“Really?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the bedpost. “Then you have not been paying attention.”
Catherine glanced down at the half-mask in her hands. “I suppose I should apologize for not sending word to you.”
“Why bother? You do not truly mean it.”
This time there was a hint of anger to his tone, and it was expected considering all that she had done. She winced as the sharp silver edges cut into her fingers. Worried that she might ruin the half-mask, she carefully placed it on top of the small trunk at her feet.
“It seemed kinder this way.”
Saint’s brows climbed at her admission. “Kinder for whom, Catherine?”
She made a vague gesture with her hands. “For you … and me. You should be grateful that I was willing to leave without a fuss.”
“Grateful,” he said, tasting the word. His expression clouded with frustration as he unfolded his crossed arms and stalked toward her. “You are fortunate that I don’t flip you over my knee and paddle your backside for your damn kindness.”
His harsh reproach caused her to straighten. “See here, Sainthill, you have no right—”
“I have every right, you little fool!” he said tersely, reaching for her and pulling her close. “Did you think you could just leave London and me without a backward glance?”
She was bidding farewell to her home, friends, and the Golden Pearl, and throughout it all she had not shed a single tear. Saint had managed to ruin her composure within minutes of his arrival.
“Why are you making this so difficult for me?” Catherine demanded, fighting back tears.
“Why aren’t you fighting for us?” he thundered back.
Catherine flinched as if he had slapped her. “Saint, you can’t always get your way. Not even you.”
She turned away, wondering if she could reach the door before him. Saint picked up on her intentions and caught her in his arms before she had taken her second step.
“Oh, no, Miss Deverall…” He gave her a vigorous shake. “You took the coward’s way out six years ago, and I let you, because I thought you felt nothing for me.”
“I don’t.”
Saint’s eyes widened in amazement. “Christ, your sharp tongue would provoke a weaker man to murder!”
His eyes were blue flames of fury at her outrageous lie. Saint spun them halfway and shoved her onto the bed. Her backside bounced against the mattress, and she would have scrambled away if Saint hadn’t used his knee to pin her skirt in place.
“Bully!”
“Coward,” he jeered. “Damn it, woman, I am in love with you!”
The declaration should have brought her joy, she thought. Instead, falling in love with Saint had brought her nothing but pain and misery.
Her silence only infuriated him. Crawling on top of her, he grabbed her flailing wrists and pressed them against the mattress on each side of her head. “And you’re in love with me. Desperately. Hopelessly.”
She slowly shook her head.
Saint glared down at her. “Obstinate wench!” He released one of her wrists, and his hand moved to his waist. “You deny me the words I crave, but never your body. I vow it is the only time you were truthful.”
He unfastened his trousers and freed his cock. It sprang free from the opening, beautifully aroused and straining to be used. Saint pushed up her skirt and petticoat, exposing just enough of her bare thighs to gain access to the secret folds that were already dampening and eager for his invasion.
“Saint,” she whispered brokenly.
“I’m finished arguing, Catherine.”
He was asking for everything, but he seemed willing to settle for scraps. She was being unfair to both of them, but one of them needed to be sensible.
Catherine gasped as the blunt head of his cock covered her wet core. One quick thrust and Saint ruthlessly buried himself into her welcoming heat. They groaned in unison. However, Saint gave her body no time to grow accustomed to his rigid length. There was no lazy exploration or playful seduction. This was raw need, she thought, as his narrow hips pounded against hers.
There was no pain in his claiming. Her body recognized and yearned for him. Lost in his frantic tempo, he had freed her other wrist. Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, her hunger for him matching his.
She loved— Yes, she loved Saint.
Catherine loved not only his beautiful body and skillful hands, but his heart, as well. Whether she was Madame Venna or Catherine, he had treated her like a lady. His equal. While she had been acutely aware of her flaws, he had been blind to them. It had been difficult for her to accept his kindness. Even now, it was difficult to believe that he truly loved her.
“Stop thinking,” he growled, driving into her with such vigor that that she was slowly inching across the mattress. “Just feel.”
Saint cupped her buttocks and held on to her, deepening his strokes. Catherine arched against him, sensing he was close to his release. She felt the telling shimmer of sensation deep within her, and she embraced it, mentally flying toward a fluid rush of light, thunder, and joy. Saint joined her, his cock pulsing as her muscled core tightened around him.
Neither one of them spoke or moved away from their passionate embrace. As her breathing slowed, she was unaware of how much time had passed. Was it minutes or hours? She gave a passing thought to the coachman who was supposed to be waiting for her on the street. If she could have summoned the energy, she would have left the bed and gone to the window.
“My feelings are deeper than just the physical connection we share,” she said, startled by how husky her voice sounded to her.
Saint rolled them onto their sides so she was not burdened with his weight. “I know. If I had been paying closer attention, I would have realized it six years ago, when you decided to shut me out of your life. It frightened you, did it not? Falling in love so fast with a gentleman you barely knew.”
