A Gentleman ’Til Midnight

by Alison Delaine

  “The trusts we woke Deal’s solicitor in the middle of the night to draft say otherwise. Dunscore remains in your name.”

  “You betrayed me!”

  “Would you have agreed to marry me under any other circumstance?”

  “Yes!” The answer shot from her lips on its own, stunning them both into silence.

  He blanched, and his mouth thinned. “If we would have married, anyway, then I fail to see why it matters now what ultimately brought us together.”

  He may as well have stabbed her through the heart. She forced her mouth into a curve. “No. Nor would I expect you to.” Finally she sheathed her blade.

  “Katherine...” He came toward her, but she backed away, ready to draw again. He held his hands up, but his eyes blazed. “I would do it again,” he said harshly. “If it was the only way to have you, I would do it again.”

  Katherine could think of only one reason for him to say such a thing. “God, I’m a fool. Croston is in debt, isn’t it? I should have known.”

  “Croston is not in debt.” Anger raged across his face. “Enough of this. We’re leaving for Croston in the morning, and I haven’t had time to prepare.”

  “You may go to Croston,” she told him stonily. “Anne and I shall stay here. In a few days, after she’s recovered from the journey, we will return to Dunscore.”

  “You will do nothing of the kind.”

  “I make my own decisions, Captain. I am the countess of Dunscore.”

  He jabbed his finger at her. “You are my wife.”

  The words struck like blows. “Yes,” she said. “And you managed it with deceit as your grappling hook and lies as your cannon fire.” The pressure in her chest and belly ached so badly she nearly doubled over with it. It hurt to look at him. “I’ve been taken captive before, Captain. I may not be able to escape, but this time I will have my captivity on my own terms.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “MOVE OUT!” PHIL exclaimed the next morning, as Katherine’s coach trundled toward Madame Bouchard’s. The sunshine had burned off the mist, and its rays glared through the windowpanes. “You’ll be responsible for sore tongues all across London.”

  “Let them talk till their tongues fall out, for all I care.” Katherine shook out the old coat Dodd had found in the attic—Grandfather’s, most likely—and held it up. “It won’t stop me from attending the masquerade, which you said yourself is the most important event of the Season. I’m envisioning a pair of breeches in beige silk. Nude beige.”

  “Katherine...”

  “And something very scanty on the top.” Phil didn’t respond. She would go to the masquerade alone, and why not? Let James see what their marriage meant to her now that she’d learned of his betrayal—and his lack of remorse.

  “The swine,” Phil muttered, as if reading Katherine’s mind.

  “Thank you.”

  “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”

  “Nor can I.” And her heart felt like a rag in a scullery maid’s hands, but she’d be damned before she ever let him find out.

  James had hoisted his flag on her mast, and all of society knew he had conquered her. Now he was her captor. Her liege lord. The past days’ delight was gone, as there was no delight in being someone’s spoils. She may as well have been a cask of Italian wine or a bolt of Ottoman silk.

  She would show all of London she was nobody’s captive. Not anymore.

  “The blackguard. Not—” Phil pointed her finger at Katherine “—that I think you should move out, because I absolutely do not. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t deserve it if you did. No—you must punish him some other way. Something that will bring him crawling on his knees to declare his undying love.”

  “He has no undying love to declare,” Katherine said shortly, even as her imagination played out the scene Phil described, and she found herself wanting very badly to hear such a declaration.

  “Breaking your heart with his deception—”

  “He has not broken my heart.”

  “Darling,” Phil said in that you-can’t-hide-anything-from-me tone, “do you think I can’t see?”

  “Lust. William said so.”

  “Ha! And what would our dear scoundrel William possibly know about matters of the heart? Tell me you didn’t listen to him. I assure you, lust does not cause the heartache I see in your eyes right now.”

  “Whatever I may have felt for Captain Warre died the moment I learned of his betrayal,” Katherine said, and wished to God it was true.

  Phil rolled her eyes as the carriage slowed to a stop on the busy street in front of Madame Bouchard’s shop. “You love him, and there’s no sense denying it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Katherine made herself laugh even as invisible hands wrung another drop of pain from her heart. “I can be grateful I never succumbed to that frippery, at least.”

  “Now who’s being ridiculous?” Phil laughed, and then added, “You aren’t really going to move out.”

  “I am. Just as soon as I’ve shown him the consequences of his lies.” It would break Anne’s heart. Katherine’s fingers tightened into the coat, and she wadded it in her lap. During the journey from Dunscore, Anne had already begun calling James “Papa.” It would be cruel to drag her away from James now.

  But it would be more cruel to keep her with a man who viewed the two of them as little more than chattel.

  * * *

  HALFWAY THROUGH THE fitting at Madame Bouchard’s, Katherine got an idea. It was a perfect, vengeful idea that made her heart race, then ache with satisfaction, then grow strangely numb. James thought he could control her? She would show him he could not.

  The moment she parted company with Phil and returned home—flush with success at having arranged a costume that would have everyone from London to Venice talking—she put her plan into action.

