Authors: Raven McAllan
Catherine glared and he smirked. Her hands once
more itched to touch his skin, and not in an arousing manner.
Unless
he was one who enjoyed pain. She
gritted her teeth and dipped her head.
"Gladly, if it
means this farce will be soon over."
Brook lifted her so she could swing her leg over
the saddle. His eyes lingered on her ankle, and his hand held on a fraction too
long as he helped her settle her foot in the stirrup. His touch seared her,
when she looked down she was amazed his fingers were not imprinted on her skin.
"Farce?
Not of our making my dear, but if you feel that
way you should have reneged.
As you didn't, well, now 'tis
the time for me to call the tune.
Follow me, or do I need tie the
horses?
"No, I will follow," she said.
"For what is the point of deprecating? It
happened,
I bowed, and agreed to your demand." Catherine settled deep into the
saddle, and patted the mare,
who
whickered softly. As
she allowed her mount to tuck close behind his horse, she could not but admire
the spirited steed he swung up onto it. Neither could she stop the frisson of
excitement that coursed through her, making every nerve end tingle. She had not
felt so aware since she last crossed words with him.
Her horse,
Misty,
Brook had told her, plodded behind his, as the path wound its way
between the tress. They were densely planted and not easy to see between.
Several times he seemed to change direction for no reason, and Catherine wondered
what was going on. Were they doubling back on themselves, or was he
deliberately trying to disorient her? On occasion a tiny glade would appear,
and once a waterfall that fell down a sheer rock face for five or six feet, its
base covered with tiny spring flowers. She would have loved to stop and pick
some, to walk around the area, and enjoy the serenity she sensed there. Brook
ignored them and continued on his less than straightforward route. After a
while, although she was entranced by those tiny glimpses of something other
than trees, Catherine was bored by the ride and beginning to get other ideas
about the man ahead of her. His seat on his horse was straight, his back
elegant, and his buttocks taut. Why had she been so altruistic in the past? If that
was what she had
been.
Now she thought perhaps the
word for her action was 'foolish'.
The track twisted around a shallow pond, the
water in it dark and full of weeds. Catherine shivered and her horse
sidestepped as her movement projected to the animal. She soothed her with a few
soft words and averted her eyes from the disgusting water. For one brief second
her imagination had gone haywire. All she could think was what a good place it
was to hide a body.
Brook slowed his horse and turned to her.
"Are you game for a gallop? We can skirt
the edge of a field in a moment, and it is a perfect place to ride freely. Then
it is but a few moments to our destination."
She
nodded, and bit her lip to stop herself asking where that destination was. Why
had he asked her to come to the court if he had no intention of stopping there?
What about Betsy and her luggage?
In fact, just what have I let myself in for?
They emerged from the trees and she saw the
field ahead. Her head raced, there was not much more enjoyable than a good
gallop, and it had been many a month since she had the opportunity to indulge
so. She intended to make the most of it.
With a brief glance behind
—
at her, presumably to make sure she was still
with him
—
Brook set his horse
away at a canter and then an easy gallop. With a rush of adrenaline that filled
her body, and made her skin sting she urged Misty on. The little mare
responded, and Catherine gave herself up to the thrill of the ride. In her mind
it didn't last anywhere near long enough. It may be a hundred acre field, but
it was soon crossed. She saw Brook slowing his mount and she did the same. By
the time the far fence was reached both horses were walking.
"Oh that was magnificent," she
exclaimed. "I have not had so good a ride in an age."
He laughed and raised one eyebrow. "Do you
enjoy a good ride, Catherine? I must remember that." His let his eyes
sweep over her
body,
and an instant heat flushed
through her, as she understood his meaning. She may still be innocent in many
things, but her relationship with him years before had
not
been without its moments. Catherine flushed, and wished his
shin was handy to kick. There was no instant riposte in her brain, so she
stayed silent.
"No reply? You disappoint me Catherine, I
thought you to be more spirited than that. But then, you agreed to this. Does
that show you as a fool or one who thinks she will best me?"
"Time will tell, my lord," she said.
It was a lame answer, but perhaps better than nothing.
"But of course it will." He dipped his
head briefly. "Shall we continue? We do not have far to go." He
didn't wait for her answer, but turned his horse and led the way down a narrow
grass-covered lane.
Why should he wait?
Where would I go?
The track through the woods had meandered so much she
wasn't sure in which direction they had travelled. The sky had clouded over and
the sun had disappeared, so there was no help there. Catherine estimated they
had been travelling for over an hour, but that gave no assistance in working
out where they were, when their route had been so complicated. She set her
horse to walk behind his.
He had been correct in his statement, she
realized a few minutes later. The track had stopped abruptly at a tall stone
wall which had a large wooden door set in it.
"Wait one moment," he commanded as she
pulled Misty up next to him. "I need to unlock it." She hadn’t
noticed the large lock set in it.
Brook produced a key, and within moments the
door swung open. There was no dragging, or grating: it was either well used or
had been prepared for their arrival.
"After you.
I need to relock this, we need no unwanted
visitors." He was as good as his word.
Catherine looked around, but to her secret
amusement, realized a row of high hedges meant there was nothing to see except
the wall or the said hedge. In a strange was she was beginning to enjoy
herself. For too long she had been the one with all the responsibilities, the
one to whom every one looked for decisions and answers. With a jolt of clarity,
she accepted she had
wanted
to come
to Brook. Otherwise she would have told her brother to sort his own debt, and
just continued to care for her mama and sisters. Even if all that was not
entailed was lost, their lifestyle would have been reduced, but acceptable.
