A Gentleman Says "I Do" (16 page)

She tingled with discovery when his tongue grazed hers. She sighed and opened her mouth to him. His tongue searched the inner surface of her lips and then probed the depths of her mouth without hesitating.

His lips left hers, and he kissed her forehead, the corner of each eye, the tip of her nose, and across both cheeks. Catalina closed her eyes, savoring the touch of his lips all over her face.

“It feels like it is raining kisses,” she whispered breathlessly.

“It is,” he answered huskily. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Very much,” she said and arched her neck back so his kisses could flow over her chin and down the slender column of her throat. She leaned toward him and felt him back away.

Her eyes opened to find his blue, blue gaze set on hers, his lips just above hers. His expression was serious. “Tell me you want me to kiss you, Catalina.”

His demand confused her. “Why?” she whispered. “Don’t you know I do?”

His large hand slipped around her neck and cupped it, while his thumb caressed her bottom lip. “I need to hear from you that you want this as much as I do. I won’t kiss you again unless you tell me to. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Yes,” she answered softly without hesitating. “I want you to kiss me. I want you to show me how to kiss you.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from his throat. “So you want to give me pleasure, too?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Is that not the way it is supposed to be?”

“Yes, but few women recognize that. I’m not surprised you do.”

He smiled and slowly took hold of her wrists and placed her arms around his neck. Catalina locked her fingers together at his nape. He slid his arms around her waist and gently pulled her tightly to his chest. Cuddled in his arms again, she felt safe, delicious, and very daring.

He bent his head and kissed her temple and then rested his cheek against her hair. He breathed in deeply and whispered, “I love the way you fit into my arms, and the way your hair smells.”

Chills of desire prickled across her skin. She gloried in the strength of his body nestled so close to hers.

He ran his hand up and down her back, pressing her tighter against his hard body. Lowering his lips to her ear, he murmured, “You feel so soft and womanly.”

He slowly outlined her lips with his tongue. “You taste sweet, so very sweet.”

Following his lead, Catalina rose on her toes and placed her cheek against his. She felt the stubble of his day-old beard, but whispered, “I like the feel of your skin against mine.” Her hands spread over his wide shoulders and then slid down his strong arms. “I like the power in your embrace.” She kissed him gently and then moistened her lips. “I like the taste of your lips on mine.”

Iverson smiled with appreciation. “You learn fast.”

Catalina returned his smile. “This is not a difficult lesson to learn.”

“What about this?” he asked and then placed his hand over one breast, cupped it in the palm of his hand, and squeezed ever so gently.

Catalina stopped breathing. Her eyes opened wide. He was massaging her breast. Even if she’d known what to say, she couldn’t speak. Somehow she felt as if he was settling his claim on her. And more surprising still, she was content with that.

She felt his thumb hunting for her nipple hidden beneath her dress and undergarments, and it tantalized her. A slow ache started low in her abdomen and quickly became intense. Her body trembled with a surging, urgent need that built inside her.

“Have I finally found a way to silence you, Catalina?”

She swallowed hard, and her breath returned. “No. I’m simply marveling at how a man who talks like a brutish rake at times and insists he’s no gentleman can have such a tender touch.”

For a moment, Catalina thought her compliment might have made him hesitant, but then in a raspy voice, he answered, “You make it easy for me to be gentle.”

She raised her head to his and whispered, “Stop torturing me, Iverson, and kiss me again before I faint.”

“With pleasure, Catalina,” he murmured, and his lips covered hers once again.

The kiss deepened, and their hands found freedom. She explored the breadth of his shoulders and back. He caressed, molded, and flattened her breasts against his hands while his tongue swirled inside her mouth. She felt his body tremble, and it thrilled her to know this passion between them made him weak, too.

His eagerness to kiss her harder, press her closer, fed hers. She lifted her hips toward him, and he pressed against her softness. His lips left hers, and he fluttered kisses down her neck, leaving shivers of pleasure everywhere they touched. With deft fingers, he pulled on the high neckline of her dress, trying to move his kisses lower. She knew there were more than kisses and caresses to explore with him, and she wanted to experience everything.

“Oh, God, Catalina,” he whispered huskily against her lips before kissing her passionately once again. And then he abruptly let go of her and stepped back.

Catalina heard his labored breathing and her own. Her body yearned for his touch to return, though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew he had done the right thing in stopping this madness. She certainly didn’t have the willpower to do it.

She didn’t understand the confusion she saw in his eyes, until he said, “I didn’t know you would be so sweet, so eager, so tempting. I didn’t know you would be so willing. Damnation, I didn’t mean to kiss you and touch you like that.”

