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Authors: Mary Jo Putney
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the way it is."
"What about you?" She was immediately sorry she had spoken. Only the amount of brandy she had consumed could explain why she had asked such a personal question.
Unperturbed, Michael answered, "I was going to spend the spring in London with an eye to surveying the marriage mart, but Napoleon played ducks and drakes with my plans."
"He ruined the plans of many people."
Michael shrugged. "There will be other Seasons."
The thought of Michael seeking a wife among the brightest belles of society gave her a strange twist of regret. She had met Colin shortly before her parents' death, and married him a month after the double funeral, thinking his strength and love would support her in her grief. It had not taken long to realize that his emotions did not run deep, and that she was stronger than he in most ways.
She had no right to complain—but there were times when she longed to have someone to lean on. Instinctively she knew that if she had married a man like Michael, she would have a husband who would share the burdens of life—a man who could support her when she felt too tired to carry on.
Knowing she must not think of such things, she rose and gently deposited the cat in the middle of the warm chair seat. "I'd better go to bed while I can still manage the stairs."
She took a step, then wavered, her head spinning.
Instantly Michael was on his feet steadying her. She leaned against his shoulder until her head cleared. "Sorry," she murmured. "I haven't much of a head for brandy."
He guided her to the stairs with a hand on her elbow. "I'm the one who must apologize for corrupting you with strong drink."
His touch gave her a sudden, sharp memory of what it had felt like when he held her in his arms. How could she remember so clearly now when she had been weeping her eyes out then?
Striving for lightness, she said, "Nonsense. They call me Saint Catherine, you know. I'm quite incorruptible."
He smiled appreciatively, his green eyes alight with amusement. The intimate warmth of his expression almost knocked her from her feet again. With a sinking sensation in her stomach, she realized that she had never been so drawn to a man, not even when she was sixteen and infatuated with Colin.
Thank God that Michael had no improper designs on her. He might admire her looks, but he was one of those honorable men who had no interest in married women. She guessed that when he married, he would also be a faithful husband. His future wife was a lucky woman.
Since she and Michael could never be lovers, she must make him her friend. In the long run, that would be better, for-friendship lasted longer and hurt less than passion.
Yet as he escorted her to her room, she knew that if any man could lead her astray, it would be this one.
----
Chapter 6
The next evening Michael decided to dine at home to see how Catherine was faring. He arrived late at the sherry hour.
Anne Mowbry smiled and offered her hand when he entered. "I can't believe it! Every one of our stalwart officers is here tonight. I'd begun to think I had imagined you, Michael."
"I thought I had better put in an appearance before you forgot my existence and gave my room to someone else."
She chuckled, then turned back to Kenneth Wilding. Michael went to Catherine, who was dispensing sherry and looking as calm as always. As he accepted a glass, he asked quietly; "Any ill effects from last night?"
"A headache for my excesses, but no nightmares." She glanced at the coals, burning in the fireplace. "And I can look at flames without going into a flat panic."
"Good."
He was about to move away when she said, "Is the offer of escort still good? Lady Trowbridge is giving a musicale tomorrow, and I'd like to attend. She assured me that the string quartet she has engaged is quite extraordinary."
"It would be my pleasure."
As they set on a time, dinner was announced. The meal passed smoothly. Michael was becoming used to the ache of yearning he felt
"What about you?" She was immediately sorry she had spoken. Only the amount of brandy she had consumed could explain why she had asked such a personal question.
Unperturbed, Michael answered, "I was going to spend the spring in London with an eye to surveying the marriage mart, but Napoleon played ducks and drakes with my plans."
"He ruined the plans of many people."
Michael shrugged. "There will be other Seasons."
The thought of Michael seeking a wife among the brightest belles of society gave her a strange twist of regret. She had met Colin shortly before her parents' death, and married him a month after the double funeral, thinking his strength and love would support her in her grief. It had not taken long to realize that his emotions did not run deep, and that she was stronger than he in most ways.
She had no right to complain—but there were times when she longed to have someone to lean on. Instinctively she knew that if she had married a man like Michael, she would have a husband who would share the burdens of life—a man who could support her when she felt too tired to carry on.
Knowing she must not think of such things, she rose and gently deposited the cat in the middle of the warm chair seat. "I'd better go to bed while I can still manage the stairs."
She took a step, then wavered, her head spinning.
Instantly Michael was on his feet steadying her. She leaned against his shoulder until her head cleared. "Sorry," she murmured. "I haven't much of a head for brandy."
He guided her to the stairs with a hand on her elbow. "I'm the one who must apologize for corrupting you with strong drink."
His touch gave her a sudden, sharp memory of what it had felt like when he held her in his arms. How could she remember so clearly now when she had been weeping her eyes out then?
Striving for lightness, she said, "Nonsense. They call me Saint Catherine, you know. I'm quite incorruptible."
He smiled appreciatively, his green eyes alight with amusement. The intimate warmth of his expression almost knocked her from her feet again. With a sinking sensation in her stomach, she realized that she had never been so drawn to a man, not even when she was sixteen and infatuated with Colin.
Thank God that Michael had no improper designs on her. He might admire her looks, but he was one of those honorable men who had no interest in married women. She guessed that when he married, he would also be a faithful husband. His future wife was a lucky woman.
Since she and Michael could never be lovers, she must make him her friend. In the long run, that would be better, for-friendship lasted longer and hurt less than passion.
Yet as he escorted her to her room, she knew that if any man could lead her astray, it would be this one.
----
Chapter 6
The next evening Michael decided to dine at home to see how Catherine was faring. He arrived late at the sherry hour.
Anne Mowbry smiled and offered her hand when he entered. "I can't believe it! Every one of our stalwart officers is here tonight. I'd begun to think I had imagined you, Michael."
"I thought I had better put in an appearance before you forgot my existence and gave my room to someone else."
She chuckled, then turned back to Kenneth Wilding. Michael went to Catherine, who was dispensing sherry and looking as calm as always. As he accepted a glass, he asked quietly; "Any ill effects from last night?"
"A headache for my excesses, but no nightmares." She glanced at the coals, burning in the fireplace. "And I can look at flames without going into a flat panic."
"Good."
He was about to move away when she said, "Is the offer of escort still good? Lady Trowbridge is giving a musicale tomorrow, and I'd like to attend. She assured me that the string quartet she has engaged is quite extraordinary."
"It would be my pleasure."
As they set on a time, dinner was announced. The meal passed smoothly. Michael was becoming used to the ache of yearning he felt
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