Chapter Seven

Catherine lay, her body pleasantly aching, aware that she was not in her own room. Or in her own bed. Through the single window she could see snow falling outside and collecting on the window ledge. It seemed the weather was still holding them hostage, and suddenly she was glad of it. Ridiculously glad.

She sat up, tucking her hair out of the way, and looked down at the man sleeping beside her. His fair lashes covered those strikingly pale blue eyes, and his full mouth was slightly open, soft breaths huffing in and out. His lips had been so soft, and when he had smiled she had felt that smile against her own. There was a beard beginning to sprout on his cheeks and jaw, the stubble a darker shade than his hair.

She wanted to run her fingers over it. She wanted... well, she wanted to do it all over again.

While he slept he had thrown off the covers, and now he lay on his back, completely naked to her gaze. In her ignorance she had believed she knew what a man looked like, that they were all the same, but this man... so handsome, so well made, she could gaze at him for hours. Long, muscled legs and narrow hips, his chest broader, and his shoulders broader still. She contemplated the flesh between his legs, lying soft against his thigh. The memory of his expertise, the way he had played her body like an instrument, knowing exactly how to extract the most bliss from it, made her cheeks warm.

She had never been loved like that. She had never thought physical pleasure could be so all consuming unless it was accompanied by strong emotion. Love. But she did not love Sebastian, and he did not love her, although the attraction between them seemed incredibly strong. Potent. When he had brought her to her climax she had hardly known where she was. A weightless creature, soaring into the sky, while the world vanished beneath her. It had been unlike even her most vivid imaginings.

Was that just her lack of experience, or was it this man? She didn’t want it to be the latter because their arrangement was meant to be temporary. When they parted she would remember him, but she did not want to yearn for him. She wanted to smile at her memories, find pleasure in them, and not ache with the sorrow of loss.

Perhaps Maggie was right, and she should seek out the new footman. But the idea repulsed her. She didn’t want to think about another man, not while Sebastian lay beside her. It felt... wrong. She simply wanted to luxuriate in his company in the short time remaining to them.

When she was young, there had been little time for leisure. Her father had worked long hours as the curate in their parish where the vicar was often absent. Her mother was his helpmate, and his daughters loved his kind and gentle ways. When he died suddenly, crushed when his horse fell and rolled on him, they lost their father and husband, but also their provider. Poverty dug its claws into them, and although the people of the parish tried to help, it was not enough. That was the moment when Ellen Mallory had decided to take advantage of her three daughters’ extraordinary good looks, and a cousin’s invitation, and move them all to London.

“So many opportunities, girls!” she had declared, her eyes shining with hope and ambition. “You will thank me for this chance!”

Catherine agreed that being desperately poor was not something anyone would want, but to be married to a man old enough to be her grandfather just for his coronet...?

There was a soft tap on the door. Catherine, startled out of her memories, wondered if Sebastian would wake, but he barely stirred. She rose, collecting her clothing and slipping on her gown over her naked body. She was already at the door when Maggie’s whisper reached her.

“My lady? Are you there?”

Catherine opened the door a crack.

Maggie grinned at her. “I didn’t want to disturb you if you were busy,” she said innocently. “Although it seemed awfully quiet in there.”

“I... we were sleeping,” she replied as she went into the hallway and shut the door quietly behind her, knowing her cheeks were pink.

Maggie didn’t seem to feel the same embarrassment. “There’s hot water, if you want to bathe,” she said, walking close beside Catherine as they made their way back to her room. “I’ve had Dodds carrying the buckets up here.”

“Dodds? Oh, the viscount’s manservant.”

“He has nothing to do while his master is busy, so I set him to work.”

She looked so pleased with herself that Catherine laughed. It was a happy sound, and Maggie noticed. “I heard them saying downstairs that the road is not looking like it will be open for at least another day,” she said, with another broad grin.

More time with Sebastian. More hours of sensual pleasure. She hugged the thought to herself. And she would still be home in time for Jack’s birthday.

In her room there was a steaming hot bath waiting for her, just as Maggie had promised. “If you weren’t needing it, I would have used it myself,” her servant said cheekily.

“Thank you,” Catherine whispered, clasping Maggie’s hand. “It is just what I need.”

Maggie swished some scent into the water while Catherine undressed again. She gave her mistress a sly glance. “Well? You haven’t said whether it was as good as I am thinking? Don’t tell me a fine-looking specimen like Albury didn’t know where to put his—”

Catherine interrupted with a frown. “It was very good, Maggie, and he was a master of—of seduction. Although I was more than ready to be seduced.” She laughed at herself, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks. “Now ask no more questions for I won’t tell you the answers.”

“That’s hardly fair. I tell you about my conquests.” Maggie pouted, as Catherine stepped into the water and sank down with a sigh. She closed her eyes but couldn’t rid herself of her smile.

“I did not know...” she began, and the words seemed lodged in her throat.

But Maggie understood. “You deserve to be happy,” she said. “Enjoy yourself with the viscount.”

Catherine felt a little jump of joy inside her. Another night, perhaps, or two? Assuming, that was, Sebastian wanted to repeat their performance. But when she remembered the way his legs had trembled as she sucked him, and his groan as he reached his climax inside her, she had few doubts that he would be as willing as she.

