by Amelia Grey
“What?” he encouraged.
“Nothing. I just don’t like to leave her alone for too long a time.”
Iverson started to press her but decided against it, for the time being. After having seen Mrs. Gottfried deep in her cups, he had a feeling he knew why Miss Crisp wanted to keep a close watch on her aunt. But instead of saying more about that, he simply said, “May I get you a glass of champagne, or punch if you prefer? Your throat must be as dry as a desert after all that talking and smiling you were doing with those three gentlemen.”
Miss Crisp smiled at him, and Iverson felt a shudder deep in his loins. He was no better than all the other bucks who lapped up her attention like a kitten drinking warm milk on a cold night. He wanted to pull her into his arms so he would know what she felt like snuggled close to him. He wanted to wipe away that uncertainty he saw in the depths of her eyes. He wanted to feel her soft, warm body next to his again. He wanted to place his lips and nose in the crook of her beautiful neck and breathe in her clean scent and taste her skin.
Suddenly her smile turned confident. “You should be more careful, Mr. Brentwood.”
A short chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Caution has never been a big force in my life, Miss Crisp.”
“I can believe that. But your comment just now sounded very much like the jealous remark of a lover.”
Was he? He was attracted to her to the point that she consumed his thoughts, but jealous? No. How could he be? There were too many women to love to be jealous of just one.
“Did it?” he asked cautiously, knowing her words had a little merit.
She nodded and said, “Quite.”
“But you know that can’t be true, don’t you?”
She quirked her head to the side and asked, “Do I?”
Her question made Iverson pause. She could keep him on his toes as no other lady had, and be charming at it all the while.
Miss Crisp laughed gently and started walking back down the wide corridor toward the drawing room. Iverson fell in step beside her. She was easily the most charming and most challenging lady he had ever met, and he loved every moment he spent with her.
“Mr. Brentwood,” she said, “I believe I have teased you enough about jealousy for one evening. You can get me a glass of champagne. And then you can help me find Aunt Elle, because I do need to make sure she is all right.”
“Good. I’d like to see her again, too.”
Iverson saw a servant with a tray of champagne and stopped him. He gave a glass to Miss Crisp and then took one for himself.
While they sipped their champagne, Iverson said, “So tell me, why is it you like to come early to parties?”
“I find I don’t like to stay up late. I do my best writing on early mornings when the house—” She stopped abruptly, and her eyes rounded in shock.
Iverson’s interest was piqued. For some reason, she hadn’t wanted him to know she wrote verse. But why? It wasn’t an unusual pastime for young ladies, but it had made Miss Crisp nervous to let him know.
“So you are a writer like your father?”
“Like my father?” she answered quickly. “Heavens, no. I don’t consider myself anywhere near the writer or poet my father is. I belong to a ladies poetry society, and we all try our hand at verse from time to time. Most days, I simply move words around on the page.”
“Good evening, Mr. Brentwood, Miss Crisp.”
Iverson turned to see Miss Mable Taylor standing close to his side, gazing up at him with a sultry smile on her face. She was at least a head shorter than Miss Crisp, though you wouldn’t know it, because her dark blond hair and flowered headpiece were piled so high on top of her head. Her blue eyes were pretty, and her full bosom, which was so amply displayed beneath her gown, was lovely to look at, but Iverson had already accepted his body’s demand that Miss Crisp was the only lady who commanded his attention tonight.
They both greeted Miss Taylor, but Iverson noticed she never even glanced at Miss Crisp.
“I wanted to tell you, Mr. Brentwood, that after we met a few weeks ago, I wrote my cousin who lives in Baltimore and told her all about you, and I received a letter back from her this week.” Miss Taylor clasped her hands together under her chin and giggled before she exclaimed, “She remembers you.”
“Is that right?” Iverson answered and then sipped his champagne.
She continued to smile eagerly at him, as if she were sharing a well-kept secret. “Yes. Miss Brenda Taylor. You do remember her, don’t you? She said you called on her once. Of course, that was long before she married.”
