Promise Me Heaven (10 page)

“Please don’t.”

“I am only wondering what punishment to mete out. But since I do not yet know the crime, it makes just recompense rather hard to determine.”

“I just want to leave the ballroom, Thomas. Please. Nothing was said or done that would cause the least amount of offense. I would count it a favor if you would take Aunt Hecuba and me in to dine.”

“Of course, but Hecuba has already gone in to the buffet. She was thirsty. Her parting remarks were to exhort you to ladylike behavior.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her through the double doors leading to the dining rooms.

Hecuba was just quitting the room. She saw them and tottered over, leveling Cat a stern look. “I am retiring,” she said. “I have put about the information that you are here with your uncle. No one would dare question my veracity. Still, you’d best come up as soon as you have eaten. Fielding will be waiting for you.”

“Yes, Aunt Hecuba,” Cat replied obediently.

“You, sir. Mind your manners.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Thomas bowed, waiting to rise until Hecuba had left then leading Cat into the dining room.

There, she spent most of the meal attempting to divert him from trying to discover what her foolish dance partner had done. That it was something relatively inoffensive was suggested by the ease of her recovery. Still, though he replied in kind to her quips, he was not to be dissuaded from his goal.

Towards the end of the meal, he raised a glass of sherry and viewed her through its amber hue. “I think we must have a garnet-colored dress made for you, a ruddy one so that when you feel overset, as you do now, your complexion can borrow its color from the dress. Or so you might claim. It’s a dead giveaway, m’dear, that too thin flesh of yours. Now, desist with this mindless chatter. I’m sure it’s all very charming to the local swains, but I know you better and am accustomed to your conversation having a bit of pepper in the broth. Out with it.”

Cat squirmed uncomfortably. “I would really rather not say, Thomas. But since you shall undoubtedly bully me until you are satisfied, I at least pray you withhold your lowbred curiosity until we are elsewhere.”

He raised one brow. “ ‘Bully you?’ I didn’t realize my behavior was so reprehensible.”

“Well, mayhaps you wouldn’t bully me,” she owned, a dimple appearing in one cheek.

“Badger?” he asked, eager to see its twin. He was rewarded. She laughed.

“Pester, harass, annoy, distress… persecute? Aye, I like persecute the best. Puts me in mind of Dumas. Only you’d swathe me in yards of silk instead of an iron mask. Wouldn’t you, Thomas?”

“As you say.”

“I say it’s time I resign myself to a stroll to my room, during which you will, no doubt, use all the diabolical methods at your disposal to have from me what you will.”

“Really? I am agog. All I had hoped was for an answer to my question, and here I am to have all my dark desires granted. How munificent of you, Cat.”

But she had learned in the last short weeks. She smiled at him, playing the game she thought they played, unaware of how the rules were changing all the while. “You can but try, sir,” she replied, a sudden low huskiness to her voice.

Thomas reminded himself just in time to smile.

Cat strolled from the assembly rooms at Thomas’s side, conscious of how comfortable and safe she felt dwarfed by his strength and size. They did not speak until they stopped outside her suite.

There was no sound other than the hushed click of a softly closing door. Thomas’s face was inscrutable in the dimly lit hallway. As he stepped forward, the door at her back and his body before her, Cat was jolted by an awareness of Thomas as a purely physical presence. His breadth blocked her view of the hall. He loomed over her. She felt the warmth rising from him and closed her eyes, swaying slightly toward it.

“Well?” The word was a gruffly spoken intrusion. Her eyes opened.

“I won’t even attempt to fend you off, Thomas. The whole thing is of such little consequence. I realize that. But indeed, I find that I do want to tell you, for you see, I am uncertain of
what
happened.”

Lifting her hand, Cat forestalled his protests. “ ’Tis true, I swear it. I would not dissemble. Not to you. But it is a bit embarrassing. How foolish of me. You who are my kind friend, my mentor. I would tell you anything. Yes,” she said softly, “anything. And so, here it is in all its simplicity: he looked at me. That’s all, and yet it doesn’t say enough. It frightened me. It made me feel unsafe. After he looked at me like that, I turned to go, feeling uncomfortable, unpleasant. Thank heaven you were there.”

“And what was this ‘look’ that so unnerved you? How did it transpire?”

“Oh, ’twas from flirting,” she replied artlessly. “I was doing it all evening, with everyone. The manner, the eyes, the smiles and pouts, the conversation. You know, Thomas, as we have practiced.

“And it worked, Thomas! And while I am conscious Brighton is not London, it was a heady experience to so enthrall men. And they were, each and every one, enthralled.” She laid her hand on his forearm, tilting her face up toward his.

“They played the game far less adroitly than you. From which, by the way, I begin to suspect there is some validity in your claim to fame.”

“I appreciate your newborn appreciation. Pray go on.”

“They were, as I have said, all charming until the last. I don’t even know his name. Ventner? Vedder? And he was playing along nicely himself.” Her brow knitted in consternation.

“I don’t even remember what I said or what he had said. I looked up at him from under my eyelashes—Thomas, you know the pose—he was staring at me so fixedly. And he looked… he looked as though I were a sweet just placed on his plate. He looked frantic and greedy and…” She flushed and raised her hands, palms up. “You see how silly I am?”

