My Seduction (23 page)

TWENTY-TWO

LIVING WITHIN ONE’S MEANS

A FOOTMAN SNAPPED TO attention as Kit strode past, and a maid smiled timidly at him. He saw neither.

Kate had asked him as clearly as her station and pride would allow that he make some claim upon her. He lifted the door latch with a shaking hand. She must never know how completely she’d undone him, or how desperately he’d wanted to do so. He was a selfish brute, but not that selfish. He would leave her with the good marquis, where her future, and her sisters’ futures, were assured. And in the years ahead, when he thought of her, he would be satisfied with the idea that, for however short a time, a lady had considered sacrificing everything she valued for him. It was a trade he could live with.

He walked outside, where winter had retreated a half step, the air thin but mild and the sky pale, and headed for the stables. It was deserted save for the horses. He found Doran and ran his hand down the gelding’s rear leg, lifting his hoof. He could see no discoloration and, gently probing the frog, found no evidence that Doran felt any discomfort. He’d ride tomorrow.

A furtive sound brought Kit’s head up in time to see a feminine figure hurrying between the stalls, clutching the handle of a swollen valise. It was Mertice Benny, the marquis’s ward. She made it to the end of the aisle, set the valise down, and attempted to open the last stall door. The latch had evidently stuck, and she pulled angrily on the handle.

“Allow me,” he said.

She jumped, wheeling around with her hand at her throat. “You startled me!”

“It was most unintentional, I assure you. May I offer my assistance?”

She regarded him suspiciously, and Kit felt a prick of irritation. Her virtue could not be any safer than with him.

“Well?”

She flounced about and gestured irritably toward the stall, indicating, he presumed, that he might have a go at opening it.

Why not? He examined the stall door and found a piece of wood jammed near the hinge. He pried it out with his dagger, and the door swung open, revealing an empty stall. Empty except for a set of luggage stacked inside. New luggage, by the look of it, the leather still shiny and the brass locks bright. Odd place to store new luggage.

Noting his quizzing glance, Merry tilted her head haughtily, daring him to question her. The truth being that he didn’t give a bloody damn about her or her luggage, he stood aside while she picked up the valise and dragged it inside.

“I am…planning… on taking an extended trip,” she panted as she rearranged the heavy luggage. “And I see no reason why my room… should be littered with baggage… when this is a perfectly reasonable place to store them.”

“Some perfectly unreasonable thieves?” he suggested blandly.

The girl scowled and gnawed on her lower lip, obviously debating whether to give him the set-down she so richly wanted to or try to wheedle him into doing her bidding—whatever that might be. At least she was a distraction, however short-lived, from Kate.

She tried a coquettish smile. He supposed it might even have been a fairly good one… if one cared. “Please don’t tell the marquis.”

“Tell the marquis what?”

“About the luggage. About my… leaving.”

About her eloping. The pieces fell neatly into place. She was running off with someone, and Kit had a fairly good idea who that might be. Her face was not particularly transparent, but his life had often relied upon reading people, and this girl was as false as a beggar’s empty sleeve.

“The Murdochs wouldn’t understand. He isn’t like them.” She fair quivered with ill-contained excitement.

So Merry’s admiration for the stalwart Captain Watters had been a red herring; otherwise she wouldn’t have used the term “like them.” Captain Watters was decidedly “like them.” No one would have objected to a match with the captain of a militia unit. No, the little fool was going to elope with Callum Lamont.

“You needn’t look like that. I would think you of all people would understand.”

He arched a brow, though acknowledging that her prick had struck deep. He was decidedly more of Callum Lamont’s ilk than Captain Watter’s. Still, he only said, “Understand that you’re running off with a thief and a smuggler?” He paused. “That is what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

For a second, she looked surprised then replied hotly, “It’s none of your concern. Besides, we’re married.”

“Married?” She had surprised him, after all.

“Aye,” she said haughtily. “This is Scotland. It isn’t hard to do.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. But you need only ask the blacksmith in Selwick.”

“You are a fool.”

“Oh, come, Captain. The English have been eloping across our borders for years. There is no reason a Scotswoman shouldn’t make use of one of our most celebrated customs.”