“I was startled by the urgency between us, too,” she admitted. “Is it always so thrilling to kiss and touch with such abandon?”

“Yes,” he said, and then quickly shook his head and added, “No.”

Catalina could tell he was almost flustered. “Are you confused?”

He grunted a laugh and sucked in a heavy breath. “No, no, I’m not confused, but it’s difficult to explain to such an innocent.”

“I’m sure I can understand if you will just tell me,” she insisted softly.

“It’s not that simple, Catalina. Besides, feelings and desires are different for a man.”

“In what way?”

“It’s always thrilling, but even more so if it’s…”

“If it’s what?”

“With the right person. And that doesn’t explain it well, either. This isn’t even something we should be discussing, Catalina. I shouldn’t have touched you as I did. There are reasons why we can’t—”

“Say no more,” she said, feeling a great sense of rejection and loss for what might have been if he hadn’t suddenly remembered she was Sir Phillip’s daughter. She was not the right person for him. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t understand.”

“Of course I do,” she whispered softly. “My father stands between us, and I fear he always will.” She reached down and picked up her sewing. “Good night, Mr. Brentwood.”

Catalina hurried out of the room without looking back.

Love is lost in men’s capricious minds, but in women’s, it fills all the room it finds.

—John Crowne

The rattle of harness and neighing of horses woke Iverson. He lay still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the faint gray light of early morning that filtered in from the small, uncovered window. The memory of soft lips beneath his tumbled through his mind, awakening the pleasure he’d enjoyed last night. Catalina had bewitched him for certain. She was now filling his waking and sleeping hours.

His body responded with a throb at the thought. Pleasure was not near strong enough a word for what she’d made him feel when he held her, kissed her, and touched her.

His eyes closed again, and he relived the exquisite torture of Catalina’s soft body pressed tightly to his. She was beautiful and so responsive to his teaching. She was a sensual woman and eager to know a man’s touch. He would have loved to be the one to awaken her banked desires and show her all the many delights that awaited her. But until after he’d had his talk with Sir Phillip, he didn’t need to become any more entangled with the man’s innocent daughter, no matter how much his body had begged him to do it.

He chuckled to himself and threw his forearm over his eyes to shut out the light of dawn seeping into the room. He needed more sleep and more dreams of Catalina. If he was the blackguard he always claimed to be, he wouldn’t think twice about deflowering the lovely, tempting Catalina. What better way to get back at the man who had sullied his mother’s memory than to ruin his only daughter?

But that idea held no appeal for Iverson. Catalina was not at fault. Sir Phillip was. And Iverson intended to have a very serious talk with the man and impress upon him his responsibility, including the necessity of assuring no further slurs on Iverson’s family.

Muted, distant voices broke through his thoughts, and his eyes popped open again. If there was a coach preparing to leave, it had to be Catalina’s. His mind came fully and instantly awake. He threw the thin woolen blanket aside and rushed to the window. He wiped condensation off the pane with his open palm. In the swirling fog below, he saw Catalina’s driver, Briggs, standing beside a landau, and that was definitely Mrs. Gottfried clutching her satchel beside him. Bloody hell, had they traveled to the inn on that lightweight carriage, and with a driver who could barely speak and couldn’t hear at all?

What
was
Catalina
thinking?

Didn’t she know the roads between London and Brighton Hollow were watched by thugs and highwaymen just looking for a poorly equipped and unarmed carriage?

There was no time to shave or even to dress properly. They were preparing to leave. As hastily as he could, Iverson stepped into his trousers and buttoned them. He threw his shirt over his head and packed it into his waistband. He grabbed a leather belt holding a dagger on one side and buckled it around his waist.

His boots were not as easy to put on, but he pulled on his stockings and shoved his feet into them as fast as he could. After throwing on his waistcoat, he buttoned it as he searched the top of a small chest and the surrounding floor for the braided cord he used to tie back his hair. But in the near darkness of the room, he couldn’t find it. He swore with a heavy sigh and gave up his hunt, leaving the room the way no self-respecting gentleman ever should, with his collar, neckcloth, and coat in one hand, traveling satchel in the other, and his uncombed hair hanging straight.

Iverson made it outside in time to see Briggs helping Mrs. Gottfried into the carriage and Catalina standing next in line to board.

“Miss Crisp!” he called, wondering if she would even speak to him after the way he’d bungled their time together last night. Truly, he’d meant only to give her a few chaste kisses.

