Catherine wanted nothing to do with any man, least of all one who radiated such dangerous charm. One could never trust such a man. His darkest days might still be ahead of him. And if not … it was entirely possible that hers were.
Approximately a week after Leo had left Hampshire, Catherine spent an afternoon outside with Beatrix. Unfortunately these outings were never the kind of well-regulated walk that Catherine preferred. Beatrix didn’t walk, she explored. She liked to go deep into the forest, investigating flora, fungi, nests, webs, and holes in the ground. Nothing delighted the youngest Hathaway so much as the discovery of a black newt, a lizard’s nest, or a rabbit warren, or the tracking of badgers’ marks.
Injured creatures were caught, rehabilitated, and set free, or if they could not fend for themselves, they became part of the Hathaway household. And the family had become so accustomed to Beatrix’s animals that no one so much as batted an eye when a hedgehog waddled through the parlor or a pair of rabbits hopped past the dinner table.
Pleasantly tired after the long ramble with Beatrix, Catherine sat at her dressing table and took down her hair. She scrubbed her fingers over her scalp and through the loose blond waves, soothing the little aches left from tight braids and hairpins.
A happy chatter came from behind her, and she turned to see Beatrix’s pet ferret, Dodger, emerging from beneath her dresser. His long, sinuous body arced gracefully as he loped toward her with a white glove in his teeth. The mischievous thief liked to filch things from drawers and boxes and closets, and hide them in secret piles. To Catherine’s frustration, Dodger especially loved her possessions. It had become a ritual humiliation to go through Ramsay House in search of her own garters.
“You overgrown rat,” Catherine told him as he stood tall and braced his tiny paws on the edge of her chair. She reached out to pet his sleek fur, tickled the top of his head, and carefully pried the glove from his teeth. “Having stolen all my garters, you’re moving on to gloves, are you?”
He regarded her affectionately, his eyes bright in the dark stripe that formed a mask across his face.
“Where have you hidden my things?” she asked, setting the glove on the dressing table. “If I don’t find my garters soon, I’ll have to keep my stockings up with pieces of old string.”
Dodger twitched his whiskers and appeared to grin at her, displaying tiny pointed teeth. He wriggled invitingly.
Smiling reluctantly, Catherine picked up a hairbrush and drew it through the loose locks of her hair. “No, I don’t have time to play with you. I’m getting ready for dinner.”
In a liquid and lightning-fast movement, the ferret leaped to her lap, snatched the glove from the table, and streaked from the room.
“Dodger,” Catherine exclaimed, dashing after him. “Bring that back!” She went out into the hallway, where maids were rushing back and forth with unusual haste. Dodger disappeared around the corner.
“Virgie,” Catherine asked one of the maids, “what is happening?”
The dark-haired girl was breathless and smiling. “Lord Leo has just come from London, miss, and the housekeeper told us to ready his room and set another place for dinner, and unpack the luggage when the footmen bring it up.”
“So soon?” Catherine asked, feeling the color drain from her face. “But he didn’t send word. No one expected him.”
I didn’t expect him, was what she meant.
Virgie shrugged and hurried away with an armload of folded linens.
Catherine put a hand to her midriff, where nerves were leaping, and retreated into her room. She wasn’t ready to face Leo. It wasn’t fair that he had come back so soon.
Of course, it was his estate. But still …
She paced in a tight circle and tried to marshal the chaos of her thoughts. There was only one solution: She would avoid Leo. She would plead a headache and stay in her room.
In the midst of her turmoil, there was a tap on the door. Someone entered without waiting for a response. Catherine nearly choked on her own heartbeat as she saw Leo’s tall, familiar form.
“How dare you come into my room without…” Her voice faded as he closed the door.
Leo turned to face her, his gaze sweeping over her. He was travel-rumpled and a bit dusty. His hair wanted a good brushing, the dark brown locks disheveled and falling over his forehead. He looked self-possessed but cautious, the ever-present mockery in his eyes replaced by something she couldn’t identify. Something new.
