A Perilous Attraction

“My lord, there is something I must say to you.”

Caldbeck tipped his head a fraction of an inch in inquiry.

“I…I am sorry for what I said earlier today. About your buying me, I mean. You have, in fact, rescued me, and you have gone to a great deal of trouble to provide me with a real wedding celebration and lovely flowers and these beautiful pearls.” She touched the strand at her throat. “You did not have to do that under the circumstances. I…it….You were very kind. How in the world did you manage it?”

Caldbeck did not quite shrug. He simply opened one hand, palm up. “Most of the arrangements were Helen’s doing. She is an excellent hostess. I have known for some time in what case your uncle stood and have been making plans.”

Catherine shook her head, eyes wide in amazement. “You have been planning….And you never even asked me?”

Caldbeck nodded. “I should have, perhaps. However, I thought it highly likely that you would refuse my suit if not given a compelling reason to accept it. I did not want you to develop a resistance to the notion.”

Some of Catherine’s annoyance returned. “And you had the effrontery—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowed in thought. “But this doesn’t make sense. If you knew that I would soon be in a desperate situation, you had no need to contract with my uncle. Knowing I would be destitute, you might have just as easily given me the same argument that you did this morning. I would have had no more options. Why did you go to such expense?”

“The arrangement with your uncle made the idea of marriage to me appear a fait accompli. Besides, if Maury remained in England, he would forever be an embarrassment to you and an annoyance to us both.”

Catherine digested this information in silence, then asked, “Did you suggest that he emigrate to America?”

“I insisted on it.”

Catherine’s mind swam with revelations about this man that she had wed. “Well…I must offer my thanks for that. However, I must also say that I resent your arranging for my capitulation without ever considering my feelings! What if I had wished to marry someone else?”

“You would have said so.”

“You might have at least talked to me.”

“I did talk to you—this morning. Or, rather, yesterday.” He looked at her with mild interest.

“Yes…well…Still, if you knew about Uncle Ambrose, why did you wait so long and rush me into it this way?”

“I have always found timing to be of the essence in accomplishing one’s goals.”

Catherine heaved a frustrated sigh. Apparently, his lordship was a very cool gambler. And, damn him, he had an answer for everything—and all the efficiency and sensibility of a machine!

Suddenly Catherine felt very tired. It had been a grueling twenty-four hours. She had suddenly lost all control of her life—her home, her money, her dream of independence. And, she realized with a stab of alarm, the hardest part yet loomed. She would soon lose control of even her body. She felt the blood flooding into her face.

Caldbeck brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “Do not be anxious, Kate. You are exhausted, and while I could not give you the time you wanted to become accustomed to the idea of marriage to me before, I now can. I shall not press you tonight to fulfill your part of our bargain. We have a great deal to do tomorrow, and I then wish to be on the road to Yorkshire the next day. I shall welcome you to Wulfdale as my bride.”

Relief and disappointment fought for ascendancy in Catherine’s breast. It seemed she was to remain in ignorance for a few more days. Yet she could not but be glad for the reprieve. Perhaps she would be better prepared to accept this man as her husband after being in his company for the time it would take to travel to Yorkshire.

She smiled up at him. “You are very considerate, my lord. I am very weary. However, I do keep my word. If you want—”

“No, Kate. Even though I am eager to consummate our agreement, I shall wait.”

Eager? Caldbeck sounded as cool and polite as if they had been discussing a trip to the theater.

The next morning Catherine, an early riser, surprised his lordship at the breakfast table. He rose and helped her seat herself across the table from his own place, drawing out her chair.

“You are abroad early. It is my experience of ladies that they rarely appear before noon.”

My experience of ladies? What experience? Catherine racked her brain for some gossip that she might have heard concerning Lord Caldbeck’s mistress—or lack thereof. Nothing came to mind. Could it be possible, at his age, that he did not have one? And come to think of it… “Excuse me, my lord. May I know how old you are?”

It could not be said that Caldbeck appeared startled, but he lifted his gaze from his breakfast and looked at her. “I am five-and-thirty. Why do you ask?”

