Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

Listened to tales of boys running wild-a veritable tribe of them, it seemed. Listened to tales of youthful derring-do, of cheeky larks, of dangerous dragons vanquished, of genuine adventures that fate had sent to shape their lives.

The stories were of him and his cousins, she had not a doubt, although he never identified the heroes. The culprits. The demons in disguise.

Catriona wondered how many of his tales were true. She looked at him, so impressively large, his strength still apparent even relaxed as he was, and was tempted to think they all were. His stories were the adventures that had made him what he was.

For long moments, she stood still in the shadows, unremarked as she watched. Watched him, so large and strong, so deeply masculine, open the jewel box of his childhood memories and take them out, one by one, like delicate necklaces of bright gold and beaten silver, to awe, to entertain, to amuse the children.

They were enthralled-they were his. Just as their parents were. She'd noticed that from his first day here-his intrinsic ability to give of himself, and thus inspire devotion, loyalty-his ability to lead. She wasn't sure he recognized it in himself; it was simply an inherent part of him.

As she watched, one of the littlest two, thumb in mouth and almost asleep, started to tip. Without faltering in his recitation, without, apparently, even noticing what he did, Richard cradled the tot in one hand and resettled him more securely against his side.

Catriona stood in the shadows, her gaze on him, on them, her mind full of his stories, her heart full of him, for as long as she dared, then, misty-eyed, retreated without disturbing them.

"Well! I thought I might find you here."

Catriona looked up as Algaria entered the stillroom, and blinked at the expression of joyful confidence that lit her erstwhile mentor's face. "Are you all right?"

"Me?" Algaria smiled. "I'm very well. But I came to ask you the same question."

Catriona straightened. "I'm well, too."

Algaria eyed her straitly. Pointedly. When Catriona remained stubbornly silent, she elucidated: "I wanted to ask it that"-she gestured back into the house; Catriona narrowed her eyes-"husband of yours," Algaria sweetly amended, "has succeeded in getting you with child."

Catriona looked down at the herbs she was pounding. "I can't tell yet, can I?"

"Can't you?"

"Not for certain, no."

She did know, of course, but the sheer power of the feelings that surged through her whenever she thought of Richard's child-a tiny speck of life slowly growing within her-shook her so much she couldn't yet bring herself to speak of it. Not until she was absolutely, beyond any doubt or early mishap, sure. And then the first person she would speak to was Richard. Lips firming, she ground up her herbs. "I'll tell you when I am."

"Humph! Well, whatever, it seems as if The Lady's prophesy will, despite all, come to pass. As it always does. I have to admit I didn't think you could be right in deciding you should go to him as you did-it's so transparently obvious that he must never rule here. But The Lady has her ways." With a graceful, devotional gesture, Algaria moved to peer out of the high window. "It all looks like turning out much as you planned."

Grinding the pestle into the mortar, Catriona frowned. "What do you mean-as I'd planned?"

"Why, that he'll get you with child, then leave." Algaria turned from the window and met Catriona's puzzled gaze. "The only thing you didn't foresee correctly is that he'd marry you as well. Really, it's all worked out for the best. This way, you not only get the child, but the formal protection of being a married lady. And all without the bother of a husband-a resident one, anyway."

"But…" It took a full minute before Catriona fathomed Algaria's direction. When she did, the knowledge chilled her. "Why do you imagine he's leaving?"

Algaria smiled and patted her hand reassuringly. "You needn't think I have it wrong this time. His man has been with him for more than eight years and he's speaking very openly of their plans to return to London."

"He is?" Catriona gave thanks for the dim light in the stillroom-because of the fumes, only one small lamp was burning. Carefully resting the heavy pestle in the mortar, she gripped the edge of the table. And forced herself to ask: "What is he saying?"

"Oh, no specific details yet. Just that it's apparently their way to spend winter visiting the homes of friends and acquaintances, but that sometime in February, they always return to the capital. For the Season, I understand. Worboys has been regaling the staff with stories of the balls and parties, and all the other entertainments Mr. Cynster customarily enjoys. Without expressly stating it, he's given the clear impression that marriage has not changed his master's style. He's expecting they'll be in London before March."

"I see." Wiping her hands, suddenly cold, on her apron, Catriona picked up the pestle again. She kept her gaze on her preparation, avoiding Algaria's bright eyes. "I'm sure The Lady will ensure all goes as it should."

And arrangements that had not been expressly stated might not come to pass at all.

That night, Catriona sat before her dressing table brushing her long hair for far longer than was her wont. Long enough for Richard to come in and, after throwing her a lustful smile, start to undress.

Calmly, Catriona brushed and watched him in her mirror. "Your aunts, in their letters, spoke a lot of London. They seem to expect that we'll join them shortly-once the snows melt." Serenely brushing, she watched his brows rise. "For the balls, the parties-the Season."

He grimaced. And dropped his trousers. And stepped out of them.

Then he turned and, stark naked, prowled toward her.

"You don't need to imagine I'll insist that we go."