by Galen, Shana
The look on her husband’s face made Catarina flinch. “Who the devil do you think you are?” His voice was low and menacing.
Juan Carlos’s chest puffed up. “I am the business partner of Catarina.”
Benedict arched a brow at the use of her Christian name. “And what business would that be?”
Juan Carlos opened his mouth in astonishment. “Señor, how—”
“It’s Colonel, and I was just reacquainting myself with my wife before you interrupted.”
“I am not an interruption. She will soon marry my son Miguel. I should be present now to insure nothing inappropriate occurs.”
Catarina rubbed a hand over her eyes. She did not see how this meeting could have gone any worse.
That was the moment Tigrino chose to wake from his nap and saunter across the carpet.
“Mrs. Draven is my wife. Your presence here is the only thing inappropriate, Mr. de la Fuente.”
“Oh, now you wish to protect her?” Juan Carlos all but shouted. Catarina moved slowly toward Tigrino, attempting to block his path and encourage him to move away from the men.
“Where were you in Barcelona? I was the only man protecting her there.”
Catarina’s chin jerked up, Tigrino forgotten. “I beg your pardon, senhor! I did not need your protection then any more than I need his”—she jerked a thumb at Benedict—“now. You care nothing for me. It is my lace you care for.”
“What—” But before Benedict could ask for clarification Tigrino stopped in front of Juan Carlos and hissed.
“Stupid cat!”
As though he understood the insult, Tigrino made a sound somewhere between a growl and a menacing whine.
“Get him away before I kick him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Benedict moved forward and bent to scoop Tigrino in his arms.
“No!” Catarina and Juan Carlos said in unison. But it was too late. Benedict lifted the cat into his arms, cradling it almost like a baby. Catarina flinched then her jaw dropped as Benedict scratched behind the cat’s ears and Tigrino began purr loudly.
“It’s just a cat,” Benedict said. “Your shouting probably woke him from his nap.”
“How are you doing that?” Juan Carlos asked. “How do you know that cat?”
“I don’t know the cat.”
Another knock sounded on the door. “That must be the tea,” Catarina said, relieved. She started for the door, taking Juan Carlos’s arm as she passed him. “Go back to your room,” she said quietly in Spanish. “I will call on you when this is done.”
“I do not like to leave you with him.”
“I did not ask your permission.” She opened the door and smiled at the maid pushing the tea tray. “Come in.” She pushed Juan Carlos toward the door. “You go out.”
She stood in the doorway, blocking Juan Carlos from reentry until the tea had been readied. She placed a coin in the maid’s hand as the servant left then closed the door and returned to the sitting area. Benedict had retaken his seat on the couch, the cat on his lap.
She scowled at Tigrino as she passed, but the cat only rolled over to give Benedict better access to his belly. Strange. Tigrino didn’t like anyone but her. In fact, he had a bad habit of biting everyone who tried to pet him. Sometimes he even allowed the petting for a minute before attacking. Everyone who knew Tigrino, including Ines, kept away.
“What’s his name?” Benedict asked.
“Tigrino,” she said, lifting the tea pot before realizing she didn’t even know how he took his tea. “How do you take it?”
“Black. The name makes sense. He has black and brown tiger stripes. Here we call that coloring a tabby cat.”
She nodded and handed him the tea cup and a plate with a small cake then prepared her own tea. She had started drinking tea when she finally had enough money to afford it. She’d heard the English always drank tea, and there had been a time when she’d been desperate to be as English as possible.
That was when she still believed Benedict would return to her.
She’d heard Englishwomen took their tea with a bit of cream and sugar, and that’s what she added now. He waited until she sat to give her an expectant look.
“I apologize for Juan Carlos.”
“I wanted explanations, not apologies.”
“I do not see why it matters. You have come to annul our marriage. My acquaintances are of no concern to you.”
“I wish to be certain you will be taken care of without me.”
She gaped at him. “Why? You have never cared before!”
“That’s not true.”
Oh, why did Tigrino not bite him already?
“I gave you money after our marriage, and I came back to look for you.”
The sharp barb that had been on her tongue melted away. The hand holding her tea cup shook so the cup rattled on the saucer. “You came to look for me?”
“I went to your aunt’s house, but I was told she had passed away. I’m sorry for that.”
“Thank you.”
“And so I found your father. Senhor Neves told me you had run away, and he did not know where you had gone. He said you kidnapped your sister as well.” He gave the closed bed chamber door a meaningful glance.
That liar! Her father knew exactly where she’d gone and that Ines left home willingly. The tea felt like sand in her mouth, and she set it on the tray before she spilled it. “He lies.”
“I thought that a distinct possibility, but what could I do? I couldn’t force him to tell me where you’d gone.”
He’d come for her. Like she’d always wanted. But he’d been too late.
“I assume you went to Barcelona.”
“Lisbon first, where I worked for a seamstress from Barcelona. When she returned to her country, Ines and I went with her.” Maria had been like a mother to her, and if she had lived, Juan Carlos would never have had the chance to sink his claws into Catarina and Ines.