“When Dodds told me his master was an expert in the art of pleasure, I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him.” Maggie began to wash Catherine’s hair.

Catherine’s smile grew. “He is well-versed on the subject.”

Maggie gave an unladylike snort. “I’ll wager he is.”

After she was patted dry and dressed in a plum-colored gown with slippers to match, it was almost time to go down to the parlor. She had missed luncheon, but Maggie assured her it had been very uninspiring. Merely a stopgap before dinner. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, but folk here in the country ate their dinners early, and if anyone was still ravenous they could partake of supper before bedtime. The meals were probably also meant to give the travelers a sense of structure in their day, when no one quite knew what was happening.

Maggie put the finishing touches on Catherine’s hair, coiling it into a simple braid on top of her head, with ringlets about her face to offset the severity of the style.

“I’m sure Albury won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you like this,” Maggie said, pretending to be serious. “You are always beautiful, but right now... you are glowing.”

“Nonsense,” Catherine retorted. “If I am glowing then it is from the heat of the bath.”

“Hmm, if you say so.” Maggie’s look was arch.

Catherine giggled, shocking herself, because when was the last time she had giggled?

They were about to open the door and leave the room, when they heard Mr. Querol and his niece pass by, making their way to the stairs. Once they had passed, Maggie and Catherine stepped out into the passage and followed at a discreet distance. The two Querols were speaking in low, angry voices. The girl, Anthea, certainly looked miffed about something, and she shook off her uncle’s hand when he tried to grab hold of her arm. He shot her a sour look in return.

“This was a mistake,” he hissed. “I should never have agreed to bring you with me.”

“You’re telling me,” the girl said, and to Catherine’s surprise she had a strong Cockney accent very much at odds with her uncle’s educated English.

Maggie and Catherine shared a look. When the couple had closed the parlor door behind them, Maggie leaned in close. “If they are uncle and niece, I am the Queen of France.”

“They do seem an ill-assorted couple.”

Maggie gave her customary snort of laughter. She nodded toward the back of the inn. “I’ll be eating in the kitchen with Dodds and the others. Plenty of gossip to be had. I’ll see what I can discover about Mr. and Miss Querol.”

Catherine stiffened but Maggie was quick to reassure her.

“Not about you. I don’t talk about you, my lady, and if anyone else tries to wheedle your secrets from me I’ll be quick to shut them up.”

Catherine knew she could trust her maid, but she was also wise enough to know there would be gossip about herself and Sebastian. It shouldn’t matter to her—it was unlikely she would be returning to The White Rose again—but memories of the whispers when she arrived in London at nineteen lingered. Courage, she told herself, and with a deep breath she pushed her shoulders back and followed the Querols into the parlor.

A quick glance showed her that Sebastian wasn’t there. She was disappointed, but the thought of seeing him again after their tryst was also rather unnerving—their time together had rubbed her emotions raw and left her feeling transparent. The other occupants sent smiles and murmurs of greeting her way. The Fotheringhams were at the smaller round table this time, and the Querols were at the end of the large table, nearer the fireplace. This left the other end for Catherine.

A breathless maid had followed her in and now informed everyone that dinner would be delayed as the farmer who was bringing the beef for the roast beef had overturned his cart. There were murmurs of concern and, from Benny, a long one-sided conversation about what that might mean for their dinner. When the maid could get a word in, she assured him that Mr. Rose would be in shortly to discuss the matter, and then she made her escape.

By now Catherine had sat down, and seeing her, Benny called out. “We can’t go anywhere because the snow is too deep.”

His parents hushed him, but Catherine answered with a smile. “Were you going somewhere in particular, Benny?”

“To my parents,” Mrs. Fotheringham replied. “They haven’t seen their grandson since he was a babe in arms, so this is a special treat. He’s a big boy now.”

“I’m four!” Master Fotheringham announced importantly.

“That is a great age,” Catherine said seriously. “I’m sure your grandparents will be so pleased to see you.”

Mrs. Fotheringham smiled. “What of you, my—my lady?”

Mr. Querol looked up from his tankard of ale. “The proper way of addressing a duchess is ‘your grace’, Mrs. Fotheringham.”

“Oh!” She looked embarrassed. “I didn’t—”

“I don’t mind in the least,” Catherine assured her. “And to answer your question, I am going home to Winstanton to see my son. I have been visiting my mother.”

“Why didn’t your son go with you? Where did you go?” Benny demanded.

His parents hushed him again, but Catherine loved the way children were so inquisitive. They knew no boundaries in their quest for an answer. Although she would have enjoyed their conversation more if she were not missing Jack so much. “Unfortunately, he couldn’t go with me, and my mother lives in London.”

“London,” the boy said in awe, his eyes alight. “Can we go to London next time, Mama?”

Mr. Querol interrupted again. “Nasty place. You don’t want to go there, young man. You never know what sort of characters you might meet.”

His niece gave him a glare, before she too turned to the child. “It’s a wonderful place, my duck, and you will have a wonderful time if you go.”

No one seemed to know what to say after that and there was an uncomfortable silence. Catherine was relieved when the door opened again, and this time Sebastian entered the room.