Chapter Twenty-two

CATHERINE DRESSED HURRIEDLY and left her chamber. She was terrified Dominic had gone to London after all. What had he felt when he woke up? Did he resent her for what had happened between them?

His room seemed undisturbed; his clothes still hung neatly in his huge carved armoire. Still, he was certain to have more than enough in his town house on Hanover Square. Downstairs, she asked of him briefly, but she didn’t want to seem anxious. If he had indeed gone, the servants would have more than enough to gossip about.

She found him soon after, working in the stables, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, the front open nearly to his waist. He looked up when she walked in, and Catherine forced herself to smile.

Dear God, let everything be all right Did he feel bitter and resentful? Would he be more determined than ever to construct a wall between them? Every moment since she awakened had made her uncertainty soar.

Instead when he saw her, he stepped from inside the stall, walked toward her, and opened his arms. Catherine went into them with a feeling of relief so heady it made her weak.

“You were exhausted,” he said as if reading her mind. “I thought I should let you sleep.”

She felt like weeping again. “I feel fine,” she said a little too brightly. “Wonderful, in fact.”

Dominic took her hands and stepped back to look at her. Her fingers were trembling and she knew he could feel it.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes went dark with concern.

Too many lies had already passed between them. “I—I was afraid you would regret … that you would be angry.…”

“If I’m angry at anyone, I’m angry at myself. He tipped her face up and captured her mouth in a tender, loving kiss. “I’m not going to tell you this is easy for me because it isn’t. Everything inside me rebels at the thought of breaking my vow, the idea of his winning—everything.”

Catherine touched his cheek. “Will you tell me about it? What he did to you?”

Dominic took her hand and led her outside the stable. They crossed to a grassy knoll beneath a broad-leafed tree. Catherine leaned back against the trunk, and Dominic stared off in the distance, his gaze fixed on some imaginary point among the clouds.

“What he did to me was little compared to what he did to my mother. I can never forget the day his men came for me … riding into our camp in a great cloud of dust … jeering at my people. ‘Get the damnable Gypsy bastard,’ one of them said. They laughed when they saw my ragged clothes. ‘Gravenwold must be mad,’ someone said to my mother.”

“What did Pearsa do? Why did she let them take you?”

“She thought my leaving would be for the best. She knew I would one day be rich and powerful—just like my father. I begged her not to make me go, but she wouldn’t listen. Still, when we said good-bye, she clung to me as she never had and cried so hard she made me cry, too. After that, whenever I came to visit, she wouldn’t touch me. She never held me at all—not even once. She knew if she did she would cry as she had before and that I would not leave her. She knew—and she would have been right.”

Dominic turned away.

“You must let what happened pass.”

“I vowed to her I would make him pay. I took an oath of blood. Now…”

“Now because of me, you will fail.”

He tried to smile, but faltered. “You deserve more from life than what I meant to give you. You’re beautiful and desirable, and I care for you as I never have another. I just need time, Catrina. Can you give me that?”

Catherine’s heart ached for him. “As long as I know you care, nothing else matters.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “Thank you.”

*   *   *

They spent hours together after that. A different kind of time than they had ever shared before. A loving, giving, gentle kind of time. Dominic spoke of his dreams, plans he had for the future of Gravenwold, though Catherine very carefully said nothing of family or heirs.

They talked about Catherine’s school and Dominic seemed pleased by her efforts.

“I’ll find a site for a small school building,” he promised. “We can post notices in the Public Advisor and the Morning Chronicle that we’re looking for a schoolmaster, and we’ll build his quarters above.”

“That would be wonderful. I should like Janos to attend as often as possible. Once the children see that he isn’t really different from them, he’ll be able to make new friends.”

Dominic squeezed her hand, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I know you’re convinced this will work, but you mustn’t be disappointed if it does not. No matter how much time he spends with us, Janos will always be a Gypsy. You must let him follow his heart.”

Catherine smiled and nodded. Though in some ways Dominic remained distant, she could often feel his eyes on her, their black depths warm with affection, and more often than not—desire.

Catherine shoved her own desires away. Dominic needed time—she intended to see that he got it. Instead, she worked to build the foundation for their marriage that up until now had never been laid down, coming to know each other in ways they hadn’t before.

She asked him about his horses and he told her his plans to breed great racers, proudly showing her Rai and Sumadji and some of the stallions he intended to put at stud.

Standing in the drawing room after luncheon one day, she asked him about his friendship with Stoneleigh, and he grinned.

“Rayne and I met through a wager at Whites nearly five years ago. We’d both been drinking heavily, boasting about our conquests as we shouldn’t have been. Someone said we were the two most notorious rakes in London and that we should have a go at seeing which of us could best the other.” Another devilish grin. “As a gentleman, I’m not at liberty to mention the lady in question, but suffice it to say … we both won.”

Catherine poked him in the ribs. “I trust your wagering days are through, milord … at least in regard to the ladies.”

Dominic slid a hand around her waist and drew her back against his chest, wrapping her in the circle of his arms as he bent to nuzzle an ear. “I’ve my hands full with you, love. You’ve had only the briefest taste of the pleasures I’ve in store for you.”

