Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book (10 page)

“There who is?”

“The marquess. Come with me.”

“But Mother, we can’t just walk up to him. What will he think?”

Mother shot her a sharp look. “What’s wrong?”

“I... I met him earlier and made a fool of myself. I don’t want to face him again.”

“Stiffen your spine, girl.” She wrapped her arm through Catherine’s and took an unswerving path toward Huntley, her daughter firmly in tow. “You need to rectify that impression.”

Catherine felt a flash of trepidation as Mother pulled her across the room toward the man. What was it about him that she found so daunting? Was it simply the element of danger he represented?

Or was it his eyes?

Those eyes took in everything in the room, including her reluctant approach. But she could also sense a fire burning deep within him. Something controlled, something intense, something he restrained with firm command.

As they stopped in front of him, Catherine looked away, not wanting to witness his amusement at her predicament.

“Lord Huntley, did you have a pleasant dinner?” Lady Kensington asked. “I found the chocolate torte delicious.”

Catherine spared him a quick glance. His thick black hair, a tad too long, curled slightly around his ears, and his sharp blue eyes met hers briefly before glancing away in boredom.

“Yes, quite so,” he replied. Catherine had the impression that he was acutely aware of her, even as he focused his gaze on her mother. “Lady Wilmot sets a wonderful table.”

The crowd in the drawing room thinned. Quite a few people were moving through the door into the adjoining music room, and Huntley appeared to watch them with a pensive expression.

Abruptly, he turned to her. “Lady Catherine, it was brought to my attention that you’re an accomplished pianist, and I can see a piano sitting idle in the next room. I would love to hear you perform.” He gave her an unexpected look of entreaty as his bold, piercing eyes locked with hers. “Would you allow me to help you select a piece of music to play?”

Surprised by his request, she wasn’t even sure if she nodded her assent before he took hold of her elbow. She found herself being swept toward Lady Wilmot’s piano as she hurried to keep up with his purposeful strides. He gave her no chance to protest, but forged ahead. Perhaps this is what LeCompte meant when he mentioned Huntley’s rough manners.

This situation didn’t make sense. What did he want? How did he know she played piano? Did this mean he’d been asking questions about her? Gathering information?

She glanced over her shoulder to see her mother’s pleased expression. Lady Kensington arched her eyebrows in approval, silently encouraging Catherine.

Once her mother sank her teeth into something, it became nearly impossible to make her let go, just like a bulldog with a hunk of steak. Had her mother set her mind to making a match between Catherine and Lord Huntley? Why did it have to be him, of all people?

This can’t be happening.

The music room seemed warmer than the drawing room. Catherine noted the glowing red embers in the fireplace and decided that they must be providing a great deal of heat. The servants probably built it up to help combat the gusts of wind that had chilled everyone as they entered the house. At least, she convinced herself that the source of the heat she felt was all external, and not her body’s response to the man gently clasping her arm, his fingers intimately curled around her bare skin as they lingered in the crook of her elbow.

She willed herself to relax, but found the tension building inside her difficult to quell.

Catherine slid onto the piano bench, her back erect, carefully arranging her full skirts. Lord Huntley sat next to her, a trifle too close for comfort. This forced interaction with a man she wanted to avoid made her heart race.

Catherine took a deep breath, as deep as her tight corset would allow, and slowly released it, feeling a small amount of the tension leave her body.

Huntley had gathered a stack of music from the table next to the piano as he sat down, and now he started to rifle through it. “What would you prefer, Lady Catherine? Do you have a favorite you’d like to play?” His tones were low and confiding. She caught the faint scent of his after-dinner brandy on his breath.

She’d prefer him to leave her alone. But she couldn’t say that. “You should choose, my lord,” she said formally. “I’m familiar with most of Lady Wilmot’s selections, since I’ve enjoyed the privilege of playing here on many occasions.” She nervously tugged at a tendril of her hair. Normally, it became easier to talk to men when she relied on the formal rules of social interaction.

So why weren’t those rules giving her a sense of control right now? The irony of finding herself clutching at the very formalities she’d been railing against earlier today wasn’t lost on her.

“I’ve become quite fond of
Santa Lucia
,” he said, plucking the music score from the stack. “I wish I had a voice that would do it justice, but that’s not where my talents lie.”

He gave her a seductive smile that sent a ripple down her spine, and Catherine had to force herself to look away.

He’s much too dangerous.

He grinned at her. He knew he had rattled her, the dratted man. “My friend might be encouraged to sing once he hears the opening notes. Let’s see if he finds you tempting.” His eyes met Catherine’s as he gave a rakish smile.

She placed the music on the stand as she suppressed a small shiver of excitement, certain that his double entendre had been intentional. She realized, with some surprise, that she was beginning to like Huntley in spite of the unsettling effect he had on her. He certainly hadn’t recognized her as Gray. Perhaps she could allow herself a moment of mild flirtation.

She dipped her chin and smiled up at him. “This is one of my favorites as well. Let’s see if I can tempt your friend to
sing
,” she emphasized.

His smile deepened as Catherine placed her fingers on the smooth ivory keys and quickly ran through a scale before beginning to play. She intentionally bumped her arm into his side in an attempt to make him move.

Really, he’s such a large man.

Agreeably, he shifted over a bit and murmured in her ear, “May I serve as your page turner?” His breath caused a strand of her hair to shift against her neck.

Catherine smiled her assent. As soon as she played the opening measures of
Santa Lucia
, Lord Wentworth’s head popped up from the crowd as his eyes sought them out. When he spotted Huntley, he hurried over to join them at the piano.