“You think running off is all very romantic and adventurous,” he said. “It’s not. It’s squalid and vulgar. And the road is lonely.”

She lifted her chin. “But I won’t be alone.”

“Not yet.” He regarded her pityingly. “But how long do you think he will he stay with you? A month? A year? Until he dies in some drunken brawl or at the end of a rope?”

“No one will catch him. He’s too clever by half,” she stated, and Kit stared at her in amazement.

By God, she actually believed it. He tried another tack. “Perhaps not. But the romance will only endure as long as your beauty. How long will that last, do you suppose? A hard life without the sort of luxury and cosseting you are accustomed to enjoying tends to leach away a woman’s looks.”

“Mrs. Blackburn doesn’t appear to have suffered unduly,” she said slyly.

The attack was unexpected, and Kit regarded her with some respect. The kitten was a cat after all, and she had sharp claws.

“Mrs. Blackburn is exceptional,” he said. “She is also wise enough not to let impossible fantasies rule her life. You would do well to emulate her.”

“So stiff, Captain MacNeill?” she purred. “Who was it you said was wise not to let fantasies govern Mrs. Blackburn’s life? I could have sworn you said her, but I think”—she sidled closer—“I think it’s you who have decided for her.”

He’d satisfied whatever impulse he’d had to warn her. He turned away, but her hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You’re leaving her.”

“She’s not mine to leave or not leave,” he said with a calm he wished he felt.

Merry laughed. “No more than the sun belongs to the day and the moon to the night. Do you think it isn’t obvious? The way you watch her. The way she doesn’t watch you.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“You great bloody fool,” she sneered. “You’d leave her here? For him? Do you know what happens to a person who is discarded like that? Love turns into hate, Captain MacNeill. And hate is a fertile ground. It breeds all sorts of trouble.”

“Shut up,” Kit said. Her words were like poison, insidious and lethal.

She sidled closer to him. “Do you want her to hate you? Because she will. What? That never occurred to you? You thought she would thank you for leaving her here?” She shook her head. “Never! She will hate you, hate herself, and hate the marquis, because she will always remember that you made the choice. She will not think of the poverty you think you are sparing her. She will think of pleasure and passion, and every thought will be tainted with hatred because you left her behind!”

Her voice was thick with vitriol. “I’m not being left behind. Not again.”

She wheeled around, her skirts snapping, and stood with her back to him. She took a deep breath and then another, calming herself. When she looked around again, the fight had drained from her. She looked exhausted, her nerves near unraveling. She lived on a razor’s edge, fearing her lover and fearing not to go with him even more. “Are you going to tell the marquis?” she whispered.

He regarded her in astonishment. “I have no choice. How can I not tell him that his ward is running off with a possible murderer?”

“He’s murdered no one,” she declared. “I swear to you that he did not kill Charles or Grace. I know for a fact he is innocent of their deaths, because I know who is responsible.”

“Who?”

She shook her head. “I won’t tell until we’re well away from here. Then, I swear, I will write, revealing everything. If you let me go. Tomorrow, when the others go to the MacPhersons, I intend to stay behind. We’ll leave then, and no one will ever see us again.”

“I’m sorry.”

She ground her teeth in frustration. “I tell you, he did not kill Grace and Charles. Would I elope with someone who’d killed my dearest friend? My only friend?!” Her gaze was hot but level. She sincerely believed Lamont to be innocent of the crime. “Besides, we are married, and finally, this is none of your affair.”

She was clearly convinced Lamont hadn’t killed Grace, and she would be in a better position to judge than he. Maybe she was telling the truth, and if she wasn’t…? Well, she would be gone and thus less likely to bring scandal down upon the Murdoch family. And thus, upon Kate. And if she had married Lamont, there was naught he or the marquis or anyone else could do for her.

“All right,” he said, knowing he acted against his better judgment. But then, his judgment of late had been none too good.

“Another!” Callum Lamont rasped, raising his cup and rubbing at his throat. He thought his pipes had been permanently busted and he’d like as not spend the rest of his days croaking like a bullfrog, and that wasn’t right. Especially since he’d once saved the bastard’s life.

