Lady Midnight (47 page)

But Kate was no longer the yielding girl she was in Italy. Julian Kirkwood would soon be brought to see that. He would be out of their lives—one way or another.

"Mrs. Brown!" Amelia said plaintively, wriggling under Kate's tight clasp. "You're squeezing too hard."

Kate took in a deep breath, trying to push away the anger and the cold fear. She smiled reassuringly down at Amelia and loosened her hold. "I'm sorry,
cara.
Come, now—let's get those books and sweets so we can go home."

* * *

Julian leaned against the rough, half-timber wall, around the corner from where he had glimpsed Katerina. The country air was cool, but his skin felt fevered, blistered with longing and need. He closed his eyes behind his smoked-glass spectacles, yet he could still see her, her face pale, shocked, her arms wrapped around the child. A child who surely belonged to the scarred squire.

He had not meant for her to see him. Not yet. Not until his plans were complete, until he knew exactly what he had to do to bind his princess to him and eliminate the obstacles that stood between them for all time. He had been told that the Lindleys rarely left their estate, and so he assumed he could move fairly freely about the village. Seeing her today—it awakened all the feelings he had tried to cool on the long journey here. She was so beautiful, lovelier even than the girl she had been in Venice. There was a ripeness to her now, a deepening of her bloom. She was made for passion. For
his
passion.

Now his time was grown short, driven by that passion, by the need to make her his completely. His plans would have to take effect soon. Very soon indeed.

Julian reached inside his coat and touched the cold, heavy metal of his pistol. It waited patiently. But it would not have to wait long.

* * *

Kate paced along the riverbank, the earth, spongy from recent rains, dragging at the soles of her half boots, reaching up to stain the hem of her cloak. She didn't see the water rushing past, murky and quicker than usual. She didn't feel the chilly wind that buffeted her skin and tore at her hair. She had only one thought in her mind.

He had to leave. Now. This moment.

Julian Kirkwood had no right to be here, to follow her. No right to invade her life at all, to put the people she loved in danger. Not that he could see that; he was obviously blinded by his own dreams, his own visions of who she was and what her place in life should be. She could scarcely blame him for
that
—she had once shared such notions. She had believed that the world she grew up in was the only world open to her. To belong to a man was how that world moved, for a woman. And she had been resigned, in a way, to being bought by Julian, even through the creeping chill of her disquiet. Even with the way his touch and stare made her feel. She had been resigned to fulfilling his fantasies, to being his Beatrice, his Renaissance princess who loved him through the ages. After all, it was a harmless fantasy, as such things go. One of her mother's friends had a protector who liked to pretend she was a donkey. Being a Renaissance dream lady didn't involve whips or ropes, at least.

But it was not harmless now. Kate was a different person from that naive girl who thought she had no choice. She had made a new choice; she had a family, a place to belong. She had found love with a man who saw her for what she was, silly flights of fancy and all, and loved her for it. Michael didn't need her to be anyone but Kate. He and the girls, their world at Thorn Hill—that was her life now. And Venice, her girlhood, the Katerina Julian thought he knew—they were only a faint memory.

Yet he could not let her, or rather his fantasy of her, go. He had lived with only ghosts and memories for so long that they had obviously become real to him. Real in a way that a prosaic English life could not be. Kate could almost have pitied him. Almost—if he had not followed her here, endangering all she held dear.
Why
had he come? Why?

That was why she sent that note to him at the inn, summoning him to her. She had to face her fears, face his menace. She had to make it end before it went any further. And knowing Julian, she feared that she could only begin to fathom exactly how far he would go.

Her footsteps quickened, her gloved hands twisting together beneath the shelter of her cloak. Whatever could he hope to accomplish? She had no idea. Bullying never won a lady's heart, and Kate had made it clear to him that hers was given to another. Perhaps the cold waters that nearly drowned them both had driven him stark mad.

Whatever it was, whatever he imagined, he had to leave. Kate would not let him hurt her family, no matter what she had to do.

No matter what.

She heard a soft rustle behind her, and whirled around to see Julian approaching along the riverbank. She froze in her pacing, staring at him, watching him warily as he came to a halt beneath a tall, spreading tree. He watched her in return as he leaned his arm against a low-hanging branch. He had left behind his spectacles on this gray day, and his dark, naked eyes were full of a burning longing.

Kate fell back a step, startled by a sudden realization—she had felt just such a longing when she first glimpsed Michael, and saw his home at Thorn Hill. Her dreams at that moment had seemed just as distant, just as futile.

"Why are you here, Julian?" she said, steeling herself against any hint of softening or understanding. She could see that he was determined to have his way. But no more determined than she. Did he think this was a game of some sort, that she was a prize to be won? If so, it was a deadly serious game, one Kate was determined to win herself.

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he fought a smile or a scowl. "You sent for me, Katerina." He reached inside his black greatcoat and brought out her note, carefully folded. As he did so, Kate saw the quick, hastily concealed flash of the silver hilt of a pistol.

Kate swallowed hard at the sight, glancing away.
A pistol
! "I meant, why are you here in Yorkshire? Why have you followed me?"

His long, pale fingers closed around the paper, crushing it. "You would not listen to me in London when I tried to talk to you, to reason with you. You ran away in the park like some petulant child. So I was forced to come to this godforsaken place to try to make you see sense."

Sense? A petulant child? Kate drew in a deep breath of cold air, trying to drive out the haze of anger and confusion that always overcame her when she saw him. "I told you in the park that I have a new life now, a life with a man I love—a man I intend to marry. I told you not to come near me again, not to importune me with your declarations. Then, having said what I wanted to say, I left. How could you possibly have interpreted
that
as an invitation to follow me to Yorkshire?"