“Of course,” he lied without guilt.
Iverson must have called on every eligible young lady in Baltimore at one time or another, so he certainly didn’t remember Miss Taylor’s cousin. He glanced over to Miss Crisp to see if she was as uncomfortable with this conversation as he was, but she was looking away, searching the crowd, he assumed, for her aunt.
“She’ll be delighted to know you remembered her. She had some things to say about how naughty you were and that you well deserved the name the Rake of Baltimore.”
“I’m sure all she said was true, Miss Taylor.”
She gasped loudly and giggled again. “Oh my, sir, you are indeed as wicked as she said, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“She warned me not to let you break my heart.”
Iverson smiled politely at her. “Miss Taylor, I try hard never to break anyone’s heart. Do excuse me. I was helping Miss Crisp look for her aunt, and we must get back to doing that.” Iverson touched Catalina’s elbow and quickly ushered her into the crowded drawing room without another glance toward Miss Taylor.
“Oh, please don’t leave Miss Taylor on my account, Mr. Brentwood,” she said as he walked beside her. “I certainly don’t need you to help me find Aunt Elle.”
“No?” He grinned. “Fine, but I need you to help me get away from Miss Taylor.”
“That surprises me. She looked as if she was just about ready to pounce on you and gobble you up for her dinner.”
Iverson chuckled freely. “Now, now, Miss Crisp, be careful. You are picking up my bad habits.”
“Maybe, but I’m certain if you had stayed a moment longer she would have been begging you to call on her and take her for a ride in the park in your fast curricle.”
“What makes you think my curricle is fast?”
She sipped her champagne and watched him over the rim of her glass. When she lowered it, she said, “Because you are.”
“Ah, I see. I consider that a compliment, and I thank you. But I have no desire to call on Miss Taylor and take her anywhere. But perhaps I can take you for a ride in the park some day.” Iverson stunned himself by that comment. Where did that thought come from? He hadn’t even thought about the possibility of asking Miss Crisp to go for a ride with him.
“Not me, sir. I don’t have time for such idle pleasantries.”
Iverson stopped to let an aging dowager pass and then hurried to catch up with Miss Crisp again. “No time for an afternoon social life? Why not?”
“I have a large house and staff to manage, and all of it keeps me quite busy.”
“Doesn’t your aunt help?”
“Very little. She keeps busy with her own life.”
“Then you need a secretary or an assistant so you can have an afternoon or two a week to take a walk in the park and watch all the handsome gentlemen sporting around on their fine steeds or racing their curricles.”
Catalina looked at him and laughed again. He loved seeing her eyes sparkle with humor. He remembered Lord Waldo saying she had never allowed a gentleman to call on her. That surprised and bothered him. She was alluring, intelligent, and passionate, as well as compassionate. He thought about their kiss, and his throat tightened. Oh, yes, she needed to experience and enjoy the pleasures in life, and that included having a gentleman in her life—a deserving gentleman, of course.
“I am not interested in seeing how well a young blade
can manage four bays or a black stallion, Mr. Brentwood. I have no inclination for such fanciful outings. And I have no need for an assistant. I am well able to take care of everything for my father and our household.” She stopped just halfway around the ballroom and said, “Look, there’s my aunt.”
Iverson glanced over to where she was pointing and saw Mrs. Gottfried sitting along the wall with Lady Windham, sipping from a glass.
“Mrs. Gottfried seems perfectly fine to me,” he said.
“Yes, she does seem to be doing well tonight. She and Lady Windham have been friends for years and always have much to talk about.”
“I assume there is still no sign of the missing Sir Phillip,” he said in a tone much like he would have used if he’d been asking about the weather.
“Not as of the time I left the house tonight.”
“Miss Crisp, Miss Crisp.”
Iverson looked around to see the pompous Lord Snellingly waving his lace-trimmed handkerchief and hurrying their way. Iverson swore to himself as the earl greeted them.
“Good evening, Mr. Brentwood, and lovely to see you, Miss Crisp. You look divinely beautiful tonight, as always.”
