by Shana Galen
And now here she was. And she had kept to her vows as well. He hadn’t expected that of her and would not have faulted her if she hadn’t. But perhaps it meant something that they’d found each other after years of honoring their vows without knowing if they’d ever be together again.
Or perhaps he wanted it to mean something. She might still want an annulment. He’d been her path to freedom before, and he didn’t want to be the one who closed the door on her now.
“You rise early,” she murmured from the bed.
He turned, clenching his fists when he saw her rumpled hair and her sleepy eyes. He was testing his self-control mightily these days.
“I suppose it’s an old habit. Did I wake you?”
“No. I am also in the habit of waking early.” She looked down, her cheeks coloring. “I am at a loss for words this morning. I have never spent the night in the bed of a man before.”
He knew what she was wondering—had things changed between them, and if so, how was she to act now?
Things had changed, or so he hoped. “I’d like you to spend the night here again,” he said.
“I would like that too.” She put her hands to her cheeks. “I do not know if I should even say such things.”
“I think you should say them much more often,” he teased. But he could see she still felt uncomfortable. “Why don’t I leave you to dress and you can join me to break your fast when you are ready?”
He left her and encountered Tigrino sitting outside the door. Tigrino rose and meowed loudly. “I suppose you are hungry and feeling neglected.”
The cat bumped his head on Benedict’s leg.
“Come on then. I’ll see what I can find for you to eat.”
A short while later, Ines and Catarina entered the dining room. Catarina’s cheeks were still pink, and Ines was smiling. “I asked my sister where she was last night,” Ines said. “She will not answer. Do you know, senhor?”
“I do,” he said, rising and pulling out chairs for both of them.
Ines nodded. “Good. I slept very well without her kicking me and stealing the covers. Perhaps she can sleep wherever she slept last night tonight.”
Catarina elbowed her sister. “Ines, you are scandalous. Keep quiet.”
Ines stuck her tongue out, and Catarina looked as though she sorely wanted to strike her.
“I thought we would go to Bond Street today,” Benedict said, changing the topic. “I have made inquiries and have it on good authority that is the place to buy quality thread.”
“Excellent. When can we go?” Catarina asked.
“I’ve ordered the coach for ten.”
WHEN THE COACH ARRIVED, he handed the two ladies up and nodded to the coachman in the box and the footman holding on to the back. The men of his former troop looked very believable—Colin more than Ewan, of course, but then Colin was a master of disguises and Ewan was difficult to ignore. Benedict wasn’t taking any chances with Juan Carlos.
They had no trouble en route to Bond Street, and the sisters chattered constantly about the shops they passed and the ladies out walking and the general business of London. Benedict found he enjoyed their talk. It had been years since he’d lived with his family, and he’d missed listening to his two sisters talk.
Finally, the carriage halted, and Benedict led the ladies to a shop he’d been told might have what the women wanted. Ewan trailed them, causing men and women to part like the Red Sea before Moses.
“Are all footmen so large?” Catarina asked when they entered the shop, Ewan standing guard outside.
“Yes,” Benedict said without blinking.
He wasn’t sure she believed him, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she approached a clerk and asked to see their thread. An hour later, Ewan was slouched against the door outside and Benedict wanted to pull his hair out. How the hell difficult was it to buy thread? They didn’t even need colored thread, just white. It seemed to him Catarina and her sister had inspected every piece of thread in the shop and dismissed all of them as inferior.
He still harbored a faint hope that the clerk would find something to appease the women, but when he returned with his arms raised as though in surrender, Benedict wanted to groan.
“Thank you, anyway,” Catarina said. “We will go elsewhere.”
“You may go elsewhere,” the man said, “But you won’t find any better. We have the best thread in the country. The best modistes in London buy from us.”
“Then they are either blind or stupid,” Ines said. “Because anyone could see this thread is inferior.”
“We should go now.” Benedict stepped between the clerk and his charges and offered his arm to Catarina.
“Gladly.” Catarina took his arm and marched out the door. Outside, Ewan gave Benedict a baleful look.
“Where shall we go now?” Catarina asked.
“That was the shop everyone recommended,” Benedict said. “I don’t know any others.”
“Surely there must be others.” Catarina began to walk, pulling Benedict with her. “Look at all the shops here. We will probably find what we want with a little more effort.”
Indeed, there were more shops. Many more. And the women inspected the thread at each one. Benedict gave in to curiosity and listened to their discussion and reasons for dismissing some thread and considering others. Finally, at one shop in the back of an arcade, the women bought a small measure of thread.
Benedict carried it out. “So this is what you want?”
“Yes,” Ines said. “Do you see the texture is fine but the thread is sturdy? And the color is quite pure. Not irregular as in some of the other samples we’ve seen.”
“It is too bad this was all she had,” Catarina said. “It won’t be enough to make more than a few items.”
Ewan came to stand behind them, looking hungry and cross.
“She said she would try to acquire more,” Benedict said. “We can come back again in a few days.”
“Surely, we could look at a few more shops,” Catarina said. “There are some we have not yet visited.”
