Always a Temptress (14 page)

“I know.”

Her head snapped up and she stared at him. “You do?”

He looked as bemused as she felt. “Schroeder believes you. And I’ve found her to have unerring instincts.”

She wanted to laugh. How absurd, really. Why should she feel so relieved that he finally believed her? But she did, and it confused her, which made her babble. “Fine. But I can help find out. I have a large circle of acquaintances. I can go over each of them with you to see if anyone seems…oh, I don’t know. Suspicious. And Uncle Hilliard. We already know he’s a Lion. Why can’t I help you search his homes? He never liked me, but the servants were far less discerning. I know they’d let us in.”

“Diccan is already searching.”

She nodded almost frantically. “Oh. All right. That’s fine. What about Uncle’s offices in Slough? It’s much nearer London, where he must have had most of his contacts, don’t you think? Bea and I have actually been there—” Suddenly it was as if a candle flared. She grabbed Harry’s arm. “My God. Bea. She’s safe? Nobody’s hurt her?”

She was already on her feet, and turning for the house when Harry caught her hand. “Kate. She’s inside. She’s fine. See?”

And there Bea was, standing at the library window, her pale face crumpled with distress, one of her handkerchiefs clutched in her fist. Kate’s heart clenched. “I must go to her.”

Harry refused to let go. “You must settle this first. Trust me. I have the house guarded, and a keen eye out for Axman Billy. No one will get past us. But you’re not safe yet from your brother.”

She shuddered. Harry was right. Edwin would not sit still for her being taken out of his control. Maybe if she and Bea got away. The Continent, maybe the West Indies. She could deed Eastcourt to the village, just to keep it out of Edwin’s hands, and then she and Bea could disappear…

“Kate,” Harry said, turning her to face him. “You need a husband.”

She reared back, feeling as if she’d been struck. “A what? No. Oh, no, thank you. I had one. We did not get on.”

“You don’t need to get on with this one. You only need to take his name so your brother loses his right to commit you.”

Kate laughed, panic squeezing her chest. “Whose name? Yours?”

He wasn’t smiling. “It’s what I told your brother.”

She tried to pull away. “Don’t be absurd. No one will fault you for making such a wild claim. I’m certainly not going to demand you make such a sacrifice.”

“
I
will,” he retorted, looking furious. “It’s a matter of honor.”

She glared, panic gestating into terror. “Oh, bollocks. You don’t want to be tied to me for life. You told me yourself. You’re going off alone. This would ruin it.”

She looked up just in time to see his eyes go hollow, but only for a second. “Not really. You live your life, I’ll live mine.”

She was already shaking her head. “I would still be your property. No, thank you, Harry. I’m perfectly happy being in charge of my own affairs.” She sucked in a breath, as if it could stabilize her racing heart. “No, we’ll find some other way. Prinny owes me a favor.”

“He owes your brother several thousand pounds.”

“The Archbishop of Canterbury is a cousin. He can intercede.”

“In baptisms and communion. Not in the courts of Chancery, where your brother will seek your estate.”

She lurched into motion, almost going right over on her nose from shaky knees. Harry reached to help, but she batted him away, catching herself on the back of the bench. She grabbed the blanket just before it sagged to the ground.

“I’ll sue Edwin,” she said, taking a few tottering steps along the walk. She hated it that her hands shook so much, that she walked like an octogenarian. If she were going to stay out of any kind of prison, she had to be strong.

“You don’t have time,” Harry said, sounding regretful. “Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious that your brother came after you so soon after the attempt on your life?”

Kate stopped, the path crunching beneath her toes. “You think he’s a Lion because he tried to commit me?” She laughed. “Oh, Harry. He’s wanted to commit me since I set his hunting pack loose when I was six. This is nothing new.”

“The painting is. Someone painted it and made sure your brother saw it. I think someone knew all too well he would think this the perfect excuse to put you away where no one would ever hear from you again. The only thing keeping your brother from putting you right back in Richmond Hills is the fact that he thinks you’re already married.”

Kate opened her mouth, but she just ended up closing it again, uncertain suddenly of what would come out. Harry was right. She could well have permanently disappeared into that tarted-up madhouse, a victim of Edwin’s jealousy and greed.

