The Sometime Bride

by Blair Bancroft

  Cat gritted her teeth, doing her best to be grateful, but her body was battered, her head ached. Blas had let the culprits go, and now—once again—he was kidnapping her. Not that she hadn’t secretly wanted him to, but he was so impossibly, arrogantly high-handed. “You planned it,” Cat hissed. “Were the highwaymen on your payroll too?”

  “Good God, no! Word of honor. If we hadn’t been lying in wait with our own ambush and seen what happened, you’d be lost somewhere in the stews of Paris right now.”

  Cat sniffed, her shoulders remaining stiffly erect. He was incorrigible. Yet anyone attempting to take her off Alex’s horse at that moment would have had the greatest fight of the night on their hands.

  “Tony,” said Alex, gesturing toward his small army, “this lot will be enough escort. If you’ll be good enough to go with Blanca and Beaufort . . . And get the colonel a doctor whether he likes it or not. That’s a nasty cut he has there.” Alex sidled his horse toward Beaufort and held out his hand. “A more exciting evening than we planned, colonel, but we seem to have survived rather well. This is not goodbye. You may tell André Cat and I will be back to see our special son.” The two men eyed each other with considerable understanding, their handshake the beginning of a lifelong friendship.

  “And now, Dona Blanca, gentlemen, if you will excuse us, I am taking my wife on a long overdue wedding trip.” Alex flashed them all a wicked grin. “Seven years is a long time to wait. Bon soir, mes amis.”

  Cat gave up her token struggle, snuggling into Alex’s chest. Was this not what she wanted? He had come for her. With an army at his back. What more could a woman ask? It was rather like solving the problem of the Gordian knot by slicing it with a sword. Alex’s solution appealed to the pragmatist in Cat, as well as to her romantic soul. There were things yet to be said, but at the end of a very long darkness there was at last a glimmering of light.

  As they rode at a steady pace toward the center of the city, surrounded by their private army, Cat was forced to admit, though only to herself, that she did not care where they were going. With the enormous width of the belled skirt allowing her to ride astride, she was pressed against Alex’s thighs and torso as tight as a second skin. A surge of satisfaction as she felt him grow hard. Cat closed her eyes and drifted, allowing the marvelous security of Blas’s presence to wash away the terrors of the night. She was where she was always meant to be. Whether or not she could stay there, however, was still in question. In her long quiet days shut up in the Hôtel Beaufort Cat had discovered a possible way out of their impasse. But could she humble herself enough to use it?

  A sudden whiff of the pungent odor of the Seine snapped Cat’s eyes wide open. In the light of the torches the men were carrying, the dark shapes of boats of every size and description loomed out of the darkness. There were so many, they were moored side by side, extending out into the broad river. Waves lapped gently against the dark hulls. Just ahead, a large barge was in sole possession of the quaiside, its access to the channel unobstructed by other boats. A flambeau stuck on top of a rough wooden post marked a narrow plank which stretched from the quai up to the deck of the barge.

  Their cavalcade drew to a halt next to the plank. Alex thanked his men, who had more than earned their night’s pay, and handed over a bag of gold which made their leader’s eyes gleam in the torchlight. The man grinned. “Merci beaucoup, monsignor.” Silently, he motioned his men to form a protective semi-circle facing the barge. “Will you need help?” he inquired politely, eyeing the plank, then Cat’s voluminous skirts.

  Alex dismounted, lifted Cat down to stand beside him. “I think not. My wife has remarkably steady nerves. Pick up your skirts,” he said to Cat, “and hang on tight.” Clasping her firmly around the wrist, he started up the narrow plank, walking steadily, towing Cat behind him. Outwardly, Alex was calm; inwardly, he could not imagine negotiating that plank in a skirt. Any other woman would have been launching herself on his neck, tumbling them both into the river.

  When their feet were firmly planted on the deck, a collective sigh of relief drifted up from the men below. The anglaise was very brave. It had been a privilege to serve her.

  Alex and Cat waved goodbye. A seaman pulled up the plank, dropped it onto the wooden deck with a resounding thud.

  There was no going back.

