friend Kane’s London townhouse. John, Kane’s brother, had tried to kidnap Kane’s wife Becca, but James managed to wrestle him away from her. John was killed when they both toppled over the banister, but Priscilla didn’t appear to miss him overmuch.

“I daresay the scandal has aged the poor thing,” Priscilla said, placing her hand on James’s arm.

His brows shot up. “Aged her?” He turned back to run his eyes over Catherine once more. “She has matured, that’s certain.”

Priscilla clutched his arm a bit too tightly. “Roberts,” she purred, leaning a bit closer than was proper. “I would so enjoy a stroll on the terrace with you.”

James still stared at Catherine, but he hadn’t missed the carnal invitation in Priscilla’s voice. While he wouldn’t accept her advances, he didn’t want her to feel slighted. She was a viper of the first order and he wouldn’t want to turn her venom in Catherine’s direction. It turned out that Priscilla and John had been well suited.

James, Leed, and Chester had been assisting Kane with an investigation over some missing funds from his estate when they uncovered it was John who had been stealing from his own brother. John had seduced the newly-widowed Priscilla and used her carriage to make an attempt on Kane’s life, which had very nearly cost him his young bride, Becca.

He turned and forced a smile. “Perhaps after supper, Priscilla,” he said, patting her hand as he would a child’s. When he turned back to the entrance, he noticed Catherine was gone. As he searched the room for her slender form, he could feel Priscilla tugging on his arm.

“Oh, Roberts,” she whined. “I demand you dance with me this very moment!”

He relented and led her out onto the dance floor. As he twirled her about the room, his eyes fell on Catherine where she sat delicately sipping a glass of punch. Their eyes locked. He heard Priscilla’s voice calling to him in irritation and forced his attention back to his dance partner.

“Roberts,” she said. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I’m sorry, Priscilla. I was momentarily distracted.”

“I offered you a ride in my carriage this evening.” She leaned closer. “I brought the barouche.”

Her intentions were clear to James. He stiffened and held her away from him without losing a step. “No thank you, Lady Brookdale.”

Priscilla gave an unladylike snort and took herself off the dance floor just as the number was ending. James watched her go with a flash of anger. What did she think he was? He stalked off the floor, shaking his head. Did she truly think he’d dally with her? She would no doubt want an extended liaison and he was in no mind to make such an unspoken promise. He’d be lucky to escape with his manly parts intact.

This was worse than the matrons trying to catch him for their daughters. He took himself out onto the terrace.

*     *     *

Catherine stood at one end of the room, admiring the arrangements. A talented orchestra played tunefully, and snatches of conversation and laughter could be heard above the music. Perhaps, then, the evening wouldn’t be so very terrible.

She’d seen Lord Roberts soon after she’d arrived, with Lady Brookdale draped over him. She hadn’t expected him to be here. He hadn’t attended any of the parties of late, and she’d been certain tonight would be no different. The parties weren’t all he’d avoided, either. She’d felt keen disappointment when she’d arrived at her brother’s house two nights past and found he’d declined an invitation to dine. Surely that was due to her improper behavior at Lord Chester’s wedding.

When Lady Brookdale approached her, she realized she’d been looking for another glimpse of Lord Roberts. Foolish girl.

“Ah, that Roberts is a scoundrel,” Lady Brookdale said with a gleam in her eye.

Catherine nodded absently, her eyes still searching the room for a glimpse of him.

The woman settled herself beside Catherine and leaned closer to her. “Though not quite as delicious as Waltham, I would imagine. Eh, Catherine?”

Catherine stiffened at the mention of her ex-fiancé. The look on the lady’s face, her lips curved in a sly grin, sent warning bells ringing in her head. “W-why do you say that?”

“He and Lady Joan have only just arrived. Lord, he’s a handsome man, is he not?”

Catherine saw Waltham poised in the entry to the ballroom then, his wife on his arm. Her shock gave way to contemplation. She’d thought him quite handsome, with his lean regal bearing and fair looks. But with Lord Roberts ever present in her mind, Waltham paled by comparison. Had she never noticed how slender Waltham was? How thin his fair hair? She wondered what she’d ever seen in him.

Lady Joan, a friend of Catherine’s before her elopement, was a plain young woman with quite a large fortune. Catherine bore her no ill will at present, for judging by the discomfort evident on her pale face, she wasn’t enjoying her husband’s company this evening.

“Hmm. Would you please excuse me, Lady Brookdale?”

“Certainly, dear.” Lady Brookdale clicked her tongue. “No doubt you’re upset.”

Catherine didn’t disagree with her, not aloud. How could she say she felt nothing but regret for wasting the past year mourning Lord Waltham’s loss?

*     *     *

James reentered the ballroom just after that bastard Waltham arrived. His eyes settled on Catherine, seated next to Lady Brookdale, and watched as Priscilla whispered something to her. Catherine had paled slightly then stood, obviously thinking to lose herself in the crowd. James, his hands in fists, strode purposefully toward her.

