by Lisa Kleypas
Catherine took a shivering breath. “Release me at once, or I’ll—”
“What are you doing here, dressed in a spinster’s garb?”
She looked away from him, battling tears. “I am employed by the Hathaway family. By Lord Ramsay.”
“That I can believe. Tell me what services you provide for Ramsay.”
“Let go of me.” Her voice was low and strained.
“Not on your life.” Latimer drew her stiff body closer, his wine-soured breath wafting in her face. “Revenge,” he said softly, “is the act of a despicable and petty character. Which is no doubt why I’ve always enjoyed it so much.”
“What do you want revenge for?” Catherine asked, despising him to the bottom of her soul. “You lost nothing because of me. Except perhaps the merest fragment of pride, which you could easily afford.”
Latimer smiled. “There’s where you’re mistaken. Pride is all I have. I’m quite sensitive about it, really. And I won’t be satisfied until it’s returned with interest. Eight years of compounded pride is a tidy sum, wouldn’t you say?”
Catherine stared at him coldly. The last time she had seen him, she had been a fifteen-year-old girl with no resources, and no one to protect her. But Latimer had no idea that Harry Rutledge was her brother. Nor did it seem to have occurred to him that there might be other men who would dare to stand between him and what he wanted. “You disgusting lecher,” she said. “I suppose the only way you can have a woman is to purchase one. Except that I’m not for sale.”
“You were once, weren’t you?” Latimer asked idly. “You were a costly piece, and I was assured that you were worth it. Obviously you’re no virgin, being in service to Ramsay, but I’d still like a sample of what I paid for.”
“I owe you nothing! Leave me alone.”
Latimer stunned her by smiling, his face softening. “Come now, you do me a disservice. I’m not such a bad fellow. I can be generous. What does Ramsay pay you? I’ll triple it. It would be no hardship, sharing my bed. I know a thing or two about pleasing a woman.”
“I’m sure you know a great deal about pleasing yourself,” she said, twisting in his grasp. “Let go.”
“Don’t struggle, you’ll make me hurt you.”
They were both so involved in their conflict that neither of them noticed the approach of a third party.
“Latimer.” It was Leo’s voice, severing the air like the quiet arc of a steel blade. “If anyone were going to molest my servants, Latimer, it would be me. And I certainly wouldn’t require your assistance.”
To Catherine’s measureless relief, the brutal grip loosened and fell away. She backed up so hastily that she nearly stumbled. But Leo came to her swiftly, using a hand on her shoulder to arrest her momentum. The lightness of his grip, of a man mindful of fragility, was in stark contrast to Latimer’s.
She had never seen Leo wear such an expression, a murderous glitter in his eyes. He wasn’t at all the same man who had danced with her just minutes before.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Catherine nodded, staring up at him in dazed misery. How closely acquainted was he with Lord Latimer? Dear God, was it possible they were friends? And if so … given the chance, might Leo have done the same thing to her that Latimer once had, all those years ago?
“Leave us,” Leo murmured, removing his hand from her shoulder.
Glancing at Latimer, Catherine shivered in revulsion and fled from the pair, as her life came crashing down around her.
Leo stared after Catherine, resisting the urge to follow her. He would go to her later, and try to soothe or repair what damage had been done. And it was considerable damage—he had seen it in her eyes.
Turning to Latimer, Leo was powerfully tempted to slaughter the bastard where he stood. Instead he made his face implacable. “I had no idea you’d been invited,” he said, “or I would have advised the housemaids to go into hiding. Really, Latimer, must you force yourself on unwilling females with all the available ones to be had?”
“How long have you had her?”
“If you’re referring to Miss Marks’s period of employ, she’s been with the family not quite three years.”
“There’s no need to maintain the pretense that she’s a servant,” Latimer said. “Clever lad, installing your mistress in the family household for your own convenience. I want a go at her. Just for one night.”
Leo found it increasingly difficult to restrain his temper. “What in God’s name gave you the idea that she’s my mistress?”
“She’s the girl, Ramsay. The one I told you about! Don’t you remember?”
“No,” Leo said curtly.
“We were in our cups at the time,” Latimer conceded. “But I thought you were paying attention.”
“At your sober best, Latimer, you’re irrelevant and annoying. Why would I have paid attention to anything you said when you were drunk? And what the devil do you mean, ‘she’s the girl’?”
“I purchased her from my old madam. I won her in a private auction of sorts. She was the most charming thing I’d ever seen, no more than fifteen, with those golden curls, and such remarkable eyes. The madam assured me the girl was absolutely untouched, and yet she had been told all the ways to pleasure a man. I paid a fortune to have the girl at my service for the period of a year, with an option to continue the arrangement if I desired.”
“How convenient,” Leo said, his eyes narrowed. “I suppose you never bothered to ask the girl if she desired the arrangement?”
“Irrelevant. The agreement was all to her benefit. It was her fortune to be born a beauty, and she would learn how to profit from it. Besides, they’re all prostitutes, aren’t they? It’s only a question of circumstance and price.” Latimer paused, smiling quizzically. “She told you none of this?”
Leo ignored the question. “What happened?”