“Lady Catherine,” said Lord Huntley, “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine, the Earl of Wentworth.”

Her stomach dropped another inch as she glanced up to see Wentworth eying her closely. Did he recognize her? She quickly glanced away, unwilling to meet his gaze. Now she had them both to contend with: the panther, and her new nemesis, Wentworth. She swallowed. What if having all three of them together triggered a memory? What if one of them recognized her as Gray?

Focus
.
You can do this.
She stiffened her spine, refusing to give in to her fear. Since she was still playing, she dipped her head in a silent greeting.

“You’ve chosen one of my favorite pieces. Would you mind if I sing while you play?” He leaned closer. “I must admit,” Wentworth confided in lilting tones, “It’s difficult for me to refrain from singing along when I hear this tune.” He grinned. “It’s almost impossible for me to resist.”

Despite her tension, Catherine found some of her unease dissipating under Wentworth’s charm. How could he be so different from the tempestuous man she’d met last night? But perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps a man of strong passions, like Wentworth, could be as charismatic in a ballroom as he was fiery in a fencing match.

“Certainly, Lord Wentworth.” She paused in her playing. “I’ll begin again.” She struck the opening notes as Lord Huntley turned back to the first page, and when Lord Wentworth launched into the song with a brilliant tenor voice, the strength and power of his delivery astounded Catherine. Everyone in the room immediately fell silent to listen.

“Sul mare luccica l’astro d’argento.
Placida è l’onda, prospero è il vento.”

Guests from the drawing room began to migrate to the music room to enjoy the impromptu entertainment.

Catherine had learned this familiar song years ago. Normally, she wouldn’t have needed to follow along with the sheet music, but with Huntley sitting next to her, she found she needed to concentrate more than usual.

Wentworth’s vibrant tenor voice filled the room, and she tried to focus only on the music and push away all thoughts of her seat-partner, but it was difficult. She smirked. If not for her page turner distracting her, she wouldn’t
need
a page turner. Each time he reached across to turn a page, she caught a whiff of cologne. The pleasant woodsy scent reminded her of the forest near her parents’ country estate.

Venite all’agile barchetta mia,
Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia!”

The room burst into applause as the final notes drifted away.

“Wentworth,
c’est très magnifique
. You made me feel as though I were actually in Venice!” LeCompte applauded enthusiastically as the guests pressed around the piano, congratulating Wentworth on his performance.

With everyone in the room crowding around them, the air became heavy and stale. Lord Huntley radiated enough heat to put a blacksmith’s furnace to shame. Between him, the crowd, and the heat from the fireplace, Catherine was feeling decidedly lightheaded. She tried to take a deep breath, but her corset was bound too tightly, and she couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs. Picking up a page of music, she tried to fan herself discreetly, but Huntley noticed her movement.

He examined her face. “Would you like some fresh air? Allow me to escort you on a walk around the room.”

She gave him a tense nod. If she didn’t get away from this suffocating heat soon, she’d embarrass herself by fainting. Women’s fashions had significant disadvantages when it came to moving and breathing. As a girl, her excitement at first wearing a corset had quickly been replaced with a hearty distaste for the garment. Now, the only times she could escape its confines were in bed at night, or when she was disguised as Alexander Gray.

As she stood, she realized how many of Wentworth’s admirers were gathered in a tight knot around the piano. How would she make her way through the impenetrable mass?

Huntley tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and moved forward, forcing his way into the throng. The large man cleared a path with ease as the crowd readily parted for him.

An absurd image popped into her mind, causing her to grin. Perhaps she was more lightheaded than she’d realized. The smile remained on her face as they broke free of the crowd.

The marquess glanced back at her. “You look quite pleased, Lady Catherine. Would you care to share your thoughts?”

“It was just something foolish.”

“Then you must share it with me. I’m particularly fond of foolish things.”

“I find that hard to believe. But if you insist... as you cut your way through the crowd, I envisioned you as a great ship slicing through the waves.”

“I know that foolish thought! I’ve had the same one in the past.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Am I really so intimidating?”

Yes, she thought, but she searched her mind for a more witty response.

He nodded as her pause lengthened. “Just as I suspected.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “It will be my lot in life to have everyone make way for me simply because they find me intimidating. If only they knew what a pussycat I really am.”

“Panther is more like it,” she quipped, then flushed as she realized she had spoken her thought aloud.

A look of surprise flashed across his face, and he grinned down at her with interest. “And here I’d hoped to put you at your ease. It seems you’ve already taken my measure.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she imagined that he could actually see her thoughts racing through her head. She broke the gaze. “I don’t know if I’ve taken your measure, my lord, but I’ve certainly learned enough to be cautious.” She suddenly noticed that they had left the drawing room and were about to enter the library. She’d been so engrossed in their conversation that she hadn’t been paying attention to where he’d been leading her.

“Oh, I don’t know if we should—” she began, as she tried to pull her hand from his arm, balking at entering a secluded room with a man.

He just smiled, held her hand firmly in the crook of his elbow, and continued to guide her into the room. “You have nothing to fear. I promise the panther won’t attack you, if that is what has you looking so flustered.” He gave a crooked smile that seemed designed to disarm her. “If you prefer, we could ask your mother to join us, but I had hoped to take a moment to admire Lord Wilmot’s fine library...” His voice trailed off as he waited for Catherine’s decision.

Her mother? Really? He’d thrown down
that
gauntlet? Catherine looked at the open door of the library. Through it, she could still see into the music room to the swaying backs of guests gathered around the piano. Someone new had begun to play, and as she stood there trying to make up her mind, she heard Lord Wentworth’s tenor voice rising to a high note.