The Husband Hunt (14 page)

"Well, yes. Actually, you won't have a choice. It's all she talks about, anyway."

From below drifted a delicate blend of aromas. Beeswax and vinegar, the garlands of spring flowers strung in the hallways—hyacinths, sweet peas, freesia, and narcissus looped with strong vines of ivy. In the kitchen, Mrs. Evans and her girls put the finishing touches on tiny French pastries and prepared gallons of thirst-quenching lemonade for the punch bowls.

"You're with family," Olivia said as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "Knight and I won't let anything happen to you."

She nodded, biting her lip. But the instant she walked into the ballroom, she forgot every word of wisdom, every warning that Olivia and Arabella and Aunt Marigold had drummed into her head. She smiled politely throughout the introductions. She couldn't have remembered a single name or face to save her life.

She was aware of only one thing in her misery: Knight standing with a knot of male friends in the corner. Knight, whose head lifted the instant she appeared in the doorway. Knight, strong and safe, dark and dangerous to her heart.

He was so devastatingly handsome in his black evening clothes that she caught her breath. Even in Claudette's artful gown, she felt like a serving girl in the presence of a storybook prince. He gave her a private smile, and she didn't even notice the young men already gathering around her, hoping to catch her interest, surprised that Lionel's young cousin was such a refreshing beauty. All Cat knew was that at the sight of
him,
a heady warmth stole through her veins, temporarily thawing the tension she felt.

But the very moment he turned away, the coldness crept back. She stared blankly at the line of male guests whom Wendell and Olivia were attempting to introduce.

"This is Sir Evan Lucas, dear."

"Sir Evan." Catriona gave the solemn-looking young man a smile, but the instant he took her hand, she felt the awareness start, the knowing, and her secret self came to the surface. "You're in the cavalry, sir?"

He looked surprised, then flattered. "Not yet. My lather just purchased a commission. I guess my mother must have told Wendell. It was to be a secret."

Another man claimed her hand.  And while he quite rudely stared at her breasts, Catriona experienced a vision of him in a church, a pregnant bride gazing up at him adoringly. She saw the newlyweds moving into a dark mansion.

"Congratulations on your impending nuptials," she said coolly.

He lifted his startled gaze from her neckline. "How did you—" He squeezed her fingers. "But the wedding isn't set until the end of the month." He lowered his voice and grinned. "Who knows how I might spend my time between now and then?"

"Perhaps you might clear the cobwebs from the nursery for the child you're expecting," she said tartly, tugging her hand from his possessive grasp.

His mouth opened in amazed consternation. "She promised me, she swore, no one else knew."

And on it went. Like Pandora's box, once the lid had been opened, Catriona found it difficult to stem the flow of visions that sprang into her mind, the impressions and uninvited glimpses into the future. Usually, her foresight served to help people avoid troubles. She had learned early in life that they brought more good than harm to others. But not to her.

Within a half-hour, the puzzled young men had put their fingers on the culprit responsible for spilling their most guarded secrets: it had to be Madame Malraux, Claudette, the crafty little dressmaker. Who else had access to bedroom gossip?

Olivia took Catriona aside for a few moments before the opening set. "Is everything all right, dear?"

Catriona stared at her. She had finally realized that the more emotionally attached she became to a person, the less able she was to see into his or her future. Which was just as well. She would hate to know that something horrible was going to happen to anyone as sweet as Olivia.

"Take my hand, Olivia."

"Are you still nervous, dear? The dance is about—"

"Just take my hand."

Looking faintly alarmed, Olivia did as she was asked. "I can't hold your hand on the dance floor."

Catriona breathed a sigh of relief. "Nothing. I see nothing."

"Are you all right?" Olivia asked again.

"I think so. At least for now."

Olivia glanced around until she spotted Knight and Wendell standing together at the door. At her faint nod, the two men converged on Catriona like royal guards escorting a princess.

Wendell reached her first, claiming the honor of the opening dance, and he stayed with her a second time. He grinned at the cluster of disappointed young admirers who had rushed to her side.

"You're quite the success," he said just before the complicated steps of the dance separated them.

When they were rejoined, she whispered, "The evening isn't over yet. Give me time."

"Why so morose?" He studied her downcast face in concern. "Is it Knight? Has the beast been ignoring you?"

She was too far away to answer.

Wendell glanced around, his gaze amused. Actually, Knight wasn't ignoring Catriona at all. He seemed to be watching her to the point of being rude to his other guests. In fact, before the second dance even ended, he was practically snatching her from Wendell's arm.

