His Lordship's Chaperone (13 page)

“It isn’t?” He felt relieved. He had thought she
was trying to worm her way back into his life. This slightly improper visit
would not be unexpected of her.

“I was out for a drive with Lord Fitzgerald and he
was kind enough to stop here so I may return this.” She held out a gold pocket
watch in her palm. “I believe it is yours.”

Haverton recognized the engraved gold case. “Yes,
it is. Wherever did you find it?”

“On the floor of my theater box. It must have
fallen when you stopped by.”

“I’m sure it must have.” Haverton couldn’t imagine
how he had managed to lose it but no harm done, his watch had been found. He
took it from her and slipped it into his pocket. “I thank you for its return.”

Celeste gave a satisfied sigh and announced, “Now
that I’ve done my duty, I’d best be on my way. I am sure we shall cross paths
before Season’s end.” She strolled back the way they had come. The path that
would take her back to Mrs. Hayes.

The horrifying picture of a second encounter
flashed into this mind. “Please!” He leaped forward, taking her by the arm,
ensuring she would not go the wrong way. “Let me return you to Lord Fitzgerald.
We’ll take the long way.”

Celeste smiled and lowered her lashes. “You must
stop this, Haverton. You’ll make me think you still care.”

“You can stop painting now,” Haverton announced,
coming back from walking Celeste to her carriage. “She has gone.”

With brush still in hand, Mrs. Hayes lowered her
arm and relaxed. “I was afraid she’d return to give me some pointers. Who was
that woman?”

“A lady of my acquaintance,” he replied, not
wanting to go into detail. It didn’t matter, Celeste was his past and his
future was … he looked at his chaperone … undecided.

“Oh, I see.”

“Mrs. Cummings-Albright stopped by to return my
pocket watch. It seems I dropped it along the way as I called on her last night.”

“How kind of her to return it to you.” Mrs. Hayes stepped
away from the easel and handed the Marquess his paintbrush.

“Not as kind as you for accepting credit, such as
it is, for my work. Apparently it is in need of further attention.” He took
hold of the brush as well as her gaze. “You saved me, you know. I could have
faced possible social ridicule not to mention a harsh evaluation of my artistic
abilities.”

“It is my duty to protect you, is it not?” She
relinquished her hold of the brush and turned away from him. “You were less
than pleased that I discovered your hobby. I didn’t think you’d want anyone
else to know.”

“And you were right. I jest about the social
ridicule, although some of my unconventional ideas have been embraced. I think
others would be less than kind if my painting were to become known.”

“I do not think society would be as unforgiving as
you believe. They seem to have accepted the idea of a man’s chaperone well
enough. Why should they not accept
your
chosen …
pastime?”

“In this case, Mrs. Hayes, I feel they would look
upon it as if I had a fondness for wearing ladies’ undergarments.”

She gasped. He recoiled. Mrs. Hayes was neither
friend nor family that he should be talking so freely to her.

“I beg your pardon—I did not mean that I actually
wear female undergarments—”

Mrs. Hayes gasped again.

“I don’t—what I mean to say is—I should not have
said—” He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to clear his head.

“I think it would be best if you said no more.” She
moved her hand to cover her expression but he caught a glimpse of her shy
smile.

“I concur.” He gave her a curt nod and returned to
his easel.

“I believe I shall return to the house now.”

Sharing these private moments with her made him
wish for more private moments. Attending a party tonight would put her in an
opposite corner of a ballroom. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to make
conversation with charming young misses and his bawdy chums, and he didn’t want
to share Mrs. Hayes with anyone.

“I thought we might stay in tonight,” he called to
her. She turned to face him. “That is, if you don’t mind?”

“It is not for me to decide. Whatever your
pleasure, your lordship,” Mrs. Hayes replied in an amicable fashion then
continued on her way.

Haverton held tight onto his softening heart. If
she only knew.

Catherine glanced from her needlework to Lord
Haverton, who sat across the room on the striped sofa, then to the flames in
the hearth next to her.

Dinner had been tranquil that evening. Not that
they usually conversed but tonight she sensed a different type of silence, an
almost foreboding quiet that preceded a storm.

She wondered what he was thinking, or if he was
thinking at all, and glanced at him again. He scribbled in a small ledger. His
eyes narrowed, focused on the work in front of him.

