reminiscent of the old Blas.
Her lips quivered. “It’s all so strange,” Cat confessed. “I have never seen anyone else in that chair. Ever. We are here alone, just you and I. The city is overflowing with soldiers in blue coats . . . and we are married.” Cat’s usually lovely voice was on the verge of shrill. “I do not want to take orders from you. You are a stranger. I do not like it!”
Blas leaned back in the chair, regarding her with some relief . . . and a touch of amusement. “Why, Cat, I do believe you have bridal nerves.”
“ I do not!”
“ Do you expect to be ravished?”
“ You did not come out to meet me!” she wailed.
Blas held his head in his hands, struggling between exasperation and laughter. “Most of the servants think I married you for your dowry, Cat. They accept the situation as an eminently practical solution to a difficult problem, but they believe us truly bound in a marriage of convenience. I must at all times—and so must you!—consider how my actions look to others. This is not a game, Cat, it’s a damned dangerous situation.”
Catarina grimaced as she attempted to wipe her face with the soggy handkerchief which had been crumpled in her fist. Blas tossed a fresh one to her and watched while she restored herself to some semblance of normalcy. It was the first time he had ever seen Cat anything but spectacularly beautiful. She looked small and lonely and lost.
“ Very well,” Blas pronounced bracingly when Catarina’s hands were once more folded in her lap. “Listen carefully so you will understand how we must go on. I have instructed that your things be moved into your mother’s room . . .”
“ No! ” Cat screamed. She flew out of her chair to stand with her hands flat on the desk, her contorted face bent over him. “You cannot do this. My mother died in that room. No one has used it since.”
Shocked, Blas rose slowly to his feet as Catarina hiccuped on a sob.
“ It was very quiet, you know,” she continued in an abrupt change of tone, her eyes fixed on the past. “Mama refused to scream. Papa had the English doctor, the best midwives, nothing helped. Three days she suffered. They wouldn’t let me in, but I sneaked by them at night. I promised her I would be good . . . and take care of Papa. But I have failed so many times . . .”
Blas had promised himself he would not touch her. But there was no hope for it. He strode round the desk and held her against his chest, letting her weep. After a minute or two, he scooped her up, securing her on his lap when he returned to Thomas Audley’s chair. While Cat’s sobs gradually diminished, Blas had ample time to contemplate the magnitude of the problem he had created. He had been hopelessly naive. His body was already reacting to the soft, infinitely appealing curves cuddled against him. Five minutes in Cat’s company and his good intentions were sorely tried. As they would undoubtedly be time and time again over the months to come.
Hell and devil confound it!
As Cat dried her streaming face on her petticoat ruffle, Blas forced himself to speak firmly. “I am sorry, Cat, more sorry than you know, but appearances are vitally important. You and I must seem to be husband and wife. I have moved into your father’s room. You must have the chamber next door. No matter what pain it causes you. Just consider it part of what you must suffer because we are at war.”
Cat drew a deep breath. Blas held his. When she finally nodded her head, he stifled a sigh of relief. Gently, Blas put her from him, steering her back to the chair in front of the desk. He needed a clear head for the remaining discussion.
“ It is necessary to be ingratiating with the French,” Blas decreed from the throne of Thomas Audley’s chair. “You will spend an hour or so each evening in the gaming rooms. So far, the explanation that I sent my wife into the country for safety has sufficed, but expectations have developed. Rumors that I have
Her lips quivered. “It’s all so strange,” Cat confessed. “I have never seen anyone else in that chair. Ever. We are here alone, just you and I. The city is overflowing with soldiers in blue coats . . . and we are married.” Cat’s usually lovely voice was on the verge of shrill. “I do not want to take orders from you. You are a stranger. I do not like it!”
Blas leaned back in the chair, regarding her with some relief . . . and a touch of amusement. “Why, Cat, I do believe you have bridal nerves.”
“ I do not!”
“ Do you expect to be ravished?”
“ You did not come out to meet me!” she wailed.
Blas held his head in his hands, struggling between exasperation and laughter. “Most of the servants think I married you for your dowry, Cat. They accept the situation as an eminently practical solution to a difficult problem, but they believe us truly bound in a marriage of convenience. I must at all times—and so must you!—consider how my actions look to others. This is not a game, Cat, it’s a damned dangerous situation.”
Catarina grimaced as she attempted to wipe her face with the soggy handkerchief which had been crumpled in her fist. Blas tossed a fresh one to her and watched while she restored herself to some semblance of normalcy. It was the first time he had ever seen Cat anything but spectacularly beautiful. She looked small and lonely and lost.
“ Very well,” Blas pronounced bracingly when Catarina’s hands were once more folded in her lap. “Listen carefully so you will understand how we must go on. I have instructed that your things be moved into your mother’s room . . .”
“ No! ” Cat screamed. She flew out of her chair to stand with her hands flat on the desk, her contorted face bent over him. “You cannot do this. My mother died in that room. No one has used it since.”
Shocked, Blas rose slowly to his feet as Catarina hiccuped on a sob.
“ It was very quiet, you know,” she continued in an abrupt change of tone, her eyes fixed on the past. “Mama refused to scream. Papa had the English doctor, the best midwives, nothing helped. Three days she suffered. They wouldn’t let me in, but I sneaked by them at night. I promised her I would be good . . . and take care of Papa. But I have failed so many times . . .”
Blas had promised himself he would not touch her. But there was no hope for it. He strode round the desk and held her against his chest, letting her weep. After a minute or two, he scooped her up, securing her on his lap when he returned to Thomas Audley’s chair. While Cat’s sobs gradually diminished, Blas had ample time to contemplate the magnitude of the problem he had created. He had been hopelessly naive. His body was already reacting to the soft, infinitely appealing curves cuddled against him. Five minutes in Cat’s company and his good intentions were sorely tried. As they would undoubtedly be time and time again over the months to come.
Hell and devil confound it!
As Cat dried her streaming face on her petticoat ruffle, Blas forced himself to speak firmly. “I am sorry, Cat, more sorry than you know, but appearances are vitally important. You and I must seem to be husband and wife. I have moved into your father’s room. You must have the chamber next door. No matter what pain it causes you. Just consider it part of what you must suffer because we are at war.”
Cat drew a deep breath. Blas held his. When she finally nodded her head, he stifled a sigh of relief. Gently, Blas put her from him, steering her back to the chair in front of the desk. He needed a clear head for the remaining discussion.
“ It is necessary to be ingratiating with the French,” Blas decreed from the throne of Thomas Audley’s chair. “You will spend an hour or so each evening in the gaming rooms. So far, the explanation that I sent my wife into the country for safety has sufficed, but expectations have developed. Rumors that I have
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