Algaria's dry, disapproving comment broke the spell; Richard couldn't tell who'd thrown it-Catriona or him. Or some other force entirely.
Catriona glanced at Algaria, then approached the table. "I… ah, overslept."
"You were dead to the world when I looked in."
"Hmm." Without meeting anyone's eye, Catriona served herself a large portion of the kedgeree the butler offered. Instead of her customary tea and toast.
Richard frowned-first at her plate, then at his. And wondered if it was possible for people to share dreams.
It was a horridly dull day, with sleet and snow lashing the house. Denied any chance of a walk to clear her head, Catriona set herself to review the stillroom. Which appeared not to have been reviewed since last she'd visited. The task proved so consuming, she got no chance to devote any sensible thought to the problem she'd seen looming on her horizon.
She hadn't seen it until that morning, when she'd rushed into the breakfast parlor. Not that she could have foreseen it, given she hadn't foreseen the depth of her involvement with Richard.
He who was to father her child.
But she got no chance to think on that, to dwell on how her view of him had changed, and on whether that meant she could, or should, change her plan, or even whether her plan was now safer, or more dangerous.
He'd been confused this morning-and that she hadn't expected. She'd seen it in his eyes as he'd looked at her-a remembrance of the night. Given what had happened, she wasn't surprised; she hadn't expected him to be even partially awake, much less in that peculiar state of a waking dream.
It wasn't, therefore, surprising that he remembered something; his confusion told her he hadn't remembered enough. Enough to be sure it hadn't been a dream.
She was sate, but he was disturbed. She needed to think about that.
"Tie all these up in bunches and hang them properly. And when you've finished with that, you can throw all this away." "All this" was a pile of ancient herbs that had long ago lost their efficacy. Hands on hips, Catriona surveyed the much improved stillroom, then nodded briskly. "We'll make a start on the oils in the morning."
"Yes, ma'am," the housekeeper and two maids chorused.
Catriona left them to their labors and headed back to the family parlor. Her route lay through a labyrinth of corridors giving onto a narrow gallery overlooking the side drive.
The gallery led to the main wing of the house. She'd started along it before she looked up and saw the large figure standing before one of the long windows looking out at the wintry day. He heard her and turned his head, then turned fully, not precisely blocking her path, but giving the impression he would like to.
Head high, Catriona's steps did not falter. But she slowed as she neared him, suddenly aware of a changed presence in the air, of some blatantly sexual reaction. On his part-and on hers.
She stopped a full yard away, not daring to venture closer, unsure just what the sudden searing impulse to touch him might lead her to do. Keeping her expression mild and uninformative, she lifted her chin and raised a questioning brow.
He looked down at her, his expression as unreadable as hers.
And the hot attraction between them grew stronger, more intense.
It stole her breath and fanned heat over her body. Her nipples crinkled tight, she held her ground and prayed he wouldn't notice.
"I wondered," he eventually said, "if you'd like to stroll." His tone made it clear he wanted her alone, some where private so he could investigate what he was feeling. "The conservatory as we have no other choice."
The fact that-even knowing the truth-she actually considered the possibility truly scared her. "Ahh… I think not." Prudence reasserted itself in a rush; Catriona softened her refusal with a smile. "I must tend to Meg-she's unwell."
"Can't Algaria tend Meg?"
His irritation nearly made her grin; his mask was slipping-the warrior was showing. "No-Meg prefers me."
His lips thinned. "So do I."
Catriona couldn't stop her grin. "She's ill-you're not."
"Much you know:" Thrusting his hands in his trouser pockets, he turned and sauntered beside her as she resumed her progress into the main wing.
Catriona shot him a careful glance. "You're not sick."
He raised an arrogant brow. "You can tell just by looking?"
"Generally, yes." She trapped his gaze. "In your case, your aura is very strong, and there's no hint of any illness."
He searched her eyes, then humphed. "When you've finished with Meg, you can come and examine my strength in greater detail."
Catriona fought to keep her lips straight enough to frown. "You're just feeling a trifle under the weather. Perfectly understandable." They'd reached the bottom of the main stairs, with a nod, she indicated the bleak scene beyond the hall windows.
He looked, but didn't seem to see. He stopped before the stairs; she halted on the bottom step and faced him.
"I'd be perfectly all right," he said, meeting her eyes, "it I could just…"
His words died; desire swept over them, tangible and hot as a desert wind. He stared at her; Catriona held tight to the banister and struggled not to respond, to keep her own mask in place as his wavered.
Then he blinked, frowned, and shook his head. "Never mind."
More shaken than she could allow him to see, Catriona smiled weakly. "Later, perhaps."
He looked at her again, then nodded. "Later."
There was to be no later-not that day. Despite her best intentions, Catriona found herself in constant demand, with Meg, with the children, even with Mary, who was usually as hale as a horse. The tensions in the house, generated by Seamus's iniquitous will, were taking their toll.
The only time she had to herself was the half-hour while she dressed for dinner. Hardly enough time to consider the implications of the unexpected turn her straightforward plan had taken. As she scrambled into her gown, then shook out her hair, brushed it and rebraided it, she swiftly reevaluated her position.
If things had gone as she'd planned, she would have steadfastly avoided Richard during the days, done nothing to give him the slightest reason to change his mind. She had planned to hold aloof until he'd refused Seamus's edict, seen him on the road to London, then headed for the vale Carrying his child.
Such had been her plan.
Now, however, one small element had gone awry. She needed to adjust. He'd remembered enough of the night to be seriously disturbed. The idea that he might be affected in some way as a result of her machinations was not one she could accept.
She'd have to do something about it.
The first thing she did, on her way down to dinner, last as ever, was to add to his fateful decanter a few drops of another potion, one that would prevent him from remembering any further "dreams".
The second thing she did was stand, rather than flee, when he reentered the drawing room after dinner and stalked straight to her side.
Algaria, beside her, stiffened. Catriona waved her away-she went, reluctantly. Richard barely nodded at her as he took her place.
"Where the devil have you been?"
Catriona opened her eyes wide. "Calming Meg, dosing the children-all six of them-then mixing Mary a potion, then checking the children, then helping Meg get up, then checking the children, then… " She waved. "My day flew, I'm afraid."
He eyed her narrowly. "I'd hoped to catch up with you after lunch."
Catriona threw him a helpless, apologetic look.
Richard inwardly snorted, and all but glowered at the rest of the company. He'd filled in what probably ranked as the dullest day of his life in the library and in the billiard room, praying that his sudden susceptibility would fade.
It hadn't.
Even now, just standing beside her, his body was literally remembering what hers had felt like pressed against him. Naked-skin to skin. The thought made him hot-hotter than he already was. If she'd been a problem yesterday, with her ability to arouse him, after last night's dream, she qualified as a full blown crisis. "I wanted to speak with you."