For a moment she was back in the darkness again, hearing that whisper, the thin edge of fear in the dark.
They’ll never let us out
. They wouldn’t have, either.

Still, she shook her head. “I told you before,” she said, her voice unpardonably shrill. “Thank you, but no. I won’t marry you.”

“But you
have
married me,” he said, standing before her. “At least that’s what it says on the special license Josh Wilton and Chuffy Wilde have dated the same day as the Gracechurch wedding. They’re in the front salon with Ian Ferguson.”

Her heart stumbled, and she battled a fresh wave of dread. “They’ve seen me?”

“They helped me get you out.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth, the shame washing through her like acid. It was too much. She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t face any of them. After this she wasn’t sure she could set foot from her parlor ever again.

“Please,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t talk about any of this until I am…together.”

Recognizable again, at least to herself.

“Grace is seeing to your bath,” Harry said. “She came to be with Bea. But don’t worry about anybody else. They understand.”

“No!” She felt so humiliated, and hated Harry for it. “They don’t understand. I don’t
want
them to understand.”

“They’ve been very good to you.”

“I don’t care.” She was trembling now. “They can’t force me to marry.”

His answer was quiet, implacable. “Then you’ll go back to the asylum.”

Helpless
.

Tears, now ignominious and painful as they crowded the back of her throat. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, forcing them back. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

His voice, when it came, was quiet. “I’m not any happier about this than you.”

She had no more strength. She sat back down on the bench. “You really have a license.”

“Signed and witnessed.” He flashed a fleeting grin. “By the way, did you know that Finney does a very credible copy of your signature?”

“Of course I do. I’m the one who taught him.” She looked up, hating the need to beg. “We have a license. Surely it’s enough. Why make this travesty worse?”

Harry shook his head. “Joshua Wilton is an honorable man. He wouldn’t pre-date the license unless we made the marriage real. Do you know the risks he took?”

She sighed. “I do. And damn your eyes, even I couldn’t serve him such a turn.”

She assessed herself, thinking she should be reacting more. Violent shakes, nausea, rage. Those would all come, she knew. For now, though, the tears had faded and she seemed to have slipped into the numb limbo of shock. Everything around her seemed to have gone gray.

“You wouldn’t just get me, you know,” he urged gently. “You’d get all of my family. You know you’d love that. You were always perched in the kitchen talking to Mam or running about playing with the little ones.”

He paused, as if giving Kate time to be seduced by the idyllic picture. She had haunted Harry’s home at The Grange; his had been a real family, squabbling, laughing, hugging, often at the same time. She’d felt like a beggar being given a glimpse of a feast, but she hadn’t been able to stay away. Those memories were often enough to get her through her own day.

“You really wouldn’t turn down a chance to let Mam spoil you, would you?” Harry asked. “You know she’d be over the moon.”

For a moment Kate shut her eyes, besotted by the idea. But she knew Harry couldn’t really want that. She knew she was right when she looked up to see the conflicting emotions skim across his eyes like clouds before a noonday sun: anxiety, regret, hesitation, resentment, and finally resignation. And she couldn’t blame him in the least. He’d risked more than anyone. He was giving up everything. Harry, who was passionate in his loyalty, his excitement, his anger. Who radiated sensuality and power and command.

Who deserved better, no matter what he’d done to her.

“No,” she said, wrapping the quilt tighter. “I won’t do it.”

He stiffened, as if she’d insulted him. “We’ve just been through this, Kate.”

She couldn’t face him. She turned away, only to see Bea’s anxious face again. Ah, Bea. The last thing Kate wanted to do was betray Bea. If she didn’t marry Harry, she would be leaving Bea alone and vulnerable to an unforgiving world. How could she put her dear friend in such a position? But how could she be party to this fraud?

“I won’t…”
Look at the sky. It’s endless, open, blameless
. “I won’t lie with you, Harry.” Her hands began to sweat just with the thought. “I won’t lie with any man.”

“I don’t blame you,” he finally said, his voice so quiet and calm. “I promise I won’t expect anything of you until you’re ready.”

