In Love With a Wicked Man (17 page)

And Kate feared she knew what it was.

Scrabbling about behind one of the small cupboard doors, she found Peppie’s bottle, thumbed out the cork, and poured her mother a glass. After setting the bottle down on the silver tray atop the sideboard, Kate thought better of it, picked it up again, and poured herself a glass.

A generous one.

After thrusting the first at her mother, Kate sat down on the adjacent sofa. “Very well, have at it, Mamma,” she said. “I daresay you mean to rip up at me over Mr. Quartermaine. Or my treatment of Reggie.”

Aurélie sat up gracefully. “
Moi—?
” she said, pressing the limp, white hand to her bosom. “Oh,
chérie
, far be it from me to lecture anyone over a man!”

That, at least, was an astute observation.

But Aurélie was waving at the door that stood open to Kate’s bedchamber. “Look,
ma petite
, at what
maman
has brought you from Madame Odette in Paris. It is hanging on the door.”

Setting the glass aside, Kate went to the door and unfastened the linen sheath that hung there. Inside was an emerald-green dinner gown over a lacy underskirt shimmering with gold. The sleeves, bodice, and all the hems were delicately piped in gold, and the plunging neckline looked far, far too daring for Kate.

Still, it was utterly breathtaking.

“Mamma, it is lovely, of course,” she began, “but—”

“
Non, non
, Kate! How you tire me with your protests!” whined Aurélie from the divan. “This,
ici
, it is too tight; and this place, too low.
Non, non.
Put the dress on for dinner,
mon chou.
And
oui
, it is cut precisely to your measurements so do not even think of giving it up to Nancy.”

Kate’s eyes widened. The dress certainly would not have done for Nancy. Sometimes it seemed as if Aurélie had feathers for brains.

And other times . . . well, that didn’t bear thinking about. But
Filou
, as best Kate recalled, was loosely translated as
trickster.
She sometimes wondered who might better wear that title.

“The gown is magnificent, Mamma,” she conceded, going back to the sofa. “Yes, perhaps I will put it on one evening. Not tonight, I think.”

“
Oui
, as you please,” said Aurélie, with a very French shrug. “But wear that dress to dinner,
mon chou
, and Reggie is like to fall prostrate at your feet.”

Kate sighed. “Oh, Mamma. What can you be thinking?”

A slow grin curled over Aurélie’s lush mouth. “
Oui, oui, mon chou
, he pines for you!” she chortled. “Indeed, he begged me on bended knee to bring him to your side. It was most affecting.”

“He pines for his bank account, more like,” said Kate sullenly. “I don’t dislike Reggie, Mamma, but it will be a cold day in hell before I reconsider marrying him.”

Again, the Gallic shrug. “Eh,
tant pis
,” she said evenly. “I promised him only that I would see what might be done.”

“And now you see,” said Kate. “Recall, if you will, that I broke my betrothal for a reason.”

“
Oui
, and a silly one, perhaps,” said her mother, cutting her a sly, sidelong glance. “You are not getting any younger, Katherine.”

Silence fell across the room. Kate set her wine down with a sharp
clack!
Her hand went to her forehead. She didn’t need her mother to remind her.

“Mamma, I caught him
in flagrante delicto
with his mistress. It was, to my mind, the very best of reasons.”

“
Oui, oui
,” her mother murmured. “It was badly done of Reggie, to be sure.”

Badly
done?

Was there a proper way to humiliate one’s betrothed wife?

The awful memory still made Kate’s cheeks burn. A mere week after the announcement of their betrothal, she’d gone to the Season’s last, most extravagant masque dressed—quite ludicrously—as Venus. She had meant to surprise Reggie. And she had. Behind a curtain, with his hands and his tongue in a variety of places they ought not have been.

Worse, she had not been the only one who’d seen. Her bloodcurdling scream, perhaps, had not helped in that regard . . .

Afterward, her mask still in place, she had rushed into the ladies’ retiring room, hidden herself behind one of the screens, and burst into tears. Ten minutes later, a trio of well-dressed ladies had followed her in, tittering over it.

Really, had the country mouse expected to tame the wicked Lord Reginald? Did she not realize he meant to marry her for her money? She should account herself lucky such a handsome charmer had deigned to offer for her at all.

