Anne Barbour (22 page)

He rose abruptly and stood before her.

“I’m sure you will understand.” He could not keep a hint of sarcasm from his tone. “I do not wish to contemplate marriage to one woman while I—while I have these feelings for another.”

Catherine did not seem as cast down by his words as he might have expected. She stood, and her smile enveloped him.

“I do understand, Drew. Is it possible you might have mistaken your feelings—as I did mine?”

“No.” He said the word uncompromisingly, and Catherine sighed.

‘This is most unfortunate, my dear.” She paused for a moment as though uncertain how to continue. “The wedding—

“Good God.” Drew cried. “Can you not get this one fact through your head? There will be no wedding!”

Catherine flinched as though he had struck her, and he continued in a quieter vein.

“Surely you do not wish to marry one whose affections are placed elsewhere. You, of all people should understand my sentiments.”

When she remained silent, he went on awkwardly. “You have been the belle of the neighborhood since you were sixteen. In the time we have been separated, has no one touched your heart?”

“No,” she lied, her throat tight with unshed tears. Only you! she longed to cry out. Only a man I have come to know as prideful and passionate—a man of wit and vulnerability and a great capacity for love.

Unthinking, Drew lifted his good hand to grasp her shoulder. She looked up at him, and her brimming eyes glittered in the moonlight. Once more, her scent filled him, and when she lifted a slender hand to touch his cheek, something seemed to explode within him.

“What the devil do you want from me?” he growled. He pulled her toward him and for a long, suspended moment, she stared up at him before he bent to cover her mouth in a savage kiss. Almost immediately his mouth softened, and the kiss became one of seeking urgency.

She stiffened, and for an instant, she struggled before melting against him. The feel of her softness pressed against him created a frenzy of desire within him and he wrapped his arms about her more tightly. Suddenly, he became aware of the constraint caused by his withered limb and he pulled away from her abruptly.

“You see?” His voice was a bitter rasp. “I cannot even hold a woman properly. Is this the sort of creature you want for a husband?”

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes hard, the scar on his cheek very white against his skin, before whirling away from her. Catherine watched as he strode into the house. She pressed trembling fingers against lips that felt swollen and bruised. It was the first kiss she had received from him—she had not allowed so much as a buss on her cheek in their former relationship, and as a first kiss, it left a great deal to be desired. It had been violent, and insensitive and vengeful, yet it had shaken her to the center of her soul. What would it be like, she wondered as she listened in the silence of the night to her pounding heart, to be kissed by him in earnest? A kiss of tenderness and passion—and of love.

Slowly, she followed Drew into the house. When she entered the gold salon, she discovered that Drew had retired for the night. Miranda eyed her sharply, but said nothing, and after a few moments, Catherine said her own good nights and made her way to her bedchamber.

The next morning, she rose unrefreshed, determined to seek Drew out once again. Surely, there must be something she could say that would convince him that he was still a man, despite his impairments. Having accomplished that, of course, she must confess her deception to him. Despite Miranda’s bracing words, she knew Drew would be furious. Just how furious, she could not know, but it was not a discovery to which she looked forward with any degree of anticipation.

Her quarry, however, proved to be singularly elusive, and it was soon borne on her that Drew was taking great pains to avoid her. They did not meet again until just before luncheon, which was to be a picnic, held in the south meadow. Unfortunately, Sir Martin had fallen victim to a return of the sore throat that had plagued him earlier in the week, and he and Catherine’s mother had departed for Greengroves that morning with instructions that Catherine was not to worry, and that she was to enjoy her reunion with her betrothed. Catherine knew her father’s illness was not serious, but she missed their support, tenuous though it was, under the circumstances. She affixed a smile to her lips as she joined the others for the picnic.

The guests were transported in laughing groups in open gigs, and both Ceddie and Miranda made it their business to see that Catherine and Drew rode together.

