Storm (17 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Kate stared, trying to hold her ruined gown around her and preserve a little modesty. But she sensed it was too late. His eyes saw through whatever barrier she could put up. They ripped it aside and devoured her.

Love. He spoke of love as if he knew what it was. But did anyone know?

She'd thought she knew it once and it turned out to be false.

Now she had a son. For his sake, she couldn't afford to make another error.

She gritted her teeth. "Good night, Mr. Deverell."

But he wasn't going. He leaned in, pinning her to the ivy-clad wall of the house, and kissed her hungrily. She felt his arousal as it pressed against her stomach, every inch as powerful a force as the rest of him. The ivy rustled as she moved further back.

"I want you," he whispered into her ear. "I want every part of you and all for me alone."

"Isn't that nice. Even the sharp pieces?"

"Yes. Even those." His lips skimmed her eyelashes and her cheek. "But I'm a patient man. So I can wait for it." He stepped back. "Good night, Kate."

Fumbling behind her she found the iron door handle and turned it. A breath later and she had slipped backward into the dark house and closed the door. Her heart's rhythm was unsteady, almost painful.

In the space of one evening she'd met the infamous tribe of Deverells, been exposed as a fraud, escaped death and been proposed to. Whatever next?

"There you are, Kitty. I wondered when you'd finally get home. I hope that fellow's paying you for your company."

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the sound of that voice.

"Didn't think ol' Bert would ever find you again, did you?"

She turned, dripping water on the stone floor. There he sat, or rather sagged all over a chair by the range, his heels up on the table, his stubby fingers hooked around the grubby lapels of his coat. A lit oil lamp rested by his feet, that soft glow just enough to see him by, but giving no light to the rest of the house.

"You've been very bad, Kitty." He shook his head. "And now I shall have to be severe with you. Just like I warned you before. Nobody runs out on a contract with ol' Bert. You work for me until you've paid off your debt. I took you on when you were seventeen, a green amateur, gauche as a scullery maid, and I made a success out of you, fed you up into the woman you are now and this is how you repay me."

While he talked, another shape formed out of the shadows. Tall and lean, his form was distinctive before he even spoke.

"Good evening, Katherine. Where is my son?"

She gasped. "Mellersh!"

Moonlight touched his face. He looked older now. Grey at his temples.

"What are
you
doing here?" she demanded.

"I decided to pay you a visit. Your father was good enough to tell me where you were living and working in London. And that's where I encountered Mr. Soames. Together we've traveled a long way to find you." His cane tapped against the stone as he came nearer through the silvery shaft of light from the window. "The country air seems to agree with you. I see you're even lovelier than I remember, Katherine. Although slightly...weather-blown. And soiled goods now, sadly. An
actress
. Tsk tsk. Who would have thought it of the shy, modest little maid I once knew? Some say there's no shame in a woman on the stage these days, but I can't agree. My father was quite right about you, after all. He always said you were a trollop and would find your true calling."

"Why... are you here?" She gripped her torn skirt.

"I want my son, Katherine. I want to see him."

"What for?" she snapped. "You never wanted to know him before."

"Yes." His eyelids were heavy. Oh, she remembered that sad look. He'd always used it when he was about to let her down. "I made a mistake. Can you forgive me?"

"
After seven years
? No. Get out of my house."

The sorry look was quick to vanish. She remembered that too. "He's my son and I want him. You won't keep him from me. I'm taking him back to London. As for you," his gaze raked over her coldly, "the sooner my son is away from your influence the better."

Her mind couldn't form a sensible thought, except for one: thank goodness Flynn was with his friend and not here when they came tonight.

"I couldn't believe my luck when Joe Dowty told me he knew where you were, Kitty." Soames set his heels down on the floor and stood. "He's a good friend o' mine, Joe Dowty. A business associate from the old days. Bit of luck that was, running in to him. Then this gentleman offered to fund our journey if I helped him run you to ground." He lifted the oil lamp and advanced toward her. "Now come here, Kitty, and let me see that lovely soft skin in the light. Got to make sure my investment hasn't been spoiled, eh?"

* * * *

Storm was walking back to his horses, when he saw a flicker of bright color in his peripheral vision. He stopped and looked again.