"Where are your manners?" Wendell called after him in mock annoyance. "I had only begun to charm her."

Knight grinned rudely over his shoulder as he led her away. "I was rescuing her. She looked bored to tears."

Catriona felt his fingers tighten around hers. If he would hold her hand all night, she wouldn't be afraid—well, at least not of what others might think. With Knight, there were definitely other fears to face.

The dance was a minuet. She couldn't help noticing that the other men present looked slightly silly following the delicate movements. But Knight's muscular body moved with a natural grace that did nothing to diminish the power beneath.

"Are you having a good time?" he said as her head brushed the hard wall of his shoulder.

A shiver of forbidden sweetness rushed through her. "I've never been so miserable in my entire life," she admitted.

"Then no one has stolen your heart yet tonight?"

She looked up into his face, feeling the sensual warmth of his voice wrap itself around her. He was teasing her, but the dark glint in his gaze said something else, and wasn't he holding her a moment longer than was proper? Surely he did not smile at other women like that. Oh, please, let her be the only one.

The dance ended. Neither of them made a move until Wendell forced his way between them.

"I sense trouble brewing between you two again," he said, grabbing Catriona's hand. "Don't either of you dare start any of that nonsense tonight. You promised Olivia you would behave, which reminds me, that's her godmother over there in the corner with Marigold. She wants to meet you, Cat. Come along, and show off your manners."

"Aren't you coming?" she called back to Knight, feeling suddenly cold again.

"No. I'm getting a drink. Let me know if anyone would like a lemonade."

The moment he turned from her, she knew disaster was near. Her toes and ears started to tingle. The figures on the ceiling fresco of King Arthur and his knights seemed to scowl down at her, forbidding and unfriendly. The air grew chill. She pulled her hand from Wendell's.

"I really want Knight to come with me."

He looked at her in amusement. "Knight will be back in a moment. What is the matter with you? You've charmed everyone here like Cleopatra reborn, not a single mistake or misstep to your name. Lady Bennett is the sweetest old woman in the world. You will adore each other."

There was a metallic taste in her mouth. Her toes had gone totally numb. She felt weightless as Wendell led her toward the two elderly women sitting against the wall. She heard him make the introductions, but his voice had a faraway echo that rang in her ears. She even managed a curtsy, but she couldn't draw a breath.

"So lovely," Lady Bennett murmured. "And I do see a resemblance to our dear Lionel in those eyes. How sad he is not here. How tragic."

The two white-haired women sitting before her became a blur; the music of the band faded into the background. As if in a distant mirror, she could see Lady Bennett walking with her cane down a dark corridor, up a flight of marble stairs to her room.

Catriona's heart began to race with sick anticipation. The vision crystallized so that she could see other figures behind the closed door. One was gagged and bound across the bed. The two others wore masks. The tallest man held a knife.

The vision seemed so real. The sash window had been forced open, and a shattered ormolu clock lay in pieces on the floor. One o'clock. The two intruders had been drinking and making crude jokes, waiting for their victim. The door opened. They fell still, and a knife flashed in the dark.

Catriona blinked, aware that the frail old lady had risen with difficulty from her chair. "And now that I have met you," the woman said, "I will go home. At my age, it is never wise to retire after midnight. Visit me soon, young woman. I have a lovely necklace I should like Lionel's cousin to wear."

"Please." Catriona's throat ached as she struggled to make herself understood. Aunt Marigold and Wendell gave her a strange warning look, but she was past caring. She was what she was, a social outcast, a product of illicit love and Celtic magic. "Don't go, Lady Bennett."

"Why, you sweet child. No one has pleaded for my company in years. But that is my footman by the door, and the poor fellow can barely keep his eyes open as it is."

Catriona grasped the woman's hand. "You can't go home tonight, don't you understand? They're waiting to kill you."

The music had stopped, and an expectant hush fell over the ballroom as one by one the guests noticed the small drama unfold. The young men who had rushed to Catriona's side to beg a dance drew back, watching her in amused fascination.

"Are they having an argument?" someone asked in a loud whisper.

Catriona heard nothing but the pounding of blood in her ears. She was oblivious to the scandal she was creating, the stunned attention of her audience.

"Who wants to kill me?" the older woman asked slowly, searching Catriona's anguished face.

"I don't know
who
they are, only that they are evil. They're wearing masks to hide their faces."

"But I don't have any enemies," the woman said in bewilderment.

Catriona shook her head, realizing that nothing she said would convince Lady Bennett of her danger.

