Catherine set him down before her arms gave out.

Claybourne immediately crouched in front of him. "And who are you?"

Winnie gasped.

"The Earl of Whitson," Whit said, mimicking his mother's earlier haughty tone. As young as he was, already he recognized differences in the cla.s.ses.

"Did you know they have lemonade, pastries, and lollipops over there? Would you like to buy some for you and your mum?" Claybourne asked.

Whit nodded enthusiastically, his weariness suddenly cured.

"Hold out your hand," Claybourne ordered.

Whit did.

"Fold it up." Claybourne demonstrated, closing his hand into a fist. Then he snapped his fingers. "Open your hand."

The boy did, his eyes growing wide at the ha'penny resting on his palm. Winnie gasped again.

"Hmm. I'm not certain that's enough," Claybourne said. He looked up at Frannie. "What's your opinion on the matter, Miss Darling?"

"Definitely not enough. I should think he'd need at least a shilling."

"I suspect you're right." He turned back to Whit. "Close your hand around the coin and say, 'Please, sir, may I have more?'"

Whit closed his hand around the coin. "Please, sir, may I have more?"

Claybourne snapped his fingers. Whit opened his hand, his eyes wider than before. The ha'penny was gone. A sixpence rested on his palm.

Frannie tapped Claybourne on the head. "You silly man. That's not a shilling."

Catherine realized they were performing, and she wondered how often they'd worked together on something similar. Was this how they'd fleeced people? Was this performance a remnant of their childhood? They seemed so natural, so comfortable with each other.

"You're quite right, Miss Darling. What was I thinking? Shall we give it another go, Lord Whitson?"

Grinning broadly, Whit bobbed his head up and down and closed his pudgy fingers over the coin. "Please, sir, may I have more?"

"Why, yes, sir, I think you may," Claybourne said, snapping his fingers.

Whit opened his fist and crowed. "Look! A shilling!"

Catherine realized he wasn't the only one with a wide smile. Winnie was grinning as well, as though her troubles had disappeared as easily as the coins.

"How did you do that, my lord?" Catherine asked.

"Magic."

"Why, yes, I could see that. But what's the secret?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. It'll ruin the fun."

"Your Grace, may I take your son over to get some refreshments?" Frannie asked.

Winnie bobbed her head, then said, "I'll come with you."

Catherine watched as the threesome strolled toward the refreshment booth. "We should probably go with them."

"Probably," Claybourne said, offering his arm.

It would be rude to ignore it, so she placed her hand on his arm.

"You do realize you're creating a scandal having Frannie with you without a chaperone."

"Good Lord, Catherine, we grew up sleeping together, spooned around each other. Do you really think our relationship warrants a chaperone?"

Catherine was. .h.i.t with an unexpected spark of jealousy and imagined them doing a good deal more than innocent spooning. "Appearance is everything."

"Very well, but she's nearly thirty. Isn't that the magical age when a woman no longer needs looking after?"

"She's that old? She doesn't look it. Still, seeing you together out in public, people will a.s.sume she's your mistress."

"I've never bedded her."

Catherine was surprised by the relief that hit her with that inappropriate confession. "Are you going to wear a sign on your back stating so?"

"You're the one who suggested I do something with her."

He didn't bother to mask his impatience with her.

"I a.s.sumed you'd have common sense enough to realize you needed a chaperone."

"There's no hope for it then. We'll have to spend the rest of the day with you and the d.u.c.h.ess of Avendale, who as a married woman can serve as her chaperone in order to save Frannie's reputation."

Catherine narrowed her eyes at him. Had he just pulled some sort of trick on her in order to be included in her party?

"If I didn't know better I'd think you'd arranged this meeting on purpose, deliberately not bringing along a chaperone so I'd feel obligated to protect Frannie's reputation."

"Does it make me a scoundrel to enjoy your company?"

"You're a scoundrel simply because you're a scoundrel."

