Gregory, Lisa (41 page)

"Oh?"

"I
want everything about what has happened to her kept quiet. I want to keep as
much scandal as possible from her. I trust in your discretion—I know very
little about proprieties."

The
man stiffened. "It is a little late to be thinking about her reputation,
isn't it?"

"Yes,
but I can hardly undo what is done, Doctor. The best I can hope is to cover it
up. Could you manage to combat the rumors—say we slept in different
cabins?"

"Yes,
but you know how little effect that will have against rumor. And has it
occurred to you that she might be—with child?"

Matthew
looked at him, stunned. "Pregnant? My God—what's to be done? I would raise
the child; perhaps she could remain here until it's born. People will talk, of
course, but they wouldn't
know."

"Captain
Hampton, if you are in fact concerned about Miss Devereaux's honor, if you do
regret what you have done, why don't you marry her? Give her the protection of
your name."

"Sweet
Jesus, man!" Hampton swung toward him and in the dim light Rackingham saw
the naked pain in his face. "Do you think I wouldn't gladly marry her? I
love her," he rasped. "But she would never consent; she despises me.
She cringes at my touch." His voice broke and he turned away.

"Have
you asked her?"

Hampton
shook his head.

"Captain,
you did not see, as I did, the way she hung by your bed all through your
illness, the way in which she took care of you. I think that inside she is
fonder of you than she cares to admit."

"A
lot has happened since then, Doctor, none of which would endear me to her. I am
afraid that at the moment she must hate all men."

"Nevertheless,
to guard against disgrace, especially if she is carrying your child—"

"You
do not know Katherine very well if you think that. She sticks steadfastly to
her principles and ignores the consequences. However, I shall ask her."

There
was a moment of silence and then Rackingham asked, "When is she to
leave?"

"I
think she should rest another night. She's still a little shaky. Tomorrow
morning, I guess." He could not bring himself to separate from her just
yet. "I have a rather early appointment and I shan't be here. Perhaps it
would be best if you left then."

"When
is your appointment?"

"Six
o'clock."

The
older man raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. It sounded like a duel—what
had gone on here since he left the ship? Poor Katherine; perhaps it was best
not to inquire.

"I
have a few things I
bought for her; she probably will refuse to take
them. Would you please take them along? Perhaps she might accept them
later."

"Yes,
of course." Rackingham felt a twinge of sympathy at the suffering
underlying his quiet tone.

"Thank
you." Hampton shook his hand, and the doctor took his leave. Matthew took
a deep breath and headed for his cabin.

Katherine
was in bed but not asleep. She looked a little better, not so pale or
vacant-eyed, but she still acted shy and afraid. Hampton forced himself to
smile at her.

"How
are you, Katherine?"

"Better.
Why did I feel so strange and dizzy? Why did everything look funny, all out of
shape and brightly colored?"

"I
think they must have drugged you. So you wouldn't resist. Fortunately, I think
it's made your memories less sharp."

Katherine
sat up and hooked her arms around her knees. Why was Matthew standing across
the room like that? She wished he would come sit beside her, hold her hand; she
would feel better that way.

"Katherine,
are you pregnant?" he blurted out, then cursed himself for being a clumsy
fool.

She
looked at him in surprise and said, "What?"

"Are
you carrying my child?"

"I—I
don't think so." She blushed and ducked her head.

"Do
you even know how to tell?"

"I'm
not sure. You get sick at your stomach. But the old ladies never really tell
you about it if you're unmarried."

He
grimaced. "Lord, they love to keep you ignorant, don't they? Some have morning
sickness, but others don't The best sign is if your periods stop."

She
blushed again and said in a tiny voice. "No, Matthew."

"Good."
He paused and stared into space. Finally he plunged in. "Katherine, I
apologize to you for what I have done; I am afraid I have been very cruel. I
did not mean to be; I was simply too selfish to see what harm I was doing to
you."

She
said nothing, simply stared in amazement, and he hurried on. "Anyway, I
have decided to let you go. You are no longer my prisoner. Dr. Rackingham will
come here tomorrow morning to get you. You won't be afraid with him, will
you?"

Numbly
she shook her head. He was sending her away! She began to tremble. Why was he
sending her away?

"I
didn't tell him what happened to you. I thought you would not want me to. He
will take you home and help you try to gloss over what happened. He—he thought
you might consider marrying me." He picked up a paperweight from the desk
and rolled it in his hand, fixing his gaze on it. He cleared his throat.
"Would you, Katherine? I would take care of you and never intrude upon
you. Nor would I hold you to your wifely duties; it would be a marriage in name
only, of course. We could have separate bedrooms, and you would have a lock on
your door."

"Oh,
no!" Katherine gasped. That was it: he no longer desired her. He was
filled with disgust at her unclean body, just as she was. Rackingham was trying
to make him marry her, but he wanted to be rid of her, would not even touch her
if they married. She was swept by a wave of shame; she was repulsive to him.

In
a shaking voice she said, "I will go, Matthew."