  The barge’s interior, Cat discovered, was remarkable. From somewhere the ever resourceful Alex had found a wealthy man’s toy, an intimate cocoon of gleaming brass lanterns and handrails, mahogany paneling, fine upholstery. The heavy curtains covering the windows were of the same gold silk brocade which covered the well-padded built-in furniture. On the far side of the large room there was a highly polished mahogany dining table. Obviously, they had been expected. A bottle of champagne protruded from a silver bucket, beside it a silver platter with an array of bread and cheese.

  One lantern was already glowing when they entered. Alex lighted a second hanging from the ceiling, Cat took off her torn and muddied silk cloak and dropped it onto the highly polished mahogany floor, not wishing to dirty the furnishings.

  “Good God!” Alex exploded, caught off guard. “What’s that you’re wearing? You look like a pouter pigeon! As if the hair weren’t bad enough . . .” He broke off, groaning at his own ineptitude, running his hands through his hair. “God, I’m sorry, Cat,” he cried as she burst into tears, the events of the evening finally catching up with her. “I don’t give a damn what you wear as long as you’re all in one piece. And here with me.”

  Cat fought off his efforts to put his arms around her, gasping through her tears, “You are the greatest beast in nature! Tonight I have been robbed. Assaulted. Kidnapped. Now I am marooned in the midst of a river . . . and all you can do is criticize what I am wearing. Enfin, I will jump overboard and you will not have to look at me.” With determined tread she stalked toward the door.

  She never reached it. With little regard for her dignity or the sensitivity of certain parts of her anatomy, Alex picked her up. Pushing his wife’s head down to protect her from the low ceiling, he plunged down the steps into the stern cabin and threw her onto the broad bed which occupied the center portion of the spacious cabin. His romantic plans for champagne and seduction by lantern light were as shot to hell as the benign kidnapping he had planned in the Bois de Boulogne.

  Furious at her husband’s high-handedness, as typical as it was, Cat fixed her gaze on the paneled ceiling overhead. She would not give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

  Then again, Cats are afflicted with insatiable curiosity. Or so she excused herself. She lowered her chin, peeked out from beneath her long lashes.

  A dim glow drifted down the companionway from the lanterns in the saloon—she could see him quite clearly. Alex had already stripped off the jacket he had been wearing. Briefly, he struggled with his boots, his breeches seemed to peel away of their own accord. In the end, all that was left was his long white shirt. The long white ruffled shirt. Cat clenched her jaw, wondering how long she would be able to hold out on nothing more than pique. Her tears had been only a sudden cloudburst of nerves, already drying in salty patches on her cheeks.

  Ostentatiously, she turned onto her side, offering him nothing but her back. But he did not join her. No weight sagged against the mattress.

  Cat sneaked her head around, took another peek. Alex was rummaging through a small trunk placed under one of the portholes. When he drew out a nightgown of white silk and lace, Cat knew the ultimate betrayal. The gown was her own.

  “Where did you get that?” she demanded.

  “Blanca and your maid—Bess, is it?—packed a trunk for you.

  “Merde!” declared Cat deliberately. Outrageously.

  “I believe there’s some soap in here somewhere,” Alex threatened, making a show of a further foray into the trunk.

  “Even Auguste betrayed me,” said Cat forlornly, ignoring Alex’s remark.

  “Certainly,” said Alex, the quintessence of infuriating reason. �
��They all knew what you yourself should have admitted long since. We were meant for each other, we love each other. Only your stubbornness is keeping us apart.”

  “I have told you love is not enough.” Cat knew she sounded like a truculent child. Shades of the fourteen-year-old cleaning her room on a fine September day in Lisbon.

  “That line needs more conviction, my dear. I can see why no one took you seriously. Mine isn’t the only life you’ve played havoc with, you know.”

  Gingerly, Alex lowered himself onto the bed. He was quite willing to take advantage of his wife’s distraction while she contemplated her sins. His fingers paused just short of her glorious fall of shining hair. He had always been so sure of himself. Of her. Of her joyous response. Of her love. Now, suddenly, it was as if they were back at the Casa Audley. So young, so very young. And foolish. Daring fate. Teetering on the thin edge of a passion each was too young to embrace.

