Chapter 23
A week had passed since Rian’s ill-fated meeting with Isabel. He had long since stopped scolding himself for his actions. It was a waste of time for one thing, and constantly revisiting the moment would not change what had happened. Whether she knew it or not, Isabel’s decision not to see him before the wedding was exactly what he needed. Though he could admit to missing her friendship, he found the separation liberating. And he already knew there would be no invitation issued for Isabel to visit Oakhaven.
His emerging feelings for Catherine, emotions he thought never to experience again, needed to be examined without any distraction. He still did not know if they were substantial enough to pursue, or merely his response to a woman in distress. If all he had to go on was the way she had reacted to his touch when last they met, a sensible man would believe he had his answer. But Rian knew there was so much more to Catherine.
All the same, he was taken completely off guard to hear her light, feminine voice utter a string of profanity. He thought at first he was hearing things, but when the vulgarity was repeated, he realized Catherine had no idea just how far her voice carried. Curious, he approached the master suite and seeing she had her back to him, Rian leaned against the open doorway waiting to see if he could discern what had prompted the string of profanity.
She was standing next to the bed, holding onto the carved wooden post with a grip strong enough to turn her knuckles white. It was the first time he had seen her in the daytime since their previous meeting, and although he was kept informed as to her progress, it was gratifying to see the improvement with his own eyes. He recognized the dress Catherine was wearing as one of those he’d had made for her. Although calling it a dress was being generous. More of a shapeless sack, it was fashioned from a lightweight fabric and intentionally constructed to be loose fitting so as not to chafe her back or legs. Rian was able to see her feet poking out from below the hem of the roomy garment. Now that Catherine no longer needed the bandages, Mrs. Hatch had found some soft slippers for her to wear. Her hair hung down her back in a single pale braid that was as thick as his forearm, and he smiled as the ribbon tied about the end danced in the hollow of her back.
The breath caught in his throat when she suddenly let go of the bedpost and took a step forward, swaying perilously as she did so. The air was instantly filled with more salty words. Rian raised a hand to cover his mouth, curious to know who might have taught her this particular phrase. Even the most generously endowed man on the planet could not abuse himself in the manner she was suggesting. Taking a second step, Catherine repeated the first curse he’d heard, which told him these were the only two phrases she knew. Or perhaps the only two she remembered. He couldn’t imagine what explanation he would give Mrs. Hatch if it turned out Catherine was no stranger to vulgar language.
But the thought did not stop him from grinning as he imagined Catherine cursing her way across the room. Apparently her feet still pained her, but she seemed determined to make use of them. Another step and then another, only this time the sharp intake of breath did not allow for words of any kind to be spoken. Filled with admiration for her strength of will, Rian looked on as she forced herself to keep moving.
Catherine had now reached the middle of the room, and stopped to catch her breath. She was in a sort of no-man’s-land. Too far away from the bed and the support of the bedpost to return, but not yet close enough to the chaise which was her next anchor. Before he could offer any assistance, he found she was suddenly staring at him from over her shoulder. Eyes the color of cornflowers were filled with unexpected warmth and her smile proclaimed genuine pleasure at seeing him. Indeed, she gave no sign of suffering any anxiety knowing he’d been observing her.
“Hello, Catherine.” It was all he could think of to say.
“Mr. Connor.”
Her voice held a breathy tone that he decided was more a result of her exertions than caused by his presence. But he couldn’t deny he liked the way she said his name. It was a shame she hadn’t called him Rian.
“I’m getting stronger,” she stated.
“So I’m told.”
At that moment her legs decided to prove her wrong, and it took Rian no more than three strides to reach her. Gathering her in his arms, he caught her as her knees buckled. Disappointment filled him as he felt her stiffen in his embrace. Catherine might be all sunny smiles and friendliness, but her body was telling him something different, and although she wasn’t trying to throw herself out of his arms, Rian could tell she wasn’t comfortable being in such proximity. Carefully he rose to his full height and resettled her in his arms. She wasn’t heavy, but catching her as he had made his hold on her somewhat awkward, and he didn’t want to risk dropping her. The scent of her hair filled his nostrils, and the heady thrill of pleasure that jolted through him was a firm declaration of his attraction to her. Unlike the magnetism that had drawn him to Isabel, Rian sensed this had the potential to be something more. A feeling that ran deeper and stronger.
Catherine glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, and something in his belly caught fire. Rian felt as if he could whisper every foolish dream he had ever had to her, and she would keep them all safe. And this time there was more than a protective need stirring deep within him.
“Perhaps not quite as strong as you thought,” he observed, seeing her cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink.
The absence of both corset and petticoats emphasized the feel of her body, and Rian couldn’t recall the last time holding a woman had felt so right. Unable to help himself, he pulled Catherine closer only to be chastened by the quick compression of her lips. “Am I hurting you?” he asked.
Her reply was delivered in a curious squeak as she placed the flat of her hand against his chest, and pushed. “One of your buttons is poking me,” she told him, referring to the fastenings on his waistcoat.