It was not difficult to sense Drew’s continued withdrawal, for his conversation both with her and the other occupants of the vehicle was minimal. Catherine made uncomplicated chatter with Lord and Lady Whitestone and their two children and smiled and laughed until she thought her face would crack. In the south meadow, tables had been set up beneath a stand of oaks, and cold chicken and salad were being dispensed by liveried servants. Cutlery clinked delicately against fine china and, despite Drew’s best efforts, he was ushered to a seat next to Catherine. For a moment it looked as though he would bolt, but his training as a proper English gentleman held fast and he flung himself grudgingly into his seat. After a moment, as though the social setting recalled to him his responsibilities as a son of the house, he began to speak courteously to those placed near them, all except, of course, Catherine. She noticed that his mannered smile never reached his eyes.

When the meal was concluded, Catherine rose quickly, and, unable to maintain her composure in the face of Drew’s continued rebuffs, prepared to flee from the group still chattering beneath the trees.

She was intercepted, however, by Theo Venable, who grasped her elbow. For once, he was not smiling.

“Catherine, what is it? My dear girl, why are you so troubled? Or perhaps I can guess the reason.” He drew her arm through his and pressed it close to his side. Catherine instinctively jerked away from him.

“Theo, I thank you for your concern, but I really wish to be alone right now.”

“And I wish to be alone as well—with you.”

Catherine glanced around, somewhat dismayed to note that the other picnickers had drifted away, leaving the two alone in the shadow of a great oak.

“Catherine,” continued Theo, “you know how I feel about you. I would not speak, except that I have seen you and Drew together. You cannot tell me yours is a match made in heaven.”

“Perhaps not, Theo, but it is the match I am entered into and I intend to honor it.”

Theo grimaced petulantly. “I cannot believe you mean that. Very well,” he sighed, as Catherine opened her mouth to remonstrate. “I shall say no more now, but I shall not give up, my dear. There are three weeks before your so-called wedding, and I shall spend every second of them trying to make you see reason.”

The smile had reappeared, and with a graceful bow, he turned away from her. Catherine gasped in indignation, almost giving in to the urge to hurl an imprecation after him, but instead she whirled about and, picking up her skits, ran as though pursued by demons. In a few moments, she had reached the edge of the meadow, and she plunged headlong into the forest. She did not stop until she had reached the banks of a sparkling little brook that wound through the woods. Dropping beside a tree, she breathed deeply as though she might absorb some of the peace of her surroundings.

In the meadow, Drew had watched her abrupt departure, and after a moment, he drew a deep breath and proceeded after her. In his distraction, he bumped into someone headed in the same direction.

“I beg your—” he began. “Oh, it’s you,” he concluded as he recognized his cousin. He continued walking.

“In the flesh,” responded Theo, moving with him. “You seem to be in a brown study, coz.”

“I was thinking of something.”

“Of your coming nuptials, perhaps?”

Drew stiffened. “I hardly think that is any of your concern.”

“Now, that is not very friendly, coz,” responded Theo softly, “and you see, I have made it very much my concern.”

Drew halted. “Yes, I have noted your attentions to my fiancée. I would very much appreciate it if they would cease.”

“I think that is for Catherine to decide.” His tone was gentle, almost meditative, but it seemed to Drew that a certain smugness lay beneath it.

“Are you saying that Catherine welcomes your smarmy compliments, coz?”

Theo smiled. “Let us just say that she seems to enjoy my company, as I do hers.”

Drew was hardly aware that his fingers had clenched into fists. “By God, Theo, you will leave Catherine alone, or I’ll—”

Theo laughed. “Or you’ll what? You will forgive me, Carter, if I do not perceive you as much of a threat.”

By now, Drew was ready to do murder, and he stepped forward, hands clenched. He overbalanced on his bad leg and staggered. At the same moment, he became aware that he was poised to strike with a fist that was shriveled and useless. He hailed, humiliation and rage boiling within him in a maelstrom of futility.

“Very wise of you. Drew.” Theo’s mocking laughter washed over him like acid. “Never attempt what you cannot complete.” His gaze drifted to where Catherine had disappeared into the forest. He made a swift gesture of farewell, and strolled off to join a group of young men playing darts nearby.

