And not that it mattered.
15 - A Contract
Daniel tapped his fingers against his desk with a bit more force than necessary. The many late nights he’d been keeping wore on him, and he was relieved there’d soon be an end to it all.
Lord Larchmont’s suggestion made that possible.
Of course, the transaction he proposed included marrying Lady Lydia, but perhaps that would be for the best. The girl was pretty enough, if a bit sharp and artificial. She always seemed to be playing a role, but that would change once she was married. Based on her mother’s level of involvement in her life, Lydia would probably be a doting mother as well. She came from a noble family, was well connected, had a solid upbringing, and was easy to ignore. She’d make the perfect wife to raise his children and manage his home.
“Madson!” he shouted.
His valet appeared at the door of the drawing room, shooting him a censorious look.
“Blast it. Don’t look at me that way. I can shout in my own house if I want to.”
“Of course, my lord. As you wish, my lord.”
Daniel sent him a look of annoyance at the repeated my lording, but Madson only smirked at him.
Blasted man.
“Perhaps I should consider getting proper servants,” Daniel muttered. He pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and slapped it on the wooden top. As he scribbled furiously on it, he gave Madson his instructions.
“I need you to send Driscol to deliver a message bearing my regrets. I won’t be attending that soiree this evening, as it’s no longer necessary.”
“Yes, my lord.” Madson turned to leave the room.
“Wait. When do you depart for my new estate?”
Madson paused and turned back to him. “We planned to leave shortly, but we can wait until Driscol returns from delivering the message.” He hesitated. “Are you certain you don’t want me to stay here tonight, my lord?”
Daniel waved his hand dismissively. “I’m a grown man. I can manage a night on my own.” He’d been doing so since he was a young child, as Madson well knew.
Madson was only gone for a short time when he returned. “Lord Huntley, Lord Wentworth is ...” He didn’t finish his sentence, however, because Wentworth came barging into the room.
“What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” Wentworth flung his hat and cloak at Madson as he stormed toward Daniel. “Don’t say you’re going to marry a Larchmont.”
Daniel bristled. “What’s wrong with the Larchmonts? They’re well respected.”
“Well respected? Lydia has a reputation for having a vicious tongue, her brother-in-law is a brute, and her father is wound so tight I’m surprised he doesn’t spring a cog. How could you want to align yourself with such an uptight, conniving man? Are you trying to make yourself miserable?”
“That’s ridiculous.” Daniel stood abruptly. “Lord Larchmont is highly respected and has already exercised his influence to help me. Just this morning, I finalized the purchase of the Savelle estate outside London. You know how much I wanted that property. I’d given up hope of ever acquiring it, but at Lord Larchmont’s urging, the former owner changed his mind. I jumped at the opportunity before the man could back out. Aligning with the Larchmonts has already proven fruitful.”
“And that sudden reversal on the former owner’s part doesn’t strike you as odd?”
“What are you suggesting?” Daniel shot him a stony look. “Larchmont has a great deal of influence. People listen to him.” Daniel touched the silver watch in his pocket, finding reassurance in its solid weight.
“People fear him. There’s a difference. You’ve made a deal with the devil, Huntley. He only likes you for your title and your rich coffers.”
“Well, I only like him for his respectability. Don’t worry, I can handle him.”
“You’re paying much too high a price for acceptance. It’s not worth it.”
“Enough,” Huntley said, settling his cold-eyed gaze on his friend. “Tonight, I plan to celebrate the purchase of my new estate and the end of my search for a bride by going to Bernini’s. I’ve earned a night off. I’d like you to join me, but only if you’ll stop harping on me about Lord Larchmont.”
“Then I’ll only say one last thing. Read your marriage contract carefully before you sign, my friend. He’s bound to slip in some nasty clauses.”
16 - A Close Call... or Two
Thick fog enveloped the London streets as Catherine rode to Bernini’s Academy, and it wrapped her in a cocoon of insensibility. In the eerie silence, her emotions warred within her; she was excited to finally be able to fence, irritated with Charles for canceling on her at the last minute, and nervous about braving the London streets alone.
She encouraged her irritation, fanning its spark into a flame, in the hope that she might be able keep her fear at bay. If not for Charles’s thoughtlessness, she wouldn’t be alone right now. Not only had he failed to return home for dinner, he’d also sent an extremely belated note saying he was staying at the Ambridge Club and wouldn’t be home until quite late. He’d provided no explanation. No excuse.
Had he forgotten about their plans? That seemed unlikely. It must have been something serious to keep him away. But what was she to do? With few options remaining to her, she left for Bernini’s without him. Was something wrong? What if that rumor from Oxford had made its way to London? It had to be something serious, or he would have been home on time. He almost never missed one of their fencing nights.
But wait, she’d been trying to stay angry with him. She let out a sigh. She simply couldn’t do it. She couldn’t maintain that level of ire. Now, instead of being irritated with him, she was worried.
Worried, and more than a little bit afraid of the dark.
Catherine didn’t pass any other travelers near her home, and the sense of unnatural isolation increased as she passed through the empty streets.
