Chapter Six
Well, that had gone well.
Not perfectly, as seductions went, but well enough.
Though the interaction left Duncan with a powerful need—which persisted until he and Peter returned to Ross house and he found himself some privacy—he had to acknowledge that it had been a perfect introduction to passion for Catherine.
And he hadn’t frightened her in the slightest.
He hoped that, because of this experience, she would come to the marriage bed with more enthusiasm and curiosity than if they had never wandered into the conservatory at all.
But it made things considerably harder for him.
Whenever he thought of her.
Whenever he saw her.
Whenever he got close enough to smell her perfume.
Very hard.
This last week would be the worst of his life.
But something happened that made the wait more bearable.
As he arrived for the dreaded morning calls the next day and handed the butler his hat, he was greeted by a familiar laugh. The gravely sound from the drawing room sent a jolt of delight through him and he rushed to the door.
Surely he was mistaken. He had to be.
But no. As he rounded the corner and peered into the room, he spotted none other than his Scottish neighbor and partner in that whisky concern, Ranald Gunn, Baron of Bower, and with him, Duncan’s good friend Hamish Robb, owner of that unmistakable laugh. His burnished red hair was unmistakable as well. And a damned fine sight.
“By all the Gods,” Duncan crowed before he had time to remind himself to be proper. Surely proper gentlemen did not crow in drawing rooms.
But damn, he was tired of reining himself in. He was definitely tired of being proper.
Hamish whirled around and stared at him, and then released a whoop that caused the chandelier to shiver. Lady Esmeralda took the precaution of steadying her teacup on her saucer and issued forth a persimmony scowl. “Now, really,” she said.
The men ignored her, greeting each other with great hugs and manly slaps on the back.
“What the bluidy hell are you doing here?” Hamish asked, once they were all slapped out.
Duncan dared a glance at Catherine, who was watching him with a small smile on her face. Lord, she was lovely this morning. The sight of her made him warm. Made him remember her moans and cries and pleas of the night before. Made him—
“I say, Duncan.” Apparently Hamish had one more slap in him. “What the hell are you doing here in London?”
“Language?” Lady Esmeralda bleated.
“Ach, I beg your pardon, lass,” Hamish said with that crooked grin no woman, no matter her age or level of starch, could resist. Indeed, Esmeralda softened, giggled, and even fluttered her lashes—which was, in Duncan’s estimation, a disturbing sight.
She wagged her folded fan at Hamish. “Never forget we are in the presence of innocents, sir.”
“Och, how could I forget?” Hamish said on a chuckle. He turned away and mugged at Duncan. Then he leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial tone, “We’ve been sent by the duke.”
“Caithness?”
Bower nodded with a pained smile on his face. “Aye. The duke sent us as his representatives for the season.”
Lady Esmeralda’s nose curled—a rather frightening sight. “That bloody duke. He was supposed to come.”
“Aye, my lady,” Hamish said with an appropriately chagrined expression on his face. “But his wife is . . . increasing. He dinna want to leave her alone.”
“Bah. A Scots lass is sturdy enough to travel.”
“His Grace prefers to be cautious.”
Lady Esmeralda was not impressed. “His Grace was supposed to grace us with his presence.”
“He sent us instead,” Hamish said clapping his hand to his chest. “We will protect your wee lambs from the wolves of the ton.”
Lady Esmeralda rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. “We’re supposed to be marrying them off, not chasing away suitors.”
“We’re just simple Scotsmen,” Hamish said. “We’ve no plan to chase away suitors.” He winked at Bower, who bit back a smile. Of the two, Bower was the strong silent type, where Hamish was more inclined to mischief.
Lachlan had probably sent the two of them in hopes they would balance each other out.
“I fail to see why the duke could not have come himself,” Esmeralda repeated.
“His wife is increasing,” Hamish repeated.
“He could have come without her. He owes it to his kin.”
Anne, sitting quietly next to Elizabeth who was pretending to needlepoint, sniffed.
“Do you have something to say, gel?” Esmeralda trilled.
“I do. The duke has been more than generous. Taking us in. Financing our wardrobes. Procuring for us the most elegant, respected chaperone in London . . .”
She paused to allow Lady Esmeralda to preen.
“And all this for four girls he’s never met.”
“It’s his ob-li-gation,” Lady Esmeralda enunciated.
“I, for one, don’t want to be anyone’s obligation,” Elizabeth said.