Drew was trembling so that he could hardly stand. A year ago he could have pounded the likes of Theo Venable into a satisfying smear on the ground. God, how he hated what he had become!

Crouched beneath her tree, Catherine failed to find the peace she sought. How stupid she’d been to think that she could win Drew back to her. He had made it plain, in every way that he could—including that brutal kiss of the night before—that his only feelings for her were of contempt, and that he had no intention of going through with their marriage. When she told him of her duplicity regarding the letters, his dislike would turn to hate, if it had not already done so.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her unpleasant ruminations, and she knew without turning to whom that limping stride belonged.

“Catherine,” said Drew.
“Catherine.” he repeated as he threw himself down beside her. “Are you all right?”

She made an effort to smile coolly at him. “Not precisely, but I was hoping that a few moments of solitude would bring me to rights.”

“Meaning that you wish I would go away, I suppose. I shall do so momentarily, but not before I have apologized to you.” He shifted uncomfortably. “My behavior last night was inexcusable.”

Catherine essayed a light laugh. “Surely it is permissible for a man to kiss his betrothed.”

Drew frowned. “Possibly. But, as I believe I have mentioned once or twice, I do not consider us betrothed. Besides, that wasn’t a kiss, it was an unforgivable display of ill temper and—and retaliation.”

“For what? I have already told you I did not urge Helen into marriage simply to cause you pain. Or did you wish revenge for my own display of infantile temper—which occurred three years ago and for which I have already apologized profusely? And which, I might add, you must have known I did not mean.”

Drew’s lips curved in an acid smile. “Did you not? But your wish almost came true, didn’t it? In fact, you should be pleased, for death would have been preferable to the fate that befell me.”

Catherine gasped. “Drew! What a dreadful thing to say!”

“Yes, I suppose it is—but you must know I do not mean it,” he replied, mimicking her tone. His face grew serious. “Because, of course, I realize the petty curses of such a budding virago would be insufficient to cause the calamity that befell me.”

Catherine twisted to face him directly. “For God’s sake, Drew. When are you going to stop feeling sorry for yourself?”

Drew whitened. “What” he growled.

“You came home maimed and scarred. But you did come home—which many did not. And many who did return are a great deal worse off than you.” Catherine’s voice began to tremble in its intensity. “You behave as though life is over for you now—that you might just as well curl up and die. Have you really looked at yourself? The scar is bad, but it has not turned you into a monster. So far I have not seen little children run screaming from you. In case you had not noticed, your little cousins and the children of your guests behold you no differently than the other rather boring adults in residence. In addition, according to John, it is not nearly so inflamed as it was. In a year or two, people who know you will have forgotten it’s there, and strangers will find it hardly remarkable. As for your arm. again according to John, the doctors told you that you will regain more mobility with exercise. Certainly enough to accomplish most routine tasks. So, as far as I can see, the only limit to your future activities, besides your own self-destructive state of mind, is that you probably will never be able to dance very well again.

“Drew,” she continued, almost breathless, “a terrible thing has befallen you. but everything that makes you what you are is still whole. You can think, and you can appreciate fine wine or a good book—or good conversation. You still possess the intelligence and the skill that your superiors recognized as the makings of a fine diplomat.”

She paused, her breath coming in great, painful gulps. Drew continued to stare at her. speechless, his eyes glittering darkly against the pallor of his skin. When he made no response, she sagged suddenly, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over her. “And another thing,” she said dully. “Your apology, such as it was, is accepted. Furthermore, I have been brought to the realization that there is nothing so tedious and humiliating as trying to persuade a reluctant male into marriage. Therefore, as a reward for your noble deed, I shall release you from your obligation to marry me.” Catherine listened to herself disbelievingly. Good God, she had not at all meant to say such a thing. She knew, however, that every word she spoke came from the heart. At any rate, she seemed incapable of stopping herself. She rose and glared down at him. “You may consider yourself a free man, Andrew Carter. Free to wrap yourself in your little cocoon of self-absorption and free to give up on life. I shall miss you, for I had grown rather fond of the Andrew Carter I used to know, but then. I have at last come to learn that in this world we cannot have everything we want.”