Miss Crisp curtseyed, and with a smile, said, “Thank you, Lord Snellingly.”
“Your father missed our Royal Poet’s Society meeting last night. I do hope he’s not ill?”
“No, he’s away for a few days.”
“Again? Well, never mind, but I did want him to hear my latest verse.” He sniffed into his handkerchief. “He always gives me such encouragement.”
Iverson tensed. He knew what Miss Crisp was going to say before the words left her mouth.
“Perhaps I could listen to it for you, Lord Snellingly,” she said. “I’m not as talented as my father, and I certainly don’t have his ear for verse, but you know I love all poetry.”
“Yes,” Iverson spoke up. “But you’ll have to hear it at another time. Remember, your aunt was looking for you, and you don’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Oh, but I can see she is doing quite well and not in need of any attention from me at the moment.”
Iverson groaned. He didn’t know if he could bear listening to the man’s uninspiring poetry even for the opportunity to spend a few more minutes in Miss Crisp’s company.
“Iverson, there you are.”
At the sound of his brother’s voice, Iverson turned and saw Matson wading through the swarm toward him. Perfect timing.
“And here comes my brother, Miss Crisp. Perhaps you can listen to the poetry at another time. I want to introduce Matson before I deliver you to Mrs. Gottfried. Please excuse us, Lord Snellingly.”
Iverson touched her elbow and ushered her forward, leaving the befuddled-looking earl behind them and feeling as if he’d just managed to dodge the blade of a sharp knife.
He had wondered how long it would take Matson to find him. He knew his brother well, and he was sure Matson was dying to meet Miss Crisp.
“Matson, let me introduce Miss Crisp,” Iverson said after his brother stopped in front of them.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Crisp,” Matson said after proper greetings were made.
“And I you, Mr. Brentwood. But after talking with your brother just now, perhaps it’s better you not put any stock in what he has to say about me.”
“Are you saying I can’t be trusted?” Iverson asked her.
A glint of humor in her eyes made his stomach do a slow roll that thrilled him all the way down to his toes. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Actually,” Matson said, “most of what I heard about you came from Miss Babs Whitehouse. She said the two of you belong to the same poetry and reading society.”
Miss Crisp smiled. “Oh, yes, Babs. She’s quite vocal in her opinions on everything.”
“And she’s a good friend of our sister-in-law, Lady Gabrielle, who is now our brother’s viscountess.”
“Yes, I had heard about their marriage. I don’t know Lady Brentwood well, but she seems a lovely person.”
Iverson sipped his champagne and watched how quickly and easily Matson had Miss Crisp talking and smiling at him. As usual, Matson always knew just what to say and how to say it. It hadn’t entered Iverson’s mind to try to get a conversation going with her about mutual friends.
When he was with her, he had a difficult time keeping his mind from going where it shouldn’t go. He looked at Miss Crisp and realized he didn’t like seeing her smiling at Matson any better than when she smiled at the portly earl. She had definitely enchanted him. And right now, he didn’t know what he was going to do about it.
“Lady Gabrielle was best known by everyone for her dog, Brutus,” Miss Crisp said. “When they walked together in the park, no one came near them.”
“Except for Brent, our brother,” Iverson reminded him. “Remember, he met her in the park.”
“I didn’t know that,” Miss Crisp added.
“Yes, Brent often mentioned Brutus was the biggest mastiff he had ever seen.”
Iverson looked at Miss Crisp, who was thoroughly engaged in the conversation about the animal, and decided you could never go wrong talking about a dog, so he added, “After Brutus’s death, our brother gave Lady Gabrielle another mastiff as a gift.”
“I hadn’t heard,” she said. “That was thoughtful of him.”
“Yes, they’ll be back in Town for the Season, and no doubt they will bring the new dog with them.”
“I’m sure I will see her while she is in London. Would you two gentlemen excuse me? I should go and check on my aunt. I heard the clock strike twelve some time ago, so we should be going.”
