Twice the Temptation (39 page)

“Come, we must get you home before it grows too late.” His voice was gritty, his beautiful eyes heavy-lidded. He looked like he would love to have her again and the tingling between her legs indicated she was amenable to that. 

But of course he was right. They’d taken enough risks as it was. He quickly fixed his undergarments and trousers in place while Catherine watched in unabashed bemusement. He then helped her up into a sitting position. 

It took a minute or so for the post-coital weakness to wear off. And when she had regained her strength, she began putting herself back together. 

Initially, Lucas aided in the effort, helping her with her corset and the buttons on the back of her dress. For all the aid he rendered, he still managed to brush her breasts, his palms coasting lightly over her over-sensitized nipples before her bodice was finally in place. By the time it came to her undergarments, she found herself slapping his hands away—though only half-heartedly. 

“Lucas, you must stop. We can’t—well you very well know—not again. Not now,” she said, now forced to fight her body as well as his hands when he insisted in ensuring her garter was properly in place. 

Reluctantly, he withdrew his hands and held them up, his expression all feigned innocence. “I was only trying to help.” 

Catherine’s heart squeezed and then she felt like it had doubled in size. “But you must help me with my hair. I’m sure the pins are everywhere.” Her gaze was already scouring the sofa and the floor for them. Before she could so much as budge an inch when she spotted several, Lucas was already bending to retrieve them. 

It took several minutes—Lucas did not have her maid’s talent for hairdressing—to get her hair into the semblance of order before Catherine was satisfied that an observant servant wouldn’t look at her and know exactly what they’d been doing in the study. 

Catherine peered up at him. Despite their recent intimacy, uncertainty and fear still weighed heavy on her chest. “Can I assume you’ve forgiven me?” she asked softly. 

His expression became serious. 

Perhaps that hadn’t been the right thing to say.
 

His hand came up to cradle her cheek in his palm. “I should not have reacted quite so rashly,” he said, speaking quietly. 

Catherine let out a suspended breath. “No, it is I who should apologize to you as many times as you desire. What I did was—” 

“Effective I hope,” he cut in, a crooked smile on his face. “I hope now you believe that I’m in love with you and not your sister. When we marry, Charlotte will
officially
become my sister but that is all I’ve felt for her almost since we met.” 

If Catherine had retained even a sliver of doubt that he’d been telling her the truth all along, the last of it was washed away that minute. Sincerity and love shone bright in his eyes. 

“Going forward, all I desire is that we love and trust each other. I shall be honest with you and will expect the same in return.” 

Love, trust, and honesty. 

Honesty. Honesty.
 

Catherine gathered her courage and charged on. “Before we are wed, there is something I believe you should know about me.” 

Lucas looked at her warily with a hint of concern. “What is it?” he asked in a voice that invited her to confess her sins without fearing grievous repercussions. 

“M-my mother was a—” she gulped “—was a slave.” She inhaled deeply before forging on. “We were told she was the illegitimate daughter of the Earl of Forsythe and a housemaid. She has a younger sister whose identity we discovered the year past. Our aunt lives not far from the manor and Charlotte and I see her regularly. That shall not change when we marry. She refuses to permit us to claim her but I still want a relationship, even if everyone believes it is that of seamstress and client.” 

Lucas stared at her and at length said softly, “She must have been extremely fair.” 

“We were told our grandmother was also much fairer than most blacks. And if one cares to look closely, Charlotte and I share a resemblance with our aunt. We were told she looks like our mother.” 

“Then she must be beautiful.” 

The look on his face, so loving, almost reverent, infused her with such joy—and relief—she remained speechless for many seconds, utterly overwhelmed by the love she felt for this wonderful man. He exceeded every expectation she could have ever had for the man she would love and she could not be more fortunate that he loved
her
in return. 

Emotion clogged her throat and had tears welling in her eyes. She blinked and sent them spilling down her cheeks. 

Cupping her face in his palms again, Lucas thumbed her tears away. “My darling, the matter of your birth matters nothing to me. Had your mother lived, she’d be as welcome to me as your aunt will. All that is important to me is who you are as a person and I know you are not only beautiful but you’re kind and good and giving. You haven’t a selfish bone in your entire person, which your good deeds have shown.” 

You haven’t a selfish bone in your entire person.
 

Guilt and shame ate at her. He had no idea how wrong he was. 

The tears she shed now were caused by her gut-wrenching knowledge of what she had done. And the courage she lacked for she didn’t have it in her to confess this to him. Not now. Her tears fell faster. She wished it was something she
never
had to confess in that she wished it was a sin she hadn’t committed. 

“My darling, please don’t cry,” Lucas crooned and kissed her softly on her lips. “In his address two years ago, our president declared all men are created equal. Those were not just words to me. I believe that with all my heart. That you carry this burden with you only makes me love you more.” 

Catherine wrapped her arms about his waist and held onto him as tightly as she could. She’d never heard more beautiful words and she’d never felt so utterly unworthy of his love. 

With her face pressed against his chest, she wept. 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
EVEN
 

L
ucas had gone to Manchester the morning after she’d gone to his residence. He loathed to go but had already made the arrangements to inspect a textile mill he was thinking of purchasing. Catherine had been glad for the ball that evening, hoping it would get her mind off things she’d rather not think of, although she’d rather have spent the evening with Lucas.

