Anne Barbour (28 page)

She turned the idea in her mind slowly, examining it like a rare
jewel. She should be appalled, she supposed. She should consider an attachment to such a rogue a disaster. She could not account for the little rockets of happiness that burst at intervals within her, expanding in waves until she thought she might burst. Perhaps love brought joy to a woman, no matter the pitfalls that lay ahead.

Justin had declared himself an unworthy candidate for a lifelong commitment. He had insisted that the kisses shared between them had been but part and parcel of a brief, albeit pleasant idyll. But her toes curled inside her jean boots as she recalled the way his body had melted against hers at their last encounter. She was convinced the man was not immune to her. Furthermore, something deep and sure within her cried out that he was not simply looking for a fleeting seduction. The warmth in his eyes, she was certain, sprang from an honest affection rather than from lust.

Well—she grinned to herself—perhaps just a touch of lust.

She reached to touch his wrist lightly. “I am so pleased that you and your brother have reconciled. It must be a great weight off your mind to know that whoever has been planning your downfall so assiduously, it is not a member of your family. It is unfortunate that you did not get the opportunity to speak to your father.”

Justin laughed shortly. “You are being diplomatic, my dear. I had plenty of opportunity to see my father, and I do not think I would have changed my mind, even knowing what I know now.”

Catherine glanced at him in surprise.

“St. John can maunder on till his eyes bubble about Father’s awful feelings of guilt, but I cannot stir much sympathy for him in my breast. He may not be wholly to blame for the way I turned out, but I can’t help feeling he was at least partly responsible. He was an unlovable, curmudgeon who took out his self-pity on his son. As for St. John, I believe he, too, was a victim of Father’s obsession, but—”

“But he apparently did not hold you in such contempt as you thought. I never did understand,” she continued tentatively, aware that she was treading in territory that might be best avoided, “why you felt he bore you such enmity.”

“As to that...” Justin lifted his head to gaze at her. His eyes were like a rainy sea. “There was an incident—when I was much younger—for which St. John blamed me. And not without good cause.”

“You need not tell me about it,” said Catherine hurriedly, “if you’d rather not.”

“No, I would rather you hear all this from me. You see, there was a young woman named Lady Susan Fairhaven ...”

The telling of the story did not take long, and when Justin reached the part about the lady’s confession to St. John, Catherine felt a tide of joy and relief well up in her. She had not really believed him capable of such cruelty, she told herself, but it was good to know the facts bore out her instincts.

“I can’t say that Sinjie and I have fully come to terms,” Justin concluded, “but we at least have something of an understanding of one another.”

“I hope it will grow into more than an understanding,” said Catherine with a smile.

Justin grinned. “At any rate,” he said, deftly changing the subject, “I want to thank you for allowing me to return to the Keep to regroup. I wish I did not have to leave again so soon.”

“So soon?” she echoed in dismay.

“I have work to do in London. I cannot be skittering back and forth in the dead of night any longer. I must find lodgings in town.”

The idea flashed into Catherine’s mind full-blown, and before her better judgment could snatch it from her, she spoke.

“Ahhh ...” she began.

Justin glanced at her questioningly.

“It may be difficult for you to maintain your anonymity if you hire lodgings yourself. Or were you planning to stay with Robbie? Or Mr. Rutledge?”

“No,” Justin replied emphatically. “Whoever is on my tail is watching them as well, I am sure. I would not put them in further jeopardy. I shall just have to take my chances that I can find a snug ken. That is, house,” he explained hastily. “Forgive my lapse into thieves’ cant. I shall use a false name, of course, and—”

“What you need,” interposed Catherine austerely, “is a snug fortress. To say nothing of a supply of funds. Forgive me for speaking plainly, but you cannot apply to your bank for a draft, after all, and I do not believe you will wish to borrow from either Robbie or this Mr. Rutledge.”

Justin stared at her blankly. “Are you suggesting that I accept money from a woman?”

“Not ‘a woman,’ “ Catherine snapped. “Me. And this is a loan. I have more money than I know what to do with, and I know you will repay me.” She lifted a hand to stem the torrent of protest she could see forming behind his eyes. “Now, please, just hear me out.”