Catherine felt his breath warm and promising against her cheek, and a jolt of desire slid through her body. Even through the fabric of her gown, she could feel his shaft grow hard, and her nipples tightened in response. When she turned to look at him, she found his dark eyes smoldering, then his mouth came down hard over hers.

He took her lips with fiery demand, his tongue sliding inside, touching, tasting. Then Blythebury walked through the open double doors, and Dominic pulled away, careful to stand discreetly behind her to hide the bulge in his breeches.

“Sorry to bother, milord,” the stately butler said, his somber face glowing an odd shade of pink. “The post has arrived with a letter for Lady Gravenwold. It appears to have come from London. I thought it might be important.”

“Thank you, Blythesbury,” Dominic reached for the letter then handed it to Catherine. “That will be all.”

The tall butler bowed formally and left the room while Catherine tore open the letter. “It’s from Amelia.” She sank down on the tapestry sofa as she hurriedly scanned the lines.

“Is everything all right?” Dominic sat down beside her.

“She’s moved back into my town house. She says we should let her know if that is inconvenient.” Catherine glanced up. “She doesn’t need my permission. Amelia is family. I wish she understood.”

“What else does she say?”

“That Uncle Gil is almost completely recovered. He was devilishly difficult for a while, but he’s fine now. He’s opened the charity school we started and he’s more than pleased with the progress the children are making.” She read a few more lines. “Poor dear. Amelia says she’s dreadfully lonely without Edmund. She asks if we would consider coming to London for a visit.” Catherine looked up at him, the question unspoken.

“Would you like that?”

“Very much so.”

“Then we’ll go just as soon as we can get things settled here.”

Catherine smiled. “Why don’t we take Janos? He and little Eddie aren’t that far apart in age.”

Dominic’s black brows drew together. “Are you certain Amelia would approve? After all, the boy’s still a Gypsy.”

“Don’t be silly. Amelia isn’t that sort of person. She’ll be delighted to have another child in the house.”

Dominic didn’t seem convinced, but he said nothing more.

Several days later, during supper, Dominic spoke his feelings about the war, a subject Catherine had long been curious about, but hadn’t as yet pursued.

She was wearing a very modest taupe silk gown scattered with seed pearls while Dominic wore a burgundy frock coat and light gray breeches. Cook had served a meal of roast partridge with oyster stuffing, candied carrots, and perigord pie.

“The British have tightened the blockade,” he said, in response to an item about Napoleon she had seen in the London paper. “It’s a good thing you’re not still trying to escape from France.”

“And what about you, milord? Wouldn’t it be just as difficult for you to leave?” He grinned, beautiful white teeth flashing in a face so handsome Catherine’s stomach fluttered.

“A Gypsy has little trouble going anyplace he wishes. We have a knack for blending, fitting into our surroundings whenever we choose to.”

“Is your Gypsy heritage the reason you’ve never become involved in the war?”

“Partly. My father lost his firstborn son in His Majesty’s Service. Since he didn’t believe he owed them another, he went to great lengths to see me spared. As I’m a Gypsy first and an Englishman second, my own beliefs never entered into it. Besides … who says I haven’t been involved?”

Catherine swallowed her last bite of partridge, which went down a little harder than it should have. “Are you?”

“On my return from the Continent each year, I’ve reported my observations to the authorities—troop movements, information I picked up here and there.”

“You were a spy?”

“Hardly. What I did was little, but I believe it may have helped. In truth, it was all I was willing to do—more than most of my people would have done. It’s the nature of the Rom to remain outside petty squabbles.”

“Petty squabbles!” Catherine gasped and Dominic chuckled.

“I suppose it depends on one’s point of view.”

They took tea and cakes in a small drawing room off the Long Gallery. Catherine noticed Dominic had grown distracted, occasionally rubbing the bridge of his nose or the skin at his temples.

“Are you feeling unwell, milord?” All evening he had been watching her, his eyes moving over her body with the same dark hunger she had come to know so well. He wants me, she thought with a feeling of exhilaration. It wouldn’t be long till he took her to his bed.

“I’m afraid my head has begun to pound.”

Catherine walked behind the sofa and began to massage the back of his neck. “You’re far too tense, milord.” She worked her fingers into the muscles and sinews. “You should learn to relax.” He leaned his head forward, letting her ease the tightness, then leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. Catherine continued to work over him, kneading his shoulders, easing the stiffness away.

“I know exactly what will cure my tension.” He opened his eyes and flashed a heated look that left no doubt as to what he was thinking. “But…”

“But you still need a little more time,” Catherine finished.

Dominic caught her wrist and brought it to his lips, then turned his head to look at her. “I know you don’t understand. I wish there was a way to explain what I feel, but there isn’t. I’ve got to work this through, Catrina.”

Catherine kissed his forehead. “We’ve a lifetime to love. Years from now these few days will hardly matter.”

With a sigh that said he wished he agreed, he stood up. “Since things remain as they are, if you don’t mind, I believe I’ll go on up to bed.”

Catherine nodded. “I find I’m weary, too.”

They crossed the room and climbed the wide stone staircase to their bedchambers on the second floor. Dominic kissed Catherine good-night, then retired to his room next door.

