by Josie Dennis
He didn’t want John there, to be sure. Catherine had already given a bit of herself to that scoundrel, though he had to allow that John didn’t seem to think of her as a conquest. There had been no bragging, not like when they’d been at school. No, back then John had delighted in sharing every nuance of his sexual exploits, from the tightness of the girl’s pussy to her skill with her tongue. His behavior toward Catherine was almost reverent. Oh, he was hot for her, to be sure. His expressions mirrored the looks Henry had a difficult time keeping from his own countenance whenever Catherine was near. It was hunger, pure and simple.
Henry arrived at the abbey ahead of the party, to make certain that the staff would be ready to receive his guests. He toyed with the idea of placing Catherine in a room close to his own, but he wouldn’t shame her that way. No, he would place her in the west wing with the Thorne siblings and hope that John had enough honor to keep from visiting her guest chamber.
As he walked through the cavernous entry hall he kept a critical eye on the place. Rough stone walls had been plastered over, and partitions built to make the interior feel more like a grand estate home than a medieval relic. His father was obsessed with appearances. The guest rooms, gardens, and public areas of the house were modernized and much of the general’s money went to keeping it so. There were vast areas of the house and grounds, however, that bore the appearance of the past from which they’d come. Rough and rambling landscape outside the garden walls and the many darkened corridors lit by torches would certainly enthrall her. John Thorne may have a fortune, but Henry had Norrington Abbey. By the time this visit was over, he would have Catherine as well.
His three guests arrived late the next afternoon, stepping down from a grand barouche carriage that no doubt conveyed them in comfort on the drive from Bath. He wouldn’t think about the necessary stay at some inn along the route, for that way lay madness. He thanked God for Isabella’s very existence, for John would never do anything to bring shame on his name that would sully his sister’s as well. Where Catherine was concerned, though? He didn’t doubt John would risk anything.
Catherine looked a picture as she alighted, her eyes round as she gaped at the imposing edifice of the abbey. She all but ignored John Thorne as he handed her down. “Oh, my!”
It was what she’d cried as she came against his mouth, and Henry had to surreptitiously adjust the front of his trousers. “Does the abbey please you?”
She nodded. “Henry, it is just as I imagined.”
“All hidden chambers and secret passageways?” John asked. “That should please you, Catherine.”
Isabella smiled as she climbed down. She wrinkled her nose at the building, and then her eyes sparkled as she apparently took in the size of the structure. “Oh, Norrington Abbey does not disappoint, I daresay.”
John snorted. “No, sister. The abbey is all Henry said it was.”
Henry sensed something in the man’s tone, and it was not jealousy as he’d hoped. It was a sort of speculation. Did he think to seduce Catherine here? In his family home?
“Let us go inside,” Henry said, holding his elbow out to Catherine.
Still smiling up at the façade, she placed her hand on his arm. Her touch was feather-light, but he felt it like a caress. Perhaps he would employ the secret passageways with her himself. He grew up here, after all. He knew each and every inch of the abbey and would delight in giving Catherine all the intrigue and mystery she desired.
“I had the staff prepare refreshments,” he said. “You’ll find that, despite the wild aspect, Norrington is quite civilized.”
“Pity, that,” Isabella quipped.
John smiled at his sister’s comment and escorted her through the wide entryway. Henry saw the slight frown on Catherine’s face as she took in the smooth plaster walls, imported carpets, and pretty furniture. “It looks a bit like John’s home,” she remarked.
Henry looked at her sharply. “When, pray, were you there?”
“I went with the elder Miss Thorne when she asked me to be Isabella’s companion.”
“Apparently, our aunt has known the Morris family for years, though we had never before met Catherine,” John said.
“But we could not be more delighted with her, is that not true, brother?” Isabella asked.
John nodded his head. “Quite.”
There was a subtext to that single word, one Henry would question him about later. As for now? Now he would share refreshments with the woman he wanted and try his best to ignore the man who wanted her as well.
When Isabella claimed fatigue from the trip, Henry took the chance her absence offered.
“The housekeeper will show you to your room, Miss Thorne,” he said, pulling on the bell.
Mrs. Slater came at once, interest on her round face. “Yes, Mr. Henry?”
“Please show Miss Thorne to her room, Mrs. Slater.”
She nodded and led Isabella from the room, leaving Catherine alone with him. And John Thorne, blast it.
“Let me show you about the abbey, Miss Morris,” he said to Catherine.
John arched a brow and Henry cursed inwardly.
“Of course, Mr. Thorne is more than welcome to join us,” he added.
“Well, I shall be delighted to see this place.” John looked about and shrugged. “Though I daresay I hadn’t expected such a modern interior.”
“The general insists upon it, though only in the public areas, the guest rooms, and the like.” Henry turned to Catherine. “I plan on showing you more than those mundane places, Miss Morris.”
Catherine wore that adorable expression of curiosity again, and Henry silently thanked God his father only spent his money where others would see. He would show her, with John Thorne as chaperone unfortunately, just what she craved.