Justin opened his mouth, but closed it again almost immediately and flung himself back into his chair. He thrust his hands upward in a negative gesture as Catherine continued.

“I propose to hire a house for a sojourn there for myself and Mariah and Grandmama.”

“What?” Justin’s expression could not have contained more astonishment had she announced her decision to set sail for Antarctica.

“They have been after me for years—as has Adam—to visit London, and I have come to admit to myself that it has been the most arrant foolishness on my part to have stayed away so long.” She drew a deep breath. “You see, it was not merely an aversion to city life that drove me from town.”

Struck by an unaccustomed compunction, Justin said hastily, “My dear, it is not necessary— Just because I chose to bare my soul to you a few minutes ago, you do not—”

“No—no, it is not an incident of which I am particularly proud, but locking it away as I have for so many years has merely lent it a wholly unwarranted importance.”

In a cool, even tone, she told him of her brief indiscretion with Francis Summervale and the cataclysmic upheaval it had caused in her life.

As he listened, Justin’s hands clenched into fists. My God, he had no right to condemn any man for dishonorable behavior, but—the bastard! Summervale had ruined the life of a beautiful young girl, whose only crime was a passionate nature and a giving heart. He had taken her innocence—no matter that he had left her physically unspoiled—all for his own greed. He wished that he had come to know Francis Summervale in the Peninsula well enough to take his measure. By God, he would have trumped up a reason to slay him. He wished the snake were available right now for having his guts strung out to dry in the knacker’s yard. He wished—

He came to himself with a horrified start. What he wished was that he could take Catherine in his arms and murmur that none of it mattered, that she was inutterably precious—the sweetest, loveliest, finest woman he had ever met and that any man would be both humbled by her perfection and proud to make her his own if she would so much as deign to look in his direction.

My God, he had never spouted such drivel in his entire life.

Swallowing hard, he spoke in a tone so dry it could have been served crumbled in soup, “You are right. You have been foolish beyond permission.”

At the startled expression in her eyes, he continued harshly.

“Do you really think your little escapade occupied the minds of the ton for longer than it took some idiot to spawn a new tidbit? I would be willing to wager that if someone were to have mentioned your name the following month, it would have produced nothing but blank stares. In other words, my dear Miss Meade, you have immured yourself in this admittedly pleasant little cocoon for naught.”

Catherine, prepared for every reaction from commiseration to condemnation almost gasped. She felt as though Justin had thrown a glass of cold water in her face. A moment later, she was forced to smile. Perhaps an icy shower was precisely what she needed. At any rate, the astringency of his speech caused her to straighten abruptly, her eye kindling.

‘That is easy for you to say, my lord. I daresay you have grown quite accustomed to being held up for public pillory. Oh!” Catherine gasped at the thoughtless cruelty of her remark. “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Justin merely chuckled. “Not to worry,” he said, waving an airy hand. “I have developed the skin of a tropical reptile. And you are quite right. Just because I have learned to thumb my nose at the vagaries of public opinion, does not mean everyone should be so uncaring. Where would we be, after all, if no one quailed before a leveled quizzing glass?”

Catherine was forced to laugh. “Civilization would no doubt quiver on its foundations.”

“Precisely. Now, getting back to your generous offer—”

“Yes,” interposed Catherine. “The thing is, I plan to hire a house in a respectable but completely unfashionable part of town. Hans Town, perhaps, or the area near Russell Street. I shan’t know anyone. You will be yet another distant cousin. Perhaps Marian’s brother! Come to visit us from—oh, Canada, perhaps. I shall bring only one or two of my most trusted servants with me, and the rest will know nothing of my background, or yours. Among the staff, however, we shall number several very large, very unpleasant footmen, with strict orders that our privacy must be guarded at all costs. You see? You can come and go as you please, but while you are in the house you will be unassailable. Thus, there is no possible reason—”

“Say no more. Generalissimo,” replied Justin, laughing. “I never turn down an offer of largesse, regardless of the gender of the offerer, and I shan’t start now. Please accept as read my bottomless gratitude. But”—he hesitated for a moment—”I have to ask myself—why? We are not related—we are not old friends. I
believe—that is, you seem to have formed a reasonably correct assumption of my character—or lack of it. Much as I appreciate your concern and your help, I cannot help but wonder about its source.”

