by Merry Farmer
“Of course,” she said with a coquettish shrug. “I was a wealthy, powerful widow who had entered politics. Escorting me to the opera instantly raised a man’s status in the eyes of other men. I can name half a dozen men whose political careers advanced because they danced with me more times than was proper at a ball.”
“I bet you can,” Malcolm muttered, jealousy hot in his expression once more.
Katya tsked and shook her head. “You don’t understand. After all this time, you still don’t understand.”
“I understand that you take far too much pleasure in what you can do for eager young bucks,” Malcolm snapped.
“Being seen with me made their reputations. My endorsement helped them politically.” She paused, meeting his eyes and holding them. “I never went to bed with any of them.”
“Of course you did,” Malcolm said, looking confused again. “You just said—”
“I said that, after Robert died, in order to protect myself and build the reputation I needed in order to control my own destiny and my children’s fortune, I carefully chose a series of lovers. And then I said that once I’d achieved my goal, I chose you as my reward.”
Malcolm started to speak but stopped himself. Slowly, like bricks falling into place, understanding began to dawn in Malcolm’s eyes. Katya watched as the truth took hold, as he fought against it, rejecting the possibility that he’d been wrong for so many years, and then as startled acceptance left him reeling. It was time for the full truth to be told.
“Malcolm, you’re the only lover I’ve had for the past twelve years. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved at all,” she said, surprised at how easy the words were to speak after all this time.
“You can’t…you don’t mean that, do you?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“I am telling the gospel truth,” she said, staring straight at him so that there was no way he could doubt her veracity.
“They why didn’t you marry me?” he burst, full of emotion. “I’ve asked and asked and asked, but you’ve always turned me down. Why would you be so cruel if you love me?”
“Because if I’d married you, everything I spent all those years working for would be ruined,” she said, meeting the intensity of his emotion. “I love you, Malcolm, but given half the chance, you would have marched into my life, taken control of the earldom, barred me from my own finances, and forbidden me from living a political life, just like every other man in my life has tried to do.”
He gaped at her. “No I wouldn’t have,” he nearly shouted. “How dare you even think that?”
For the first time since sitting down, Katya felt uneasy. “Of course you would have,” she said. “You’re always arguing with me and contradicting me and trying to get me to do whatever you tell me to do.”
“Because I like arguing with you, you madwoman,” he shouted. “I like fighting with you. It arouses me in ridiculous ways. No one challenges me the way you do. I’ve spent my whole life with people kowtowing to me because I’m a stupid, bloody marquess, but not you. You’re strong. You’re fierce. Do you know how many pale, fussy, insufferably dull women have tried to throw themselves or their daughters at me so they can reap the benefits of the Campbell fortune? They’re all idiots compared to you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Malcolm. You’re not that twisted,” she said, in spite of the fact that her body reacted to his confession in entirely inconvenient ways.
“I am,” he argued, leaning toward her. “You’re the only woman who has ever been able to boil my blood at a moment’s notice in every possible way.”
“That’s a flat lie,” Katya said, shifting to face him more fully. “You loved Tessa far more than you ever loved me.”
He jerked back, staring incredulously at her. “Is that what you think?”
“I think it because it’s true,” she said. “You risked your life to save Tessa, and everything you’ve done since her death, the way you’ve pursued Shayles with single-minded focus, is because of her.”
“Yes,” Malcolm admitted with a nod. “I’ve dedicated my life to bringing Shayles down because of what he did to Tessa, what he’s done to too many women since then. But you don’t know the whole story.”
“Then tell me,” Katya pleaded. “The whole point of the children locking us in here is so we share the secrets we’ve been keeping from each other. You know all my secrets now—yes, you do, so don’t give me that look.” She pointed at him before he could protest. “It’s your turn to bare your soul to me, Malcolm Campbell.”
“Fine,” he snapped, the old fire back in his eyes. “You want to know all my secrets?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then how’s this for a secret—Tessa never loved me.” His voice faltered with a sudden burst of pain that went far deeper than Katya would have expected. Silence hung between them for a moment. “She never loved me,” he repeated.
“I’m certain she did,” Katya said, but her conviction was slipping by the second.
Malcolm shook his head and fell back against the sofa, rubbing his face. “I met her after I came back from the war,” he said, his tone haunted. “The war was terrible. Too many young men, cut down in the prime of their lives. And for what? It was a stupid cause. We never should have gotten involved in the Crimea. I came home sick, wounded, and angry at the world.”
“And you found Tessa,” Katya suggested when it looked like he might not go on.
Malcolm shook his head, his face contorted in bitterness. “I found Shayles. I’d known him at university, but we met again by chance. He told me he’d recently started a club for gentlemen, one where frustrations like the kind he could see in me could be soothed. Damnable idiot that I was, I took him up on his offer to be let into the inner circle.”
A long silence followed that Katya didn’t feel she could break. Malcolm was clearly reliving things that went back further than she did.
“I’m not proud of the things I did,” he said at last in a shaky voice. “Though back then, the club didn’t hold a candle to what it became. It wasn’t much different than a regular brothel. One woman in particular calmed my anger over everything the way I needed it to be calmed. Only later did I find out she was Shayles’s own wife, that she was a dubious participant in the activities of the club, and that Shayles got off on humiliating her.”
“I always knew he was a bastard,” Katya said, shaking her head.
“Tessa begged me to rescue her from Shayles one night,” Malcolm went on. “That’s when I turned a corner. My life was no longer about the horror of the war, it was about justice, redemption. I nearly ruined my fortune and my reputation getting Tessa away from Shayles. We escaped from the club one night. I hid her in my townhouse for months and helped her initiate divorce proceedings. She couldn’t initiate them herself, of course. Shayles had to be the one to set things in motion. I was close enough to Shayles to pay him off and blackmail him into letting her go.”
