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Authors: Mary Jo Putney
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whenever he was near Catherine. Thank God she saw him only as a friend. If there had been the least hint of reciprocal interest on her part, the situation would be impossible. He would have had to find another billet even if it meant living in a woodshed.
After dinner he had to put in an appearance at two receptions, but he left both as quickly as possible. He needed a solid night's sleep. The previous night had been haunted by painfully vivid thoughts of Catherine. Whenever he closed his eyes, he had seen her candid aqua eyes, smelled the intimate fragrance of rosewater and woman on her satin skin, felt the seductive pressure of her body against his.
Finally he had fallen into a restless sleep, only to dream of making love to her in a world where she was free and they could be together without dishonor. He had woken exhausted and depressed. Why the hell couldn't he become obsessed with a woman who was eligible?
Because he had never done anything the easy way in his life. His friend Lucien had pointed that out upon several occasions.
The house on Rue de la Reine was still, though a scattering of lamps provided dim light. He was about to go upstairs when he heard a man's voice. Thinking it sounded like Kenneth, he turned down the hall that bisected the house. He came to the cross passage and looked left. Then he halted, feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach.
In the shadows at the end of the passage, Colin Melbourne was embracing his wife, his mouth devouring and his hand up her skirt. Catherine was flattened against the wall, invisible except for her dark hair and the pale folds of her gown. As Michael watched, paralyzed, Colin unbuttoned his breeches, then thrust into her. She whimpered with pleasure.
Michael suddenly had trouble drawing enough air into his lungs. No doubt the Melbournes should be envied for having such a passionate relationship after so many years of marriage, but seeing them together nauseated him. Thank God they were so engrossed in each other that neither had noticed his presence.
He was retreating when a female voice giggled. "
Ah, mon capitaine, mon beau Anglais
…"
He stopped dead, then swung around. Colin's forehead was pressed against the wall, revealing his partner's face. The woman was not his wife, but one of the Belgian maids, a dark-haired wench about Catherine's height. Her head was thrown back and her mouth was open, revealing large, irregular teeth.
Michael's sick feeling vanished in a flood of pure rage. How could the filthy bastard betray and humiliate his wife like this, and under her own roof? He deserved to be horsewhipped.
It took all of Michael's control to turn away. Blood throbbing in his temples, he climbed the stairs two at a time. He had intended to go to his room, but there was light under Kenneth's door. He knocked, then walked in without waiting.
His friend looked up from a letter he was writing. "What happened? You look like murder."
"I feel like it." Michael slammed his shako onto the bed, almost breaking the plume. "Colin Melbourne is down in the west hall humping one of the maids. Christ, has the man no decency?"
"Not much," Kenneth said calmly. "I've heard he'll mount anything in skirts. He's usually fairly discreet, but if a
wench is willing, he wouldn't say no, even in his own house."
"How can he?" Michael growled. "How could any man with a wife like Catherine look elsewhere?"
"I wouldn't presume to guess. But why are you so shocked? Society is full of men with the morals of tomcats, and women who are
no better."
Michael stalked across the room, knowing Kenneth was right, but still
outraged. "Does-Catherine-know how her husband behaves?"
"I'd be very surprised if she didn't. She's an intelligent" woman, and she knows the world. In this case, rather better than you do. If you're thinking of-telling her what you. saw, don't. She wouldn't thank you for it."
"I suppose you're right," Michael said reluctantly. "But Catherine deserves better
After dinner he had to put in an appearance at two receptions, but he left both as quickly as possible. He needed a solid night's sleep. The previous night had been haunted by painfully vivid thoughts of Catherine. Whenever he closed his eyes, he had seen her candid aqua eyes, smelled the intimate fragrance of rosewater and woman on her satin skin, felt the seductive pressure of her body against his.
Finally he had fallen into a restless sleep, only to dream of making love to her in a world where she was free and they could be together without dishonor. He had woken exhausted and depressed. Why the hell couldn't he become obsessed with a woman who was eligible?
Because he had never done anything the easy way in his life. His friend Lucien had pointed that out upon several occasions.
The house on Rue de la Reine was still, though a scattering of lamps provided dim light. He was about to go upstairs when he heard a man's voice. Thinking it sounded like Kenneth, he turned down the hall that bisected the house. He came to the cross passage and looked left. Then he halted, feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach.
In the shadows at the end of the passage, Colin Melbourne was embracing his wife, his mouth devouring and his hand up her skirt. Catherine was flattened against the wall, invisible except for her dark hair and the pale folds of her gown. As Michael watched, paralyzed, Colin unbuttoned his breeches, then thrust into her. She whimpered with pleasure.
Michael suddenly had trouble drawing enough air into his lungs. No doubt the Melbournes should be envied for having such a passionate relationship after so many years of marriage, but seeing them together nauseated him. Thank God they were so engrossed in each other that neither had noticed his presence.
He was retreating when a female voice giggled. "
Ah, mon capitaine, mon beau Anglais
…"
He stopped dead, then swung around. Colin's forehead was pressed against the wall, revealing his partner's face. The woman was not his wife, but one of the Belgian maids, a dark-haired wench about Catherine's height. Her head was thrown back and her mouth was open, revealing large, irregular teeth.
Michael's sick feeling vanished in a flood of pure rage. How could the filthy bastard betray and humiliate his wife like this, and under her own roof? He deserved to be horsewhipped.
It took all of Michael's control to turn away. Blood throbbing in his temples, he climbed the stairs two at a time. He had intended to go to his room, but there was light under Kenneth's door. He knocked, then walked in without waiting.
His friend looked up from a letter he was writing. "What happened? You look like murder."
"I feel like it." Michael slammed his shako onto the bed, almost breaking the plume. "Colin Melbourne is down in the west hall humping one of the maids. Christ, has the man no decency?"
"Not much," Kenneth said calmly. "I've heard he'll mount anything in skirts. He's usually fairly discreet, but if a
wench is willing, he wouldn't say no, even in his own house."
"How can he?" Michael growled. "How could any man with a wife like Catherine look elsewhere?"
"I wouldn't presume to guess. But why are you so shocked? Society is full of men with the morals of tomcats, and women who are
no better."
Michael stalked across the room, knowing Kenneth was right, but still
outraged. "Does-Catherine-know how her husband behaves?"
"I'd be very surprised if she didn't. She's an intelligent" woman, and she knows the world. In this case, rather better than you do. If you're thinking of-telling her what you. saw, don't. She wouldn't thank you for it."
"I suppose you're right," Michael said reluctantly. "But Catherine deserves better
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