“You may indeed die first, but she will follow if you continue to allow her out with you as you did the night before last.”
He relaxed. So. He should have guessed even Lady Dilys would not keep her bolted safely in her room. He ought to have accommodated her down in the cellar, with the ghost of the Headless Knight to keep her company. “You don’t understand—“
“Do you mean to say you had some legitimate reason to be out the night before last with ash streaked all over your face?”
“I mean to say you must have been dreaming.”
“Like I dreamed you in my bed five years ago?” She widened her eyes mockingly to feign shock. “Oh, but no, you were in my bed, weren’t you?”
Sean struggled to feign amused indifference by sitting back and crossing his arms behind his neck. “Confess to me, Katie. Are you more incensed that I was then, or that I’m not now?” He added a grin wide enough to show his dimple to full effect.
She let out a little exclamation of frustration. “Stop trying to distract me from the subject of your activities—and the risk to your sister, if you don’t care about your own skin. You can’t keep flouting the laws.” She shook her finger at him like a scolding mother. “You will be arrested. You should learn from history. From your ancestor.”
The man who had held Queen Elizabeth off with sweet words and the insubstantial promise of promises to come so that the term blarney had been immortalized? “He was arrogant. I am realistic.”
“Is it realistic to drag your sister into your criminal activities? What do you do, anyway?”
She was leaving soon, and he sensed that he would rid himself of her more quickly if he was honest, so he told her the truth. “I have taken a leaf from the legendary Robin Hood. I merely help even out the distribution of wealth and food around here.”
She saw through his pretty words and blunted them when she threw them back at him. “You mean you steal?”
He had had this conversation with himself more than once in the last five years. But he resented the arguments when they came from her lips, with her aristocratic English accent. “Some might call it enforcing a tax upon the rich who make their wealth on the backs of the poor.”
She raised a brow and crossed her arms in front of her like a dissatisfied schoolmaster. “Does the law call it that, my lord?”
My lord. There were times he hated his title. Times he felt he had betrayed his country simply by using it. “Ask your countrymen. I take nothing that does not belong to me.”
“I’ve read the papers, Sean. I know things are not perfect here.” Her arms fell to her sides and she turned away, to the window, where the ice sheeted and blurred the view of the fog beyond. “Why are you not fighting within the law? You have a seat in the House of Lords where you can make all the difference and you choose to let it go empty year after year.”
He supposed he owed her an explanation, though he did not think it would comfort her. “While I’m making “a difference” as you say, my people are starving and being driven off the land.”
She didn’t argue with him. He supposed she had seen the evidence plain enough as she traveled to the abbey. She’d never been one to flinch from the whole truth, when it appeared before her so starkly. Her question to him was as stark. “Nothing will ever change for the better this way. Hasn’t history proved that over the centuries?”
“It has to change.” Even as he said it, he realized that he had lost faith that it ever would long ago. He couldn’t mark the day he’d lost the faith, and he’d not noticed it gone until just now, speaking with her.
“If it doesn’t, what risk to your sister? I understand why you feel the need to play the hero, hopeless as it is. But why would you be willing to sacrifice her.”
As if he had a choice. “You don’t understand Bridget.” The girl would follow them if they did not allow her to accompany them side by side. “She goes where she wills, even her maid cannot stop her—only follow and keep her from the worst of her impulses.”
“Did the illness do this to her?”
The illness? For a moment he cast about in his mind for her meaning.
She added, “I never thought your letters were entirely truthful about why you had not returned. Was it your guilt that the illness had left her a permanent child?”
“Yes.” He had forgotten that he had used illness as his excuse to leave his bride on his wedding night, but it was better than the truth. “Although, to be honest, she was always—“ he searched for a word.
“Wild?”
“—Spirited. Before the…illness.” He wouldn’t tell her the truth. Wouldn’t have her pity his sister. “She is not so touched as it might seem, on first glance.”
“No?”
“No.” He said it firmly, as if he could make his words the truth by uttering them without doubt. “But, as I said, that is not your concern.”
She stared at him for longer than was comfortable, a blush slowly working up her neck and into her cheeks. Then she lifted her chin stubbornly and he braced himself for what she had to say next. “Perhaps it is my concern.”
Women. Always trying to fix what could never be fixed. “She is my sister. You will not be my wife for much longer. She is my concern, not yours.”
“If she is touched, due to some bad blood in your family, I may need to know.”
“There is no bad blood. She is not touched.” He forced himself to calm. “Why would that matter to you? You will be done with us when you leave here.”
Sean had the strongest urge to reach over and clap his hand on her mouth as she hesitated, and then plunged forward with her request. “You asked me for a favor.”
“I did.” He was wary. “Have you a favor to ask in return?”
She could not meet his eyes and lowered her gaze to the accounting book spread out in front of him. “Yes.”
That did not bode well. He closed his eyes, feeling as if she would next draw out a sword and run him through. What would she ask of him? What could she ask of him? He had nothing to give. “What bargain would you strike with me now? Another ride on Diablo?”
