A Gentleman Says "I Do" (12 page)

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said and realized he was.

By the look in her eyes, he knew not having a brother or sister saddened her. He supposed it was natural to want a sibling, someone to confide in, argue with, and compete against. Even though there were many times he wished he wasn’t a twin, he was glad he had brothers. Perhaps not having a brother or sister was the reason Miss Crisp was so kind and gentle with the odd mixture of misfits she had working for her. They would be unemployable elsewhere.

Iverson smiled to himself. She was an angel of kindness to her servants, but she could be tough as new leather when she was sparring with him. Oh, yes, she definitely had him on her hook, and she was cleverly pulling him in. What he didn’t know yet was if she knew it.

Patience is the companion of wisdom.

—St. Augustine

Catalina was smitten by the man.

Why and how it happened she had no idea. He was handsome. He was charming. He was an admitted rake and scoundrel who had threatened to harm her father, and still she found herself laughing with him and teasing him. For the first time in her life, she wanted to flirt with a man and dance with him. He delighted her, and even now, though she had left his company mere minutes ago, she was already wondering when she would see him again.

No, she was more than smitten. She was besotted, completely and utterly foolish over him! And she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.

Catalina looked over at her aunt while Lady Windham’s servant helped her with her velvet cloak. Aunt Elle’s face was flushed, but she seemed steady on her feet, for which Catalina was grateful. But it was already later than they usually stayed, and she needed to get her aunt home.

If not for her aunt, Catalina would have stayed longer at the party and found a way to make Mr. Brentwood ask her to dance. If for no other reason than he’d told her wasn’t going to ask her.

She turned so the servant could place her cloak on her shoulders, and she saw Mr. Brentwood leaning against the door frame leading from the drawing room into the vestibule, watching her. He gave her a soft smile, and Catalina’s stomach tumbled. Her breath caught in her throat, and she remembered his kisses and all the heady sensations that had erupted inside her when their lips met. She remembered the feel of his soft, pliant lips on hers—warm, moist, enticing. She remembered the sensations that shimmered, spiraled, and surged through her when he caught her up to him and embraced her in his protective, powerful arms.

It had been an overwhelming, breathtaking experience to be held so close to a man that she felt his strength, his warmth, and the beat of his heart. And she had no doubts she wanted him to hold her and kiss her again and again. And by the way he was looking at her, he knew that, too. For the first time in her life, she had the feeling her heart was not safe.

Suddenly, Miss Babs Whitehead appeared at his side, and his attention was diverted to her.

Catalina turned away.

The way Mr. Brentwood made her feel was maddening, Catalina thought as she and her aunt stepped into the chilling night air. She wanted to be free to explore and enjoy all the wonderful feelings Mr. Brentwood created inside her, but how could she when the rest of
A
Tale
of
Three
Gentlemen
stood between them?

The music and laughter of the party grew faint as they walked away from the house to where they would wait for their carriage to come around. The night was clear and dry, making the streetlamps on the fashionable Mayfair Street unusually bright. Aunt Elle chattered about some gossip she’d heard from Lady Windham, but Catalina couldn’t focus on what her aunt was saying about who was seen in the garden with whom. When Mr. Brentwood was on her mind, there was no room in her thoughts for anyone but him, and that troubled her.

It had been a couple of days since she talked to Mr. Frederick, and she worried about the wisdom of continuing to wait for her father to return. Somehow she had to keep
The
Daily
Herald
from printing the rest of her father’s story. Perhaps she should visit Mr. Frederick and plead her case again. She wanted to keep Mr. Brentwood from even knowing it had been written. She should never have finished it, but at the time, she had no idea how much trouble it would cause her or how it would make Mr. Brentwood feel to read it. This was her fault, and she must get the rest of the story back. Time for doing that was running out.

She kept telling herself there was a reason her father had been gone close to two weeks now. No doubt he’d found a quiet place that inspired him to brilliance, and he couldn’t force himself to leave. Perhaps he was working on a long poem that would rival Lord Byron’s
Childe
Harold’s Pilgrimage
. But whatever the reason, if her father wouldn’t come home, it was time for her to go looking for him. She couldn’t wait any longer.

Briggs brought the carriage to a stop in front of them.

