The Kiss of a Stranger (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

A creative man can think of countless ways to avoid his wife. Crispin discovered over the next week that he was a very creative man. Tattersall’s. His club. Riding. The lending library. Staring out of windows. Pretending to read books in which he had absolutely no interest.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with Catherine. In fact, the longer he stayed away, the more he realized the opposite was true. He missed her more each day. He missed the sound of her skirts swishing as she walked and the way she always smelled precisely like a rose in full bloom. He missed coaxing a smile to her face. He missed laughing with her at things only they would find funny.

Therein lay the problem.

He had grown far too attached to a lady who preferred ostracism and social ruin to a life with him. Thorndale’s suit continued to be delayed by arguments of jurisdiction and other legal entanglements, compliments of the venerable Jason Jonquil, barrister. Jason seemed quite certain the point would not be heard before Catherine’s birthday.

Her birthday. She would be free to leave after that, having sufficient funds to live on and no compelling reason to stay. Would she be relieved? Would she miss him? He’d given up trying to convince himself he wouldn’t think of her after she left.

She had become too much a part of his everyday life for her to fade easily from his thoughts. He was simply accustomed to her presence. He had come to expect her to be around, much the same way he anticipated Hancock’s presence.

No, he corrected himself again. Not at all like Hancock. He had no idea what Hancock smelled like. He didn’t care what Hancock smelled like.

Crispin felt certain of only one thing. Her presence had grown excruciating. He found he couldn’t bear to be around her twenty-four hours a day, knowing she wanted nothing to do with him, while he constantly battled the growing urge to beg her to give him a chance. But she knew her options and had made her decision. He had forced her hand once, however inadvertently, and would not do so again.

“You look like the back end of an overworked farm mule.”

“Thank you, Philip. That is so relieving to hear.” Crispin watched his oldest friend slide lazily into a leather wing chair directly beside his own in a secluded corner of White’s. “Would you care to know which member of the animal kingdom you remind me of at the moment?”

“Peacock, I dare say.” Philip straightened his aqua blue waistcoat. “No dandy would settle for any other comparison.”

“You are no true dandy, and I know it,” Crispin muttered, dropping the pretense of reading the
Times
. “Though I never understood why you bother with the act.”

Philip shrugged. “We all wear masks of one kind or another.”

“So what brings the swaggering bird to the mule’s backside this time?”

“Your lovely wife.”

“She sent you to find me?” Crispin knew he ought to feel affronted, but he felt strangely excited. Did she miss him too?

“Somehow I cannot see Catherine commissioning a team of spies to track down her negligent husband.”

“You’re using her Christian name now?” Crispin knew he was grumbling. He didn’t particularly care.

“She gave me leave to,” Philip said as though it were of minimal importance. “My name she has changed to Ph-Ph-Philip. I had no idea it was such a difficult name to pronounce.”

The droll character Philip insisted on presenting to the world never ruffled Crispin the way it did just then. Was this really the man Lizzie thought so perfect for Catherine? He himself might be little better than a rusted, useless knight, but that was vastly more fitting for Catherine than a court jester.

“But I digress.” Philip straightened his waistcoat and gave himself a drawn-out visual inspection. Apparently satisfied, he retook his tale. “I went by Permount House looking for you. Catherine insisted she hadn’t seen you in days.”

“I have been busy.”

“You have been avoiding her.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“She is no empty-headed female, my friend.” Philip picked up the paper Crispin had set aside. “In the past few days Hancock has seen you. Your housekeeper and cook have spoken with you. Several of the footmen have seen you in passing. Catherine realizes she is the only person at Permount House who has
not
seen you lately.”

“Coincidence.” Crispin wasn’t even convincing himself.

“Rubbish.”

The
Times
crinkled in protest as Philip folded back one page and then another.

“Why are you avoiding your wife, Crispin?” Now that sounded like the Philip whom Crispin had known for half his life. Intelligence and authority resonated in his voice. The look of mindless amusement had dissolved into one of discernment. “Have you two quarreled?”

