Suzanne Robinson (15 page)

“Don’t talk about my mother like—”

“Hush, child. You feel the same way about simpering. I’ve seen it in your face every time Sophia flourishes her smelling salts. It’s best to be honest.”

“Still …” Kate said.

“She’s your mother. Let’s not touch upon the subject again. I shall take you up. We didn’t go to London for the season because of Alexis’s and Val’s injuries, but I can put together a few small parties. Much better for you anyway. I can invite young men of character.”

After describing a few of Kate’s potential suitors, Juliana
shooed her out of the room. “Run along, my dear. I have plans to make.”

Kate found herself gently shoved over the threshold. She turned around to object, and the door shut in her face. She heard a cat whine and the marmoset squeak. Swallowing, Kate lost her nerve and hurried on her way. As short as her acquaintance with Lady Juliana was, she knew that arguing with the woman would be useless. Once she made up her mind, Juliana was apparently as stubborn about changing it as Queen Victoria herself.

“Take me up,” she said to herself. “That’s all I need, being taken up and shown off to a bunch of leering snobs. What in …”

Someone was banging at a wall or a door. The noise was faint and accompanied by a muffled shout. Kate followed the sound. The castle had bedrooms on several levels. She located the source of the racket on the second floor, in the wing used by the marquess and his family. As she walked down the hall, the banging got louder. She found the door behind which it emanated and stood before it.

“Alexis!” a man shouted. “Alexis, you bloody bastard, let me out.”

“Mr. Beaufort?” Kate said.

Val called to her. “Please, let me out.”

Kate examined the lock on the door. It was empty. She backed up and surveyed the floor. Nearby lay a brass key. She picked it up and unlocked the door, which sprang open and slammed against the wall. Val stood before her balancing on his cane. He was flushed, his chest heaving. He glared at her as he snapped out a thank-you.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“You mean the earl? He’s being shown his rooms. Now don’t go trying to find him. You know you’re too weak to do anything.” Kate took Val’s arm and started pulling him down the hall. “Mr. Beaufort, you’re going to have to control
this hair-trigger temper of yours. Back in San Francisco we have a lot of thugs, the Sydney Ducks, waterfront riffraff and such, that need cleaning out. You think the earl is your Sydney Duck and you’re itching to string him up the way our vigilantes do the Ducks. The trouble is, vigilantes aren’t judges, and neither are you.”

“Yes I am.”

She yanked on his arm. “Don’t argue with a Lady. And don’t you go telling me I don’t behave like a Lady. I’ve heard enough of that from Lord Alexis.”

Val smiled. “Don’t pay attention to him. Alexis is always looking for the Perfect Lady. When he finds this paragon, he’s going to marry her. She’s supposed to lend respectability to his tarnished name, you see.”

“Tarnished? I didn’t know he was tarnished. So far I haven’t seen anybody making a sign against the evil eye at him.”

“And you won’t. One doesn’t offend rich, blue-blooded noblemen who happen to be related to the Queen. One simply takes care that one’s eligible daughters are warned away from him. Unfortunately, warning away daughters makes them want to throw themselves at the feet of the aforementioned nobleman.”

“I’m confused.”

“And I, Miss Grey, have said enough to get me put to the lash if Alexis finds out.”

“Then why did you say anything?”

“Revenge, Miss Grey. Nasty, sneaking, soul-satisfying revenge. Have you ever read
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
? I have the feeling you are going to turn Alexis from a dignified Theseus into a bewitched and confused Lysander.”

She stopped, for they had reached the stairs that led to her own rooms.

“You’ve made a mistake,” she said. “His high and mightiness has already transformed himself. Only he
didn’t change into Lysander. He changed into Bottom. And if you remember, Bottom spent a lot of time as an ass.”

Afternoon was fading when Alexis went in search of Kate again. He’d spent the intervening time trying not to think about her. He’d never tried not to think about a woman before. Never had to. It didn’t work, and so he’d made the mistake of allowing himself to remember that she’d smiled upon that colossal sausage-wit Cardigan.

As soon as he did, he felt as if ants were swimming in his blood. He wanted a fight, and not just any fight, but a fight with Katherine Ann. Katie Ann. Mouthy, presumptuous, succulent Katie Ann. He found her in the kitchen garden stabbing at weeds with a trowel.