  “You mentioned that if there was ever a way you could right your wrongs against me, I had only to ask,” she told the Duke of Winston a short time later, seated in the entirely red first floor drawing room of his town house. “I require your assistance.”

  One dark brow ticked downward. “A matter with which Croston is unable to assist?”

  “Very much unable.”

  “You have only to name it, Lady Croston.”

  She smiled past the hurt. James and all of London would see exactly how she took to captivity. “I want you to pretend to have an affair with me.”

  The duke barked a laugh. “You’re trying to get me killed. My apology wasn’t enough? You hope to lure me in so Croston will cut me down?”

  She smiled. “Not at all. If you’ll recall, you did offer to expand my horizons.”

  “Then perhaps Croston has done something unforgivable, and I am to be your revenge on him.”

  Precisely. Making her point to James by flirting her way outrageously through London might have been ideal, but the chance was too great that someone would take her attentions seriously. As ridiculous as it was, Winston was the only one she could trust. And his reputation made him the perfect partner in revenge.

  “So many questions, Your Grace.” She laughed. “I would not have expected you to be so scrupulous.”

  “Strictly self-preservation. I’m no match for Croston with a sword. And much as it pains me to say it, I doubt I’m a match for you, either.” He assessed her through those devil eyes. “So you propose what? Dances together in public, walks in the park, carriage rides—”

  “No carriage rides.” God save her, carriage rides were the last thing she wanted to think of.

  He smiled wickedly. “Must I reassure you that my carriage is very...comfortable? But I believe I’ve conveyed that fact to you already.”

  “I’m not interested in the comfort of your carriage. Dances, yes. Walks
in the park, certainly. And I suppose you could linger in my box at the theater.”

  Now he laughed. “A sham affair, indeed. And my answer, dear Lady Croston, is no.”

  “No?” The word shot out with all the sharpness of an on-deck command.

  He only smiled. “No,” he repeated.

  “Not so much on the blackguard side of things, after all,” she said angrily.

  “Not so much on the suicidal side of things. Tell me...” He closed the distance between them and took her chin in his fingers. “What has that arrogant bastard done?”

  She chose not to turn her face from his grasp. If James were here now and saw Winston touching her like this, blood would spill.

  She smiled. “That, Your Grace, is none of your concern.”

  “If you’re asking me to take part in this sham, I daresay it is. Bloody fool hasn’t taken a mistress already, has he?”

  “No.”

  He lowered his voice. “Is he demanding...eccentricities?”

  “No!” Not that she knew precisely what he meant, but—good God.

  And then, “The vote.” His eyes narrowed, and she could see he’d finally guessed. “When I came to your house the other night, it was the first you’d heard of the committee’s conclusion.”

  Anger flared fresh. “You extricated yourself quite neatly.”

  “I’m normally quite adept at escaping conflict,” he said. “He didn’t bother to tell you.”

  Stonily she looked a him.

  The duke cursed and let his hand fall. “Where is he now?”

  “At Croston.”

  His lips thinned, but he looked at her askance. “Are you determined that it would be entirely a sham?”

  “Entirely and completely.” Her heart beat a little faster. He was about to change his mind. Her thoughts raced ahead to the theater, the park, the Pollards’ grand masquerade. James would get wind of her dalliance through the grapevine, and when he did, it would cut him to the bone—just as he had cut her.

  “I’ll do it, then,” he said, with a mix of resignation and relish. “If only to teach Croston a lesson about leaving his property unattended.”

  “His property—”

  “Now, now, darling.” The duke touched her cheek and smiled. “Any more of those combative looks and I may have to put an end to our torrid affair.”

  * * *

  HER CAPTIVITY. JAMES slouched in a chair in the library at Croston with his shirttails untucked and his feet propped—shoeless—on a footstool, nursing a glass of cognac while the rest of the world sat down to dinner.

  He wasn’t hungry. Perhaps he would eat this evening. Or perhaps he wouldn’t.

  Sounds of the crew on the roof drifted in through the windows even though they were closed. His arrival at Croston had opened Pandora’s box. He’d resolved the disagreement between his tenants, only to have a dozen other issues crop up. The two days he’d planned to spend had turned into a week.

  A week’s worth of nights alone, remembering Katherine shooting daggers at him with those topaz eyes while she held her blade at his throat.

  He took a swallow and leaned his head back, closing his eyes while the liquid slid down his throat. On his lap, the book he’d been trying to read began to feel heavy. He opened his eyes and looked down at it.

  A Treatise on Domestic Pigeons: Comprehending All the Species Known in England...

  He set his glass aside and searched for the last sentence he’d read. This was the moment he’d been looking forward to for months. Years.

  Relaxation was what he really wanted, anyway. Not marriage to a woman who would always make him feel a little bit mad, who would always keep him listing to one side or the other. A woman who saw him as her captor, when all he’d ever done was—

  He inhaled sharply and flipped a page. Never mind about that.

  He reached for his cognac.

  If only she were his captive, he would truss her up like a Christmas goose and keep her in his bed until she gave up her will to fight him.

  He felt himself grow hard, and cursed.

