Untamed (37 page)

“Then what is it, Katherine?”

“Rourke is your friend.” Singling in on Daisy, Kate added, “In your case, you grew up together. I don’t want to seem as though I’m criticizing him or otherwise speaking ill of him but… Oh, Lord, it hurts. It hurts so bloody much.”

Embarrassed by her outburst, Kate turned away and dashed at a tear sliding down the side of her cheek. To think she’d always prided herself on her stiff upper lip, game face, and perfect record of never once showing emotion, let alone crying in public. Precisely when had she turned into a watering pot?

By the time she finished confiding hers and Rourke’s as yet unfinished story, the pot of tea with which they began the afternoon had been set aside in favor of a decanter of sherry, and there wasn’t a dry eye among them. When she came to the part to do with Felicity, she choked up.

Callie waved the decanter aside. “I’m afraid I shall have to make do with tea until little Henry or Alicia makes his or her appearance.” She smoothed a hand over the slight baby bump at her belly, and Kate found herself swallowing against a building thickness in her throat.

She was reasonably certain she hadn’t conceived. The slight cramping in her lower belly and tenderness in her breasts indicated her monthly courses were due to arrive on schedule. Given their imminent separation, she should be relieved. Who knew, but perhaps she was barren. She was closing in on thirty, after all.

But the truth was, she desperately wanted a small human being to cuddle and care for, someone who would be truly hers to love. How ironic that she who had been taking care of others nearly all her life might be deprived of the gift of motherhood. Beyond creating a life, she wanted to create a family—a family with Patrick.

But accomplishing that aim required him to love her just enough, just a little.

The sound of a carriage pulling up out front announced that the men were returned. At Callie and Daisy’s encouragement,

Kate went off to speak with Rourke. As Daisy pointed out, there really was no time like the present. Birthday dinner or not, there was no point in allowing wounded feelings to fester any longer.

Watching Kate go off, Daisy let out a sigh. “Oh, I do hope they work it out.”

Callie hedged a dark brow upward. “I was under the impression you weren’t overly fond of Kate.”

“I had my doubts at first,” Daisy admitted. “She seemed so very plumb in the mouth and well, just a bit tight-arsed.”

Callie smiled at that. “You might have said much the same of me had you met me a few years ago.”

Rather than deny it, Daisy said, “They’re meant to be together, I just know it. The way he looks at her when he thinks she doesn’t see, the longing in his eyes, well, it fair near breaks my heart.” Despite her years in Paris, Daisy’s Cockney roots had a tendency to show.

“What do you make of Felicity?” Callie asked. “I thought she seemed rather full of herself at dinner last night with all that talk of her theatrical career.”

Never one to hold back, Daisy scowled and said, “Actress, my arse. I’ve certainly never heard of her. I think she’s scheming jade, a fortune huntress out to stir the pot and make trouble for our friends.”

“Hmm, well put. But the principal question is, what does she want?” Callie thought for a moment. “Don’t you find it odd that after two years in London she suddenly befriends Kate’s sister and turns up here before the holiday?” Daisy agreed it was odd, indeed. “Let’s you and I keep a watch on her while we’re all here and see what she might be up to.” She lifted a corn-colored lock of her long hair, formerly dyed a stage girl’s cinnamon, and added, “Present difficulties aside, Rourke and Kate are on the cusp of their own happy ending. I can feel it. We can’t allow that flame-haired vixen to spoil all our hard work now.”

Rourke, too, was passing a talkative afternoon in the company of friends. Somehow his intention to show Gavin and Harry the new railway-history exhibit had been subverted into a rescue mission. Claiming thirst, Harry steered them to a local public house just off the High. Before long the ale flowed apace with his friends’ unsolicited advice.

Starting into their third round, Harry hefted his pint. “To Gav, my favorite barrister friend—actually my
only
barrister friend—many happy returns, mate.” Lowering his glass, he wiped foam from his lip and pinned his blue eyes on Rourke. “Speaking of birthdays, you have one coming up soon, don’t you?” Rourke admitted he did. “In that case, give yourself an early birthday gift and make it up with your wife. Kate’s mad for you. It’s as plain as the broken nose on that boxer’s mug of yours—plain to everyone but you.”

Rourke lowered his gaze to his glass of Scotch whiskey. “Kate is no more in love with me than I am her. We’re a mismatch, plain and simple.”

Gavin sipped his sherry, not terribly good sherry, but when one was rusticating in a Scottish backwater, one must make do. “I agree with Harry. If not love, why else would a woman go to the trouble of showing a man such spleen?”

Rourke lifted the shot of whiskey and tossed it back in a single swallow. Swiping his hand across his mouth—why bother with manners when everything he’d just come to care for was apparently lost to him?— he answered, “Because she’s a bullocks-busting shrew, that’s why.”

Had another man, including either of his two best friends, said the same or even half as much, he would have driven his fist through his face with nary a thought. But having just had his balls busted—and his heart slashed in twain—by said shrew gave him a feeling of entitlement.

Unlike Hadrian, who’d been a confirmed bachelor until he’d fallen for Callie, he’d always supposed he would marry, that the right woman would happen along. Once she did, they would marry, have a family, and live blissfully ever after with scarcely more fuss required than the horses he bred.

So far, horses were proving a lot easier to manage.

