The look he turned on her simmered with possessive heat. You're mine, it seemed to say, and I intend to claim you over and over until all other claims fall away.
She shivered, but not with fear.
“I also have a strong appetite for lovemaking. I hope you're prepared for it.”
His lighthearted tone gave way to an intensity that matched his expression.
She had noticed, but honestly, the process hadn't been disgusting or unduly
frightening. Now that she knew what to expect, she felt perfectly willing, though
the thought did make her cheeks color a bit. “Yes, I think I could try it again,”
Katerina said, biting her lower lip, “though perhaps tomorrow night. The ache is
still quite strong.”
He patted her hand. “No doubt. Tomorrow will be fine.”
They pulled up in front of the Bennett family home, and Christopher helped
his bride descend from the cab. Then he walked her up to the door, his arm wrapped gently around her waist to shield her from the cold.
An elderly gentleman answered his knock.
“Good evening, Tibbins,” Christopher said, treating the servant with a
courtesy normally due to a social equal. “Are my parents in?”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied. “They're in the music room this evening.”
“Very good. And how are your knees?”
His concern further astonished his bride. If this is how he treats servants, maybe I really am safe.
“Fine. Better actually, thank you. Tonight, it's my arm that hurts.” He
clutched his withered bicep in one trembling hand and dug in the fingers.
“Heavens, we can't have that. Take care of yourself,” Christopher insisted.
“I'll do that, sir, and thank you.”
Now that they had found shelter from the biting wind, Christopher took
Katerina's arm properly. Though she knew the layout well enough, having
visited the sizeable house on more than one occasion, she allowed her husband
to steer her. Her mind focused on the meeting, on worrying over the reaction of
her dear friend to the rash and impulsive decision she'd just made.
Christopher led her to a familiar room and opened the door. Only three
weeks ago she had visited for tea and played the lovely painted harpsichord for
Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Turner.
“Good evening, Mother, Father,” Christopher addressed his parents. “Is there
any chance of a couple of weary souls finding food on such an icy night?”
“Of course, son,” Julia replied, jumping from her seat and hurrying forward
to greet the new arrivals. “But… Katerina, what on earth are you doing here?
This is too great a risk, my dear.”
“It's fine, Mother,” Christopher answered. “I remember you told me how
great the danger was where Katerina was concerned, and I have applied myself
to getting to know her as quickly as possible. We need to talk to you both to be
sure we are all in agreement about how to proceed.” He squeezed Katerina's fingers gently, as though sending a silent message.
“What do you mean, son?” Adrian asked, eyebrows like storm clouds.