She did not answer him directly. “I do ask a ride of you, as it happens.”
Still she did not get to the heart of the matter. How awful was her request that she could not simply blurt it out and must torture him with wondering. “Am I bargaining with the devil, then? Do I not get to know what I’m agreeing to before I say yes?”
She sucked in a breath, whether to gain courage or because she had been holding her breath he could not guess. “No. I want you to agree first.”
He opened his eyes to find that she had plucked up the courage to meet his gaze again. “I will not agree to remain married.”
She sat back with a look of surprise. “Of course not. I will ask nothing that will prevent you from obtaining your divorce. In fact, it may even make granting my request easier.”
“What is it?” She was tormenting him. Teasing him. Did she truly have a proposition, or was she trying to find out more of what he was up to so that she could go running to the authorities? She could not doubt it was better to be a widow than a divorcee.
“You doubt that I am capable of proving my innocence, do you not?”
“It has been five years.” He smiled, although he definitely didn’t like where she was heading with all her questions. “And you are an attractive woman.”
She smiled a bit bleakly. “Forgive me if I choose not to believe those words from you. After all, you have had no trouble avoiding me—even when you were in my bed.”
“I recall you were not shocked speechless that morning—“
Interrupting, she said, “You may not care whether or not I have been faithful.” She leaned forward and took a deep breath, as if she were about to dip her head under water. “But you can see for yourself if you agree to meet my terms.”
He had a horrible feeling that he knew what she was about to propose but he did not know how to prevent her, only to delay. “Terms?”
Her cheeks colored slightly and he could sense her agitation, but her voice was firm and unhesitant. “I understand what has happened, whether you choose to tell me the truth or not. You wanted to be my husband. To take your seat in Parliament. And then you came home because Bridget was ill. And something changed. You became a different man that the one who married me. A lesser man.”
“You don’t understand--” he found his own face warming with a flush. He had forgotten how straight to the heart she aimed her words.
She waved a hand impatiently, dismissing his protest. “You no longer want me as your wife. I have somehow become your enemy.”
“Not so.” He spoke honestly, but at her frank stare of disbelief he realized how absurd the protest sounded in the face of his actions. “I never thought of you as the enemy.” Just as someone who could never be an ally. But he did not want to explain that to her. He’d have to tell her too much, more than would be good for her to know--or for him either.
She paused a moment, in consideration of his words. He braced himself for the question he could see forming on her lips. It didn’t help that she was calm when she asked, “Then why did you not send for me after a month--a year--five?” She sighed, almost inaudibly. “And why would you divorce me for a lie that can be easily disproven?”
He found himself asking her the question he should have asked her years ago. “Would you have wanted to be here?”
There was a momentary flicker of dismay in her eye, but she did not miss the obvious flaw in his argument. “You could have let me prove my fortitude—or lack of it.”
“I did dream of inviting you here, once.” It had been a particularly weak moment just six months after he had come back home. He had never told anyone that secret, but somehow it seemed right to tell her now. The vulnerability that flashed across her face made him wish to call the words back. “But then I’d wake to the news of another starving child dead in the night.”
No longer looking vulnerable, she argued angrily, “I could have helped.”
“Fair enough.” He felt unutterably tired and wished that he’d had the sense to have this conversation with her long ago. Or, perhaps, to foresee the insurmountable problem and refuse to consider an English bride, dowry or not. “But I didn’t want your help. And I don’t want it now.”
A flush rose up her neck and he knew that he’d angered her. Bitterly, she said, “Although, of course, the money for marrying me was good enough for you to spend?”
He thought of the open way men in London ranked the unmarried young ladies by the size of their dowries, their appetites and their father’s estates and could not muster a whiff of guilt at being yet another. “Is that not the truth for all of us.”
He refused to feel guilt for his actions, though he would change them in a second if he had the power to turn back time. He hadn’t beaten her, only abandoned her. And she’d done well enough on her own.
“I dare not say. But I will not argue that it is all for you. Which is why I have come to offer you terms.”
Terms? She wanted to bargain? With what? “I will agree to no terms I have not heard beforehand, I’m no fool, Katie, believe it or no.” He was brusque, determined to get her to spill her request so that he could deny it.
“I want…” She struggled to get the words out, and finally whispered, “I want you to come to my bed.”
He felt as if she’d punched him squarely in the belly. The idea was absurd, he knew it even as he wished to agree.
She watched him, the panic in her expression dissipating into surety. He thought of delaying further by pretending to misunderstand what she meant, but could see no purpose. If she’d said it, no matter how timidly, she would repeat it. “Why would you want such a fool thing as to sleep with the man who has sued to put aside your marriage?”
“I want a child.”
She wanted him to father a child? His mind buzzed with the implications. He thought she only wanted-- He had not expected such a thing. Although a moment’s thought told him he should have. Impossible. “Ask my cousin, then. No doubt he’ll gladly oblige.”
Her cheeks burned brightly with humiliation at his rejection. But still she persisted with stubborn insistence. “You are my husband.”
