Page 12 of Courting Catherine
“That may be true. Thanks,” she added, taking the glass. “But I get nervous when I can’t get past her guard.” Thoughtful, she sipped, then swept her gaze over her sisters. “She’s using the Limoges china.”
“The Limoges?” Lilah pushed up on her elbows. “We haven’t used that since Suzanna’s engagement party.” And could have bitten her tongue. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be silly.” Suzanna brushed the apology away. “She hasn’t entertained much in the past couple of years. I’m sure she’s missed it. She’s probably just excited to have company.”
“He’s not company,” C.C. put in. “He’s nothing but a pain in the—”
“Mr. St. James.” Suzanna rose quickly, cutting off the finale of her sister’s opinion.
“Trent, please.” He smiled at her, then with some wryness at C.C.
It was quite a tableau, he thought, and had enjoyed it for perhaps a minute before Suzanna had seen him in the doorway. The Calhoun women together, and separately, made a picture any man still breathing had to appreciate. Long, lean and leggy, they sat, stood or sprawled around the room.
Suzanna stood with her back to the window, so that the last lights of the spring evening haloed around her hair. He would have said she was relaxed but for that trace of sadness in her eyes.
The one on the sofa was definitely relaxed—and all but asleep. She wore a long, flowered skirt that reached almost to her bare feet and regarded him through dreamy amused eyes as she pushed back a curling mass of waist-length red hair.
Another sat perched on the arm of a chair as if she would spring up and into action at the sound of a bell only she could hear. Sleek, slick and professional, he thought at first glance. Her eyes weren’t dreamy or sad, but simply calculating.
Then there was C.C. She’d been sitting on the stone hearth, chin on her hands, brooding like some modern-day Cinderella. But she had risen quickly, defensively, he noted, to stand poker straight with the fire behind her. This wasn’t a woman who would sit patiently for a prince to fit a glass slipper on her foot.
He imagined she’d kick him smartly in the shins or somewhere more painful if he attempted it.
“Ladies,” he said, but his eyes were on C.C. without him even being aware of it. He couldn’t resist the slight nod in her direction. “Catherine.”
“Let me introduce you,” Suzanna said quickly. “Trenton St. James, my sisters, Amanda and Lilah. Why don’t I fix you a drink while you—”
The rest of the offer was drowned out by a war whoop and storming feet. Like twin whirlwinds, Alex and Jenny barreled into the room. It was Trent’s misfortune that he happened to be standing in the line of fire. They slammed into him like two missiles and sent him tumbling to the couch on top of Lilah.
She only laughed and said she was pleased to meet him.
“I’m so sorry.” Suzanna collared each child and sent Trent a sympathetic glance. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He untangled himself and rose.
“These are my children, Disaster and Calamity.” She kept a firm maternal arm around each. “Apologize.”
“Sorry,” they told him. Alex, a few inches taller than his sister, looked up from under a mop of dark hair.
“We didn’t see you.”
“Didn’t,” Jenny agreed, and smiled winningly.
Suzanna decided to go into the lecture about storming into rooms later and steered them both toward the door. “Go ask Aunt Coco if dinner’s ready. Walk!” she added firmly but without hope.
Before anyone could pick up the threads of a conversation, there was a loud, echoing boom.
“Oh, Lord,” Amanda said into her glass. “She’s dragged out the gong again.”
“That means dinner.” If there was one thing Lilah moved quickly for, it was food. She rose, tucked her arm through Trent’s and beamed up at him. “I’ll show you the way. Tell me, Trent, what are your views on astral projection?”
“Ah...” He sent a glance over his shoulder and saw C.C. grinning.
Aunt Coco had outdone herself. The china gleamed. What was left of the Georgian silver that had been a wedding present to Bianca and Fergus Calhoun glittered. Under the fantasy light of the Waterford chandelier the rack of lamb glistened. Before any of her nieces could comment, she dived cleanly into polite conversation.
“We’re dining formal style, Trenton. So much more cozy. I hope your room is suitable.”
“It’s fine, thank you.” It was, he thought, big as a barn, drafty, with a hole the size of a man’s fist in the ceiling. But the bed was wide and soft as a cloud. And the view... “I can see some islands from my window.”
