Contrary to Sir Chase’s personal prediction that he would be expected to continue for quite some time before she came anywhere near a climax, if at all, it was only moments before her mewing cries took on a different tone. Sensing the approach of some life-changing experience, she writhed beneath him, overwhelmed by a tantalising force that hovered just out of reach. ‘Chase …’ she cried, hoarsely.
Instantly, he recognised the sound, quickening his pace, driving himself to take her with breathtaking speed to the point where the explosion awaited them, together, perfectly matched. As if they had been practising for years. Never had he thought it could happen like that.
For Caterina, the turmoil deep inside her was like an internal earthquake where every small part of her was suspended, even her breathing, until it passed, leaving her dizzy with a euphoria beyond any she had experienced before. Released and soaring like a bird, she lay in a kind of limbo between waking and sleeping while he rested inside her, and, by the rhythm of his ribcage under her hand, she could feel him breathing heavily as if he’d been running.
Turning to her, he buried his face for a moment in the mass of fiery curls. She thought he was smiling. ‘What an amazing creature you are,’ he said. ‘Like quicksilver. Like a rainbow. Little fire-ball. Shall I ever get to know you, to tame you? Saints, woman, you’re unbelievable. Just unbelievable.’
She smiled, but made no reply to that, nor did she plead for him to stay when he carefully withdrew and pulled her into his arms, drawing his grey silk gown around her shoulders and rocking her against him. His withdrawal made her feel incomplete and bereft, yet deliciously exhausted, but it occurred to her then that she might have found a perfect way to bind him to her more closely when his interest began to wane, to prevent him from straying as men often did when an heir was on the way. She must try never to be predictable, not with a man of so many talents. She had made a good beginning, it seemed.
He was smiling, drowsily. ‘Somewhere along the line,’ he said, ‘we appear to have lost sight of something.’
‘Oh?’
‘Mm … m. I had it at the back of my mind that you’d have preferred something, well, rather more lengthy, something quite slow, in fact. I was quite prepared for a very … very … slow seduction.’
‘And wasn’t that slow?’
The smile broadened. ‘It certainly was not. It was meteoric by anybody’s standards, Miss Chester.’
‘Oh, then you’re disappointed.’
Raising himself up on to one elbow, he looked down into her eyes, a woman’s eyes with a hint of childlike innocence behind the topaz brilliance. ‘Disappointed?’ he laughed, shaking his head. ‘No, my beauty. Very much the opposite. I’m elated, surprised certainly, and utterly fascinated, but never disappointed. I know how your passion leads you on. That was how I first saw you, angry and impulsive and not afraid to show it. That’s the kind of honesty I admire, even disliking me as you did. I wanted you then, Caterina, and now I want you more than ever, to discover all your sides, all your passions. Then, when I’ve found out what’s hidden behind those beautiful eyes, I’ll start again and rediscover it, just for the fun of it. Shall I?’ His fingers played with springing curls of hair as he spoke before beginning a journey over the landscape of her throat, downwards over her shoulders, finally coming to rest upon the breast he’d hardly had time to importune.
‘You’ll need fortitude, sir,’ she whispered. ‘I’m afraid I have a habit of reacting rather too quickly to … er … things.’
Her admission amused him. ‘Yes, but I’m beginning to get your measure, impetuous woman, and I shall outpace you. I think I’ve already proved that.’
She had to agree that it was so, especially in the water. Nor had she managed to shake him off on land, or evade his lovemaking. But now her body’s responses refused to lie dormant and, even as he watched, her eyes were darkening with desire, her hips moving seductively under his stroking hand.
‘Show me more, then,’ she said. ‘Show me wicked things that take a long time. Make it last fifty times longer.’
His hand moved downwards, spreading across her flat stomach before reaching the soft mound and the warm cavern of womanly secrets. Her sigh invited him to explore, her senses again on the very brink of rapture.