He didn’t know what to think as she repositioned herself with a wriggle, and then put her arms around his neck as he continued across the room. “What were you trying to do?” he asked.
“I would have thought that was obvious. I was walking.”
“And has Dr. MacGregor given his permission for such activity?” The physician, being in the neighborhood, had paid a visit earlier that morning.
Rian deposited her gently on the cushioned seat of the chaise. It might have been his imagination, or a case of wishful thinking, but he could have sworn Catherine hesitated as she pulled her arms from around his neck.
“Well, he didn’t tell me not to,” she answered in her own defense, refusing to look up at him. “And besides, I am getting stronger every day.”
“That may be,” he told her, “but your balance still needs practice.”
“I would have been perfectly fine if you hadn’t distracted me.”
“I saved you from falling over.”
“I only fell because you were looking at me,” she told him, mulishly.
He stared at her in disbelief. How had this become his fault? He took a breath and decided to try a different approach. “Were you planning on taking a few turns about the room, or did you have a specific destination in mind?”
Catherine pointed over his shoulder. “I was trying to get to the window.”
“Whatever for?” The words slipped out before Rian had a chance to stop them, and he didn’t need to see the look on Catherine’s face to tell him he was an idiot.
“Because I’m tired of staring at bed curtains,” she said, speaking with an exaggerated patience normally used to address a child. A very young child.
Rian immediately felt contrite. Obviously Catherine was not used to being inactive. The feel of her lithe build told him she was no stranger to physical activity, and he could sympathize with her frustration at being confined to the bed and this room. Testing the limits of her physical capabilities had been the reason for her impromptu stroll toward the window. Unfortunately, overexertion could also keep her bedridden longer than was necessary.
“Do you like to read? There is a library downstairs. I could see if there’s anything that might help occupy your time.”
“I don’t know,” Catherine said, wrinkling her forehead. At least she was looking at him.
“You don’t know about what?”
“Reading.”
“You don’t know if you can read?” Rian frowned. It never occurred to him that perhaps she couldn’t.
Her laugh sounded like a bubbling spring. “No, I’m certain I know how to read.” She paused, looking at him with an expression that made his own pulse quicken.
“What is it? Have you remembered something?”
Catherine shook her head. “Not exactly, it’s more like an impression.” Opening her hands as if something rested in her palms, she stared at them. “I can sense holding a book in my hands,” she rubbed the pad of her thumb across the tips of her fingers, “feel the texture of the pages,” she continued.
“Can you recall the name of any book or an author perhaps?”
She pulled on her lower lip with her teeth, and Rian’s quickening pulse was now intensified by a sudden heat spiking in his groin.
“No…I…don’t know.”
“Then I’ll bring you a selection.” His voice had turned unexpectedly husky. “Perhaps you will find something familiar, or possibly something new.”
“They might be one and the same,” Catherine observed.
“A possibility, but a slender one I think.”
Taken aback by both the tone of his voice and the kindness of his gesture, Catherine thanked him. She was ashamed by how snappish she had been. It really wasn’t his fault she had almost fallen. Her knees would still have probably buckled even if there was nothing wrong with her feet to begin with; he had that effect on her. But, in retrospect, maybe she ought not to have been walking unassisted.
“I really am getting stronger,” she repeated firmly, looking up at him and daring him to contradict her.
Rian found himself suddenly drowning in a pool of azure blue. His mouth was dry and he could feel his pulse racing. He wondered how long his heart could maintain its sudden frenetic pace before simply exploding inside his chest. But as he pondered such a fate, a voice in his head whispered, there are far worse ways for a man to die.
* * * *
Mrs. Hatch had assured her that Rian didn’t always look so austere, but the manner of her injuries, as well as her memory setback, concerned him deeply. Deciding it wasn’t good for a person to be so serious so much of the time, Catherine was certain that with a little effort she could coax a smile from him. But when he asked about her walking and the doctor’s lack of instructions, his tone said he was cross with her. It suddenly occurred to her that he might think she was deliberately jeopardizing her health in order to prolong her recovery, and so remain under his care. Determined to quell such a notion, she repeated her earlier declaration regarding her progress, and followed it by asking who was keeping him informed.
“Pardon?”
“I asked how you knew,” Catherine repeated.
“How I knew what?”
Apparently occupied with other matters Rian had not been listening to her, which was both rude and frustrating. “That I was getting stronger,” she said, doing her best to stay calm. “You said you were being told. By whom?”
He looked down at her, and Catherine could see from his expression that receiving reports about her health was supposed to be a secret. Did he think she was a complete nincompoop, unable to work out for herself his source of information? She was asking merely for confirmation. She sighed. “Mrs. Hatch or Tilly?”
“Both,” he admitted.
She nodded and dropped her eyes. Of course they would keep him informed, as was his right. Once she was well enough, he would be able to relinquish all responsibility for her. Why did the thought of never seeing Rian Connor again make her feel apprehensive?
