"This is a nice sketch of the children." As he turned the page, he added, "The first thing Molly said was that you were teaching them how to draw."
Kenneth smiled a little. "Both girls are good students. Jamie isn't interested in anything that doesn't have four hooves, a mane, and a tail."
After more sketches of the children and one of Anne Mowbry, Michael turned the page and found himself looking at Catherine Melbourne. His heart constricted at the image of her standing on a rocky shore, her expression otherworldly. A sea wind unfurled her dark hair like a banner and molded her classical tunic to the curves of her splendid figure.
He studied the picture hungrily, in a way that would have been rude with the real woman. Trying to sound casual, he said, "A good drawing of Catherine. Is she meant to be a Greek goddess, or perhaps the legendary Siren whose songs lured men to their doom?"
"The Siren." Kenneth frowned. "The picture isn't that good, though. Her features are so regular that she's difficult to draw. Also, there's a sort of haunted look in her eyes that I didn't manage to catch."
Michael looked at the picture more carefully. "Actually, you did get some of that. What would haunt a beautiful woman?"
"I have no idea," Kenneth replied. "In spite of her easy manners, Catherine doesn't reveal much of herself."
There was definitely something his friend wasn't saying, for the very good reason that Catherine Melbourne's private life was none of Michael's business. Yet as he turned to the next page, he said offhandedly, "If you ever do a sketch of her you don't want, I'll be happy to take it off your hands."
Kenneth gave him a sharp glance, but said only, "Take that one if you like. As I said, I wasn't satisfied with it."
Michael removed the drawing, then continued paging through the sketchbook. He was a damned fool to ask for the picture of a woman who could never be part of his life. Yet when he was old and gray, if he lived that long, he would want to remember her face, and the way she had made him feel.
Wellington was right that the situation was a shambles. As soon as Michael appeared at headquarters the next morning, he was thrown a mountain of work involving supplies and equipment. As the duke said tartly, Major Kenyon might not be a quartermaster, but at least he knew what fighting men needed.
The work required total concentration, and by the end of the day, Michael's intense reaction to Catherine Melbourne was no more than a hazy memory. He headed back to the house on the Rue de la Reine for dinner, thinking it would be good to see her again. She was a charming, lovely woman, but there was no reason for him to behave like a love-crazed juvenile. A second meeting would cure him of his budding obsession.
Catherine had mentioned that the house custom was to gather for predinner sherry. After changing, Michael went down and found Anne Mowbry and a gentleman already in the drawing room. "
"I'm glad you could be here for dinner tonight, Michael." Anne turned her head, setting her auburn curls dancing. "This is my husband, Captain Charles Mowbry."
Mowbry greeted him with a friendly handshake. "I've been admiring your horses, Major Kenyon. It doesn't seem fair that such first-rate mounts should be wasted on an infantry officer."
Michael chuckled. "No doubt you're right, but I have a friend who's half Gypsy, and the horses he breeds are marvelous. I'm fortunate that he let me buy two. Usually he'll give them up only in return for a man's firstborn son."
Mowbry glanced teasingly at his wife. "It would be worth trading Jamie for that chestnut, wouldn't it?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't ask me that today. After the trouble Jamie has been, I'm ready to consider any offers!"
They all laughed. Soon they were chatting like old friends. Then Catherine Melbourne appeared in the doorway in a shimmering sea-green gown that emphasized her remarkable eyes. "Good evening, everyone," she said lightly.,
Michael glanced toward her, and his confident belief that he was immune to her beauty shattered into flinders. The best that could be said was that the shot-in-the-heart feeling he experienced was no longer a surprise.
He studied Catherine as she crossed the room toward the others. Her appeal was beyond beauty and warmth, though she had those in abundance. Kenneth, with his artist's eye, had seen the haunted vulnerability beneath her dazzling surface, and now Michael could see it, too. Catherine was that most dangerous of creatures: a woman who aroused as much tenderness as desire.
"Good evening." He had learned as a child how to conceal his emotions, and now he invoked a lifetime of self-control so that no one, especially not her, would suspect how he felt. "I'm thanking my lucky stars that I found this billet. It's the only one I've ever had that included a dog to sleep on my bed."
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Interesting. If I were a dog, I should think twice about pestering you. Obviously Louis knew better. He already has you wrapped around his paw."
While Michael wondered if he appeared that intimidating, the Mowbrys began offering Louis the Lazy stories. Clearly he was a dog who made an impression wherever he went.
Kenneth was not returning to dine, but a few minutes later Colin Melbourne appeared. The man was very handsome, with the confidence that came of a complete lack of self-doubt. Catherine went to her husband and took his arm. The two made a striking couple. "Colin, I want you to meet our newest resident."
After the introduction, Melbourne said heartily, "Good to meet you, Lord Michael. As long as that room was empty, there was a risk someone unsuitable might be billeted here. Another so-called officer who was promoted from the ranks, for instance."
The Mowbrys and Catherine shifted uncomfortably, but Michael's anger was tempered with relief. He had feared that he might dislike Melbourne for being Catherine's husband. Instead, he would be able to dislike the man for his blatant snobbery. No wonder Kenneth had been guarded in discussing him. Voice edged, Michael said, "Someone like Kenneth Wilding, for example?"
Suddenly cautious, Melbourne said, "No slur intended. For a man of his class, Wilding does a good job of aping gentlemanly manners. Still, there's no substitute for breeding. As a son of the Duke of Ashburton, surely you would agree."
"I can't say that I've ever seen a strong correlation between breeding and character. After all, Kenneth had the poor taste to go to Harrow. One would have hoped for better from the only son of Lord Kimball." Michael downed the last of his sherry. "Still, even an old Etonian like me has to admit that Harrovians usually give the appearance of gentlemen."
Melbourne's jaw dropped. Since Harrow was as prestigious as Eton, even a bluff cavalryman couldn't miss the sarcasm.
Rallying, Melbourne said with disarming ruefulness, "Forgive me-I just made a bloody fool of myself, didn't I? I've never spoken with Wilding much, and I made the mistake of assuming he was no more than a jumped-up sergeant."
It was well done, though Melbourne's charm did not quite outweigh his boorishness. Michael replied, "It probably appealed to Kenneth's antic sense of humor to let you keep your preconceptions."
Melbourne's brow furrowed. "If he's actually the Honorable Kenneth Wilding, why did he enlist as a private?"
Michael knew the answer, but it was none of the other man's business. He said only, "Kenneth likes a challenge. He was my sergeant when I was a raw subaltern. I was fortunate to have him. After he and his squad captured three times their number of Frenchmen, I recommended him for a field promotion." He set his glass on a table with an audible click. "I was amazed the army actually had the sense to make him an officer."