Chapter 31

"Oh, my Lord," Catherine murmured, stretching luxuriously, her eyes fluttering open. "What time is it?"

She gazed at the ceiling. Something was different. Her body felt complete in a way that it had never felt before. And then, she remembered the night before. It all came flooding back into her mind—every caress, every impassioned kiss, the extreme pleasure that he had evoked within her, making her think she was flying into heaven itself.

And she was no longer a maiden.

Catherine gasped as she felt a stirring beside her. Her eyes flicked to the other side of the bed. She gasped again. He was still here! It was morning, and he had clearly slept beside her for the entire night.

She held her breath, staring at him. He was tangled in the white sheet, one muscular leg thrown out, hanging off the edge of the bed. His hard, firm chest was exposed. Her eyes feasted on it. She wanted to run her fingers along it, feeling those hard muscles, luxuriating in the feel of his skin.

Suddenly, his eyes opened, looking straight at her.

"Good morning," he said, blinking rapidly. His eyes swept over her, taking in her naked body lying beneath the sheet. "You are a sight for sore eyes."

Catherine blushed fiercely. She felt completely tongue-tied. The things they did together last night came rushing back to her mind again. The passion between them had burned so strongly that she was almost embarrassed now. She didn't know what to say to him at all.

"How are you feeling?" he asked in a soft voice, reaching out to caress her face. "That was quite a night."

Catherine's blush deepened. "Yes," she replied in an awkward voice. "It was, indeed."

He sat up, leaning to the side and gazing at her intently. Her heart flipped over in her chest. He looked so earnest, his eyes much greener today rather than blue, the color of the sea on a cloudy day.

"I want to talk to you about something," he said eventually, his face solemn. "And I want to do it now… before anything else happens between us."

Catherine could barely breathe. "What do you want to say to me?"

He reached out again, trailing a hand down her left arm. She shivered. Already she was becoming aroused again. It wasn't just the light, teasing touch on her skin. It was the fact that he was lying naked in her bed, tousled from sleep, looking so handsome and sensual that she could barely stand it.

Desperately, she tried to ignore her arousal. He wanted to talk with her. And she knew how important it was that they did talk in the aftermath of what had happened between them last night. For everything was quite different now.

His hand dropped from her arm, and she shivered at the loss of his touch.

"I want you to promise me that what I am about to tell you will remain between the two of us," he said slowly, frowning. "I want your word that it will not leave this room."

Catherine sat up, staring at him. He had her full attention now.

"I do so promise," she whispered. "Cross my heart."

He smiled faintly. "Thank you."

His frown deepened, and he lapsed into silence for a moment. Catherine could barely breathe as she waited for him to say what he needed to say.

"You know that my mother died when I was eight years old," he began abruptly, turning to her, a sharp look on his face. "Do you not?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. I am so sorry for your loss?—"

Thomas clicked his tongue impatiently. "No. Please, I need to keep speaking." He took a deep, ragged breath. "The thing is, she did not die when I was eight years old. As far as I know, she is still alive."

"What?" Catherine sat up in the bed, gaping at him, her eyes wide. "I do not understand."

His face twisted. "No, you would not understand. How could you?" He gazed at her steadily for a moment. "My mother abandoned my father and I when I was eight years old. She ran away with a sea captain. My father, to contain the scandal, told everyone that she was dead."

Catherine gasped. Her heart gave an almighty thud in her chest. A wave of sorrow swept over her. She almost felt ill with it.

"She abandoned you?" Her voice was high-pitched and incredulous. "To make a life with another man? She left you behind to care for yourself, and you have never seen her since?"

Thomas nodded. He had paled, looking as ill as she felt. She saw that he had started to tremble ever so slightly. This was clearly something he rarely spoke about. She could see how the emotion was draining him even now.

"Yes," he said abruptly, his lips thinning. "That is the gist of it. My father was a broken man. I swear that it sent him to his early grave."

"I am so sorry," Catherine whispered, shaking her head, her heart bleeding for him and the boy he had been. "What a terrible, tragic thing to live with. Especially to be forced to pretend that she had died when you knew the truth." She hesitated. "How old were you when you discovered the truth?"

He looked grim. "I knew almost immediately," he replied slowly. "My father wanted me to know the truth." He hesitated. "And there is something else, Catherine. He was so devastated, so broken, that he made me vow that I would never lose myself to love. That I would never let a woman ruin me like my mother had ruined him."

Catherine gasped again. Her head was spinning. Now, all of it was making sense. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place.

His friend, the Duke of Dunford, had told her there were reasons why Thomas was the way he was. He had also insisted that it was Thomas's story to tell. And now, she had been told the story.

"What a terrible thing to force on a child," she said, feeling like she wanted to cry. She could almost picture him as a boy, his father overwhelmed with grief and betrayal, making him swear to never fall in love. "I cannot believe your father did that to you!"

