"Please do something to move this along," Bill said, "because I'm starving."

"Very well," Catherine said, raising her hands in surrender. "We won't pretend that we're married, but I shall be the hostess. First, we need to check on the dinner preparations."

"Lovely. Let's go to the kitchen shall we?"

Frannie took Catherine's arm. They walked from the room, and Luke strode to the side table, where he poured himself a generous amount of whiskey and downed it in one swallow, before pouring another for himself and one for Bill.

"You seem out of sorts," Bill said, coming to stand beside him.

"I'm supposed to be acting like a d.a.m.ned earl tonight. Do you not think she'll be judging my behavior as closely as she will be Frannie's?"

"What do you care of her opinion?"

Luke took another swallow of whiskey.

"You want to impress her?" Bill asked.

"No, of course not."

"Just be yourself. The old gent taught you that."

Luke feared, when it came right down to it, that he was going to let the old gent down.

"Sometimes, I think I would be much happier moving back into Frannie's world than having her move into mine. What if I do nothing more than make us both miserable?"

"You've loved her as long as I've known you. Everything you've ever done has been to secure her happiness. I can't see you making her miserable."

Luke wished he was as sure.

"Are you nervous about tonight?" Catherine asked as she and Frannie walked down the hallway to the kitchen. She was still trying to figure out Frannie's strange reaction and suggestion.

"A bit, I suppose. It reminds me of when we lived with Feagan and had to learn to take a handkerchief or coins out of a pocket without being noticed. I don't suppose any bell will ring to alert anyone to my mistakes."

"I don't understand," Catherine said. "A bell-"

Smiling, Frannie stopped. "Feagan would hang jackets and bells on a rope. You had to reach carefully into the pocket of a jacket without causing a bell to ring. If the bell rang, you felt the sting of Feagan's cane across your knuckles." She blushed. "Well, I never did. Luke always put his hand over mine, so he took the blow. Oddly, it made me try harder to learn the task, because I hated to see him hurt."

"It seems you two have always been close."

Frannie nodded. "The first night Jack brought him to us, I can't explain it, but something about him was different. He seemed to expect us to do things for him, but Feagan beat that att.i.tude out of him quick enough."

"Do you think it's possible that he's the rightful Earl of Claybourne?"

"Well, of course, he is. The old gent asked him questions, and he knew the answers. I know he doubts sometimes, and I don't understand that. He knew the answers."

No, Catherine thought, he'd somehow managed to give the right answers even though he didn't know them. Was he really that good at deception? Then a rather odd thought came to her and a shiver raced down her spine. What if Claybourne hadn't deceived the previous earl? What if he'd deceived himself?

Dinner was an absolute disaster.

Half an hour into it, they'd finished their fish and were to be served their beef when Catherine's patience snapped. She'd been trying to start conversations about the weather, the theater, and the park. Frannie's and Claybourne's answers had all been succinct as though neither of them had a clue how to expand conversation into something interesting. Dr. Graves had given it a halfhearted attempt, but it seemed his life was little more than dealing with the infirm, and they weren't likely to engage in trite conversation. Claybourne was drinking wine as though it were the main course. He narrowed his eyes each time poor Dr. Graves spoke, and Catherine had little doubt that the doctor was aware of the scathing glances, and probably as confused by them as she.

Claybourne was obviously not happy. But then neither was she. She needed him to see that Frannie was learning, because Catherine was growing desperate for him to take care of the problem of Avendale. But Frannie wasn't cooperating. She was acting as though she knew nothing. And Claybourne had his dratted elbow on the table. He looked as though he was going to slip out of his chair.

"We are hosting a proper dinner. One does not lounge during a proper dinner," Catherine finally told him.

He sipped more wine. "It is Frannie who needs the lessons, not I."

"That is hardly evident by observing your behavior now. We either do this properly or not at all."

"I vote for not at all. I'm bored with this endeavor. I'm certain Frannie has grasped the gist of the occasion."

Catherine had gone to the trouble of dressing properly for the occasion. For these people, she'd put aside the nightly reading to her father who was weaker and paler than ever. She'd spent the afternoon rea.s.suring Winnie that Avendale wouldn't kill her. She'd met with her father's man of business only to discover that some of the investments he'd recommended were not going to pay off as well as he'd hoped-they weren't going to pay off at all. She'd heard not a blasted word from her brother, and when he finally did return to England's sh.o.r.es, he might do so only to discover that he no longer had a source of income, that the estates were in decline-because of ventures she'd approved.