"She's suffering a hallucination," a young woman behind them whispered. "The poor Grant girl must be mad."

"No wonder Olivia wants to be rid of her."

Lady Bennett looked around in embarrassment. "I think I should leave now. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would do you some good, my dear."

"I am not mad," Catriona said in a forceful voice. "If you go into that house tonight, you will not see tomorrow."

The elderly woman paled, then motioned to her footman, who stood staring raptly at Catriona for several moments after Lady Bennett had left the room. "Does her window overlook a carriage house?" she asked him softly.

He nodded, rooted to the spot.

"You will find one of her ladyship's servants beaten and hidden under a blanket," she said rapidly. "If help is summoned soon, he will not bleed to death."

He sucked in his breath. "I've felt that someone was watching the house in the past week or so, but no one pays a footman any attention."

"Don't let her go into that house tonight," she begged quietly. "Do anything you can."

"I'll think of some way to stop her, miss. I swear to you."

A pair of strong arms drew her away from the door. "Not even my powers of persuasion will be able to explain this one away," Wendell said in an undertone. "Olivia is waving to you from the terrace. You are going to walk outside, smiling on the way as if none of this ever happened. In fact, I'm not sure
what
just happened, but I know it was not good, and Olivia will be utterly crushed when word of this reaches her."

She stared up at him, tears blurring her eyes. "You don't understand."

"No. I don't. Now, make your escape. Everyone is staring at you, sweetheart. I need to think of some excuse to satisfy their morbid curiosity. That wasn't the kind of spectacle one encounters at every country party."

She bit her lip. "Please, Wendell. Please listen to me—"

"Not now," he said fiercely, glancing around in chagrin. "I am going to let Knight handle this, whatever
it is."

She resisted as he dragged her to the door, but he was stronger, refusing to let her go. The footman was her only hope, and she told herself that she had to trust him. He cared for his mistress and would keep his promise to protect her.

Knight had needed a drink
to keep from ruining Olivia's party. All he could think about during that last dance was how badly he wanted to be alone with Catriona again, how it had been torture to avoid her the past few days. He felt like assaulting every young fool who flirted with her. He hadn't dreamed it would be this painful to watch other men fall under her spell, to witness the idiots he had known most of his life fight for the honor of bringing her a chair. How would he react if one of the young bucks turned
her
head, or touched her? To his chagrin, he felt his body tightening in anger, the mere thought of such an offense heating his blood.

He had managed to keep her in his line of vision until Arabella's husband, Anton, Baron Frampton, interrupted him.

"You're looking well, Knight. Nice of you to invite us." Knight   glanced   around,   his   expression   mildly amused. "I didn't invite you. Olivia did."

Anton's plump face went pale. "You aren't going to kill me, are you?"

Knight's gaze cut across the dance floor. Where had she gone? Ah, there she was with Wendell and Lady Bennett. Safe enough from the young wolves for now. His broad shoulders relaxed.

"I say, you aren't still angry at me, are you?" Anton asked in an anxious voice.

He turned again, arching his brow. Anton looked as if his cravat were choking him to death. "Why should I be angry at you?"

Anton cheeks reddened. "Well, I married Arabella."

"Yes. So I heard. Congratulations."

"Then we're friends?" Anton's voice quavered in relief.

"Absolutely." Knight clapped him on the shoulder. "In fact, I've been meaning to talk to you about investing in a new venture. Clay—"

Some sort of commotion had arisen on the other side of the room. Catriona appeared to be in the center of it, which didn't surprise Knight in the least. But Wendell and Aunt Marigold were at her side, and Lady Bennett looked as if she were leaving in a huff. As long as it didn't involve a man, Knight wasn't particularly concerned. Catriona wouldn't be Catriona if she'd gotten through the entire evening without causing a minor uproar.

Anton tapped him on the elbow. "How much do you need?"

Knight glanced down briefly. "For what?"

"The business venture. Count me in."

"Good. What do you say we discuss it tomorrow?"

He didn't hear Anton's reply. He was too distracted by the sight of Catriona running across the dance floor, the suddenly silent assembly parting to let her through. Well, now. He stepped forward, wondering what had sparked this behavior. Where did she think she was going in such a hurry? Why had she torn her dance card from her wrist and thrown it on the floor?

He pushed Anton out of the way only to find Arabella blocking his path. "What happened?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't know. I'm going after Catriona to find out."

Arabella frowned, lifting her hand to adjust the plumes in her headdress. "I meant between you and Anton. Have you set a date for the duel?"

Anton gave an overloud laugh. "That's all in the past now, Bella. Knight and I are going into business together, aren't we?"

