Surrender The Night (47 page)

As such instants always do, however, they faded soon enough. Again they became man and woman, seeking to deny their own separateness. Devon slumped against her. Wrapping his arms tightly about her waist, still nestled within her, he slept.

Katrina told herself to leave, but she was so tired. If she moved, she’d wake him. Just for a moment . . . She, too, slept.

The sun was lowering in the sky when she woke. Gingerly she tried to slip away, but when contact was broken, he awoke with a start. She went still.

He drew back to look at her. She was pale, silent. Waiting. And then he knew.

He withdrew abruptly and hovered over her like a thunderclap. “Damn you. Fuck me, good luck to me, was it?” When she flinched, his voice lowered to weary distaste. “I can almost hate you. You intended to leave when I slept, didn’t you? And this time you wouldn’t come back.”

Her silence was answer enough.

He laughed harshly. “More fool you. I’ve not had more than a catnap in days. Do you know why?” He leaned forward to emphasize his words. “Because you’re boxing me into my own private hell and I can do naught but bruise myself because you won’t let me out.”

Her face twisted with pain. “I don’t want to cause you unhappiness.”

“No? Once, I might have believed that. No longer. Your stubborn silence means only one thing: You’ve avenged yourself upon me. Taunted me by teaching me to appreciate all we have to offer one another, then denying us both.” He rose to pace the room, magnificently male in his nakedness.

Katrina knew she had to leave before she fell apart into tiny, irretrievable bits. “No, you don’t understand.” She began to collect her clothes.

He whirled on her. “Then make me understand.”

Tears came then, a bucket of them. “Dear God, I’d wed you if I could. Do you think I hold my love so cheaply?”

Coldly he watched the tears track down her cheeks. His voice throbbed with the emotions boiling beneath the ice. “I don’t think you love me at all.”

Katrina took a step back, her hand to her cheek as if he’d struck her. In her worst nightmares she’d never dreamed it could end this way. Her only consolation had been the knowledge that at least he’d remember her fondly. Was she to be denied even that?

Should she tell him? Then, at least, he’d understand. Her woman’s pride recoiled from the thought of admitting the violation she’d endured. What purpose would it serve, save to cause him more pain? She’d suffered enough for the both of them. Yet how could she let him believe that the sacrifice she made out of love was naught but sick revenge?

Her silence seemed damning to Devon. Unable to bear the strain in her face, he turned away to dress. The hope that had kept him sane was flickering; the chasm yawned at his feet. He’d pretended it wasn’t there long enough. When he was dressed, he turned to bridge it or fall to his doom.

She still stood quiet, her face far away, one hand to her cheek. Once more, she’d shut him out. He clenched his hands, but forced his voice to calm. “You don’t even bother to deny it, I see.” He waited tensely, but when she still didn’t reply, he affected a shrug. “That’s your choice. Go, then. Let me seek whatever happiness I may find.”

And he turned away to stare out the window. Run, my one and only love, before I fall to my knees and beg. He heard shuffling footsteps and expected to hear the door opening. He tensed, his nails bringing blood to his palms.

Instead the footsteps paused behind him. He turned.

Hope flickered to life again—until he saw her face. It was frozen in such misery that she looked almost plain. The vitality that gave Katrina such beauty seemed snuffed.

“Very well, Devon. You leave me no choice. I can bear much, but not the thought that you’ll remember me so cruelly.”

His heart leaped in his bosom. He almost smiled. Thank you.
  God, he exulted. Whatever it was couldn’t be that bad. Once they had it out in the open, they could seek the future intended for them.

Katrina’s glassy eyes stared at a point over his head as she recited, “Sutterfield intended to rape me the night he took me to the brothel. I didn’t stop him; the madam did.”

Devon frowned, but his confusion deepened when she went on.

“She wasn’t motivated by charity, of course. She . . . wanted to make use of me as quickly as possible.”

“But that doesn’t make sense—”

Her smile was a ghastly thing. “Oh, but it does. You see, I was pregnant.”

