In Love With a Wicked Man (15 page)

And there were still more shoes left to drop; Kate didn’t deceive herself. She still felt like Marie Antoinette with the guillotine cranked but halfway up.

Moreover, it dawned on her, too, that the house was no longer silent; that the sound of servants’ feet had begun to fly up and down the passageways and stairs. Surely Edward’s news had not carried far and wide already?

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock upon the library door.

“Kate?” said Nancy, breathless. “Oh, Kate. You had better come out.”

Kate spun around to glower at the door. “What?” she snapped.

For a heartbeat, Nancy hesitated. “Kate, I’m afraid Mamma has come,” she finally said, “and I think . . . well, I think you won’t be happy with her surprise.”

Kate looked down to see her hands were shaking. The weakness made her angry with herself. “Well,” she said with asperity, “you will excuse me, Edward. It seems my guests have arrived.”

“Kate.” Edward caught her arm, his face fleetingly softening. “Oh, Kate. We really need to talk further. There are things I must say.”

“I know, but not now,” Kate whispered. “I must go and deal with what will doubtless be but the first of Aurélie’s cock-ups. As to you, Edward, you’re our welcome guest until you wish to leave, so I insist you come, too.”

Kate strode into the great hall to see poor Jasper staggering beneath another towering heap of boxes that Nancy was helping to steady, and Aurélie warbling in her pidgin French while simultaneously trying to kiss Fendershot and Peppie on both cheeks, a hatbox dangling from one elbow and Filou, her flatulent pug, draped over the other. A huge red hat was perched upon a towering pile of inky curls, and trimmed with a black feather that curled elegantly backward, almost brushing her shoulder.

On the threshold, Kate paused. “Mamma fancies herself French,” she murmured over her shoulder, “but it’s mostly just a show.”

“Good Lord,” said Edward quietly. “
She
is your mother?”

“Remarkable, isn’t it?”

“How many carriages does she require?” He was craning to look out the door.

“Heaven only knows. Mamma hates the train.” Then, with a parting smile, Kate stepped into the fray. “Aurélie!” she said, opening her arms. “It is very bad of you to come early.”

“Oh,
ma chérie, ma chérie!
” her mother declared, flinging a hatbox wildly aside. “
Alors
, give poor
maman
a kiss. Oooh, how I have missed you.”

The pug oblivious, Aurélie swept Kate up in a cloud of ermine, eau de cologne, and dog hair, then set her away again. “Well, Katherine, how do you go on? Oh,
ma fille!
Your hair! What have you done to it?”

“Why, not a thing,” said Kate, wriggling from the embrace.

“That is my very point.” Aurélie’s lips made a pretty moue. “Oh,
ma chérie
, you look like a brown mouse.”

“Yes, well.” Kate forced a smile. “Where is
le comte?
Lady Julia?”

“La, somewhere!” Aurélie made an absent gesture over one shoulder. “Sir Francis wished to stop in the village whilst I brought on the baggage. But we are speaking of the hair,
ma petite chou!
In Paris, you know, the braids are all the thing,
oui
? Very high, very glamor—
Ça alors
,
who is this—?
” Suddenly, her eyes widened dramatically.

She had noticed Edward.

Kate stepped back a bit. “Aurélie, this is Mr. Quartermaine, who has been our guest a few days. Mr. Quartermaine, this is my mother, Mrs. Wentworth—and, er, Filou.”

Kate’s mother was a beautiful, almost fairylike creature with inky black hair and flashing blue eyes who appeared at least a decade shy of her years. Men always looked twice—often thrice—at Aurélie, but Edward’s gaze was inscrutable, and utterly without affect.

Aurélie’s eyes, however, widened even further. “Ah!” she said lightly. “Mr.
Quartermaine
, is it?”

“Indeed.” Edward bowed coolly, and brought her hand to his lips. “A pleasure,
madame
.”

Aurélie gave a light laugh. Then, before he could straighten up, she cut Kate a dark—and very knowing—glance, sharply arching one brow.

“Mr. Quartermaine and I had a little dust-up near the village road.” Kate explained. “I fear he took the worst of it, and was unconscious for a brief time.”

“
Quel dommage!
” declared Aurélie, her gaze taking in his wound. “And such a pretty man, too. Ah, well! It is time for Filou’s nap,
ma fille.
The road—oh, la!—you cannot fathom the filth! The fatigue! We have been mercilessly jostled. Oh, but wait! Where is Kate’s surprise?”

