we don’t know,” Nicholas muttered beneath his breath.
“And you, sir . . .” Amy’s eyes fluttered shut. “Your selfish, loutish nature has denied you the company of your child . . .”
“I have no children.”
“You do indeed, your mother says. One.”
Catharine, Chloe, and Bennett sat in shocked silence as, for the first time that evening, Nicholas fumbled for words.
“I am not aware . . .” he began, genuinely surprised.
Amy’s voice dropped in both tone and volume. “Your mother says that you should be.”
Catharine recovered first. “There you have it,” she said, breathing hard. “You asked for information you did not know before.”
“Obviously, I meant information that could be proven. This is insanity. What am I to do, travel the world in an attempt to prove that I’ve no offspring?”
“That shouldn’t take much, boy,” Bennett Chapman said. “You’ve never been much of a lothario, after all.”
“Stop.” Jim leaned toward Amy, who was swaying unsteadily in her chair. “Miss Walsh—Amy—are you all right?”
“There’s a bit more, I think.” Her voice was barely audible. Hercheeks, so pink only moments ago, now looked unnaturally pale in the candlelight. “I have to say it; she’ll be most displeased if I don’t.”
“I disagree.” Jim kicked his chair from beneath him and dropped to one knee beside her. “It’s time for you to stop.”
Amy’s head lolled to one side as she struggled to find the words. Catharine half rose from her chair.
A warning jab gnawed in the pit of Adrian’s stomach. He covered Catharine’s hand with his own and gave it an urgent squeeze. The expression she turned his way was just as startled and helpless as he himself suddenly felt.
“You must stop her,” he said softly, fighting back an unexpected sense of unease.
“Dear God, don’t I know it.”
The intimate tone of her voice nearly robbed him of breath. Decades fell away as he stared from those chocolate-colored eyes to her full lips, noted the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the deep-rose dinner dress she wore.
Their eyes met. Catharine’s breath caught.
She tugged her hand from his to hurry to Amy’s side. “Amy,” she said, giving her niece a gentle shake. “Enough. You must stop.”
Amy opened glassy eyes and stared unseeing into her aunt’s face. “The message is about a girl named Cassie and . . . and someone in this room. Mrs. Chapman is most insistent that it be delivered.”
Then her eyes rolled back as she crumpled into Jim’s waiting arms.
CHAPTER
8
T he contours of the parlor floated before Catharine’s eyes. She watched Jim carry Amy to the sofa, but the action was something from a dream, disjointed and barely rooted in reality. Chairs rattled as Bennett, Chloe, and Nicholas rushed across the room. Jim’s voice rose above their babble, a touch of calm in the midst of a verbal storm.
“Back away,” he ordered. “Give her space to breathe.”
“Does your niece faint often?” Adrian’s breath felt soft against Catharine’s ear.
She gave an inadvertent shiver as his shoulder brushed hers. “No,” she said. “This is the first time.”
She felt him study her for a moment and turned toward the insistent gaze. She could read his face so easily. The combination of concern and distrust in his eyes embarrassed her, gave her the impetus she needed to turn away and rebuild her defenses.
Her heels clicked against the hard oak floor as she hurried toward the sofa. “Amy!” Everyone cleared a path as she approached except for Jim, who remained crouched beside Amy, her small hand wrapped in his.
Catharine gently cupped Amy’s chin. “Amy. Wake up!”
“Should we ring for a doctor?” Chloe twisted the handkerchief she still held in her hands.
Catharine ignored her. “Amy!”
The young woman moaned and turned her head to one side, nestling her cheek against Jim’s chest.
“Are you all right?” Jim asked.
Amy slowly opened her eyes.
“And you, sir . . .” Amy’s eyes fluttered shut. “Your selfish, loutish nature has denied you the company of your child . . .”
“I have no children.”
“You do indeed, your mother says. One.”
Catharine, Chloe, and Bennett sat in shocked silence as, for the first time that evening, Nicholas fumbled for words.
“I am not aware . . .” he began, genuinely surprised.
Amy’s voice dropped in both tone and volume. “Your mother says that you should be.”
Catharine recovered first. “There you have it,” she said, breathing hard. “You asked for information you did not know before.”
“Obviously, I meant information that could be proven. This is insanity. What am I to do, travel the world in an attempt to prove that I’ve no offspring?”
“That shouldn’t take much, boy,” Bennett Chapman said. “You’ve never been much of a lothario, after all.”
“Stop.” Jim leaned toward Amy, who was swaying unsteadily in her chair. “Miss Walsh—Amy—are you all right?”
“There’s a bit more, I think.” Her voice was barely audible. Hercheeks, so pink only moments ago, now looked unnaturally pale in the candlelight. “I have to say it; she’ll be most displeased if I don’t.”
“I disagree.” Jim kicked his chair from beneath him and dropped to one knee beside her. “It’s time for you to stop.”
Amy’s head lolled to one side as she struggled to find the words. Catharine half rose from her chair.
A warning jab gnawed in the pit of Adrian’s stomach. He covered Catharine’s hand with his own and gave it an urgent squeeze. The expression she turned his way was just as startled and helpless as he himself suddenly felt.
“You must stop her,” he said softly, fighting back an unexpected sense of unease.
“Dear God, don’t I know it.”
The intimate tone of her voice nearly robbed him of breath. Decades fell away as he stared from those chocolate-colored eyes to her full lips, noted the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the deep-rose dinner dress she wore.
Their eyes met. Catharine’s breath caught.
She tugged her hand from his to hurry to Amy’s side. “Amy,” she said, giving her niece a gentle shake. “Enough. You must stop.”
Amy opened glassy eyes and stared unseeing into her aunt’s face. “The message is about a girl named Cassie and . . . and someone in this room. Mrs. Chapman is most insistent that it be delivered.”
Then her eyes rolled back as she crumpled into Jim’s waiting arms.
CHAPTER
8
T he contours of the parlor floated before Catharine’s eyes. She watched Jim carry Amy to the sofa, but the action was something from a dream, disjointed and barely rooted in reality. Chairs rattled as Bennett, Chloe, and Nicholas rushed across the room. Jim’s voice rose above their babble, a touch of calm in the midst of a verbal storm.
“Back away,” he ordered. “Give her space to breathe.”
“Does your niece faint often?” Adrian’s breath felt soft against Catharine’s ear.
She gave an inadvertent shiver as his shoulder brushed hers. “No,” she said. “This is the first time.”
She felt him study her for a moment and turned toward the insistent gaze. She could read his face so easily. The combination of concern and distrust in his eyes embarrassed her, gave her the impetus she needed to turn away and rebuild her defenses.
Her heels clicked against the hard oak floor as she hurried toward the sofa. “Amy!” Everyone cleared a path as she approached except for Jim, who remained crouched beside Amy, her small hand wrapped in his.
Catharine gently cupped Amy’s chin. “Amy. Wake up!”
“Should we ring for a doctor?” Chloe twisted the handkerchief she still held in her hands.
Catharine ignored her. “Amy!”
The young woman moaned and turned her head to one side, nestling her cheek against Jim’s chest.
“Are you all right?” Jim asked.
Amy slowly opened her eyes.
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