“No.” Philip was far easier to talk to when he abandoned his façade. “It is just better this way.”

“Better for whom? For you, perhaps. But have you thought about Catherine?”

Thinking about Catherine seemed to be his sole occupation lately.

“Perhaps during your long sojourn inside these hallowed halls”—Philip motioned at the room around them—“you’ve chanced to riffle through the betting books.”

“I have no interest in the betting books.”

“You should. They are positively filled these last few days with wagers regarding the future of your rather famed marriage.”

Wagers! Crispin began a heated jump to his feet.

“Don’t be a dolt. You’ve drawn enough attention as it is.” Philip really was dropping the act—he sounded almost angry. Once Crispin resumed his seat, Philip continued. “The odds are stacked heavily against the continuation of your marriage, Crispin. The two of you have not appeared in public together since the Littletons’ ball, and that didn’t go so well. Catherine’s hasty departure—alone, I might add—did not go unnoticed. And now you are noted to be spending precious little time in her company, avoiding your own home, even.”

Why couldn’t society mind its own business for once?

“Catherine showed me this while I was at Permount House this afternoon.” Philip handed the folded-back
Times
to Crispin, pointing out the opening paragraph of the society column.

Crispin read silently.
Lord and Lady C., subject of much conjecture since their hasty marriage, are rumored to be on the outs at last, with Lord C. going to remarkable lengths to avoid his bride. One close to the bridegroom reports an annulment is imminent, but Lady C. has, apparently, proven too undesirable a companion to make her company bearable during the interim.

Philip leaned closer and lowered his voice. His eyes were penetrating in a way they hadn’t been in years. “Are you planning to seek an annulment?”

“Why do you ask?” A suspicion lodged in his mind.

Philip shook his head in obvious annoyance. “Lizzie’s scheme was outlandish from the start, and I am surprised you believed a word of it. Gentlemen do not pass around wives the way they do calling cards. She merely wanted to make you jealous so you would realize what a gem you married.”

“That scheming brat.” Still, a smile very nearly escaped him.

“I only went along after I realized that Lizzie was correct. You, my friend, married far above yourself. Regardless of the outcome of your time together, she deserves the protection of your public approval.” Then in a mutter so low Crispin could hardly make out his words, Philip added something that sounded suspiciously like, “You have offered precious little else.”

“My approval means little to her.”

Philip gave him a look of utter disbelief. “Rubbish.”

“
She
asked for the annulment, Philip. I explained that she would be ruined, that she would have no place in polite society. Her uncle would face a very public criminal trial, in which she would not be painted in a very flattering light. I told her I was willing to go forward with the marriage, that she need not endure all that. And she chose the annulment.” He looked back at the now-crumpled news sheet in his hand. “Ostracism, it seems, would be more bearable than life as my wife.”

“Yet she seemed anxious enough for your company when I spoke with her.”

“That does not make any sense.” Crispin slumped further in his chair.

“At what point did you decide a lady’s actions were supposed to make sense?”

Crispin allowed a begrudging smile. The fairer sex ever had been a source of confusion to the both of them.

“Perhaps her more rational side was temporarily silenced by the splendor of my dashing new waistcoat.” The lazy, not-a-care Philip was back in the blink of an eye.

Philip rose from his chair and painstakingly straightened his clothing, including the waistcoat that would be the envy of many a gentleman in Town. With a bow he strode away, leaving Crispin to gather his thoughts.

The protection of your public approval.
It sounded so cold, so impersonal. But the tabbies had been drawing rather frigid conclusions about his feelings for Catherine. They would certainly go to great lengths to make her miserable.

“Blast it,” Crispin muttered, getting to his feet.

He had simply been trying to make this easier. Easier on Catherine, he told himself. She didn’t need the burden of his unreciprocated regard, but hiding that attachment had grown nearly impossible. Philip made it sound as though he’d been starving her in the dungeons.