“Catherine,” he said when he reached her side.

She turned and gazed up at him in surprise. “Lord Roberts! I didn’t realize you were here.” She seemed to collect herself. “How nice to see you.”

James felt that now-familiar spark pass between them and sought to keep it contained. He nodded curtly and attempted to keep his demeanor pleasant yet impersonal.

He failed miserably when she arched a graceful brow at him.

“I daresay you’ve nearly mastered that,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

“Mastered what?” he couldn’t help asking, feigning innocence.

Catherine simply laughed, that husky sound he’d heard in his mind over the past few days.

He returned her smile with one of his own. “I’ve known you too long to stand on ceremony, Catherine.”

Her smile dimmed. “Lord Roberts, I—”

“Perhaps you’ll honor me with a dance?” Before she could deny or acquiesce, the party began to adjourn to the supper room. “Let me escort you into supper, at least.”

After a brief pause, she inclined her head and he took the opportunity to hold her elbow and escort her into the room. As they took their meal together, they fell back into the pleasant conversations they used to share. He soon realized that her mind had matured along with her face and body. Gone was the flighty girl he’d known. She eloquently expressed opinions on everything from law to politics. Obviously, she paid close attention to her brother’s speeches in Parliament. It was one more quality of Catherine’s that he admired. He relished being in the company of a woman who was intelligent as well as beautiful.

Buoyed by their easy exchange in the supper room, James once again asked Catherine to dance with him. She agreed and put her hand in his. But when she looked up at him, he felt desire lick through him again.
Careful, old boy.

He held her a bit farther away than he wished to as they twirled about the room. Catherine’s face showed her puzzlement over his abrupt change in demeanor, so he offered her one of his smiles and she gave the slightest shrug before following him through the dance.

Her hand, which she’d placed on his shoulder, slowly worked its way upward to his neck. With delicate fingers, she stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, sending a thrill though him. He tried to ignore the action, but it proved impossible. She was driving him mad, the little caresses making him want her. He looked down at her. She caught the motion and stared up at him, her eyes dark. His gaze fell on her parted lips and he pulled her closer. He lowered his head to hers, eager to kiss her, before finally remembering where they were.

As the music ceased, he held her away from him. “No.”

Catherine blinked up at him.

“No,” he said again, more to himself than to her.

He took her hand and quickly strode with her to where her sister sat. With a curt nod, he left her there.

James found himself out on the terrace once more. He was the worst kind of rake, first for wanting Catherine and then for treating her so coldly after their dance. No doubt he’d carry her look of hurt and confusion in his mind for some time.

“It’s better this way,” he told himself. He was a fool if he believed that. When she’d touched him so innocently, he’d wanted to hold her tight, to strip off her lovely gown and run his hands over her smooth skin. What was the matter with him? One would think he hadn’t been with a woman in months instead of days.

A man’s voice reached him from the far corner of the terrace then, one he didn’t recognize.

“I don’t know if you were wise, Waltham,” the man said, laughter in his voice.

“Wise?” Waltham returned. “In what way, friend?”

Waltham. The bastard who’d disgraced Catherine. James held himself still and listened.

“Didn’t you see her?” the first man said. “My God, man! She’s astonishing.”

“Perhaps I was too hasty,” Waltham allowed. “Who knew Catherine Talbot would turn into such a hot piece?”

James’s stomach clenched. How dare he say such things?

“Quite tasty,” his friend said. “I wonder if she’s still fond of you.”

“I’m quite certain I can make her recall her feelings for me. God knows I’ve got to assuage my lust somewhere. Perhaps if I offer her an arrangement, we can—”

His words were cut off in mid-sentence as James barreled up to him and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. “You bastard. Don’t ever speak of Catherine in that manner again!”

Waltham blinked in surprise, his hands working to pry James from him. “Roberts,” he sputtered. “What the devil?”

“What you did to her was despicable.” He brought his face close to Waltham’s. “But she’s most fortunate to be rid of you.”

James released him and straightened his own clothing. He fixed a sharp look on Catherine’s ex-fiancé. “Don’t let me hear you speak her name again, Waltham,” he warned, turning on his heel.

“I wonder what that was all about,” he heard Waltham’s companion ask.

“Quite interesting,” Waltham answered.

“How so?” the other man asked.

James turned to stare at Waltham from his vantage point near the doors to the ballroom.

“Never mind,” Waltham sketched him a bow. “Good evening, Roberts.”

James stalked back into the ballroom.
How dare Waltham think to dally with Catherine? She deserves more than that. She deserves someone to cherish her, to keep her safe. She deserves someone like . . . Someone like me.

He shook his head at that fanciful thought and strode back into the ballroom. He saw Catherine. Lord, he wanted to go to her. No. She didn’t deserve his awkward attempt at charm, either.

Giles met James at the door of his townhouse. “Home so early, my lord?”

“Yes,” James answered curtly.

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

“What? No, nothing,” James muttered.