After readying herself for bed, Catherine dressed in one of the high-necked white cotton nightgowns she had taken to wearing of late and started to draw back the covers. It occurred to her that with the tension he’d been feeling, Dominic might be in need of a sleeping draught.

Pulling on a heavy quilted wrapper, she picked up a small vial of sleeping powder from its place on the bureau, crossed to the door between their rooms, and rapped lightly on the heavy wood. Dominic bade her enter, and Catherine opened the door. She found him lying on his huge four-poster bed, naked except for the sheet he had pulled to his waist.

A candle flickered on the bedstand, turning his dark skin a gleaming brown-gold. Bands of muscle rippled on his chest as he turned toward her, and at the sight of his hard-muscled body, Catherine’s heart began to pound.

“I-I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you might be in need of something to help you sleep.”

Dominic’s eyes ran over her. “Come here,” he said softly.

Catherine forced herself to move, stopping when she reached the edge of the bed. Dominic’s gaze took in her heavy quilted robe, the ruffle of her high-necked nightrail peeping from beneath. She had plaited her long red-gold hair into a single thick braid, which fell over one shoulder.

Dominic’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Your lovely green silk robe has given way to this?”

“I shall be happy to wear the other … anytime you wish it, milord.”

“I look forward to the day when your green silk robe shall find a permanent place on the floor at the foot of our bed.”

Catherine ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. “How is your head?”

“Better.” He shoved his hands behind his neck as he leaned against the headboard.

“Then you don’t want the sleeping draught?”

“You’re the only sleeping draught I need.” Onyx eyes moved over her body, as if he could see through her thick layer of clothes. “Soon you’ll have no need of a nightrail to warm you.”

Catherine flushed and turned to leave, then stopped short and turned back. Her eyes fastened on the width of his shoulder, his muscular arms, narrow hips, and firm, flat belly. She could well remember what lay below the edge of the sheet.

“I was wondering, Dominic…”

“Yes, love?”

“About … the last time we made love … about the pleasure you gave to me. I was wondering if a man could receive that same sort of pleasure from a woman?”

When he spoke at last, Dominic’s voice sounded rough and husky, and there was no mistaking the hard ridge swelling beneath the sheets. “It is the same, yes. But many women find the idea … distasteful.”

Catherine’s palms began to sweat. “I believe, milord, I should not find it so. In fact, quite the reverse.” She moved toward him. “I believe I should enjoy giving you pleasure. That is … if you would enjoy it, too.”

“If I would enjoy…? Ah, God.” Dominic reached for her, slid his hand around her neck, and drew her mouth down to his for a long, fiery kiss. By the time he had finished, Catherine was breathing as raggedly as he.

She shed her heavy robe and tossed it over a chair, then approached the bed and gently drew back the covers. Dominic’s arousal rested hot and thick against his belly. Catherine reached for it, touched it, and heard him groan. Bending over, she trailed soft, wet kisses along the inside of his thigh, then stopped.

“What is this?” For the first time, she noticed the small brown spot in the shape of a waning moon that marked his upper leg.

“That, my love, is the Edgemont crest. It’s the way my father knew I was his son. I call it the Edgemont curse.”

Catherine leaned forward and carefully placed her lips on the spot. Beneath her mouth she felt him tremble. When her small hand wrapped around his shaft, Dominic drew her toward him and kissed her, cupping a breast in his long brown fingers.

Catherine pulled away. “I want you to promise that you will let me do this for you … that you will let me love you.”

“What of you, fire kitten? Will you not allow me to soothe your passions as well?”

Catherine shook her head. “Tonight is yours, my love. My gift to you, if you will but take it.”

With a hint of reluctance, Dominic’s hand slid away from her breast to settle once more upon the bed. Catherine moved forward, her heavy braid falling across his chest. Dominic’s muscles grew taut as her lips covered his and her fingers curved once more around his thick shaft. In minutes he was breathing hard, his hips straining, his head thrown back. When Catherine’s mouth followed her hand, her lips tasting, coaxing, then drawing him inside, Dominic whispered her name.

It was heady this feeling of power, this seemingly limitless control she held over him, the pleasure she was giving. His breathing was rapid, his body bathed in a fine sheen of sweat, his lean hips grinding against the soft feather mattress. Still, she did not stop.

When she knew he was close, she felt his grip on her arm.

“Catherine … if you don’t stop now—”

“Hush,” she said, leaning over him, her long braid skimming his belly. “This I do for me as well.”

He came then, in wracking spasms that shook his body and forced her name from his lips. Again and again, he reached that plateau of sweet pleasure she had carried him to and Catherine exulted in the heady sense of control.

When he reached for her, she stopped him. “Close your eyes, my love. Let the last of your worries fade.”

She left him a moment then returned with a cool, damp cloth to cleanse away the remnants of his seed. Catherine pulled the sheet up to his chin, bent over and kissed his lips. She could hear his even breathing, and knew that he was sleeping.

Smiling into the darkness, she returned to her room confident that in some small way she had helped him battle the unseen foe that ate at his heart—and the problems that until tonight he believed he faced alone.