A Gentleman Says "I Do" (15 page)

What will not woman, gentle woman dare; when strong affection stirs her spirit up?

—Robert Southey

The journey to The Cooked Goose Inn took much longer than Catalina expected. She hadn’t traveled often in her lifetime, as there was never the need. She was fairly unfamiliar with the process. She remembered taking a long journey with her mother and father when she was about the age of seven or eight, but she hadn’t been past the outskirts of London in years.

The biggest surprise of the day to her was how often they had to stop and rest the horses. Her aunt and her maid looked forward to the respites from the cramped compartment and would always take the opportunity to get out of the carriage, stretch their legs, and be slow about getting back inside. Aunt Elle was careful not to grumble where Catalina could hear her, but Catalina could tell the hours in the carriage were not to her aunt’s liking.

Catalina’s father had taken their bigger traveling coach, so she and Auntie had to make do with the landau. The smaller, lightweight conveyance was not built for a long journey over often hazardous roads, but she didn’t have a choice. She didn’t have the money to hire a larger coach. Since Nancy had packed them enough food for at least two days of travel, Catalina hoped all she would have to pay for was one night’s lodging and her father’s expenses. After that was paid, there would be no more money until her father wrote another story or poem.

All seemed to be going well until they left central London and connected with the main post road. The way became almost treacherous at times, as the carriage seemed to hit one hole after another. When they made their first rest stop, she had talked to Briggs and his young groom, Adam, about the possibility of going around the holes, but they both assured her they had to stay in the hardened ruts in order to keep the landau rolling safely along.

And if it wasn’t enough to worry about the competence of the carriage, Aunt Elle’s elderly maid, Sylvia, grunted loudly every time they hit a bump. Catalina could have brought along her own maid but knew her aunt would be more comfortable and agreeable having Sylvia to tend to her. At one point when the road was particularly grueling, Catalina wondered if the carriage or her aunt’s maid would make it to the inn. Neither one seemed to be up to the trip.

Sometime late in the afternoon, Aunt Elle had finally laid her head on her maid’s shoulder and gone to sleep. Thankfully, her maid went to sleep, too. And for once, Catalina was happy her aunt brought along her satchel of tonics. Heaven only knew what was in the little bottles of elixir Aunt Elle sipped during the afternoon, but Catalina suspected they were heavily laced with brandy. But for today, she was glad the mixture kept her aunt happy, and that made the traveling a little easier for everyone.

Catalina was thankful for the peace and quiet, but quickly discovered she couldn’t read or work on her stitchery in the bumpy carriage, as it made her stomach feel queasy. She’d been forced to simply stare out the window at the passing scenery. When her mind was idle, she thought about Mr. Brentwood. She had tried to occupy her thoughts with other people, other things, but nothing worked. If she believed in such nonsense as curses, she’d think the man had put a spell on her.

It was dusk by the time the carriage rolled to a stop in front of The Cooked Goose Inn. Catalina didn’t wait for Briggs or Adam to help her down. She shoved the door open the moment the landau stopped, held up the hem of her skirt, and jumped down, leaving the men to deal with her aunt and Sylvia. She had to know if her father was at the inn.

Catalina hurried inside and found the innkeeper, Mr. Turner, only to discover a few minutes later her father had been there but had left two days ago. The innkeeper had no idea where he went or if he would be coming back. She whispered a silent prayer that he was on his way home. She thought about turning around and heading straight back to London without a minute’s rest but knew that wouldn’t be fair to Adam and Briggs. If her father was on his way home, he would still be there by the time she returned tomorrow evening. Hiding her disappointment, she put a smile on her face and secured a room for Aunt Elle, Sylvia, and herself, as well as accommodations for Briggs and Adam. She promised Mr. Turner she would pay for her father’s lodging when she settled with him in the morning.

After chatting with the innkeeper about her father and Nancy, Catalina realized how weary she was from the day’s travel. She was looking forward to bed, until she went up to her room and realized how small a space she was to share with Aunt Elle and Sylvia. She grabbed her needlework and told her aunt she was going below stairs for a while to sit by the fire in the ladies’ parlor and give them time to have their dinner and ready themselves for bed.

