Indiscreet

by Mary Balogh

  After slamming the door behind her, she wished she could go back and do it differently. One slammed doors only when one was angry. She would have preferred to act with icy disdain. The very phrase had a ring to it.

  “Oh, Toby,” she said, stooping down to rub his stomach and transport him from hysterics to ecstasy, “he is the most horrid man I have ever known. Not only is he a dangerous rake, but he also thinks it amusing to have a victim dangling from his line. I am no victim, Tobe. He will realize that soon enough. He might as well turn his energies toward a more willing woman.”

  The trouble was that she had glanced at his mouth more than once during their progress along the street. And she had shivered at the memory of how it had felt against hers—warm, moist, lightly enticing. She had wanted to feel it again.

  “No,” she said firmly, following the dog into the kitchen. “You may not jump onto the rocker.”

  Toby jumped onto the rocker and proceeded to make himself comfortable.

  “Males!” Catherine said with disgust, turning her attention to the fire. “You are all alike. No is not in your vocabulary. No means yes to all of you. I do wish—oh, how I wish it were possible to live without the whole lot of you.”

  On behalf of males everywhere, Toby heaved a sigh and gazed at her with contented eyes.

  • • •

  HE was not at all sure that no meant irrevocably no with Mrs. Catherine Winters. He regretfully suspected that it did, but he was not sure beyond any doubt.

  He would be wasting his time to continue pursuing her, he believed. But then, he had discovered that there was not anything much more productive with which to occupy his time anyway. He was enjoying quite as much as he had expected being with Claude and Daphne again and of course he always enjoyed the company of his friends. When drawing-room conversation became just too insipid to be borne, they could always go off together, the three of them, and engage in a conversation that required the use of at least a small measure of their intelligence.

  But he needed diversion.

  It seemed unlikely that Catherine Winters was to be bedded. More was the pity. He very badly wanted to bed her. But even failing that—and he was not quite convinced that it was a hopeless case—there was amusement to be derived from talking with her, goading her, teasing her, outraging her, merely looking at her.

  He had to be careful, of course, not to compromise her. Claude was suspicious. Clarissa was suspicious. Nat and Eden were more than suspicious. It would be unfair to try to seek her out alone again and risk being seen—as they almost had been by that gardener. And Clarissa was no longer inviting her to the house.

  He had to solve the problem somehow. They had been out for a long morning’s ride. He had danced attendance on Miss Hudson as usual, though he had relinquished her to Nat’s care for part of the return journey, having noticed that she was far more relaxed in his friend’s company than in his own. The weather had become cloudy and chilly. Clarissa had decreed that the afternoon would be spent indoors.

  He was offending no one, then, when he suggested a stroll to Daphne and Clayton. The two of them were notorious for their Spartan adherence to outdoor activities in all weathers. They brightened visibly. Fortunately no one else did. It was easy enough once they were outside and marching to steer them down across the park toward the postern door, which Daphne had forgotten about and Clayton had never seen, and suggest a walk through the village, up the lane beyond it, and through the gate back into the park that he had entered a few mornings before.

  And of course, it was easy once they were through the door to notice that Mrs. Winters’s cottage was close by and to suggest that perhaps she would enjoy a walk with them. After all, he pointed out, he was walking alone while Clayton had a lady for his arm.

  “Poor Rex,” Daphne said, laughing. “You need a wife.”

  That was the last thing he needed. But his plan worked well. She was at home. This was not one of those afternoons, then, when she was off somewhere doing good works. And Daphne, bless her heart, took upon herself all the burden of persuading her to join them on their walk and spoke as if it had all been her idea.

  “Well,” Catherine Winters said—she looked quite delicious in one of her plain wool dresses covered with a large white apron, one of her lace caps perched on her dark hair, “I have just finished baking. I hope you will excuse my appearance.” Oh, anytime. Anytime at all. “Fresh air would be pleasant. And Toby has not had a walk since early this morning. Would you mind if he came too?”

