19. One Office, One Kiss
Chapter Nineteen
One Office, One Kiss
Catherine pulled the hood of her mantle over her hat before she gripped Matthew’s proffered hand and stepped down from the town coach.
Her gaze immediately lifted to take in the white townhouse’s four stories above ground, their windows trimmed in black.
There was also a below-ground level. The royal-blue-painted front door was lit by a gas lamp post located in front of the area and next to a walkway made up of patterned pavers.
Snowflakes showed as glitter as they cascaded through the gaslight.
She glanced over at Matthew as a cloud of white formed between them.
“How many farms do you own?” she asked in a whisper, immediately deciding this address for a publishing company would be far more lucrative than one found in Paternoster Row.
Mayhap not as convenient for the other aspects of the business, but the first impressions formed when meeting with authors would be worth it.
Matthew chuckled, which had another white cloud forming in front of them. He quickly ushered her toward the house. “A few,” he replied, in response to her query.
Before they even reached the door, it opened, and a butler appeared and bowed. She wasn’t surprised when he momentarily displayed his own look of surprise. His expression soon schooled into that of an unflappable butler, and Catherine resisted the urge to tease the older servant.
“Miss Catherine Kingston, may I have the honor of introducing you to Chessings? He is the butler both here and at the manor house in Berkshire,” Matthew said by way of introduction. He took off his caped greatcoat and handed it to the butler.
“Chessings,” Catherine acknowledged with a nod.
“It is my honor, my lady. May I take your wrap?”
My lady? Catherine glanced at Matthew before saying, “I don’t expect to be here long, but thank you.” She pulled her gloves from her hands and stuffed them into the pockets of her mantle.
The butler appeared momentarily offended.
“Miss Kingston is here to take a look at the front salon,” Matthew explained. “If it’s to her liking, she will use it as her office for her publishing concern.”
Chessings nodded. Overhead, the candles in the hall chandelier were still alight, but he lifted a lit lantern from the hall table and hurried ahead of them. “I’m afraid the Dutch cloths are still in place in the salon, sir,” he warned.
“Oh, please don’t concern yourself with removing them,” Catherine said. “I only wish to see the room.”
Opening the door to the salon, Chessings stepped in to place the lantern on a low table before he moved aside.
“That will be all this evening,” Matthew said, directing his comment to the butler. “I can let myself in and lock up after I return from dropping Miss Kingston at her home.”
“Very good, sir.” The servant disappeared as Matthew followed Catherine into the salon.
Before she had even made it halfway into the room, she whirled around to face him.
“This is beautiful,” she said. Turning toward the front window, she hurried to where green velvet drapes framed the glass planes and sheer white fabric hung in even folds to the floor.
Beneath her half-booted feet, a Turkish carpet covered most of the floor, but beyond its edges, she could make out white tiles. “Is the floor marble?”
“It is. Same as what’s in the hall,” Matthew replied. “I think my mother might have used this salon as a parlor at one time. For the older ladies who had trouble with stairs.”
“What do you use it for now?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Oh, Mr. Higby, this is…” She turned to face him and discovered she was nearly touching the front of his body.
“Call me Matthew,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper.
Her eyes widened. “Matthew,” she said. “This is… perfect.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” he said, one of his hands moving to cup the back of her elbow through her mantle. “May I kiss you?”
Despite his cravat hiding his throat, Catherine knew he swallowed. Wondered if he thought to have said something different. Something else.
She blinked and made a slight sound in her throat before she was able to respond. “I… I’d like that,” she whispered.
Given their heights were nearly the same, she only had to angle her head to one side before his lips were suddenly touching hers. For a moment, that’s all they did, and then when she parted her lips, he followed suit.
Having read about the act of kissing, Catherine knew in theory what she was supposed to do. In practice, she discovered she really didn’t need a guide. Kissing was easy. A slight suckling, a reminder to breathe.
If only her knees could hold her up, for when they didn’t, she was suddenly pressed to the front of his body. She felt his arms pull her even harder against him, hard enough that she was sure she felt his heartbeat through her mantle.
Or perhaps that was hers. The pulse pounding in her ears.
She lifted a hand to the side of his face and speared her fingers through his dark hair, glad to know it was as silky as it appeared. When she lowered her hand, she caught his earlobe between her thumb and forefinger and gently tugged on it.
A chuckle bubbled up in Matthew, and he was forced to finish the kiss and pull his mouth from hers. He left his forehead pressed to hers, though. “That tickles,” he accused.
Catherine grinned in delight. “Ask me to marry you.”