Most people would have thought the Marquess busy,
calculating estate figures or drafting an important letter. But the way his
pencil moved in alternating slow and quick, long strokes, Catherine knew he was
sketching. She stared down at her own work and smiled.

Only she would know that.

Lord Haverton broke the comfortable quiet. “Simon
told me that you play chess.” The long scratch of his pencil persisted in the
background while he spoke.

“I play, my lord, but not well.”

“I’ve heard you play well enough to best Simon.”
Haverton’s hand stilled and he looked at her. “Could I interest you?”

Something told Catherine that engaging him in a
game would not be the wisest course of action but she could not refuse. “If you
insist.”

“It’s not an order.” A smile touched his lips. “I’m
asking you. Would you care to play me a game?”

Just a game. Don’t be silly, she scolded herself.
What possible harm could it cause?

“Very well.” Catherine set her embroidery aside and
followed him to a table. He pulled out a box of chess pieces and set them on
the board in their rightful places.

“White on the right, if I’m not mistaken,” he said
in a questioning tone.

Catherine nodded. How could he have forgotten?
Simon said Lord Haverton was a most accomplished player. Why should she not
play him a game? He had no ulterior motives—she knew better than that and she
suspected he wouldn’t attempt any childish pranks. For heaven’s sakes, why was
she worried? There was nothing to be lost for there would be no wager.

“I believe you have the first move,” he pointed
out, gesturing to his black men while she sat behind the rows of white.

Catherine moved her king’s pawn forward. He copied
her move.

She looked up at him. He smiled in return.

Catherine slid her king’s bishop out four squares.
Lord Haverton touched his king’s bishop and glanced over at her, while he
pondered, deliberating his next move.

The intensity of those eyes, his eyes, felt as if
they pierced her, and all she could do was stare back. Her mouth parted, just a
bit, attempting to draw a breath of air. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t move.
All she could see were his eyes, his face.

Lord Haverton exhaled with a little sigh. Catherine
blinked, recovering from her trance.

He cleared his throat. “I believe it’s your turn.”

Her turn? “Yes, I’m sorry.” She had to stop meeting
his gaze. Catherine dug in her pocket for her spectacles, slipped them on, and
tried to interest herself in the chess game.

Again, she noted, he had mirrored her last move.
Catherine could feel him looking at her, watching her. He was studying her face
just as sure as he surveyed the chess game. Perhaps even more so. If he didn’t
switch tactics, she’d have his king in check in two moves.

Catherine pushed her queen diagonally to the
furthest row and pushed her sliding spectacles back onto her face. She was
hoping to find protection with them just as her queen defended her other chess
pieces. But he kept looking at her with great interest.

Why did she feel so unprotected? She couldn’t
understand it, her dowdy disguise had never failed her before.

She looked absolutely ravishing in those
spectacles. He’d never noticed until tonight. They added an air of mystery to
her. Why didn’t all women wear glasses?

Mrs. Hayes politely coughed behind her hand.

What? Oh, of course—his turn. Haverton stepped his
king’s pawn forward.

“Checkmate.” Mrs. Hayes’ queen sat diagonally from
his king. “I do believe.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been beaten that quickly.”
“Perhaps your mind wasn’t completely on the game,” she suggested, keeping her
eyes cast down. “Here, let me help you pick up,” she added quickly. Catherine
retrieved her pieces and moved to set them in their box.

Haverton caught her arm, stopping her mid-effort.
“I’d like to pay my debt.”

“There is no debt, my lord.” Her puzzled expression
made her look all the more adorable. “We did not wager on the game.”

“But your victory must have a prize.”

Lord Haverton made Catherine feel very strange. The
butterfly she felt in her stomach before the game was joined by hundreds of
others. The room began to feel very warm and her heart began to pound faster.

He moved toward her and gently removed her
spectacles. “Why, Mrs. Hayes—you know, you are very beautiful.” He ran a finger
down the side of her cheek.

It felt wonderful and awful all at the same time.
She knew Lord Haverton was using his well-honed skills on her. But why on her?

He made her feel as if she was the most important
woman alive. He made her forget who she was, what she was doing, how she was
supposed to behave. He made her believe the only thing that mattered was his
touching her. And, oh, how she wanted him to touch her.