The worst part of it was, Kate had been left with the suspicion that perhaps Reggie had engineered the awful scene; that perhaps he had
wished
to be relieved of his betrothal.

Stephen had been dead just eight months, and during that time, she and Reggie had drawn ever closer. And yet, Kate’s grandfather had emerged from negotiating the marriage settlements looking worn and unhappy.

She had never asked her grandfather about it, Kate realized. Perhaps she had been afraid of what she might hear. But she’d come to suspect that Reggie had not fully grasped the grim state of Bellecombe’s finances before proposing marriage.

After the scandal in London, Lord d’Allenay had not uttered a word of protest when Kate had announced she was ending the betrothal. In fact, he had looked relieved.

He had been an astute old gentleman, her grandfather . . .

“Are you listening,
ma petite
?” Aurélie’s thin, wheedling voice cut into Kate’s reverie.

She jerked her head up. “Yes. No—I’m sorry, Mamma. What did you say?”

Aurélie heaved a put-upon sigh. “I was asking about dinner,” she said. “I wish to have Cook’s leek soup. And I wish Nancy and Anstruther to play afterward. Will you make him?”

Kate’s eyes widened. “Mamma, I cannot
make
him,” she said. “But I will invite him to dine with us, and hope that he agrees.”

Her mother’s mouth drew into a petulant line. “I doubt he will agree,” she complained. “John Anstruther is the most obstinate man on earth. And you—this business with Reggie—
you
are the very same. It is that frightful Scotch blood, just like your grandmamma. And the two of you share her old-fashioned notions, too.”

Kate wasn’t sure just when she’d been lumped in with poor Anstruther for a scathing, but it was good company, at least. “I cannot think it is old-fashioned to wish one’s husband to be faithful.”

“
Non
, just unrealistic,” said Aurélie under her breath. Then she relented, and cut Kate a knowing look. “Oh, come,
ma chérie
, I am no fool. I know Reggie for what he is.”

“Then why in heaven’s name did you bring him?”

Over her glass, Aurélie winked. “Because,
mon chou
, one never knows what might happen when the pot is stirred,
non
? Things at Bellecombe have been simmering too long. And now your sister—” Here, Aurélie wrinkled her pert, pretty nose. “Now she thinks to marry this . . . this rector?
Zut!
How dull he sounds!”

“Do you really disapprove because he’s a
rector
?”

Aurélie’s eyes widened innocently. “
Mais non, ma petite
,” she said. “I disapprove because the man is faint of heart and drags his feet.”

“He is waiting on Uncle Upshaw’s permission,” Kate reminded her.

Aurélie snorted disdainfully. “Bah, a man worth his salt does not wait! He sweeps the lady off her feet! One may always marry over the anvil. What is Lord Upshaw to him?”

“Oh, merely Nancy’s guardian!” There was no point in explaining to Aurélie that Anglican rectors did not abscond to Scotland with stolen brides, so Kate took another tack. “Moreover, Upshaw holds her purse strings, too.”

Aurélie’s face fell. “Ah, that is so,
n’est-ce pas
?” she said. “Still, it is a . . . a mere technicality! Even Sir Francis, I assure you, would have enough sense to manage such a small, trifling detail.”

Kate shook her head, mystified. Then it struck her. “Mamma, just what are you suggesting? A contrast? A . . . a competition? Is that what you’re trying to engineer?”

Aurélie smiled. “Well, if I am, may the best man win,” she said. “If, after a week in the company of the handsome Sir Francis, your sister still prefers her dull rector,
eh bien
, what is to be done? I think I shall tell Reggie to flirt with her, too. If you do not want the poor man, I shall make some small use of him.”

Kate just shook her head, for she’d come to believe Nancy would not be dissuaded. But Aurélie meant to put it to the test, clearly. Yes,
eh bien
, indeed.

“Richard Burnham is not dull, Mamma,” Kate chided. “As to Reggie, he must have his pockets inside-out to have given up Heatherfields.”

Her mother sighed, and sipped pensively at her cordial. “I confess, I was not aware of that little misfortune until we had left London,” she said a little ruefully. “And now, to find wicked Ned Quartermaine—of all people!—here at Bellecombe? Ah,
chérie
, perhaps the pot has already been stirred, eh?”

