Free Promise Me Heaven by Connie Brockway

Thomas. I may not like you, but I have never underestimated you.”

Chapter 8
     

    T he biweekly affair that the Old Ship Hotel sponsored for its guests had begun in earnest. Most of the members of the aristocracy in residence at private homes or as guests of the hotel were present. Swarming the room in their elegant silks and brilliantly colored muslins, they were avaricious and bold with the license of the Prince Regent’s alternate society.
    Thomas, dressed in an outdated blue evening coat, looked about. He was familiar with these people. Once, he had been an ultimate example of this self-indulgent, pleasure-seeking lot. There was nothing they would not dare, no lengths to which they would not go in order to stimulate their jaded senses. Cat would become one of them. Thomas felt his jaw tighten even as he spied her exchanging pleasantries with another woman at the top of the staircase.
    If she pursued the proper course, Cat could eventually reign supreme amongst the ton. She would never be a classic beauty. She simply wasn’t beautiful enough. Her eyes were that bizarre color. Her hair was neither titian nor ginger but an odd golden sort of nutmeg. Her features were regular enough, but her figure was all wrong. She was full-breasted, with a small waist that flared into a decidedly round, compact bottom. Not at all the current fashion.
    Proper beauties had white, soft, sloping shoulders and long, narrow forms. Elegant trifles best imagined at a dining table or in an assembly room. But Cat… A man looked at Cat and could only see her tousled, warm, and welcoming in his bed. His body reacted to the image and he forced his gaze to her face.
    She displayed none of the nervousness one would expect of a young, unmarried woman entering a crowded ballroom. She was completely self-possessed. Her head was tipped questioningly on her slender neck. Her gaze traveled the room, bright with curiosity. She had all the attributes of a social hostess, but none of the single-minded ambitions that often went with it. Cat was autocratic, imperious, regal.
    Thomas had watched her intimidate, order, and high-hand his own small staff in just such a manner. And yet no one displayed the least reluctance to serve her. She commanded with complete equity. The lowliest stableboy was domineered with as much impartiality as toplofty Mrs. Medge.
    But more important still was her sense of humor. Many acknowledged toasts sprinkled their conversation with clever bon mots, but these women could seldom take what they dished up, being too concerned with their own consequence to appreciate another’s wit. Cat reveled in wordplay. A well-delivered quip brought a delighted glow to her eyes. When she was the object of teasing sallies, she was the first to dissolve into throaty laughter, acknowledging a “palpable hit.” Cat appreciated her own consequence, thought Thomas, but she appreciated others’ more.
    Ah, he thought, she has spied “the green man,” an inhabitant of Brighton who forswore wearing or eating anything that was not some shade of green. The corners of her eyes tilted up. Her sense of the ridiculous had been provoked. He alone saw her mouth curve before she managed to suppress the impulse to laugh.
    And then she saw him.
Damn
, he thought dispassionately,
she is so very easy to read.
Her face lightened with delight and she cocked a dark brow at him as she turned her palms outward at her side.
    Cat had a right to frame her silent, teasing question. She looked elegant, lovely, happy. She was dressed in an awe-inspiring creation she had managed to bully Madame Feille into having ready this evening. The bishop’s violet confection set off the deep rouge highlights in her hair and acted as a foil for the brilliance of her moss green eyes. Her shoulders were bare, a single emerald pendant encircled her creamy, slender throat.
    She descended slowly, fully aware of the picture she made but not, he’d wager his last coin, on the effect she had on