Still unprepared to say good night to Miss Crisp, Iverson took her empty champagne glass and placed it on a table. “I’ll walk with you so I can say hello to her.”
They said their good-byes to Matson, and then Miss Crisp said, “It’s not necessary for you to see me to my aunt. There is a young lady over to your left who is trying desperately to gain your attention. It would be a shame to deny her.”
Iverson wasn’t falling for that trick. He didn’t look to his left. “I’m sure she was looking at Matson, not me.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think so,” she said as they wound their way around the dance floor to get to where her aunt was sitting. She sighed wistfully. “I kept looking at your brother and thinking it must be wonderful to have a brother.”
“I have two,” Iverson reminded her.
“Even better. I would have loved to have had a brother or sister. But my mother was very fragile. There were other children for her and my father, but unfortunately, none other than myself survived.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said and realized he was.
By the look in her eyes, he knew not having a brother or sister saddened her. He supposed it was natural to want a sibling, someone to confide in, argue with, and compete against. Even though there were many times he wished he wasn’t a twin, he was glad he had brothers. Perhaps not having a brother or sister was the reason Miss Crisp was so kind and gentle with the odd mixture of misfits she had working for her. They would be unemployable elsewhere.
Iverson smiled to himself. She was an angel of kindness to her servants, but she could be tough as new leather when she was sparring with him. Oh, yes, she definitely had him on her hook, and she was cleverly pulling him in. What he didn’t know yet was if she knew it.
Nine
Patience is the companion of wisdom.
—St. Augustine
Catalina was smitten by the man.
Why and how it happened she had no idea. He was handsome. He was charming. He was an admitted rake and scoundrel who had threatened to harm her father, and still she found herself laughing with him and teasing him. For the first time in her life, she wanted to flirt with a man and dance with him. He delighted her, and even now, though she had left his company mere minutes ago, she was already wondering when she would see him again.
No, she was more
than smitten. She was besotted, completely and utterly foolish over him! And she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.
Catalina looked over at her aunt while Lady Windham’s servant helped her with her velvet cloak. Aunt Elle’s face was flushed, but she seemed steady on her feet, for which Catalina was grateful. But it was already later than they usually stayed, and she needed to get her aunt home.
If not for her aunt, Catalina would have stayed longer at the party and found a way to make Mr. Brentwood ask her to dance. If for no other reason than he’d told her wasn’t going to ask her.
She turned so the servant could place her cloak on her shoulders, and she saw Mr. Brentwood leaning against the door frame leading from the drawing room into the vestibule, watching her. He gave her a soft smile, and Catalina’s stomach tumbled. Her breath caught in her throat, and she remembered his kisses and all the heady sensations that had erupted inside her when their lips met. She remembered the feel of his soft, pliant lips on hers—warm, moist, enticing. She remembered the sensations that shimmered, spiraled, and surged through her when he caught her up to him and embraced her in his protective, powerful arms.
It had been an overwhelming, breathtaking experience to be held so close to a man that she felt his strength, his warmth, and the beat of his heart. And she had no doubts she wanted him to hold her and kiss her again and again. And by the way he was looking at her, he knew that, too. For the first time in her life, she had the feeling her heart was not safe.
Suddenly, Miss Babs Whitehead appeared at his side, and his attention was diverted to her.
Catalina turned away.
The way Mr. Brentwood made her feel was maddening, Catalina thought as she and her aunt stepped into the chilling night air. She wanted to be free to explore and enjoy all the wonderful feelings Mr. Brentwood created inside her, but how could she when the rest of A Tale of Three Gentlemen stood between them?
The music and laughter of the party grew faint as they walked away from the house to where they would wait for their carriage to come around. The night was clear and dry, making the streetlamps on the fashionable Mayfair Street unusually bright. Aunt Elle chattered about some gossip she’d heard from Lady Windham, but Catalina couldn’t focus on what her aunt was saying about who was seen in the garden with whom. When Mr. Brentwood was on her mind, there was no room in her thoughts for anyone but him, and that troubled her.