Gasping, Devon tried to take a step back, but he was against the window. Unable to stay still, he moved sideways. His eyes dropped to her flat stomach. Pregnant. With his child. He waited, examining his own feelings. He found only pleasure. He knew then that his last reservations were gone. He wanted Katrina’s children. A passel of them. “But ... but where’s the child? Have you kept it hidden from me?’ ’

Anger stirred at the thought. He moved forward, stopping when she
lifted her hands feebly to ward him off.

“He . . . died, Devon. And I’m unable to have more children. That’s why I can’t wed you.” Still without looking at him, she tried to turn away.

He swallowed. Grief made his eyes water, but when she moved to the door, he leaped forward to catch her shoulders. His face, too, had grown pale. “How do you know that? How did you lose it?’ ’

She shook her head.

He pleaded, “Please, Katrina, I must understand. . . .’’ His voice trailed away under the impact of her eyes. He sucked in his breath as if he’d been punched. Never had he seen such despair. Understanding began to coil in his stomach like an angry snake eager to strike. Nausea grew, but he forced himself to listen to her lifeless whisper.

“Pregnant women do not make good whores. They . . . intended to give me a potion, you see.”

He moaned and shook his head violently, but now her voice was relentless. “It wasn’t needed. A rather strong but vacant man was to hold me down so they could give it to me.”

Devon inched along the wall, his hands covering his ears. “Oh God, dear God, no
...”

She followed him, a macabre satisfaction filling her at his obvious distress. He’d ripped the scab away from the wound; now she could only let the puss drain. ‘ ‘I didn’t want to lose the child,” she droned, “so I fought him.” She began to shake as the memories assailed her. She was seeing the past, so she didn’t notice Devon’s fixated stare, or his working mouth as he tried to swallow his nausea.

“He wasn’t quick, so I dodged his blows. He hit the wall and grew enraged. He . . . punched me, then—“

“Stop it!” Devon blindly moved back, unable to bear any more. He knocked against the table where the untouched tray sat. He stumbled and fell, food flying about him, tea staining his jacket.

Katrina cradled her stomach, rocking on her heels. “Oh God, the pain. But do you know what was worse? Knowing that I hadn’t loved the child enough. I . . . hated the way it was conceived. To this day I fear God punished me for not loving the child as I should. By the time I knew I wanted it, it was too late.”

Her eyes focused on Devon again. His bright head still shook back and forth, as if denial could stop the horrific pictures in his brain. “No, no,” he keened.

Katrina bit her lip so hard she drew blood, and a measure of calm descended. “That’s why I can’t wed you, Devon. Because of the infection, I can’t have children.” She turned to go, hoping, praying, that Devon would stop her. He didn’t. When she reached the door, she whispered, “Good-bye, my love.”

The door closed behind her quietly, like a final whimper of pain.

Vaguely Devon heard the sound through his black torment, but he was unable to move. Spasms gripped his stomach, and he wondered if she’d felt like this when she lost the child. He doubled over and began to retch.

He vomited again and again, still heaving even when his stomach was empty. All the while he barely felt the misery, for he was seeing the past. The bitterness he reaped now was the harvest of the misery he’d sown two years ago. . . .

Why didn’t Katrina hate him? At last he understood. No wonder, she’d been so wary. Only a good woman of deep feeling could have overcome such a tragedy and accepted the attentions of a man who’d hurt her so. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered. Even as he spoke he knew she’d already forgiven him.

Most women would have wanted to watch him squirm. Not Katrina. As always, love guided her. She’d not wanted to hurt him.

He moaned again. The sound made him wince, but still he couldn’t rise. How could he seek her out after this? He didn’t deserve her.

The child, the child. What would he have looked like? With a certainty that came too late, he knew he would have been beautiful. His careless, selfish past had robbed him of a future. Devon buried his face in his hands and wept.

Katrina stumbled with weariness. The rocky path seemed to stretch infinitely. Did it matter where it led? She’d as soon walk to the sea and keep going, for a life without Devon was no life at all.