Ewan made a sound like a growl behind them.
“Let’s stop for tea first,” Benedict said. “I’m famished.”
“Oh, I am not hungry at all,” Catarina argued.
Ines was nodding, though. “I would like that. Catarina, how can you say no? You want to visit an English tea shop, yes?”
ONCE THEY ARRIVED AT the quaint little shop, Catarina was glad she had agreed. The shop had lace curtains—Mechlin lace, she decided—and platters of delicious smelling pastries on display. Throughout the shop, small wooden tables were scattered, surrounded by chairs with soft, colorful cushions.
Benedict directed the ladies to sit and returned shortly with tea and a plate of small cakes. Catarina realized she was actually quite famished, and she and Ines had finished the cakes and a cup of tea in quick order.
“But you did not partake, senhor,” Ines protested, pointing to Benedict’s empty plate.
“My pleasure was all in watching you indulge.” He caught Catarina’s eye and winked at her. She swallowed. Last night it had seemed all his pleasure was in giving pleasure to her. Did he want none for himself or did he not want to trap himself into marriage with her? Suddenly, she felt quite selfish for dragging him about all morning. Surely, he had better things to do than squire them about.
“You know, I am rather more tired than I thought,” she said. “Perhaps we should return home and come back in a few days’ time.”
“Catarina!” Ines whined as she had when she’d been a child. “Just a few more shops.”
“Not today,” she said firmly.
“I agree,” Benedict said. “I think we have tested our luck long enough. Even with a footman to protect us, I’d rather not meet Juan Carlos.”
Ines sighed. “Oh, fine.”
“Would you like to take some pastries to our footman?” Benedict asked Ines. “I’ll buy a bag, and you can deliver them to him.”
Ine
s face lit up. “Oh, yes, please.”
Catarina sipped the rest of her tea then smiled while Ines carried the bag to the footman outside. “I hope she doesn’t flirt too outrageously,” she said when Benedict reclaimed his seat.
“He’s immune to that sort of thing. But she seemed to need something to do.”
“I am afraid the last few weeks have been very difficult for her. She is a spirited girl, and she does not want to stay inside day after day and night after night. She wants company and entertainment.”
“I’m sure it won’t be long now until she’s able to return to her regular life.” He’d been looking at Ines through the window, where she had obviously given up trying to engage the footman. But now his brow furrowed, and he rose hastily.
“What is wrong?” Catarina asked.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment. Do not move from this seat.”
“But what has—”
He was already striding out the door, and now she saw the coachman had arrived. Had something happened to the carriage? She watched the three men speak, heads close together so Ines could not hear, and so intent was her attention on them, she didn’t see the man sit down at the chair Benedict had just vacated.
“More tea?” he asked, lifting the pot.
Catarina gasped at Miguel de la Fuente. She hadn’t even seen him come in. He looked quite sober. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him sober. She might never have seen him sober.
“What do you want?” she hissed.
“I have a message for you,” he said, sitting back, looking quite comfortable in Benedict’s chair.
“What is it?”
“My father says he will give you one last chance. You do not have to marry me. You can have your colonel.” He waved to the window where Benedict could still be seen talking with the coachman and footman. “But you must sell him your shop in Barcelona and agree never to make Catarina lace again. He has drawn up papers.” He withdrew them from his coat now and placed them on the table between them. “Sign them or you will regret it.”
How strange to see Miguel sober and speaking to her so casually, as if he had not tried to rape her the last time they had seen each other.
“What will happen if I do not sign?”
He gave her a regretful look. “I do not know, but I would not defy him. Buenos tarde.” And he was up and walking away as the door flung open and three men—Benedict and his servants—sprinted inside.
“Did he hurt you?” Benedict rushed up to her and took her by the shoulders.
“Where did he go?” the footman asked.
“Out the back!” the coachman yelled, gesturing toward the back of the shop.
“I am fine,” Catarina said. “He came to deliver a message.”
“What’s that?” Benedict asked.
“Sell him my business or else.” She pointed to the papers on the table, her fingers shaking. “Where is Ines?”
“I am here,” she said. “Your husband almost ripped my arm off pulling me inside.”
“Good. I want you close to me,” Catarina rose and hugged her sister. “Go after him.” She waved a hand toward the back of the tea shop. “I know you want to, Benedict. We will wait here.”
The two women sat again, Catarina attempting to sip her now cold tea without spilling it all over her bodice. Her hands were shaking badly. The shop was deathly quiet except for the shrill tinkling of the bell over the door. The other patrons were quickly finishing their tea and leaving.
Finally, Benedict returned with the footman and coachman, who she was beginning to suspect were not footmen and coachmen at all. “He’s gone,” Benedict panted. “He must have had a carriage waiting.”
“I saw him walking along the street,” the coachman said, “but he went into a tailor’s shop. He must have gone out the back and come in here without us seeing.”
Catarina narrowed her eyes. “Do I know you?”
He raised his brows. “You might.”
“Let’s go home,” Benedict said. “I want the ladies out of danger.”