Henry led the two of them through the public rooms, the ballroom, the dining room, and back parlors. He showed them the large library and closed door to his father’s study as well as the fine rooms abovestairs. As they neared his father’s wing, he caught Catherine peering down the hallway. What she was looking for, he could guess. There would be no torches and stone floors here, however. Just more modern comforts suited to the abbey’s illustrious owner, at least until one walked past.
“What is there, Henry?” she asked, looking toward the darkened place beyond his father’s rooms.
Truthfully, he had no notion of what his father did in this far-reaching chamber. Frederick had alluded to mischief, but Henry had no desire to know what his father got up to. His past rivaled Frederick’s present, if tales told when he’d had too much to drink were to be believed. If he kept a place to meet his paramours at the abbey, Henry didn’t want to know about it.
“My father keeps a study here as well,” he answered.
“It looks like…” She giggled. “It looks like the hallway to a dungeon.”
“Abovestairs?” John asked with a laugh. “Surely such is buried in the bowels of the abbey, Catherine. Dark and dank and just the place to conduct illicit activities.”
“Really, Thorne,” Henry said.
“Ooh, like my dream,” Catherine whispered.
Henry caught what she said, and his mind went back to that time in his carriage. She’d mentioned a dream then as well.
“A dream?” John asked. “Do tell me about this dream.”
Catherine flushed pink and shook her head. “Can we explore this study, Henry?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Come. Let us go out to the gardens before it’s time to ready for dinner.”
He waved Catherine ahead of him, but she hesitated. She finally acquiesced, craning her neck to stare back at the darkened hallway as they left his father’s wing. He wouldn’t indulge her in this desire. The last thing he wanted to do was raise his father’s ire where she was concerned. It was enough that once he learned of her financial circumstances he would forbid Henry from seeing her.
He watched her lithe body sway as she walked with John in front of him. Let his f
ather declare her unfit. That would do nothing to keep Henry from her.
* * * *
Later that night, after dinner and a few hands of cards, Catherine retired to the room the lovely Mrs. Slater had shown her earlier. It was quite nice, freshly decorated and furnished with modern comfortable fixtures. Disappointment filled her once more. The abbey had looked delightfully gloomy when they’d arrived, so many windows staring down at them where they stood on the drive. What secrets did they conceal? Oh, how she longed to find out!
She changed into her nightdress and sat on the edge of the bed. It was soft and lush, as fine as any she’d seen at the Thornes’s or in Bath. She stretched out, staring up at the carved canopy above her. The house was still, no creaking or clanging chains in this part of the house. There were other areas, however. Places in the abbey that beckoned. She sat up. There was one place she would explore tonight. A giggle burst forth and she covered her hand with her mouth. Henry had said there was nothing of interest there. Well, she begged to differ. She’d seen the secretive cast to his features when he’d dismissed her inquiry.
“The general won’t be back for a few days,” she told herself, climbing off the bed. She donned her wrapper. “Surely he won’t mind my snooping about his rooms in his absence.”
She took a candle from the bedstand and left her room. She could hear John moving about his guest chamber as she crept past. Was he ready for bed as she’d been? Did he wear a nightshirt? She flushed and her body heated. Or did he wear nothing at all?
She still felt incomplete after being with him. And with Henry as well. They’d pleasured her, to be sure, but left her craving the ultimate satisfaction. She held her hand up to John’s door. Would he allow her to enter? She fisted her hand. She couldn’t. True, she wanted him as much as she wanted Henry. But that was the crux of the matter. She wanted both of them, not one or the other.
Turning her attention to the general’s secret room, she went down the hallways. She passed the family’s rooms on her way and paused before Henry’s door as she had John’s. Shaking her head, she passed his room as well and headed for the general’s wing.
The air seemed chillier as she passed his rooms. The carpet was worn here, the wall’s rough stone painted but not plastered. It was darker as well, and she felt her skin tingle. What was he hiding?
To her surprise the door didn’t squeak as she eased it open. There was a desk within, so perhaps he did use the space as a study. But there was a bedchamber beyond, through a low archway. A large bed sat within, rough-hewn and bare of any draperies. It was dressed with simple linens, and the wood posts were scarred and nicked. A screen and washstand stood in one corner, a chipped bowl and thin towels at the ready. What was this place? Perhaps, despite his cultured bearing, the general longed for more Spartan conditions now and again. There was a sort of raw sensuality to the room, however. It was dim and bare of all but the essentials.
A humongous wardrobe stood at one side of the room, which she now noticed had no dressing room of any kind. She crossed to the large piece, trailing her fingers over the dark wood. She set down the candle and looked about, expecting someone to come upon her at any moment. Her heart raced, but she’d come this far. Placing her fingers around each of the hammered metal knobs, she pulled the doors open. Her breath caught at what she found within.
Whips and crops and worn leather straps too numerous to count. Thick metal hooks and loops hung beside them, and there were several wooden paddles on the lower shelf. Her body went cold. What was all of this? Did the general have a violent streak? Was that why he kept this room concealed?
She closed the wardrobe and turned to the bed once more. Did he utilize this as some sort of torture chamber? She clasped her hand over her mouth. Oh, what would he do to her if he found out she’d discovered his secret?