“Why are you digging in the dirt, Miss Grey?”

The blade hit a rock. Dirt flew in Kate’s face and she swore.

“Hellfire. Do you have to sneak up on people and shout at them?”

Alexis studied one of his immaculate white cuffs before letting his gaze shift to the dirt on Kate’s small nose. He grinned when she sputtered, discarded the trowel, and began wiping her face with the apron she wore to protect her dress.

“I asked why you are playing in my cook’s garden.”

“I used to take care of our garden at home. I miss it.”

“Are you finished?” He held out his hand without giving her a chance to say no.

Taking Alexis’s hand, she rose. “I guess I am.” She placed her hands on the small of her back and leaned backward, groaning. “Oh, my. I haven’t gardened in a while. What are you laughing at?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lady pull her arms back and stick out her chest before. Not in my whole life.” He
laughed again at the confused look on her face and glanced pointedly at her breasts. “Your posture, Katie Ann. Gentility and maidenliness seem to be lacking across the Atlantic.”

She scooped up the trowel and poked him with it. “I don’t need you to tell me what maidens should or shouldn’t do or talk about, Alexis de Granville. And stop grinning at me. And don’t call me Katie Ann. My father is the only one who called me that.”

“He must have been a brave man.” He captured the hand that held the trowel. “A brave man to raise such a lightning storm of a daughter as you, Katie Ann.”

He let her snatch her hand away. She rounded on him, and he watched her ire grow. She was mad enough to spit bullets. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with unladylike wrath. And he felt more alive than he had in years. Alexis couldn’t help laughing again.

“You ass,” she said.

“Please.” He held up both hands in mock protest. “My sensibilities, Katie Ann. I shiver to think what body part you’ll mention next.”

“You can take all your body parts and go to hell,” she said. She turned her back on him and marched across the garden to the kitchen door.

“Come back, Lady Hellfire,” he called after her. “You’ve yet to speak of the most interesting body parts.”

Several days passed after her conversation with Lady Juliana, during which Kate felt as though she were a condemned prisoner waiting for the hangman to come to town. Even Ophelia’s funeral, held on a disturbingly sunny day, did not deter Juliana from her plans for a house party. Kate was to be her guest of honor. It was hard for Kate to carry on with business when she knew that soon she’d be surrounded by polished young men and women who were
bound to think she had the grace and deportment of a gopher.

Sophia was transported with rapture. Although she had been deeply saddened by Ophelia’s death, especially since she’d just gotten to know the younger woman, being in England among her own people gave her the strength to rally more quickly from this latest sorrow. She also had the comfort of calls on childhood friends with whom she’d been renewing friendships. Sophia drew great solace from their company.

Kate didn’t. Spending time with Mama’s friends only made her more jittery. Kate was scared. She didn’t know a thing about house parties, and one loomed, as terrifying as King Lear’s storm, on the horizon. What frightened her the most was talking. She had never learned frivolous conversation. Banter was more mysterious to her than the workings of a steamship. Other girls could bat their eyes at a man and mew asinine flatteries. When Kate tried it, she felt so ridiculous her face turned red and her mouth wouldn’t move.

Gentlemen didn’t want to talk about the things she thought were interesting. They didn’t want to talk about panning for gold or imports from Hawaii and China. They certainly didn’t care about the works of Hawthorne or Longfellow. When she tried to discuss the troubles in Kansas over slavery and the problems of slave states and free states, she got blank looks—except from the Marquess of Richfield.

He would talk with her about all of these things. He wasn’t bored by such topics. No indeed. He seemed to delight in bringing up the very subjects dear to her so he could take the other side of an argument and try to make a fool of her. The snake.

And he kept doing it. Kate would go out of her way to avoid him so she wouldn’t have to argue, especially after that scene in the kitchen garden. She spent hours closeted
with Mr. Poggs, yet when she came out of a meeting, there Alexis would be, walking past her door, or out on the courtyard playing with his dog. She took a book to a secluded corner of the castle grounds; he came strolling by on a supposed inspection of his trees and plants. The man was a nuisance.

He didn’t play fair, either. He provoked an argument and then accused her of unladylike quarreling when she defended herself. After four days of this treatment, Kate was ready to send to California for a posse and a rope.

