Page 18

Catherine was dumbfounded. Color fled her face and her throat constricted until she wanted to gasp for breath.

She honestly had not expected him to call.

She had convinced herself he was playing a game to relieve his habitual boredom.

She did nothing to encourage him, quite shamefully the reverse.

She’d tossed and turned in the wee hours of the morning, agonizing over her behavior to her uncle’s friend.

The Marquis was correct when he predicted Uncle Eugene would not be pleased by her masquerade and manners.

She was doing her family a disservice. She didn’t know why he continually set her back up until she fairly spat like some stable cat.

All she knew was that his presence-- nay, just the thought of him--brought on sensations and emotions quite foreign to her nature.

Those feelings were like high winds. All she desired was to protect herself from their buffeting, to shutter herself off safely inside herself.

Unfortunately, his very name rattled the shutters, and his presence threatened to tear them from their hinges.

And yet, he did nothing to cause the storm he created.

Unceasingly he displayed a gentlemanly courtesy to her despite her unruly tongue and sour demeanor.

Never once did he step beyond the boundaries of propriety, yet she wanted to treat him as if he had.

What was particularly vexatious was that he knew that and derived amusement from her predicament.

Catherine watched the door for his entrance, though she knew she shouldn’t, that she should act unconcerned.

Tightness coiled around her throat while the insidious tingling rippled through her stomach, descending into her legs.

She could not have risen from her seat even if Harth House burned down around her.

Not until she saw his expression this day.

What was his purpose in calling? Her heart began hammering loudly in her chest until she was certain all could hear its furious pounding.

Pennymore moved aside to allow the gentlemen to enter.

“Ah, Stefton,” Lady Harth said enthusiastically, extending her hand in a peremptory manner that required the gentleman to extend a chaste salute to her knuckles. “I haven’t seen you since Justin left the country. How good of you to call.”

Stefton murmured a polite response and gravely bowed low, his lips scarcely touching the back of her hand. He straightened. “Allow me to present my companions, Alan Hawk, Earl of Soothcoor, and Captain Richard Chilberlain, late of the Duke of Wellington’s staff.”

Lady Harth inclined her head briefly in recognition of the introductions before returning her attention to the Marquis.

“Stefton, I believe you were denied the opportunity of meeting two of my nieces last evening.” She smiled smugly and waved her arm in the twins’ direction, knocking a pillow off the sofa.

“Lady Iris and Lady Dahlia Shreveton. They are the daughters, you know, of my brother Aldric, the Earl of Whelan.”

Stefton bowed over their hands, his lips held firmly in a straight line as he observed them vie with one another to capture his attention.

They were both sitting so near the edge of the settee that any moment one or the other would slide off its edge, and he was sure that each young lady’s neck and shoulders must ache from straining to lift her head higher than the other’s and to stretch out her arm farther.

Their broad, stiff smiles were as identical as the rest of their features.

Bookends of bland blonde prettiness. If his mind hadn’t been centered on the woman seated behind him, he would have yawned.

He turned to Soothcoor and Chilberlain to draw their attention to the twins.

His mouth quirked, his eyelids drooping over his slate-gray eyes as he noted Chilberlain making his way to Susannah Shreveton’s side, oblivious to the other ladies in the room.

That would upset Lady Harth, and he supposed he would have to deflect her ire.

Suddenly his eye caught Catherine’s, for she too had been noting Captain Chilberlain’s objective, and her thoughts flew on a parallel course to the Marquis’s.

For a moment, their eyes held, sharing an unspoken commitment to their friends.

The Marquis’s eyes silvered, and Catherine felt another wave of tingling ripple through her body.

But as swiftly as their eyes caught, they looked away, and the Marquis was drawing Soothcoor forward to attend to Lady Iris and Lady Dahlia.

When he looked away, Catherine felt cut adrift, floundering.

She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, one thumb running restlessly back and forth along the length of the other.

She pressed the evidence of her disquiet deep into her lap, irritated that there was any physical manifestation of nervousness that he might see.

She pulled a bright smile onto her lips and turned in her place on the settee so that she might also converse with Captain Chilberlain, distracting Aunt Alicia from noting the abject disinterest Susannah and the Captain displayed toward their surroundings.

