Chapter 11 - Recognition
Catherine’s nerves relaxed when Aidan didn’t seem enraged at her suggestion he might know actual criminals. The way he simply listened, however, caused her stomach to knot at the thought that she was standing in front of him begging him to rescue the criminal she had kissed.
She caught herself squirming and forced herself to endure the conversation standing still. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes. She knew she was being irrational about it — and at the same time she was entirely sure Aidan would see everything in her gaze.
He stayed entirely unimpressed and Catherine wasn’t sure if he truly understood what she was trying to tell him. That people would die if her warning didn’t reach the right ears. And Aidan just stood there — and said nothing.
She reframed her warning. Told him treason was a capital offense — usually punished with death. He assured her he was aware of that. Catherine gritted her teeth.
Her ears were rushing with her spiking pulse when Aidan reached for her chin. His fingers brushed against her jawline, the touch was gentle but insistent, coaxing her face to tilt upward until she looked right into his own.
Despair mingled into her voice when she forced herself to excruciating straightforwardness by outright asking if he’d pass her message on to the right people. Her question was met with stillness. Then motion.
She had not accounted for him suddenly wrapping his arm around her. She almost stumbled when he pulled her forward, and suddenly his lips were brushing against hers.
The touch was restrained, as if Aidan himself was surprised by his move.
His body tensed against hers. His lips lingered, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he meant to proceed.
Flush against his body, his tremble registered instantly.
He was so close that Catherine could see his nostrils quiver once, as if he was inhaling her scent, right before his mouth softened against hers.
She was doing that. She was causing him to act like this.
As if he’d forgotten he had sworn on the book nothing would happen.
Catherine felt strangely powerful, knowing her presence made him lose his composure.
Her eyes closed when she gave in to the rush of emotions, entirely swept away.
His hand brushed against her face, angling her neck.
Teeth grazed against her bottom lip. A sensual, playful nibble. Confident. Cocky. As if he was sure she would give in to temptation. A shiver ran down her back, her breath hitching in her throat.
The heat pooling in her belly knew it before her mind caught up.
It was him.
Aidan was him.
The thief.
The very man she had meant to protect from betrayal — was kissing her in his own damn stables as if he had any right to her lips.
Catherine could tell he had sensed the change. He withdrew, and for a long moment their gazes locked. Now she saw it. The beautiful colour of his eyes. The lighter brown specks dancing around his pupils, almost swallowed by their blackness.
Her face flushed, heat stinging her cheeks. The warmth pooling inside her eyes caused her to finally inhale, despite her lungs protesting against it. She wouldn’t drown in overwhelm. She wouldn’t give him that. Even though the ground underneath her feet felt shaky.
Catherine didn’t recognise her own voice when the accusation spilled forth.
“You were very convincing… Dhorn.”
Thin and cold. And awfully shaky when she breathed the name he had kept from her.
His eyes widened. His mouth opened. She didn’t want to hear any of it. Didn’t want to hear him making fun of her. And the very last thing she wanted was to show him how much he affected her. She pushed past him, shaking hands gripping her skirts.
The fabric bunched around her legs as she hurried down the stable aisle. Her feet hit the floor too hard, like her legs had forgotten how to move. She heard him call her name. She didn’t look back. She had to get away from him.
She straightened once she reached the doors. Bright sunlight stung her eyes — she welcomed it. By the time she stepped outside, her eyes had dried. Catherine lifted her chin and adjusted her stride, falling into the measured pace expected of a woman of standing.
She joined Maisie and the other ladies, gracefully sinking onto one of the chairs.
The chaperone welcomed her with a tiny questioning smile.
Obviously something about Catherine’s own smile didn’t sit quite right, because brief worry flickered across Maisie’s face.
Catherine exhaled, consciously relaxing her facial muscles until Maisie’s expression softened.
Catherine didn’t flinch when the Viscount joined his guests. She didn’t grace him with as much as a glance. As much as she tried not to, she still noticed his breath. Too fast. As if he had run. It served him well.
When he leaned toward her, she turned to her left, facing Lady Doyle and engaging in a most invigorating conversation about London’s latest millinery trends.
From the corner of her eye she caught the strained expression on the Viscount’s face when he gave in to Miss Walsh’s exuberant questions about the rural delights this part of the county had to offer.
Their eyes met for a brief moment.
His own face a perfect mirror of her expression.
Composed.
Polite.
For the first time she saw right behind it.
Strange that she didn’t feel any triumph at holding his life in her hands. The thought crossed her mind unbidden. All it would take was one word of hers.
Her face stiffened.
Despite what he’d done she would never repay his deception in kind. Something tensed in her chest when acceptance settled in. Heavy like a weight.
There was only one way to dissolve the courtship and their marriage without causing a scandal for her. She was stuck. She’d spend her life with the man who’d manipulated her all along — because she still couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him hang.