Catherine opened her eyes and held her breath. She
felt the warmth of his hand move over her wrist and up her arm to pull her
close. He paused at her neck and cradled her cheek in his palm.

Never in her life had she wanted to be kissed. She
had never wanted a man to even touch
her, that
was …
until now.

But this was not right. She should not allow this
to happen, she thought at the last moment, but there was nothing she could do
to prevent it. Lord Haverton inched toward her until she felt his lips press
lightly, ever so gently to hers.

Catherine gave herself into the feeling of warmth
and love and kissed him back. She nearly went limp in Lord Haverton’s arms and
her fingers relaxed, allowing the chess piece to slip from her fingers and
tumble to the floor.

He pulled her close and whispered, “Mrs. Hayes …”

Catherine stiffened in his arms and pulled back,
stepping back, away from him. “I am not Mrs. Hayes!” With a shake of her head
she cleared the fog that had clouded her mind and realized the entirety of what
had just occurred. “What have I done?” She had been caught up in some sort of
madness. His madness. How could she have given herself to this unmindful,
self-absorbed man? A man who did not even know her name.

“What?” he whispered. Her expression or behavior
must have told him she was not accustomed to such intimacy.

“I can’t believe I let you … let you …” She pressed
her fingers to her lips, tears streaked down her face. “I am so ashamed.”

“Please, Mrs. Hayes …” He laid a hand gently on her
shoulder.

Catherine pulled away. She had to get away from him
… away from here. “You—you don’t even know my name—” She reached for the
doorknob with her shaking hand.

“I know your name—” he offered weakly.

She opened the door and slammed it on her way out.
“It’s … Catherine,” he whispered into the empty room.

Why had she allowed him to kiss her? From the
beginning, she had known caring for Lord Haverton was wrong. Why had she
allowed herself to become attached to him? And she longed to know why he had
encouraged her.

She’d never forget his smile, the warmth of his
hands on her face and the way he looked at her. How wonderful it was. And how
strange this kiss had varied from the last. This had been a soft, loving kiss.

Occupying the same room together would never be the
same—could never be the same. For the last few hours, Catherine had reveled in
her dreams, wishing there was a future for her and that man who told her she
was beautiful.

But she had done the unthinkable and forgotten her
place and more important, who he was. She was a servant and would never be
anything else.

A lesson hard learned and one Catherine would never
forget.

His memory lapse had changed her mind about leaving
after their first kiss but she knew they both carried a vivid memory of the
second. She meant nothing to him. Catherine needed to distance her feelings and
the only way to do that would be to distance herself. No longer would living
under the same roof be possible. She had no other option but to leave. But she
needed somewhere to go.

Perhaps the Duchess of Waverly, who had always
shown her kindness, could find her another position. It was worth a try.
Catherine sat at her writing desk and penned a note asking for an audience. As
she wrote, questions plagued her.

Catherine ended the letter and signed her name. Her
real name. Miss Catherine Hayward. She would send the note in the morning.

The Duchess of Waverly arrived at Moreland Manor
the next morning to check on the status quo. Maybury trailed after her down the
main hall, past the drawing room and the library. “I’m sorry,
Your
Grace, I have strict orders that his lordship not be
disturbed.”

The Duchess entered the breakfast room, still not
believing Robert’s absence. “Does that include his mother?”

The butler entered a few steps in the room. “I beg
your pardon, Your Grace, but it does.” The butler’s bow displayed his deep
regret at delivering the unpleasant news.

“I see. Very well, he is indisposed then.” The
Duchess scanned the room, taking in the feel of the manor. It was more than
just the quiet hanging in the large rooms and long hallways of the house. There
was an uneasy stillness in the air, evidence that something had happened.

Catherine Hayward stopped short when she entered
the breakfast room. Her eyes widened and she gasped, the note she carried
slipped from her fingertips.

“Your—Your Grace …” she managed to utter with
apparent difficulty.

“Please come in, Miss Hayward. I was just about to
sit and have a cup of coffee. Won’t you keep me company?”

By this time Maybury had retrieved the wayward
missive and held it out to its author, whose expression had changed from
surprise to shock. The address faced up, clearly marked for all three to read:
Duchess of Waverly, Waverly House.

“Is that meant for me?” The Duchess spoke first,
breaking the awkward silence.