  Alex touched tentative fingers to the red-gold cascade. Holding his breath, he lifted a handful of the fine strands aside, brushed his lips across the back of her neck.

  Cat could not control her gasp, or the shiver which shook her petite frame. Mortified by her show of weakness, she stiffened her back, thrust up her chin.

  “Damn it, Cat,” Alex exploded, “I’ve loved you since you were fourteen years old.”

  “Me and how many others?”

  “No one else mattered.” Alex overrode his wife’s scathing reply, adding, “Bloody hell, Cat, you knew I was no saint. And since I came back, there’s been no one else, I swear it. Nor will there be as long as you’re well and truly my wife.”

  Silence.

  With one finger Alex touched the top button of the long row which ran down the back of her hideous green gown. When she didn’t flinch, he slowly, cautiously, undid the button. Cat’s back was still stiff as a board, but she did not protest. Alex began to work his way down.

  “I not only love you, Cat,” he breathed against the nape of her neck, each word sending a shiver up her spine, “I have so much faith in you that even when you ran off with Beaufort, I was willing to believe you were not lovers. Surely that kind of trust counts for something.”

  Cat remained stubbornly silent as he tugged yards and yards of offensive emerald silk over her head. He started on the ribbons of her chemise. His actions were not seductive—merely those of a husband attempting to soothe his wife. “Tonight we were waiting not far up the road,” he explained, as if making idle conversation instead of fighting for his life. “When we heard the shots, we came as quickly as we could. We were just in time to see their leader take you up on his horse. With you as hostage, there was nothing we could do. We had to improvise rather quickly.”

  The chemise came off, Cat wriggled out of her pantaloons. Alex took time for a good long look before allowing the silk bedgown to drift down over her head. A sharp glance from her wide green eyes. She scarcely expected him to clothe her. But he needed her covered up. It was not yet time. With loving care—and a demanding surge of desire—Alex smoothed the shining fabric over all her softest parts. He sat up abruptly, forcing his hands to rest behind him on the counterpane. “I had thought your running away the worst pain possible. I was wrong. I realized tonight I could lose you forever.”

  Her chin came up, their eyes clashed.

  “Now you know how I felt each time you left me,” Cat told him. “And all the days and nights between. For seven long years.”

  Their gazes held, the only sound the gentle slap of the Seine, the creaking of the wooden hulls along the quai. It was Alex who dropped his head in defeat. Point well taken. “Go to bed, Cat,” he said wearily. “It’s been a bad night. We can talk tomorrow.”

  “No! We will finish this tonight. I can stand no more of this agony.” She slid away from him to sit with her legs tucked under her, arms crossed in stubborn intransigence.

  He might as well tell her, Alex groaned to himself. She couldn’t be much more angry than she already was. His hopes had flared when he performed his unplanned rescue, but now he seemed to have ruined his advantage. So she might as well know it all.

  “There’s no need to finish this tonight, Cat, because I’m not going to let you go. Where I go, you go. We’re a pair. If you won’t marry me, I’ll keep you anyway. If necessary, I’ll shut you up in a tower like some medieval maiden. But I am not letting you go.”

  “An inconvenience for your mistresses.” Sarcasm was her only weapon.

  “Damn it, Cat, that’s not fair! It was a long war.”

  “With all the conveniences of home.”

  Alex ran agitated fingers through his hair, unconsciously adding to his look of a deranged demon contemplating a plunge into the abyss. “Think, Cat! Was there ever a time I didn’t love you?”

  “In your mistress’s bed.” Her tone was scathing.

  “Not even then,” he declared. “And there’s been no one but you for months now. “I assure you that’s as close to celibacy as I’ve ever been and, believe me, I have not enjoyed it. I want my wife in my bed, Cat. All night. Every night.”

  She made an elaborate show of cocking her head to one side, considering his words. “If I stay with you, no more women?”

  Alex raised his right hand. “I swear.”

  “And Tony?”

  “What about Tony?” Alex growled, his surge of triumph quickly stifled.