She tightened her thighs, urging her horse to a fast trot. Normally, she disliked entering the more populated areas along her route, with their pubs and raucous noise, but not tonight. As she grew nearer to the more populated part of town, she looked about for signs of other people, eager to see another face.
The hooting and hollering that burst from the first pub she encountered broke through her tension like a handful of pebbles breaking through the smooth, tight surface of a lake. The eerie sense of solitude dissipated as the sounds of people moving about on the streets soothed her. She passed through the area too quickly, however, and soon found herself entering the residential area surrounding Bernini’s.
A few times she thought she heard hoofbeats behind her, but when she paused to listen, she realized she must have heard the echo of Wildfire’s hooves. The sound bounced off the buildings and came back to her from odd, disorienting angles.
When she finally saw the lights of what had to be Bernini’s Academy beckoning her, she had to force herself not to canter the remaining distance.
Upon entering the main fencing salon, she found it emptier than usual. Perhaps the oppressive night had kept some of the others away.
If she hadn’t felt so restless all day, she might not have crept out into the foggy night, but the thought of remaining at home had been too depressing. Then again, winning the March tournament was an enticing lure. And to win, she needed to practice, bad weather and unreliable companions notwithstanding.
But she paused, and as she’d done every night for the past week, she scanned the room. If Lord Huntley was there, she’d turn around and leave before he saw her. It was the only prudent thing to do.
He wasn’t there.
She felt a pang of... relief? Disappointment? Relief, of course. It had to be relief.
Pull yourself together, and push that man from your thoughts. Of course you don’t want to encounter him as Gray.
She gave herself a small shake and focused on the swirl of activity around her. The underlying rhythm of the men moving about the room sharpened her senses. She allo
wed the cadence to enter her body and felt her own pulse quicken. She approached the practice dummies lining the wall to practice her lunges. Having found a tempo, she now began to center her mind, intent on improving her skills.
Focusing on the red heart painted in the center of the dummy’s chest, she pierced it as she lunged again, and again, making sure that the tip of her foil struck the center of the target. The cloth dummy was ragged from heavy use, and she partially embedded the dull tip into the red heart. Its densely packed body was pockmarked with scars from their many battles over the years. Each time she made contact, she leaned into the strike, forcing the length of her slim foil to arch. Her thigh muscles began to tremble from the repeated lunges, but Catherine continued the drill, pushing herself to her limit.
To her frustration, however, she discovered her shaking legs weren’t the only thing plaguing her. Despite her resolve, every time a man entered the practice room, she paused to identify him, which broke her concentration.
Focus.
She faced down her practice dummy, staring into its sketchily drawn eyes. She raised her chin in challenge and, with renewed vigor, pierced its red heart. A moment later, when she caught herself looking toward the door once again, she slapped her foil against her thigh in frustration. The sting of the metal startled her, and she stifled a yelp.
One of the other fencers caught her eye and grinned at her. He’d seen her moment of stupidity. She grinned back and shook her head, then gave a shrug.
A subtle shift came over the room, and the constant low hum of shuffling feet and clanging steel momentarily abated. As everyone in the room glanced toward the entrance, Catherine’s own gaze followed theirs. Maestro Bernini stood framed in the doorway.
The grin on Catherine’s face froze as the maestro glanced over his shoulder, chatting amiably with two men behind him.
There they were. The only two men she dreaded seeing: Huntley and his ever-present companion, Wentworth.
Despite the fact that she wanted to avoid them, she still felt a thrill of excitement upon seeing Huntley again. It had been a week since they’d last spoken, and she’d been hoping to see him again ever since he’d escorted her home from the park.
But as Lady Catherine, not as Gray.
She spun her back to them and yanked the bulky fencing mask over her head. The large mesh provided scant assistance in disguising her face, but Catherine clutched at anything that might help.
Indecision kept her frozen in place. She wanted to be here, needed to practice for the upcoming tournament to have any hope of winning it. But she couldn’t stay. Her disguise would never hold up under his scrutiny. He’d note some movement, or tone of voice, or turn of phrase, and then he’d suddenly know the truth of her. Staying would be beyond imprudent. She pressed her lips in a thin, straight line.
She had to leave. There was no other reasonable choice.
The decision made, she acted on it, sidling toward the door. But before she made it far, Bernini saw her.
“Gray,” he barked as she neared him. “Good to see you here tonight. I have something I want to teach you—a new technique. Let me get everyone started, and then we can work on it together.”
She was trapped, at least for a while. She would have to make her escape after she’d worked with Bernini.
As everyone lined up to begin class, Catherine moved toward the back of the room and took a place on the end of a row, as far away from Huntley and Wentworth as possible. After stepping through some exercises designed to relax the muscles, Bernini demonstrated a technique for everyone to practice. He watched and critiqued them for a few moments, and then he joined Catherine at the side of the room.
“I want to demonstrate the contre-carte parry. First, you need to use a counter-parry against me, and then I will defend using the contre-carte.” Bernini gave her a quick salute, and they began. Catherine quickly slid into a counter-parry, but Bernini’s smooth response with a subtle circular motion of his foil kept her from scoring her point.