‘How to slow you down, my beauty, is going to be very interesting,’ he said, bending his handsome head to kiss her.
Caterina had come to Brighton in a state of mulish independence to put as great a distance between herself and her future as she could devise. Fate had decreed otherwise, and now her return journey was as different in every way from that taken in the florid pink post-chaise, Sir Chase’s curricle being at the apex of high fashion. For various reasons, the curricle and four gathered just as many stares as the other, and by the time they had toiled up the long hill to Reigate, Caterina had fallen in with Sir Chase’s suggestion that they should stay overnight at the posting inn there. To rest the horses, he told her, though she had little doubt that it was he who sought a bed more than the horses. With her, of course.
Their first night together had been a night to remember, sleep having been in short supply. For all Caterina knew, Millie was still recovering from the mild shock of seeing her mistress in bed with the man she claimed to dislike. In all other respects, Millie’s recovery was assured as she, Sir Chase’s valet, and the luggage followed on in a hired post-chaise.
Reigate was swathed in clouds as they set off early on Monday to reach Richmond by midday to a reception neither of them could predict with much accuracy. Caterina was particularly quiet, wrapped in her own thoughts of last night during which sleep had again played a minor role. Glancing at her several times with the secretive smile of one well pleased with himself, and with her, Sir Chase said little of any consequence to interrupt her memories, which he rightly supposed would be very much along the same lines as his.
Unlike him, Caterina had no comparisons to make, yet she believed he must be an outstandingly good lover to be able to bring her to such rapture time after time. Only a good lover, she thought, would have heaped so many praises upon one so new to the art of lovemaking. If only her father’s underhandedness had not stood in her way, she might have been even happier with her lot. As it was, she could only be thankful that the outcome would mean her removal from Paradise Road within the week.
The question of which of Sir Chase’s houses they should settle in first was never quite resolved, although both agreed that it would be useful to make a quick visit to his town house on Halfmoon Street, where the London shops could provide her with everything she required. Her forthcoming singing engagement at Chiswick House, one of the Duke of Devonshire’s London homes, must come first, after which they were free to distance themselves from any other obligations. It was a prospect that sat easily on Caterina’s mind, leaving her less time to dwell on the darker side of the affair.
It was Sir Chases’s suggestion, as they bowled along leafy lanes and rolling downland, that she may like to take her singing teacher with them so that she need not feel her talents were being in any way neglected. There were pianos at each of his homes, and it was not good for her nerves to have to rely on the kind of musicians the Ensdales had hired. Signor Cantoni might like the idea of a more permanent position as piano teacher, too, he suggested.
‘For whom, sir?’ said Caterina, knowing full well for whom.
‘I shall expect all my children to be musical,’ he said, smiling.
‘All of them, sir?’
‘All of them, Miss Chester. We shall give fortnightly concerts.’
‘I see. Then I shall put the idea to him. Thank you. That was very thoughtful.’
‘I aim to please,’ he said, favouring her with a quick smile.
It did seem to her that he was doing all a man could do to please her, and much more than the two previous contenders combined. And what a pity it was, she continued to remind herself, that she must now return to Paradise Road and her father’s gloating satisfact
ion.
Contrary to her expectations, Mr Chester did not demand to know why she had left home without a word, and her welcome was as warm as she could have wished from parents who knew her remaining time with them was limited. After being closeted with her father for an hour, Sir Chase emerged from the study on amicable terms, saving her the embarrassment of having to explain the whys and wherefores of their stay in Brighton, and no questions were asked of her except how they could help to arrange the next few busy days. Friday’s marriage ceremony sounded alarmingly final.
Sara would be home by then.
Caterina’s ring and her new hairstyle met with their approval.
The bridegroom’s parents were invited to dine, and visits were made to Aunt Amelie at Sheen Court and to Lady Dorna at Mortlake, both ladies happy to welcome Sir Chase as part of the family, Lord Elyot having looked on him as his brother-in-arms for years. What could be better than a chase after a Chester and a prize like that, he wanted to know. It was what he’d had to do to get Amelie, after all. It was the kind of typically male remark that had the two laughing friends banished to the stables, while the blushing women remained to discuss the more practical aspects of being one’s own mistress, at last.