The inn wasn’t a large or spacious establishment but accommodating enough for the few patrons she’d seen. The taproom was located on one side of the vestibule and the dining room on the other. She heard a smattering of chatter coming from the taproom as she made it to the bottom of the stairs. She found Mr. Turner and asked if she could spend some time in the ladies’ parlor. He assured her it would be fine and showed her to the room. As was usual for inns, it was down the main corridor and at the back of the inn, away from any raucous or unsavory language that might be coming from the taproom. And unlike the taproom, which had a large opening with no doors, the ladies’ parlor had a single entranceway with a door giving it privacy.

The room was empty, but a small fire and a lamp were lit, making the atmosphere welcoming. Mr. Turner built up the fire and brought her in a steaming pot of tea.

After closing herself inside, she pulled a high-backed rocker in front of the fire and made herself comfortable. She picked up her needlework and began her stitchery. She tried to stay focused on the intricate flower design but found her mind wandering from Mr. Brentwood to her father to wondering what they were going to do for money until her father could sell more of his work. She didn’t know how long she’d been embroidering when she heard the door open. Thinking it was the innkeeper coming in to stoke the fire or ask if she needed anything, she looked up, smiling. But it wasn’t Mr. Turner she saw, it was Iverson Brentwood.

Her needle fell still in her hands. She was tired and weary from the exhausting coach ride and disappointed she had missed her father, but all the tension she’d felt since she’d started her journey ebbed at the sight of Mr. Brentwood. Catalina experienced the same feelings she’d had when she saw him outside
The
Daily
Herald
building a week ago. Joy swelled in her breast, and she had an overpowering urge to get up and run into his strong arms.

Looking at him dressed so handsomely in his white shirt, fawn-colored riding breeches, and black, shiny, knee-high riding boots, she knew she wasn’t upset with him for following her. She was happy to see him and wanted to have a pleasant conversation with him.

His gaze stayed locked on hers as he stepped into the room and clicked the door shut behind him.

“Good evening, Miss Crisp,” he said with amusement lurking in his disarming eyes. “I trust you were expecting me.”

She returned the smile. “No, actually I wasn’t, though I should have been. I was too busy patting myself on the back because I thought I had gotten away without you knowing I was gone.”

He walked toward her with an easy, rolling stride that exuded self-confidence, and a little thrill of excitement raced through her.

“You almost did. You had quite the lead on me.”

“But obviously not enough to elude you,” she teased lightly. “I’ll be more diligent next time. I can assure you, no matter where I go from now on, I will look behind me to see if you are catching up.”

There was seductiveness to his throaty chuckle, and Catalina’s chest tightened, her stomach fluttered, and her skin tingled. Oh, yes, if not for his threat against her father, this man could be the hero of all her dreams.

His blue gaze stayed on hers. “I’m not sure I want to get to the point where I’m that predictable, Miss Crisp.”

Catalina shrugged casually, easily, and laid her stitchery on the table by the teapot. “Too late, Mr. Brentwood, you already have.”

“You wound me again. Perhaps instead of admitting I am following you, I will just say I am looking for Sir Phillip at the same place you are looking for him.”

“Oh,” she said as innocently as possible. “Is that the reason you think I’m here?”

A moment of concern etched its way into his eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Catalina laughed softly. She enjoyed perplexing him. “Of course it is. But, unfortunately for me, he isn’t here.”

“Unfortunate for me, as well,” he whispered more under his breath than to her.

She smiled again, remembering how frustrated he was that first day she met him because her father wasn’t home.

“You know, if I hadn’t met Sir Phillip on more than one occasion, I might be tempted to think the man doesn’t actually exist.”

“I am living proof he does. Now, tell me which one of my servants you bribed.”

“Oh, no, Miss Crisp.” He shook his head. “A gentleman doesn’t divulge his sources. He may have to use them at another time.”

“But we’ve already established you are no gentleman, Mr. Brentwood.”