“Nor I,” Victoria chimed in.
“I don’t mind,” said Mary. The other girls scowled at her, but Catherine laughed.
It was a sound that captured Duncan’s attention. Nae, more so than that. It grabbed him by the gut and yanked. His gaze snapped to her and he caught her, mid-laugh. Their eyes clung and that warmth grew again.
“I say, Duncan,” Hamish murmured. “You never did tell me why you’d come to London.” But his gaze had tracked Duncan’s and his smile made clear he had figured it out. Or at least, part of it.
Seven bluidy hells. Duncan knew that smirk.
And he feared it.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good thing, having his friends come to London after all.
* * *
Catherine hadn’t slept a wink all night. How could she, with the memory of Duncan’s hands, his mouth on her, swirling in her head? She’d heard stories about lovemaking, odd quips here and there, things she hadn’t understood. She did now. Or at least she had a better idea.
She knew there was more to it that what she’d experienced, and she had a vague idea of what came next.
What she didn’t understand was why such thoughts made her dizzy and weak. And . . . wanting.
In short, the prosaic description of the act did not match the emotional maelstrom. In fact, boiled down to the act itself, it didn’t seem pleasant in the least. And the thought of doing such things with Tiverton or Preeble left her utterly cold.
But Duncan?
Ah, not cold in the slightest.
She shot him a warming glance and was thrilled to find him watching her. Of their own volition, her lips quirked. Her heart pounded as he slowly returned the salute. His grin was wicked indeed, which caused her smile to broaden.
The deafening clearing of a throat swelled through the room, piercing the moment. With a start, Catherine turned to meet Lady Esmeralda’s glower.
Odd how a lid could twitch like that.
“Lady Catherine.” Egads. What a horrific timbre. The sound of her name had never before sent such cold shivers through her. “Would you favor us with a song on the pianoforte?”
Catherine tried not to grimace. She was hardly accomplished. “Of course, Lady Esmeralda,” she said, and then she nodded in apology to the men. To her surprise and delight, Duncan made his way to her side.
“Shall I turn the pages for you?” he asked.
How sweet. “I didn’t know you read music,” she said.
His grin was wicked. “I doona. But it’s a chance to stand next to you.”
Oh dear. How was she supposed to focus on the notes with him looking at her like that? Towering over her. Leaning in. Breathing . . .
Needless to say, she mangled Mozart. Brutalized him, in fact. And it was such a pretty piece too. One of her favorites.
When she finished, everyone clapped politely, but when she gamely suggested she play some more, Mary and Anne both leapt up with alacrity and insisted, with far too much fervor, that her performance had been so transporting they couldn’t possibly bear to hear more.
Which was fine with Catherine. She hadn’t wanted to play in the first place.
Although she couldn’t deny she had enjoyed it.
She slid off the bench and turned to Duncan. “Would you care to take a stroll?” she asked with a wink.
He blinked, perhaps stunned by her forwardness.
Did he mind her forwardness? Or was it off-putting to him?
She would have to ask on their walk.
“I would love to,” he murmured, and he took her arm.
They were halfway through the room—so close to that wonderful door—when something of a screech halted them both mid-step. “I say.”
Catherine peered over her shoulder at Lady Esmeralda. Her expression was pinched.
“Just where do you think you’re going?”
“For a walk, Lady Esmeralda.”
“To the conservatory?” My, how the woman could warble. “I think not. Not without a chaperone.”
“A chaperone? But, Lady Esmeralda,” Duncan said. “We are betrothed.”
“What?” Hamish barked. And then he laughed.
Catherine frowned at him. When he noticed, he clamped his lips together. He shot a curious glance at Duncan. “But I thought you were in love with the—”
“Shut up.” Duncan’s face turned red. He glanced at Catherine and then glowered at Hamish.
“No, really. How many times did you talk about her—”
“Shut. Up.”
Bower leaned over and whispered something in Hamish’s ear, which made the younger man still and swallow and then flick a remorseful glance at Duncan.
Catherine didn’t understand the byplay and she didn’t try. She was too crushed by the fact that Hamish had inadvertently revealed Duncan’s secret. He was in love with another woman.
The thought hit her hard. Harder than she would have imagined it could.
Pain in her chest was nearly paralyzing.
It was ridiculous, really. They had both agreed they weren’t in love. It would be silly for her to imagine he could love her. Especially so soon. After one tryst, or . . . whatever it had been.