Flynn's parrot sat on water pump, watching Storm with one eye.

That was odd. Why was the parrot out of its cage and outdoors?

"Noisy bird. Noisy birrrd!"

He glanced over at the dark, silent farmhouse and knew instinctively that something was wrong.

* * * *

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Bert," she said carefully. "I'm staying here."

"The punters have been missing you and you'd better make some money to pay me back, since it seems you spent it all. Now this gentleman can take his son and you can come with me."

She could see now that Bert had turned the house upside down, looking for the money and items she'd taken from his cabinet. Even her mother's spinet was broken open, the beautiful lacquer work splintered. Yet he hadn't found the money?

He set the oil lamp on the table again and gestured her closer. "I want to make certain my Kitty hasn't roughened her skin out here in the wilds. My clients won't like that."

His sweaty hands reached for her, looming out of the dim light like vulture's claws. Still holding the pieces of her wet gown together, Kate had nothing with which to defend herself, but then the door burst open and her gallant knight barreled into the house.

Bert made a try for his pistol, but Storm plunged one fist into his stomach and thrust the other swiftly up under his jawbone, sending him crashing backward over the table. The oil lamp tipped and smashed onto the stone floor. The rickety old table broke under the weight of Bert's body and he went down hard on the broken lamp glass and oil. His bulk extinguished the flame and the house was in darkness again, but for those thin streaks of moonlight.

Storm grabbed a broken table leg. "Kate, get behind me."

Mellersh swung his walking cane a few times but missed his target. He was never a fighter— had never had to be. His opponent easily knocked that weapon from his hands and it spun across the floor.

In two swift steps Storm had him backed up to the wall, the chair leg under Mellersh's chin. "And who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"
I
am the father of this woman's child, and I'm here to take him back with me. I suggest you don't get involved."

Throughout this skirmish, Bert Soames still rolled about on the broken glass, howling and cursing, getting blood on her stone floor. The acrid stench of lamp oil and scorched flesh filled Kate's throat, but it woke her from the dazed trance of shock. She grabbed his pistol before his bloodied fingers could reach for it and then she ran into the pantry and found rope to tie him up.

"Where is he, Katherine?" Mellersh was shouting again, trying to ignore the man who had him pinned to the wall. "Where is the boy? Tell me and there will be no further incident."

"There will be no further incident, because you're leaving," Storm replied. "If you don't leave on your own two feet, I'll put you out on your backside."

"The boy is mine."

"The
boy
? Do you even know his name?"

"What business is this of yours, hayseed?" Mellersh now took more time to study his captor, his eyes dark with fury. "Perhaps I should apprise you of the facts. I am Lord Henry Duquesne's son and heir. I'm sure you've heard the name. My grandfather's estate was not far from here, and we still wield considerable influence in this county. If you know what's good for you,
country boy,
you won't stand in my way."

"Duquesne?" Storm sneered. "The estate burned down, didn't it, some years ago? The mad old squire set fire to it, or his workers did. He wasn't very popular in these parts and decided to sell up the land. There was quite a riot when one of his mines collapsed killing fifteen men and he refused to help the families they left behind. Wouldn't admit any fault. Aye, I remember the name, but if I was you, I wouldn't go around shouting it at the top of my lungs around here."

Kate watched as Mellersh came to the realization that he wasn't dealing with an uneducated peasant, or somebody easily awed.

"Katherine, you had better get this mad dog under control and on a leash. As you know, I can make your life, and his, very difficult. So, unless you want to find a world of troubles on your doorstep," he snarled, "you will bring me my son. I am at the Seven Oaks in Truro and there I shall remain until I get what I came for." Finally he stepped sideways to the door, straightened up, took one last look at his comrade on the floor, and added, "I don't care particularly what you do with that fellow."

"Of course not," said Kate. "He has served his purpose by leading you to me, and you never had difficulty disposing of people once they had ceased to be useful."

He grimaced. "I had forgotten how the meek little maid has a sharp tongue, when her temper is roused. Perhaps I ought to take you back with me too. I like a little fire and I've missed yours burning brightly in my bed."

