Untamed (35 page)

That a husband might be a defender and helpmate, a lover and friend, had never entered her consciousness before now. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t find it in her heart to quiz him about Felicity. Surely whatever “relationship” he and the buxom redhead had shared was in the past. So long as it was, Kate could put up with the woman for another few weeks. As her husband had pointed out many times, a castle was a big place.

It wasn’t until she stepped out into the great hall to examine the decorating in progress that it occurred to her she hadn’t told him his former “friend” was there.

Kate’s not telling Rourke about Felicity was soon remedied—by the redhead herself. His study door had scarcely closed on his retreating wife when his former lover boldly stepped inside, the scent of jasmine floating in before her. Once he’d loved the way the perfume mingled with the scent of her freckled skin, but now he found it cloying.

“Surprise!”

Rourke looked up from the pencil he’d been grinding into pulp on his blotter and felt his stomach slide to his knees. “Felicity, what the devil are you doing here?”

She put on a pout. “Now, Rourkie, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

He hadn’t seen her in nearly two years. Running his gaze over her, he confirmed that other than the citified accent she affected to cover her native burr, she hadn’t changed much—but he had. Like her perfume, her buxom body and freckle-dusted pale skin used to drive him mad. In bed, he’d made a game of connecting the “dots” while toying with strands of her flame-red hair. Until meeting Kate, he’d considered tall, buxom women like Felicity to be his type. How was it then that Kate’s sun-drizzled brown hair, intelligent amber eyes, and tight little body now seemed all that was womanly perfection?

“Given you left me for London more than two years ago without so much as a line, I suppose I hadn’t thought of you as much of a friend.”

Her sudden desertion had left him equal parts angry and relieved. Seeing her again now, he confirmed he felt nothing at all.

She reached out to fiddle with the paperweight on the edge of his desk. The miniature railway car was a trifle Kate had found in one of the shops on High Street and picked up for him. The gift had likely only cost a few quid, but it numbered among his most precious possessions. He didn’t fancy Felicity besmirching it with her touch.

She batted her eyes and looked up at him through her lashes. Such artifice once would have melted him, but not so now. How very much more appealing he found Kate’s honest, head-on gaze to be.

“What was I to do? Opportunity knocked, and when you wouldn’t come up to scratch and marry me, I decided to answer the door. But it seems you’re the marrying sort after all.” She tossed a glance at the plain gold band he wore.

Now that the shock of seeing her again was wearing off, the horrible thought snuck up on him like a boxer’s sucker punch. “Don’t tell me you’re Kate’s sister’s friend up from London?”

She looked up and nodded. “Aye, I needed to get away for a while, and the chit, while dull-witted, can be amusing at times—and useful. Befriending her brought me here after all.”

“You can’t stay.”

She greeted that statement with a snicker. “I’m afraid I can, and I will. Were I to suddenly decamp before the holiday, surely your lady wife would wonder why.”

“You leave Kate out of this.” Rourke pushed back his chair and rose.

She was nearly a match for his almost six feet, and his standing put them on eye level. “Whether I do or not remains to be seen.”

“What is it you want, Felicity?”

She appeared to consider the question, though he knew full well she must already have her prize in mind. The woman was a first-rate schemer. “That is for me to know and you to find out. For now I’m off to take tea with your little brown bride and her dim-witted sister. Lord only knows what the three of us will find to chat about. Toodles.” She blew him a kiss and turned to go.

Heart hammering, Rourke subsided into his seat. Despite his “rule” to look forward, never back, his former mistress was conspiring to drag him back—and down—with her.

“Felicity, not so fast.” Shaking with anger, Rourke called her back.

Slowly she turned about, no doubt staging the gesture, as she did everything else, for dramatic effect. “Aye?”

“Kate means a great deal to me. Should you consider doing anything to cause her harm or distress, anything at all, know that you’ll face dealing with me—and there’ll be the verra devil to pay.”

She smiled as though pleased to have gotten under his skin. “Dinna forget, ducks, the devil and I are old friends, too.”

Leaning over the paddock rail, Beatrice offered a carrot to Princess, Kate’s pony. The grand old girl greedily gobbled it up. From the looks of her, she hadn’t received many treats over the years.

She turned to her handsome companion, the warm look in his hazel eyes sending a little flutter to her heart. “I think it’s grand that you helped Mr. O’Rourke track her down. I don’t remember her, of course. I was only two when she was, um … sold, but I know she means a great deal to Kate.”

Ralph cast a sideways look to the tall young woman at his side. Lady Kate’s younger sister was as fresh and pretty as a springtime lily and, he thought, just as sweet. It was a pity her youth and birth put her beyond his touch.

Still, for whatever reason, he found himself asking, “Do you ride?”

She dropped shy eyes to her gloved hands. The last carrot having been consumed, she’d folded them demurely over the fence rail. “No, I mean, not yet. I’d like to, though.”

“I could give you lessons during your stay. Of course, you might prefer one of the groomsmen …” He let the offer die. Jesus, what was he doing?

