The peak of her breast was already tightly contracted as Leo took it into his mouth. He played with her, dragging the flat of his tongue across the gathered point, relishing the helpless sounds that climbed in her throat.
“Kiss me,” he said, slipping a hand behind her neck, pulling her mouth to his. “And rest your h*ps on mine.”
“Stop giving orders,” she protested breathlessly.
On impulse, Leo decided to provoke her. He let an arrogant smile touch his lips. “Here in bed, I’m the master. I’ll give orders, and you’ll follow them without question.” He paused deliberately, lifting his brows. “Understood?”
Catherine stiffened. Leo had never enjoyed anything so much as the sight of her struggling between outrage and arousal. He felt the heat rise in her, the excited thrum of her pulse. She took an agitated breath, while gooseflesh rose on her arms. And then her body seemed to lose all its tension, her limbs loosening. “Yes,” she finally whispered, not quite able to meet his gaze.
Leo’s own heartbeat escalated. “Good girl,” he said thickly. “Now spread your thighs so I can feel you against me.”
Gradually the angle of her legs widened.
She looked dazed, a little lost, her gaze turning inward as if to contemplate the puzzle of her own reactions to him. Her eyes glittered, an involuntary welling of pleasure and confusion, and the sight sent a tide of lust through him. He wanted to fulfill her beyond imagining, discover and satisfy every need.
“Put your hand beneath your breast,” he said, “and bring it to my mouth.”
She leaned over him to obey, trembling. And then he was the one who was lost, fiercely absorbed in the sweet softness of her. He lost awareness of everything but instinct, the primitive intent to claim, conquer, possess.
He made her kneel over him, and he followed the intoxicating salt-scented moisture to the tender entrance of her body. Delving with his tongue, he traced and licked until he felt the long, fine muscles of her thighs tightening rhythmically.
With a hoarse murmur, Leo eased her away and helped her to straddle his hips. He fit himself against the soft slit and clasped her waist to steady her. She quivered as she understood what he wanted.
“Slowly,” he murmured as she eased onto him. “All the way down.” He barely managed to stifle an agonized groan as he felt her clenching around him, her swollen flesh working to pull him inside. Nothing had ever felt so good. “Oh, sweet Jesus … take it all.”
“I can’t.” She writhed and went still, looking disgruntled.
It was inconceivable that Leo should have found any amusement in the moment, when his body was tortured with desire. But she was so adorably awkward astride him. Somehow managing to repress a laugh, Leo put his shaking hands on her, arranging and stroking. “You can,” he said huskily. “Put your hands on my shoulders, and lean your sweet little body forward.”
“It’s too much.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“I’m the experienced one. You’re the novice, remember?”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re too … oh.”
Somewhere in the midst of their debate, he had pressed upward the last crucial distance, and their bodies slid together fully.
“Oh,” she said again, her eyes half closing, new color sweeping over her.
Leo felt an explosive cl**ax rolling up to him, requiring only a hint of stimulation to reach irresistible momentum. Catherine’s body tightened around him, a voluptuously contained rhythm that threatened to drive him mad. She moved tentatively, the tender friction causing them both to shudder.
“Cat, wait,” he whispered through dry lips.
“I can’t, I can’t…” She moved again, and he arched as if on a torture rack.
“Be still.”
“I’m trying.” But she had begun to rock against him instinctively, and he groaned and took up the rhythm, watching her lips parting with delighted gasps, and as he felt the spasms overtake her, the sensations rushed too powerfully for him to withstand.
With a herculean effort, Leo withdrew and spilled his pleasure on the sheets, while his breath hissed through his clenched teeth. Every muscle screamed in protest at being deprived of the lush warmth that had enclosed him. Panting, blinking against a shower of sparks, Leo felt Catherine curl up against him.
One of her hands came to the center of his chest, pressing over his pounding heart. She pressed her lips to his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to stop,” she whispered.