“Why did you not send me some word as to where you were going?”
She blinked at him. “I had no idea how to reach you, not to mention, I did not think you would care.”
“Of course, I cared.”
Of course? He’d never given her the slightest indication that he cared one way or the other whether she lived or died.
Except for that kiss. She supposed that was some indication of interest.
“If you cared so much, why did you not come for me sooner?”
He rose, jostling the snoozing Tigrino who tossed his head and began licking his ruffled fur.
“How could I come sooner? I was fighting in a war. I was responsible for men’s lives. I couldn’t simply leave my posting to check on you.”
Now she stood too. “You might have written.”
He opened then closed his mouth, seeming to have no response to that criticism. “I suppose I didn’t know that you could read.”
“If I could not, I would have found someone to read it to me.”
He let out a sigh. “You’re right. I could have written.”
She moved to the edge of her chair, interested in the look on his face. So many emotions seemed to cross it, and she couldn’t recognize any of them. She didn’t know him well enough. One thing she did know was that no man had ever admitted she, a mere woman, was right and he, the man, was wrong.
“Why did you not write, truly?” she asked, her voice quieter.
“I don’t know.” He turned away when he said it, and she couldn’t see his face. But she had to wonder whether he did not know or whether he did not want to say. He turned back to her, and this time she saw determination. “But I won’t make that mistake again.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, we married in haste, which I understand was necessary, but I should have never walked away.”
Her heart seemed to clench in her chest. “How could you have stayed? And you said I could not go with you.”
“That was my thinking at the time, and I’ve had five years
to regret it. I don’t want to regret what I do here today.”
“I do not understand you.”
“Then let me be clear.” He took a step closer, and she realized he was almost touching her as he looked down at her. “I will not sign those annulment papers. Not today. Not tomorrow. Perhaps not ever.”
SHE UTTERED A CURSE in Portuguese that he thought translated into something like bastard. Perhaps he should have been surprised, but he’d known she was no lady.
He rather liked that she was not a lady. He’d never liked ladies very much.
“Call me whatever you like,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I won’t argue that I’m a fool. I’m too old for you, and far too set in my ways to take on a wife.” And yet, he wanted to try. He wanted her. He wanted her far too much to give her away to another. Truth be told, he’d never stopped wanting her. Seeing her two nights ago suddenly made what had only been a wish, a reality.
He wouldn’t force this marriage on her, but he would ask her to give it—give him—a chance. And if, in the end, an annulment was the right course, this delay would give him time to find out more about Juan Carlos and his son. He didn’t like the man and didn’t want Catarina under his control.
“Why are you doing this?” she all but spat.
“That’s the question I have for you, actually. Why do you want an annulment now? Surely you can’t be that eager to live under Mr. de la Fuente’s thumb.”
“You have no idea what I want.”
“I agree,” he said, reaching for her arm. At his touch, she jumped. He withdrew, not wanting to scare her.
“You agree?” Her neck and face had turned red, and her bosom rose and fell beneath her modest yellow—or was it gold?—her yellow-gold dress. He had remembered her as truly lovely, but his memory was nothing compared to seeing her in the flesh. She was older now and had grown into a lovely woman, leaving only traces of the peasant girl he’d known before. “What does that mean? You agree?”
His agreement had disconcerted her. She was obviously used to having to deal with difficult men. He wasn’t difficult.
But he was stubborn. And he did intend to have his way.
“It means that I do not know you well. I know you not at all.”
He reached for her arm again, lowering his hand when she flinched back. “I want to know you better. And I can’t give you an annulment until I feel confident that it’s the right thing for you. For both of us.”
He’d expected her to argue, to issue him a scathing rebuke for, ostensibly, telling her he knew better than she. He didn’t think he knew better; he didn’t think he knew anything. Who was this Juan Carlos? Why had she come all the way to London to ask for an annulment when she might have simply written to him? He had too many questions, and he wanted answers.
But instead of arguing, her shoulders sagged as though she had been tense and could finally relax. “I know what is best for me,” she said, but it sounded rehearsed.
“Then humor me. Clearly, I am not as decisive as you.”
She gave him a small smile. “Juan Carlos will not like it.”
“And who is this Juan Carlos? Why does he have a say?”
“He is a business partner. Nothing more.” But she averted her eyes. “Let me handle Juan Carlos.”
He inclined his head.
She clasped her hands. “What next? How do you propose to, as you say, get to know me better?”
He liked the sound of that. “I suppose you and I will have to spend more time together.”
“How much time together? How much time do you need to spend with me until you grant the annulment?”
“I suppose it depends. Why don’t we go for a walk in the park tomorrow and take it from there?”
“A walk?” She looked as though the concept was foreign to her. “In the park? It is cold.”
“Wear a cloak. I will come for you about four,” he said, bowing.
“Very well. I will meet you downstairs.”
He offered his hand, and she looked at it as though he held poison. “It’s customary to give me your hand before I depart,” he said.
“Why?”
“So I might kiss it.”