He shook his head, a wealth of sadness for what might have been, but could not be. “I will not be for much longer. I suggest you ask your next husband.”
He’d touched a sore point with her, he could tell by the way she flinched at the word ‘husband’ and closed her eyes for a moment before she said without a shred of doubt, “I’ll not be fool enough to marry again.”
“The duke--”
“Will not force me to marry. There is no need.” There was a bleak look in her eye that made him realize she had already been living the life of a spinster because of his abandonment.
“You don’t know what you’re asking…” He couldn’t do it. “You’ll find someone else. You’re a loving woman.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It has to be you. If the thought of being in my bed is so distasteful to you, I will ask for only one night. Surely you could bring yourself to give me that little?”
One night. He found himself surprisingly tempted by the idea. He would not have to worry about Kate publicly humiliating herself or him if he ensured she was no longer a virgin. But a momentary urge was swamped by common sense as he thought of the inevitable consequences. “Once is only likely to break your heart, not get you with child.”
She blinked twice, thinking about what he had said. She nodded. “Then I ask you to share my bed until I sail in a month--no more. If it does not happen, then providence wills that I not be a mother.”
He had no intention of agreeing, but he could see she had no intention of accepting no for an answer. So he quickly offered a new deal—one which would give him time to find a way out completely. “First, you must prove your fortitude. If you can stay a fortnight, then I’ll oblige your request every night for another--whether you will conceive or not…”
“Prove my fortitude?” She turned away from him and he thought she might refuse his offer. “As I asked you to prove yourself so long ago? So be it.” She turned back and met his eye. “I accept.”
“You should be certain of this, lass. No matter how you feel, you may find another man worthy to be your husband.”
“I do not want one.” She shook her head firmly.
“It is natural that you feel that way now, considering our situation. But—”
She frowned. “Do you intend to go back on your word yet again, my lord?”
“No.” He wouldn’t go back on his word. But he would see that she did not stay the two weeks they had agreed upon.
“Good.” She met his gaze squarely. “I will stay here, for two weeks as your guest, then two weeks as your wife. In all ways. At the end of that time I will leave and you will divorce me.”
“Agreed.” He had to find a way to convince her to back out of the idea within the next two weeks. First, he would make her see the illogical emotion underlying her request. “I hope this satisfied your urge for revenge.”
As he had suspected, she did not like the sound of that word. “Not revenge only. As I said, I have no intention of ever marrying again. This will be my only opportunity to have a child.”
“And if, as is likely, you find a man to change your mind, have you thought of the consequences of that? Another man might mind raising my child.”
Her lips twisted in a grimace. “How could I trust another man when I have been so thoroughly fooled by you? No. I want one thing from you--a child. Two weeks should ensure that.”
They both knew better than that. Two weeks was no better than flipping a coin into the River Liffey and hoping it ended up heads at the mouth of the river. “And if it does not?”
“Then I will consider that you have kept your bargain and I am not meant to be a mother.”
Not meant to be a mother. He hoped she didn’t mean it. He hoped she would marry a
gain and have a family. It didn’t matter that the image of her with another man, smiling children around them, curled his hands into fists. He’d forced himself to forget all the things he’d dreamed of having with her. And now she was asking him to live his dreams for a fortnight and then lose it all. Again. Impossible.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kate woke late in the morning to the bleating of goats, which did not much improve her mood. She’d gotten what she wanted, so why did she wish she hadn’t? Perhaps it was her poor night’s sleep, caused by the pelting of ice against the window and moaning of the wind. Though it had sounded very much like a woman laboring to give birth, she would not be taken in by Sean’s claim of a ghostly Lady Dilys. She would not.
He’d agreed. He hadn’t wanted to, and she didn’t trust that he wouldn’t find some way to wiggle out of the bargain in a fortnight. Still, he’d agreed, and she intended to see that he kept his word. This time.
She lifted the heavy curtains away from the window and glanced outside. The fog had cleared at last, but she would not be traveling. She washed quickly, dressed and moved the chair from in front of the door. Two weeks to prove her fortitude. She must find something useful to do. But what might that be?
Outside, in the hallway, she found a hod full of dense squares of peat moss that burned pungently in most of the grates. They dared burn wood only in the hearth in the main room. Next to it was a linen wrapped bundle that proved to be a small loaf of very good bread. Breakfast, no doubt. Sarah must have found the door blocked by the chair and gone away to let her sleep.
Ignoring the temptation to turn back to her room, close and bar the door, and simply wish herself back to London, Kate stepped out into the hallway, exploring as she munched on the dense, sweet bread. Some of the Christmas greenery had been removed, but not all.
The kitchen was empty—even Sarah seemed to have disappeared. Where could they all be? She wandered about the seemingly empty abbey, managing to see a good portion before Sean suddenly appeared before her.
To her amazement, he seemed chastened and less sure of himself when he greeted her. “Good morning, lass. I hope Lady Dilys didn’t keep you tossing in your bed.”
A Very Romantic Christmas Page 29