“Neither did I.” He wrapped his arms around her, and smiled ruefully against her hair. “But that’s the problem with coitus interruptus. One always has to exit at the station before one’s final destination.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Leo proposed twice more to Catherine on the way to London. She refused both times, determined to proceed in a sensible manner and discuss the situation with her brother first. When Leo pointed out that running harum-scarum from Ramsay House in the middle of the night could hardly be characterized as sensible behavior, she allowed that perhaps she shouldn’t have acted so impetuously.
“As much as I dislike to admit it,” she told Leo as their carriage rolled along the post road, “I haven’t been in my right mind since the ball. It was a shock to see Lord Latimer so unexpectedly. And when he put his hands on me, I felt myself shrink down to a frightened child again, and all I could think of was getting away.” She paused reflectively. “But I found comfort in knowing I had Harry to run to.”
“You also had me,” Leo said quietly.
She stared at him in wonder. “I didn’t know that.”
His gaze held hers. “You know it now.”
Let me be your big brother, Harry had told Catherine at their last meeting in Hampshire, making it clear that he wanted to attempt the kind of familial relationship they had never been capable of before. With no small amount of unease, Catherine reflected that she was about to test his claim far sooner than either of them could have expected. And they were still practically strangers.
But Harry had altered greatly during the short time of his marriage to Poppy. He was far kinder and warmer now, and certainly willing to think of Catherine as something more than an inconvenient half sister who didn’t belong anywhere.
Upon arriving at the Rutledge Hotel, Leo and Catherine were shown immediately to the sumptuous private apartments that Harry and Poppy shared.
Of all the Hathaways, Poppy was the one Catherine had always felt the most comfortable with. Poppy was a warm and talkative young woman who loved order and routine. Hers was an essentially sunny and accepting nature, providing a necessary balance to Harry’s driven intensity.
“Catherine,” she exclaimed, embracing her, then standing back to view her with concern. “Why are you here? Is something wrong? Is everyone well?”
“Your family is quite well,” Catherine said hastily. “But there was … a situation. I had to leave.” Her throat became very tight.
Poppy looked at Leo with a frown. “Did you do something?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because if there is trouble of any kind, you’re usually involved.”
“True. But this time I’m not the problem, I’m the solution.”
Harry approached them, his green eyes narrowed. “If you’re the solution, Ramsay, I’m terrified to hear the problem.” He gave Cat an alert glance, and astonished her by bringing her against him in a protective embrace. “What is it, Cat?” he asked near her ear. “What’s happened?”
“Oh, Harry,” she faltered, “Lord Latimer came to the ball at Ramsay House.”
He understood everything from that one sentence. “I’ll take care of it,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll take care of you.”
Catherine closed her eyes and let out a slow sigh. “Harry, I don’t know what to do.”
“You were right to come to me. We’ll manage it together.” Harry raised his head and glanced at Leo. “Presumably Cat has told you about Latimer.”
Leo looked grim. “Believe me, had I known anything about the situation before, he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near her.”
Harry kept Catherine in the crook of his arm as he turned to face Leo fully. “Why was the bastard invited to Ramsay House in the first place?”
“His family was invited as a courtesy befitting their social position in Hampshire. He came in their stead. After he tried to force himself on Marks, I booted him from the premises. He won’t be returning.”
Harry’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “I’ll put a word in the right ear. By tomorrow evening he’ll wish he were dead.”
Catherine felt a nervous pang in her stomach. Harry was a man of extensive influence. As well as his hotel dealings, he had access to a great quantity of highly confidential and valuable information. What Harry kept in his head could probably have been used to start wars, fell kingdoms, destroy families, and dismantle the British financial system.
“No, Harry,” Poppy said. “If you’re planning to have Lord Latimer butchered or maimed, you’re going to have to think of something else.”
“I like Harry’s plan,” Leo said.
“It’s not up for debate,” Poppy informed him. “Come, let’s sit and discuss reasonable alternatives.” She looked at Catherine. “You must be famished after traveling so far. I’ll ring for tea and sandwiches.”
