The Sometime Bride (5 page)

It was only when the musicians retired for a well-deserved rest that Catarina returned to some semblance of reality and realized Blas was not unknown in this place. He had been greeted with warmth by the
patrão
. He nodded to a remarkable variety of customers at other tables, received openly flirtatious smiles from at least three young women. Cat sniffed. Ladies they were not.

At the moment Blas was engaged in conversation with a man of middle years who looked more like a felon than a customer. Cautiously, Cat surveyed the room, peeping around the edges of her shawl.
Aiyee!
There were few women at all. And of a certainty she was the only respectable female present. With frantic urgency she tugged on Blas’s arm. “We must go!” she hissed. “
Instantamente!
”

Blas gave the flowered shawl a measured look, then wound up his conversation with a laughing comment, a jovial backslap. Carelessly throwing some coins on the table, he made an elaborate show of pulling out Catarina’s chair and helping her to her feet. With a firm hand, he steered her through the crowd and out into the welcome coolness of the October night. Cat was surprised when he conceded, “You’re right. Thomas will kill us both.”

“
I think we must have had a very long conversation with Gordon. All this talk of a French invasion . . .”

Blas laughed. “Are you truly fourteen, Cat? You’re a far cry from any fourteen-year-old I’ve ever known.”

“
You probably haven’t known many,” Cat replied demurely. “Young men don’t. Papa does not believe girls should be kept separated from boys until they are sprung upon them full blown at age eighteen. It is one of the reasons he does not wish me to go to England. He says I would be quite miserable. And, besides, I would have to go to his cousin Ailesbury who is head of the family, and Papa says he would not have me raised by my Aunt Malvinia if she were the last female on earth. Also, I would drive her to distraction. So, you see, we must contrive something else. Papa needs me.”

“
He needs you alive!”

“
Then you must find a solution. For you must understand,
inglês
. When the royal family abandons us for Brazil, when the British ships take away the English colony, when the Portuguese army fades before Marshal Junot’s troops, Papa and I will still be here, doing what he has been doing since before I was born. I will not go, Blas.
Absolutamente
, I will not go!”

They continued their walk in seething silence. When they reached the deep archway of the massive carriage entrance to the Casa Audley, Blas paused outside the small door into the courtyard. Suddenly, he swung Catarina around, her back hard against the brick wall of the house. He swept the shawl from her head, tossed the basket onto the ground. His hands hit the wall, one on either side of her head. “You and Thomas are both fools!” he growled. “The French will gobble you up like so much froth on their just desserts.”

Blas’s eyes roamed boldly from the shining crown of Cat’s hair, which even the faint light under the archway could not dim, to the creamy expanse above her décolletage. Then back to rosy lips which noticeably trembled. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “Ah, my lovely Cat, if only you were older . . .”

“
I will be,” she vowed, thinking each pulsing breath might be her last. Her heart threatened to explode through her skin. The chill night air did nothing to alleviate the heat consuming her.

“
God knows I’ve tried to think of you as a child,” Blas ground out, “but you make it excessively difficult. Yet I have to admit you are right. You’ll grow . . . and then we shall see.” He straightened, with every intention of removing the hands pinning her to the wall. Then slowly, he sagged back toward her, his face bending to within inches of her own. “Perhaps something to remember me by,” Blas breathed. He meant the kiss to be chaste, brotherly.

It was not.

Catarina was far too beautiful to have escaped the experience of snatched kisses, and tonight she was a more than willing partner. But Blas’s kiss was far from the innocent flirtatious nonsense with which she was familiar. His lips touched hers with the lightness of butterfly wings, a gentle brushing against the soft warmth of her, and Cat was quite, quite certain he was the one and only love of her life. This was Blas, and he was hers. Forever. A surge of terrifying sensation kept her frozen to the wall, unable to move, unable to think. A butterfly on the end of a pin.