And hadn’t he been the one to insist that one day love might come to them? That was a far cry from blinding adoration.
She was foolish to expect more.
And he was a grown man. Of course he’d had other loves. She knew about Saundra, at least. She had no right to begrudge them his time or passion and she had no right to judge him for having such a past.
But—all this desperate rationalization aside—there was one thing she simply could not understand.
If he was in love with another woman, why was he so insistent on marrying her?
* * *
Duncan glowered at Hamish. He’d gone and bollixed things up good. He could tell from Catherine’s expression that she was hurt and perhaps a little angry, but there was no chance to speak with her in private, no chance to reassure her because, just then, she immediately put her hand to her head and claimed a megrim.
The St. Claire girls shot to their feet and closed ranks around her, fluttering and cooing and whisking her off to God only knew where.
“Thank you so much,” he growled to his friend as he watched his bride disappear.
Hamish shrugged. “Sorry.”
The blighter didn’t know the meaning of the word, but Duncan would love the chance to teach him.
“That was exceedingly bad timing,” Bower said, though his expression was too amused for Duncan’s liking.
“I’ve always been impulsive. You know that,” Hamish said.
“But to tell my bride I am in love with another woman?”
“You are.” There was no call for Hamish to pout. He was not the injured party here. “You talked about that girl all the time.”
“Only when I was drinking.”
“As I said, all the time. My wee Cat this. My wee Cat that. You swore one day you would find her again. You swore one day you would marry her—” He petered to a halt as realization dawned. Or maybe it was Duncan’s expression that finally silenced him. “Oh,” he said. He glanced toward the door. “Her name is Catherine isn’t it?”
“I do believe that is how Lady Esmeralda introduced her.”
At which point all three men realized that the lady in question was still in the room and watching them with a hawk-like stare.
“Oh, do go on.” She waved a hand in their general directions. “This is fascinating.”
“You are amused by this conundrum,” Duncan muttered.
“Of course I am.” She tittered a laugh. “I love to see men tipped on their sides for love. Very satisfying. Very satisfying.”
He opened his mouth to respond that he was hardly tipped on his side, but he knew it was a lie. Everything about Catherine tipped him askew.
The fact that he had not denied the love part was missed by no one.
“Are you saying you found the woman of your dreams and she has agreed to marry you and you haven’t confessed yourself to her yet?” Hamish asked.
Had they not been in Lady Esmeralda’s drawing room, Duncan might have smashed his face in.
Then Hamish guffawed and Duncan’s fist closed of its own accord.
Drawing room or not—
Fortunately, before he could act, Lady Esmeralda stepped between them and patted them both on their chests. Her caress lingered appreciatively. “Now, now, you should not be so judgmental,” she said waggling a finger at Hamish. “You hardly know the entire story.”
Duncan snorted. “Nae. You do no’!”
“And you!” She whirled on Duncan. “I strongly suggest you take that gel aside and tell her how you feel at once.”
“Take her aside? How am I to take her aside when she is guarded with greater zeal than the crown jewels?”
“You didn’t have a problem last night, did you?” She arched her brows and Duncan went warm. Fortunately, she did not press the point. “There is a masquerade at Lord Daltry’s tonight and I am taking the gels. I recommend you attend and sweep her off her feet.”
“I doona have an invitation.”
“It should be no trouble getting in if you remember to wear a domino. Sneak through the garden.” She paused and eyed him wickedly. “You are so very good at that.”
He ignored her aside. “It would be so much easier if you would leave Catherine home and let me visit her tonight.”
“Nonsense. That is hardly proper.”
“And kidnapping her at a ball is?”
“Silly boy.” Thwap went the fan. “Kidnapping is such a romantic thing.”
“It is?” Hamish asked. He shot a glance at Bower, who shrugged.
“Of course it is. Find her in the crowd. Spirit her away into the gardens. Tell her you love her. You’ve always loved her. She is your life. Your bright shining star. The song in your heart—”
“Perhaps you should take this down,” Hamish suggested.
“I think I can figure out how to tell her I love her,” Duncan snapped.
“You haven’t yet,” Lady Esmeralda retorted.
Honestly. What had he ever done to deserve such abuse?
He turned on his heel and marched from the room.
“Where are you going?” Hamish called.
“I have a domino to procure.” And a woman to win. And tonight he would tell her. Every single truth. Every single secret.
Hopefully she would not hate him.