“None for me, thank you,” Catherine said. “I’m not—”
“Yes, she wants sandwiches,” Leo interrupted. “She had only bread and tea for breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry,” Catherine protested. He answered her annoyed glance with an implacable one.
It was a new experience, having someone care about the mundane details of her welfare, having him notice what she’d eaten for breakfast. She examined the feeling, tested it, and found it strangely alluring, even as she resisted the idea of being told what to do. The small interaction was similar to a thousand instances she had seen between Cam and Amelia, or Merripen and Win, the way they occasionally fussed over each other. Cared for each other.
After tea was sent for, Poppy returned to the private parlor. Sitting beside Catherine on the velvet-covered settee, Poppy said, “Tell us what happened, dear. Did Lord Latimer approach you early in the evening?”
“No, the ball had been under way for some time…”
Catherine relayed the events of the evening in a matter-of-fact manner, her hands clenched in her lap. “The problem is,” she said, “that no matter how we try to keep Lord Latimer quiet about the past, he will make it public. A scandal is coming, and nothing will stop it. The best way to throw water on the flames is for me to disappear again.”
“A new name, a new identity?” Harry asked, and shook his head. “You can’t run forever, Cat. We’ll stand and confront it this time—together’as we should have done years ago.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning various options over in his mind. “I’ll start by acknowledging you publicly as my sister.”
Catherine felt herself turn ashen. People would be ravenously curious when they learned that the mysterious Harry Rutledge had a long-lost sister. She was fairly certain she wouldn’t be able to bear the scrutiny and the questions.
“People would recognize me as the Hathaways’ governess,” she said in a suffocated voice. “They would ask why the sister of a wealthy hotelier would have accepted such a position.”
“They’ll make of it what they will,” Harry said.
“It won’t reflect well on you.”
Leo spoke dryly. “With your brother’s associations, Marks, he’s accustomed to unflattering rumors.”
The familiar way he had addressed her caused Harry’s eyes to narrow. “I find it interesting,” he said to Catherine, “that you came to London with Ramsay as your traveling companion. When was it decided that the two of you would depart together? And what hour did you leave last night, to reach London by noon?”
All the color that had left Catherine’s face earlier now came rushing back at a surplus. “I … he…” She glanced at Leo, who had adopted an expression of innocent interest, as if he too wanted to hear her explanation. “I left by myself yesterday morning,” she managed to say, dragging her gaze back to Harry.
Harry leaned forward, a scowl gathering on his face. “Yesterday morning? Where did you spend the night?”
She lifted her chin and tried to sound matter-of-fact. “A coaching inn.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous those places are for a woman alone? Have you taken leave of your senses? When I think of what could have happened to you—”
“She wasn’t alone,” Leo said.
Harry stared at him incredulously.
It was one of those silences that was far more eloquent than words. One could almost see Harry’s brain working like the elaborate mechanisms he liked to construct in his spare time. One could also see the moment at which he reached an accurate and highly unwelcome conclusion.
Harry spoke to Leo in a tone that chilled Catherine to the bone. “Even you wouldn’t take advantage of a frightened and vulnerable woman who had just suffered an upheaval.”
“You’ve never given a damn about her,” Leo replied. “Why should you start now?”
Harry rose to his feet, his fists clenched.
“Oh, dear,” Poppy murmured. “Harry—”
“Did you share a room with her?” Harry demanded of Leo. “A bed?”
“That’s none of your bloody business, is it?”
“It is when it’s my sister and you were supposed to be protecting her, not molesting her!”
“Harry,” Catherine broke in, “he didn’t—”
“I’m rarely disposed to listen to a lecture on morality,” Leo said to Harry, “when it’s given by someone who knows even less about it than I do.”
“Poppy,” Harry said, his gaze fastened on Leo as if he were contemplating murder. “You and Cat need to leave the room.”
“Why must I leave when I’m the subject of discussion?” Catherine demanded. “I’m not a child.”
“Come, Catherine,” Poppy said quietly, heading to the door. “Let them bluster and brawl in their manly fashion. You and I will go somewhere to discuss your future sensibly.”