  “He must live his own life. He is a person, not an extension of yourself. Let him go, Alex. He has lived too long in your shadow.”

  “Mea culpa,” Alex admitted readily. “But he is the other half of myself, Cat. The better half. “I never meant to hurt him. I just . . . didn’t think.”

  “He is not a shadow, even if he is cast in your image.”

  “Tony and I have done everything together all our lives, Cat. You are the first thing that ever came between us. You and the war. For seven years, even though we played the same role, we had precious little time together—and still the bond is too strong to be broken. The best I can do is promise I will make an effort to lengthen the chain.”

  Cat nodded. It was the best she could expect.

  And now it was her turn. Alex was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing only the long white shirt which had come to symbolize so much between them. He had at last given her the ultimate gift of his trust. He accepted her denial of intimacy with Auguste Beaufort. And he had agreed to mend matters with Tony. Now it was time to humble herself. As difficult a task for an Audley as it was for a Trowbridge.

  Cat took a deep breath, bit her lip. “In London things were so very bad, I only knew I had to get leave—” She stopped abruptly, a new thought interrupting her confession. “Markham. What did you do about Percy Markham?”

  “Ah, yes, Captain Markham,” Alex said, forcing his mind back to England. “It seems Mr. Markham became bored with the army. He fancied the navy instead.”

  “A–Alex,” Cat breathed, awed. “You didn’t. You couldn’t have.”

  “In order to serve in the navy, I fear Captain Markham had to take a somewhat reduced rank,” Alex murmured. “Alas, he is now serving as a common seaman on one of His Majesty’s frigates.”

  “Alex, you cannot have had him impressed.”

  “Frankly, Tony and I took great pleasure in it. It was either that or kill him. Of the two options, impressment may have been the greater cruelty. Forget Markham. I wish to hear what you were about to tell me.”

  Cat tore her mind away from a satisfying vision of Percy Markham being forced to climb the mizzenmast, a cat-o-nine tails at his heels. “In London . . . at the end I saw all my dreams crumble into dust, my courage with them. When Auguste appeared, it was like an answer to my prayers. He was kind, strong, dependable. He was André’s papa. I didn’t run away as a conscious act of defiance, Alex. It was something which simply happened, an opportunity I could not refuse. I never thought how it would appear to others. It was only later, when I had time to think, that I realized the enormity of what I had done.�
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  Alex nodded. “Wrexham told me he believed you made the ultimate quixotic gesture—giving me my freedom in no uncertain terms.”

  “That was part of it,” Cat conceded. “I thought if you truly cared enough to follow me to France, there might be hope.”

  Alex reached out tentative fingers to stroke her cheek. Gently but firmly, she pushed his hand away. “There is more. You must hear it all.”

  Cat clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “In a way my enlightenment began with Wrexham. He was so relieved when I refused his offer.”

  “Of marriage?” Alex questioned, clearly incredulous.

  “Yes,” Cat confirmed, well beyond being insulted. “I was truly surprised. And then there was Norwell.”

  “Norwell?” Alex echoed. “Your cousin . . . Ailesbury’s heir?”

  “That was when reality overwhelmed me. It was very lowering. I found myself refusing him not only because he was a charming boy with whom I would have been bored in as little as half a day, but because he was far too good for me. Even if I had thought we would suit, I would not have accepted him. I was, you see, not a proper wife for the future Earl of Ailesbury.

  “No! Tais toi!” Cat commanded, holding up her hand. “It is true. I have led a most irregular life. Though it is only recently I have understood just how shocking it was.”

  “And Beaufort?” Alex inquired, pressing the advantage of Cat’s burst of contrition.

  Idly, Cat traced a design on the counterpane, avoiding his steady regard. “If you had not come to France, I would have married him. With Auguste I felt I had a much better chance for a life of peace and contentment than I had any right to expect. He is an honorable man. I assure you he never touched me. So honorable, in fact, he made it clear that if I reject you, I may still return to him. And still his offer will be marriage. But when you came after me . . . I had to accept you truly wanted me. It could have been injured pride but, no matter how angry you made me, I have never felt you were that small a person.”