Grabbing up the candle, she fled the room. She didn’t even take care to close the door quietly before all but running away from the general’s wing. By the time she gained her guest chamber, she had to sink down on the bed and will her heart to cease its pounding.
She collapsed on the bed, covering her face with her hands. She should not have come to Norrington Abbey. First there was her illicit desire for two men, neither of whom would ever offer matrimony. And now she’d invaded General Tilman’s private domain! Whips and straps and shackles…What can it all mean?
Curling onto her side, she hugged her middle and waited a long time for sleep to take her.
Chapter 7
Two days later, they sat in the parlor once more. John sat beside his sister, but his eyes were on Catherine. She seemed skittish, not like herself at all. He’d tried to talk to her without the others present, but she’d put him off. There was something afoot and, if Henry wasn’t watching her worriedly as well, he would suspect that their host had achieved what he himself had been unable to since their arrival. To get her alone and take her at last.
“The general and my brother should arrive in time to dine with us,” Henry said.
Catherine paled, and John nearly went to her.
“Catherine, are you all right?” Isabella asked from where she sat beside her.
Thank God his sister had such a nosy disposition.
“Y–yes,” Catherine stammered. “I felt a chill, is all.”
John looked at the hearth where a fire was banked. The evening wasn’t cold in the least, but there was no mistaking Catherine’s trembling fingers. “Perhaps we should have a fire?”
“Oh, not on my account,” Catherine said. She licked her lips and looked at Henry. “May I ask you to give my regrets to your father and brother? I’m afraid I have a bit of a headache.”
John came to his feet. “Let me escort you abovestairs.”
“You do look a bit—” Henry cleared his throat. “As you wish. I’ll have a tray sent up later.”
Catherine stood. “Thank you.” She waved John away when he approached her. “Please, stay. Do not worry over me.”
Isabella’s brow furrowed as she watched Catherine leave. When John sat back down she turned to him. “John, Catherine seemed almost afraid,” she said in a hushed tone. “Tell me you did nothing to cause such feelings.”
John held himself in check. “You go too far, sister,” he answered.
She watched him then smiled toward Henry. “So what has your brother been about in Bath? Escape any delicate situations?”
“Isabella!” John said.
She waved at him with a laugh. He was beginning to despise being waved away. He studied the doorway where Catherine had last stood, missing her sorely. How could a woman he’d known for scarcely a fortnight affect him so? He craved her, yes. He wanted to see her climax again, wanted to fuck her until she came around his cock instead of his fingers.
God, Henry had tasted her. He wanted that as well. But there was more to it than purely sexual interest. He’d felt that enough in his life, to be sure. This was more. What, precisely, he didn’t know. But keeping from her was making his head and his balls ache.
“What a dull party,” Frederick Tilman drawled as he entered the room.
Henry came to his feet and nodded. “Hello, brother. Allow me to introduce John Thorne and his sister, Isabella. My brother, Captain Frederick Tilman.”
John eyed Frederick as they bowed to each other. Dashing and handsome with the practiced air of a ladies’ man, he returned their greetings with a nod then swiftly turned his gaze to Isabella.
“Ho, I take back what I said,” Frederick said. “How can a party be considered dull with such beauty about? It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Isabella.”
Isabella stared at him like a child eyeing a sweet treat, and John knew he would have more to occupy himself than arranging a tryst with Catherine. He’d have to keep Isabella from ruin with Henry’s brother.
“Father is taking his meal in his rooms,” Frederick announced. “I daresay we can entertain ourselves in his absence.”
Before John could make a comment to that din
ner was called and the four of them went into the dining room. The evening was interminably long, peppered with flirtatious and outrageous comments from Frederick and clipped responses and admonitions from Henry. John said nothing and, after begging off from brandy and cigars with the brothers, escorted his sister abovestairs.
“What were you thinking?” he asked as soon as they were safely out of earshot.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, blinking her lashes.
“You cannot fool me, sister. You practically begged the man to bed you.”
“Oh, John,” she said, walking into her room before him. “I was merely being polite to one of our hosts.”
“Bloody hell you were.” John closed the door. “I won’t have you throw in with the likes of him.”
“You are not my father.”
John rolled his eyes. “No, that man is blessedly spared from dealing with your antics. Stay away from Frederick Tilman.”
She shrugged and turned from him. “Who are you to advise me on such matters, brother? You, who bedded every maid at Cambridge.”
“What do you know of it? Besides, I am not that man any longer.”
She turned, leaning against the footboard of her bed. “I’ve seen the way you look at Catherine, John. Tell me you don’t want her in your bed.”
John wouldn’t answer her on that subject. “I am speaking of you.”
“You want her, admit it! And why not, for she is a lovely creature. But Henry Tilman wants her as well.”
John raked his fingers through his hair. “We shouldn’t discuss her this way.”
“He wants her and you want her. She is torn between you two as well. I’ve seen it.”
He stared at her. “Explain.”
“The girl flushes and trembles when either one of you are near her. Tonight’s headache notwithstanding, she wants you both.”
He considered her observations. In for a pence…“And what do you propose I do about it?” he asked.