Catherine flushed. “No real reason. I have just been realizing how little I know about you. Your hair…” She stopped, fearing to offend him. He, of course, showed no sign of offense, or of anything else.

“Yes. The men of my family gray very early.” The earl returned his attention to his beef and eggs. Catherine studied her new husband. Five-and-thirty. Yes, in spite of his hair, he did not look old. A few marks of maturity could be seen. Just the slightest receding at the temples, perhaps, revealed by the austere style. How did he keep his hair so smoothly brushed back without the pomade so many men used?

Only a few lines marred his face—a handsome face of angular planes, narrow with a straight nose and a decisive jaw. The firm lips did not frown, but neither did they smile, remaining consistently uncommunicative. But warm. Warm lips. Catherine flushed a bit at the memory.

The object of her scrutiny had a few more bites of his beef, flicked a crumb from his dove gray coat and changed the subject. “I would like for you to be present today for a meeting with my man of business. We must finalize the arrangements for your jointure.”

“My jointure! Good heavens, this is the first I have thought of that. Surely my uncle did not—”

“No. Maury did not think of that, either.”

Did she hear a hint of sarcasm in his voice—of contempt, perhaps? Catherine could not be sure. “Then why…?”

“Because, along with your beautiful person, I have accepted a responsibility. I must see you are provided for in the event of my demise. Would you like to have your uncle’s house as a part of the settlement? We have no way of knowing at this moment who my heir might be in future years. You should have a place of your own.”

His heir! Catherine swallowed her bite of eggs abruptly. Another issue that had not been discussed. She put her fear firmly aside and considered his question for a moment. She had never been happy in that house. “No. I am not fond of the place.” A roguish expression lit her face. “Besides, it has a broken door.”

Her husband looked at her quickly, and one eyebrow twitched. “So it does.”

“However, since you already own it…”

“No. I shall sell it and buy something you prefer. We shall meet with Guildford at two. Until then I have other errands. Meantime, you should be preparing to get an early start in the morning.”

Rising from the table, he started for the door, then turned back. “If you need to do any shopping in London, I have had your allowance deposited to your account. Good day.”

Catherine watched his departing back thoughtfully. Perhaps she had not made such a bad bargain, after all. Her new mate might not be as exciting as she could wish, he might be just a bit intimidating, and he was definitely controlling her, but he also had a number of sterling qualities. At the present they were behaving as strangers—courteous, distant, uninvolved—as if they were both taking care to be on their best behavior. How long would that last? And what would replace it?

She still simmered over his high-handed arrangements to constrain her to accept him. He had not exactly tricked her into marriage, but he had certainly maneuvered her, and she resented it. She knew that in time she would erupt. How would he react? The small spark of fear flared for moment, but considering his restrained manner, Catherine did not believe he would hurt her in anger. Perhaps he would not react at all.

A depressing thought.

At least she would not have to worry about her security.

Stifle her he might, but abandon her he would not.

It was upon him again. The restlessness, the guilt, the disgust. The peaceful Yorkshire Dales held no peace for him, gazing at the soft moon, no solace. He jabbed the horse’s sides impatiently, cursing when the animal reared before pounding down the slope into the valley. It was of no use. He could not outrun the torment. Soon he must act. Soon.

Chapter Three

Catherine’s vivid carriage ensemble splashed emerald against the silver-gray of the traveling coach, contrasting brightly with the few glowing curls revealed by her bonnet. Caldbeck, as usual in immaculate dove-gray, handed her up while she yet called instructions to Sally. Her maid, nodding her understanding, climbed into the coach she would share with his lordship’s valet, Hardraw. Gray-liveried footmen found their places, and the postilions set the powerful team of matched grays in motion.

Catherine, excited to be starting on the longest journey she had ever made, yet felt sad to be leaving London. She had lived in Town all her life, as did all her friends. When might she see Liza again? Yorkshire was much too far away from London for a casual visit. It might be months or even years.

How she would miss her! Liza’s veneer of outward silliness covered a shrewd mind and a kind heart. She had been Catherine’s confidante for all the lonely years since Catherine had lost her parents. And lucky Liza had a husband who adored her!

