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Chapter Seventeen
How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’seyes!
—Shakespeare,As You Like It
The night seemedendless. Despite Nicholas’s persistent prodding, the countess gave no indication that she knew much of Daniel beyond his relationship as Nicholas’s brother. He had no doubt she was both socially clever and a protective friend.
Exhausted and defeated, Nicholas bid goodbye to the Dowager Duchess of Middleton, who had lingered far past the others. When Fredericks at last closed the door, Nicholas braced himself to escort Catherine up the stairs only to find she had already left. Her dark dress swayed as she crested the top stair and skirted to the right. Red fire lit his dulled senses, fury coursing through his veins, giving him new life. She could hardly wait to get away from him.To the devil with her mourning!He took the stairs two at a time and sped along the galley, managing to block the door to her chamber just as she moved to close it.
“Nicholas?” She sounded weary, and he hesitated. Shades of blue tinted the pale skin beneath her eyes, her flesh ghostly in contrast to her gown. The damn gown. It mocked his sympathy. The heat of anger rose again, and he shed the cloak of guilt that threatened to settle upon his shoulders. She had made this bed, not he.
“How many people were privy to your plans?” He moved into the room, and she took a step backward when he kicked the door closed behind him. But she didn’t look afraid. Instead, her brow furrowed, her forehead wrinkled as though she was confused. She had become the consummate actress since he’d left.
“Who knew you were to marry Daniel?” he asked.
She whirled from him but stumbled, and he grabbed her arms, pulling her upright. Her perfume wafted. His balls tightened.Damn. He did not want to want her.
“Who?” he demanded.
“Our fathers. Laurence.” She paused. “No doubt the servants. There are no secrets in our homes.” A smile flitted, quickly replaced by the now familiar forlorn downturn of her lips. “We had not yet formalized our agreement. Had not made it public.”
He fought the rush of pleasure. It was irrational. Bloody stupid. Her reticence to share with others had no direct correlation to her love for Daniel. And certainly nothing to do with her love, or lack thereof, for him. Elation was foolish. Anger spiked again.
“You didn’t tell your friend Sophia?”
“No. Nor any other guest in the room tonight.”
A calm washed over the ire, cooling its flame. He felt less the cuckold. It was ridiculous, but his pride smarted at the world believing he now had Daniel’s seconds. He knew, in his heart, he was her first in all ways. Yet perception was reality in society. He rolled his shoulders. When had he begun to care about the opinion of society?
“Is there anything else…my lord?” Her pause, her bland tone, reignited his waning wrath. Did she think he would use his role to demand compliance? Did she not know him better than that?
“No,” he growled, turning and walking toward the door.
“Well, happy wedding celebration to you, then…my lord.”
Gone suddenly was the wane girl with tired eyes, although a flush creeping up her neck was the only sign of emotion. Oh, she was all woman now, glaring at him. Only she could get under his skin like a tick. He would scratch with a harsh word, but her insinuation was pervasive. He could not easily rid himself of it.
Three quick strides, and he towered over her. “Do not make me the villain in this dark gothic drama.”
“Nor am I the fragile miss awaiting her hero!” Her green eyes sparkled, challenge accentuating her set features.
His rage bubbled, fully surfacing. Grabbing her, pulling her close, he inhaled deeply. Her scent spurred him on. He took siege of her lips, nibbling, sucking, biting until the taste of blood made them both moan.
He pushed her away, holding her at bay, trying to calm his need. Her eyes were closed, her carefully coiffured hair tilted awkwardly to the side. God, he loved her. He moved nearer, breathing her in. He had smelled her in his dreams when he’d lived in the depths of hell. Muck and mire softened by the memory of jasmine. He inhaled again. His Catherine. He caught sight of her silken gray shoulder, the fabric glimmering in the candlelight. No, not his. Daniel’s. He pushed away from her, flinching as she stumbled again, her confusion clear.
“Get rid of those weeds,” he barked. “I don’t ever want to see them again. You are a wife, blast you, not a widow.”
She glowered, her eyes a darkening forest. “Then prove it.”
His rampant pulse echoed in his temples. She dared goad him to verify his virility? The moment hung, suspended. He faced her, determination tightening her angular cheekbones, defiance sharpening her gaze. Prove it?
He roared as he crossed the few steps to her and seized the dress with both hands. The ripping of fabric was quickly replaced by the sounds of their breathing. She did not cringe. She stood, her chest heaving, a cold Venus in a chemise. That goaded him on more than the gauntlet she’d thrown at his feet.
“Damn you.” He scooped her up and threw her on the bed, giving her no chance to scurry from him. The light undergarment bunched above her hips, trapped there, her dark chamber exposed, a luring invitation. He fell upon her, spreading her legs, nuzzling.
“Damn you,” he repeated before he lost himself in the taste of her, the feel of her, the sweet ambrosia of her response. She pressed against him, mewling, crying. Her release was deep satisfaction. He lay his cheek against her stomach, his heart pounding in his chest. Had Daniel given her this pleasure?Damn and double damn. He pushed away and sat up.
“Nicholas?” Her voice was raspy, satisfaction and confusion muffling its tenor.