She looked down at her gloved hands then slowly raised one. He took it, wrapping his fingers about her slim wrist. Keeping his eyes on hers, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the fabric of the glove. The glove smelled faintly of cinnamon and something sweet he couldn’t quite identify. He inhaled, trying to capture the scent so he could recall it later tonight or tomorrow when he thought of her.
“Is it also—what is the word you used?—customary to hold the lady’s hand for so long?”
“Customary?” he said, his lips moving against the glove. “You and I can make our own customs, Mrs. Draven.”
She frowned, watching him closely as though trying to make sense of him. Finally, he released her hand.
“Until tomorrow.” He lifted his hat from the couch, brushed the cat hair from it, and started for the door. The cat, seeing where he was headed, jumped down and followed, uttering a plaintive meow.
“Tigrino, no,” Catarina said, followed by something in Portuguese. She bent to lift the cat. The feline allowed it but struggled to be free almost as soon as she had him in her arms. “I do not understand it,” she said in English now. “He does not like anyone.”
Benedict reached the door and looked back. “Everyone likes me.”
She arched a brow. “Oh, really?”
He nodded. “Even you.”
And he left her sputtering in Portuguese as he walked away. Benedict couldn’t remember the last time his smile had been so wide.
Four
“O, how ripe in show Thy lips,
those kissing cherries, tempting grow!”
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare
CATARINA PACED THE lobby, glancing over her shoulder every few minutes. She’d managed to evade Juan Carlos and Miguel, sneaking down without their knowledge. Ines had promised to say Catarina was in bed and not feeling well if either of the men came looking for her before she returned.
But, oh, how she wished Benedict would hurry.
She walked the length of the carpet again, turned, and there he was. Her steps faltered at the sight of him. His unruly red hair was contained under a tall hat. She imagined if he removed it, his hair would fly in all directions, but with the hat in place he looked quite tame. He’d dressed in black trousers, a black coat, and a gray waistcoat. His white cravat was tied simply but with style.
He looked as handsome as she had ever seen him, especially when his blue eyes locked on her. “There you are,” he said, as though he’d been looking for her all his life. She felt her face warm. Men often flattered her, but she was not used to the sort of genuine pleasure she saw on Benedict’s face. His gaze swept down over the deep pink dress and white satin cloak with a cream velvet lining she’d chosen for the afternoon. It was not as fine an ensemble as the ladies in London probably wore, but it complemented her olive skin and dark hair. She’d paired it with a fashionable bonnet—at least she hoped it was fashionable in London—and wore her most comfortable walking boots as she was not certain whether Benedict’s suggestion they go for a walk meant literal walking. The few Englishmen she’d met in Portugal and Spain did seem rather keen on long walks, so she rather guessed Benedict had spoken literally.
“As promised.” She took his proffered arm. “Shall we depart?”
He looked about. “Do I have you all to myself? I was certain the formidable Señor de la Fuente would insist on accompanying us.”
She smiled tightly, wanting to say that if they did not hurry, Juan Carlos would do just that and more. Instead, she tried to lighten her tone. “I think you and I can manage one outing on our own, yes?”
He led her outside where he had one of the carriages for hire waiting. He assisted her inside and then climbed in and seated himself across from her. “Hyde Park,” he called when they were
both settled.
The carriage jerked to a start and Catarina peered out the window. She hadn’t seen much of London, save the rainy night she had gone to Benedict’s flat. Then she’d had such high hopes, but as usual, Benedict had disappointed her.
“I wonder if you really mean for us to walk,” she said, watching the throngs of people stroll on the sides of the street. Lisbon had been bustling and Barcelona was also quite populous. But she had never seen so many people in one place as she had since arriving in London.
“I do mean for us to walk,” he said. “But I don’t want to tire you before we reach the park.”
“We drive so that we might walk?”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “When you put it that way, it does seem rather foolish.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I confess I also thought we would not be alone. It’s easier to navigate a small party through Town in a carriage than on foot.” When she said nothing, he gave her a more pointed look. “How did you escape your chaperone?”
She jerked her chin. “I do not need to escape Juan Carlos. I told you. He is my business partner. Not my chaperone.”
“That is what you said.” He seemed inclined to speak more on the matter, then leaned back, apparently content to wait.
In truth, Juan Carlos was furious that the annulment papers hadn’t been signed yet, and he’d threatened to go to Benedict himself and demand the colonel sign immediately. To that suggestion, Catarina had merely said, “Go ahead.” Her easy acquiescence had given the man pause the way no objection would have. He’d given her a shrewd look and seemed to reconsider. Catarina hadn’t mentioned this outing. She’d put Juan Carlos off by saying Benedict was thinking the matter over and would contact her when he’d made some decisions.
That meant the party of four had to remain in London for the time being. Ines was perfectly happy with that arrangement as Juan Carlos had taken her to shop and see some of the famous sights. Miguel was probably happy as well. Catarina hadn’t seen her so-called betrothed since she stepped off the ship. He had probably found a brothel and ensconced himself there. But Juan Carlos was no fool, and he kept close watch on Catarina, which meant her escape today was fortunate.
