Part 38 (1/2)
Chapter 7.
Chapter 8 Traveling in his coach, Luke couldn't help but be irritated by the amount of time he was spending preparing himself for his nightly visits to Dodger's. He'd never before been on a schedule. Now he was on one every night-not only for when he went to Dodger's but for when he left. Catherine insisted. Three at the latest. After all, she needed her beauty rest. Not that he attributed her beauty to the amount of sleep she indulged in. He had a feeling she could go a week without sleep and still be ravis.h.i.+ng. It was more than the alabaster of her skin or the honey of her hair. It was the confidence that she exuded-as though she somehow demanded that when a man looked at her, he would see naught but her perfection. He'd known a good many beautiful women, but he'd never given much thought to exactly why they were beautiful. Catherine in particular puzzled him. She wasn't striking, and yet he was hard pressed to think of anyone he found more attractive. Not even Frannie could compare,
Chapter 8.
Chapter 9 ”It's my hand, not my legs,” Catherine said as Luke swept her into his arms as soon as she appeared in the doorway of the coach intending to step out. Luke had instructed his driver to go to his residence straightaway, to the back, where none would witness who was coming inside. ”Yes, but the faster I get you indoors, the more quickly I can have a look.” ”I'm quite capable of moving quickly.” ”Stop complaining and just accept that on this matter you'll not win.” ”Such a bully,” she muttered, before nestling her head more securely against his shoulder. Luke was smiling before he realized it. How was it that she managed to stir to life every emotion possible in him? First she irritated him like the devil, and then she had tried to protect him. He'd spun around in time to see her, to see the knife slas.h.i.+ng-and his stomach had dropped to the ground. Fury had almost blinded him. At that precise moment, he'd thought he could have killed all six ruffians without breaking a sweat. Th
Chapter 9.
Chapter 10 Not tonight. -C Catherine studied the missive that had been delivered earlier in the evening. Then she compared it to the one she should have burned. It was incomprehensible that they were written by the same hand. The latest was more scribble than anything else, looking like something her father in his infirmity would have written. Not something that the bold, strong, and daring Lord Claybourne would write. Unexpected dread filled her. He'd been fighting the ruffians long before she'd stepped out of the coach. He'd disappeared into shadows, only to reemerge. She'd a.s.sumed he was unscathed, but her a.s.sumption could be wrong. He could have been wounded. Seriously. And it would be just like him to worry over her wound and allow his own to go untended-to strive to be so amazingly brave and sacrificing. This very moment, he could be fighting an infection, s.h.i.+vering with a fever, writhing in pain. His handwriting certainly indicated that something was amiss. And his missive was s
Chapter 10.
Chapter 11 Catherine was mortified. Quite simply and completely mortified. She sat on a bench in the hallway and fought to quell her trembling. She'd been carrying on a conversation with a man in his bedchamber-worse than that! In his bed!-as though they were sitting in the garden sipping tea and nibbling on biscuits. With nothing except a thin sheet hiding the treasures of his body. Oh, how she'd wanted to explore those treasures. Falling asleep on his chest had been lovely. He had such a magnificent chest. Even the scars didn't detract from his rough beauty. She couldn't imagine that he'd gained any of them after he came to live here. No, he would have acquired them when he was a lad living on the streets. She wanted to weep for what he must have endured. Who could blame him for turning to deceit in order to gain a better life? She wanted to hold him close, stroke him, and take away all the bad memories that must surely haunt him. No wonder he had debilitating headaches. Who wouldn't
Chapter 11.
Chapter 12 Exhaustion claimed her the moment she walked into her bedchamber. Her bed called to her like a siren's song. It was all she could do to remain patient while Jenny helped her out of her clothing. She wanted to simply rip it off and fall into bed. Dealing with Claybourne was always tiring-and exhilarating. Which only served to make it more tiring. She had to keep her wits about her at all times, although this morning they'd seemed to settle into a kind of companions.h.i.+p. Perhaps they would become friends and when he married Frannie and they moved more frequently within Catherine's circle of acquaintances, the blasted earl would at last accept her invitations. Or at least his wife would. Catherine had been drawn to him that first night-that first ball. But what she felt now ran more deeply. She wanted to know everything about him. Once she knew everything, perhaps she'd no longer be intrigued. She crawled into bed, yawned, and told Jenny, ”Wake me at two.” She needed to pick up
Chapter 12.
Chapter 13 ”Whatever happened to your hand?” Winnie asked. ”Whatever happened to your chin?” Catherine responded. They were in the library at Winnie's residence where they'd planned to address the invitations to their ball. But Catherine was still having difficultly holding a pen, and she was no longer in the mood to discuss the plans for the ball anyway. Winnie rubbed her chin. ”I ran into a door.” ”Oh, Winnie, how stupid do you think I am? Where else are you hurt?” Winnie squeezed her eyes shut. ”Nowhere else. He slapped me because I didn't want to perform my wifely duties.” ”Slapped? More likely punched. Is that his idea of the best way to entice you into his bed?” ”Please, don't say anything more. It should be gone by the ball. And if it's not, you're the only one who won't believe I ran into a door. Everyone else thinks I'm clumsy.” Because she'd so often blamed any visible bruises on small accidents that hadn't happened. ”I detest Avendale,” Catherine groused. ”So you've said on
Chapter 13.