That made sense if he were her friend, but a part of her heart hinted that it could mean more.
So much more.
Nineteen
Quin tasted blood and realized he’d been biting his tongue. His focus had been on keeping a calm exterior, but his plans had nearly failed the moment Catherine walked into his mother’s parlor. He drank her in like exquisite French brandy, complete with the warming sensation from the inside out.
The color of her gown highlighted the gold hue of her hair, braided and tucked up to draw a gentleman’s eye to the curve of her neck and lower.
Good Lord.Her neckline was walking a thin line between scandalous and innocent, leaving the admirer in a state of torment because it hid and hinted at the same time.
As if the temptation wasn’t enough, the thin fabric clung to every valley and swell of her curves, playing hide-and-seek with the onlooker. It left him to study every fold to see if the slightest shift would make the fabric cling to skin.
He tore his attention away and felt his mother’s focus shift to him before he turned to her. She’d obviously noticed his assessment of Catherine; he only hoped his expression hadn’t betrayed the depth of his appreciation. His mother turned her attention to welcoming her. He watched as Catherine’s shoulders relaxed at his mother’s greeting, as if starting to unwind from some earlier tension.
The greeting completed, he watched as Catherine scanned the room, pausing when her eyes met his. A familiar warmth lit her features, and he tried to tamp down his delight that her beautiful upturned lips were for him alone. They were friends.
Nothing more.
But certainly nothing less.
He met her attentive regard, welcoming her, enjoying the moment that made the rest of the room fade.
But only for a moment, since Rowles was announced next, and judging by the way Catherine’s attention was immediately arrested, Quin realized she recognized the name his mother had listed.
Damn it.He’d known it wouldn’t be comfortable, but the stab of resentment against his friend’s entrance surprised him.
Rowles had no idea what was going on.
But Catherine did. The understanding struck Quin deep in the chest, stealing his breath. His mother made the introductions, and before Quin could change his mind, he was striding toward the small group. Then, of course, Morgan’s name had to be mentioned. Quin couldn’t believe his friend had overstepped in such a way. Bastard, he was truly becoming a bother. He couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could he? Simply had to let their friend know that something was afoot. There was truly no privacy among friends.
Quin had nearly rolled his eyes at the implication, but then steeled himself against the impolite gesture and instead offered Rowles claret, which served two purposes. One, it would refill his own glass, and based on current events he needed to take the edge off his own intensity. And two, it would remove Rowles from Catherine’s proximity. It was a brilliant plan. Until the other gentlemen were announced. And introduced, soliciting smiles from Catherine as they engaged her in conversation. It was enough to make a saint swear. Quin had fallen into a routine, offering each gentleman claret after the initial introduction simply to get him away from Catherine, to no avail.
His mother had superbly made sure that each one had adequate time with Catherine throughout the evening, and it took all of Quin’s self-control to maintain a passive expression. During dinner, Quin was seated beside his mother, which put him farthest from Catherine, who was seated beside Rowles. Every attention she gave his friend set Quin more on edge. When dinner ended, the gentlemen adjourned to the parlor while the ladies all joined together in a separate parlor for their own purposes.
“You want to tell me what Morgan was referring to?” Rowles asked from beside him just as Quin took a sip of brandy. He wasn’t one to overindulge in liquor, but tonight had him drinking more than usual.
“No,” Quin replied tightly.
“Helpful.” Rowles paused as if considering his next words. “I didn’t realize your mother was so…involved with Lady Catherine’s social life.”
Quin regarded his friend. “That’s a delicate way to say it.”
“I am a gentleman, after all.”
“I know,” Quin answered.
And it was true. Of all the men his mother had listed, Rowles was the best of the lot. Kind, attentive, and loyal, he would make any lady a fine husband. Which made it all worse, because there was truly no fault to be found in him.
It would be so much easier if Quin could just blame the whole lot of them and justify chasing all the men out the door. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t any moral high ground to stand upon.
The gentlemen started filing out toward the other parlor to join the ladies, and Quin followed wordlessly. As he took up a new position in the room, he chose a vantage point where he could see Catherine. He lifted a book from the nearby shelf and pretended to examine it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what Morgan meant in his letter?”
Quin nearly jumped. He hadn’t heard Rowles’s approach since he was keeping an eye—while trying to appear as if he weren’t keeping an eye—on Catherine and her suitors over the edge of the book he was holding. Giving a glare to his friend, he held the bridge of his nose.
“Good Lord, man. What is the matter?” Rowles shot him a concerned expression, then followed to where his focus had been a moment before. “Oh.”