Catherine, one cheek resting against the window, watched the passing scene as they swept through the busy streets. In spite of herself the warmth of a tear trickled down her face. She surreptitiously blotted it away with her scrap of a lace handkerchief. A second tear followed the first, and soon the handkerchief became a soggy mess. Catherine dropped it into her reticule, sniffing as quietly as she could manage. A flicker of white from the far side of the coach caught her eye. Turning ever so slightly toward it, she discovered a large, white square of linen being offered to her.

Catherine took it, choking out her thanks. As she blew her nose, she felt the warmth of a large hand on her knee. Caldbeck said nothing, but did not move his hand until they had left London behind. At last her sobs grew silent, her eyes were again dry and her nose ceased running. He then began to point out items of interest along the road, calling her attention to the rich colors of fall and the beauty of the countryside.

“And the roads, so far, are better than I had hoped. I’m afraid that the farther north we get, the worse they will become. We’ve had a very wet summer followed by a dry autumn. The ruts will be hardened into stone.”

“How long do you expect us to be on the road?”

Caldbeck shifted to lean comfortably against the velvet upholstery in his corner, facing her. Catherine followed his example in her own corner.

“Ordinarily four days. If we encounter very bad roads, it will take another day, and if you like, we might take a day of rest near the Peak District. It is quite a pleasing sight at this time of year.”

A pleasing sight. Catherine smiled to herself. His lordship was hardly given to hyperbole. Thinking back, she remembered that the strongest word she had ever heard him use was “beautiful.” At the time she had thought it only a gentlemanly compliment, but she begin to hear a different significance.

“You seem to have a great appreciation of beautiful sights.”

Caldbeck considered a moment. “Yes. I have.”

Silence fell. So much for that conversational gambit. Catherine tried again. “Is Wulfdale very lovely?”

“I consider it so.”

She waited a moment, then sighed. “Tell me about it.”

After a thoughtful minute, Caldbeck nodded. “The house is very old and has been enlarged in many stages, some of them more attractive than others. It began in the twelfth century as a pele tower. Then a hall was added, and it continued to grow from there. The Tudor portions are a veritable maze, but the recent sections are more tasteful. The Georgian front was finished in 1750, and is quite impressive. I think you will like it.”

Well, thought Catherine, that’s some progress. “Are there gardens?”

“Yes. Several, in fact.”

Did she hear a bit more warmth in his voice? Catherine pricked her ears, but could not be sure.

“We have a knot garden, and one for roses, but my favorites are the natural garden and the woodland. You should find them very pretty in their autumn foliage.”

Sudden perception dawned on Catherine. He wants me to like the place. He should, after trapping me into this marriage! In spite of the annoying reflection, the thought touched her.

“I’m sure I shall like it very much.” She smiled. “And tell me…does Wulfdale have a ghost?”

“A ghost?”

“Yes, of course. A house that old must surely have at least one ghost?”

His lordship appeared to consider. “Nothing much. Unless you count the headless bride. She is very seldom seen.”

Catherine, who loved ghost stories, clapped her hands over her mouth in delight. “The…the what?”

“Headless bride. But she carries her head, of course, with her veil draped over her arm.”

“Oh.” Catherine felt a little thrill slide down her backbone. “And how…?”

Caldbeck viewed her levelly. “How did she lose her head?”

Catherine nodded.

“She displeased her husband, the first earl.”

His frigid voice blew over her like a winter storm, quenching her enjoyment of the story. For a moment Catherine sat silent with horror. What did that frozen countenance hide? She looked more closely at her new husband. She could see no change in the chill eyes, but felt something….She couldn’t quite put her finger on it….She spoke uncertainly, eyes narrowed.

“My lord, are you teasing me?”

Caldbeck’s silvery eyes regarded her without expression.

“I?” asked his lordship.

Taking stock of her new husband, Catherine decided that she did know more about him than she had when she married him. But not much.

He was quite ruthless. She still felt very cautious with him. He had not hesitated to kick her door in, and the way he had orchestrated her acceptance of his proposal was as masterful as it was infuriating. Catherine still chafed at having been so manipulated. Nonetheless, her faults did not include repining. Having agreed, she would do what she could to make the best of the situation.