A momentary taste of innocence and beauty. That was all, absolutely all, he planned to take. Blas drew back, reached for the basket . . . And then his lips were on hers, tasting the cheap red wine, its sourness banished by the sweet taste of her, the lemon scent of her hair. He explored Cat’s mouth at leisure, hands moving to cup her body tight against his. His kisses strayed to her cheek, her ear, his breath gently blowing, penetrating as if into her soul itself. He bent his lips to her neck, to the cleavage between breasts not yet ripened to full womanhood. When Cat could not stifle a sharp gasp at this intimate invasion, Blas promptly returned to her mouth, kissing it into silence.

Hell and damnation!
With all the willing women in the world, what was he doing here in the dark with a child? An English child. His employer’s child. A child who had shaken him to the core, stripping him of reason. Very likely his heart as well. He had celebrated his twenty-first birthday that summer, having carefully contrived to be in Paris for the occasion. He had no intention of marrying before thirty or thirty-five, so—hell and the devil confound it!—what was he doing in a dark alleyway with an English child of good family?

If Thomas found out, he’d kill him.

Abruptly, Blas pulled the shawl up around Cat’s shoulders, drawing it tight across her bosom. He thrust the basket into her hands, marched her through the small door, across the courtyard and up the gallery stairs to the door outside her room. “I’ll think of something, Cat, I promise,” he vowed before striding off into the shadows of the cloistered walkway.

Think of something
? Cat’s confusion was so great it took her some minutes to realize he was talking about the expected French invasion. It was another invasion entirely that occupied her mind. Surely it was a very great sin to feel so strongly.
Graças a Deus
the British rector did not hear confessions. Her guilt dissolved into a giggle as she pictured the reaction of stiffly proper Mr. Perceval Greenlea if she should tell him the tale of this night with Blas.

But it was of course not funny at all, for now she knew why chaperones were required for young ladies. She had always had confidence in herself. She was a
fidalga
, the daughter of a good family. She was intelligent, attractive, and much admired. She held her head high. Now she knew her feet were made of the same clay as anyone else’s. Sin could be delicious, but sin it was. There could be no more flirtation, no more teasing. It was far too dangerous. As Cat undressed, slowly, dreamily, in a room lit only by moonlight, she willingly gave up the last of her childhood.

She was a woman. And growing.

Chapter Three

“
Are you busy, Sir?” Blas paused in the doorway to Thomas Audley’s study, regarding his mentor’s aristocratic features with unaccustomed apprehension. “I can come back later,” he added hopefully, as an inner voice mocked his willingness to run from this interview. Ragged recollections of uncomfortable sessions with his father ran through his head.

A smile lit Thomas’s handsome face. He waved Blas into the room, bidding him pour two glasses of madeira. When Blas was settled in a chair before his desk, Thomas raised an eyebrow and waited.

Blas, who thought himself master of all situations, had not been so uncomfortable since age seven when he had blundered into his parents’ bedroom at an inopportune moment. What he was about to propose was totally outrageous. Preposterous. But say it he would. Though not without a certain amount of circumlocution. “Please do not think me impertinent, Sir—I have a very good reason for asking—but have you decided what you will do if the French invasion comes?”

Thomas ran a hand through his dark blond hair and pursed his lips, avoiding the disconcerting gaze of the brash young Englishman. Trust the young devil to make a thrust at his weakest point. “You are correct, it’s none of your damn business,” he replied without heat, “but since I encouraged you to stay in Lisbon, I suppose I must concede you have a right to ask.”

“
I’m not thinking of myself, Sir,” Blas returned quickly, “but . . . well, Sir, young Somersby seems to expect Catarina to go with them to England. She is adamant she will not. I cannot help but wonder . . . “ Blas’s voice trailed away under his mentor’s piercing glare.

Thomas drummed his fingers on his desk top, gazing past Blas to stare into the unknown. “You really are a bastard, boy. And you’re quite right. I have plans for everyone but Catarina. It is not that I haven’t thought about it. It’s simply that I have found no solution. I suppose, deep down, I keep hoping Dom João will strengthen his spine and order out his troops or Castlereagh will decide to send us ships of the line instead of floating hotels for British evacuees!”