  “What a darling he is,” Daphne said, bending to pat him. He had stopped barking in exchange for a stomach rub as soon as they had crossed the threshold.

  And so a few minutes later, after she had removed her apron and her cap and donned a cloak and bonnet, his careful plotting had borne fruit and he had her in his company again and on his arm—she could hardly refuse when Daphne was clinging to Clayton’s. And they were nodding left and right to villagers and proceeding beyond the village, all chatting together until they were across the bridge and out into countryside and he drew back by imperceptible degrees until they were far enough behind Daphne and Clayton to necessitate a conversation of their own.

  “I do apologize if you did not want my company,” he said, covering her hand with his own for a moment. “I was dragged kicking and screaming to your door by my sister, who has taken a fancy to you.”

  She looked skeptically at him.

  “It is two days and three hours since I saw you last,” he said. “Tell me that you have missed me.”

  She made a sound that indicated incredulity without the necessity of an intelligible word.

  “Yes,” he said, “I have missed you too. Is your card full for Friday’s ball?”

  “Oh,” she said indignantly, “how you are enjoying yourself.”

  He found himself grinning at her.

  “I want two sets,” he said. “The first waltz—I shall bully Clarissa into including some—and the supper dance. You will reserve them for me?”

  “I believe,” she said, “that those two dances in particular should be reserved by you for a particular lady.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “That is agreed, then.”

  “I meant Miss Hudson,” she said.

  He knew as soon as they followed Daphne and Clayton into the park that she recognized the route they had taken a few mornings before. He deliberately stopped talking so that her attention would not be diverted from her memories—or his.

  His sister and brother-in-law had stopped on the bridge.

  “Do you remember how we used to balance on the balustrade and walk from one side to the other, Rex?” she called back to him. “It is amazing we did not break our necks.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I have many memories of this bridge, Daphne. Most of them pleasant.”

  He felt the hand that was resting lightly on his arm stiffen.

  “You will come back to the house for tea with us, Mrs. Winters?” Daphne asked with a smile. “I am sure Clarissa would be delighted. She is always lamenting the fact that there is not one more lady.”

  “No, thank you,” Mrs. Winters said hastily. “I have Toby. And I need to be home soon. But thank you.”

  “It has been pleasant,” Daphne said. She laughed. “Rex was the odd man out this afternoon, you see, and was complaining that there was no lady for his arm.”

  When they came to the main driveway, he was able to put into effect the final part of his plan. They were not far from the village.

  “You and Clayton go on to the house, Daphne,” he said. “I shall escort Mrs. Winters home.”

  “Oh,” Daphne said, looking from one to the other of them—he saw light dawn in her eyes. “Yes, if you will excuse us, Mrs. Winters. Thank you so much for giving us your company. And Toby too. He is quite delightful.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Winters.” Clayton
tipped his hat to her.

  “And I will be very good,” the viscount said when they were alone together. “I shall lead you down the garden path, Mrs. Winters, but not to perdition. To the village, in fact. I am afraid to suggest that we slink off in the direction of the postern door. I am afraid that this afternoon I really would get my face slapped. I came close on Sunday, did I not?”

  It was very tempting, of course, to take her by the other route and to try to steal another kiss from her among the trees. But plenty of people had seen her walk through the village on his arm. The same people or at least some of them might be on watch for her return. It would not do for those people to see them emerging from the woods and the door.

  “Very close,” she said. “I still regret that I did not risk being seen to do it.”

  Several people saw him return her respectably down the drive from Bodley House and along the village street to her gate.

  “Alas,” he said when she was on one side of it and he was on the other, “you had better not invite me in for tea no matter how strongly you feel inclined to do so. It would not be proper and we have been observed.”

  She gave him a speaking glance and he let his eyes drop deliberately to her mouth.

  “For the same reason,” he said, “you had better not offer me a farewell kiss. Another time, perhaps.”

