A Gentleman Says "I Do" (4 page)

She appreciated that, for the time being at least, he was letting her insensitive remark pass.

“What do you expect of me when you say you want to harm him?”

“That’s not what I said. It’s not that I
want
to, but that I
will
if he publishes anything more about my family. I protect my own.”

She believed him but couldn’t back down from her strong stance now.

“And I will protect my father as fiercely as you protect your family.”

All of a sudden, he reached out and caressed down her cheek with the backs of his fingers before letting his knuckles lightly skim back and forth across her lips. His hand was warm and his touch tender. A thrilling tingle of something she’d never felt before swept across her breasts and then tumbled its way down into the depths of her abdomen. She inhaled the clean, fresh scent of shaving soap that lingered on his skin. Her chest tightened, and her stomach felt like it fell to her feet.

Catalina knew she should shrink from his touch, but she couldn’t. It was as if she wanted and needed him to touch her so softly to prove he was a gentle man in spite of his tough talk and angry expressions. And for a fleeting, bewildering moment, her heartbeat raced and her throat went dry as she thought about the possibility of dallying with the rake. She had always wanted to be kissed by a man who stirred her senses the way this man did. It took all she could do not to throw her arms around his neck, place her lips on his, and give in to the madness of the intriguing man.

“Understood, Miss Crisp…”

“What’s this? I just heard there’s a gentleman in the house.”

Catalina spun at the sound of her aunt’s voice and saw the petite woman dressed in a flowing, puce-colored gown breeze into the room with all the fanfare of a young maid at a cotillion.

Aunt Elle’s face was flushed, and several strands of her dark brown hair had fallen from the chignon at the back of her head. The delicate lace fichu wrapped around her slim shoulders hung askew, and she wore only one large pearl earring. Catalina had no doubt her aunt had spent the afternoon lying on the settee in her bedchamber reading poetry and sipping wine.

Holding a fine linen handkerchief in her hand, Aunt Elle said, “Catalina, my dearest, have you forgotten all your upbringing? You simply cannot entertain a gentleman without me or a suitable chaperone of some description present. What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

After rushing to Catalina’s side, her aunt stumbled to a halt too quickly and almost toppled over.

“Careful, Auntie,” Catalina cautioned, trying to catch hold of her aunt.

As if sensing a disaster in the making, Mr. Brentwood reached out and gently grabbed hold of her aunt’s waist to keep her from falling and to steady her. Aunt Elle clutched his upper arms as if she were hanging on to him for her life.

She smiled up at Mr. Brentwood but made no move to dislodge herself from his grasp. Her hands squeezed the muscles in his arms, and she said, “My stars, you are a strong young man. Just like my Mr. Gottfried was.”

Catalina purposefully kept her gaze from meeting Mr. Brentwood’s, but there was no way he didn’t know that by five o’clock in the afternoon, Eloisa Lucinda Gottfried had already had at least one glass of sherry too many.

Catalina took her aunt’s wrist and gently pulled her away from Mr. Brentwood and helped her to stand up straight.

“Auntie, I am not entertaining Mr. Brentwood.”

“Of course you are, dearest. I’m tipsy, not blind.” Aunt Elle paused to put her handkerchief over her mouth and hiccupped as she looked down at the tray. “I can see you were having tea with him. I know what you were thinking, but I won’t have you risk your reputation over it no matter how worthwhile a plan it seemed at the time.”

“Nonsense, Auntie. I wanted only to find out if I could help Mr. Brentwood. He is looking for Papa.”

“Didn’t you tell him we don’t know where Phillip is? Oh, never mind. Both of you sit back down and finish your tea. I’ll handle this, Catalina.” She turned back to Mr. Brentwood and smiled. “But first, we must be properly introduced.”

Catalina quickly made the introductions while her aunt swayed on her feet and smiled at Mr. Brentwood.

After greetings were exchanged, Aunt Elle said, “Mr. Brentwood, you should have made known your intentions to court my niece.”

“Auntie, no,” Catalina said, her frustration mounting as she continued to avoid Mr. Brentwood’s eyes. She could imagine what he was thinking and didn’t need to see it written on his face.

“Mrs. Gottfried,” Mr. Brentwood said, “I would have done so if that had been the case. Miss Crisp and I had never met until a few minutes ago. She was right when she said I came here to see her father.”

