Part 12 (2/2)

He tugged again, until their arms rested length against length. ”Who would have thought it?”

Her breath was shallow; he could hear and feel it. ”I should ... I shouldn't . . .”

”Make up your mind,” he commanded, surprised to hear the easy smile in his own voice. He'd had no idea he was smiling.

One more tug, or a very deep breath, and she would be flat up against his chest. A curious experience, indeed, holding a woman whose eyes were nearly on a level with his. He imagined being stretched across a mattress, eye-to-eye and hip-to-hip, and felt his body leap in response. ”Ah, Cate.”

”Colwin.” She said the word slowly, hesitantly. ”Is that your name?”

He actually debated lying, saying yes, yes it was his name. ”No.”

”But your grandmother-”

”It is the t.i.tle I bore,” he said shortly, ”when my father was still alive.”

”So your name, your Christian name, is . . .”

Tregaron felt his smile harden into a grimace. ”Is my secret for tonight.”

”Why?”

”Why on earth is it important? Tregaron will do, or Colwin. My . . . friends use those, so what should it matter?”

”It matters,” came the terse reply. ”But I have no right to press.”

He felt it slipping away, the heated moment between them. Because of a nearly forty-year-old vagary on the part of his eccentric mother and some fierce need he sensed now in Cate.

”Will Colwin not do?” he demanded.

There was a long pause. Then, ”Of course, Colwin would do as well as anything. As well as Raphael. Or Michael, or Gabriel. Or Lucifer. What are they but names, after all?”

Names of archangels, and one very infamous fallen angel. Tregaron was completely lost. ”I do not understand.”

”No.” Cate tugged sharply, pulling her wrist from his grasp. ”I don't know how you possibly could.”

With that, she pushed past him, her long stride taking her from the balcony and back into the house almost before he could blink. Knowing he had just committed some grievous error, and not entirely certain it involved names, Tregaron followed. By the time he reached the ballroom, Cate was nowhere to be seen.

Lord Fremont was. In fact, the man was just leading Lucy Buchanan from the dance floor. He glanced up, saw Tregaron in the doorway, and gave an almost imperceptible, unmistakably mocking salute. Then he guided the angelic Buchanan sister into the crush and out of sight.

Throughout the remainder of the evening, the closest thing to a Buchanan that Tregaron could find was a very long draught of his host's excellent Scotch whiskey. It came to him easily, was warm and ever so slightly sweet, and left him no more muddled in the head than one long-limbed Scotswoman.

Chapter 10.

”Shocking!” Lady Leverham announced after luncheon the following day, rapping a plump fist on the little table beside her chair. ”Outrageous! Honestly, my dear, could you not have shown a tad more discretion than to disappear from the Tarrant affair with that man?”

The diatribe had been going on in a similar fas.h.i.+on for the past several minutes. Cate sat stiffly in her chair and gave silent thanks that the good lady was more loquacious than truly condemning. She scolded, but her heart clearly ran a distant second in enthusiasm to her tongue.

Cate sneaked a glance at the porcelain mantel clock. Like many of the lady's possessions it bore a medieval theme- this time a knight, lance aloft, an overly pink-cheeked damsel, and a similarly pink-cheeked dragon. Cate dragged her eyes from gilt-tipped green scales to the gold hands on the face of the clock. Half past two. She s.h.i.+fted again in her chair. This was one of her very rare and always uncomfortable absences from the work site. And she would not have come at all had not Lady Leverham's invitation for lunch demanded her presence as well as Lucy's.

Lunch had been perfectly lovely. The lady's post-salmon sermon was far less so.

”Now, fortunately,” she was saying, ”I do not believe many people noted your absence. I myself would have remained ignorant had I not observed your return, but then, he rejoined the festivities far enough behind you that no connection could be certain. Of course, the ton does have that rather unfortunate habit of a.s.suming first and ascertaining later.”

Lady Leverham paused to remove a silver teaspoon from her pet's mouth. The monkey chattered irritably, shaking a small fist, before scampering down from his mistress's lap to crouch at the bottom of Cate's chair. He gave her, or at least her loose hairpins, a long, considered look. She glared back. For a minute, woman and beast locked in silent battle. Then Galahad gave a faint simian sneer and scuttled off to friendlier climes.

”Well, my dear”-Lady Leverham crossed her arms and managed to paste an almost believably stern frown in her ever-pleasant features-”what have you to say for yourself?”

She was answered first with a dramatic sigh. Then, ”Not a thing,” Lucy replied, negligently examining the toe of her pink kid slipper for imaginary scuffs. ”I have done nothing at all, save pa.s.s a diverting quarter hour in the company of Lord Fremont. We were quite surrounded the entire time.”

”And so you were,” the lady said dryly. ”By books. Which make no more appropriate chaperons than a deserted library makes an acceptable spot to chat.” She turned to Cate and fluttered her plump hands. ”You say something, dearest. I have quite run out of helpful scolds.”

Cate was at a wry loss as to what she could possibly say. She certainly could not take her sister to task for having wandered into a secluded part of the Tarrant house with a man. Not when she had done the same with Tregaron, had come so very close to ... Memory washed over her with a little chill that was not unpleasant in the least. Of course, it was followed almost immediately by mortification.

She had wandered out onto a secluded balcony with the Marquess of Tregaron-consummate blue-blood, pinnacle of wealthy arrogance, former social pariah. And her employer. She had stood far too close to him, so close that she could see the odd line of silver threading through his midnight hair. She had very nearly kissed him, simply because it seemed the most natural thing in the world to do.

Cate fumbled for her handkerchief and forced a not terribly convincing sneeze. Then she silently cursed her flaming cheeks. She had not blushed with half so much regularity since her altogether too awkward adolescence, when even the sound of her name would set her to the blush.

No, she thought. She would not be scolding her sister for pa.s.sing a few stolen, fascinating minutes with a gentleman. She would, however, say her twopence worth on the matter of that man.

”I do not wish to impose my tastes on yours,” she announced, choosing her words carefully, ”but I cannot help but think, Lucy, that you could do far better than Lord Fremont.”

Apparently she had not chosen quite carefully enough. Her sister blew out an exasperated breath,sending the feathery t.i.tian curls at her forehead into a charming dance. ”Oh, Catey, really.”

”I simply mean-”

”I know what you mean. You mean you do not care for him. Well, you are not infallible. Look at the terrible things you said about Lord Tregaron. And he has turned out to be perfectly delightful, has he not?”

Lady Leverham sniffed loudly. Cate closed her eyes for a weary moment. She was not certain delightful was a word she would have chosen. Disturbing, perhaps. Gracious. Unsettling. Alluring.Dangerous.

”Well?” her sister demanded. ”Has he not?”

”He has been most.. . inoffensive,” Cate offered weakly.

Lucy rolled her eyes. ”Inoffensive. Fine. Am I to take it you find Lord Fremont offensive?”

”I find him unimpressive.” As much as Cate wanted to add cruel, selfish, and vain, she did notknow how she could. ”I cannot think what he has to recommend him beyond a pretty face.”

”Ah, but such a very pretty face it is.”

<script>