With a sly smile, Aurélie turned to look through the open door and down the steps. Suddenly on edge, Kate leaned around to look past her. And there he stood.

Dear God.

Suddenly, Kate couldn’t get her breath.

Of all the riffraff Aurélie might have dragged with her from London, she’d chosen Lord Reginald Hoke, Kate’s former fiancé? Of course Aurélie and Reggie did run in the same fast London circles; Kate knew that. And it wasn’t as if Kate didn’t see him on rare occasions.

She was always civil, and Reggie was always speciously fawning. It was a polite, two-minute charade. But this was different. This felt as if he’d come to invade her peace. The very sanctity of her home.

Well, she’d be damned before she showed even a hint of weakness—or heaven forbid, regret—before that arrogant devil.

“So, you’ve brought Reggie with you,” said Kate darkly. “Why, pray, would you do such a thing?”

“Ah,
ma chérie
, he misses you!” declared her mother with a huge, theatrical wink. “Alas, Reggie is much cast down at present. You will cheer him up,
oui
?”

“I will do no such thing,” said Kate firmly. “I will not turn him out. But if Reggie is to be cheered, Aurélie, you will have to do it yourself.”

“Oh, how wearying you are, Katherine! Reggie is an old friend.” Lashes aflutter, Aurélie set the back of her hand to her forehead. “
Eh bien.
Mr. Quartermaine, perhaps you might give me that very strong-looking arm of yours, and help to my room? And my blue portmanteau? I must have it now, for Filou’s blanket is in it.”

But Edward was looking more forbidding than ever. “Certainly, ma’am,” he said stiffly.

Just then, Reggie himself came through the door herding his put-upon valet, who was bent under the weight of a large, brass-bound dressing case. Reggie looked as sleek, slender, and satanically handsome as ever, and Kate wanted to backhand him in the teeth.

He espied her at once. “Kate, old thing! How famous!”

Left with no alternative, Kate crossed the hall to greet him.

Edward veered toward the mountain of baggage long enough to snatch the blue portmanteau.

“How do you do, Reggie?” she asked, catching his hands in hers.

“Katie, darling!” He kissed both her hands in turn. “You’re like water in the desert to me.”

Kate smiled. “Don’t trouble yourself to flatter me, Reggie; it is unbecoming to us both,” she said matter-of-factly. “I do hope your journey wasn’t tedious. How is your mother in Devon?”

“Very well,” said Reggie. “She sends her regards.”

“Lovely,” said Kate. “Now, may I introduce you to—”

“Good God,
Ned Quartermaine
?” Eyes rounding, Reggie faltered, his gaze going to the blue case Edward held. “Has Bellecombe taken you on as a footman? Or are you just here to gloat?”

“Reggie, don’t be an ass,” said Kate.

“How do you do, Lord Reginald?” said Edward coolly.

With a wicked grin, Reggie thrust out a hand. “Well, old chap, I see it’s true what they say. You never sit on a mere profit when you can turn it into a windfall.”

“No, I do not,” Edward agreed.

It was a strange comment. And how very odd, thought Kate, that they should know each other. Still watching Edward from the corner of one eye, Reggie returned his attention to Kate and, before she could protest, looped an arm companionably through hers.

“Well, old thing, how goes life at the family pile?” he said, once again blithe. “Walk with me upstairs and help me choose a bedchamber far from the Comte de Macey’s wretched snoring, won’t you?”

Kate pulled her arm from his. “I must greet the others, Reggie,” she said coolly. “Just tell Peppie where you wish to—”

Reggie shot her a darkling look. “My dear girl, de Macey, Julia, and Sir Francis are two miles behind,” he said, dropping his voice intimately. “Doesn’t our past entitle me to a mere five minutes of your time? Trust me, you will wish to speak with me before those three arrive—for
they
will be well acquainted with Mr. Quartermaine.”

Her expression stiffening, Kate strode back in the direction of the library. But she did not go far; just around the corner. There, she stopped.

“Very well, Reggie.” Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “Your five minutes have begun.”

The fawning pretense vanished, and his expression darkened. “Kate,” he rasped, “what in God’s name can you be thinking, to permit that man inside this house?”

Kate arched one eyebrow quite deliberately. “Inside my home, do you mean?” she echoed. “I rather got the impression he was an acquaintance of yours.”

“Certainly not!” sniffed Reggie. “Not socially. And just because Heatherfields is now in his hands does not give him the right—and certainly not the social standing—to enter a gentleman’s seat at his leisure.”