Storm made a lunge with the chair leg, but Kate stopped him with both hands on his arm. "No! Let him go." The door banged behind Mellersh and they heard him cursing as he must have stepped in horse dung in the dark.

"What are we going to do about Soames?" she said, anxious to stop him from running out after the other man. "He's badly hurt with cuts and burns."

"After what he's done to you? I say we throw him in the river and leave him there."

Bert resumed his cursing and spitting.

She shook her head. "Do cease your noise, Bert. We're trying to decide what to do with you and you wouldn't want to adversely influence our decision, would you?"

He wheedled from the floor, "Come on, Kitty, my girl, you know I meant you no harm."

"
No harm
?"

"I thought you'd be pleased to see that fancy gent and surely you're bored out here. A girl with your looks is wasted in the country. Dear little Kitty, you know I've always wanted what's best for you."

"Bert, you're hopeless."

"Says the theivin' witch what took all my money."

She felt Storm's gaze narrowed upon her and her first instinct was to lie. But then she realized there was no longer any point. He couldn't think any worse of her, could he? "I didn't mean to," she muttered, sullen. "I only meant to take what was rightfully mine."

"Cleared me out, she did," Bert sniveled. "I'm surprised she left the hinges on the door. Ingrate! Ouch, me back 'urts like a bugger! I'm bleedin' to death. Have mercy on the man who took you up out o' the gutter, Kitty!"

After a brief discussion they loaded him into Storm's cart to take him to the Chief Constable in town. It was the closest they could come to "mercy".

As Kate climbed up in front, Storm handed her the parrot, now safely back in its cage, and said, "This really is a lucky parrot after all, see? He saved you this time."

She watched him step up beside her. "You both did. Are you ever going to stop saving me?"

"Are you ever going to stop getting into trouble?" With a flick of the reins he set his horses for the town.

* * * *

"Bert Soames paid for Flynn's medicines and everything he needed. In exchange I agreed to work at the Music Box." She paused to take the brandy he passed to her. Nursing the glass in both hands, she continued, "I had no one else to turn to. My father wouldn't let me over his doorstep again, and Mellersh wouldn't acknowledge me. He had no interest in his son. Never even wanted to see him. In those early days, Bert seemed kind, helpful— even fatherly— and I was desperate for work. No one would take me on with a child, especially a sickly child that needed so much of my time. Working for Bert during the night hours while Flynn slept...well, it was the best solution. But the contract he made me sign was only supposed to last for a few years." She sipped the brandy and winced. "He kept saying I hadn't paid back my debt yet. I had no control of the money I earned, no idea how much I'd made for him or how much I had yet to earn. And it was a vicious circle. There were always more expenses..."

Storm placed a blanket around her shoulders. He was being very quiet, just letting her talk. As he should have done before. He felt like an ass for being so quick to judge her that night. It still made him angry to think of other men laying eyes upon her while she stood and sang on a stage. But he was trying hard to get beyond that. Ransom had deliberately stirred his temper, knowing exactly how to catch his tender spots, just like his mother, Lady Charlotte, in that regard.

Kate looked so small and frightened wrapped in that blanket, her eyes wide and full of tears, her hair tumbling down around her face. He'd brought her to the house of Mrs. Blewett's niece to check on her son, who was sleeping contentedly, utterly unaware of his mother's adventures that evening. Now they sat in the lady's parlor with a bottle of brandy from the Fisherman's Rest, only the small fire in the hob grate lighting her face.

"Then a wealthy gentleman— one of his best clients— made Bert an offer for me. I had joined some of his customers before for private dinners." Her eyes widened earnestly. "Just dinners, you understand. But this man wanted more." She looked down at the brandy and bit her lip. "He was willing to pay any price, and Bert was greedy. He took the money before he even told me about their agreement. When I found out, I said I wouldn't do it. Bert said I'd have to, or else he'd be in bad trouble because he couldn't pay the man back. I don't know if that was true or not, but I couldn't stay there any longer. Reverend Coles had offered to find me work here, so I took the money, packed up all our things and ran away."

"Kate," he groaned. "I wish you had told me all this." He would have been better prepared then when Ransom whispered in his ear. But it had knocked his feet out from under him.