“
Catarina seems to think there’s no one in England to whom she could go.”

“
She’s right,” Thomas concurred, taking half his wine in one swallow. “I cannot send Cat to my parents. She is no more suited to a country vicarage than I was. And her mother’s parents are Scottish Presbyters who considered their daughter lost to them when she married an Anglican who had the temerity to take her to live among papists. And as for my cousin Ailesbury . . . “ Blas, who had met the Earl of Ailesbury, nodded his understanding.

“
Malvinia Audley,” Thomas continued, “would try to bully Catarina into becoming a proper English miss, and Cat would fight back with all that magnificent temperament I’ve never wanted to curb. She would be utterly miserable. And probably ostracized.”

Thomas raised a clenched fist, brought it down with a soft thud of frustration onto the piles of papers on his desk. “No, I fear England is out of the question. If the French come, I will have to take her with me into hiding.”

“
May I ask where you will go?”

“
To friends in the Estremadura. They have a winery staffed by old family retainers who will be loyal. ’Tis but a short distance from Lisbon, yet close to the coast so I can arrange for a fishing boat to courier messages to British ships. It is too far from the action, but we have little choice.”

“
And the Casa Audley?”

“
All British property will be confiscated,” said Thomas flatly. “Someday, when all this is over, I might be able to get it back. Right now, I have to plan for what is possible and not mourn what is not.”

“
Is there any chance Castlereagh will change his mind about sending troops to Portugal?”

Thomas drained the last of his wine. “One chance. If the Spanish discover who their enemy really is. If Spain rises against France . . . then old John Bull might not be so skittish.”

So we could be talking months . . . or years,” Blas said quietly, the challenge of the problem serving to steady his nerve.

“
Yes. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it. You should go home as well, you know.”

An arrested expression crossed Blas’s face, then he laughed aloud. “Lord, Sir, now I know how Cat feels! Go home? Just when things are getting interesting?” Restless energy propelled him to his feet. Before returning to his seat, he refilled their glasses. Determination settled over his customary insouciance.

“
I have a solution, Sir.” The room was so quiet Blas could hear the fountain in the courtyard, the doves cooing on the red tile roof.

“
Go on.”

“
You won’t like it. You would have to trust me more than any man should trust another, but I think it will serve.” Blas bit his lip and plunged on, allowing a trace of rueful humor to lighten his determined face. “You may have noticed I am accustomed to command. I may be young, but it is my heritage to be in charge, to be arrogant enough to carry off the most outrageous masquerade.”

Fascinated, Thomas made an impatient gesture for Blas to continue.

Within the hour he sent for his daughter. One look at the grim faces confronting her and Catarina knew this would no ordinary conversation. She seated herself and waited, hands folded primly in her lap.

“
Catherine,” Thomas said, “Blas has suggested a way to save the Casa Audley and maintain our base of operations in Lisbon. And since Napoleon, to give the devil his due, is inclined to run his conquered countries by law, it might just work. Blas’s plan is risky, however, and cannot be accomplished without your cooperation, so the decision is up to you.”

Thomas eyed his beautiful child with grave misgivings. “I may be a fool to consider this, Cat, but it is my nature to take chances. I have asked Blas to explain his plan to you. I will leave you in private as the matter is somewhat delicate in nature and is best settled between you.”

Thomas rose and paused with his head bent, hands flat upon his desk. He took a deep breath, raised his gray eyes to those of his daughter, which were fixed on him with intense faith. “If you have any doubts at all, Cat . . . if you cannot feel comfortable with this, then say no. Nothing is more important to me than your safety. I will take you with me to the winery. Dona Blanca will be glad of your company.” With determined steps, Thomas crossed the room, leaving Blas and Catarina facing each other in awkward silence.