Chapter 6
ONE WEEK LATER
Caerleon Manor, Berkshire
“Iam to give you away, Your Ladyship,” Mr. McKay said to Catherine in his clipped, efficient manner.
Catherine wore a dress that had been made for her at Aaron’s expense.
It was white and simply made, but the first time in her adult life that she had been purchased a new gown.
She stood humbly before the full-length dress mirror in the guest room she had been given, which she did not dare regard as her room, and admired the dress with its misty veil.
It is beautiful. Simple but elegant. Unadorned but somehow more lovely than if it had jewels sewn into it.
“Very well, thank you, Mr. McKay,” she smiled.
Sally fussed around her skirts, straightening them until they were just right, then beaming at Catherine in the mirror.
“I never thought I would see the day…” the maid breathed.
“Sally! We do not share personal opinions on the master,” Mr. McKay snapped with the air of a Sergeant Major on a parade ground.
“Of course, Mr. McKay. Sorry, Mr. McKay,” Sally blushed and curtsied twice.
Catherine furrowed her brows. “You have my permission and my oath that it will not leave this room,” she whispered from the side of her mouth. “Why did you think you would never see this day?”
Mr. McKay clicked his heels together and turned, offering an arm held at a precise right angle to his body. “We are expected at the chapel, Your Ladyship. If you would be so kind.”
Catherine responded at once to the imperative and took the butler’s arm. As she did, she recognized the instinct for obedience within herself.
It was a survival instinct at Haventon, but I do not need it any longer. I am safe. I can be myself. I wonder if I know how anymore...
As she walked with the butler through the twisting, meandering halls of Caerleon Manor, she resolved to ask for Sally to be assigned as her personal maid. And then to quiz her in private about Aaron.
If I am to help him to defeat the scandal that Aunt and Uncle are going to stir up, I must know how. I must know his new life to a degree.
She remembered the dark and gloomy halls of Caerleon from childhood, when she would visit with Aaron, and they would play hide and seek.
It had frightened her as a girl. Aaron’s father had terrified her.
The house seemed haunted, and the Duke was a dark and tyrannical figure from whom the children often steered clear.
“I remember how much of a maze this house was,” she giggled.
Mr. McKay made a polite noise.
“I don’t know how you find your way about.”
“I have a map,” he said briskly.
At first, she thought it a jest. But the butler gave no sign.
“You must lend it to me,” she said in awe.
“Of course, Your Ladyship.”
Catherine felt that her hands should be growing cold and numb from touching the butler’s arm, so icy was his demeanour.
Perhaps he takes his lead from his master. Aaron has been cold towards me, too.
The chapel they eventually arrived at by carriage was a place of stone and shadows.
A stained glass window allowed shards of red, green, and blue light to dapple the altar, but ivy growing wild across the outside blocked most of the sunlight.
A priest stood behind the altar, and before him, with his back to Catherine, was Aaron.
Mr. McKay halted until given a nod by the priest.
The congregation consisted of members of Caerleon’s household staff, all wearing their work uniforms. Catherine felt a pinch of pity that her wedding would be a small interruption to an ordinary working day for them.
There would be nothing of the special occasion about this ceremony. No feast. Not even a day’s ease.
Perhaps I can ask Aaron to invite them to partake in the wedding breakfast. Or at least partake in the feast…
Then, Aaron looked at her.
It was no more than a glance over his shoulder, his eyes shadowed by a lock of dark hair that fell across his face.
His gaze locked with her, and she almost gasped.
Something ran through her from head to toe, a frisson that made her want to clench every muscle, to squeeze every drop of pleasure from the tension.
That glance seemed to last an eternity.
Mr. McKay began to make slow, stately progress down the central aisle.
Aaron looked away, but Catherine could not.
She watched him get nearer. His height and broad shoulders stood out to her first. His sheer physical presence seemed to fill the brooding medieval space.
When she stood next to him, it felt as though a magnetism held her in place by his side.