Matthew blinked. “Will you marry me?”
Nodding, she said, “Yes.”
He was quick to resume the kiss, although his manner was more playful. He slid one hand over her back and up to her throat.
Tittering when he undid the bow beneath her chin, Catherine removed her hat and allowed it to dangle from its ribbons.
His eyes heavy lidded, Matthew inhaled softly. “You have the most gorgeous hair.” He caught one of the curls around his fingertip. “Like spun silk,” he whispered.
She sighed and angled her head so she could reach his earlobe with the tip of her tongue. Pulling it between her lips, she felt as much as heard his inhalation of breath as she suckled it.
“You are in great danger, my lady,” he warned, a growl sounding from his throat.
Catherine knew he was aroused. Even through her mantle, she could feel his hardened manhood pressed into her lower belly. Her own arousal had already started there moments ago, heat pooling at the apex of her thighs while her breasts seemed to swell and her nipples hardened into tight buds.
She had never experienced this sort of visceral reaction to a man in her entire life. Couldn’t recall when she felt such a need to be held, to be kissed, to be touched.
“Ask me to spend the night with you.”
Matthew blinked but didn’t hesitate. “Spend the night with me,” he said, not making it a question.
“Dismiss your driver for the night.”
He jerked his lips from where they had been leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline. “Are you… are you sure?” he whispered hoarsely.
“I am.” She slid her hand down the front of his body and molded her palm around the hard ridge behind the placket of his breeches. “As I think you are, too.”
He inhaled sharply. “I’ll be but a moment.”
Catherine had to suppress a yelp when he suddenly let go of her and rushed out of the salon. She collected her hat and reticule into one hand and the lantern into the other.
Meanwhile, she heard Matthew’s exit from the house and felt the swirl of cool air surround her feet a moment later. Outside the window, she heard the coach lurch into motion and the neighing complaint of a horse.
The front door closed, bringing with it another gust of cold air and a chilled Matthew. He took the lantern from her and offered an arm. “You haven’t changed your mind?”
“Have you?”
“No!” he responded, with perhaps a bit too much force.
Catherine grinned as she placed a hand on his arm and walked alongside him and up the stairs. She was glad for the carpet runner that muffled their ascent. “I do hope you don’t think me fast,” she murmured.
“Well, we are to be married,” he replied. “I rather doubt there is a couple in this town who did not share a bed prior to saying their vows.”
She felt heat color her cheeks when she caught him glancing in her direction.
“When will you speak with my father? About my marriage portion?” she asked as they turned to go up to the second floor. Her gaze swept the landing and into what she thought might be a parlor, the floral upholstered fabrics of the chairs barely visible in the light from the lantern.
“I should pay a call on him tomorrow afternoon. Do you think he will be at his home on a Sunday?”
“He will be if the weather remains this cold,” she replied.
She thought of Eliza and wondered if her friend was warming his bed as she was about to do with Matthew’s.
When only a few days ago she might have felt annoyance at the thought, now she was glad for Eliza.
“Perhaps Mrs. Buxton is helping in that regard.”
Matthew nodded. “I would not judge another man’s choice of a wife,” he said softly. “I know you are not happy—”
“I am, actually,” she interrupted. “I’ve given it a good deal of thought, and while I admit I was not at first, I realize it’s only because I felt as if I was losing Eliza as a friend.”
He frowned. “You didn’t think you two could still be friends? Because she will be your stepmother?”
“Exactly,” Catherine agreed. “Well, and also because, well, she’ll be married.”
“As will you,” he reminded her.
Catherine glanced over at him as she squeezed his arm. “Yes.”
For some reason, the reminder had her grinning, and she felt lighter than she had in years.
Meanwhile, in a town coach parked farther up South Audley Street
The embers in the brazier had long grown cold when Titan finally tapped the ceiling of his town coach with his cane.
He had been watching the front door of Wingfield House from the back window of his coach, intrigued when light appeared in one of the ground floor front windows.
For nearly ten minutes, nothing happened.
Then, Matthew suddenly emerged from the townhouse, said something to his driver, and hurried back inside.
The light in the front window disappeared.
The Wingfield town coach passed his own only a moment later, turning into an alley that led to the mews located directly behind the row of townhouses.
At no point had Miss Kingston taken her leave of Wingfield House, though.
“Wingfield, you dog,” Titan murmured as he chuckled softly.
“Where to, sir?”
Titan glanced up at his driver. “The Lyon’s Den.”
He still had to decide if he was going to share what he had learned with the Widow of Whitehall.