Knight didn't answer; he'd noticed that the French doors to the terrace were open and that Catriona had disappeared.

"Where did she go?" he demanded, not caring that several guests turned to stare.

Arabella sighed. "She's out on the terrace with Olivia."

"She's with Olivia?" He stopped in his tracks, telling himself he had read too much into her escape. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. With Olivia and some late arrival she was expecting. My goodness, Knight, Catriona will never survive a single night with you hovering over her like a thundercloud."

"Who is this late arrival?" he asked. He sensed that there was more to it than that, an undercurrent of conspiracy he did not like.

Arabella shrugged. "Some old friend, that's all I know. Olivia was very secretive about it. Oh, look, here's Wendell coming now. Perhaps he can enlighten us."

*                         *                             *

It was over. Catriona released her breath as she reached the doors to the terrace. She stood for a moment in the evening air, allowing it to soothe her, and she felt relief wash over her in waves as she recognized Olivia outside talking to a stranger. Olivia turned, giving her a warm smile of recognition, which meant she had absolutely no idea of what had just happened in the ballroom. There would be rejection for Catriona when Olivia found out, of course. Rejection and hours of lonely humiliation.

But for now, Catriona took refuge in the woman's acceptance, and without a thought for the tall man with a rugged profile who stood beside Olivia, she rushed down the terrace steps to join her.

"Oh, good, Howard gave you my message," Olivia said, clasping Catriona's hand. "There is someone here who is dying to meet you."

"What message?" Catriona asked; she was praying that she would be allowed a few moments of peace before someone told Olivia what had just occurred at her perfectly orchestrated ball.

"Never mind," Olivia said. "Sir Alistair, this is Catriona, Lionel's cousin. Catriona, I want you to meet a neighbor and a fellow Scotsman, Sir Alistair Stone. Alistair lost his wife the same year Lionel died, and, understandably, he is a most difficult man to bring out of his house. Like you, Catriona, he shuns most social events and prefers the solitude of his garden."

"Oh," Catriona said, suddenly feeling faint, as if the evening's disaster had just begun to take its toll. "How… pleasant for him."

Olivia frowned as Catriona stepped into the lantern light, her face drained of color. "You look positively exhausted," she exclaimed. "You must have danced a hole in your slippers."

"Exhausted
is not perhaps the word," Sir Alistair said pensively. "She looks more like a deer that has been cornered by a pack of hounds. I know I always feel so at these parties."

Catriona looked up as if noticing him for the first time, surprised to discover he was a handsome man, older then she'd thought, with dark, perceptive eyes and glints of silver at his temples.

"Sir Alistair is from Dundee, Cat," Olivia said quickly, as if afraid that her protégée would commit some atrocious social blunder if given half a chance. "Perhaps it's near your brother's castle."

"No," she answered succinctly, glancing over her shoulder into the ballroom. "Not anywhere near."

"Is something wrong, my dear?" he asked kindly.

Olivia's smile was strained, concealing her sudden anxiety. She would murder Knight with her bare hands if he'd misbehaved again. "She's just a little overwhelmed—"

"I ruined everything," Catriona said, no longer able to keep the humiliation inside her. "Your godmother hates me and probably will never set foot in this house again." She covered her face with her hands, her voice unsteady. "In fact, if my vision was right, she won't set foot anywhere ever again."

"Vision?" Olivia turned white, hoping against hope that Sir Alistair had not caught the word.

Unfortunately, he had. His manners might not be the most refined, but his powers of observation were acute. "You have the Sight, do you?" he asked, sounding intrigued.

Catriona lowered her hands to stare at him. Who was this stranger, anyway, who reminded her of how homesick she was? "I should never have left Scotland," she said in misery. "I'm sorry you went to all this trouble, Olivia. You were right when you said I was hopeless. Everyone is talking about me, and your godmother—" She stopped, shivering as she remembered the vision which was slowly beginning to recede like a dream.

"Is the woman truly in danger?" Sir Alistair asked. He didn't mock her at all but seemed genuinely to accept what she had said.

She nodded. "She didn't believe me. I think her footman might have but she did not."

He glanced at Olivia. "Perhaps I ought to take a ride over to Lady Bennett's estate later on, just to be sure. It's a half-mile from my home."

Olivia hesitated. This was certainly not a complication she had foreseen. "No. I want you to enjoy yourself, Alistair. I'll have Howard and Smythe go. I'm afraid I have come to learn that Catriona's visions must be heeded."