Stefton mercilessly drew Soothcoor forward into the Shreveton twins’ lair, or so the Earl was to tell his friend later.

He spent a few minutes engaged in soporific conversation with the twins, watching them preen, flutter their lashes, giggle and posture, all in an endeavor to claim his regard.

Soothcoor manfully fulfilled his duties, though his Northumbrian accent became a thicker and thicker burr, difficult to understand.

Stefton frowned meaningfully at his friend, only to have his unspoken reprimand met with a bland smile and a sly wink.

During one of the many lulls in the conversation, Stefton took the opportunity of shifting his attention to Lady Harth.

“You have become the talk of London, Lady Harth. You are to be congratulated. It is my understanding that several matrons are chagrined that they lacked your foresight. Introducing four nieces in a Season. It is on the lips of everyone and has quite eclipsed talk of Princess Charlotte’s upcoming nuptials. ”

Lady Harth smiled complacently. “I am only doing what is right and proper for the family, you know. Shrevetons have always held a respected place in Society. It is only right that all members of the family should be known to Society.”

Pennymore brought in a large silver tray laden with coffee and tea. Lady Harth graciously waved her permission to serve as she continued to talk about the Shreveton family and its lineage.

The butler slowly made the rounds of the room, offering refreshments first to the twins, then to Catherine and Susannah.

At Lady Harth’s side he deftly sidestepped a recklessly gesturing arm that threatened to sweep the dishes off the tray.

At his success, a faint smile threatened to crack his impassive visage.

Stefton chose coffee and prudently set it down on a side table far away from Lady Harth. “You must be pleased that all four of your nieces are so eminently presentable."

"Well, they are Shrevetons.”

“True, though I believe Miss Catherine Shreveton has more of the Burke family coloring and manner.”

Lady Harth laughed. “Well, she certainly lacks the Shreveton fairness.”

“As does your son, Justin,” observed Stefton drily.

“That is true,” she said grudgingly, “but the Harth family is distinguished in its own way.”

“And I believe Aldric’s sons take after their mother.”

Lady Harth pursed her lips. “But they are his sons, too, and I believe they will one day credit the Shreveton name.”

Stefton studied her through hooded eyes, a sneering smile twisting his mouth into satyr handsomeness.

“Appearance,” he mused, “can be unusually deceptive, sometimes giving no clue as to a person’s lineage, and at other times, stamping distinctive features on each descendent like a family crest. Your niece, Catherine, for example, bears the distinctive Burke chin that connotes stubbornness, confidence, and pride. ”

Lady Harth sniffed. “Her mother was a pretty enough country maid; however, I don’t recall her possessing any of those traits. Catherine is well enough, I suppose, but lacking in charm or social artifice.”

“You consider social artifice an admirable attribute?” he asked.

“It is a necessary attribute for any young woman."

"Odd. It is the one attribute I find the most deplorable in the marriageable young ladies who litter London every Season. I presume you intend to train Catherine in this art.”

“I shall do my best, of course,” she assured him majestically.

“Then I shall enjoy her company before she learns her lessons.”

“Surely you jest, my lord.”

A sneering smile curled the Marquis’s lips. “Only to the extent you do, my lady.”

“You, my lord, are becoming impertinent.”

“Aunt Alicia!” protested Lavender and Yellow Ribbons.

“Then allow me to remove myself and your troublesome niece from your company,” Stefton returned blandly, pulling a gold engraved pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and checking the time. He nodded. “Yes, Friarly should be arriving momentarily. I shall take her driving in the park."

"It will do her credit, but I fail to understand why you bother,” Lady Harth said petulantly.

“Yes, I know you do,” he returned enigmatically. He rose to cross to Catherine’s side. “Miss Shreveton, allow me to invite you driving in Hyde Park.”

Catherine compressed her lips. She’d overheard most of the conversation between her aunt and the Marquis, as, she realized in dismay, had most in the room.

She wanted to reject his invitation because it was issued by him; however, she chafed at her aunt’s callous attitude toward her.

She found herself rising and agreeing to the drive with a willingness she didn’t expect.