Promise Me Heaven (18 page)

“Lord Barrymore.” Seward bowed his head in recognition, his gaze never leaving the other man’s bloodshot eyes.

“Seward. Don’t you have some pressing diplomatic endeavor to attend to? I will be delighted to keep Lady Catherine entertained for the nonce,” Hellsgate drawled, pushing himself off the doorjamb.

Neither man missed the fleeting expression of entreaty on Lady Catherine’s face. She masked it quickly, Seward noted with approval as she turned a cool expression of appraisal on the dissipated earl.

“That won’t be necessary, Lord Barrymore,” Seward said. “Though delightful in and of itself, my duty as Lady Catherine’s escort is just that. A royal directive. Mr. Montrose has kindly seen fit to escort Lady Montaigne White to the hotel, and His Royal Highness has asked me to attend Lady Catherine in his absence.”

“Lady Montaigne White?” Hellsgate sneered. “The man is incorrigible. I certainly wouldn’t have abandoned youth for quite
that
much experience.”

A tremor of revolt shook Cat’s body. Hellsgate was disgusting. She would have swept from the room had he not been blocking the door. Her only recourse was to stand mutely and ignore him. Seward moved forward to stand beside her.

“Your choice of words is interesting, milord. I doubt whether I can decipher your meaning, but I am hardly one of your intimates. Perhaps the Prince Regent can translate for us?” Seward suggested.

Barrymore laughed, a dry, harsh sound. “Is that a threat, Seward?”

“A threat? Merely a thought, Lord Barrymore. As the Prince Regent’s insistence on good manners is well documented, I doubt your statement is as coarse as it appears to be. I merely look for someone to interpret.”

Again, Barrymore let out a bark of laughter. “Very good, Seward. Very good, indeed.” He sketched a mocking bow. “I was only trying to be amusing. Apparently, I have failed.” His avid glance darted between Cat and Seward. “Let me explain. Anyone who knows Thomas Montrose’s reputation would be entertained by the comical notion of him involved with anything less than a young, comely, and willing consort. The beauties do flock to him so.”

He turned one hand over to examine a nail. “And he is ever obliging. Why, one season he is reputed to have satisfied most of the tonnish female population. In a purely ‘social’ way, of course,” he finished, his gaze on Cat’s face.

She would not serve herself up for his amusement. She turned to Seward. “I do not wish to know this person, Colonel Seward.”

“But this person wants to ‘know’ you, Lady Catherine.”

She tried not to look at him, but Hellsgate had moved to stand directly in her path.

“Lord Barrymore, you are a—” Cat heard Colonel Seward start to say and knew he was going to offer Barrymore irreparable insult.

“Please,” she cut in, “I would like to go back to the hotel. I feel my place really must be at my aunt’s side.” As an untitled functionary, Seward could ill afford to alienate one of the Prince Regent’s most notorious friends. Seward had been kind in a remote sort of way. It was not possible for Cat to repay that kindness by allowing him to chivalrously intervene in this battle she had begun with Barrymore.

She needed to see Thomas. Only with him would she feel safe from the sordidness named Hellsgate Barrymore.

Her request worked better to redirect Seward’s attention than she could have imagined. Abruptly Seward stopped, caught short as if by an invisible rope. His head swung toward her.

“That really isn’t necessary, Lady Catherine,” he said, diverted.

“I think it best.”

“But I have not yet had the pleasure of a dance. The Prince Regent has provided excellent musicians.” He bent a most winning smile on her, and her intention wavered. Perhaps, if they left Barrymore behind…

“Yes, excellent. Perhaps I will beg a waltz,” Barrymore interjected.

Cat knew then. Hellsgate would hound her. She had pricked his overweening conceit and now he would see that she paid for the privilege. Cat shook her head. Seward watched her in growing consternation. “Lady Catherine, this isn’t necessary. The Prince Regent would be most annoyed—”

“Mustn’t annoy Prinny,” Hellsgate sneered.

“I wish to leave, Colonel Seward. Please see to it that transportation is arranged,” Cat insisted, desperate to be away from Barrymore, desperate to seek Thomas’s sheltering presence.

“Lady Catherine, I beg you to reconsider,” Seward said.

As Barrymore listened to the pleas on both sides of the odd, ongoing argument, his eyes narrowed. The haughty russet-haired bitch was hot to be off. The royal cat’s-paw was equally hot to have her stay. He knew Montrose and Seward had an enduring relationship, although friendship had never seemed an aspect of it. Montrose had obviously asked Seward to keep the wench here. And Barrymore suspected Seward’s commission was to somehow protect Lady Catherine. Hellsgate snickered.
He
had no such wish. In fact, strictly the opposite was true. The proud bitch ought to be brought down.

“Come along, Seward,” he taunted. “The lady wishes to go. No gentleman would insist she stay. I’ll take her back myself.” He smiled as Cat’s eyes widened in horror. “No?” he continued in a gross imitation of concern. “I’ll go one better and prove to Lady Catherine that I am, in fact, a gentleman. I’ll order up my own coach. Don’t pale like that, dear lady. I won’t annoy you with my unworthy self. I shall stay here. I have two healthy footmen who will deliver you safely.”

“I couldn’t presume,” Cat murmured, anxious to flee but disliking to avail herself of Barrymore’s favors.

Seward sighed in relief, but Cat heard and now she looked at him, her eyes hard with determination, confusion evident in her low voice. “Colonel Seward, I wish to leave. I will be at the front door in five minutes. If Lord Barrymore’s coach is there and unoccupied,” she paused to look meaningfully at Hellsgate, “I will make use of his offer. However, I prefer to have my host make the arrangements for my transportation.” She slipped past Barrymore and headed from the room leaving the unflappable Colonel Seward swearing under his breath.