"He was in extremis," Thomas explained, managing to grin wryly. "I never blamed him for it." He took a deep breath. "This is why I have fought so hard to keep my distance from you. I never wanted to marry at all, but my grandmother was pressuring me badly, and you seemed like the best candidate… someone I could tolerate at least."

Catherine let out a bark of laughter. "I am flattered, Sir."

He laughed with her for a moment then sobered, gazing at her intently. "I wanted to keep my promise to my father, Catherine," he said in a low voice. "It was very important to me. The last link I had to him." He hesitated. "But that was not the only reason, of course. My mother's abandonment scarred me. I loved her dearly… and she just left me, as if I were a toy she had grown weary of playing with."

Catherine made a small, distressed sound in the back of her throat, reaching over and taking his hand. She felt choked with sorrow and pity for him. What a truly awful thing to live with.

"I never wanted to experience that pain again," Thomas continued, looking at her intently. "I never wanted to love someone so much that it would ruin me if they betrayed or left me, you see."

Catherine bit her lip. He looked so lost, so bewildered, that her heart could barely stand it. She reached out, cupping his face in her hands, gazing into his eyes before she kissed him. A sweet, lingering kiss.

She pulled away, watching him carefully. "I am not going anywhere, Thomas," she vowed, her voice trembling with emotion. "You beat me fair and square at that game in the gambling hell… and now, I am afraid you are stuck with me."

His eyes lit up. "Truly?"

"Truly," she breathed. "Just try to get rid of me."

He laughed, his eyes raking over her face as if seeking something. "You won that game, Catherine," he said softly. "You are the one who won."

They gazed at each other. The air was thick with emotion.

"You are not the only one who has been trying to run away from life, you know," she admitted, her heart flipping. "I swore that I would never love a man because of the way my father treated my mother. He broke her with his constant infidelity." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I swore that I would never live my mother's life, my heart breaking anew every time the one I loved betrayed me."

There was a tense silence. Slowly, he reached out, brushing a finger against her mouth, staring at her.

"What a pair we are," he murmured, grimacing. "Both of us stuck in the past because of the actions of people we loved." He shook his head ruefully. "I am not like your father, Catherine. I swear it to you."

She bit her lip, gazing at him, wanting to believe him so badly that it hurt. They had already partially crossed the bridge separating them by surrendering to each other last night—by acknowledging the passion and connection between them. Could they take the final step by leaving the past behind, once and for all, and just living their lives?

Her heart fluttered with trepidation. She could admit now how much she yearned for it, to simply leave it all behind and start anew. To fully explore the connection between them without always looking over her shoulder, waiting for the axe to fall.

Could she do it? Could he? Could they really shake off the shackles of their past and walk into the future together?

"We are not our parents," Thomas continued in a soft voice. "It has taken me a long time to understand that. We are not destined to repeat their mistakes. I will not let it happen."

"Is it possible?" she whispered, her heart lurching.

"We can only try," he whispered back, taking her hands and gazing at her intently. "I am willing to try if you are."

"Yes," she said in a faint voice. "I am willing to try if you are, too."

He pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. Catherine laughed softly, basking in the embrace. They kissed and nuzzled each other, rubbing noses and laughing together.

Already, Catherine felt the difference. The great passion was still there, simmering beneath the surface, just waiting to ignite again, but alongside it was something else. A tenderness had burgeoned between them, bright and new, as soft as the downy feathers of a fledgling.

The door opened, and Jean, her maid, walked in, carrying a freshly laundered gown in her arms. When she saw them in the bed, she stopped, her face shocked, looking like she was rooted to the spot.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Your Graces," she cried, turning brick red as she bobbed a quick, clumsy curtsey. "I did not realize…"

"It is quite all right, Jean." Catherine laughed, blushing. "But if you could wait outside the room for a moment, that would be good."

The maid looked flustered, nodding and retreating hastily, closing the door firmly behind her.

"I guess it is time to get up," Thomas sighed. He looked at Catherine. "I will leave you to begin your toilette." His gaze lingered on her. "I will see you at the breakfast table."

"Yes," Catherine said, her blush deepening. "You will."

He lingered a moment longer before grabbing her and kissing her until she was breathless. She could feel his arousal pressing insistently against her leg. He groaned, as if in agony, before leaping out of the bed and walking to the door connecting their chambers. She couldn't keep her eyes off him.

He looked back at her. "Until then," he whispered.

She nodded, barely able to breathe. And then he was gone.

Catherine lay back on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling, feeling stunned. None of it seemed real—not their passion last night, nor the intense conversation they had just had. She felt as if she had entered a dream world where the normal rules did not apply and anything was possible. She could fly to the moon. She could walk on water. She could learn to love a man.

Her heart clenched. She was still so scared, but she was willing to try at last. Was she making the biggest mistake of her life? Or was she about to step into the greatest joy that she had ever known?