After Catalina had settled on the cushion opposite her aunt, she said, “Auntie, I’ve decided I must find Papa.”

Aunt Elle laughed as the landau started rolling. “Where did this idea come from?”

There was no way Catalina could tell her aunt why. And there was no use in beating herself up anymore for finishing
A
Tale
of
Three
Gentlemen
. At the time, she had no choice.

“He needs to come home and help me,” Catalina whispered into the darkness of the cold carriage.

“Nonsense, I can help you. What do you need?”

“Oh, I wish you could. I’ve made such a mess of things.”

“What things, dearest?” her aunt said, a slight slur beginning to affect some of her words. “I don’t understand what you are talking about, but if you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll do it.”

Catalina could see Aunt Elle was ready for sleep. They hadn’t left the party a moment too soon. “I know you would, but this isn’t anything you can help with. I need Papa. He’s been gone so long now. I’m beginning to wonder if something might be wrong.”

“And something might be right. He’ll be home when he’s ready. No one can hurry Phillip.”

“Auntie”—Catalina paused and leaned toward her aunt—“I’m not sure I can wait any longer. I need his help now.”

“But how can he help you when you don’t know where he is?”

“Maybe we can find him if we put our heads together. Now, think. Has he ever mentioned to you where he goes when he takes his leave?”

In the darkness of the carriage, Catalina could barely see her aunt’s brows scrunch together as if she were in deep thought. “No. I’m sure I would remember. I have never questioned Phillip about his plans when he travels.”

“Neither have I, but I can see where I should have. That information would be most useful right now.”

“But he probably doesn’t even go to the same place every time he goes away.”

“That’s quite possible.” Catalina shook her head with worry. “I can’t continue to let time pass and not do anything to find him.”

“Why are you so desperate to find Phillip? You’ve never wanted to find him before.”

Catalina had an overwhelming urge to tell her aunt everything. She wanted to confide in her how she had finished the story for her father, about Mr. Brentwood’s anger over its publication and his threats against her father if more was written. She wanted to pour out her heart and tell how Mr. Brentwood made her feel when he looked at her, when he’d kissed her and made her feel the desires of a woman. She wanted to fling herself into her aunt’s arms, lay her head against her chest, and feel loved and protected.

For once, Catalina wanted to be soothed with a hug, a brush of a kind hand, and to hear someone tell her there was no need to worry, everything was going to be all right. But just at her breaking point, when she felt herself moving toward her aunt for solace, Aunt Elle opened her drawstring reticule and pulled out her silver flask.

Catalina swallowed hard. A shiver shook her. She forced the weak feeling away and settled back against the cushion. She would have to settle for the rocking of the carriage to ease her troubled mind.

It was odd that just a few days ago Catalina sat in her own home and accused Mr. Brentwood of being desperate to find her father. The tables had turned, and now she was the one frantic for his return.

Catalina sighed and rested her head against the cushion and let the rocking carriage and darkness envelope her.

“Are you all right, dearest?”

“Yes, of course, Auntie,” she fibbed.

Aunt Elle moved to the seat beside her and took hold of Catalina’s gloved hand, but the time for her to bring comfort had passed.

“I know you feel you need your papa, but you can’t go flying off like an injured bird, looking for him.”

A rueful chuckle escaped past Catalina’s lips. Aunt Elle was more intuitive than Catalina thought. She had indeed felt like a wounded bird for a moment or two.

“Now, there’s no need for you to fret because Phillip has been gone longer than usual. I’m sure he’s on his way back home. He might even be there by the time we return.”

Catalina smiled. “I do like your optimism, Auntie.”

“Dearest, you are your father’s rock, and you are a guardian angel to me and all the servants, too. If not for you and your skills in taking care of everything, who knows where any of us would be—probably in the poorhouse and your father in debtors’ prison.”

“Auntie!” Catalina raised her head and exclaimed.

“Well, it’s true. Thankfully, you took after your mother’s side of the family and not after me or your ‘eyes to the sky’ father.”

Catalina laughed again. “That’s ‘head in the clouds,’ Auntie.”

“Well, whatever it is, you can’t be as blithe as he is and go chasing after him. Give him another day or two. He’ll be back. I’m sure of it. And in the meantime, you’ll take care of us just like you always have.”