Catherine suddenly raised her head and looked at him in alarm. Her eyes opened wide enough to make Rian ask, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere? Can I help you?”
He reached down as if he was going to pick her up again, but without thinking, Catherine slapped his hands away.
A notion had struck her, one so awful she pulled a small pillow onto her lap and began plucking imaginary threads from it. Nervously she cleared her throat.
“How long were you standing there…in the doorway?” she asked in a horrified voice.
Rian frowned, wondering where her train of thought was headed before he realized exactly what she was asking. He may have been leaning against the doorframe watching her, but he’d also been listening to her. A fact Catherine had apparently failed to grasp until this exact moment. It took all he had to keep his countenance one of serious reflection.
“For a little while,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”
The air of innocence he affected was rewarded by the gasp that escaped her. He watched in fascination as the pink glow on her cheeks deepened to a crimson blush that raced up from below the neckline of her dress.
The column of her throat moved as she swallowed nervously. “Could you be a little more precise?”
Rian gave a nonchalant shrug. “Not so very long, I suppose. I marked your journey from the bedpost.”
“Of course you did,” she muttered more to herself than him. Though she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the pillow she was shredding, Rian could see her brows pull together. “So it is possible,” she said, “that you might have heard me…talking to myself?”
“Talking to yourself?” He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger appearing to ponder her words. “Talking to yourself, hmmm? Well, I suppose that’s one description for what I heard.”
She began to pluck furiously at the decorative tassel on the pillow. Rian was apparently not going to do the gentlemanly thing and spare her feelings by pretending he had not heard her cursing.
“I don’t suppose you could be persuaded that you had been mistaken in what you might have thought you heard?” Her attention was focused entirely on the tassel and its apparent demise.
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think that will be possible. Some things once heard, can never be forgotten, and it’s well known that I am blessed with excellent hearing.”
“Of course you are,” Catherine muttered.
“Besides it’s not every day I get to hear a young woman use language that would make a sailor blush. And trust me, I would know. About the sailor,” he clarified.
Catherine may have known she was cursing, but she was completely naïve about what she was saying. The plucking now became anxious tugging. The tassel was doomed. “What I said…was it really so bad?” she finally asked him.
“Quite dreadful. I feel certain Mrs. Hatch would faint on the spot if I were to repeat your words to her, poor woman.”
Catherine blanched. “Could I prevail upon you to not tell her? Could we not keep this a secret…between us?”
Rian walked over to the window, hands clasped behind his back, his mind mulling over this unexpected turn of events. Whether she meant to or not, Catherine was opening a door and inviting him in. He wasn’t about to let her close it again if he could help it. He turned back around and gave her a thoughtful look, and watched as the color on her cheeks deepened even more. “I might be persuaded,” he offered, doing his best to suppress a grin, “if you will answer a question for me.”
She raised her head and he felt himself take a mental stumble. Even from across the room her eyes held him, pinning him fast and holding him down. “What do you want to know?”
“Who taught you to swear like that?”
“Oh, that was Edward,” she answered easily, without hesitation.
The hairs on the back of Rian’s neck began to prickle. Had Catherine even realized the significance of what she had said? A name from her past, someone she clearly remembered.
“And who is Edward?” Rian probed, keeping his tone conversational.
Husband? Brother? Lover? Friend? Please God, let it be the last.
Catherine continued to gaze up at him, her eyes as dazzling as a summer sky and Rian felt his heart drum inside his chest. And then, just as quickly, her eyes darkened and she shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“Don’t worry. It will come back to you.”
“Will it?” The look on her face said she did not share his confidence.
“Yes, it will,” he affirmed. “These things take time, and you must be patient.”
Her sudden snort said patience was not a virtue she held in high esteem, but before further assurances could be offered, they were interrupted by Mrs. Hatch, who bustled into the room, followed by a maid with a tray. The housekeeper stopped and looked from one to the other, taking note of Catherine’s flushed face.
“Why Miss Catherine, however did you get to the chaise?”
“Oh, um, Mr. Connor happened by, and kindly offered me his assistance,” she answered innocently.
“Well, that was indeed fortunate,” the housekeeper said giving Rian a knowing look.
The maid placed the tray on the small table close to the chaise. Mrs. Hatch dismissed the girl and settled herself on the adjacent chair.
Taking this as his cue, Rian said, “If you ladies will excuse me, I have some matters to attend to.” He inclined his head toward each of them, and had almost reached the door when Catherine stopped him.
“Mr. Connor, did my answer suffice?” A small frown marred her brow and he saw the worry in her eyes. “Will you keep my secret?”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the housekeeper raise her brows, but wisely made no comment. If Catherine chose to share the details she was free to do so, but he doubted she would repeat her salty language word for word.
“Of course,” he said, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “but I think, as we are now sharing a confidence, you really should call me by my first name.”
Catherine looked at him in shock. “But that would make me your equal,” she blurted out.
“After what we have been through, how could you think of yourself as anything less?”