The beauty of their relationship had ended with such ugliness. Katrina was blind to the sun lowering in the sky, or the rocks she stubbed her toes on. She saw only Devon’s ghastly face. Retribution left an evil taste in her mouth. The fact that he’d demanded it didn’t make his agony any less. Or hers, in the telling.

She clutched her stomach again. Shrouded in the dark memories, she didn’t hear him until he was upon her. She looked up and saw a spectral figure, rearing like vengeance against the bloody sky.

She gasped and backed away. Before she had time to run Will dismounted fro
m a the stallion, caught her waist, and threw her in the saddle. She managed one scream before he leaped behind her, covered her mouth with his hand, and galloped off. She fought him, but he was far too strong.

In the distance Billy, who was returning from Ellie’s, heard the scream. He searched the landscape and glimpsed a woman on horseback fighting against a man. She was too far away for him to see her features, but the sunset burnished her hair to molten gold. Her struggles knocked the rider’s hat off, and Billy saw that he, too, was blond.

As the rider gripped Katrina more firmly Billy drew the carriage to a halt and hissed to Robert, whom he’d brought to see the horses, “Run, lad, like the wind. Get Devon and tell him Farrow’s taking Katrina north. I’m going to follow.” As soon as Robert hit the ground running, Billy picked up the whip and lashed the horses. The curricle was light, pulled by two of Devon’s best animals, and Farrow’s horse was burdened by two. Billy prayed it would be enough.

At first Katrina didn’t hear the pursuit over the stallion’s gallops. She was too busy hanging on to struggle, but when the faint sound of clattering carriage wheels caught her ears, she turned her head.

Her hair whipped Will in the face, blinding him, and he slowed. He, too, heard.

Squinting, Katrina discerned a big, shaggy-haired man with indistinguishable features in the gathering gloom. She did, however, recognize the curricle. “Billy!” she screamed. “Help!”

Will crushed her ribs. “Silence. Unless you want your lover’s ass-licker shot.”

Katrina bit her lip. Her voice trembled only silently when she asked, “Will, why are you doing this?”

“Later.” Will sent one last look behind them, then he veered off the trail so fast the stallion stumbled. Will hauled the animal’s head up, and he obediently took them up the indicated hill. Large boulders pocked the earth at frequent intervals, so footing was treacherous.

Billy would never be able to follow them there, Katrina knew. Despairing tears came to her eyes, but then a new sound reached them.

Will paused on the hill to listen. Soon the muffled thumping became the distinct sound of riders pounding up the trail toward the manor. When they appeared around the bend, Katrina rejoiced. It was the magistrate and his men! They were probably going to warn Devon that Will was loose. She drew breath to scream, but Will tightened both arms about her middle and squeezed.

Through the haze gathering before her eyes, she saw Billy meet them and point. The five men turned their heads, then urged their own mounts upward.

“Bloody hell,” Will cursed viciously, releasing Katrina. He shifted his head indecisively. The mine sprawled before them, the various buildings housing the engine, the stamping works, and the coal house looking bleak and deserted. Assorted chimneys pointed like wearily cocked hats toward the evening sky. All was silent because Watt’s engineers worked only during the day.

Will kneed the stallion down the slope. Katrina held on for dear life during the steep descent. The moment they reached level ground, Will jerked on the reins and slithered down. He pulled Katrina off, unlashed his saddlebags, and tossed them over his shoulders, then dragged Katrina after him. He slapped the weary beast on the rump, and it bolted into the gloom.

This time Katrina’s screams were more than a cry for help; she realized where he was taking her. Terror echoed off the rocky tors, but Will doggedly dragged her, struggling, into the bowels of the earth.

Billy, who’d untied one of the carriage horses and brought up the rear of the pursuing men, winced at the sound. Devon had told him once of Katrina’s fear of containment. “Hang on, lass, we’ll come for ye!” he yelled.

Pushing the others aside, he lashed his horse mercilessly down the slope. Riding bareback, he almost fell, but he reached ground in time to see Farrow disappearing down the shaft. Billy vaulted off his animal and ran toward the faint candle- glow.