Catherine’s hand drew into a fist against her midriff, and she struggled to catch up with her own breathing. She held still as he approached her, while her heart pounded with a dizzying mixture of dread and excitement.
Leo’s hands went on either side of her shrinking body and gripped the edge of the dressing table behind her. He was too close, his masculine vitality surrounding her. He smelled like outside air, like dust and horses, like a healthy young male. As he leaned over her, one of his knees pressed gently into the mass of her skirts.
“Why did you come back?” she asked weakly.
He stared directly into her eyes. “You know why.”
Before Catherine could stop herself, her gaze dropped to the firm contours of his mouth.
“Cat … we have to talk about what happened.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Would you like me to remind you?”
“No, no…” She shook her head for emphasis. “No.”
His lips twitched. “One ‘no’ is enough, darling.”
Darling?
Filled with anxiety, Catherine fought to keep her voice steady. “I thought I made it clear that I wanted to ignore what happened.”
“And you expect that will make it go away?”
“Yes, that’s what one does with mistakes,” she said with difficulty. “One sets them aside and moves on.”
“Really?” Leo asked innocently. “My mistakes are usually so enjoyable that I tend to repeat them.”
Catherine wondered what was wrong with her that she was tempted to smile. “This one will not be repeated.”
“Ah, there’s the governess voice. All stern and disapproving. It makes me feel like a naughty schoolboy.” One of his hands lifted to caress the edge of her jaw.
Her body raced with conflicting impulses, her skin craving his touch, her instincts warning her to move away from him. The result was a kind of stunned immobility, every muscle drawing up taut. “If you don’t leave my room this instant,” she heard herself say, “I’ll make a scene.”
“Marks, there is nothing in the world I would enjoy more than watching you make a scene. In fact, I’ll help you. How shall we start?” Leo seemed to enjoy her discomfiture, the wash of uncontrollable color over her face.
The pad of his thumb stroked the thin, soft skin beneath her jaw, a coaxing motion that caused her head to tilt back before she quite knew what she was doing. “I’ve never seen such eyes,” he said almost absently. “They remind me of the first time I saw the North Sea.” His fingertips followed the edge of her jaw. “When the wind chases the waves before it, the water is the same green-gray your eyes are now … and then it turns to blue at the horizon.”
Catherine could only assume that he was mocking her again. She scowled at him. “What do you want from me?”
Leo took a long time to answer, his fingers trailing to her earlobe, massaging lightly. “I want your secrets. And I’ll get them out of you one way or another.”
That gave her the impetus to swat his hand away. “Stop this. You’re amusing yourself at my expense, as usual. You are a dissipated scoundrel, an unprincipled cad, and—”
“Don’t forget ‘lecherous libertine,—” he said. “That’s one of my favorites.”
“Get out!”
He pushed away lazily from the dressing table. “All right. I’ll go. Obviously you fear that if I stay, you won’t be able to control your desire for me.”
“The only desire I have for you,” she said, “involves maiming and dismemberment.”
Leo grinned and went to the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder. “Your spectacles are fogging again,” he said helpfully, and slipped through the door before she could find something to throw.
Chapter Five
“Leo,” Amelia said as Leo entered the breakfast room the next morning, “you have to get married.”
Leo gave her a warning glance. His sister knew better than to start a conversation with him so early. He preferred to ease his way into the day, whereas Amelia liked to fling herself at it full tilt. Moreover, he’d slept badly the night before, plagued by erotic dreams involving Catherine Marks.
“You know I’ll never marry,” he said.
Marks’s voice came from the corner. She was perched on a small chair, a sunbeam glancing off her fair hair and causing dust motes to glitter around her. “Just as well, since no rational woman would have you.”
Leo took up the challenge without hesitation. “A rational woman…” he mused aloud. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met one of those.”
“How would you know if you did?” she asked. “You wouldn’t be interested in her character. You would be far too busy examining her … her…”
“Her what?” he prompted.
“Her dress measurements,” she finally said, and he laughed at her prudishness.
“Is it really so impossible for you to name ordinary body parts, Marks? Breasts, hips, legs—why is it indecent to talk about the human anatomy in a straightforward manner?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Because it leads to improper thoughts.”