"I suppose I can't deny that, but Frannie learns by imitation. I thought a day of observing you out and about would serve her well."

"So today is a lesson, not an outing to enjoy each other's company. It defeats the purpose."

"How can it defeat the purpose when it brings you and me one step closer to obtaining what we each desire?"

Catherine's attention was drawn to the pounding footsteps. Whit approached, holding a lollipop.

"Sir, are you going to come with us now?"

Claybourne crouched. "Would you like me to?"

Catherine was astounded by his rapport with the child.

"Yes, sir."

"Have you ever seen an elephant?"

Whit shook his head.

Unfolding his body, Claybourne extended his hat and walking stick toward Catherine. "Do you mind?"

She took them. Claybourne turned his attention back to Whit. "Come on then, my young lord." He hoisted Whit upon his shoulders and the boy crowed once again, his lollipop becoming lost in Claybourne's thick, curling hair.

When Winnie and Frannie joined them, they all began walking, Claybourne leading the way. He seemed to know where they were going, and even if he didn't, he was keeping Whit occupied, which allowed Catherine to enjoy the exhibits a bit more.

Or she would have if her attention hadn't been focused on Claybourne.

It occurred to her that this was the first time she'd seen him when it wasn't night. He seemed less sinister with the light pouring in through the gla.s.s ceiling and windows, illuminating him. She'd known he was tall, but he somehow looked taller. She'd known he was broad, but he appeared broader. He strode with confidence, pointing things out to Whit.

She'd never before been able to imagine him with children, and now she couldn't imagine him without. He'd been gentlemanly toward Winnie and utterly charming with Whit. He'd told Catherine that he knew coin tricks, but she'd never imagined one such as he'd performed. Removing a coin from behind someone's ear-even her father had been able to do that. But what Claybourne had done required very clever hands.

She tried not to think what other wondrous things those very clever hands might do-to the b.u.t.tons on a lady's bodice or the lacings on her corset. She felt the heat rush to her face with those inappropriate musings.

Seeing him in the daylight was quite literally allowing her to see him in a very different light, which she feared-for the sake of her heart-might not be a good thing, because she found herself longing for something she couldn't have.

The Great Exhibition was fascinating, but it paled when compared with Catherine and Frannie staring in awe at the ma.s.sive Koh-i-Noor diamond. It was locked inside a cage, lit from below with gaslight. Luke was as intrigued by the enclosure as he was by the diamond itself. But still it couldn't hold his attention for long.

His head had begun hurting as soon as he'd dropped the boy on his shoulders. It had spiked at the stuffed elephant exhibit. He suspected because the boy's enthusiasm had him fairly bobbing up and down, hitting Luke's head.

But he fought back the pain because he wasn't going to give up these moments of watching Catherine and Frannie together. Talking, smiling. He wondered if they'd become friends once he married Frannie, if perhaps they'd go on outings together.

He found an interesting contrast between the three women. The d.u.c.h.ess of Avendale's gaze kept darting around as though she feared being attacked any moment. He thought perhaps she wasn't comfortable in crowds, although her reactions were more along the lines of someone doing something she wasn't supposed to and fearing discovery. Catherine seemed oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. Jim had been there for a while, until Luke arrived with Frannie. Then they'd taken over, striving to determine who was following Catherine. It was possible the man couldn't afford admittance. Frannie was observant, her gaze wandering, measuring people, looking for an easy target. Not that she'd take advantage. They'd stopped fleecing when the old gent had taken them in off the street. But habits born in childhood were difficult to break.

His attention kept drifting back to Catherine and her delightful smile. He'd probably never have another day with her such as this one. Their relationship would once again become confined to the shadows.

It was where people such as he and Frannie belonged, while Catherine Mabry walked in the light.

Chapter 15.

Luke sat at the desk in his study, the taste of whiskey still bitter on his tongue, his gaze focused on the invitation resting in front of him.

