Justin's Bride. Susan Mallery

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      “Yes, of course. A house that old must surely have at least one ghost?”

      His lordship appeared to consider. “Nothing much. Unless you count the headless bride. She is very seldom seen.”

      Catherine, who loved ghost stories, clapped her hands over her mouth in delight. “The…the what?”

      “Headless bride. But she carries her head, of course, with her veil draped over her arm.”

      “Oh.” Catherine felt a little thrill slide down her backbone. “And how…?”

      Caldbeck viewed her levelly. “How did she lose her head?”

      Catherine nodded.

      “She displeased her husband, the first earl.”

      His frigid voice blew over her like a winter storm, quenching her enjoyment of the story. For a moment Catherine sat silent with horror. What did that frozen countenance hide? She looked more closely at her new husband. She could see no change in the chill eyes, but felt something….She couldn’t quite put her finger on it….She spoke uncertainly, eyes narrowed.

      “My lord, are you teasing me?”

      Caldbeck’s silvery eyes regarded her without expression.

      “I?” asked his lordship.

      Taking stock of her new husband, Catherine decided that she did know more about him than she had when she married him. But not much.

      He was quite ruthless. She still felt very cautious with him. He had not hesitated to kick her door in, and the way he had orchestrated her acceptance of his proposal was as masterful as it was infuriating. Catherine still chafed at having been so manipulated. Nonetheless, her faults did not include repining. Having agreed, she would do what she could to make the best of the situation.

      Her curiosity regarding the marriage bed increased in direct proportion to the time spent with him in the close confines of the carriage. A subtle scent surrounded him, warm, almost smoky, mixed with wool and starch. It stirred her senses. She found herself casting furtive glances across the width of the carriage. Caldbeck sat as coolly as ever, one booted leg propped on the opposite seat to buttress himself against the lurching of the coach.

      As he had predicted, the roads had gotten steadily worse. Catherine rocked back and forth in the seat, clinging to the overhead strap and bouncing against the wall of the narrow space. By the fifth day, having slept—alone—in several inns, in varying degrees of discomfort, she felt decidedly buffeted and bruised. Her long legs would reach the far seat, and unladylike though it might be, she was on the verge of steadying herself as he did.

      As though he read her mind, Caldbeck turned his gray gaze on her and held out one hand. “Come here, Kate.”

      Startled, Catherine looked at him in question. Surely he would not choose such a moment to make love to her!

      “You are being unmercifully battered by this infernal jolting. Here…No, turn, so.” Following his guiding hands, Catherine found herself leaning across his lap, her breasts against his chest, her feet drawn up onto the seat. One strong leg, knee bent, now braced her back, and an equally muscular arm gripped the strap and supported her head. “Is that better?”

      She looked up shyly to answer and found penetrating eyes looking intently into hers. Her breathing faltered, and her loins flooded with warmth. Without taking his eyes from her face, Caldbeck untied her bonnet ribbons with his free hand and tossed the confection onto the opposite seat. Liberated, her bright hair flared into a nimbus around her face. His fingers threaded through the glowing cloud and lifted her head.

      His eyes might be cold, but his lips were very warm. So was his tongue. He brushed it along her mouth, inviting her to open. After a moment’s hesitation she did so and felt an intriguing tickle on the inner side of her lip. She gasped for breath, and his tongue slid farther into her. Catherine went suddenly weak.

      At that inopportune instant the coach hit an especially deep pothole, jerking her face away from his. She lifted her eyes and found him gazing into them. She thought that, perhaps, he sighed.

      “Try to sleep, Kate. I believe we should push on to Wulfdale tonight, and it will be quite late before we arrive.”

      So, protected by his strong body, she did.

      It was indeed late when the carriage turned onto better-kept roads and made its way across Wulfdale’s rolling hills to the lights of the looming gray-stone mansion. At the sound of wheels in the drive, the old house came to life. Footmen in gray livery hastened down the front steps, and grooms came running from the stables. Catherine shivered with fatigue and cold as Caldbeck lifted her off the coach steps into the chill night air.

      With great dignity a portly, silver-haired man descended the steps and bowed. “My lord, welcome home. My lady.” The butler’s appraising glance rested on her only a moment before he bowed again. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to Wulfdale.”

      Before Catherine could answer, a plump woman hurried down the steps and curtseyed. “Welcome! Welcome, my lord! We were sure you would be here by tonight. You have brought us a bride at last! Do come in, my lady.” The housekeeper extended an inviting hand. “You must be perishing of weariness.”

      Caldbeck nodded at the couple. “Allow me to present to you Hawes and Mrs. Hawes, Lady Caldbeck. I’m sure Mrs. Hawes will see to your comfort immediately. I must confer with Hawes for a time, but I shall show you around your new home tomorrow.”

      “Right you are, my lord.” Mrs. Hawes guided Catherine up the steps. “It’s very happy we are to have you here, my lady.”

      The housekeeper led her into a hall of grand and impressive proportions and up two pair of graceful, curving stairs to the second floor. They crossed an elegant salon to the door of a huge bedchamber decorated in feminine fabrics and soft greens. A Dresden clock graced the mantelpiece, along with several dainty china ornaments. Catherine was torn between collapsing on the bed, half seen in the shadowy corner, or on the cushiony sofa before the cheerfully crackling fire.

      The sofa was closer.

      “Now, my lady, don’t you worry about a thing. I shall help you this evening myself. I’m sure your young maid will be as done up as you are. She’ll be shown right to her room.”

      A twinge of guilt assaulted Catherine. She had hardly spared a thought for Sally. The girl must indeed be exhausted.

      “Good, here’s Betty with the tray. There’s cheese and biscuits and some mulled wine. I knew you would be chilled. Just let me help you off with your pelisse and pretty bonnet. Now…You have a little taste of wine while I see to getting your dressing case and trunk up here.”

      Mrs. Hawes bustled out of the room, and Catherine took a grateful sip of the mulled wine, too tired to do more than nibble at the cheese. But she found the wine sweet and strong and warm. She had almost dozed off when the housekeeper returned with footmen carrying her baggage.

      As soon as the men had been shooed out of the room, Mrs. Hawes set about laying out Catherine’s nightgown and brushes, and before she knew it, Catherine found herself tucked up in the big curtained bed, drowsily watching the flicker of the fire through the drapes. It seemed that her husband, once again, would not join СКАЧАТЬ