It was on the fourth day that she gave up all hope of understanding Alexis de Granville. She’d taken great care in selecting a hiding place in which to read. He’d found her when she’d gone to the Red Drawing Room, the Cedar Drawing Room, and the armory. This time she took refuge in the Clocktower.

The tower was a fourteenth-century construction with over fifty rooms. It stood just inside the massive barbican, the outer fortified gate house in front of the drawbridge. She selected a deserted chamber stuffed with medieval furniture and sporting a fireplace big enough for a man to stand in. What attracted her was the tall, diamond-paned window that let in the morning sunlight. The brightness streamed in and reflected off the whitewashed stone of the tower walls.

She dragged a heavy walnut chair over to the open window, then curled up in it and opened the book she’d brought with her. Her view was of the turquoise sky and a single, thin wisp of a cloud that hung like a bride’s veil spread by the wind. What sounds there were came from the stirring of the pages of her book when a breeze caught them. She gradually sank into a world of bright light and beautiful words.

“Aaarrrroooof.”

Kate jumped. Her knee hit the arm of her chair, and she yelped. There was a scuffling of paws, then the door to
the chamber slid open under the weight of Iago’s shoulder. The spaniel bounded forth. He sprang and landed with his front paws on Kate’s thighs and barked again.

“Iago!” she heard Alexis call, his voice sounding too innocent.

“Damn,” she said, and shoved Iago off her lap. “Go away, doggie.”

Iago burrowed his head in her skirt. She got up and began pulling the dog by his collar.

“Come on, Iago. If you don’t get out, he’ll find me.”

She was pushing on the beast from behind when the marquess stepped into the room.

“There you are, old fellow,” he said. “Kate, this is a surprise.”

“I don’t see how. He’s hunted me down three times now.”

“I know. Odd, isn’t it? We set out on a walk, and he comes to fetch you right away.”

Iago barked, patted his paw at Alexis, and bounded out of the room.

“Now where’s he going?” Kate asked. She tried not to sound annoyed.

The marquess threw up his hands in mock disgust. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think he consorts with pixies so he can disappear and appear at will. What are you reading?”

Before she could stop him, he snatched the book from the chair where she’d left it.

“
Le Morte d’Arthur
,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d read such romantic stuff. Knights and damsels and chivalry. Do you like romance, Miss Grey?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Shall I read to you?”

Again he didn’t wait. He started reading while leading her back to her chair. Kate frowned at him as he sank down at her feet. He was so close he almost touched her knees. She’d never had a man read to her. She was so
surprised that he would want to, she let him. At first she was uncomfortable, but the sound of his voice lured her into forgetfulness. It was a low, soft voice infused with feeling and vibrancy, and it set her insides tingling in the strangest way.

The tingling made her forget the words. She listened to the sound of his voice alone. When he rested his arm on the seat of her chair, she moved so that he would have more room.

He glanced up at her and smiled. Without looking at the book, he recited. “Then Sir Mordred sought on Queen Guinevere by letters and sounds, and by fair means and foul means, for to have her to come out of the Tower of London; but all this availed not, for she answered him shortly, openly and privily, that she had liefer slay herself than to be married with him.”

Kate looked down at him. Inside she felt a small shiver of excitement. His voice wove a spell. It shot out magical tendrils that combined with the cool, bright air, the smell of old wood, and the warmth of his body, suffusing her in charm. She paused, balancing on an enchanted strand of faerie web between his spell and her own caution. He was looking up at her still, but his eyes changed. They became liquid metal. She started when he put his hand on hers and lifted it to his lips.

“If I were Malory,” he said, “I would have Guinevere have firelight hair and skin like the glaze on ancient porcelain. She would have earth-brown eyes and little hands that disappeared when I covered them with one of my own.”

His hand slid over hers. She looked to remark that it did vanish, and when she did, he was there. His mouth came up to meet hers, and she opened her own as if it were the only thing to do.

It couldn’t be helped. She wanted to kiss him, so she did. Hesitantly she put her hands on his chest. As if it were
an invitation, he wrapped her in his embrace and plunged deeper into her mouth. She felt a hand sweep down her arm and then up her rib cage to rest on the side of her breast. That simple touch called forth an ache in her body that made her press against him.