He had found the perfect way to allay her self-reproach. "You're right. Colin truly loved Amy. She may have been the only person he did love." She gave Michael a slanting glance. "I promise I won't be boringly guilty again."
He grinned. "You're never boring, even if you are a saint."
An uneasy thought struck her. "One reason I didn't want to tell you about Colin's death was that I saw you driving a lovely young girl in the park. It was assumed that you were seeking a wife, and something about the way you two looked at each other made me think you had found one."
"I took a variety of young ladies for drives, but I don't remember making calf's eyes at any. What did she look like?"
"Tall and slender, with soft brown hair. Pretty and very intelligent-looking, though she seemed a little shy."
"Kit," he said immediately. "My friend Lucien's wife. She and I are exceedingly fond of each other, in a strictly nonromantic way. You'll like her, too."
She felt a warm glow at the way he was assuming she would be part of his life in the future. Even more, she felt relief. That pretty girl was Michael's friend, not his beloved. She drew her hand over his shoulder, enjoying the feel of hard muscles beneath smooth skin. "She looked very likable."
His smile faded. "There's something I must tell you."
Concerned by the note in his voice, she said, "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Whatever it is won't make any difference to me."
"Not even the fact that I'm a bastard?" he said ironically.
It took a moment for her to understand. "So the Duke of Ashburton wasn't your real father. From what you say about him, I'm not sorry. He sounded dreadful."
After an astonished moment, he fell back on the pillow, laughing. "That's all you have to say about the great scandal of my existence? Don't you want to know if my father was a footman or a lusty stable boy?"
Hearing the brittleness in his amusement, she said quietly, "I don't care who or what your father was. I do care how the situation affected you. Did the Duke of Ashburton know?"
Every trace of humor vanished from Michael's face. "He knew, all right. I was the result of an affair between the duchess and Ashburton's younger brother. For the sake of pride, the duke exiled his brother and let the world think I was his own son. He didn't tell me the truth until he was on his deathbed."
"Lord, that was just before we came down here! No wonder you looked so strained when we went through Great Ashburton." Catherine laid her hand on his forearm. "So you were the innocent victim of the sort of ghastly situation that tears families apart. It explains why the duke treated you so coldly."
"It was upsetting to learn the truth, but in a strange way, liberating. I don't need the duke's family."
She leaned forward and kissed him with all the love in her heart. Then she smiled wickedly. "It's too early for breakfast. Care to use the time making up for those six years of celibacy?"
He drew her into his arms. "We both have a lot to make up for. I'm looking forward to it immensely."
So was she. Saints in heaven, so was she.
The next two days were paradise. As she dressed on the third morning, Catherine wondered if anyone had noticed the change in her relationship with Michael. Oh, the two of them didn't touch each other in public, or sneak off to their bedroom in the middle of the day-though they had been tempted. But she had a permanent cat-in-the-cream-pot smile, and it was impossible to control what was in their eyes when they exchanged glances.
They had not talked of the future; Michael had not said that he loved her, nor made a formal offer of marriage. As she had suspected, under his intensely capable surface there was a great deal of vulnerability, the result of never having received enough love. That must be why she had seen an uncertain, this-is-too-good-to-be-true expression in his eyes. Well, she felt the same way. In fact, she hadn't gotten around to saying how much she loved him, either. No words were strong enough.
Eventually they must be more practical, but she expected no problems. Though Amy might be startled to acquire a stepfather so soon, she had always liked Michael. Everything would be fine.
She smiled into the mirror as she brushed her hair. The biggest question in her mind was whether she and Michael should marry right away, or wait until a full year after Colin's death. The latter would be more proper, but she didn't want to delay. Also, if the natural consequence of passionate lovemaking occurred, they might have to marry in haste. She wouldn't mind.
Michael's image appeared in the mirror next to hers as he bent and pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot below her ear. Sighing with delight, she leaned back against him. "Do we have to watch people gather seaweed to fertilize the fields, or one of Davin's other jolly amusements? I'd rather spend the day here ravishing you. Tearing off your clothing. Pinning you ruthlessly to the floor and devouring you with kisses."
"Sounds wonderful." He gently rubbed her chin with his knuckles. "You grow less saintly by the day. But not so much that you will shirk your duty."
Alas, he was right. Catherine got to her feet. "Very well, I'll ravish you tonight. You can spend the day worrying about the violence I shall wreak on your helpless body."
He studied her with a scorching thoroughness that made her toes curl. "I'll spend the day thinking about it, though I can't promise that I'll be worrying."
He took her arm, and they went down to the breakfast parlor. When they walked in, her grandfather looked up from his plate testily. "For a pair that have been married a dozen years, you certainly are smelling of April and May."
She kissed his cheek. Though he still used the wheelchair, he was noticeably more vigorous than when they had arrived. "It's the marvelous sea air, Grandfather." She gave
Michael a private smile. "It makes us feel that we're just wed."
The laird spread butter on a slice of toast. "Clive's back from London. I want to speak with the two of you this morning."
Michael asked, "Am I specifically excluded?"
"Yes. You'll find out what I have to say soon enough."
Catherine stared at her coddled eggs. Surely the meeting was about the laird's choice of heir. The practical questions she had been avoiding would have to be answered, and soon.
Davin Penrose entered the breakfast parlor and greeted everyone, then helped himself to a cup of tea. Michael asked him, "What is on today's schedule?"
"That depends." The constable took a chair. "Do you know much about cannons, Captain Melbourne?"
"I've had some experience with horse artillery, but I'm no expert."
"You're bound to know more than anyone on Skoal. The island militia is quite efficient-the laird is the colonel, and I'm the captain. Besides muskets, we have two six-pound cannon that were sent to repel Napoleon if he should choose to invade us." Amusement gleamed in his eyes. "A good thing the emperor had other goals in mind, because the government didn't see fit to tell us how to use the blasted things."
Michael laughed. "That's His Majesty's army for you. I take it you want to fire them and need some lessons."
"Aye. Rocks are crumbling from an overhanging cliff in the harbor and endangering the boats moored below. I thought a few rounds of camion shot might bring the weak bits down without hurting anyone. It would be much appreciated if you could show us how to shoot without killing ourselves."
"I know enough for that." Michael turned to Catherine. "Since you'll be busy, I'll go with Davin. It will take most of the day to condition the guns and train men to use them safely."
"Perhaps I'll come and watch later," she said. "One of the nice things about this island is that you can't go too far away."