Blue eyes the color of cornflowers lifted to his face. “No, no, I would love it if you would take it upon yourself to teach me, but only if you have the time, of course.”

“For you, miss, I’ll make the time if need be.”

A throat being cleared had their heads turning toward the barn. Kate’s brisk strides carried her down the path in their direction. Bea bit her lip. Speaking her thoughts out loud, she said, “Oh, dear, I know that look. She’s angry, and whatever the cause, heads will roll.”

She hadn’t seen her sister scowl so since she’d arrived the day before. Even when Kate had scolded her earlier about her so-called running away, she’d worn a soft, dreamy-eyed look.

After leaving her husband in the library, Kate had decided to take yet another walk in the bracing air to clear her head. She hadn’t meant to hurt Patrick’s feelings, but clearly she had. Given the gift of hindsight, she couldn’t believe that a few weeks earlier she really had feared he might turn Hattie out. It seemed household management, certainly the marriage part of it, was a great deal more complicated than the regimens and receipts set out in Mrs. Beeton’s book.

Her footsteps carried her to the path leading to the stables. She might as well see how Princess was settling in. Who knew how much time they might have together—the pony was nearing twenty and had lived a hard life, but Kate meant to make the most of what time they had.

Voices, punctuated by her sister’s giggle, drew her attention to the paddock. Bea stood at the rail, petting Princess and making calf eyes at Rourke’s valet, Ralph Sylvester. She held back, sizing up the scene. To her way of thinking, they stood much too close for comfort, hers at any rate. She ran her gaze over the valet. He had his hat in his hands and one foot propped up on the fence rail. Before now she’d been too absorbed in her husband to notice much about the other man, indeed, any other man, but studying him now she saw that he was most attractive. He also possessed charming manners, a glib tongue, and dancing eyes, all tools in the well-equipped rake’s repertoire. She recalled how his hazel eyes had sought out her sister’s at the church and quickened her steps.

She sidled up beside them. Bea’s flushed face and sheepish look confirmed her suspicions. Mr. Sylvester had a rather sheepish look himself, as though he’d been caught with his hand in the confectioner’s jar. In this case, the succulent sweet to be had was Kate’s baby sister, and she meant to make sure the valet kept his lecherous mitts clear of her.

Sliding her gaze to the valet, she said, “If you will excuse us, Mr. Sylvester, I’d like a word in private with my sister.”

“Certainly, milady.” His hazel eyes found Bea’s face. “I bid you a good day, miss.” He bowed low over her gloved hand.

Watching him walk off, Bea sighed.

Kate waited until he was halfway up the path before rounding on her sister. “You were flirting. Don’t put yourself to the trouble of denying it. I saw you.”

Bea shrugged. Her heart-shaped face wore a mutinous expression. “What if I was? Would that be so bad?”

“He’s my husband’s valet.”

Bea’s blue eyes narrowed. “We can’t all make marriages of convenience, Kat. Some of us must follow our hearts and marry for love.”

For the girl to speak of marriage and a man she scarcely knew in a singular breath raised Kate’s protective instincts to full hue and cry. Her little sister must be smitten, indeed. Certainly worthy, pleasant-faced, if dull Mr. Billingsby had never put a twinkle in Bea’s eye as the valet had. Unfortunately Mr. Billingsby, while lacking Ralph’s good looks and charm, had something substantial to recommend him that a personal servant did not: an income.

Her thoughts veered to Bea’s implication that she and Rourke had made a marriage of convenience. A few weeks before she would have agreed, but not so now. Before the arrival of her houseguests, she’d thought she and her husband were well on their way to building a true marriage. But her earlier encounter with Felicity had caused her to doubt herself.

Instead of letting the comment pass, she probed, “Why are you so certain I cannot possibly understand?”

Bea focused her attention on petting the horse. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You and Mr. O’Rourke made a marriage of convenience. You are more business partners than man and wife. When I marry, it will be to a man whose soul aligns with mine.”

Her little sister’s superior attitude in the realm of love was akin to salting a fresh, sensitive wound. Kate snapped back, “I wonder how closely your and Mr. Sylvester’s souls would align a year hence when you hadn’t the funds for train fare, let alone the fripperies you favor.”

It was a snappish, shrewish thing to have said, and Kate regretted it as soon as the sharp words were out. That she’d lashed out at all demonstrated just how on edge Felicity’s presence had made her.

Bea’s head swung away from the horse to Kate. Her bottom lip trembled. A tear splashed her cheek.

Kate reached out to put her arm about her sister. “Bea, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Shaking her head, Bea backed away. “That was a horrid thing to say. I think you are a horrid, horrid shrew.” She turned and ran toward the castle.

I think you are a horrid, horrid shrew.

Her sister’s words ringing again and again in her ears, Kate headed back to the castle. She’d made a hash of explaining things to Bea, but she still couldn’t stand back and allow her little sister to disport herself with the valet. At Bea’s tender age, she had her whole future ahead of her. Kate meant to do all she could to protect her from being compromised or, God forbid, ruined.