“Ned.” It was what Reggie had called him, too, but the name did not suit him. “It is a brutish-sounding name.”

“He can be a brutish man,” said her mother.

“Do you know him?”

Aurélie’s eyes widened. “
Bien sûr
, who does not?” she said a little breathlessly. “The man is notorious.”

“Notorious? That seems harsh.”

Aurélie gave another dismissive wave. “Oh, he does not trouble me,” she replied, “but to pretty young men like Sir Francis?
Oui
, he strikes fear into the very heart of such as them—and still they go! Like little lambs to the slaughter, carrying their purses of gold like precious offerings. And he takes it.
Oui
, every time, in the end, Ned Quartermaine wins.”

“He is very rich, then?” said Kate.

“Very.” Her mother grinned. “Watch Julia fanning herself at dinner tonight if you don’t believe me.”

“And you really know him?”

“
Mais non
, Katherine, I only know
of
him,” declared Aurélie. “Whilst I have many vices,
mon chou
, it would not be possible to sustain two gamblers in one family. Your father was all we could afford.”

“We had Stephen, too,” said Kate darkly. “And we couldn’t afford either of them.”

“
Oui, oui
,” said Aurélie a little forlornly. “At least it was a passion they shared, father and son. Some families, you know, have nothing.”

Only Aurélie could cast a hopeful light on such a bad habit. “
Nothing
would have been better,” Kate said.

Again, the languid shrug. “
Mon Dieu
, Katherine, one cannot scold the dead!” Absently, she drew the pug closer and began to rub its distended belly. “No, I do not game. All the gentlemen of my acquaintance, however, do—
oui
, my frightful crowd of friends you faintly disapprove of. So, yes, Mr. Quartermaine is not unknown to me. Be very careful,
ma petite
, of that one.”

“He is leaving,” said Kate, “in a day or two.”

“
Vraiment?
” Aurélie looked suddenly attentive. “And you do not wish him to go?”

Kate shrugged. “I don’t know what I wish,” she confessed. “Reggie took such pleasure in telling me what a bad man he is, I’m very nearly tempted to beg him to stay.”

“Oh, he is a very bad man,” said Aurélie with a languid toss of her hand. “But as I say,
mon chou
, the other sorts are really too dull to be contemplated.”

“He certainly is not that,” Kate admitted. “He is . . . intriguing.”

Still, her mother’s point struck straight to the heart of Kate’s crushed dreams; dreams she’d not allowed herself to acknowledge, even inwardly. What a fool she was. The first man to turn her head in years was far more wicked than Reggie.
He was the owner of a gaming hell.

Kate had now fully grasped the full import of that fact—and still she would mourn his leaving Bellecombe, and her life. If that was a moral failing, it was one she’d have to live with. She desired him beyond all reason.

Kate was, it seemed, her mother’s daughter after all.

“So, Ned Quartermaine, I take it, has been here some days?” said Aurélie coyly. “I begin to have hope for you,
ma chérie.
Perhaps you possess more spirit than I once feared. Tell me how this visit came to be?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I gather he was looking for Heatherfields and took a wrong turn,” she said. “We nearly collided, and he was thrown from his horse and struck his head.”

“How frightful,” said her mother blandly. “I hope you nursed him back to health—and spent a good deal of time leaning over his sickbed in the process.”

“Mamma, only you would encourage such a thing,” she said. “I wonder which of us is the greater fool.”

“
Are
you a fool?” asked Aurélie lightly. “There is no shame in it,
ma petite
, for wiser women than you have fallen for Quartermaine’s golden looks. I confess, frankly, to some reassurance. Your letter last month sounded wistful. I feared you were lonely. Indeed, perhaps I need not have come at all?”

“Mamma, is that what this is about?” Kate demanded. “I make the mistake of sending my mother a heartfelt letter, and this is my thanks? You drag my castoff fiancé back here because you think me desperate?”

Her mother gave her lazy shrug again. “Well, as I say, you are not getting any younger, Katherine. Further, Julia has quarreled with Lady Bushwell over having slept with her favorite footman. And I—well, amidst many tears, I have broken with my banker.”

“Tears?” Kate lightly lifted one eyebrow. “His? Or yours?”

Her mother smiled tightly. “His,
ma chérie
. At my age, I am beyond crying over men. But in any case, it did seem a good time to quit London.”