Drat that man! Crispin was the knight in not-so-shiny armor, not the feudal executioner. Didn’t Philip know anything about not mixing metaphors?

That, however, was not the problem at hand. Gossip, society’s most viciously wielded weapon, needed addressing first. Seated inside the chaise, Crispin looked over the rather pointed report of his very irregular marriage.

“
Lord C. going to remarkable lengths to avoid his bride.
” “
Lady C. is too undesirable a companion to make her company bearable.
”

He let out a tense breath. In the few weeks since he’d met Catherine, his life had been entirely unpredictable. Nothing he did seemed to work out the way he’d planned. Fool that he was, he’d spent the better part of the past week wondering why a lifetime with him hadn’t proven a promising prospect for her.

“
You owe her the protection of your public approval.
” Philip’s words repeated in his mind. But how should Crispin do that? Bandy about his approval? Take out an advertisement in the
Times
?
Lord C. wishes to declare his unrequited affection for his wife and cordially invites society to stick their noses in someone else’s business.

He needed an actual plan. There were certainly any number of balls or musicales being hosted that very evening; they’d undoubtedly been invited to most. But suppose he dragged Catherine to one only to have her cut by every guest present? That would never do.

No. There had to be something more private yet public enough for them to be seen together, spending a harmonious evening in one another’s company. He wondered if Catherine had ever been to Drury Lane. He hadn’t taken her and doubted Thorndale ever had. It certainly met the requirements for a redemptive excursion. The theater was, after all, the place to see and be seen. She would probably even enjoy it.

So busy was he evaluating the soundness of his plan that he hardly realized he’d reached the music room. He hadn’t had time to prepare himself for seeing Catherine again.

Lud, she was beautiful. She was seated at the pianoforte, hands on the keys, eyes on . . . him. He had to shake himself to focus his thoughts.

“Hello, Catherine.” That sounded idiotic! Think, man.

She didn’t even try to reply but simply watched him. Crispin would have felt less uncomfortable if she’d ranted and raved or looked daggers at him for all the difficulties he’d inadvertently caused her. He saw not a hint of anger or annoyance in those breathtakingly blue eyes. He saw disappointment.

“I . . . um.” He cleared his throat. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy a trip to the theater tonight. I don’t believe we’ve been since we came to London.”

Catherine silently shook her head.

“Would you like to go?” He suddenly felt like a six-year-old begging Cook for a biscuit, completely unsure of himself.

“Are you sure you can
bear my company
?” she asked rather dryly.

Crispin recognized her almost verbatim reference. “The gossips can be vicious.” And, on occasion, they could be frighteningly accurate. Catherine’s company had grown remarkably difficult to bear, but not for the reasons they insinuated. “I am hoping tonight to—”

“Stand them down?” Catherine finished for him.

Crispin nodded. Her utterly lifeless tone was disheartening.

She sighed, her gaze drifting to the piano keys. “I have discovered that doing so is both exhausting and fruitless.”

“It is infinitely easier when you aren’t alone.”

She plunked out a stilted few notes. “I will have to take your word on that. This past week I have done everything alone.”

Frustration pushed out a cynical reply. “Annulments are like that. In the end, one is left doing a great many things
alone.
”

Her hand froze above the keys before dropping into her lap.

What was wrong with him? He hadn’t resorted to cutting remarks in weeks—least of all with her.

She rose from the pianoforte and walked toward the door, not sparing him so much as a glance. The swish of her skirts. The smell of roses. He would be without her soon enough and couldn’t leave things as they were. “Wait. Please, Catherine.”

She stopped only steps past him but didn’t turn back around to face him.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he said. “The gossip and the mess. I wasn’t trying to make the situation worse by staying away.”

“Then why did you?” She didn’t look back at him.

It was a direct enough question with an answer he knew well.
Because I’ve never felt this way about anyone and I don’t understand it. Because being in the same room as you is torturous.
He couldn’t seem to verbalize an answer.

They stood in heavy silence until Catherine left without a word or a backward glance.