He stared moodily into his empty cup. Ungrateful, that’s what it was. Well, he’d teach him some manners, especially since there wasn’t anyone around anymore to watch his back. None of that Scottish wolf pack ran together anymore, it would seem. Not surprising, seeing how their “brotherhood” hadn’t withstood a bit of treachery.

The thought brought a smile. “I said another!”

Meg slunk over to refill his cup and then, looking quickly around, slipped a sealed letter onto his lap. Callum pushed a coin into her hand, her payment for acting as a courier between him and the castle. She darted away as if she feared for her virtue, and Callum felt a ripple of offense.

He had never forced himself on a woman, and he never would. He didn’t need to coerce a woman into his bed. Women flocked to him like bees to honey— the mirror explained that easily enough. But it wasn’t just his success with other women that kept him from the Megs of the world, it was his heart.

He’d already given it to a lady, a true lady, one as beautiful as a rose and just as prickly as one, too. Not that he minded a thorn or two, he thought, his memory unfurling over evenings when she had warmed his bed and he had warmed her in all other places. Soon they would be together again.

Callum Lamont, bastard and foul-tempered, murdering demon that he was, loved mean but true. He was as faithful as the tides and just as unfailing. But musing on Merry’s charms wasn’t getting either of them any nearer their fortune, so with a sigh he tore open the letter’s seal and got down to business.

Carefully, he studied the elegant hand. There were only a few words, but they caused him to break into a grin. He crumpled the sheet and tossed it into the fire, and as he watched the flame consume it, he laughed.

Who said work and pleasure never mixed?

TWENTY-THREE

LEARNING TO LIVE WITHOUT

KERWIN MURDOCH STOOD BESIDE the luggage filling the hallway while Lady Mathilde kept up a running patter to Kate and the marquis gave last-minute instructions to the butler. Miss Merry would not be going with them. She had told the marquis she would not shorten her mourning period for “dearest Grace” by so much as an hour, and that to force her to do so would be unforgivable.

The marquis, clearly caught unprepared, had been put in a dreadful quandary. He had refused the MacPhersons’ initial invitation, only to ask that the invitation be reissued so that he might accept it. Now he must renege.

Lady Mathilde, concerned that her reentry into society was being revoked, pointed out that the girl would do very well alone in the castle guarded by those of Captain Watters’s men left behind and their own fifty-odd servants. But it took a letter, arriving via the hand of a militia courier, to persuade the marquis that his ward could remain safely at the castle.

Lady Mathilde, having satisfactorily dealt with the obstacle presented by Merry, muttered to herself as she mentally dissected her wardrobe. “Half a dozen dresses for the day? Should do. But only four for the evening. I hope it suffices. Lord knows what MacPhersons’ flues are like this winter. Place could be warm and snug or drafty as a cathedral. One must be prepared for either,” she told Kate.

“You’ll want a nice riding habit, Mrs. Blackburn. You do ride? No? Pity. Parnell is an avid rider. Still, there is nothing wrong with being decorous rather than robust.” She peered closely at Kate. “One can hardly accuse you of the latter.” Her elderly mouth pleated with sympathy. “You look unwell, child. Are you feeling up to this trip?”

Kate smiled gratefully at the old woman. No. She was not. She had not seen Kit since yesterday, and every waking moment she felt his absence more keenly.

He was still here, somewhere, but he hadn’t dined with them last night, and so dinner had become for her an arduous, drawn-out affair. It hadn’t made it any more palatable that each kindness, each pleasantry, drove home to her the magnitude of her insupportable ingratitude. Though the marquis did not know the source of her lassitude, he could not fail to notice it. He had been wonderfully solicitous. And Merry, her campaign to continue her mourning having been successful, not only appeared at the dinner table but then proceeded to captivate everyone with unexpected charm.

All the while Kate kept wondering where Kit was, at what hour he would leave, if he would think of her, and if so, how long she would retain a part of his heart. She had finally conceded that she’d lost a portion of her own that she would never recover. But… he hadn’t made any claim upon her affections. He’d all but handed her to the marquis.