And now Claybourne was bored! He was fortunate a length of table separated them or she'd reach out and slap the boredom right off his face. Since she couldn't reach him, she threw words at him.

"You seem to have little understanding of the aristocracy. Do you believe everything we do is for our pleasure? I can a.s.sure you, sir, that it is not. We do it because it is required. We do it because it is a duty. We do it because it is expected. How much more difficult it is to do things because they are right, proper, and required. How much easier life would be for all of us if we could go about and do things w.i.l.l.y-nilly, however we pleased. It is the very fact that we understand responsibility and adhere to it that raises us above the common man. I am becoming quite weary of your mocking me.

"Do you think this is easy for me? These ridiculously late hours? Perhaps you can lounge about all morning, but not I. I have a household to oversee."

She was suddenly aware of the tears washing down her cheeks.

"Catherine?" Claybourne was no longer lounging. He was coming up out of his chair.

"Oh, forgive me. That-that was not polite at all. Please excuse me, I need a moment." She rose and walked out of the room.

Luke watched her leave. He'd been insolent and rude. He was upset with Frannie for not trying harder. He was angry with Catherine for having the habit of touching the tip of her tongue to her top lip-just a quick touch, barely noticeable, but he noticed-after each sip of wine as though she needed to gather the last drop. He was angry at Bill for smiling at Catherine, for pretending to have an interest in the amount of rain that was falling on London this summer. He was furious with himself because he wanted to gather that wine from Catherine's lips with his own. He was furious because he was intrigued with Catherine, because he was noticing so many things about her-the way the light captured her hair, revealing that it wasn't all the same shade of blond. Some strands were paler than others. He told himself that his interest in Catherine was only because he didn't know her well, while he knew everything about Frannie. They'd grown up together. There was little for them to learn about each other. But Catherine was another matter entirely.

He looked at Bill and Frannie. "I should check on her."

"Of course, you should," Frannie said, "more than a moment ago as a matter of fact."

He strode from the room and looked in the parlor. She wasn't there. Dread tightened his stomach. What if she'd left? What if she was out walking the streets? What if she'd put herself in harm's way?

Walking into the library, he found her standing by the window, looking onto the garden as she'd been that first night in his home. Only this time she didn't jerk around in surprise by his presence. When she faced him, he saw the fury and disappointment in her eyes. She didn't give him time to say a word before she continued her tirade.

"You say you are willing to do whatever necessary to have Frannie as your wife, but I do not see you doing everything required. I see you doing only what it pleases you to do and calling it sufficient to gain what you want. Whereas I must-"

He'd covered her mouth with a blistering kiss before he'd thought it through. He could tell himself that he was bored with the dinner, bored with the conversation, but the reality was that it was driving him mad to watch her sip wine, to gaze at her slender throat and shoulders, to see her smiling at Bill when Luke wanted her to smile at him.

As he swept his tongue through her mouth, he knew it was wrong, but he wanted her, wanted her in a way he'd never desired Frannie. He wanted Catherine rough, he wanted her tenderly. He never thought of taking Frannie to his bed. He thought of marrying her, he thought of having her as his wife, but carnal images of them together never filled his mind. With Catherine, he saw a kaleidoscope of their contorted naked bodies.

Tonight he could feel the need rising in him, felt it rising in her as she rose up on her toes and wound her arms around his neck, her fingers sc.r.a.ping into his hair. Her teeth grazed his bottom lip, tugged- He groaned, considered the location of the nearest settee- Shoving him, she scrambled back into the shadows of the draperies. "My G.o.d," she rasped. "Your betrothed is down the hallway-"

"She's not my betrothed yet, and I have doubts that she'll ever be. Do you think if I asked her tonight that she'd say yes? Have you convinced her that she can handle being a countess? She doesn't even want to be the hostess over a b.l.o.o.d.y dinner!"

He swung away from her, didn't want to see that he'd frightened her. Frightened Catherine who'd faced a ruffian with a knife.

He plowed his fingers through his hair. "My apologies. My behavior was abhorrent. I don't know what got into me. It won't happen again."

He heard a hesitant footstep, then another. Feeling the touch of a hand on his shoulder, he stiffened. He wanted to spin around and take her in his arms again.

"Frannie told me you've never kissed her."

"I don't think of her that way."

"You don't think about kissing her?"

"She's not a carnal creature."

"You are."