She raised her eyebrows.
“Nice, eh? Let me teach you.” They stepped through it slowly, and Bernini demonstrated the move again. As she thrust toward his belly, he made a slight bend to his wrist so his foil tilted a little upward. He then twisted his wrist in that clockwise semicircle she’d noticed before, but his arm barely moved. Even so, the tip of her foil never touched her target.
“Now you try. The trick is in the wrist.”
They stepped through the move, over and over, until Catherine felt comfortable with it.
“You’re making good progress, but you need to keep that circle small so that it doesn’t register with your opponent. You can take a short break, but I want you to continue perfecting this move. Right now, I need to speak to Mr. Winston.”
As he strode away, Catherine wiped her face with a cloth, careful not to pull at her fake scar. Bernini had pushed her hard, as usual. She tossed the cloth aside and saw Wentworth meandering across the room. He tried to look casual, but Catherine could detect a purpose in his movements. His eyes locked on hers and he grew nearer.
“Gray.”
Although she wanted to ignore the man, Wentworth had a way of demanding her attention. “Good evening, Lord Wentworth.”
“I’ve been watching you. You’re good, but maybe not as good as Bernini thinks.”
He’d been watching her? Why hadn’t she noticed? “I keep telling him the same thing,” she replied, refusing to rise to his bait.
Wentworth’s jaw clenched at her reply. He opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted.
“Time to resume our practice, gentlemen,” Bernini called out.
Wentworth glanced at him over his shoulder and then returned his gaze to Catherine. The cold, level stare challenged her. “Perhaps I’ll give you a matching scar on your other cheek.”
She’d faced this kind of posturing before, from better fencers than he. She raised her chin, unwilling to be cowed, returning his stare.
He took a couple of steps backward, his eyes boring into Catherine’s in a last attempt to intimidate her. Then he spun on his heel and trotted back toward his friend. Catherine observed him as he spoke to Huntley, his movements jerky and tense.
Bernini returned, and this time they focused on the contre sixte. It differed from the contre-carte in that the “disengage” began from her left instead of her right, and she used a counterclockwise flick of her wrist instead of a clockwise motion. In essence, it was the mirror image of the move she’d just learned.
“You’ve made good progress. This new technique should give you an edge in the tournament.” Bernini glanced toward Wentworth. “We’ll take a short break before our practice duels.” He turned and began to circle the salon, moving around the other fencers.
Catherine’s jaw dropped as she suddenly recalled how her last sparring match against Wentworth had ended. The man had demanded a rematch. How could she have been so foolish? No wonder he’d kept watching her all evening. She couldn’t believe she’d been so distracted that she’d forgotten that crucial detail.
How on earth would she manage to avoid Huntley’s scrutiny if she embroiled herself in a heated duel with his closest friend?
Catherine glanced around at the scant collection of fencers. There’d be no anonymity tonight. Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head, defeated without even raising her foil. She’d have to slip out early, before the sparring portion of the evening commenced. As she thought about the match she was sacrificing, her hand twitched, causing her foil to jump. She could have defeated Wentworth. She was certain of it. She spared a glance at Bernini. What about him? He’d spent so much time training her tonight. He’d be angry. But she had no choice.
When they paused for a brief rest, Catherine sauntered toward the door, trying to look like a person taking a short break rather than a person making a quick escape.
She slipped through the door and found the maestro’s assistant sitting behind the counter.
“Mr. W
inston, would you mind seeing that my mask is put away? I decided to cut the evening short, and I don’t wish to interrupt Maestro Bernini’s class by putting it away right now.”
“But of course, Master Gray,” he said, springing to his feet. “I’m pleased to be of service to you. I hope nothing is amiss.”
Just me. I’m a “miss.”
“Let Maestro Bernini know that I wasn’t feeling well, and give him my apologies.” She swung her black cloak over her shoulders.
“Can I get anything for you, sir?”
“Just my mount.”
“I’ll send someone immediately.” He turned and beckoned one of the young footmen. His barked instructions made Catherine jump in surprise. Was this the same man who oozed those honeyed tones when speaking to the gentry? The boy scurried off toward the stables. When Mr. Winston turned back toward her, his unctuous smile was already pinned back in place.
“I’ll wait outside.” She put on her hat over the snug white skullcap and pushed through the outer door.
Outside, the sound of dripping water filled the night. Normally, she would have returned to the agreeable warmth of the foyer to wait for her horse, but not tonight. The risk was too great that she would encounter the marquess. She pulled her heavy black cloak more tightly around herself and wrapped her hands in its folds, fighting off the invading chill. Once she sat astride her horse, the heat radiating from her mount would help warm her.
After a couple of minutes, she heard the door of the academy open.
“I don’t see why we have to rush off this way.”
Lord Huntley!
Her heart pounding in her chest, Catherine ducked around the edge of the external façade of the doorway, her black cloak merging with the deeper shadows. She tugged her dark hat farther down to cover her white skullcap as she hid behind one of the two pillars that flanked the entrance.
Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book Page 12
