Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways #3)(21)

In the years of their acquaintance, Catherine had never asked anything of him. Once Harry did someone a favor, it went into the invisible ledger he carried around in that infernally clever brain, and it was only a matter of time until he demanded repayment with interest. People feared him for good reason. Harry had powerful friends and powerful enemies, and it was doubtful that even they knew what category they fell in.

The valet, or assistant, whatever he was, showed her into Harry’s palatial apartment. Catherine thanked him with a frosty murmur. She sat in a receiving room with her hands resting in her lap. The receiving room had been designed to intimidate visitors, all of it done in slick, pale fabrics and cold marble and priceless Renaissance art.

Harry entered the room, large and breathtakingly self-assured. As always, he was elegantly dressed and meticulously groomed.

Stopping before her, he surveyed her with insolent green eyes. “Cat. You look well.”

“Go to the devil,” she said quietly.

His gaze dropped to the white plait of her fingers, and a lazy smile crossed his face. “I suppose to you, I am the devil.” He nodded toward the other side of the settee she occupied. “May I?”

Catherine gave a short nod and waited until he had seated himself. “Why did you send for me?” Her voice was brittle.

“It was an amusing scene this morning, wasn’t it? Your Hathaways were a delight. They’re certainly not your run-of-the-mill society misses.”

Slowly Catherine raised her gaze to his, trying not to flinch as she stared into the vivid depths of green. Harry excelled at hiding his thoughts . . . but this morning he had stared at Poppy with a hunger that he was usually too well disciplined to reveal. And Poppy had no idea of how to defend herself against a man like Harry.

Catherine strove to keep her voice even. “I will not discuss the Hathaways with you. And I warn you to stay away from them.”

“You warn me?” Harry repeated softly, his eyes bright with mocking amusement.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone in my family.”

“Your family?” One of his dark brows lifted. “You have no family.”

“I meant the family I work for,” Catherine said with icy dignity. “I meant my charges. Especially Poppy. I saw the way you looked at her this morning. If you try to harm her in any way—”

“I have no intention of harming anyone.”

“Regardless of your intentions, it happens, doesn’t it?” Catherine felt a stab of satisfaction as she saw his eyes narrow. “Poppy is far too good for you,” she continued, “and she is out of your reach.”

“Hardly anything is out of my reach, Cat.” He said it without arrogance. It happened to be the truth. Which made Catherine all the more fearful.

“Poppy is practically betrothed,” she replied sharply. “She is in love with someone.”

“Michael Bayning.”

Her heart began to hammer with alarm. “How do you know that?”

Harry ignored the question. “Do you really think that Viscount Andover, a man of notoriously exacting standards, would allow his son to marry a Hathaway?”

“I do. He loves his son, and therefore he will choose to overlook the fact that Poppy comes from an unconventional family. He could ask for no better mother for his future heirs.”

“He’s a peer. Bloodlines are everything to him. And while Poppy’s bloodlines have led to an obviously charming result, they’re far from pure.”

“Her brother is a peer,” Catherine snapped.

“Only by accident. The Hathaways are a twig on the farthest limb of the family tree. Ramsay may have inherited a title, but in terms of nobility, he’s no more a peer than you or I. And Andover knows it.”

“What a snob you are,” Catherine observed in as calm a tone as she could manage.

“Not at all. I don’t mind the Hathaways’ common blood one bit. In fact, I like them all the better for it. All those anemic daughters of the peerage—none of them could hold a candle to the two girls I saw this morning.” His smile became genuine for one dazzling moment. “What a pair. Catching a wild monkey with a comfit jar and string.”

“Leave them alone,” Catherine said. “You play with people as a cat does with mice. Entertain yourself with someone else, Harry. God knows you have no shortage of women who would do anything to please you.”

“That’s what makes them boring,” he said gravely. “No, don’t leave yet—there’s something I want to ask. Has Poppy said anything to you about me?”

Mystified, Catherine shook her head. “Only that it was interesting to finally be able to put a face to the mysterious hotelier.” She stared at him intently. “What else should she have told me?”

Harry adopted an innocent expression. “Nothing. I merely wondered if I had made an impression.”

“I’m sure Poppy overlooked you entirely. Her affections are with Mr. Bayning, who, unlike you, is a good, honorable man.”

“You wound me. Fortunately in matters of love, most women can be persuaded to choose a bad man over a good one.”

“If you understood anything about love,” Catherine said acidly, “you would know that Poppy would never choose anyone over the man she has already given her heart to.”