Everyone in the shop watched them as they exited the building and walked to the carriage. Catarina no longer felt excitement about finding the thread she’d wanted. She’d allowed herself to forget about Juan Carlos, to pretend he wasn’t still a threat. But he hadn’t forgotten her. And he still wanted to take everything she’d built and worked so hard for.
“While I hesitate to call what happened today a positive sign,” Benedict said once they were in the carriage and on the way back to Jermyn Street, “I am not wholly discouraged.”
Catarina held up the contract, which she’d refused to relinquish. “He wants me to sign away my business and sole rights to make the lace that bears my name.”
“And what will he do if you refuse?”
“I do not know.” She and Ines were seated across from him on the front-facing seat. “Something awful, I am sure.”
“He’ll never get close enough to do something to you, and notice he’s no longer threatening to reveal your secret.”
“He can’t without hurting his own reputation.”
Ines leaned forward. “He does not have to say much. A few whispered words are all it takes to damage the good name of a lady.”
At any other time, Catarina would have smiled and cheered. She’d been cautioning Ines to curb her behavior for years with that advice. She hadn’t thought Ines was listening. Obviously, she had been, and she was correct. A few hints that Catarina had a scandal she kept hidden and the wealthy would balk at wearing her tainted wares.
“I think you underestimate the power of my good name.” Benedict tapped his fingers on the seat. “Finally, my reputation as a war hero might do some good.”
“More decorated men than you have been taken lower by their wives, senhor.” And she did not want to be the woman who caused him scandal or loss of prestige.
But he seemed unfazed. “Not if the only evidence against them is vague rumor.” He plucked the contract from Catarina’s hand and ripped it in half. “You’d better go home and make more lace, ladies. Once Lady Philomena shows off her handkerchief, you’ll be in high demand.”
Twelve
“This is the way to kill a wife with kindness.”
The Taming of the Shrew, William Shakespeare
BENEDICT COULDN’T HAVE known how prescient his words would be. Lady Philomena attended an inordinate number of social functions and apparently waved her handkerchief about at all of them. At the Draven Club, Phineas complained that his sister had dropped the wipe on the floor so much people were likely to mistake it for a mop.
But the lady’s exhibition of the handkerchief had proved effective. Several gentlemen had come to call on Benedict to order Catarina lace pieces for their wives. Ladies could not call at a gentleman’s home alone, especially if they were not acquainted with the man’s wife, which meant Benedict also received invitations to several gatherings.
He showed the invitations to Catarina at dinner each night. She took them and perused them slowly, her spoken English being better than her ability to read it.
This evening at dinner, she looked lovely in a dark gold dress with lace at the sleeves and her hair done up in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She hadn’t come to his room in two nights. He wanted to ask her why, but he didn’t want her to think he was angry or expected her to come to him. She was obviously a woman used to her independence.
But he missed kissing her, touching her, lying beside her.
“Benedict?”
He blinked. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I said, do you want to attend any of these?”
He sipped his soup, considering. “I have no objection. They might be good for your business.” He glanced at Ines who was practically jumping in her seat. “And I believe Miss Neves might like to get out for an afternoon.”
“I would! I would!”
Catarina set the invitations beside her plate. Ines
immediately snatched them up. “Do you think it safe?”
“Lady Philomena’s garden party will be safe enough.”
“Is it not too cold for a garden party?” Catarina asked.
“The duke has an extensive greenhouse as well as braziers that servants will set out to warm the air. With enough money, one can conjure spring even this late into fall.”
“I see.”
“That event will be on the grounds of the duke’s town house, and although it would be difficult for anyone not invited to make his way inside, I can ask Lord Phineas to make sure the servants are vigilant.”
“What would I say to a duke and his friends?”
“It’s the duke’s sister and her friends, and you really only need three topics of conversation.”
“What are those?”
“The weather, the food being served, and the Prince Regent’s latest scandal.”
She looked unconvinced.
“It would certainly make my life easier,” Benedict said, taking another sip of soup. “You could meet the ladies and sell to them directly, rather than having to go through their husbands and me.”
She sighed. “We should go then. When is it?” She glanced at Ines who still had the stack of invitations.
Ines frowned at the vellum, shifting one sheet on top of the other.
“Tomorrow at three,” Benedict answered.
“Tomorrow? I have nothing to wear.”
He waved his soup spoon. “Wear the dress you have on now. You look beautiful in it.”
Ines covered her mouth, and Catarina looked down at her dress. “This is a dinner dress.” From the way she jolted, Ines must have kicked her under the table. “Er—thank you for the compliment.”
“We will find something, senhor,” Ines promised.
After dinner she led Catarina to their bedroom, and he didn’t see either of them the rest of the evening. He was surprised when the knock sounded on his bed chamber door. He didn’t make the mistake of assuming it was Ward this time. He opened it, hoping against hope it was not Ward, and he wasn’t disappointed. Catarina stood before him, her hair loose about her dressing gown. Good God, but she was a vision. She seemed more beautiful every time he saw her.