But Thomas had raised his head from his intense study of hers, turning his face away. Except for a small muscle working in his long, lean cheek, his visage remained expressionless. Finally, he glanced down and gave her a half smile. “Well, the young ass was, after all, young. What did you expect of him? You were more than he had ever experienced, and it seemed for one bright moment that you were within reach. He was too green to hide his feelings and you undid him.

“Don’t worry, Cat. Most men you meet aren’t going to be so blatant,” he said. “But it is going to happen again and again. And with far more sophisticated suitors. And these men shall not be caught looking at you. They shall allow you only a glimpse of their intentions. They shall want to test you. To see if you run away. And you, Cat, must meet the challenge of those men or be immediately discovered as a fraud.”

He stepped away from her, and Cat was aware of the chill of the night hallway from which his warmth had protected her.

“It is the starting point of the games you would play, Cat. The opening move is languid unclothing with the eyes. The knowledge that the temptress knows of and enjoys that perusal but is, perhaps, not ready to acknowledge it. Allow me to demonstrate.”

His gaze went from laconic to hungry, seeming to devour her, to commit to memory one of her features, every sweep of lash, the curve of her cheek, her trembling lips before it fell along her neck and shoulder to the swell of her bosom, rising and falling rapidly under his hot stare. He was suddenly all lupine appetite, all stalking desire, and she quivered uncertainly beneath his perusal. And then the fire was abruptly banked and he was offering her a casual smile.

She did not want men looking at her like that, only Thomas, and only if it was not a game.

“No,” she whispered, placing a supplicating hand on his broad chest. Through the fine law, she could feel the heat of him, the hardness of his muscles.

Thomas looked down at her long fingers splayed there for a long moment before reaching behind her to the door of her suite and pushing it open.

“Yes.”

Thomas bowed, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor until he saw the swirl of a silk hem and heard the click of her closing door, knowing full well that if he were ever to witness a man looking at Cat as he had just done, he would certainly injure him.

Chapter 9

T
homas waited for Cat in the sumptuous lobby of the Old Ship. Chandeliers dripped crystal prisms above the pale Aubusson rugs, scattering rainbows of color over the hushed room. Only a few of the hotel’s guests were up and about. Most, having extended their festivities well into the dawn, opted to stay in their beds well into the day. Those members of the beau monde who were present were disposing themselves in deep leather settees, looking fashionably exhausted.

Eight years before, Thomas had been one of their number. There had been no amorous challenge he’d ignored, no rule he had not bent to his will. Bored with the posturing, the carefully orchestrated seductions, the rejoinders and the lies, he’d paused in his pursuit of pleasure long enough to see the outcome of his chosen path amongst the enfeebled ruins of aged roués. With each affair, not only was he floundering for want of direction, but gambling with his physical well-being. He had nothing to show for all his town bronze; he had acquired no wealth, no pleasant memories, no particular skills, and no insight.

He’d been prime pickings for Lord Knowlton and his agents, Thomas wryly conceded, most notably Jack Seward. They’d approached him obliquely. A friend of a friend had casually mentioned that his impeccable French might be put to better use than whispering graphic suggestions into willing female ears. Seward was right, damn him. At first it had been amusing, infiltrating the demimonde of French society, seducing the mistresses of French military advisors. But the role had subtly changed over the years. His political acumen was honed, his information-gathering abilities broadened in scope and depth, until his counsel was sought on delicate matters of French foreign policy. Thomas had become a spy. And within the same breath he was made to understand that his information was no longer “useful” but “vital.”

During his last year as Sir Knowlton’s agent, Thomas had seldom been called upon to act as a simple messenger. His talents were too great to waste on such elementary transactions. But occasionally a lonely woman whose husband was consumed by affairs of state, a woman starved for some fondling, an endearment, could not be made to divulge her particular information with a bit of amorous persuasion. Or, as now, a woman like Daphne Bernard bartered her knowledge.

What could he say? That he no longer “did that sort of thing”? Impossible. He understood too well that such details as she might have to share were often responsible for saving countless lives. This knowledge, however, did not do much to lessen his self-loathing.

He’d thought himself inured to this feeling. In the past, he’d been careful to keep himself separate from the functions of his body and, even in physical acts, had remained detached, a performer.

But now there was Cat. Cat with her well-laid plans, her faultless logic, and her perfectly ridiculous, but oh so rational, request. Thomas had admired such clear-sighted reasoning. He’d seen no reason why her machinations should not work in a society where many much more calculated matrimonial schemes had been played out. No reason except that he loved her.

Thomas stared out at the calm vista of sun-dappled sea. He would affect disinterest. He would not look at her when she made her entrance. Why should he? Already he knew every line of her exquisite form. With disturbing clarity, he could imagine the texture of her satiny flesh. He even knew the rhythm of her breathing. All of it was etched with acid brilliance on his mind’s eye. And what was he to do about it?

Tied by constraints he could not break and desires he could not ignore, he could do nothing but continue the game. He taught her what she wanted, all the while greedily hoarding their moments together: their conversation, their laughter, their debates and easy silences. He didn’t know what else to do. She would run screaming from him were she to suspect the great, aging rustic she had asked to instruct her in the art of seduction had come to love her with all the decades of yearning and hope and hopelessness a past such as his could engender.

Thomas shut his eyes and found, to his grim amusement, that she waited even there, behind his eyelids, to further beguile him.