Thank God, he’d held off on telling Kate he loved her. Every time he considered just how close he’d come to confessing it, he felt shame wash over him to rival any embarrassment he’d felt from the garden episode. His wife was a marvel, truly she was. Just when he assured himself she couldn’t possibly hurt him any more, she came up with some new and creative way to crush his hopes and his heart beneath her slender slipper.

Apparently oblivious to the danger he courted, Harry leaned across the pub table and wagged a forefinger in Rourke’s face. “Mark me, numbskull, I knew Katherine Lindsey before she was your wife, before you ever clapped eyes on her. She was as sharp as glass and about as warm as snow, a proper ice maiden for all that on the surface she was perfectly friendly and polite. Not once in all our sittings did I ever peer through the lens of my camera and see her eyes light and her skin glow and her scowling mouth soften as it does whenever she’s near you.”

Gavin, ever the calming voice of reason, raised his snifter and asked, “It seems to me that the fundamental question remaining to be answered is, what do you want most: to be right or to be happy?”

Happy—Rourke wasn’t certain he even knew what that meant, but that honeymoon week with Kate, he’d felt himself come close to it—close enough to touch it, even visit for a while, but not stay—never to stay. The sex had been sublime, the best of his life, and yet what he’d felt for her surpassed the physicality of their joining. How he’d loved the trusting way she’d laid her head in the crook of his shoulder and snuggled up next to him, her petite body molding to his despite the differences in their sizes, her slender leg tossed across him, the latter a wordless act of sweet possession. And yet even during that idyllic week, he’d never been able to let down his guard and relax, not wholly. Even propping himself on his elbow watching her sleep, he’d been seized with the irrational fear that at any minute she might disappear—or be snatched away. Was that a normal newlywed reaction? Rourke didn’t think so. When faced with any other sort of obstacle, his natural inclination was to dig in his heels, raise his fists, and fight for what he wanted, what he believed in. Why was it, then, that when it came to his heart’s desire, Kate, it felt safer somehow to simply walk away and give up on her, them?

He shook his head and considered ordering another drink. “Why is it I have the feeling ’both’ isna an option?”

Gavin answered with an ironic smile. “I can tell you, my friend, that making a marriage work has very little to do with being right, let alone emerging the victor. It has to do with caring and compromise and choosing to do the morally right thing, the selfless thing, above one’s own self-interest. But above all, it is about love. Beyond who is right and who is wrong, it is love that will carry you through.” As if sensing Rourke was about to interrupt, he added, “If you’ll recall, I came close to breaking it off with Daisy when I thought she’d accepted a bribe from my grandfather. My stubborn pride almost had me walking away from her forever.”

“Just as I very nearly walked away from Callie rather than face her after that damnable photograph came out in the papers.” Expression thoughtful, Harry traced the wet ring his beer glass had made atop the table. “I tried telling myself I was doing the noble thing in walking away, that she’d be better off without me, but the truth was, walking away wasn’t about being noble at all. I was bloody scared she’d turn me away, not that anyone would have blamed her, me included. But if I had walked away, only think what I’d be missing—the best lover, friend, and wife any man could ever ask for, and, God willing, in another five months, the best mother, too.”

Gavin and Rourke snapped their heads up at once. “Harry?”

Harry looked up, handsome face breaking into a broad and prideful grin. “We’re having a baby.”

Rourke reached across and clapped his friend on the back. “That’s bonny news, mate. Congratulations. This calls for another round.” Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he beckoned to the barkeep.

Imagining Kate’s taut, lithe body increasing with his babe, Rourke felt a funny pull in the vicinity of his heart. He’d seen her kindness directed toward tenants’ children, the younger members of the household staff, and yes, even his mongrel dog. What a beautiful mother she’d make and a good one, too.

He waited for their drinks to arrive, and then lifted his glass to lead them in the requisite toast. Raising his glass, he offered, “To good friends and second chances—I hope.”

They touched glasses. Gavin’s solemn eyes met his across the table. “It’ll work out, Patrick, you’ll see.”

Harry set down his glass and nodded. “It’s always darkest before the dawn … or some such thing.”

Swallowing, Rourke admitted, “I’ve never felt worthy of Kate, not really. She started out as this glittering trophy to be won, someone beyond my touch or very nearly so. Once I had her, I couldna credit my good fortune. I wasna sure what to do with her—well, I knew well enough what to do with her in some respects, but in others … She’s a lady bred, after all, and I’m well, me. A bruiser such as I ought to count himself lucky the likes of her would let me near enough to touch her, let alone wanting more, but I did want more, not only her body but her heart. And then her sister showed up with Felicity, and everything we’d built over the week, the trust and the friendship and yes, the loving, crashed down upon our heads like a house of cards.”

“Do you want my advice?” Gavin asked.

“Have I a choice?”

Gavin and Harry exchanged glances. In unison they shook their heads and answered, “Not really.”

“I didn’t think so. In that case, out with it, then.”

Gavin sighed. “Go to her, Patrick. Go to her the moment we get back. If you tell her even half of what you’ve told us here, she’d be a fool not to at least meet you halfway. If she doesn’t, then at least you’ll know you did everything in your power. You can move forward with your life without looking back, without regrets.”

Harry agreed. “Gavin’s right on the money, mate. While you’re at it, you might want to give Felicity her walking papers. Having your former mistress under the same roof as your wife can’t be helping.”

Rourke shook his head. “Kate thinks Felicity is only a friend of her sister’s. She has no idea Felicity and I were ever more than passing acquaintances, and I’d just as soon keep it that way.”