  “When hell freezes over,” she said.

  He tutted. “My dear ma’am,” he said, “I have come to expect more original pronouncements from you than that. When hell freezes over. What a lamentable cliché.”

  “Good day, my lord,” she said coolly, and turned to walk up the path and let herself into her cottage, Toby ahead of her. She did not slam the door this time.

  Ah, he thought, if only. He was still not quite convinced that it was out of the question, but even if it was, sparring with her was altogether more pleasurable than dodging a courtship with Ellen Hudson was proving to be.

  He was going to have those two dances with her on Friday night too, he thought, even if she believed at the moment that he would not unless hell happened to freeze over in the meanwhile.

  Now, why would anyone want to kiss someone else when hell had frozen over? To share body heat? The thought had its appeal.

  8

  SHE had been reading to Mr. Clarkwell. Then she had sat and listened to reminiscences of his earlier days that she had heard more than once before.

  “You really do not have to humor him,” Mrs. Clarkwell had said with some impatience and perhaps a little embarrassment. “He has become a bore in his old age.”

  “I like to listen,” Catherine had said, glad that the words had been spoken out of Mr. Clarkwell’s hearing. “He looks so very happy when he talks of the past.”

  “Yes, I know.” His daughter-in-law had rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “And times are not what they used to be. And the Lord only knows what is becoming of this world.”

  Catherine had taken her leave. Now she was calling upon Mrs. Downes, who had been too poorly to come to church on Sunday. At the same time she could have a good chat with Miss Downes, who was unable to get about as much as she would have liked these days on account of her mother and always welcomed company.

  This afternoon she had enough to keep her happy for a whole week to come. Catherine had been there for less than ten minutes—the kettle had not even boiled for tea—when Lady Baird arrived, accompanied by her brother, Viscount Rawleigh.

  Miss Downes was all aflutter and atwitter, as she explained to Catherine sotto voce while the latter helped her get the tea.

  “What a singular honor, Mrs. Winters,” she whispered. “Though it is all on account of dear Mama, of course. I must not become puffed up with my own importance.”

  Mrs. Downes had plenty to say during tea in her forthright, almost masculine voice. Lady Baird chattered away enough for two persons. Miss Downes fluttered. Lord Rawleigh made himself agreeable. Catherine sat almost mute.

  Of course, she realized almost immediately, these four had been acquainted for a long time. When the viscount and his brother and sister had used to visit their grandparents at Bodley House, Mrs. and Miss Downes had lived at the rectory with the Reverend Downes. Apparently Mrs. Downes remembered them fondly as bright, mischievous children, who had liked to make excuses to call at the rectory to sample her currant cakes.

  “I would have made some, your ladyship,” Miss Downes said, “if I had known you were going to call today. And your lordship too, of course. Not that I am saying your surprise visit is not very welcome, of course. And a great honor, as I was remarking to Mrs. Winters just a few moments ago But if I had known—”

  “You did not, Agatha,” Mrs. Downes said firmly. “Lady Baird is ready for more tea.”

  That put Miss Downes back into a flutter.

  Catherine rose before the others. “I must be going home,” she said. She smiled at Mrs. Downes. “I shall leave you to enjoy your visitors, ma’am.”

  “Oh, do wait awhile,” Lady Baird said. “We were planning to make two calls in the village, were we not, Rex? We were to call here first and then on you. It is true we have seen you here, but I must confess that I want an excuse to see the inside of your very charming cottage. May we? Will you wait ten minutes longer?”

  For some inexplicable reason Catherine looked at Viscount Rawleigh rather than at Lady Baird. Had this been his idea? He was looking at his sister with raised eyebrows. But he turned to Catherine. He looked amused and perhaps a little—surprised? As if this was the first he had heard of visiting her.

  “If you please, ma’am,” he said. “I must confess to a similar curiosity to my sister’s.”