  “Brother?” Honoria’s voice called from somewhere inside the house. “James! I know you’re here, you ridiculous man.”

  Oh, of all the bloody—

  She swept through the library door from the morning room. “There you are. La, you look a fright. I realize this is the country, James, but there must be limits.”

  He downed another swallow of cognac. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’ve lost our polite manners, as well. Excellent. I’ve torn myself away from London in order to save your marriage, brother dear, and convince you to return posthaste.”

  “You needn’t have bothered. The marriage is beyond annulment.”

  “Of that I have no doubt, but is it beyond adultery?”

  He looked up at her.

  “Oh, do forgive me. That was much too strong a word.” He recognized that look in her eye too well. “I only meant that Katherine is enjoying the Season, which is as it should be. I’m certain that despite your absence so soon after the wedding, Katherine is confident of your continued love and affection, and would never do anything to cause you a moment’s alarm.”

  From the moment he’d landed in a sodden mass on the deck of her ship, she’d caused him nothing but alarm. “Don’t be coy with me, Honoria. Have out with it.”

  She assessed him shrewdly. “I’m certain, for example, that her new friendship with the Duke of Winston is exactly that—friendship.”

  “Winston.” His blood ran cold.

  “People are forming all kinds of acquaintances these days,” she said with a careless wave of her hand, and smiled. “Perhaps she is teaching him how to defend himself more effectively against a sword. Oh, now, don’t look like that, James. Murder isn’t the answer. Besides,” she added, growing serious, “this is all your fault.”

  “What,” he said slowly, “is happening between Katherine and Winston?” Merely saying those names in the same sentence made him feel sick.

  “Likely nothing. But one can never be sure. You must return to London and fix it.”

  “Fix it,” he bit out. “As though I can simply charge into London and wave a wand and force her to love me.”

  “Love you! Is that what this is about? You have a fine way of showing it, lying to her about the vote. Why in heaven’s name— Never mind. I know why. James, you are blinder than a mole. She would have accepted you if you had but asked.”

  “You speak where you are not informed.”

  “Pooh. I’ve never seen a woman more heartbroken than Katherine. She loves you—of that you may be sure.”

  “Has she told you as much?” he demanded. “Do you have proof?”

  Honoria huffed in exasperation. “Thank goodness you haven’t called for tea—most rudely, I might add—because I shall certainly need something stronger before this conversation is finished. Of course she hasn’t told me. This is Katherine we’re talking about. But it’s true. She hasn’t been pleasant company at all.”

  “Irrefutable proof indeed.”

  “Sarcasm is so ugly, James.” She perched on the arm of his chair. “She has one of those awful trinkets—the very one you teased me about, with your likeness.”

  That awful brooch?

  “She doesn’t know I saw it,” Honoria confided. “There was a drawer ajar on her dressing table, and I spotted it inside.”

  “Along with myriad other odds and ends, I’m sure.”

  “Why would she have it if not to possess a likeness of the man she loves?”

  “Why indeed. To think how your talent for scientific reasoning has been wasted all these years.” It could have been a gift. Or a memento of her own heroic act of saving his life. “Perhaps she plans a ceremonial desecr
ation.”

  Honoria snorted. “You are an ass, James. A blind ass. It’s your choice, of course, whether to come to London and set things right, or leave Katherine and the duke to their devices. I don’t think I shall stay for any refreshment, after all—thank you for offering,” she added dryly. “The masquerade is tomorrow night, and if I leave immediately I can still get a decent night’s rest tonight. Katherine is planning to attend as a pirate, by the way. I haven’t seen her costume, but I’m told it is positively scandalous. I’m sure I shall envy it more than anything.” She reached for his hand, her expression darkening. “James, it frightens me to see you like this.”

  He didn’t want her frightened. He just wanted her to leave him alone. “After years of exacting discipline, you can hardly begrudge me a few days of sloth.”

  “Sloth, James? Really?” She searched him deeply, and he looked away. “You’ve slunk away to Croston the way an animal goes off on its own to die.” She was quiet for an uncharacteristically long moment.

  “Go back to London, Ree. I’m fine.”

  “You aren’t.”

  He looked her in the eye and called up all the clarity he could muster. “I am. I’ve been looking forward to this for months and now, finally, I’m home.”

  She pursed her lips. “Very well,” she finally said. Impulsively she reached for his arm. “Anything can be fixed, dearest. Have you tried everything? And I do mean everything, James.”

  There was one thing he hadn’t tried. I love you. He imagined saying those words to Katherine, but could only imagine her scorn if he did.

  * * *

  HIS HEAD POUNDED like the devil after Honoria left. Winston! Bloody hell. He needed to return to London now. Today.

  But what good would it do? It was far too late to fix anything. He’d acted with complete disregard for Katherine’s feelings—there was no way to change that now. And in the process, he’d robbed himself of ever knowing whether she might have chosen him of her own free will.

  Yes! Her sharp answer shot through his head. He set his glass down and sat forward, cradling his head in his hands. If he’d just renewed his proposal instead of assuming he knew what she was thinking...