His comment produced a lively discussion about the idiocies of the upper ranks of the army, a topic that occupied the group well into dinner. It was a pleasant meal, with excellent food and good conversation. Even Colin Melbourne wasn't bad company, though he'd obviously never had an original thought in his life.
Yet when dinner was over, Michael could not recall a single bite he had eaten. What he remembered was Catherine's elegant profile, her rich laughter, the creamy smoothness of her skin.
He resolved to dine out whenever possible.
Chapter 5
It was well past midnight when Michael opened the door to the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks. "Sorry, I didn't expect to find anyone here."
Catherine Melbourne glanced up from the hearth where she was feeding the fire. "No reason why you should-all sane citizens are in bed." She rose and brushed off her hands. "The duke must be keeping you busy. You've been here a week, and I think I've only seen you once."
It might be wiser to retreat, but it would also be unpardonably rude. Michael entered the kitchen. "Most evenings I've been showing the flag at entertainments given by the English fashionables who have come to Brussels in hopes of excitement."
"I suspected as much. Wellington has always liked having his senior officers attend important social functions, and that must be particularly true now, when he doesn't want the civilians to become too alarmed over the military situation." She gave a teasing smile. "I'm sure you're much in demand to add your aristocratic luster to all of the routs and balls."
Michael made a face. "I'm afraid so. But why haven't I seen you? Wellington is also fond of the company of attractive ladies, so I would think you and Anne and your husbands would be on the prime guest lists."
"We're usually invited, but Colin is often… otherwise occupied." She lifted a wooden spoon and stirred a pot simmering on the hob. "When Anne and Charles attend, I usually go with them, but she has been feeling too tired for socializing, so I haven't been out lately. Except for the duke's own entertainments, of course. Everyone goes to them."
Michael hesitated before making the offer that would be automatic and uncomplicated with any other woman. "If you need an escort, I would be honored to oblige."
Her head came up quickly and she studied his expression. Apparently satisfied with what she found, she said, "Thank you. There are events I would enjoy, but I'd rather not go alone."
"Fine. Tell my batman, Bradley, which functions you wish to attend and I'll be at your disposal." He covered a yawn with his hand. "Today, though, I rode to Ghent and back. I haven't eaten since breakfast, so I decided to raid the larder. Have you also come in search of a late meal?"
She tossed her long braid over her shoulder as she straightened from the pot. Tendrils of glossy dark hair curled against her slim throat. "I couldn't sleep. I came down to heat some milk, but this soup smelled so good I changed my mind."
The pale edge of a nightgown showed above her lightweight blue cotton robe. Though the garments covered her more thoroughly than a regular dress, the effect was destractingly intimate. Worse, the kitchen was lit only by two candles and the fire, and the shadowy darkness was rather like a bedroom…
He looked away. "Is there a household protocol for late-night pantry theft?"
"Not really-whatever you can find is fair prey. There's generally soup simmering on the hob. This one is a rather nice chicken and vegetable concoction." She gestured toward the pantry. "There are also cold meats, cheeses, and bread. Help yourself while I set a place for you."
"You shouldn't be waiting on me."
"Why not?" She went to a cupboard and removed heavy white servants' dishes. "I know my way around this kitchen, and I haven't had as hard a day as you."
"I thought raising children is the hardest work there is."
Her brows rose. "Men aren't supposed to know that."
"A female once broke down and disclosed the secret to me."
She eyed him thoughtfully. "I imagine that women are always telling you secrets."
Preferring to keep the conversation impersonal, he took his candle into the pantry. "The local cheeses are wonderful, aren't they? And the breads, too."
"The food is so good it's easy to understand why the French believe the country should be part of France. Would you like wine? There's a jug of very decent vin ordinaire here."
"Sounds wonderful, though I warn you, two glasses and I'll fall asleep on the table."
"If that happens, I'll tuck a blanket around you," she said serenely. "This is a very pragmatic household."
By the time Michael emerged from the pantry, the pine table was set and steaming bowls of soup were in place. Kenneth was right-Catherine was an expert at keeping men happy and well fed. She would be a rare prize even if she weren't beautiful.
As he started to slice the cheese, he heard a canine whimper. He glanced under the table and found Louis regarding him with mournful hound eyes. He grinned and tossed a small piece of cheese to the dog, who deftly snapped it out of the air. "For a beast called Louis the Lazy, he is remarkably good at turning up wherever people or food are found."
Catherine laughed. "He's from an old French hunting breed called basset because they're so low. Like the French soldiers in the Peninsula, he's a first-rate forager. He and the kitchen cat are always competing for the best bits."
A polite meow announced that a plump tabby had materialized beside Michael's chair. In the interests of fairness, he gave her a sliver of ham before applying himself to his meal.
Silence reigned for the next minutes. Yet despite his consumption of an embarrassing amount of food, he was intensely aware of Catherine on the other side of the table. Even the movement of her throat when she swallowed was erotic. Yet paradoxically, her presence was restful. His mistress, Caroline, had been many things, but never restful.
Noticing his bowl was empty, Catherine asked, "Would you like more soup?"
"Please."
She picked up the bowl and went to the fireplace, which was large enough to roast a calf. As she bent to the soup pot, her lush breasts swayed fluidly beneath the soft material of her robe. He went rigid, unable to look away.
Louis lurched to his feet and followed her hopefully. "Go away, hound," she said firmly as she ladled soup into the bowl.
Ignoring the order, Louis whined and reared up on his hind legs, banging his head into the bowl. It tilted and soup splashed onto the hearth. She jumped backward, then said severely, "You're due for a review lesson in manners, Louis." The dog hung his head with comical guilt.
Michael smiled at the byplay. He was enjoying himself more than at any of the glittering social events of the last week, and his attraction to Catherine was not getting out of hand.
Catherine refilled the bowl and turned toward him. With all his attention on her face, it took him a moment to notice that flames were licking up the left side of her robe. His heart jerked with horror. Christ, when she stepped back, her hem must have brushed the blazing coals.
He sprang to his feet and whipped around the table. "Catherine, your robe is burning!"
She looked down and gave a gasp of sheer terror. The bowl crashed to the floor and Louis bolted away, but Catherine didn't move. Paralyzed, she stared at the yellow-orange flames as they consumed the light fabric with ever-increasing hunger.
In the seconds it took Michael to leap across the kitchen, the fire had flared almost to her elbow. He untied her sash with a yank and dragged her robe from her shoulders, almost knocking her from her feet. Steadying her with his left hand, he hurled the burning garment into the fireplace with his right. A fountain of sparks shot up the chimney.