“Wait.” He set his satchel down and jogged toward her while pulling on his black coat.

Catalina stepped away from the carriage and looked at him curiously. “Mr. Brentwood, what’s wrong? Has something happened? You look”—she paused—“disheveled.”

“That’s because I am, Miss Crisp.”

He stopped in front of her and raked his long hair away from his face and forehead with his palm. There was nothing to be done about his hair until he found something to tie it with.

“I woke to hear you preparing to leave and knew if I was going to catch you before you took off, I had to hurry outside.”

Humor lurked in her eyes, and amusement twitched at the corners of her lovely mouth. It made him desperate to kiss her. No doubt it amused her to see him in such a state of dishabille.

Evidently, she’d had no unpleasant effects from last night and had slept very well. She looked as fresh and beautiful as an open rose in the middle of July. It seemed as if he was the only one who had gone to bed frustrated and in an ill temper.

He wished he had time to just stand there and feast on her loveliness. He was utterly enchanted by her. He suddenly had the urge to untie the perfect bow of ribbon under her chin and strip off her bonnet. He wanted to unfasten her cape and kiss the hollow of her throat while he listened to her feminine sounds of pleasure.

“I’m glad you caught us,” she said. “It gives me the opportunity to thank you.”

“For kissing you, I hope.”

“Shh,” she whispered and stepped closer to him. “Heavens no.”

“I believe you thanked me the last time I kissed you.”

“Yes, but that was because it was my first kiss.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you give thanks only for your first kiss and not the second.”

“Mr. Brentwood, I’m not talking about kisses at all. You should have told me last night, that while you were paying Mr. Turner to turn the ladies’ parlor into a drawing room, you also paid for our lodging.”

He shrugged. “I knew you would find out soon enough.”

Her eyes softened. And he could see in her expression the small payment of her shot meant a great deal to her. He wondered just how light in the pockets her father had left her.

“You shouldn’t have, but thank you. I’ve not done very much traveling, and I wasn’t as prepared for this trip as I should have been.”

He gave her an understanding smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Brentwood,” Mrs. Gottfried said, sticking her head out of the carriage door.

Iverson sucked in a labored breath and managed to say, “Good morning to you, Mrs. Gottfried.”

“I had no idea you were staying at this inn, too. I find that a strange coincidence.”

“I arrived late last night,” he answered, trying to fasten his stiff collar at the base of his throat while his neckcloth dangled from his arm. “The innkeeper told me you had already retired for the evening.”

“Yes, it was a terribly long day for us,” she said.

“He’s following us again, Auntie.”

Iverson glanced at Catalina. A wicked light of mischief danced in her sparkling eyes. No doubt it amused her to see him in such a state of dishabille and at the mercy of her teasing.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Gottfried said. “Why would he want to do that? And how would he know we were here? We didn’t even know we were coming ourselves until the day before we left.”

“Exactly, Mrs. Gottfried,” Iverson countered. He wound his neckcloth under his collar and tied the ends into a hasty bow. “I’m here for the same reason you are. I’m looking for Sir Phillip.”

“The innkeeper said we missed him by two days,” she offered. “And unfortunately, my brother didn’t enlighten anyone here as to where he was going when he left. A bad habit he has.”

“So I heard,” Iverson said to the woman, brushing his hair away from his forehead again and wishing like hell he had a string in his pocket.

“It’s imperative we find him, Mr. Brentwood,” Catalina’s aunt continued. “Where are you going to look next? Perhaps this time we can follow you?”

Catalina laughed softly. “Stop that, Auntie. We will not follow him or anyone. Besides, he has no more of an idea where Papa is than we do, and probably less.”

“That is true, madam. I’m all out of ideas as to where the man could be.”

“Then I suppose it is back home for us,” the older woman said. “Are you ready, Catalina?”

“Mrs. Gottfried, before you go, may I have a word with your niece?”

“Of course you may.”

Iverson and Catalina walked a short distance away, and when he looked back at the carriage, Mrs. Gottfried had disappeared inside. He looked at Catalina and said, “Tell me you didn’t come all the way from London in the landau.”

Another smile brightened Catalina’s eyes, and Iverson wondered how she could look so lovely so damned early in the morning and on such a gray day.

“As you wish, we didn’t.”

“But you did,” he said tightly, wanting to impress upon her his concern for her traveling in such an unsuitable carriage.

“Of course,” she said, smiling again and stretching her arm out toward the carriage. “We had no other to use. My father has our coach, and I didn’t have—” She moistened her lips. “I didn’t want to take the time to hire a larger coach. Why are you interested?”