He moved away from her, before he proved her point. "Yes, well, I'm quite capable of restraining myself when the situation warrants."

"And I don't warrant restraint?"

He faced her. "I want to marry Frannie, but I think of you day and night. I'm sitting at that b.l.o.o.d.y dinner table wondering about the taste of you with wine upon your tongue. And when you vent your fury at me all you do is make me want you more. But it is only l.u.s.t, Catherine. It is only the physical. I am with you every night. It stands to reason that my body would react to your nearness. It has grown accustomed to it."

It didn't help matters at all that the scent of her lingered in his bed.

"Do you ever do anything with Frannie?" she asked.

The change in subject seemed abrupt, strange, but he was grateful to turn attention away from his acting badly. "What do you mean?"

"Do you ever take her to the theater or the park or boating? Do you know her outside of Dodger's?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"What's something you've done together?"

"When we were children-"

"Not when you were children. Recently. Since you've been adults."

He considered her question. Everything always seemed to involve Dodger's. And before that Feagan.

"I can't remember the last time we did anything."

"You should do something together, don't you think?"

It was embarra.s.sing to admit that he'd never done anything with a lady that wasn't questionable. "What would you suggest?"

"Have you been to the Great Exhibition?"

He could hardly fathom that she was speaking to him with enthusiasm about an outing with Frannie, as though he'd never kissed Catherine. He realized that she was putting up a wall. After all, she was the daughter of a duke, a woman with n.o.ble blood. And they both knew nothing about him was n.o.ble.

Frannie was the woman he'd marry. He needed to concentrate on winning her over.

"I've not been," he told Catherine.

"Neither have I. They say Queen Victoria has gone five times already. Can you imagine? I'm hoping to go tomorrow. Perhaps you could take Frannie there sometime. It would be a nice outing."

"I'll consider it."

She nodded, her tongue darting out to lick her lip the way it did after she drank wine. He wondered if she was tasting him. She cleared her throat. "We should probably return to our guests."

"Probably." Only he didn't want to. Dinners were tedious.

"We shall forget what happened earlier, and I won't allow it to happen again," she said.

He studied her in the shadows of his library. "Do you mean the kiss?"

She nodded, and so he nodded as well. She might be able to forget it, but he doubted that he ever would, that he would ever forget the smallest detail about her.

"Have you ever known anyone to stand up to him like she does?" Bill asked, before sipping his wine.

Frannie smiled. "No. And I don't think he quite knows what to make of her."

"He's always loved you, Frannie. Why are you making it so blasted difficult for him? You're not meek, you're not cowardly. I daresay if you wanted all this, nothing would stop you from acquiring it."

"That's the thing, Bill. I don't want all this. It's too grand, it's too...well, it's simply too much."

"Think of all the good things you could do."

"I can do them now. I am doing them now."

"But you could do so much more. As Luke's wife, you'd have influence, you'd-"

"Be snubbed at every turn. I don't understand why he stays in this world. I truly don't. I see how they look at him at the club. He has no friends among the aristocracy. They spurn him."

"Do you not see the irony? You judge them as harshly as they judge us. What do you truly know of them? Don't you like Catherine?"

She pursed her lips. "You're determined to make this difficult."

"You worry about what the aristocracy thinks of you."

"Don't you?"

"No. The one thing I learned in my youth as a grave robber was that everyone looks the same when they're dead. We're all equal then. So when I meet a chap, sitting on his high horse, I imagine him dead. He's not quite so intimidating then."

She giggled. "You're awful."

He smiled at her. He had such a beguiling smile. He'd always been so very quiet, keeping to himself. When she'd first met him, she'd been afraid that she would die if he touched her. She thought all the children had been afraid of him, or at least in awe of him. He was the first one they'd ever known who didn't fear the dead.

A young man came to Luke's residence shortly after dinner to inform Bill that one of his patients had taken a turn for the worse. Bill quickly took his leave.

It was left to Luke to take both ladies home. Because he wasn't quite ready to trust himself alone with Catherine, he took her home first. Frannie didn't give the impression she suspected that anything inappropriate had happened while Luke and Catherine were out of the room. But then she'd never suspect the worst of him.

After he escorted Catherine to the back gate, he was left alone in the coach with Frannie. It was strange to realize on how few occasions they actually traveled together. When he and Catherine traveled each evening they talked about a great many things. Perhaps it was because they were new to each other's lives and knew so little about each other, whereas he and Frannie had grown up together. They knew everything about each other.