21. Breakfast for Two
Chapter Twenty-One
Breakfast for Two
The following morning
Suffering a moment of disorientation, Catherine attempted to sit up in a bed that was not her own. She was prevented from doing so, though, by a man’s arm draped over her waist. Glancing to her right, she discovered the owner of said arm regarding her with a brilliant smile.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said, his face lit by sunlight that bled from around the edges of the navy velvet drapes.
Catherine had to suppress the urge to groan.
How could he look so handsome this early in the morning?
His hair, spiking off in all directions, along with the dimple that dented his lower right cheek, made him appear ten years younger than he had looked the night before—even if that same cheek was darkened by the shadow of a beard.
“I do hope this morning light is doing for me what it’s doing for you,” she said, adding a soft scoff. “How is it you can appear so… so refreshed?” Even as she asked the question, she realized her own body seemed somehow different this morning. Alive. All buzzy and sensitive and, yes, refreshed.
Apparently lovemaking was good for one’s body.
He barked a laugh. “It’s all because of you, my love,” he said, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. “And, yes, this light favors you, as it does your hair.”
Widening her eyes at remembering she had slept with her hair loose, she lifted a hand and ran it through the mass of curls. “I must look like Medusa,” she complained.
“Hardly,” he replied, chuckling again.
A knock sounded at the door, and Catherine inhaled sharply.
“It’s Chessings with our breakfast,” he said. “Come,” he called out.
Catherine sounded a yelp and dived under the covers, holding her breath as the servant apparently entered and set a tray on the bed.
“Chocolate for her ladyship and coffee for you,” she heard through the blankets. “Cook prepared a number of items, so hopefully Lady Wingfield will find something she prefers.”
Matthew responded, although his voice sounded too muffled for her to make out the words.
She sensed movement but if any more words were being spoken, she couldn’t hear them.
When she was sure the door had closed, she emerged from beneath the bed linens to see that breakfast had indeed been served.
The bedchamber was also much lighter given that the drapes had been opened.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Matthew commented. He offered her the cup of chocolate, apparently unconcerned his servant had entered his bedchamber while she was completely naked.
The scent of hot chocolate had her swallowing the urge to complain.
“Chocolate,” she said with appreciation, bringing the cup to her lips. She took a sip and closed her eyes. “This is so delicious.”
“Glad you like it. You can have it every morning, if you’d like.”
“I’d like,” she said, lifting the silver dome covering the tray to reveal a modest offering of ham and poached eggs along with two toast points.
“There’s more here than I usually eat.” She helped herself to a napkin and a toast point as Matthew dished up a poached egg and a slice of ham.
He offered her the plate, and she set her cup of chocolate on the nightstand to take it.
“You’re rather good at this,” she commented, waving to how he was dishing up his own plate.
She noted how he had already placed a knife and fork on her dish.
“Sometimes it’s easier to eat up here than in the breakfast parlor,” he replied. “Probably warmer, too.” He glanced towards the window. “Chessings said there is at least three inches of snow on the ground.”
“Oh, my,” she replied. “Is it still snowing?”
“No. Stopped earlier this morning. Apparently it’s not so deep as to prevent caddies from delivering messages.”
Catherine stopped eating. “You’ve had a message already?” she asked in surprise. “It’s Sunday.”
He winced. “Yes, but it has worked in our favor. I instructed him to go to Kingston House with word that you are safe. That you took sanctuary from the snow with a friend.”
Catherine inhaled softly, not having thought about her father. Would he have noticed she wasn’t at home? She wondered if Eliza had spent the night at Kingston House. Surely she would have asked after her. Noticed her absence at breakfast.
She glanced at the clock over the mantel and relaxed. On a typical Sunday, her father wouldn’t rise from his bed for another two hours.
“Did he bring good news? The caddy?”
Matthew once again chuckled. “He actually came with a question. From Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” he replied.
“Oh, dear. What sort of question?”
After finishing a bite of ham, he said, “When we’re to wed.”
Catherine gasped softly. “How…?”
“I think she has spies watching us,” he said. His eyes suddenly rounded. “In fact…” He paused and furrowed his brows. “Do you remember seeing a man at Gunter’s last night? The one facing the front, near the door?”
Shaking her head, Catherine said, “I wasn’t really angled in that direction, but come to think of it, there was a gentleman there, all by himself,” she murmured. “You think he was a… a spy? For Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
Matthew shook his head. “I think it was Titan.” His brows furrowed, as if he was remembering something else.
“I don’t know anyone named Titan,” she said.
“You haven’t been to the Lyon’s Den?” he asked, his dark brows furrowing.
Catherine shook her head. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon came to me. At the Temple, whilst I was working,” she replied.
Dipping his head, Matthew took a slow breath. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We are to marry, after all.”
Nodding, Catherine moved to take another bite of toast, but paused. “When he delivered the breakfast tray, your butler said something about Lady Wingfield. Is there… is there a woman living here in your house?”
Stiffening, Matthew dropped his slice of toast to his plate and set it aside. “Uh, not yet, but she will,” he hedged.
“Is she… is she some sort of relation to you?” she asked, trying to keep from sounding jealous.
“No, but she… she will be,” he stammered.
“Who is she? To you?” Catherine asked, her alarm mounting. “A… a mistress?”
“No!” he replied.
“Then, pray tell, what?”
Matthew displayed an expression of pain before he finally said, “She is you.” He cleared his throat. “You will be Lady Wingfield.”
Even as he made the claim, he displayed a wince worthy of a condemned man, for he had apparently guessed how Catherine would react.