His cock was losing its rigidity. The flesh that had given her so much pleasure softened and disengaged from her wet womanly sheath. Their coupling had been too swift and blinding, and she was already missing the fullness of him inside her. “Yes.”
“And then I made a mistake. I pushed you too far by telling you that I needed you and you panicked.”
Catherine slid lower so she could lay her cheek against his chest. “My feelings for you have always frightened me. From the very beginning, you made me feel too much, and in ways I had never experienced with anyone else.”
As she watched Saint tug the flap of his unfastened trousers over his genitals, she silently marveled that they had experienced such explosive passion while they were fully clothed.
“Were you worried that I could not be trusted with your secrets?”
“Partly,” she hedged, nipping her lower lip. Catherine sighed, and leaned over and smoothed her skirt over her bare leg. “As Madame Venna, I could not afford to have entanglements. Lovers tend to be inquisitive by nature, and eventually I would have been coaxed to remove my half-mask, the only measure I had to give Catherine a life beyond the Golden Pearl’s walls.”
Saint’s chest began to vibrate, and after a minute she raised her head to see that he was silently laughing.
“What do you find so amusing?”
“You, love,” he murmured, capturing the side of her face with his hand. “You still speak as if Madame V and Catherine are two different people.”
Catherine shrugged. “Habit. If I viewed them as separate women, I was less likely to make a mistake. It was the same reason why it was imperative that Madame V and I never shared the same circle of friends.”
“That is, until I took it upon myself to introduce myself to Catherine, and enticed you to break one of your rigid rules.”
He sounded very pleased with himself. And why should he not? In the end, he claimed the affections of both women.
With regret heavy in her heart, she sat up on the bed. “I love you, Saint. However—”
The lazy, satisfied expression on his face vanished at her declaration. “Halt. Not another word.”
“But—”
He leaned forward and placed his finger to her lips. “You love me.”
Catherine took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said, nodding.
The joy and love in his gaze humbled her. How was she supposed to walk away from him?
“You don’t.”
Her lips parted in surprise at his reply to her unspoken question. “How did you know what I was thinking?” she demanded, mildly annoyed that he was able to read her so well.
“You’re not always so guarded when you are alone with me,” he said smugly. “Which is another sign that you are learning to trust me.”
Catherine groaned. “My leaving has nothing to do with not trusting you.”
“I disagree. Otherwise you would have never tried to run off without sharing your plans with me or your father.”
She rolled her eyes at the mention of Lord Greenshield. It still felt strange to think of him as her father. “Perhaps I was attempting to protect both of you from scandal.”
“My family’s name was tied to scandal long before you were born. Do you think me so weak that I could not weather a few narrow-minded gossips?”
“It would be an entire ballroom filled with gossips. The ton. What if your friends began to avoid you because your mistress was once the infamous owner of the Golden Pearl? What if you were no longer invited to their private residences because they did not wish for their wives and children to be tainted by your poor judgment?”
Saint disliked her questions, but she refused to back down. It was important for him to understand the sacrifice she was willing to make for him, and even Lord Greenshield.
“You’ve met my friends and their wives. Did any of them give you the impression that they cared a farthing about the ton, or their collective opinions?”
Catherine frowned. “No.”
He slid off the bed and fastened the buttons on his trousers. “If you insist on leaving London like a criminal who’s escaped the magistrate, then grant me a boon, and place the blame squarely on your shoulders. I want you to stay. Here. With me.”
Saint was so used to getting his way, he believed anything was possible. “You cannot live with your mistress.”
“Agreed,” he said curtly. “Besides, I’m done with mistresses. There’s no challenge in buying a woman’s affection for the price of a house, a few dresses, and pretty baubles. I want a lover who will stand with me so neither one of us has to face the gossips alone; who will invite me into her bed each night, even if all I have to offer her is my love and fidelity.”
That woman would be the luckiest woman in all of England. Unfortunately, Catherine did not believe she was the right woman for the Marquess of Sainthill.
He walked over to her and grasped both of her hands. She glanced down at their hands and stiffened, bracing herself for his next words. “Catherine Deverall, will you grant me … your trust.”
Her eyelids fluttered open. “My … what?”
If Saint was teasing, his expression gave nothing away. “Your trust,” he patiently replied. “Remain in London. Promise me you will not run off. If I am forced to chase you across the countryside, then I will take distinct pleasure in paddling your backside black and blue.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Provoke me, and you will not be able to sit down for a week,” he threatened.
Catherine glanced helplessly at her empty bedchamber. “For how long? I cannot reside here. The house has been sold and the new owners will be taking possession of the property in a matter of days.”
“Don’t worry about your lodgings. I will handle the task personally.”
He seemed too confident. “You cannot set me up in your house, Saint.”
“I have no intention of doing so, Miss Deverall,” Saint said coolly.
“Nor Lord Greenshield’s residence,” she hastily added.
He shook his head as if she had disappointed him. “You should have more faith in the men who love you.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but wisely kept her opinion to herself. This conversation was on the verge of disintegrating into a quarrel.
“Nothing else to say?”