Aunt Elle rubbed her temple as if she had a headache. “Oh, but he isn’t here.”

“Yes, I’ve been told,” he said, speaking kindly to her, “and more than once, so I think perhaps it’s time I took my leave. I’ll come back another time to see Sir Phillip.”

“Well, I don’t know why you’d want to come see him when our beautiful Catalina is here,” Aunt Elle said, her gaze darting from Catalina to Mr. Brentwood. “Unless this is a ruse, and if it is, that’s so romantic.” She smiled at Mr. Brentwood. “My Mr. Gottfried was a romantic man like you, too.”

Heat started at Catalina’s throat and rose up her neck to her face. Her gaze flew to Mr. Brentwood’s, but she realized she didn’t know what to say to him about her aunt’s behavior.

“Auntie, we just told you there is nothing going on between us.”

“Yes, yes,” Aunt Elle continued, suddenly looking confused. “I know, I know. It would be wonderful for you to come another time, Mr. Brentwood. You should hear our Catalina play the pianoforte. It’s breathtaking.”

“Auntie, please.”

“Well, it’s true. But I’ll tell him about that another time. My brother doesn’t usually stay away very long. How long has he been gone now, Catalina? About a week?”

“Yes, Auntie, that’s right. I’ll see Mr. Brentwood out and then be back to help you to your room.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now. He’ll return most any day now. But you are more than welcome to come back and visit with our Catalina anytime.” She paused and smiled at Mr. Brentwood. “Just let me know, and I’ll arrange it.”

“Yes, madam.”

“This way, Mr. Brentwood,” Catalina said softly, and started for the door.

Catalina would have given anything for Mr. Brentwood not to have seen her aunt in such an unfavorable light. Mrs. Wardyworth must have alerted her aunt to the fact there was a man in the house. Thankfully, even the times when Auntie dipped too deeply into the wine, she was still always in a good and playful humor, like today.

As soon as they were out of the drawing room and in the corridor, Mr. Brentwood touched Catalina’s arm. That same thrilling sensation as before spiraled through her. He must have felt it, too, for he slowly lowered his hand and took a step away.

His expression was the softest she’d seen since he arrived. Gone were the anger, the distrust, and suspicion, and in their place, understanding had taken root. She was grateful.

“I know where my hat and coat are, and I know the way out, if you want to go back to your aunt.”

“Yes, thank you, that will be fine,” she said, realizing she really didn’t know what to say to excuse her aunt’s outlandish behavior.

Catalina turned away but spun back to face him when she heard him say, “Miss Crisp?”

Their eyes met and held, and somehow she knew he was not appalled by Aunt Elle and she had no reason to be embarrassed. And suddenly, she liked Mr. Brentwood even more than before.

“Yes?” she said.

“It was indeed a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brentwood,” she said and turned quickly and headed back to the drawing room.

Catalina stood just inside the doorway, holding her breath until she heard the front door close behind him. She exhaled a deep sigh of relief and leaned against a chair. She didn’t think she had ever been that stimulated in her life. How could a man be so refreshing, so invigorating, and such a challenge all at the same time?

“But he’s gone now, and I’ll probably never see him again,” she whispered.

“What did you say?”

Catalina looked over at her aunt. She was lying against the arm of the settee with her handkerchief covering her face.

“Only that I think the next time Mr. Brentwood seeks my father, he will look for him at a club or on the street. Not that it matters to us, Auntie, but I don’t think he will be coming back here.”

“That would be such a shame. He’s a very handsome man. And I disagree with you. I think he will be back.”

Catalina smiled to herself. If her aunt knew just how handsome Catalina thought the man was, she’d have them married before noon tomorrow. “Come, Auntie. Let me help you back to your room.”

“No, no, dearest, I’m going stay here and gather my wits together and have dinner with you tonight. Would you like that?”

“Very much. You know I hate eating alone. But are you sure you’re up to it?”

Aunt Elle took the handkerchief off her face and rose up on her elbows. “I will be by the time Nancy has dinner ready. Did I make a complete fool of myself in front of your nice young man?”

Yes.

“No, no, Auntie,” Catalina said with compassion, refusing to feel guilt or shame for the prevarication. She sat down beside her aunt. “And I told you he is not
my
young man.”