Her curiosity regarding the marriage bed increased in direct proportion to the time spent with him in the close confines of the carriage. A subtle scent surrounded him, warm, almost smoky, mixed with wool and starch. It stirred her senses. She found herself casting furtive glances across the width of the carriage. Caldbeck sat as coolly as ever, one booted leg propped on the opposite seat to buttress himself against the lurching of the coach.

As he had predicted, the roads had gotten steadily worse. Catherine rocked back and forth in the seat, clinging to the overhead strap and bouncing against the wall of the narrow space. By the fifth day, having slept—alone—in several inns, in varying degrees of discomfort, she felt decidedly buffeted and bruised. Her long legs would reach the far seat, and unladylike though it might be, she was on the verge of steadying herself as he did.

As though he read her mind, Caldbeck turned his gray gaze on her and held out one hand. “Come here, Kate.”

Startled, Catherine looked at him in question. Surely he would not choose such a moment to make love to her!

“You are being unmercifully battered by this infernal jolting. Here…No, turn, so.” Following his guiding hands, Catherine found herself leaning across his lap, her breasts against his chest, her feet drawn up onto the seat. One strong leg, knee bent, now braced her back, and an equally muscular arm gripped the strap and supported her head. “Is that better?”

She looked up shyly to answer and found penetrating eyes looking intently into hers. Her breathing faltered, and her loins flooded with warmth. Without taking his eyes from her face, Caldbeck untied her bonnet ribbons with his free hand and tossed the confection onto the opposite seat. Liberated, her bright hair flared into a nimbus around her face. His fingers threaded through the glowing cloud and lifted her head.

His eyes might be cold, but his lips were very warm. So was his tongue. He brushed it along her mouth, inviting her to open. After a moment’s hesitation she did so and felt an intriguing tickle on the inner side of her lip. She gasped for breath, and his tongue slid farther into her. Catherine went suddenly weak.

At that inopportune instant the coach hit an especially deep pothole, jerking her face away from his. She lifted her eyes and found him gazing into them. She thought that, perhaps, he sighed.

“Try to sleep, Kate. I believe we should push on to Wulfdale tonight, and it will be quite late before we arrive.”

So, protected by his strong body, she did.

It was indeed late when the carriage turned onto better-kept roads and made its way across Wulfdale’s rolling hills to the lights of the looming gray-stone mansion. At the sound of wheels in the drive, the old house came to life. Footmen in gray livery hastened down the front steps, and grooms came running from the stables. Catherine shivered with fatigue and cold as Caldbeck lifted her off the coach steps into the chill night air.

With great dignity a portly, silver-haired man descended the steps and bowed. “My lord, welcome home. My lady.” The butler’s appraising glance rested on her only a moment before he bowed again. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to Wulfdale.”

Before Catherine could answer, a plump woman hurried down the steps and curtseyed. “Welcome! Welcome, my lord! We were sure you would be here by tonight. You have brought us a bride at last! Do come in, my lady.” The housekeeper extended an inviting hand. “You must be perishing of weariness.”

Caldbeck nodded at the couple. “Allow me to present to you Hawes and Mrs. Hawes, Lady Caldbeck. I’m sure Mrs. Hawes will see to your comfort immediately. I must confer with Hawes for a time, but I shall show you around your new home tomorrow.”

“Right you are, my lord.” Mrs. Hawes guided Catherine up the steps. “It’s very happy we are to have you here, my lady.”

The housekeeper led her into a hall of grand and impressive proportions and up two pair of graceful, curving stairs to the second floor. They crossed an elegant salon to the door of a huge bedchamber decorated in feminine fabrics and soft greens. A Dresden clock graced the mantelpiece, along with several dainty china ornaments. Catherine was torn between collapsing on the bed, half seen in the shadowy corner, or on the cushiony sofa before the cheerfully crackling fire.

The sofa was closer.

“Now, my lady, don’t you worry about a thing. I shall help you this evening myself. I’m sure your young maid will be as done up as you are. She’ll be shown right to her room.”