The drive in the curricle, Lady Elyot remarked, had been timed to perfection, but Caterina didn’t feel inclined to explain that the coffee-coloured phaeton could have told a different kind of tale, the repercussions of which would be felt for years. For her part, Lady Elyot did not mention the very unorthodox circumstances surrounding Lord Elyot’s wooing of her that had given her less choice in the matter than anyone supposed. Not even Lady Dorna, his sister.
Their visit to Lady Dorna was predictably slippery, the news of Caterina’s immediate marriage to Sir Chase setting off a train of thought that had a destination all its own. There would have been a time when Sir Chase might have responded in good measure to her very direct approach, her forthright questions about their time in Brighton, her queries about the proposal, the ring, their reaction to her pretty post-chaise, all the showy things that mattered most to her. But this time, Sir Chase countered her probings with some of his own, turning the subject round in no time at all, to everyone’s complete satisfaction. Caterina could have hugged him.
They went to look at the church and to meet the vicar.
Sir Chase wanted to know what all the fuss was about.
There was, of course, too much to be done in three short days.
Perhaps, Hannah remarked, looking flustered, if Caterina had not flown off to Brighton …?
Caterina held back the obvious reply.
Considering what had to be done, everything fitted together remarkably well, and the dinner for Sir Reginald and Lady FitzSimmon, Sir Chase’s stepfather and mother, passed off in the friendliest manner, since they had known Hannah as a young girl. When the evening was rounded off with a song from Caterina accompanied by Sir Chase, they were convinced for the first time that he had chosen a woman worthy to be their daughter-in-law. Caterina liked her future in-laws unreservedly, but supposed their adoration of their handsome son to be responsible for his notoriously unprincipled behaviour. A clear case of sparing the rod.
That same night, the one before her wedding, she could not sleep. Sara had chattered excitedly about what Caterina’s marriage would do for her, falling asleep in mid-sentence about her own plans for the future, little realising that her sister longed to confide in someone, or that her ideals were being scuppered so shamefully. The clocks had struck the hour of midnight and, after listening to the wails upstairs, the creaking floorboards, the click of doors, the town crier and his bell, Caterina left her bed, threw a shawl around her shoulders and took the candle downstairs.
The door to her father’s study was ajar and, instead of closing it in passing, she went inside to take a last look at the place where she had first met Sir Chase. Neither of the men had discussed with her the terms of her dowry or settlements, if any. Maybe she ought to have asked about Harry’s IOU, but there had hardly been a moment to spare.
Casting a dim light around the room, the candle’s flame hid familiar daytime things and picked out others, less familiar, the whirling pattern on the walnut desk, a mahogany box with a brass catch like the one she’d been shown by Sir Chase, the gilded frame of the painting on the wall. A ship in full sail. Strangely, she had not noticed it before. She lifted the candle to read the inscription beneath, wondering if this was a new interest of her father’s. The Caterina leaving Liverpool, it read.
The Caterina?
Puzzled, she placed the candle on the desk and sat in his chair, looking at the neat stacks of papers with glass paperweights on top and, at one side as if thrown there in a hurry, a stiffly folded letter addressed to Mr Stephen Chester in a handwriting she immediately recognised. It was postmarked Liverpool. From her brother Harry. Her father had not mentioned this, perhaps because it was a sore point with him still.
Gingerly, she picked it up and unfolded it, holding it near the flame, expecting to see some words of abject apology and regret for the pain he had caused.