He stared straight ahead, one arm raised, onto which Catherine placed her hand. It was like holding the arm of a stone statue. She thought that if she hung from that arm, it still would not move. The notion of Aaron as a tree beloved by children for climbing made her smile.
Aaron glanced at her then and frowned.
“You find something amusing?” he asked.
She quickly reined in her expression. “I—I was just happy.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Most people do.”
“Count me in the latter then.”
She would never have dared speak to her Aunt or Uncle, nor any of their friends, in such a way. Even now, the boldness of it set her heart to racing.
“You are feeling better since your draught some days ago?”
The oddity of the question in this place stopped Catherine for a moment, mouth open around her reply. The priest spoke before she could, asking if they were ready to proceed. Aaron impatiently gestured that they were.
He glowered through the ceremony, snapping his responses. Catherine replied with solemnity that earned a reassuring smile from the priest.
Then it was done.
She wore a ring on her finger, and so did Aaron. They turned to face each other, and the only thing left to do was for the bride and groom to kiss.
Catherine was suddenly breathless.
She licked her lips as Aaron raised the veil that separated them and laid it gently back. She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.
His face was angular and cruel. He was inhuman in his perfect maleness and his utter lack of emotion!
She wanted to see those stony lines break into something softer, and knew him to be capable of it because she had seen it in his youth.
She noticed the scar beneath his lip, a horizontal line just above his chin.
He had acquired that particular mark after their little acquaintanceship.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek chastely.
She felt disappointed as he moved to dismiss her.
With a rush of confidence and daring, she went onto her tiptoes and turned his face back to her. Pressing her lips carefully against his, she kissed him.
For a moment, he froze, mouth rigid, and she very nearly panicked. Then he relaxed. His arms glided about her waist, drawing her nearer.
Those arms were bands of steel from which she would not be able to escape unless he chose to release her. The utter helplessness in that moment thrilled her. It triggered a desire that she had never consciously felt before.
Her lips parted against his, and his tongue touched her half-open mouth. It was a shock that made her close her mouth again, but then she felt his arousal, hard and insistent against her…
Her lips parted on instinct, then panic—then something sweeter than both as his tongue swept in. She responded. Their kiss deepened. It felt like they had been tangled for hours, but she knew it was a matter of seconds. Slow seconds with each one taking years to unfold—
The priest cleared his throat, and Aaron broke away, breathless and tousled, looking at the man in surprise and then at Catherine.
She felt as stunned as he looked.
“Congratulations…” the priest said in a slow voice.
“It is done,” Aaron rasped, stepping back hastily from her.
He turned away and marched down the aisle. There was no triumphal wedding march or hymns, only the stabbing of his boots against the ancient flagstones of the chapel floor as he rushed to escape.
“I was talking to Mr. McKay about what a maze the house is,” Catherine said suddenly.
She sat in a carriage next to Aaron. He was engrossed in a large ledger, into which he was making careful notes.
“It is McKay. Not Mr. McKay. Not Mr. Harold. Not to us,” he corrected absently, “and he will not thank you for engaging him in conversation. He prefers to remain strictly separate from his employers,” he tacked on without looking up.
“I understand. Thank you for explaining. He says he has a map,” she giggled, forcing the laugh to try and expel the silence that filled the carriage.
“Yes, it has proved very useful for all of us,” Aaron said curtly.
Catherine had been watching London flow by the carriage as they entered its arteries, exchanging views of farmland and villages for canyons of brick and stone.
Then she frowned, thinking of how unbeatable Aaron had always been at hide and seek, in the house, because of his intimate knowledge of its layout.
“I assumed you had helped him create it,” she frowned.
“No, I was as lost as he,” Aaron replied, distractedly.
Catherine did not answer but found herself wondering how a boy who had grown up in Caerleon Manor could forget that knowledge so completely that he needed a map to find his way around.
“What is it that you are working on so assiduously?” she asked after a beat.
His head lifted sharply. His eyes were sharper upon her.
“Why do you ask?” he snapped.