Catherine could feel herself flushing, and she dropped her gaze. “I must say, I wonder myself. I think it is because, particularly in light of the events you related concerning your visit to your home, I have come to believe you are innocent of the charges leveled against you. It goes very much against the grain with me to see an innocent man suffer for something he did not do. Ergo, I wish to help you. Tell me,” she continued hastily, searching urgently for a safer topic, “have you any further thoughts on who the guilty person might be?”

“As a matter of fact,” began Justin, but, apparently changing his mind, he finished regretfully, “No, I’m afraid not. I’m hoping that once I take up residence in London, Robbie and I can put our heads together and—what?” he asked, at her slight intake of breath.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, but as he continued to gaze at her questioningly, she continued. “It’s just that I have been wondering about Robbie. I know he is your best friend in the world and you’ve known each other for donkey’s years—and you trust him, and—and all that.” She faltered as Justin’s expression grew dark. “But just think of the sequence of events. Do you not think it remarkably coincidental that it was Robbie who urged you to leave for England, and then on your first night in this country—when no one else knew you were here, you were ambushed? Then, on another night, you were shot just after you left his lodgings. And, finally, there is the matter of the fire at Sheffield Court. Who else knew you were there last night? No one but St. John, who rescued you from the flames—and your very good friend, who was found skulking around the grounds immediately afterward. In addition—I can’t help feeling at times that he is hiding something.”

By now Justin’s expression had grown thunderous. “That’s enough, Catherine,” he fairly barked. “Robbie would no more betray England—or me—than I would him.”

“Even for a great deal of money?” she asked. “It is my impression that Robbie, not being the son of a peer, has no private income.”

Justin nodded unwillingly.

“He is an officer, however,” continued Catherine, “and as such is constantly in the company of the sons of wealthy men. Such a
lifestyle is expensive, and—and there are many men who will, even against their inclination, sacrifice the principles of a lifetime for money.”

“But not Robbie.” Justin’s voice was a harsh growl. The recollection flickered in him of Robbie’s newly acquired wealth—his improved accommodations, his more fashionable wardrobe, all through the supposed benevolence of an aunt previously unknown to Justin. He drew an unsteady breath and continued. “The operative word in your theory is, ‘coincidental.’ Naturally, Robbie has been aware of my movements because I have included him in all my comings and goings. Whoever is behind the attempts on my life also apparently is making it his business to keep abreast of my travels. It is probably not too difficult to do so if he has the time and money and the will to keep a watch on both Robbie and Charles. Which is why, of course, your offer of a haven in the heart of London is so welcome. Tell me,” he finished, obviously no more comfortable with the subject than Catherine had been, “how do you think Mariah and Lady Jane—and Adam—will respond to this startling volte-face on your part?”

As it turned out, both ladies were loud in their support of the notion. Even Adam, after a moment’s hesitation, added his voice to the chorus of approval.

“I—that is we—All of us in the neighborhood will miss you, of course. We will miss all of you,” he concluded, red-faced, glancing at Mariah and Lady Jane.

Indeed, thought Catherine, she rather thought it was not her own, precious self the good doctor would be missing. Adam had taken to visiting the Keep with even more frequency than usual, but now the object of his attentions appeared to be Mariah. He was ostensibly interested in the nostrums her cousin prepared in the stillroom, which had gained a reputation throughout the area for their curative powers. However, Catherine had noted that the two spent an inordinate amount of time simply wandering the gardens or seated on the terrace, their heads bent together in earnest conversation.

Lady Jane dispatched a note to her man of affairs, one Thomas Silchester, who responded in a suitably gratified manner that, although Lady Jane had had no need of his services in recent years, he was more than happy to arrange matters for her in a manner with which, he assured her, she would be pleased.