Thank God one of them had some common sense.

“Mrs. Blackburn?” Lady Mathilde asked worriedly, and Kate realized she’d been talking to her for some time.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying? I am, I confess, extremely tired.”

“Ah!” Lady Mathilde waggled her finger beneath Kate’s nose. “Fatigue often becomes illness. I should have expected as much. After all, you traveled here in an open coach. To think!” Her eyes grew round with amazement at such a feat.

“I should have cautioned James against this, but… well, I am a selfish old woman,” she said remorsefully. “And he was so eager to introduce you.” She trailed off, a blush staining her papery cheeks.

Kate squirmed under Lady Mathilde’s obvious approval, feeling base and guilt-ridden and… No! She must stop this wrong thinking. But how? And where? Under the MacPhersons’ interested gaze?

No. She just needed time. Everything had happened so quickly. She had not anticipated becoming Kit’s lover any more than she had anticipated the marquis’s interest. Both had happened within hours of one another. Was it any wonder she felt confused, her head spinning, her thoughts a jumble, and her heart brok— her heart sore?

She was a soldier’s daughter. When outstripped and outgunned, one fell back and regrouped.

“I fear you are right, Lady Mathilde,” she said, coming to a decision. “My travels have dealt more roughly with me than I realized. I would do best remaining here and recovering my full health.”

Lady Mathilde nodded sadly, unable to hide her disappointment. “I shall inform the marquis that we will be staying after all.”

“Not a bit of it,” Kate declared. “It would be unconscionable for you to cry off at such short notice.” Kate could not refrain from smiling at the sudden hopefulness in the old lady’s face. “I will speak to the marquis.”

Twenty minutes later the marquis and the others stood outside, preparing to leave as Kate stood beside them, saying temporary farewells. She had told the marquis that not only was she more tired than she’d originally realized, but that she felt she might actually do some good in staying back and offering what comfort she could to Merry, still cloistered in her rooms.

The marquis, of course, had agreed. He had been about to have the luggage returned to their rooms when Kate had asked him not to abandon his plans on her account. She asked with such gentle gravity that he could be in no doubt that she intended to use the weekend to sort out her thoughts. Being a gentleman, he had made no further protest but only took her hand and reverently kissed the backs of her fingers.

“I doubt any person could be more anxious that convivial hours pass swiftly than I will upon quitting your company, Mrs. Blackburn.” It was a truly handsome compliment. He was a truly handsome man. “I would not leave you here, even with the militia and my servants, had I not just received word from Captain Watters that he is within hours of bringing to justice those responsible for our mutual sorrow. He is well away from here.”

“I was never afraid,” she assured him.

“I know you will be well.” He still didn’t look happy.

“You are concerning yourself unduly, milord.”

He collected himself and stood back. “I look forward to that time when I can introduce you to my friends, Mrs. Blackburn.”

“You are kind, sir.”

He hesitated, seeming about to say more, and she shifted uneasily, not ready. He smiled wanly, understanding, and turned toward his aunt and uncle. “My dears, if you are ready?”

As they settled in the carriage, a horseman emerged near the top of the drive, a tall, lean man on a big roan gelding, the wind in his cloak and the sun bright in his hair. Kate’s lips curved into a smile of welcome and anticipation. Kit had come back after all.

Her heart fluttered in equal parts trepidation and anticipation. She waited, frozen in the open doorway. Even from this distance, she felt his gaze on her, his regard as sweet as the warmth of the sun on her cheeks. She took a step down the stairs, wondering why he was waiting, and then, abruptly, she understood: he wasn’t going to come any closer.

No. She stepped off the landing down to the first stairs, pulled by an invisible cord. Below her, John stowed the carriage steps inside as a hundred yards away Kit lifted his hand in farewell.

She was being left behind. But, oddly, looking at the lonely figure raked by a rising wind, it felt more like she was the one doing the abandoning. Then why was he still there, his arm aloft, like one seeking permission to leave?

And what else could she do but grant it?

She raised her hand slowly. He turned his horse. A few seconds later he had vanished beyond the trees. Ten minutes later the carriage left, too.