Julian made a light teeing noise and shook his head in a gesture of wry disappointment. "Oh, Katerina. Life in England does not suit you. It has made you coarse and shrill. The girl I knew, the princess, always moved and spoke with such grace and dignity, such quiet beauty. Come with me, back to Italy. Back to who you were always meant to be."

Kate took a step back, remembering that gun. "I am to be married. Even if I was not, I wouldn't go with you as far as Leeds. That part of my life is finished."

He did not move an inch from the tree he leaned against so casually, yet it felt as if he edged ever closer to her, capturing her, cornering her. "Katerina. How stubborn you are. Did I not say I would marry you? I was wrong, very wrong, when I tried to make you my mistress in Venice. A man should cherish a jewel such as you. You don't need the country squire, or his squalling little brat clinging to your skirts. As my wife, you could have everything you want. I would drape you in jewels—"

"No," Kate said. She wanted to shout the word, scream it to the heavens.
Then
maybe he would understand. But she said the word softly, with all her heart behind it. "I have no need for your jewels."

She reached into the pocket of her cloak and came up with the object she had brought. Why she brought it, she did not know—she could not bribe Julian to go away. He had more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes. Yet brought it she had. Perhaps as a token for him, a reminder of a life they had both once seen that was gone. Perhaps a symbol that she did not want his riches. Or perhaps, though she truly wanted him to be gone with all her heart, she could not bring herself to entirely hate him. She understood longing.

Kate held out her hand, her mother's sapphire brooch glittering on her gloved palm.

Julian stared at the brooch, his dark gaze narrowed. "I remember when you wore that brooch. The day we were on Edward's yacht. You wore a bright blue silk gown, and that was pinned to your bodice. Your hair was loose, with sapphire combs...."

"Yes," Kate murmured. For an instant, she could see that day living again, the sun and the sea, the laughter, the champagne, and the sudden terror. "I don't need jewels any longer. This belongs to the past, as should any feelings you have for me. I love Michael Lindley, and I will soon be his wife. Please, Julian—you must go now. And take this with you."

She took a step toward him, then another and another, always remembering the pistol she had glimpsed inside his coat. As she moved closer, she felt strength flowing through her veins, warm and bracing as strong brandy. Julian Kirkwood had no power over her any longer. She pressed the jewel into his hand, curling his fingers around its cool contours. He simply stared down at it, his face expressionless and still as marble.

"You take it, Julian," she said. "I don't want it now."

She started to step away, but his hand snaked out in a flash, clasping her wrist and drawing her close until she was pressed against his hard, thin chest. She could feel the fevered heat of him through her cloak, and she shook with the sudden cold force of her fear. If he forced her to the ground, drew that hidden pistol, there would be nothing she could do, no way she could fight him off.

She twisted her wrist in his clasp until sharp pain shot up her arm. She barely felt the ache in her panic. She wanted only to be free, to not feel his body, the cool force of his breath on her cheek. "Let me go!" she screamed.

"This isn't over, Katerina," he said quietly, calmly. That was even more fearsome than any shouts would be. "We will never be over."

Then he released her, so suddenly she fell back a step. He still watched her, gray eyes burning into her.

And Kate did the only thing she could do. She fled, as fast as her feet would take her. At the top of the slope, where she would turn out of sight of the river and be on the path back to Thorn Hill, she stopped for an instant and glanced back over her shoulder, rubbing at her bruised wrist. Julian still stood where she left him, gazing down at the sapphire. The jewel in his hand dazzled even in the palest sunlight.

Kate spun around and dashed toward home. She wanted Thorn Hill, wanted to hold Amelia against her, feel Michael's welcoming kiss on her cheek. But even as she longed for all that, even as she raced toward it, she remembered that flash of silver, that glimpse of pistol. She felt again his hard clasp on her wrist and heard his words.

We will never be over.

* * *

Julian closed his fist around the brooch. The damnable sapphire, that was all she intended to leave him with, here by this gray river. The edges cut into his flesh, but he did not even notice. The pain was as nothing to the agony in his heart.

Why would she not listen? Why could she not see? She was meant for far greater things than life as mistress of a country estate here in this gray place. She belonged as his princess, high on a pedestal where all could admire her beauty. He had known that from the moment he first saw her, and the certainty only grew stronger with the miracle of their survival and their reunion. The despair he had felt at her death was turned to incandescent joy at finding her again.

Yes, she was different now. Harder, more stubborn, seduced by her country squire and his oh-so-English life. But surely the girl he knew was still there underneath the prickles and calluses. Still there, shimmering like this jewel. She had to be brought to see that.

The small pistol he had bought in London weighed heavy inside his coat. He had not known then what he purchased it for, why he carried it to this lonely land. Perhaps now he knew the answer to that.

Yes. He did know. It was time to set his plans in motion. Once and for all.

He spun around and followed in Kate's footsteps, up the heather-covered slope of a hill. When he reached the summit, she was nowhere to be found. As far as he could see, in every direction, there was only gray. A person could get lost in that gray, never to emerge again.
That
was what would happen to his princess. She would drown in the moors, if he did not save her.

In the distance, etched against the lead-streaked sky, he could see the roofline and turrets of her squire's house. Thorn Hill, the man at the inn had said it was called. So appropriate for Katerina's new persona. Thorny, unapproachable, proper—prickly. As he stared at it fixedly, studying its ungraceful contours, he slowly became aware of movement, a flutter, nearby.

It was the figure of a woman in a pale dress, bending to study something in the center of a meadow. It could not be Katerina—this woman was too tall, and wore no dark cloak. Yet he still felt strangely drawn to her, compelled to see what she was doing. This corner of the world was seemingly deserted, no living thing, not even a bird, anywhere to be seen. Only this lady, moving about on some mysterious, efficient errand.