“No.” Catherine snatched the letter from Maybury.
For an instant, Her Grace thought the young woman was about to cry. Oh, yes,
something was very wrong. She ordered the butler back to his post with a, “Leave
us.”

Once he left, Catherine could no longer contain her
tears.

“Oh, my.” The Duchess draped her arm around
Catherine’s shoulders and led her to the small sofa next to the window to
comfort her. “Come here, dear. Please sit down. Let me get you something.
Coffee? Tea?”

Staring down at her hands clasped in her lap,
Catherine shook her head.

“Honesty, Miss Hayward. You know very well that I
have always insisted we keep the truth between us.” The Duchess pulled the
letter free from its author and replaced it with a silk handkerchief. “There,
there, you can confide in me. I know this must have something to do with my son
… Robert. We women can talk to one another. The men just don’t understand, do
they? No, they cannot—”

“I allowed him to kiss me,” Catherine said in a
rush and looked up. “I must have done something to … to encourage him.” She
dried her eyes and wiped her nose. “I thought I was in love with him. I thought
that … but I see now that it was not love. I … I …”

“A mother wants to think the best of her son. But
even I must admit that my son is impulsive. He is prone to do whatever he wants
and gives no thought to the consequence. You must not blame yourself. There are
many young ladies who have given in to a moment’s passion—and if anyone can create
a moment’s passion it is Haverton. I should have known this would happen.”

The Duchess studied Catherine’s melancholy face and
sat quiet for a moment in guilty contemplation.

“In fact, I do not see what you could have done
otherwise. You are very young and pretty. And Haverton is, well … I do not know
a woman alive who could refuse him.

“It is my responsibility to remedy this situation,
I know. You shall come with me and be my companion. Lord knows I need one. I
come to Town all by myself. I shouldn’t you know,” she added, trying to cheer
Catherine. “Now I shall have you. We’ll get on fine, you’ll see.” The Duchess
smiled, hoping to receive one in return. Or at least some sign of hope. “I
insist, my dear.”

“But what about my position here? The Marquess will
need someone to—”

“Do not give another thought to his lordship. I
shall deal with him.” The Duchess gave Catherine’s hand a squeeze, to give her
strength. “You go and pack your things. We shall leave as soon as you’re ready.
Do not worry, Miss Hayward,” she whispered, “I shall see to everything.”

Haverton had spent the morning and almost the
entire afternoon in his bedchamber. He did not want to be disturbed. After
hours of soul searching, reprimanding himself, and general careful
reconsideration of his chaperone, he knew that he should not have kissed her.

He hadn’t seen her all day but that was his doing.
Haverton had made sure he was unavailable to everyone. But now, now he wanted
to—needed to see to her. She may not have been willingly to speak to him this
morning any more than she was willing last night. But they could not ignore
what had passed between them and they could not continue as they were.

Haverton dressed, went
belowstairs
.
He was told she had left. The Marquess wanted to know where she had gone and
when she would return. There was no answer given. A few minutes later he
learned from Maybury that she hadn’t just gone for the afternoon—Catherine,
Miss Hayward had gone from Moreland Manor permanently.

He went to her rooms and found them empty. She had
taken everything and gone to where? He did not know. The Marquess did not know
where she had come from before she was here and had no idea where she might go
to hide from him.

Sitting behind his desk in the library, Haverton
ran his hand over his face in frustration. How could she, without a word to
him, just leave? And what was he going to do about it?

Simon ambled into the room unannounced.

Haverton launched out of his chair and without a
greeting he demanded, “Do you know where she’s gone?”

“Who?” Simon was taken completely aback.

“Mrs. Hay—Miss Hayward, of course.”

Simon arched an eyebrow. “Miss Hayward now, is it?”

“Apparently I was mistaken.” Haverton sank into his
chair, resigned to admit his error. “Had I an ounce of intelligence I would have
remembered her entire name instead of the first syllable when we were
introduced.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I’m surprised you admit to as
much.” Simon teased. “In any case, you’ll find her with Mother.”

Haverton lifted his head and stared at his brother.
“Where has Mother taken her?”

Taking his time, Simon sat and crossed his booted
feet at the ankle, clearly delighted in knowing something his elder brother did
not. “Hired her as a lady’s companion, so I hear. Took her to Waverly House, I
believe.”