In her outrage, Kate didn’t fully absorb his words. “But this is not
a gentleman’s seat
, is it?” she said warningly. “It is
my
seat, Reggie.
My
home. Oh, you’re welcome here—you were, after all, Stephen’s best friend. But do not for one moment forget to whom Bellecombe belongs.”

“Well,” said Reggie, anger twisting his face. “That’s what it always comes down to, doesn’t it?
Your
house—and good old Reggie put thoroughly in his place!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Kate, tapping her toe impatiently. “So, he has got hold of Heatherfields, has he?”

“Good God, he hasn’t
told
you?”

Kate avoided the question, but her brain was furiously churning. “How, exactly? Did you sell it?”

“Well, yes.” Reggie looked confused. “What’s that black devil up to? Dropping round in some vain attempt to befriend the local gentry?”

“Actually, Reggie, Mr. Quartermaine has been staying here,” said Kate, “in Stephen’s old room. I collect your shock was such that you failed to notice the sutures in his forehead?”

“Staying here?” Reggie looked stricken. “Kate, you . . . you do know who he is, don’t you?”

“Yes, he has made it plain to me who he is,” she said. “The gentleman met with an accident along the road—one that was, regrettably, my fault—and since he could not possibly stay at Heatherfields in its present condition—”

“The devil!” said Reggie. “Heatherfields is the prettiest house in Somerset.”

“Indeed,” said Kate, “and apparently the most decrepit. Anstruther says you’ve let the roof fall in on the south wing.”

“Kate, never mind Heatherfields.” Reggie still looked grim. “You have guests arriving. You will not wish them to know you have been harboring a—”

“Careful, Reggie,” said Kate, leaning near him. “I will not hear you insult him.”

Reggie’s face had lost its color. “My dear, think what you say,” he replied. “You have London’s worst gossip, Lady Julia Burton, practically on your doorstep. Do you want this to get out? She’ll gazette the whole wretched story!”

“Lady
Julia
—?” said Kate incredulously. “Even
I
know Julia has bedded half the men in Mayfair—and I live two hundred miles away! The Comte de Macey is just an elegant scoundrel. And what of Mamma’s new puppy, Sir Francis Smythe-Whoever? A paragon of virtue, is he? Or Mamma’s new gentleman friend, the banker? Oh, saints all, I’m sure!”

“Kate, she has thrown the banker off,” said Reggie in a warning tone. “I collect she took offense to his admiring one of the singers at the Royal Opera House last week.”

“Merely that?”

“Well, you know how she is,” said Reggie. “In any case, I had to listen to her peevishness all the way here—so you can strike him from your guest list.”

One less mouth to feed
, thought Kate uncharitably.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry to hear of Aurélie’s travails,” she said, “but no one here is in any position to look down upon Mr. Quartermaine, and I tell you, Reggie, I will not have it.”

“Kate,” he said, catching her hands again. “Kate, my girl, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

But Kate was quite sure she did.

And she was, once again, quite wrong.

“Reggie, I’m not your girl,” she said.

Reggie’s expression softened with what looked like true tenderness. “No, Kate. You are not,” he said, “and I have rued that circumstance every day since you left me.”

It was such arrant nonsense, Kate didn’t bother to respond. “I must go, Reggie, and help Mrs. Peppin get everyone settled,” she said stiffly. “Welcome back to Bellecombe. It is good to see you.”

“Kate.” He caught her arm and spun her around. “Kate, don’t speak to me so coldly. You’ll break my heart.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Reggie. You haven’t any heart.”

“Kate, my God, how can you be so cruel? After all we’ve been to one another?”

“Oh, Reggie, such drama!” she said. “You likely haven’t spared me two thoughts since last you laid eyes on me.”

“Kate, that just isn’t so.” Reggie let his thick black lashes sweep down. “I’ve longed to see you. Longed for it so desperately I came all the way from London—and not in a train, like some civilized person, but in a lumbering coach, trapped for miles with your mother and that damned farting dog of hers.”

His words ended on a faintly petulant note. Had he truly expected her to fall into his arms?

“I’m sorry about the dog,” said Kate impatiently. “As to the other, Reggie, we’re childhood friends who were briefly betrothed. Stop making more of it.”

“But, Katherine, my dear,” he replied, leaning inappropriately near, “there was
more
, wasn’t there? I do hope you haven’t forgotten?”