“Because I know that”—he pointed to the landau—“was not built for long-distance traveling. You could have broken a wheel, and then what would you have done?”

“We would have changed it. Briggs keeps an extra boarded under the carriage.”

“And speaking of your driver, please tell me you have someone other than him with you.”

“Adam is with us.” She pointed to a young lad standing beside the horses.

“That stable boy is Adam?” Iverson felt his anger rising again that she would travel so ill prepared. “He can’t be considered a qualified guard. He looks barely old enough to be away from his mama.”

“Adam is not that young, Mr. Brentwood. He’s not sure of his exact age. He thinks he is fifteen or sixteen, but he is a young man for sure. He’s simply short and has a small build for his age.”

Iverson grunted a laugh. It did not surprise him she defended yet another servant. “He might be small and short for his age, but he has certainly learned how to fool you. He’s not even shaving yet. That youngster can’t be more than twelve or thirteen at the most. You need a guard who is armed with a sword, a pistol, and a musket. You need a driver who can talk and hear other coaches, or, God forbid, highwaymen approaching.”

Much to his aggravation, Catalina remained nonplused. “When we were outside
The
Daily
Herald
you said you didn’t notice that Briggs doesn’t speak or hear very well.”

“At the time, I was trying to be kind.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. But it seems that Mr. Brentwood obviously woke on the wrong side of the bed this morn. Perhaps you should go back to bed and try getting up on the other side to see if it improves your disposition.”

Iverson shifted his stance. He didn’t know how she remained so calm. “You can’t be careless with your safety when traveling, Catalina. You should be worried about bandits waiting to rob you or worse.”

“Or worse?” Her eyebrows lifted, and she gave him an exaggerated expression of doubt. “What kind of stories have you been reading, Mr. Brentwood? On our journey here yesterday, we encountered no trouble with our carriage or its wheels. We were not set upon by thieves or any other unscrupulous kind of scoundrels. And even if we had been, why should I be worried? We have no money or jewels with us and very little clothing anyone would want to take from us. You probably have more coins in your pockets than we do.”

“That might be,” he argued, “but I also have this, should I encounter trouble.” He pushed his coat aside with his elbow and lifted his waistcoat, showing the intricately carved handle of a large dagger. “And I have a pistol in my satchel, should I need it.”

Her gaze stayed on his as she moistened her lips and then gave him another teasing smile. “You are quite well armed, and I’m sure it makes you feel powerful and safe.”

As she teased him unmercifully, Iverson was having a hard time focusing on his reprimand. And when she looked at him with that shimmering light in her eyes, all he wanted to do was take her into his arms and kiss her.

“As anyone who is traveling outside London should be, Miss Crisp,” he insisted.

“You know what I think, Mr. Brentwood?”

If she kept up that wickedly beautiful and amused smile, he would chance Mrs. Gottfried catching them and kiss her before she boarded her carriage. She enchanted him to distraction. “That you are careless with your safety?”

“No, for I am not. Briggs is well armed, and he is an excellent shot. Adam is his ears and voice. Now why don’t you admit you are simply upset because I left to search for my father without telling you about it?”

“Catalina, I will gladly admit that. I am.”

“Good,” she said with a satisfied smile.

“But I’m also concerned for you.”

As if she finally understood what he was telling her, her eyes and expression softened again. “I think you are also upset and quite possibly angry with me because I wanted you to kiss me last night.”

A soft laugh passed his lips. “My sweet Catalina, I might be angry and upset, too, but I’m certain it’s not because we kissed. Why would I be?”

She blinked several times. “Because I am Sir Phillip’s daughter.”

“I am not sorry we kissed, Catalina. And I might as well let you know it will not be the last time I kiss you. If your aunt wasn’t in that carriage, I would kiss you right now.”

The desire in her eyes let him know she would accept his kisses if they were alone.

“We have a long ride ahead of us,” he said. “We’d best get started. I’m going to ride beside the coach and see you get into London safely.”

“We will be quite fine without you.”

“Probably,” he added, “but I’ll be traveling with you anyway.”

***

Catalina couldn’t keep her gaze off Iverson. And she had the distinct feeling he didn’t want her to. He rode his magnificent horse right beside the small window in the door of the carriage. Throughout the morning, she tried to concentrate on other things: her aunt’s chatter, the maid’s grunts, the scenery, but nothing else held her attention, and her gaze kept straying out the window to Iverson. Sometimes he would catch her watching him, and he would smile. He was enjoying the fact she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.