Catalina lightly squeezed her aunt’s fingers. “Yes, Auntie, I will take care of everyone. That is why I must find Papa.”

“But how?”

“First, I’ll search Papa’s desk in his book room and look for correspondence where someone might have invited him to come for a visit, or possibly a note or journal where he wrote the name of an inn or an estate where he planned to stay.”

“That does sounds like a reasonable way to begin your search,” Aunt Elle said. “But what if he doesn’t want to be found?”

“I must do it anyway.”

“All right, dearest, if your mind is made up and I can’t talk you out of it. Do what you must.”

“Thank you, Auntie. If I don’t find where he is staying written down, I will question Mrs. Wardyworth, Nancy, and all the other servants if need be. Perhaps they know where Papa likes to spend his time. I already know Papa saw Briggs walking along the road from Bath to London. Maybe I can establish that there is one particular house or an inn where he stays most often along that route. I can go there looking for him.”

“Since I can’t talk you out of it, tell me what I can do to help.”

“Your part will come when you have to go with me to find him.”

“Of course, you know I will. You don’t think I’d let you travel anywhere without me, do you? When I traveled with Mr. Gottfried, he always said, ‘Eloisa, don’t tell me no. Pack your trunks, and let’s go. We’ll make an adventure out of it.’ And you know what, dearest, we always did.”

“You and I shall do the same,” Catalina said, feeling heartened.

“Of course we will. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Thank you, Aunt Elle.”

Catalina turned away from her aunt to look at the lighted lamp on the carriage outside the small door window. It was easy for her aunt to say just wait for him to return. Her aunt didn’t know how Catalina was feeling.

Mr. Frederick could give the okay to start printing the copies any day now. Her best guess was she had at most a week or two, but maybe only four, maybe five days for her father to return in time to stop
The
Daily
Herald
from causing him a basketful of trouble from dangerous Mr. Brentwood.

***

It was much later that night when Iverson found himself sitting in White’s gaming room with the best damn hand of cards he’d had in weeks, and he was trying hard to keep his mind on the game and off the temptingly delectable Miss Crisp. It was proving difficult. The reason was he felt differently about Miss Crisp than he had any other woman. He felt differently when he had kissed her, and she made him feel special when she looked at him.

That troubled him.

He’d talked and danced with several young ladies, trying to forget about the ever-charming and indomitable Miss Crisp after she left Lady Windham’s party. He might as well have saved the breath it took him to dance. Not one young lady came close to intriguing him as much as Miss Crisp.

Miss Babs Whitehouse was lively and voluptuous. He had no doubt her kisses would be saucy, but he had no desire to taste her lips after she told him she enjoyed the quite clever story that had been written about him and his brother in
The
Daily
Herald
. Miss Helen Matthews had the countenance of an angel, but the thought of being wrapped in her arms left him cold after she had asked him if it were true that twins could feel each other’s pain. And the young and immensely wealthy widow, Mrs. Ronald Anderson, had him almost running for the doorway when she eagerly asked him to call on her tomorrow afternoon at precisely three o’clock. There was something about the look in her eyes that told him if he accepted her invitation, he’d find himself leg-shackled before he left.

It was Iverson’s turn, so he played his hand. He didn’t blink an eye or move a muscle when a few minutes later, he was dealt the card he needed to win the game, though inside he was feeling good. He casually let himself glance at the huge pile of money in the center of the table. The win would be sweet.

Movement in the doorway of the card room caught Iverson’s attention. He looked up to see Matson leaning against the door frame. Iverson knew immediately something was wrong. Matson’s foul expression said, “I need to see you now.”

But Iverson wasn’t walking away from this hand. Matson’s problem could wait. Iverson looked back at his cards and then one by one, his gaze drifted over the four men seated at the table with him. What he was holding could beat them all.

A cough came from the doorway. Iverson looked at his brother again. A wrinkle of concern marred Matson’s forehead, and tightness showed around his mouth. He jerked his head to the right, indicating for Iverson to follow him immediately.

Not this time, Brother, Iverson thought. Matson was just going to have to wait. One of the men at the table folded, and the one beside him upped the bet generously. Iverson remained calm, matched and raised the bet again. Another man folded and then another matched the bet and called for a show of hands. Iverson looked up at Matson and smiled before laying down his winning hand.