A twinge of guilt assaulted Catherine. She had hardly spared a thought for Sally. The girl must indeed be exhausted.

“Good, here’s Betty with the tray. There’s cheese and biscuits and some mulled wine. I knew you would be chilled. Just let me help you off with your pelisse and pretty bonnet. Now…You have a little taste of wine while I see to getting your dressing case and trunk up here.”

Mrs. Hawes bustled out of the room, and Catherine took a grateful sip of the mulled wine, too tired to do more than nibble at the cheese. But she found the wine sweet and strong and warm. She had almost dozed off when the housekeeper returned with footmen carrying her baggage.

As soon as the men had been shooed out of the room, Mrs. Hawes set about laying out Catherine’s nightgown and brushes, and before she knew it, Catherine found herself tucked up in the big curtained bed, drowsily watching the flicker of the fire through the drapes. It seemed that her husband, once again, would not join her, but that was just as well. She was too tired to have even a shred of curiosity left.

Catherine awoke shortly before noon the next morning, as Sally pulled back the bed curtains. The welcome smell of hot chocolate wafted to her from the bed table.

“Good morning, miss…oh!” Sally giggled. “I mean, my lady. Have you had a look at this house? Did you see your very own drawing room? Grand, miss, very grand! I believe his lordship’s room is through the dressing rooms. That door leads to his, and that one to yours.” She waved a vague hand and turned to open the window curtains. “And a fine day it is, too. Chilly a bit, but fine.”

Catherine sat forward while Sally arranged her pillows. “I must have slept half the day.”

“Very nearly, mi—my lady. And I slept till a sinful hour myself. So kind as Mrs. Hawes is, she told them to let me rest. I wouldn’t have waked you yet, but his lordship is to take you around the place himself. I know you’ll want to look your best.” Sally giggled again.

Catherine viewed her henchwoman through a half-open eye. Speculation must be running riot among the staff. Sally could not help but know that she and his lordship had not yet shared a bed, and if any member of a household knew something, everyone knew it. Catherine groaned to herself. Heaven help her the morning after they did take that step!

By two o’clock she had breakfasted and—dressed in a deep purple morning dress, her fiery hair subdued with many pins and a pair of gold combs—set forth to find his lordship. After asking directions twice, she discovered him in his library. He came quickly to his feet as she stepped through the door.

“Good day. I hope you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you. Sally let me sleep an unconscionably long time. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

“No. I wanted you to rest. I did not arise at my usual hour myself. Are you ready to meet your staff?” He offered her his arm.

They spent the next two hours in a tour of the reception rooms and introductions to every member of the staff, from Caldbeck’s secretary to the bootboy. Catherine found it astonishing that Caldbeck knew them all. Her head swam with names and faces. Without a guide, she might never find her way from the formal dining room to her bedchamber.

Caldbeck’s secretary, Richard Middleton, was the younger son of the local vicar. A slender young man with a shy expression, he greeted Catherine gravely, welcomed her to Wulfdale and quickly returned to his duties.

Caldbeck did not take her through every part of the mansion. “I’m sure you will find the older sections interesting, but you will likely enjoy exploring them at your leisure.”

Catherine looked sideways at him. “Is that where I shall find the headless bride?”

“Of course.”

“Then perhaps you’d best escort me.”

Caldbeck paused for a minute before answering. “That might be best,” he finally agreed.

Catherine eyed him suspiciously, but he made no further rejoinder.

They toured the gardens until the late-afternoon nip in the air sent them back inside.

“We dine at seven o’clock here. I trust that is acceptable to you?” Caldbeck paused at the foot of the stairs, but did not wait for an answer. “You have time enough for a nap.”

Catherine smiled, but shook her head. “I slept all morning. Besides, I am not accustomed to sleeping in the afternoon.”

“Nevertheless, it is advisable that you do so today.”

Catherine lifted her chin rebelliously. She was just opening her mouth to explain to him that she was not a child, when she looked into a countenance so chilling, the words froze in her throat. “Oh…oh, very well. I shall at least go to my room for a while.”