Thomas took hold of Daphne’s wrist, wrenching the small hand from his chest. She twisted closer, brushing her barely covered breast against him. There was nothing appealing about the open lust in her expression. The difference between her groping and Cat’s untutored exploration was brutal but the memory of Cat in his arms betrayed him, causing his body to harden. Daphne purred triumphantly, rubbing one leg up between his thighs.

“You are a beautiful woman, Daphne. But our association can no longer be of an intimate nature. I would not insult you by suggesting that we start at a point where we left off four years ago.” Thomas downed his second glass of potent spirits and set the empty glass aside.

She laughed, squirming closer, her free hand pulling the shirttails from his trousers. “You do not insult me, Thomas. Or, if you do, it is only because you take so long to disrobe. Come,
mon homme
, I wish to see if you are still the magnificent animal I remember!”

He watched her little tongue dart out to wet her small red lips. He remembered the full, lush curves of Cat’s wide, warm mouth and closed his eyes.

“
Oui
,” Daphne purred, freeing her hand and working the stays of his shirt loose. He attempted to brush her busy fingers away, but she only laughed. Catching her shoulders, he gave her a little shake to gain her attention. She looked up at him, still undoing his shirt, still licking her lips.

“I do not wish to be intimate.”

“Your body says different.” Her hand trailed down the front of his pants to press against him. And his body, whetted by unbidden images of Cat and stimulated by her hand, grew even harder beneath her stroking.

“I am just a man. Like many others.”

“Not just,” she vowed.

“Daphne, listen to me. In all honor, I cannot do this, no matter how tempting you try to make it.” He finally had her attention. The movements of her hands stilled. A line appeared between her thin, arched brows.

“In all honor? Try?” Daphne squealed. “Is it this big-breasted English girl? Oh, it is too, too obvious. She is oh-so proper. So cold. So British. And so? You are to be cold and proper, too?
Mon Dieu!
”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a throaty cadence. “But I know different! Or do you not remember the Palace Royal? I will refresh your memory. Three
fille de joie
complained their patrons were weak little men, with no stamina, no movement. You offered yourself to satisfy them. And when one of them said they would do it for free, you laughed. I remember, Thomas, you laughed! And you said since you would be servicing them, they ought to pay
you
. Oh, you were quite obliging, taking each in turn and saying, ‘Bring on the next.’ ” Her voice dropped huskily. “The management should have charged to view. So big, so powerful.
Mais oui! Très, très
satisfying.”

Her tone hardened, but the lustful light stayed in her eyes. “Does your so proper English filly know this? Is she so good?”

“Shut up”

“Do not say she is a virgin! What would you do with a virgin? You would rend her apart!” Passing her hand down his trousers, she closed on him greedily through the cloth. “She would end screaming, were you to cover her.”

The image of Cat beneath him as he taught her body the lesson of passion froze Thomas. He felt Daphne’s hands upon him but was impaled by a combination of alcohol and the picture her words had evoked. Cat, who regarded his body as a massive curiosity. Cat, who had trembled beneath the slight passion he had allowed himself to show. Cat, who could never even imagine the restraint he had shown in the conservatory. Cat, who must never know the dissipation he had courted, nor the physical appetites he had indulged.

“It is better that we debauchees stay amongst our own kind for our pleasures,” he heard a voice coax. “Why court pain? What good is honor when she will find some scrub-faced count to bed her, fully clad, once a month? I can better satisfy your dark nature, Thomas, for my nature is equally dark. If she should love you, she will survive… Others before her have.”

His shirt was open now, and Daphne was stroking him with hot hands, pausing to work the buttons of his trousers free, until the cool air met his bared flesh. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, felt the eager rake of her nails low, on the hard plane of his belly, felt her hands stroking him. But her words had mesmerized him.

Cat. Loving him. It was too much. He clamped his teeth together, willing the sensual image of Cat away. She would not leave. He envisioned the warmth in her eyes, the smile of welcome as she opened her arms to embrace him. The scenario rolled inexorably forth. Her anticipation, her soft skin pressed to his, the force of his own passion, aroused, ignited by her. With agonizing clarity, he saw her anticipation recede before his growing ardor, turn slowly to trepidation and finally to fear as the control he strove to maintain in daily, innocuous meetings gave way before his ultimate need of her. He would never be able to dish out his passion in palatable doses. He wanted her too much. And desire made him dangerous.

Daphne was right. He would not court pain. The wet touch of her tongue trailed with sensual deliberation through the thatch of hair on his chest. He opened his eyes to discover his trousers unfastened. Her hands were encircling him and she was groaning. He clasped her shoulders to drag her away. Already, deprived of Cat’s image, disgusted with the animal moans Daphne made, he was growing soft.

A movement caught his eye, and he looked up. For the breadth of an instant he thought his mind had willed Cat’s image there. But he would never have conjured an image with such awful pallor, or horror in her sea green eyes, a hand raised trembling, in supplication or denial.

Cat’s figure was caught, reflected in the mirror, as she stood in the opened doorway. By the time a sound of pure anguish had erupted from deep within his chest, she was gone.

Chapter 16

H
e had been set up.

Even in his fury, some analytical part of Thomas searched fruitlessly for a reason for the vicious betrayal, the depraved impulse that had driven Seward to send Cat to his room. This went beyond a mere difference in ideologies; this was hatred, vindictive and cruel.