Free Promise Me Heaven by Connie Brockway Page A

him.
    It was tantamount to madness, this captivation. He was too well versed in matters of the flesh to discount his feelings as pure lust. Too old, too knowing, certainly too worldly, to find himself so eager for her words, her laughter…
her
. He had forced himself to play the avuncular host. But each day the masquerade grew more strained.
    He had returned from the Continent hoping to reacquaint himself with decency, having grown as familiar with deceit as he was well versed in baseness. It was laughable, really, that a woman who applied to him to teach her artifice should have set fire to his long-chilled blood. It made him nearly believe in a God, and one with a wicked sense of humor. For Thomas did not only want to physically possess her—and God help him, he did—he wanted a great deal more. He wanted her running thoughtlessly out into muddy fields because an idea appealed to her, to bully ragged brats in a kitchen garden, to tuck her inebriated great-aunt in bed at night with a gentle kiss. He wanted to keep her from all the influences that would twist her spontaneous, practical, intelligent spirit into a societal caricature. God yes, he wanted her. In all ways.
    But honor, Thomas conceded wryly, born late blooms strong. For too many years he had bartered himself “for the good of the empire.” In too many instances, his flesh had been at the disposal of the crown, given to whomever the crown offered it. Two nights hence, the crown planned to offer it to Daphne Bernard.
    Bile rose in Thomas’s throat. He would call out any man with his history were he to so much as dance twice with Cat. Besides, he reminded himself brutally, she had set her sights on Giles. A wise choice.
    Giles had enough experience to appreciate her, but not so much as to preclude a decent union. No, Thomas had to remain detached from her. By God, he thought as she approached him and placed her fingertips lightly on his proffered arm, he must.
    “Am I not grand?” she whispered teasingly.
    “Don’t beg for sweets.”
    “Lah! ’Tis a rhetorical question, Thomas. I
am
grand. And I owe it all to you, kind sir.”
    “Beware of kind sirs who tog you out in expensive finery, chit.”
    Cat looked at Thomas in surprise. “Thomas?”
    He forced himself to relax. “Ignore me, Cat. These affairs bored me eight years ago. They bore me more now. Now, smile, m’dear. Prepare to scintillate, but do so covertly. Aunt Hecuba approaches.”
    Hecuba tottered over and wordlessly pointed her black lorgnette toward a large chair to one side of the room. With a grin, Thomas leaped gallantly forward to escort her. Once interred, the old dame fixed the amassed company with a deadly glower. Cat took up a position standing behind the chair, her fan languidly waving as she casually studied the room. Within a short time, several splendidly clad young bucks were bending over Hecuba’s hand while their eyes sought the enchanting creature behind her. Finally Hecuba snorted an introduction, and the first of many led Cat out onto the dance floor.
    Thomas stood back and watched, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his black eyes hooded. More than one beauty cast interested glances his way, but he was blind to them.
    Cat declined a second dance with a military-looking fellow before he reluctantly returned her to Hecuba’s side. “Won’t you dance with me?” she asked him saucily.
    “What? And risk hurling you through yon balcony windows? I should say not. No, no, you run along, little Cat. I shall critique.” He turned upon seeing the wistful expression steal over her face.
    But soon she had whirled in the arms of any number of gentlemen, playing the role she had set out to learn and discovered, no doubt and with no little surprise and a great deal more delight, that she was quite good at it.
    And all the while Thomas would allow himself to do no more than watch.
    Therefore he witnessed the moment when, her waist captured in the clasp of some would-be dandy,