Leo smirked at her. “Mine already are.”
“Well, mine aren’t,” she said. “And I would prefer them to remain that way.”
His brows lifted. “You don’t have improper thoughts?”
“Hardly ever.”
“But when you do, what are they?”
She gave him an indignant glance.
“Have I ever been involved in your improper thoughts?” Leo persisted, causing her face to flame.
“I told you I didn’t have any,” she protested.
“No, you said ‘hardly ever.’ Which means one or two are rattling around in there.”
Amelia broke in. “Leo, stop tormenting her.”
Leo barely heard her, his attention fixed on Catherine. “I wouldn’t think badly of you at all if you did,” he said. “In fact, I’d like you much better for it.”
“No doubt you would,” Catherine shot back. “You probably prefer women with no virtues at all.”
“Virtue in a woman is like pepper in the soup. A little makes for a nice seasoning. But overdo it, and no one wants very much of you.”
Clamping her mouth shut, Catherine pointedly looked away from him, putting an end to the rapid-paced argument.
In the silence, Leo became aware that the entire family was staring at him with collective bemusement.
“Have I done something?” he demanded. “What’s going on? And what the devil are you all reading?”
Amelia, Cam, and Merripen had spread papers over the table, while Win and Beatrix appeared to be looking up words in a massive legal tome.
“A letter was just delivered from our London solicitor, Mr. Gadwick,” Merripen said. “It seems there are legal issues that weren’t made clear when you inherited the estate.”
“No surprise there,” Leo said. He went to the sideboard, where breakfast had been laid out. “The estate and title were tossed in my direction like used fish wrappings. Along with the Ramsay curse.”
“There is no Ramsay curse,” Amelia said.
“Oh?” Leo smiled darkly. “Then why did the last half-dozen Lord Ramsays die in quick succession?”
“Pure coincidence,” she replied. “Obviously that particular branch of the family was clumsy and inbred. It’s a common difficulty for bluebloods.”
“Well, we certainly don’t have that problem.” Leo returned his attention to Merripen. “Tell me about our legal issues. And use small words. I don’t like to think at this hour of the morning. It hurts.”
Looking none too happy, Merripen sat at the table. “This house,” he said, “and the parcel of land it stands on—about fourteen acres in total—were not part of the original Ramsay estate. It was added later. In legal terms, it’s a copyhold portion, which is a separate property within the main estate. And unlike the rest of the estate, the copyhold can be mortgaged, bought, or sold at the will of the lord.”
“Good,” Leo said. “Since I’m the lord, and I don’t want to mortgage or sell anything, it’s all fine, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“No?” Leo scowled. “According to the rules of entailment, the lord always retains his land and manor home. It’s nonpartible. And nothing can change that.”
“That’s right,” Merripen said. “You are entitled to the ancient manor home. The one on the northwest corner of the estate where two streams meet.”
Leo set down his half-filled plate and stared at him blankly. “But that’s a pile of rubble covered with scrub. It was built at the time of Edward the Confessor, for God’s sake.”
“Yes,” Merripen said in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s your true home.”
Becoming more and more irritated, Leo said, “I don’t want that bloody wreckage, I want this house. Why is there a problem with that?”
“May I tell him?” Beatrix asked eagerly. “I’ve looked up all the legal words, and I know it better than anyone.” She sat up with her pet ferret Dodger draped around her shoulders. “You see, Leo, the original manor home was left to ruin a few centuries ago. And one of the ancient Lord Ramsays acquired this fourteen-acre parcel and built a new home on it. Ever since then, Ramsay House has been handed down to each new viscount by special custom in the manor. But the last Lord Ramsay—the one just before you—found a way to leave all partible property, including the copyhold, to his widow and daughter. It’s called an award of enfranchisement, and it’s theirs for life. So Ramsay House and the fourteen-acre parcel it stands upon have been left to Countess Ramsay, and her daughter Vanessa Darvin.”
Leo shook his head incredulously. “Why haven’t we learned of this before?”