Page 33 of A Daring Desire

He couldn’t move. The scent of roses drifted from her hair and another teasingly delicate floral scent wove around it, mingling with the natural perfume of a warm woman. His chest felt tight, and this time he did not think it due to pneumonia or pleurisy or whatever it was she’d diagnosed him with. It was her fault. Catherine. His wife, with her fragile beauty that hid a core of steel, and those cool silver-grey eyes, watching him always with that frank lack of judgement. Why? Why did she persist? Except she wasn’t persisting, he reminded himself. She meant to divorce him. This was just a charming interlude before she asked him to do the honourable thing, no doubt. Would she marry Mr Bancroft? He hoped not. Bancroft had not a forceful enough character for a headstrong woman like his Catherine. She’d grow tired of him in a sennight.

His Catherine. He almost laughed. She was none of his and never had been.

Her breathing hitched, and she raised her head, staring up at him, the look in her eyes eloquent, demanding so sweetly that he take advantage of the situation and kiss her that he felt a swift and peculiar stab to the heart. No. That way lay danger and, if she was going to cut herself free at last, he’d have nothing stand in her way. Least of all him.

He let her go and took a step back.

“You ought to be more careful,” he said, and he could not help the thread of anger lingering in the words. He was angry, he realised, but he wasn’t certain why. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m going back to bed.”

He didn’t look at her as he walked away. Didn’t wish to see the hurt in her eyes, though he knew it was there all the same. Well, good. Let it be a lesson to her not to put any trust in him, or to think him fit for anything but the life he had lived and had always been well satisfied with. Such ridiculous pastimes as trimming the tree were for those fellows who lived under the cat’s paw and that was not and never would be him. He wished to be rid of her, rid of her troubling presence, so he might return to his own world, where he had been perfectly content. Except the words rang hollow even to his own ears, and he knew them for the lie they were.

There was nowhere else to go, nowhere else he fit. And there was no point in pretending otherwise.

Cat put the last Christmas present under the tree and stepped back. Christmas Day had dawned with lowering skies and the threat of rain and had grown ever more sullen as the morning progressed. She had sent an invitation, care of Mr Jones, for Kilbane to join her at his convenience, but she was not feeling especially optimistic. Indeed, her hopes, which had soared for a few wonderful hours yesterday, had plummeted and left her feeling foolish and vulnerable.

A man with a reputation as notorious as her husband’s would have had no difficulty in interpreting the blatant invitation she’d sent him last night. Though she had not engineered the fall from the ladder, she had been grateful for it as a means of throwing her into his arms, as she was becoming increasingly aware she must be the one doing the throwing. It was clear he would make no move towards her. She had thought it was a sense of chivalry, the misguided notion that he had always held that she was too young. Except it wasn’t that, she’d realised of late, but that he considered her entirely too innocent. But the way he had stepped away from her last night had suggested the other possibility she had always shied away from, he did not desire or want her.

Cat struck a Lucifer match, the unpleasant smell making her wrinkle her nose as she set about lighting the candles on the tree. A sudden sense of loss struck her as she remembered Christmases at Dern. She and Mama always lit the candles together, and she had hoped that one day… but that was idiotic. She was as far from making Kilbane her husband in truth as she had ever been, and the idea he might one day be a part of her family was so remote she might as well wish for the moon. Tears pricked at her eyes as nostalgia overwhelmed her, and she felt more alone than she ever had in the past five years. She wondered what her family were doing now at Dern and regretted the row with her father harder than before. Perhaps, after all, he had been right. There was no point in flogging a dead horse, as Pippin would have told her.

Perhaps it was time to concede defeat and let Kilbane go, for he was as trapped by this marriage as she was. More so, as he had never wanted it. Despondently, she struck another match.

“It’s beautiful.”

His voice so close behind her sent her heart skittering, but she did not turn, instead concentrating on lighting the remaining candles.

“Have a care,” he told her sharply, and she gasped as he took hold of her wrist and blew the match out. She looked up at him, staring into eyes of such extraordinary violet blue that she felt she could lose herself in them and then realised she had, a long time ago. “You’ll get burned, you foolish creature.”

She let out a brittle laugh and shrugged. “Not for the first time,” she replied softly. “But I never learn, so there is no point worrying about it, my lord.”

Cat gave a little tug, and he released her. She picked up the matches again, for there were still a few unlit candles, but Kilbane took them from her.

“I’ll do it,” he said tersely. “Before you send us both up in flames.”

She relinquished the box and went to stand by the window, looking out at a day which had become increasingly dismal. Rain pattered against the window and in usual circumstances she would have enjoyed it. The knowledge that the world outside was cold and wet and yet her home was warm and cosy and safe was always a pleasant one on a grim winter's day, but today she drew no comfort from it. The world was bleak, inside and out, and she was all out of comfort. She felt his gaze upon her but didn’t turn. He would leave soon enough. Her husband was gaining strength daily and soon he would go, and she would be back where she started.

“Catherine.”

“Yes,” she said absently, already trying to accustom herself to the lack of him, which was funny really, when she’d never had him at all, even for a day. He had always been a dream, something always out of reach. No doubt that was why she wanted him so badly. She’d been spoiled and indulged her whole life, and so she’d seen something she could not have, and it had taken a hold of her mind. Well, if that was so, she’d been well served for her folly.

“I’m sorry.”

She blinked, hearing the words but not really registering them. Cat turned to look at her husband, only now noticing that he was properly dressed. “I beg your pardon, I was woolgathering.”

“For God’s sake!” he snapped, clearly irritated, and she jumped. “I wish you would stop looking like that. I feel like I drowned a kitten.”

“Kitten?” she repeated, quite at a loss. “What kitten?”

With a growl of annoyance, he crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms. Before she had the wit to exclaim with surprise, let alone protest, his hard, dissolute mouth came down upon hers and the world went away. For a moment she could not breathe, let alone think, and then she registered the feel of his arms about her, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, and she melted into his embrace knowing that she had always been meant to fit there. The kiss began as something harsh and angry, but she did not care, giving way and letting him take as he would, delighting in the wickedness of his kiss. Slowly, however, it changed, and whatever had provoked his anger seemed to diminish by degrees until his lips caressed hers with such tenderness it made her ache with longing. She reached up, twining her arms around his neck, daring to stroke the thick, dark hair at his nape as she pressed closer. Yet, no matter how close she got, it was not enough and, spoiled as she was, she wanted more, wanted all of him, but she should have known better.

He pulled back, regarding her with the mocking eye of a man well used to passion.

“Better?” he asked, darkly amused and cynical. “Merry Christmas.”

Cat jolted as though she’d been slapped and stepped out of his embrace. The sweetness of his kiss left her in a rush, leaving her emptier and more bereft than before. Without a word, she turned and ran from the room.

Chapter 11

Dearest Cat,