"How could I? Do you think I am proud of that life, Storm? You gave me a chance to be someone else. A lady such as those I'd always envied. You looked at me as a person, not just an object to be stared at, or someone who could be of use to you. For you I was a woman with opinions and substance. I didn't know what you would think of me if you knew the truth."

"Well I did think of you as a piece of art too," he confessed, rubbing his thigh with one hand. "And I meant it when I said you were lovely, even though you took offense to it."

"I suppose I'll have to forgive you for that. If you can forgive me."

Gently he moved a curl from her cheek. "Are you cold in that torn dress?"

"No." But she shivered, so he put his arm around her and let her head rest on his shoulder.

"So Albert Soames went looking for that money tonight. That explains the state of the house." He paused. "But he didn't find it?"

"I don't know why he didn't. It was all in my mother's spinet. That's where I hid it. But you saw the broken remains of that."

He nodded slowly.

"Storm," she said, her voice wavering, "I don't want the constable to know about Mellersh being there tonight."

Of course, she didn't want the truth coming out about her son. Storm understood that, but Duquesne would remain a problem she couldn't ignore, however much they might all like to pretend he didn't exist.

"You'll stay here tonight with Mrs. Blewett's niece and her family," he said firmly. "You'll be safe here." He knew she would want to be with Flynn, and Duquesne could have no idea where they were.

Kate took another sip of brandy. "Mellersh will go away," she whispered. "He'll give up and go home. I've never known him stick to any idea for long. Whatever drove him to find his son, he'll soon have something else he wants instead."

But Storm was afraid of what that "something else" might be. That man had come a long way to find her and he may not give up so easily now he'd seen her again.

He
certainly wouldn't.

"Will you stay here with me tonight?" she muttered.

Storm hesitated. "It wouldn't be proper, would it?" And he wanted to do this the right way. He'd never, in his life, wanted to do anything so right.

She moved her head, looking up at him. "Mrs. Blewett and her niece won't say anything. Olivia told me that you're the cook's favorite."

He chuckled. "Am I?"

"You're my favorite too," she whispered.

His chest felt tight, but in a good way. He kissed the tip of her nose.

Don't get your hopes up, fool,
he warned himself. He'd already seen how fast her moods could change. Only a few hours ago, in a fit of passionate temper, she'd said she hated him and dramatically thrown that butterfly choker at him. Had she softened now because of fear and weariness, or because of love?

She was quiet, her head on his shoulder again, her warm body curled close to his, her hand resting on his chest. It was tempting to throw caution to the four winds and stay tonight. To make love to her until first light came over the cliffs. To make love to her until she knew there would never be anyone else who loved her as he did.

He kissed her again, his tongue eagerly tasting the sweetness of brandy on her lips and drinking down those gasping sighs of delight. The blanket slid from her shoulders as she reached up to cling around his neck and his hands stroked her spine, lingering over the curve. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, their hearts racing in unison.

Slowly he made his way from her lips to her ear, her neck, her shoulder.

"Storm," she purred, "make love to me."

He kissed her breast, sliding the blanket down further, his heart drumming hard in his ears, a mad rush of lust. Groaning softly, he let his tongue play across her nipple, longing to take it in his mouth, but resisting. She arched her spine, pushing herself toward his lips, her skin slipping silkily under his palms as they trembled, sweeping over thighs and upward. He squeezed her full breast and felt the weight of it in his hand. His entire body ached with yearning. He was heavy with it, saturated with fierce need to have her.

But he knew, dragging himself back from the quivering edge, that it wasn't the time. His desire for her was so strong he feared it. Tonight she was fragile, fluttering like a flame in a draft, too breakable. Storm knew that if he went any further he might not be able to restrain that savage need to claim her totally.

He'd wait until she was bold again, demanding and imperious, calling him names and ready to beat him with a whip if necessary. That way, if she confessed she loved him, he'd know it was not the result of a weak moment, but that it was true and an emotion she probably felt against her stubborn will.

Then he could believe it. Then he could let the flames of his passion burn hot and unrestricted. When she was in one of her tempers she could take him on like nobody else ever would dare try.

But tonight she was a damaged bird and he tended her with all the gentleness she deserved.