  The wretch! Catherine could picture him sitting in her kitchen suggesting that they help alleviate each other’s boredom by becoming lover and mistress.

  She sat down again.

  And so fifteen minutes later the villagers of Bodley-on-the-Water were treated to another view of guests from the house walking the length of the street with Mrs. Winters. Viscount Rawleigh walked with a lady on each arm. And at the end of the street they turned through Mrs. Winters’s gate and disappeared inside her house.

  “Oh, this darling dog,” Lady Baird said as Toby barked and then jumped up to greet her. She pulled gently on his ears. “I am going to steal you when I go home, Toby.”

  “Will you go into the parlor?” Catherine asked. She felt suffocated with Viscount Rawleigh in the passageway. He was so very large and—male. “I shall set the kettle to boil.”

  “For more tea?” Lady Baird laughed as Toby licked her hand. “I think not, Mrs. Winters. We will be awash in tea if we drink more, will we not, Rex? This is so very cozy.” She glanced into the parlor, though she did not step inside. “I believe I could be happy in a cottage like this—with my dear Clayton, of course.”

  “With no servants, Daphne?” Lord Rawleigh said dryly. “You would starve in a fortnight.”

  Lady Baird laughed. “Your cottage backs onto the river, Mrs. Winters,” she said. “Mrs. Lovering told us that you have a pretty garden. May we see it?”

  It was not very pretty yet, of course. The fruit trees were coming into leaf, it was true, and the grass was a fresher green than it had been even a week or so ago. There were some primroses in clumps down by the river. But the flower beds closer to the house were almost bare and the vegetable patch was entirely so. The rosebushes, which trailed up over the walls on both sides, would be bare of blooms for a few months yet. Even so, it was one of Catherine’s favorite places in all the world.

  “Ah, yes,” Lady Baird said when they had stepped outside. “A little haven of beauty and peace. With meadows and hills across the water. I am going to follow Toby down to the bank. You need not feel obliged to accompany me.” She strode off to the bottom of the garden without looking back.

  Catherine was left standing on the small terrace outside the back
door with Lord Rawleigh. She looked after her departing guest in some dismay—though her back garden was not particularly long.

  “I believe,” the viscount said, his voice sounding rather bored, “our chaperone is doing what all good chaperones do. She is lending us countenance while at the same time affording us a little time to ourselves.”

  “Our chaperone?” She stiffened. “You have arranged this, my lord? And Lady Baird has consented to be your accomplice? Will she afford us enough time to go upstairs?”

  “Oh, good Lord, no,” he said. “More is the pity. Daphne is all propriety, ma’am. And this is all her idea, I do assure you. She has not consulted me any more than she has consulted you. I believe she has conceived the notion that I have a, ah, tendre for you.”

  And she approved? She was abetting her brother’s acquaintance with a woman of unknown background, a woman who lived alone in a small cottage without even a servant?

  “And would she be shocked,” she asked, “if she knew the real nature of your interest in me, my lord?”

  “I might almost say she would have a fit of the vapors,” he said, “except that Daphne is made of stern stuff. Rather like you.”

  “Toby is going to have muddy paws and then cut up nasty when he finds that he has to have them wiped before he can step indoors,” she said.

  “That terrier,” he said, “needs to be taken in hand, ma’am. He is allowed to rule your life. If you are so indulgent with a mere dog, one dreads to think what you might be like with a child.”

  Fury knifed through her. “How I choose to treat my dog is none of your concern, my lord,” she said. “As for the other, how dare you presume to know anything about my maternal instincts. I—”

  But he had set his fingertips against her arm and taken one step closer. “That certainly touched a nerve,” he said. “My apologies, ma’am. Were you unable to have children?”

  Her eyes widened in shock.

  “This will not do,” he said. “I do wish you had not mistaken me for my twin that first day, Mrs. Winters. Or that your smiles had meant what they seemed to mean. You have a disturbing effect on me.”