“Oh, I should have known.” A teasing light shone in his eyes. “That’s true, but I do have a code of honor I live by. I’d like to think most gentlemen would approve of it.”

He pulled a chair over opposite hers and sat down, extending his booted feet toward the fire and making himself comfortable.

“Sir, you can come in to say hello, but you can’t stay. You must go to the taproom where all the men are or into the dining room.”

“Not to worry, Miss Crisp, everything is fine. I had a talk with the innkeeper before I came in here, and a few extra coins turned the ladies’ parlor into a drawing room tonight, where everyone is welcome.”

Excitement danced through her senses, but she willed it to stay under control. “You didn’t.”

Mr. Brentwood made no effort to hide his grin. “I did.”

“In that case, we shouldn’t be in here alone. Someone might come in and see us and start more gossip.”

His brows lifted slightly, and a warm gleam sparkled in his eyes. “I don’t think that will happen, either.”

“We might be a long way from London, but Society’s rules still apply.”

“I agree.”

“What did you do?”

“The innkeeper assured me he wouldn’t let the two locals who are in the taproom know the ladies’ parlor had been converted into a drawing room.”

A feeling of expectancy stole over Catalina. “You paid for that bit of convenience, too, didn’t you?”

A possessive smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Well, the man does need to make a living. I’m happy to help him out however I can.”

“You are very sure of yourself. You do know how to get your way, don’t you?”

“Most of the time,” he said confidently but without arrogance. “It’s a rather skillful and useful asset to have. Now, tell me, were you hoping to find your father so you could warn him that I’m looking for him?”

Catalina bit down on her bottom lip and studied on his question. She could answer
yes
and be telling the truth. But she would be admitting to only part of the reason she wanted to find her father. Between
A
Tale
of
Three
Gentlemen
and the mounting bills, the reasons for finding her father were multiplying.

“Yes,” she finally said, “but there are other, private reasons I need to find him, as well. I believe I’ve mentioned he’s never been away this long before, and I find it a little disconcerting that he hasn’t returned.”

“I’m sure you would have heard if anything nefarious had happened. He’s probably holed up somewhere, writing more of his poetry, prose, or perhaps another parody of some unsuspecting family.”

Deciding not to comment on the parody, she simply said, “I keep telling myself no harm has come to him,” she answered a little more brightly than she was feeling at the moment.

“How is Mrs. Gottfried?”

“The traveling made her very tired. I’m sure she and her maid are already asleep.” Catalina paused and picked up her needlework. “I should be going up to my room, too.”

He reached over and touched her arm. “Wait. Don’t go yet.” He rose from his chair, took the embroidery from her hand, and laid it back on the table. “I’m enjoying sitting here alone with you. Stay a little longer.”

Catalina’s breaths shortened, and her heart started thudding. She was tempted, but she said, “I’m sure that is not a good idea.”

He looked down at her. “I promise your reputation is safe.”

“It’s not my reputation I’m worried about.” She started to add it was her heart that concerned her, but thankfully, she caught herself before she revealed that secret.

“What then?” he asked.

Catalina remained silent.

“I don’t frighten you, do I?”

“No, you know you don’t.”

In an easy, slow motion, he reached down and took hold of her upper arms and gently pulled her out of the chair so they stood face to face. She heard muted voices from the taproom, the crackling of the dying fire, and her own labored breathing, but the thought of protesting never entered her mind.

She watched as his handsome face descended toward hers in an unhurried manner. She knew he was going to kiss her. That didn’t surprise her, but that she wanted him to, did.

Her eyes closed, and her lips parted slightly as his warm mouth descended slowly, lower and lower, until his lips settled over hers. She felt magical sensations speeding across her breasts, spiraling through her stomach, and tumbling down into the lower depths of her abdomen, to then spread between her legs.

The kiss was slow, languid, and potent. Sweetness filled her.

His lips moved back and forth over hers with controlled leisure. Brushing, nipping, and sometimes hovering just above hers, making her want to reach up and demand kisses from him. But always just before she did, his lips would claim hers again, sending shimmers of euphoria washing through her.