It had been more than a week since his visit to the Great Exhibition, a week during which Catherine had seemed to distance herself from him. They rarely spoke in the coach anymore. Their meetings didn't reflect awkwardness or unfriendliness, but he did sense a strain in their relationship. He suspected it had more to do with the kiss in the library then their tour of the Crystal Palace. She'd been pleasant enough there, probably because she'd felt safe with the crowds and the lack of shadows.

He knew no lessons would take place this evening. Frannie had seemed quite relieved at the prospect of a night without learning the intricacies of his aristocratic life. By now, shouldn't she be more at ease with the notion of becoming his wife? He'd always envisioned his life with her, living in this house, sharing the small and mundane details of his day. He saw them with children. He saw himself, at long last, being happy.

He was so d.a.m.ned tired of being alone, of s.n.a.t.c.hing moments with his friends around a gaming table, of knowing they were no more comfortable in his world than he was.

None of them were like Catherine, comfortable with dinners, b.a.l.l.s, and morning calls. They didn't carry themselves with the cool confidence that she did. They didn't challenge him at every turn. They'd stopped considering him their equal when he'd stepped onto the pedestal of the n.o.bility. It was subtle, the discomfort they each exhibited around him.

Jack, always reminding him that he wasn't the rightful heir.

Jim, always doing Luke's bidding, regardless of the hour, as though it were Luke's right to expect a man to live his life inconveniently to please him.

Bill, never failing to come when called, taking care of business, then leaving. Never lingering for a sip of whiskey, never sharing the burdens he must surely carry as a purveyor of life and death.

And Frannie, terrified of becoming his wife, not because of the intimacies they'd share, but because of the daily struggles they'd face, because of the d.a.m.ned b.a.l.l.s they might be required to attend.

Catherine's invitation sat there, mocking him, mocking his life, daring him to show his face- d.a.m.n her!

He poured more whiskey into the gla.s.s, brought it to his lips, inhaled the sweet aroma of courage...and slowly set the gla.s.s back down. He picked up the invitation and ran his finger over the lettering. Had she experienced discomfort when writing it? Did she want him there that badly?

He thought of the night they'd played cards.

Obviously, my lord, you don't know what I'm thinking.

But he knew what she was thinking when she'd written his name across her fine invitation: that he wouldn't show.

Perhaps he would call her bluff.

Perhaps tonight, he would make her regret that she'd ever made a midnight visit to his library.

Catherine had known Claybourne wouldn't come, but still as the clock ticked toward midnight, she was disappointed. It was so terribly difficult to attend this ball and not reveal how much she loathed her host. He seemed so pleasant. No one could see the monster that lived within his skin.

Even Winnie gave nothing away, keeping a stiff upper lip, and pretending that all was right with the world. Sometimes Catherine was as angry with Winnie as she was with Avendale.

But she smiled and laughed and flirted with all the gentlemen who danced with her, not revealing to any of them that he was not the one she longed to waltz with. Just once, she wanted to be held within the circle of Claybourne's arms and hold his gaze while her feet whispered over the dance floor. Just once, she wished he would look at her the way he looked at Frannie. The depth of adoration that he showered on Frannie was something that every woman should have at least once in her life.

He might be a scoundrel, with many faults, but he had a heart far more giving than some of the men she'd spoken with tonight.

She glanced at her dance card. The next three dances weren't taken. She was relieved, having grown weary of pretending to enjoy herself. She was too worried about Winnie, too worried that Avendale might find fault with the evening, but all seemed to be going along splendidly. Even her hand was better. Her father's physician had removed the st.i.tches. The scar wasn't too unsightly. Since she always wore gloves in public, few people would ever see it.

But she welcomed a small reprieve from being hostess. She was walking toward the doors that would lead onto the terrace when Winnie stopped her.

"Where are you going?"

"For a bit of cool air. Would you care to join me?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm basking in Avendale's praise. He's ever so pleased with how things are going this evening."