She looked up at him, stricken by the understanding in his eyes. More shame. More guilt. “But that’s just it,” she retorted and turned to see his jaw working. “I won’t ever be ready.”

Still his voice stayed quiet. “I think you’re wrong.”

“You don’t know…”

“Oh, I think I do.” Sitting next to her, he cupped her face in his hands. He didn’t even seem to notice her instinctive retreat from the touch of his fingers. “I’m not an innocent, Kate. I think I know just what happened to you. I think that monster hurt you, and kept hurting you. But I think…” He began to stroke his thumb along her cheek, and just as always, her body woke. “
This
hasn’t changed. No matter how we’ve felt about each other, we’ve always had this spark.” His smile was wry. “Bloody inconvenient most of the time. But maybe…maybe if we remember how nice it can be, it could be a start.”

She was trembling with the new warmth that swept through her. Her womb, that dry, wasted space she had long since given up hope for, seemed to soften. If she’d been another person she might have imagined it was ten years ago. That with a wish she could reclaim the wonder and hope that trailed from Harry’s fingers.

But she wasn’t that girl anymore. Revulsion surged, nausea, dread. She pushed him away so hard she almost knocked him over.

“No.” She hated it that she couldn’t catch her breath. “Never.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Harry’s eyes were still dilated. Kate could see the bulge in his breeches. It sent raw fear coursing through her veins, propelling her to her feet, hand out.

She refused to weep. “Because when you make me feel like this, what I remember is that after bringing me to the point of giving you everything—” She clenched her fists so tightly she thought she’d drawn blood. “You left it for Murther to finish.”

Harry looked as if he’d been struck by lightning.

Kate couldn’t bear to face him. Gathering up her blanket up, she walked away. “I won’t, Harry. I won’t.”

She was already to the door before he answered. “Then you won’t,” he said, his voice clipped. “But you will say your vows.”

By the time Kate and Harry stood before Joshua Wilton in her front salon, Kate knew she was on her last reserves. She had been bathed and powdered, curled and corseted, and now stood up in a deceptively simple azure
peau de soie
dress with silver acorns embellishing the hem and sleeves. She held a quickly gathered bouquet of blue asters and white carnations, which amused her, since in the language of flowers they meant innocence and daintiness. The sun glinted yellow off the mirrors and warmed the pale green silk wall coverings. Grace Hilliard sat quietly by the window, her plain face composed, and Kate’s staff shifted uneasily in hastily assembled chairs.

Bea took up her place behind Kate in gray moire, a pretty lace cap atop her head and fingerless gloves covering her restless hands. Harry stood at parade attention, the very picture of a British officer of the 95th Rifles, his shako beneath his arm, his boots shining like black water. Kate thought he looked more handsome than she had ever seen him; she was not about to tell him, though. There was only so much she would sacrifice for this wedding.

As witness for the groom, Chuffy Wilde presented himself in tobacco brown and fawn, his waistcoat an amazing canvas of parrots and palm trees. As ever, Chuffy was smiling, his glasses halfway down his nose.

As if he weren’t quite sure Chuffy was up to the job, Ian Ferguson stood just behind him, his kilt gently swaying around his knees, the bearskin beneath his arm. Even Mudge had dredged up his Rifles uniform, although on him it looked odd, like a young god trying on human form for the day. None of the maids seemed to mind.

The only person conspicuously absent from the hastily gathered group was Barbara, who had stayed only until Kate’s own abigail had arrived. Kate wished there were some way she could have kept Barbara around. She thought she’d miss her.

Clad in a hastily recovered chasuble and holding the Book of Common Prayer in his elegant hands, Joshua Wilton looked a bit strained as he took up his place in front of the Adam fireplace. In a Minerva Press novel, the wedding would have been accompanied by either birdsong and rainbows or ferocious thunderstorms to portend danger. No portents accompanied these vows, just the sounds of neighbors wending their way home for tea and a sniffle or two from Kate’s chef, Maurice.

One day, she thought as she listened to Joshua recite the time-worn lyrics to a song she’d sworn never to sing again, she would compare this wedding with the last one and laugh.

“Repeat after me,” Joshua said to Harry, which snapped Kate back to attention. “I, Henry Phillip Bryce, take you, Catherine Anne—”