Sir. At your request, I hasten to acquaint you with how matters here have progressed since we last met and how I have found them on my return, though my hasty departure was not what I had intended, had things been better handled by me. Which I regret. Hardly an apology, she thought. You will be gratified to learn that the Caterina returned while I was away, unexpectedly early before a strong southwesterly and all ship-shape with no losses. Our Customs men examined her, but since they have never had reason to suspect the Africans of being lately stowed in the hold, a full cargo of 422 prime males and 30 young females, their search was soon done, and I have had the pleasure of entering the report in the files, no one suspecting that I am about my father’s business. Your instructions were followed to the letter by Captain Bowes, a reliable man who was able to deliver the Africans to our agent waiting at St Kitts and to load up with sugar from our plantation there. The Captain picked up coffee and raw cotton also, on the return voyage to Liverpool, and brandy from Rio de Janiero, all of which should see us with good profits again of about 135% after payment of crew, supplies and cost of repairs, which I think are not substantial.
I realise that my gambling debts this time were rather more than usual, but the truth of the matter is that, though I wished to stop, Boston would challenge me further, plying me with drink until I had lost far more than I ever intended. The man seems never to lose, yet I believed I could break his luck. Fortunate for us, with the Caterina’s profits and soon the safe return of the Hannah, then the Welldone in September, God willing, this should be a record year, and the recovery of my IOU will as usual be easily undertaken. I trust you will also manage to buy back the phaeton from him. I shall one day purchase a team of my own.
Be assured that your interests are well protected here, Captain Bowes being the most discreet of men. He pays the crew too well to fear that they will disclose what cargo is carried, and since he took a full load of woven Manchester cottons on the way out, no one here is aware of the second side of the triangle. Long may it be so, though I sometimes wonder if we can continue to evade the British West Africa Squadron who prowl the coast. But they must, as you know, find slaves on board to have evidence enough to prosecute, and they have only four ships to do it.
I will inform you again as soon as the funds are safe in Chester’s Bank in Manchester; meanwhile I pray that you will relay my regards to Mrs Chester and to my sisters. And I remain, Sir, your humble and Most Obedient Son, Harry Chester.
Post Script. A parcel of ginger, vanilla, tobacco and snuff is on its way addressed to our agent in London, Mr Snell.
Lowering the letter to the desk, Caterina stared at the wavering candle flame to steady her thoughts, then turned to the letter again, trying to reconcile what she knew of her father with the other side of him revealed in this sheet of closely written evidence. It would damn him as a felon if it were seen, and Harry had not even the sense to write i
t in code. Without doubt, this was the most serious state of affairs she could have imagined, worse by far than being too poor to pay Harry’s IOUs. Her father was, in fact, more than able to pay off Harry’s debts every year, even this last one, which was greater than usual. There was no reason for her to have been involved; that was the greatest deceit for which she would never forgive him.
But the counterpart of this letter from Harry uncovered a gluttony for wealth she had never suspected, a willingness to trade in human lives that was truly repellent, and to break the law in doing so. The 1807 Act of Parliament made it illegal for any ship to sail from an English port for the purposes of slave-trading, but time and again this had been ignored by merchants and ship owners who knew how unlikely it was that any of them would be caught in the act, there being so many ways of concealing such lawlessness. Last year, the penalties for slave-trading had been made more severe, and now anyone found in breach of the law could be transported to Australia for as long as fourteen years. Enough time for a man’s life to be wrecked as he had wrecked others’ lives, with the ensuing loss of family and the confiscation of property. The gamble was immense. How could her father truly believe that it was worth risking everything he held dear for wealth he was too miserly to share, even with his own loved ones?
Caterina was stunned. Appalled. The room was still, holding its breath. The whole house was asleep. Her mind, however, began to clear as the sediment floated to the bottom. She became logical and as cool as a lawyer holding together the pieces of a legal puzzle with many questions yet to be answered, beyond which was a festering anger and a hurt as great as any she’d ever suffered, for this was a betrayal of trust that affected them all, not only her. She owed it especially to Hannah to find out the full extent of it.
Dispassionately, she viewed the immediate options open to her.
Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire Page 43