After she, Olivia, and Meghan arrived at the ball and Mrs. Griffin and Miss Thomas drifted off to the corner to converse with the other chaperones, Olivia turned to her and said, “If things should not turn out well for Miss Shipley, I would appreciate your assistance in comforting the poor girl. You are so much better at it than either of us.” She exchanged a look with Meghan, who nodded her agreement. “You have a manner about you that doesn’t leave the women feeling foolish. Words usually escape me and I can think of doing little else than patting them gently on the shoulder.” 

“Yes, indeed you do,” Meghan chorused, nodding in staunch agreement, reminding Catherine, that from the first moment, they had been allies in this cause. Even Lucas had conceded that despite her questionable method, the test had been effective. And in this case, all she would be doing was offering Miss Shipley her sincerest sympathies if things did not work out as she hoped. 

Therefore any protest she might have made at being wrangled into this assignment in any shape or manner died before it ever passed her lips. 

“If it will make you feel any better, Miss Shipley is quite confident the gentleman will be able to resist Meghan,” Olivia said, fanning herself, her fan a perfect match for her chartreuse gown right down to the lace trim. 

Catherine prayed that he would. “Do you know which one he is?” she asked, peering over Meghan’s bare shoulder to the dance floor. 

“The fair-haired gentleman with the yellow daffodil in his lapel standing with Lord Essex and Sir Dalrymple to the right of the orchestra,” Olivia said, narrowing down Catherine’s search. 

The ball was packed as Lady Summerville’s always were. Dancing had recently commenced, which helped thin the crowd milling on the periphery of the dance floor. 

Catherine spotted him immediately and her heart sank like a proverbial stone in a pond. Not at the gentleman in question for his smile was as winsome as she’d ever seen on a countenance so handsome. He was tall, the same height as Lucas and her brother she gauged. No her trepidation was caused by the appearance of Lord Landry who’d just joined the trio. She hadn’t seen him since the incident with Miss North and wouldn’t have minded if it had remained that way. She still couldn’t forget how he’d looked at her during that fateful meeting. It had reminded her of a card player debating his next move. Wholly calculating. 

“What do you think?” Olivia asked. 

“He is very handsome,” Catherine said, coming out of her reverie and directing her attention back to her friends. 

“Yes, he is quite handsome. Although, I must admit to being partial to dark-haired gentleman,” Meghan said, removing her gaze from her intended victim—as it were—to look around the ballroom. 

Following her gaze, Catherine noted it briefly paused on Lord Granville and Lady Eleanor, who were dancing. 

Ah.
What her friend meant was one particular dark-haired gentleman. It was doubly clear that Meghan was smitten, but would never admit it. Perhaps she would in her own time and hopefully before the earl had taken a wife. 

“Where is Miss Shipley?” Catherine asked. 

Only then did Meghan turn her attention back to her. “She should be arriving in the next half hour.” 

“Did she remember to send him a message to inform him she could not come?” It had been established early on that while most gentleman did not think with their head when it came to matters of their hoped-for-imminent sexual gratification, they weren’t completely without common sense. They were much less likely to give into temptation if their future intended were in attendance. 

“I would sincerely hope so,” Meghan muttered, fluttering her fan beneath her chin. 

Catherine wished she’d remembered to bring hers. It was growing frightfully warm in the ballroom. 

“Very well then, I must go and make myself tempting enough to garner an introduction. I rather hope he will resist,” her friend said sighing, her gaze darting briefly to the dance floor. 

Lord Granville. 

As she watched her friend walk away amidst a froth of peach chiffon and silk that made up the skirt of her dazzling gown, Catherine dismissed the uneasy feeling that had commenced when Olivia had reminded her on the carriage ride over that this ball would not merely be one of enjoyment. There was work to be done. 

They
were
doing the right thing. Or perhaps she should say they were not doing anything
wrong
. What they did was at the behest of the women who were looking for what little assurance they could scrape together before they took that long walk down the aisle. When one took into account that the union would last the duration of their natural life, this was a small price for men to have to pay to prove themselves in this regard. 

It took all of five minutes for Meghan to gain an introduction to Mr. Templeton and maneuver him to the back of the room near the terrace, out of the line of vision of incoming guests. 

“He appears quite enchanted with our Meghan,” Catherine remarked. 

“You know most gentlemen are,” came her Olivia’s amused retort. 

“Not your brother—at least not anymore,” Catherine said, sending her a sidelong glance. 

Olivia let out a little sigh, the tenor of it so foreign to her, it instantly drew Catherine’s attention. She raised her eyebrow in question. 

“I do believe at one time, Rhys was
very
taken with her,” Olivia said, her eyes now trained on Meghan and Mr. Templeton. He was laughing at something she said. 

“Are you certain? Your brother is known for his—” 

How exactly did one phrase his sexual exploits politely and in public, even when the other party was one of your best and dearest friends? 

“Women?” Olivia asked, snorting lightly and taking no offense at all. 

“Yes. That is it precisely,” Catherine said with a smile. Tonight there may not be many moments of levity so she embraced them when she could. 

“I am going to tell you something but you must promise you won’t tell a soul, particularly Meghan.” 

Catherine hastily scooted closer, her shoulder now flush against her friend’s. More than intrigued, she leaned in to hide Olivia’s face—mouth in particular—just in case any of the guests in attendance were adept at reading lips. 

“He called it quits with his last mistress to court her.” 

“I would dearly hope so,” Catherine scoffed. Truly, wasn’t that the least a gentleman should do when he set out to win a woman’s hand? He filled her parlor or drawing room with bouquets of roses, lilies, and daisies to signify his affections thus raising her hopes of future marital bliss to untold heights.