“But Miss Hayward is my chaperone.” Haverton stood
and jabbed at his chest with his finger. “She can’t just leave—”

Maybury appeared at the door. “I’m sorry to disturb
you, my lord, but there is a Mrs. Goddard to see your lordship.”

Haverton looked from Simon to the butler. “What? I
don’t know any Mrs. …”

“Goddard.”

“Yes—well, whatever her name is, I do not know her.”

“She has brought a letter of introduction from Her
Grace, the Duchess of—”

“From Mother?” Haverton took the letter from
Maybury. Glancing over the first few paragraphs, he saw no mention of Catherine
or of her whereabouts, only an introduction of Mrs. Goddard as his new
chaperone. New chaperone? He didn’t want a new chaperone, he wanted Catherine
back.

“Well, I suppose this does explain her presence.
Show her into the front parlor. I shall be there momentarily.”

“Yes, my lord.” Maybury retreated.

Haverton sat on the edge of his desk. What was his
mother up to now? Sending him a new chaperone and hiring away his old one from
under him. All without his approval.

But he knew why she had done it. He knew exactly
why. He had kissed Catherine.

Simon cleared his throat. “So? Who is this Mrs.
Goddard?”

“It appears,” Haverton began, none too pleased with
the outlook of the day, “she is my new chaperone.”

It seemed his mother saw to it that he was not
inconvenienced when she removed Miss Hayward. Haverton glanced at Mrs. Goddard
perched on the sofa. She might have worn spectacles and done up her brown hair
in a bun like Catherine, but in no way was she similar.

Where Mrs. Goddard’s bun made her look matronly,
Catherine’s was charming and her spectacles made her appear all the more
adorable.

It was blatantly obvious that this time in
choosing, the Duchess had chosen a woman with whom he would not be tempted.

Tempted? He was tempted all right. Tempted to see
her to the front door. But he did have a vacant position and the amicability of
Mrs. Goddard was neither here nor there. All that mattered was that she was
qualified, and qualified she must be or his mother would not have sent her.

“Well, I see that my mother has explained the wages
to YOU.”

“Yes, my lord, she has told me everything.”

Haverton hoped his mother had not told Mrs. Goddard
everything.

“I have run of the house and most of the daytime
hours off, unless you’re in need of me.” She looked him from bottom to top,
which made him most uncomfortable.

“If that is all clear … as to your duties …” His
concentration waned.

“Yes, my lord?” She stared at him with a look of
adoration on her face that he had seen many times before.

“I wish … I wish for you to watch for unseemly
behavior.”

A blush washed up on her cheeks. “I’m sure, my
lord, you have the exemplary manners of a gentleman. I’ve heard Her Grace say
as much herself.”

Haverton glanced up at Mrs. Goddard. “Not my
behavior. It is the behavior of any lady in my company.” As he said the words,
they echoed in his mind. Were these not the exact ones he had said to Catherine
on her first day? “Nothing suspect should transpire between any lady and
myself. There should be no question of the propriety of our exchange.”

Catherine …

Haverton had finished and left Mrs. Goddard sitting
on the sofa.

“Shall we install her in the gold suite?” Maybury
asked, catching Haverton coming out of the drawing room.

“No,” came the immediate response. He would not
tolerate the notion of someone else in Catherine’s rooms. “Put her in the green
suite.”

The Marquess continued out of the house and toward
the stables. If Catherine was at his mother’s, then he’d go to Waverly Hall to
see her.

He’d been riding a good half hour, another fifteen
or twenty minutes and he’d be there. Haverton knew if he could speak to
Catherine, just for a minute or two, he could convince her to return. He
tethered his horse to a tall hedge off the main drive and traversed the
remainder of the way to the east side of the house on foot.

During this time of the day, Catherine usually
walked about the garden. He’d hoped that the well-manicured gardens of Waverly
House might lure her outdoors.

Careful not to alert anyone to his presence, he
made sure to tread lightly. The Marquess stepped over a small, trimmed hedge,
rounding the corner to the back of the house. A window hinge screeched and
female laughter drifted down from above. One of the maids had opened a window.
Next he heard the sound of poured water—he was hoping it was water, for it
covered him in an instant. More laughter.

Haverton gasped at the sudden drenching but
remained silent. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought this had been
done deliberately. However, that couldn’t have been possible since no one knew
he was there.