“On the day Catherine was delivered to my house, before I’d sampled the goods, a man forced his way in and took her. Literally abducted her. One of my footmen tried to stop him and took a bullet in the leg for his pains. By the time I realized what was happening, the man had already taken Catherine past the front threshold. I can only assume that he had lost the private auction and decided to take what he wanted by force. Catherine disappeared after that. I’ve wanted her for eight years.” Latimer gave a low laugh. “And now she’s turned up in your possession. I don’t know that I’m surprised, really. You’ve always been a devious bastard. How did you manage to acquire her?”
Leo was momentarily silent. His chest was filled with searing anguish for Catherine’s sake. Fifteen. Betrayed by those who should have protected her. Sold to a man without morals or mercy. The thought of what Latimer would have done to Catherine made Leo ill. Latimer’s depravities wouldn’t have stopped at mere physical violation—he would have destroyed her soul. No wonder Catherine found it impossible to trust anyone. It was the only rational response to impossible circumstances.
Leveling a cold stare at Latimer, Leo reflected that if he were just a bit less civilized, he would have killed the bastard on the spot. However, he would have to settle for keeping him away from Catherine, and doing whatever was necessary to keep her safe.
“She is owned by no one,” Leo said with care.
“Good. Then I’ll—”
“She is under my protection, however.”
Latimer arched a brow, amused. “What am I to infer from that?”
Leo was deadly serious. “That you are to go nowhere near her. That she’ll never have to endure the sound of your voice or the insult of your presence ever again.”
“I’m afraid I can’t oblige you.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to.”
A coarse laugh erupted. “Surely you’re not threatening me.”
Leo smiled coldly. “Much as I always tried to ignore your inebriated ravings, Latimer, a few things did stick in my memory. Some of your confessions of misconduct would make more than a few people unhappy. I know e
nough of your secrets to land you in Marshalsea prison without so much as a chum ticket. And if that’s not enough, I would be more than willing to resort to bashing your skull in with a blunt object. In fact, I’m becoming quite enthused about the idea.” Seeing the astonishment in the other man’s eyes, Leo smiled without humor. “I see you grasp my sincerity. That’s good. It might save us both some inconvenience.” He paused to give his next statement greater impact. “And now I’m going to instruct my servants to escort you off my estate. You’re not welcome.”
The older man’s face went livid. “You’ll regret having made an enemy of me, Ramsay.”
“Not nearly as much as I’ve regretted having once made a friend of you.”
“What happened to Catherine?” Amelia asked Leo when he returned to the drawing room. “Why did she leave so suddenly?”
“Lord Latimer accosted her,” he said shortly.
Amelia shook her head in bewildered outrage. “That repulsive goat—why would he dare?”
“Because that’s what he does. He’s an affront to polite company and every standard of moral decency. A better question would be why the devil we invited him.”
“We didn’t invite him, we invited his parents. Obviously he came in their stead.” She threw him an accusing glance. “And he’s an old acquaintance of yours.”
“From now on, let’s assume that every old acquaintance of mine is either a lecher or a criminal and should be kept far away from the estate and the family.”
“Did Lord Latimer harm Catherine?” Amelia asked anxiously.
“Not physically. But I want someone to see to her. I expect she’s in her room. Will you go to her, or send Win?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Don’t ask questions. Just make certain she’s all right.”
A half hour later, Win came to Leo with the information that Catherine had declined to say anything other than she wished to retire undisturbed.
It was probably for the best, Leo thought. Although he wanted to go up to her and offer comfort, he would let her sleep.
On the morrow, they would sort everything out.
Leo awakened at the hour of nine and went to Catherine’s door. It was still closed, and there was no sound from within. It took all his self-control to keep from opening the door and waking her. However, she needed to rest … especially in light of what he intended to discuss with her later.
It seemed to Leo as he went downstairs that the entire household, including servants, was practically sleepwalking. The ball hadn’t ended until four in the morning, and even then some of the guests had been reluctant to leave. Sitting in the breakfast room, Leo drank a mug of strong tea and watched as Amelia, Win, and Merripen came in. Cam, always a late riser, was still absent.
“What happened to Catherine last night?” Amelia asked quietly. “And what of Lord Latimer’s precipitate departure? More than a few tongues were wagging.”
Leo had considered whether or not to discuss Catherine’s secrets with the rest of the family. They would have to be told something. And although he would not go into detail, he felt it would be easier for Catherine if someone else gave the explanation. “As it turns out,” he said carefully, “when Cat was a girl of fifteen, her so-called family made an arrangement with Latimer.”
“What kind of arrangement?” Amelia asked. Her eyes widened as Leo sent her a speaking glance. “Dear Lord.”
“Thankfully Rutledge intervened before she was forced to—” Leo broke off, surprised by the note of fury in his own voice. He struggled to moderate it before continuing. “I needn’t elaborate. However, it’s obviously not a part of Cat’s past that she’s fond of dwelling on. She’s been in hiding for the past eight years. Latimer recognized her last evening, and upset her badly. I’m sure she’ll awaken this morning with some notion of leaving Hampshire.”
Merripen’s features were stern, but his dark eyes were warm with compassion. “There’s no need for her to go anywhere. She’s safe with us.”
