Married By Morning (The Hathaways #4)(28)

She went to the library to procure some books for her studies with Beatrix. As she entered the room, however, she stopped with a gasp as she saw Leo leaning over the long library table, writing something on a set of spread-out drawings.

Leo turned his head to glance at her, his eyes piercing. She went hot and cold. Her skull throbbed in the places where she had pinned her hair too tightly.

“Good morning,” she said breathlessly, falling back a step. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.”

“I came to fetch some books, if … if I may.”

Leo gave her a single nod and returned his attention to the drawings.

Acutely self-conscious, Catherine went to the bookshelves and hunted for the titles she had wanted. It was so quiet that she thought the pounding of her heart must have been audible. Needing desperately to break the pressing silence, she asked, “Are you designing something for the estate? A tenant house?”

“Addition for the stables.”

“Oh.”

Catherine gazed sightlessly along the rows of books. Were they going to pretend that the events of the previous night had never happened? She certainly hoped so.

But then she heard Leo say, “If you want an apology, you’re not going to get one.”

Catherine turned to face him. “I beg your pardon?”

Leo was still contemplating the set of elevations. “When you visit a man in his bed at night, don’t expect tea and conversation.”

“I wasn’t visiting you in your bed,” she said defensively. “That is, you were in your bed, but it was not my desire to find you there.” Aware that she was making no sense at all, she resisted the urge to smack herself on the head.

“At two o’clock in the morning,” Leo informed her, “I can nearly always be found on a mattress, engaged in either of two activities. One is sleeping. I don’t believe I need to elaborate on the other.”

“I only wanted to see if you were feverish,” she said, turning crimson. “If you needed anything.”

“Apparently I did.”

Catherine had never felt so extraordinarily uncomfortable. All her skin had become too tight for her body. “Are you going to tell anyone?” she brought herself to ask.

One of his brows arched mockingly. “You fear I’m going to tattle about our nighttime rendezvous? No, Marks, I have nothing to gain from that. And much to my regret, we didn’t do nearly enough to warrant decent gossip.”

Blushing, Catherine went to a pile of sketches and scraps at the corner of the table. She straightened them into a neat stack. “Did I hurt you?” she managed to ask, recalling how she had inadvertently pushed on his wounded shoulder. “Does it ache this morning?”

Leo hesitated before replying. “No, it eventually eased after you left. But the devil knows it wouldn’t take much to start up again.”

Catherine was overcome with remorse. “I’m so sorry. Should we put a poultice on it?”

“A poultice?” he repeated blankly. “On my … oh. We’re talking about my shoulder?”

She blinked in confusion. “Of course we’re talking about your shoulder. What else would we be discussing?”

“Cat…” Leo looked away from her. To her surprise, there was a tremor of laughter in his voice. “When a man is aroused and left unsatisfied, he usually aches for a while afterward.”

“Where?”

He gave her a speaking glance.

“You mean…” A wild blush raced over her as she finally understood. “Well, I don’t care if you ache there, I was only concerned about your wound!”

“It’s much better,” Leo assured her, his eyes bright with amusement. “As for the other ache—”

“That has nothing to do with me,” she said hastily.

“I beg to differ.”

Catherine’s dignity had been mowed down to nothing. Clearly there was no option but retreat. “I’m leaving now.”

“What about the books you wanted?”

“I’ll fetch them later.”

As she turned to depart, however, the edge of her bell-shaped sleeve caught the stack of sketches she had just straightened, and they went spilling to the floor. “Oh, dear.” Instantly she went to her hands and knees, gathering up papers.

“Leave them,” she heard Leo say. “I’ll do it.”

“No, I’m the one who—”

Catherine broke off as she saw something among the drafts of structures and landscapes and the pages of notes. A pencil sketch of a woman … a na**d woman reclining on her side, light hair flowing everywhere. One slender thigh rested coyly over the other, partially concealing the delicate shadow of a feminine triangle.

And there was an all-too-familiar pair of spectacles balanced on her nose.

Catherine picked up the sketch with a trembling hand, while her heart lurched in hard strikes against her ribs. It took several attempts before she could speak, her voice high and airless.

“That’s me.”

Leo had lowered to the carpeted floor beside her. He nodded, looking rueful. His own color heightened until his eyes were startlingly blue in contrast.

“Why?” she whispered.

“It wasn’t meant to be demeaning,” he said. “It was for my own eyes, no one else’s.”