Catherine bit her lip and shook her head.
“Excellent,” he said, in a patronizing tone that made her teeth hurt. “I knew you could be reasonable with the proper incentive.”
She made a sputtering noise of astonishment. “You’ve promised me nothing!”
“Exactly.” His handsome face softened at her obvious frustration. All will be well, love.” He gently kissed her pouting mouth. “Trust me.”
Catherine did not have the heart to admit to Saint that while she loved him, he was asking the impossible from her.
Chapter Thirty-two
“A card party?” Catherine wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I am not overly fond of games.”
Regan laughed as she rubbed her belly, ripening with her husband’s child. “Really, Madame V?” she teased. “You like them well enough when you are in charge and everyone is playing by your rules.”
Ten days had passed since Saint had dumped her at Lord and Lady Pashley’s door. He had kissed her farewell, and gruffly reminded her that he would employ all the Lords of Vice if she tried to thwart him by disappearing. Even changing her name would not spare her his wrath if she defied him.
“His arrogance is boundless,” Catherine complained.
“My brother is worse,” Regan assured her as she nudged her upstairs to change her dress. “He sent me away to boarding school for five years because he caught me kissing Dare.”
Catherine was angry on her friend’s behalf. “That is outrageous! Five years for a kiss?”
Regan seemed pleased to have someone on her side, even though she had taken matters into her own hands by defying her brother’s dictates. “I most definitely agree. However, in Frost’s defense, he was trying to protect me. He had doubts Dare would make a good husband for me.”
“He was obviously wrong.”
She followed Catherine into her bedchamber. “The Lords of Vice are handsome scoundrels, but all of them can be a little thick-witted,” she said cheerfully. “I think you should wear the rose satin. It puts color in your cheeks, and it’s flattering to your figure.”
“Very well,” she said, resigned to an afternoon of cards at Lord and Lady Rainecourt’s town house.
Regan, Sophia, Juliana, and Isabel had all taken turns entertaining her to keep her spirits from flagging after Saint’s abandonment. When Catherine had questioned Dare and the other Lords of Vice about Saint’s whereabouts, no one could give her a proper answer.
The men were hiding something. She was certain of it. However, the ladies assured her that Saint was not the kind of gentleman to play a lady false. Each one suggested that she should trust the man who claimed he loved her.
Trust. The word was as annoying as the gentleman who demanded it from her.
“We’ve arrived, ladies,” Dare said, dragging her into the present.
As recommended by Regan, she was wearing the rose satin dress with the round sleeves and the tasteful crêpe lisse bouffant border at the bottom of the skirt. For a headdress, she had chosen her white satin hat with the low crown and narrow brim. Pinned to the side was a large white satin bow.
“You look lovely, Catherine,” Dare said as he assisted her descent from the coach.
“And what sweet flattery do you have for your wife, husband?” Regan looked resplendent in her lilac dress.
Dare picked his wife off her feet and brazenly covered her mouth with his, giving her a kiss best saved for when they were alone. Without releasing her lips, the marquess spun her around once before allowing her dainty feet to touch the ground.
“Well,” Regan exclaimed, a bit unsteady. “Nicely done.”
Wistfully, Catherine observed the exchange between husband and wife. It was apparent to even
the most jaundiced eye that their marriage was a love match. During Saint’s absence, his friends and their wives had opened their homes to her. She had been given a rare glimpse into the couples’ lives.
Because of their business arrangement with the Golden Pearl, Catherine thought that she knew everything about the Lords of Vice. Her girls had regaled her with countless tales about Saint and his friends. She had not believed these gentlemen could commit themselves to their ladies, but she was wrong. When a Lord of Vice fell in love, it was forever.
The butler was waiting for them when they strolled up the walkway and up the stairs. The house was too quiet for a small gathering. The servant explained that the afternoon was too lovely to remain indoors. Everyone had moved the gathering outdoors.
Catherine slowly trailed after Regan and Dare as they followed Reign’s butler. She was the last to step onto the terrace.
A faint gasp escaped her lips as she noticed Saint standing on the terrace, near the steps to the lower gardens. She longed to run to him, but she was not quite certain she had forgiven him for his absence. Instead, she admired him from afar, her hungry gaze drinking in every detail. He was dressed in a dark blue frock coat, a silver pin-striped waistcoat, and tan trousers.
He was not alone.
Sin and Reign stood to his right, while Sophia, Isabel, and Juliana sat at a table where Frost and Vane had been playing cards to his left. She did not see Hunter. Perhaps he was dallying with one of Reign’s servants in the lower gardens.
The second thing she noticed was that everyone’s attention appeared to be centered on her. Catherine glanced nervously at her rose dress, wondering if she should have selected another.
“There is nothing wrong with your dress,” Saint said, offering his hand. “Come and give me a proper greeting.”
If there hadn’t been so many witnesses, Catherine might have planted her fist into the conceited man’s gut and departed. Saint must have guessed her thoughts, because his grin widened as she drew nearer.
All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess Page 21