"They'll have to hurry to be of help," Catriona said, her eyes distressed.

"I'll go this instant," Olivia said.

Sir Alistair smiled at Catriona. "Do you want me to take you back into the ballroom? The sight of me is usually enough to keep most people at bay, gossips included."

She hesitated. She realized he was a veritable giant of a man, capable of keeping his word. And good-looking enough, except that his fatherly manner reminded her of Thomas, adding to her sense of homesickness, but it was Knight she wished for. "I'm never facing them again."

"Yes, you are," Olivia said firmly. "You will sit through dinner with a smile on your face even if it kills you. Alistair, walk her around the garden while I run inside. I trust you will keep her out of trouble until I've sent Howard and Smythe on their way."

"Tell them to hurry," Catriona called after her.

Knight had been on his way to the terrace when Aunt Marigold intercepted him. A few other guests had wandered outside, but he couldn't see a sign of Cat or his sister. Curbing his impatience, he lent the older woman his arm for support, but his attention was not on their conversation.

"Take me to the terrace for some air, Knight. No. Fetch me a drink. After that scene, my nerves need fortification. I shan't sleep all night now, not knowing whether Frances is murdered in her bed. I imagine Catriona's gone into hiding—an awful way to launch oneself, and Frances is such a dreadful gossip. Not that she'll do much talking if she's dead. I'd have listened to young Cat if it were me. The Scots have uncanny foresight."

Knight looked down into her worried face. He couldn't make a word of sense of what she'd said. "Why would Cat go into hiding?"

"She'll have to get herself under control before she has a proper come-out. But maybe Olivia's right. Maybe that time will never arrive."

"Aunt Marigold, answer me. Why would she have to hide?"

"To escape the scandal broth, you jackanapes. Where have
you
been all the evening?"

He gritted his teeth. "I thought she was supposed to be on the terrace with Olivia."

"The terrace?" Her face brightened. "Of course. I forgot in all the commotion about Olivia's little secret."

"What little secret?"

"Are you shouting at me, young man?"

He swallowed a curse. "What secret, Aunt Marigold?"

"The man. The Scotsman Olivia is hoping will toss the handkerchief. It's true he isn't a peer, but he has pots of money." She retreated a step. "Knight, are you all right? You've gone quite queer in the face."

"I am going to hang you up on the chandelier if you don't give me a straight answer. Marigold. There isn't a Scotsman in sight. Who are you talking about?"

She compressed her lips. "Not until you apologize."

"Hell's bells!" he roared. "I apologize."

"Everyone is looking at us now," she said in a haughty voice. "As if there hasn't been enough trouble stirred for the evening."

He glanced around the dance floor, frowning back at the guests who stared at them. "Lady Ellis, I apologize from the bottom of my heart for threatening to hang you from the chandelier."

"And for raising your voice."

"Yes. Yes. For that, too." He grabbed her hand and propelled her toward the doors to the terrace. "Now, who is this mysterious suitor? There isn't a Scotsman in this room."

"Not those twiddlepoops, Knight. And you are right.
Mysterious
is the word for him, now that I think of it. What does he do all day in that house? Count his money? Talk to his dead wife's shade? There's never a light in the window when one passes by. Not a soul stirring behind the gates, and the brambles have grown neck-high…"

Then, suddenly, he knew who she meant. He'd forgotten the man even existed, but she could only be talking about Sir Alistair Stone. Made a fortune in woolen imports. Lost his wife the same year Lionel died, and no one had seen him socially since. Knight had passed him once or twice on the moor road to Arabella's home and suspected he kept a mistress in the village on the sly to satisfy his sexual needs. They had spoken only once when they had met by chance at a bank. Alistair had asked about investing in the pottery works, and Knight had invited him to the house for a business meeting.

Sir Alistair had never come, until tonight. The man lived like a virtual hermit, and Olivia must have painted a very seductive picture of Catriona to lure him out of his seclusion.

"Where are you going now?" Aunt Marigold asked in consternation as he pushed around her.

"Onto the terrace. It appears that my party has moved outside, and I wasn't invited."

She caught his sleeve. "Not yet," she whispered. "Olivia's scheme was to give the two of them a few moments alone together. Let us hope Sir Alistair is too charmed by Catriona to care—"

He wrenched his arm free.

"Don't you understand what I am saying, Knight? If you go out there right now, you might interrupt a tender moment."

"I understand all too well," he said, the look on his face so ferocious that she could only put her hand against the wall, trembling with the realization that the scandal in the ballroom was nothing compared with what was about to ensue outside.