Leo nodded, rubbing the edge of the teacup with the pad of his thumb. “I’ll make that clear when I talk with her.”
“Leo,” Amelia said carefully, “are you certain that you’re the best one to manage this? With your history of quarreling…”
He gave her a hard look. “I’m certain.”
“Amelia?” A hesitant voice came from the doorway.
It was Beatrix, wearing a ruffled blue dressing gown, her dark hair trailing in wild locks. Worry had creased her forehead.
“Good morning, dear,” Amelia said warmly. “There’s no need to rise early, if you don’t wish to.”
Beatrix replied in a tumble of words. “I wanted to see how the injured owl I’m keeping in the barn is faring. And I was also looking for Dodger, because I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. So I opened Miss Marks’s door just a sliver, to see if he was in there. You know how he likes to sleep in her slipper box—”
“But he wasn’t there?” Amelia asked.
Beatrix shook her head. “And neither was Miss Marks. Her bed is made, and her carpetbag is gone. And I found this on the dressing table.”
She handed a piece of folded paper to Amelia, who opened it and scanned the written lines.
“What does it say?” Leo asked, already on his feet.
Amelia handed it to him without a word.
Please forgive me for leaving without saying good-bye. There is no other choice. I can never express the gratitude I feel for your generosity and kindness. Hopefully you will not think it presumptuous of me to say that although you are not my family in truth, you are the family of my heart.
I will miss all of you.
Ever your
Catherine Marks
“Good God,” Leo growled, tossing the folded paper to the table, “the drama in this household is more than a man can tolerate. I would have assumed that we could have had a reasonable discussion in the comfort of Ramsay House, but instead she flees in the dark of night and leaves a letter filled with sentimental twaddle.”
“It’s not twaddle,” Amelia said defensively.
Win’s eyes filled with compassionate tears as she read the note. “Kev, we must find her.”
Merripen slid a hand over hers.
“She’s gone to London,” Leo muttered. To his knowledge, Harry Rutledge was the only person Cat could turn to. Although Harry and Poppy had been invited to the ball, hotel business had kept them in London.
Anger, urgency, exploded inside Leo from nowhere. He tried not to show it, but the discovery that Cat had left … left him … had filled him with a possessive fury unlike anything he had ever felt before.
“The mail coach usually leaves Stony Cross at five-thirty,” Merripen said. “Which means you have a fair chance of overtaking her before she reaches Guildford. I’ll go with you, if you like.”
“So will I,” Win said.
“We should all go,” Amelia declared.
“No,” Leo said grimly. “I’m going alone. When I catch up with Marks, you won’t want to be there.”
“Leo,” Amelia asked suspiciously, “what are you planning to do to her?”
“Why do you always insist on asking questions when you know you won’t like the answers?”
“Because, being an optimist,” she said tartly, “I always hope I’m wrong.”
Chapter Seventeen
The coach schedule was limited, now that the mails were most often loaded onto locomotive trains. Catherine had been fortunate to obtain a seat inside a coach bound for London.
She didn’t feel all that fortunate, however.
She was miserable and chilled, even in the stuffy interior of the coach. The vehicle was filled with passengers outside and in, with parcels and luggage tied precariously up top. The whole thing felt dangerously top-heavy as it rumbled over rough patches of road. Ten miles per hour, one of the gentleman passengers had estimated, admiring the strength and endurance of the team of massive drays.
Morosely Cathe
rine stared out the window as the meadows of Hampshire rolled into the heavy woodland and bustling market towns of Surrey.
There was only one other woman inside the coach, a plump and well-dressed matron who was traveling with her husband. She dozed in the opposite corner from Catherine’s, emitting delicate snores. Whenever the coach jolted, it caused the objects on her hat to rattle and quiver. And quite a hat it was, adorned with clusters of artificial cherries, a plume, and a small stuffed bird.
At midday the coach stopped at an inn where a new team would be put to, in preparation for the next stretch of road. Groaning in relief at the prospect of a brief respite, the passengers poured out of the vehicle and into the tavern.
Catherine carried her tapestry carpetbag, afraid to leave it in the coach. The bag was a weighty affair containing a nightgown, undergarments and stockings, an assortment of combs and pins and a hairbrush, a shawl, and a voluminous novel with a mischievous inscription from Beatrix … “This story is guaranteed to entertain Miss Marks without improving her in the least! With love from the incorrigible B.H.”
The inn appeared moderately well appointed but hardly luxurious, the kind of place that stablemen and workingmen frequented. Catherine glanced disconsolately at a wooden yard wall covered with posting bills, and turned to watch a pair of ostlers change the team.
She nearly dropped the carpetbag at the side of the carriage yard as she felt a rustle of independent movement within. Not as if something had shifted around … it was more like … something was alive in there.
Her heartbeat became rapid and disorganized, like the bobbing of small potatoes in boiling water. “Oh no,” she whispered. Turning to face the wall, trying desperately to keep the bag out of view, she unlooped the fastener and opened the bag a mere two inches.
A sleek little head popped out. Catherine was aghast to behold a familiar pair of bright eyes and a set of twitching whiskers.