“Oh, yes, yes. You explained that.” She smiled knowingly, and her eyes sparkled with innocent mischief. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Auntie, you shouldn’t drink so much sherry late in the afternoon.”

“Port, dear, it was—” She hiccupped. “Port. You know that nice, young apothecary I’ve been seeing?”

“I’ve not actually met him, Auntie.”

“Well, there’s no need you should. He assured me a drink in the evening was good for me.” Aunt Elle’s eyes widened as if she’d just remembered something. “No, he told me a drink in the evening would be good for what ails me.”

“Yes, one drink in the evening,” Catalina said, trying to keep her voice from sounding like a reprimand. “Not an entire bottle in the afternoon.”

Her aunt smiled and patted Catalina’s cheek. “I wish I could still fool you the way I could when you were younger.”

“So do I, Auntie, so do I,” Catalina said, feeling a little sad. During the past year, her aunt had come to rely too often on her tonics, elixirs, and spirits.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Catalina thought about the man who had just left her house. When she’d first seen Mr. Brentwood standing in the vestibule, so confident and commanding, she knew immediately he could easily be the hero of all her dreams. There was a strange quickening in her lower stomach and a catch in her breath.

He’d looked magnificent. Adonis in the flesh. Broad through the shoulders and chest, he’d worn a starched white shirt of fine lawn beneath a coat of the deepest shade of blue. His neckcloth was simple and tied into a casual bow. Thick brown hair was stylishly brushed away from his high brow and held in a queue at his nape with a strip of black, braided leather. His cheekbones were wide, high, and aristocratic. His face wasn’t classically handsome like her father’s, and he certainly didn’t have her father’s smooth charm and even temperament, but there was no denying Mr. Brentwood’s stirring appeal to her senses and to her intelligence.

She remembered the solid, uncompromising look to the set of his chiseled jaw and chin, giving him an arrogant attractiveness only a man of power and prestige could achieve. When she’d looked at him, she had felt the stirrings that always came over her when she read her favorite William Shakespeare play,
Romeo
and
Juliet
. She had always dreamed about and wondered what it would be like to love someone with the deep intensity of those two lovers. She often wondered what this madness called love was all about.

Catalina shook her head and laughed to herself. There were so many more important things to think about than that elusive emotion called love. Starting with the fact that she no longer had all the money
The
Daily
Herald
had paid her father for the story. She had to go to Mr. Frederick’s office and do something to keep those last two installments from being published. She would have to promise to pay them back as soon as possible—as soon as her father returned and decided to write again. Though right now, she had no idea when that would be. Her father had already been gone longer than usual. She had no choice but to believe Mr. Brentwood when he said he’d harm her father if more stories about his family were printed.

She turned to her aunt and said, “I need your help.”

Aunt Elle rose to a sitting position and put her hand to her head as if she was dizzy. “You just tell me what. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

“I need to see Mr. Frederick at
The
Daily
Herald
first thing tomorrow morning. I don’t want to wait until afternoon. Can you rise and be ready to go with me by noon?”

“Of course, dearest, of course. I’ll have my maid wake me so I’ll be ready before noon.”

“Thank you, Auntie,” Catalina said, making a mental note to tell Sylvia herself. In her aunt’s current condition, Catalina couldn’t trust Aunt Elle to remember to tell her maid.

Catalina rose. “Now, you lie back down for a little while. I’m going to take this tray to the kitchen and ask Nancy to make you some hot tea. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful.”

Aunt Elle sighed and covered her face once again with her handkerchief.

Catalina picked up the tray and headed toward the kitchen, her thoughts drifting back to Mr. Brentwood. What an impression he had made on her. He was so commanding, so confident, and so angered by what she and her father had written. It surprised her she wasn’t more offended by his harsh manner and tone. She understood his feelings. To him, his family had been wronged, and he was looking for revenge.

But she couldn’t comprehend the reason she was so enamored of him. Just thinking about him made her breathless with unexpected pleasure. Of all the gentlemen she’d met at parties during the past year, not a one had mentioned poetry to her, even though her father was a poet. But Mr. Brentwood admitted to reading it. He even knew about Lord Byron’s slight against Keats. How many gentlemen would know so much about the men who filled their days with songs of the heart?