Catherine had handled the household finances since her father died and although
she had no control over Jermyn's portion, by skillful management the fortunes
of the ladies of the family were thriving. It was the loss of face that would
have been hard to bear. That fact, combined with the fact that she missed Brook
had swayed her. So here she was, waiting to see what he intended.
"Not long, and then you can bathe and
eat," he said and once more took the lead.
"The proposition?" she asked as she,
as ever, followed him. "When will I find out what I have to do?"
That was perhaps not the best wording I
could have used
. Her cheeks were warm, as she realized how her words could
be construed.
Brook twisted in the saddle. "Impatient? I
like that."
If she had a knife it would be lodged in his
body. He was enjoying torturing her.
Not at all," she said, striving for boredom
and sure she didn't achieve it. "I was but wondering." Her temper
broke. "Grief, Brook, do you not think you have goaded me long enough?
This is not of my doing, but I am the one who is reaping the repercussions. For
the love of God, what happens next?"
He turned his horse through a gap in the hedge,
onto another pathway surrounded by hedges.
"We get out of the maze and into the house.
We bathe—I accept separately, unless you say otherwise—we eat and then we talk.
In that order."
He turned his back on her and
urged his horse onwards.
Catherine had
no recourse but to follow. Her mind reeled with his statements.
Bathe together? People bathed together? Oh
my.
She wasn't going to think of that.
Chapter Six
Brook turned the final corner out of the maze
and the house came into view. The gasp he heard from Catherine well satisfied
him. Small, only four bedrooms, and three reception rooms, he had bought it
when he first met her all those years ago. It was to have been their getaway.
Their place to be alone and escape from duties.
When she had
refused him, he had to his surprise used the house in the way he had intended.
There was a skeleton staff, and everything was very modest.
His first intention had been to take Catherine
to the fought-over hunting lodge, to show her what she had sold herself for,
but logic had dictated the implausibility of that, and it was too far from the
city to make it feasible. Instead he had hit on
Barde
House.
In silence he rode into a small courtyard at the
side of the house, and dismounted. He led his horse to the water trough, and
turned to find Catherine had followed him, and was ready to slide down into his
arms. For one brief second, he allowed himself the pleasure of feeling her body
close to his, before he set her on her feet. That would have to wait until
later
if ever.
Catherine followed his actions, and he smiled.
If only
were such small words, but the
meanings were not.
"Scott will be here any moment to take the
horses," he said. "You have met him, he is discrete, and will not
talk about us being here. Nor will anyone else. I have only a housekeeper and
her husband. You will have to accept me as lady's maid."
She
gasped and paled.
"You chose to ruin me, my lord? To have me
here and not chaperoned? What about my maid?"
Brook wished he could reassure her, but he had
no intention of doing so. Also, he reasoned, to put her off balance was but a
small pleasure for him in retaliation for his perpetual state of arousal, and
his inability to do what he wanted about it.
"You and your brother ruined you,
Catherine. As for your maid, she believes you to be in the same house as her,
but indisposed, and under
doctor's
orders to let no
one attend you except the housekeeper. I think of the proprieties, even though
it seems you do not.
Ah, Scott."
The groom
approached, and to spare Catherine, he made sure she was behind him.
"Thank you, once they are tended to you will not be required any more
today. The horses will not be needed until I send word."
She waited until the groom had led the horses
away before turning on him.
"What do you
mean
he won't be needed, and neither will the horses?" she
pulled his sleeve. "Brook, what is happening?"
"I told you." He tucked her hand under
his. "I have a proposition. Once we are bathed and fed, I will put it to
you. Then you must decide whether you accept the proposition or pay the debt.
Now let me show you around."
Her saw her eyes widen as he ushered her into
the elegant hall, with its carved fireplace, a fire glowing in the hearth and
warming the cooling early evening air. To one side a curved staircase flowed
upwards, its
bannister
a deep glowing chestnut. It
had been this room that had captured his interest on first sight, it promised
so much and delivered everything. The rest of the house followed suit.
"You room has a bathing suite," he
remarked as he put his hand to the small of her back and propelled her toward
the stair. The shiver of awareness under his had
was
barely noticeable, but it gave him hope. "I can not and will not subscribe
to the idea that a splash of water and a dash of pomade is an alternative for
cleanliness."
"Thank goodness."
At
least she is speaking to me. I can but hope she will continue to do so.
At the top of the stairs he turned along a short
corridor and opened a door. He stood back and Catherine walked past him. He
heard her delighted gasp with satisfaction. If nothing else, she liked her
room.
“Mrs.
Budle
will
attend you. I will see you at dinner in an hour. Not long, I know, but we dine
informally. Then we have a lot to discuss."
He bowed and she nodded, before she closed the
door firmly in his face.
So
much for wondering if she would ask me to play lady's maid.
He
smiled at his folly as he walked away.
As Brook had deliberately chosen not to bring
his valet, his toilet was completed with little delay.
A
swift bath, and an elegant, but plain set of clothing.
His cravat was
tied simply and his coat fitted, but not so much that he could not dress
himself. At five and thirty, Lord Brook Fredericks was a man who was happy in
his own skin and it showed. Well before the appointed hour was over, he stood
in the drawing room, and contemplated the