His
fist closed around the paperweight so hard that the muscles of his forearm
bulged. "All right. I will just sleep here in the chair tonight, if you
don't mind. So you won't be afraid. I bought you this box of things in London.
Please take them with you."

"All
right."

Without
undressing, he turned off the light and settled down in the chair to sleep.
Katherine pressed her hand against her mouth to hold back the tears. Oh, God,
what was she to do now, all alone?

In
the chill of early dawn, the sound of approaching horses was clear and crisp.
Matthew watched silently as the carriage pulled to a halt and Kenwick and his
second stepped out. The baron looked Britishly cool and calm. Matthew felt his
stomach knot; in a moment the baron would be Britishly cool and dead. Britons
were fools; the thing they did best was die. Witness the Crimea, where they had
floundered about incompetently and claimed triumph because they had fallen so
well.

Impatiently
Matthew waited through the formalities: checking the pistols, choosing them,
the request by the judge for reconsideration. They stood back to back, then at
the signal paced away, turned ... his body sideways to present a narrow target,
Matthew fired, saw Kenwick recoil as the bullet struck him, and then felt a
sudden spear of pain and a blow that knocked him flat as Kenwick's bullet
slammed into him.

"Captain,
Captain, please wake up." Fortner's anxious voice seeped into his brain.

Matthew
made a determined effort to open his eyes, then closed them against the glare
of the rising sun. He heard Fortner exclaim in relief. So the son of a bitch
had hit him. Again he opened his eyes to see Fortner's boyish face floating
above him.

"Are
you all right, sir? Can you stand?"

"Of
course I can stand," he said gruffly. "Is he dead?"

Fortner's
eyes lit in admiration. "Indeed he is, sir. Cleanest shot I ever
saw."

"Good.
Then I suggest you and I visit a doctor."

The
doctor cleaned his wound and pronounced him lucky the ball had gone clean
through and not lodged in his arm. The oversize fee they left compensated his
curiosity.

When
they reached the ship, they were greeted by Peljo's sour face. "Well,
she's gone, sir. Crying like a baby, too."

Matthew
felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. "Shut up, Peljo."

He
shook off Fortner's supporting arm and walked to his cabin. It looked the same,
except for the swelling emptiness of her absence. Matthew sat down at his desk
and propped his head on his good hand. This afternoon he would return to London
and spur Redfield to come up with that mission of his. He hoped grimly that it
was suicidal.

He
wondered how the War was going. The reports from the British correspondents
were of course outdated and probably inaccurate as well. It sounded bad for
Lee; they were steadily losing ground. No surprise to the Navy; they had been
losing since the War began. He shrugged. What did it matter? Doomed country;
the gallows waiting at the end for a Rebel pirate; Shel gone and half his
friends, maybe David now, too; the family bankrupted. To hell with it. If he
had had Katherine—well, that would be something to live for—a new life with
her, children, dreams, hopes. But now, well, might as well be like the British
and make a good end. He opened his desk to pull out a bottle of whiskey, and a
gleam of silver caught his eye. He reached in and pulled it out—Katherine's
silly little popgun. Softly he ran a finger down the handle. Scalding tears
slid down his face and splashed upon the metal.

Afterward
Katherine could hardly remember the first few days away from Hampton; it seemed
as if she had done nothing but eat, sleep, and cry. While they waited for a
ship leaving for the States, Dr. Rackingham kindly left her alone, realizing
that sleep would heal her far better than any of his ministrations. So she lost
herself in sleep, too shattered to face her broken world—the terror of her
aloneness, the emptiness without Matthew, the intense self-disgust. She never
left her room, taking her meals there, too. She locked the door and kept a
chair under the knob, and checked the locked windows a hundred times a day.

Gradually,
however, her fear began to recede, especially after they boarded the ship for
New York. At sea, insulated by the encircling ocean, she could feel more
secure. She took long walks around the deck, and the brisk sea air revived her.
Her brain began to function again, and all the horrors that lurked at the back
of her mind she was able to separate and bring to the forefront one by one where
she could focus the light of reason on them and gradually wither them to
nothingness. Day by day, she felt her strength of character returning, growing
to fight the turmoil within her. And as it did, she realized that she must
fight to regain herself. No one could restore her but herself; she had to
destroy all the demons on her own.

First
she had to recover her own self-respect, and that was the most difficult part.
Each day she coached herself in all the reasons why she was not to blame for
what had happened, why she was not the wrongdoer, why she must not hate and
punish herself. Her humiliation lessened, she began to look straight at people
again and not off to the side. Her first understanding, painful acceptance of
Hampton's rejection passed, and was replaced by bitter resentment and anger.
Oh, yes, it was fine for him to take her, willing or not, and be maddened when
she protested. But if other men took her, then she was no longer fit for him.
It did not matter that they had raped her; it did not matter that he had known
far more women than she had men. Oh, no, all that mattered was that someone
else had used her, and therefore he no longer wanted her. Damaged goods, that's
all she was, and so he tossed her aside.