“Simply making conversation,” she answered. “We go to a wedding breakfast which will be attended by people I do not know, and I am to act the part of the happy bride. I am trying to put myself at ease.”
“Conversation does not put me at ease.”
“That was not the case before. You talked to fill every silence.”
“We all change from our childhoods,” he replied with a tight-lipped simper.
“Some of us more than others,” she murmured, becoming annoyed by his sharp attitude, which seemed unjustified. She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself in check.
He watched her for a long, silent moment. She held her eyes on the window for as long as she could. But the uneven roads jostled her against him. Her shoulder or arm touched his. Or their thighs were pressed together briefly. Each contact sent a shiver through her.
She wanted the carriage ride to end because she could not bear the icy silences. But at the same time, she didn’t because it brought her such close proximity to Aaron.
I remember him being more innocent and quiet than I when we were children. Now, how this cold, rude, arrogant man toys with my senses… and I do not even think he knows it!
His blue eyes were pale and hard as steel. They were a snare from which she couldn’t escape—didn’t wish to escape. She wanted to keep gazing into them, growing closer to him, swayed by the rocking of the carriage until…
A sudden jolt brought her daydreams into startling reality.
The carriage lurched to one side, and Aaron was thrown against her.
His book flew across the carriage. Catherine was pressed back into her seat, her hands protectively in front of her.
Aaron’s body landed atop her, his weight landing on his hands, but his chest pressed against hers.
She felt the rigid muscle that slabbed that chest, the bulge of pectorals trained to steely rigidity. There was power there, held in check. Immense strength. It frightened her and tantalized her all the same.
Her hands slipped around his chest, running over the silk brocade of his waistcoat, under his overcoat. She moved purely by instinct, arms going around him to clutch his body against hers under the guise of fear.
All the while, her breath came in panting gasps.
Her heart hammered against her chest, and she fancied she could feel the reciprocal frenzy of his own heartbeat.
His eyes filled her vision, filling her head.
His lips were so close, and the memory of their kiss so fresh.
She wanted that kiss again, wanted to feel something that was not fear or apprehension. Wanted pure pleasure.
He lowered his head to hers first, and their lips met. It was not tender or gentle, not an overture of love. It was tense with barely constrained passion.
She gasped as he pressed her down into the cushioned seat of the carriage. His loins pinned her there, his desire evident. She held him tight against her, fingers digging into his back and wishing she could tear through the material of the waistcoat and shirt that separated his flesh from hers.
The taste of him was intoxicating.
There had never been a more male sensation than the thrusting intrusion of his tongue into her mouth.
She breathed in, and her head was filled with an exotic musk of spice and wood.
It mingled with the hard sensations of his body, thrusting and urgent.
Demanding and unyielding. She bit his lip, hearing him gasp and feeling a surge of triumph that almost made her cry aloud—so potent was the pleasure that it spilled down every nerve.
His callused fingers slid along her thigh, catching behind her knee and drawing her leg up. Before she could even fathom how his hand had come to be in such a state, her skirts whispered higher—past her stockings, past the ribbon garters, past everything.
She felt the cool air on bare skin, felt his hand pause at the edge of silk, hovering at the threshold.
His hips pressed against her, insistent, urgent, hard enough that she felt him through every layer of fabric between them.
The want that flooded through her was almost frightening in its intensity.
She wanted him to tear through silk and linen, wanted to watch that iron mask of control finally shatter.
Wanted him wild and savage, as desperate as she felt, as lost to this aching need…
“Your Grace! Are you well?” shouted the driver, “We just missed a runaway ox. I’m sorry for the sudden jolt!”
It shattered the moment. Aaron looked back, anger on his face.
“Well, be more bloody careful in the future! We are not hurt, no thanks to you!” he roared.
Then, those icy orbs transfixed down on Catherine. She felt the heat flood her face, knew her bosoms were heaving. His gaze caressed over them briefly before shooting back to her eyes.
“This must not happen again,” he hissed, “you will restrain yourself in the future.”
Me?!