He paused, shaking his head and lowering it. “I should have known.”
“Known what?” Katya asked gently.
Malcolm sighed and sat straight, still not looking at her. “Shayles must have contacted her behind my back. I don’t know what they said or how often they communicated, but he let her go far too easily. Or rather, he let her go for the gigantic sum I had to mortgage my townhouse to pay him. As soon as the divorce was final, I married Tessa. She was pregnant in no time. Honestly, I think she was already pregnant before we were officially married. She was happy, but there was also a wistfulness about her. I explained it away because she was with child.”
He stopped. Katya respected his silence. She knew what happened next at any rate. Tessa had died in a difficult childbirth. Cece had almost died as well. Malcolm had told her everything when they’d met six months later at one of Robert’s house parties.
As if to confirm that his thoughts had gone to the same place hers had, he said, “The birth was a nightmare. The midwife tried to keep me out, but I refused to be any
where but by Tessa’s side. The screaming, the blood.” He swallowed and shook his head. “It was a miracle Cece survived.”
Katya scooted closer to him, reaching out to take his hand as it rested on the cushion, but he pulled away.
“The last words Tessa spoke,” he said in a harsh whisper. “The last thing she spoke as she lay there, bleeding to death because of me, was to call for Shayles.”
Katya gasped, the pain she could see in Malcolm’s face echoing in her heart.
“After everything I’d done for her, everything she meant to me, she called out his name as she died,” he said, staring hollowly at the fire. “And I never got answers,” he went on. “I never found out if she loved him or was cursing his name, or if she ever loved me, or why she begged me to take her away from him. I never found out what she and Shayles said to each other behind my back. I never found out for certain if she was a willing participant in his club or if she’d been forced into it, as she told me. I’ll never know.”
A tear slipped from Katya’s eye and tickled her cheek, startling her. She wiped it away and sniffled. “You could have told me, you know,” she said. “I would have listened.”
He turned to stare at her. “You could have told me about Natalia, even if it meant telling me to stay away as well.”
She glanced down at the expanse of sofa between them. He was right, though there was no way she could have known it until now. “It seems we’ve spent so much time being lovers and rivals that we’ve failed to simply be friends.”
He huffed a humorless laugh in agreement and stretched his hand toward her. Katya took it, simply holding it.
“I feel so old,” Malcolm said at last with a sigh. He rubbed his free hand over his face. “I’ve failed at so many things for so long, and I don’t have the energy to keep pretending I’m young.”
“You haven’t failed at everything, Malcolm,” Katya said, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve beaten Shayles more times than you realize. It was you who did the work that led to his arrest, regardless of Christopher’s help.”
Malcolm snorted. “I knew all along he wasn’t your lover. I just despise the young pup for being by your side when I wanted to be.”
“In all fairness,” Katya said with a weak smirk, “I believe he’s in his thirties. And he asked me to help him find a suitable young bride, because he’s had no luck catching a girl’s eye on his own.”
“Are you everyone’s matchmaker now?” Malcolm turned to her with an exhausted smile.
Katya huffed. “I’ve never felt so ancient as I did when he asked me to find him a young woman. Men like that used to ask for me.”
“His estate is in Cornwall, isn’t it?” Malcolm asked, the question a peaceful signal that the storm of their past was over. When Katya nodded, he said, “What about Victoria Travers?”
“That’s exactly who I was thinking.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand. They continued to sit at arm’s length, hands joined, the weight of the world still pressing down.
Time seemed to drag, so Katya had no idea how much of it had passed before Malcolm said, “I withdraw all previous offers of marriage.”
Katya blinked and turned to him. “You do?”
He nodded heavily, staring at the fire, not her. “They were made without a full grasp of the situation. You deserve better than that.”
The corner of Katya’s mouth twitched, but she wasn’t sure if it was a smile. Her heart felt oddly empty. “And you deserve better than to live in the shadow of self-doubt.”
He turned to her, a questioning eyebrow raised.
“I don’t know whether Tessa was true or false with her affections,” Katya went on. “I never knew her. But I know that your intentions toward her, your efforts to save her, were as pure and genuine as could be. You did the right thing, Malcolm. I knew it from the first moment I met you. It’s why I fell in love with you. And either way, Tessa gave you Cecelia.”
“I didn’t know love like that was possible until I held Cece in my arms and thanked God she survived,” Malcolm said, dissolving into tears. “I’m so proud of the woman she’s become.”
Katya blinked into tears with him. She slid across the sofa, closing the gap between them, and tucked her arms around him in a quiet embrace. There was nothing suggestive or lascivious about the way their bodies fit together, only deep respect and a love that ran far closer to the bone than either of them had realized.
“I haven’t just been fighting against Shayles, you know,” Malcolm said a minute later, sniffing and clearing his throat as he sat straight and resumed his gruff demeanor. “I’ve been fighting for the bill we want to pass, for the rights of all women. That’s the true battle of my life, and I’m fighting it for Cece, and for you.”
“And you’ll win, I’m sure,” Katya said, wiping away her tears. “You’re the most experienced fighter in Parliament. It’s only a shame that silly title of yours prevents you from running for a seat in Commons.”
“Maybe I should give it up,” he said with a lop-sided grin. “I don’t need a title anyhow.”
“Oh no.” Katya shook her head. “If you gave it up, that sniveling nephew of yours would become marquess, and nobody wants that.”
“It’s a shame women can’t inherit. Cece would make a brilliant marchioness.” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe I’ll fight for equal inheritance laws once we win this first battle for women.”
Katya laughed at the idea, not because it was foolish, but because it was so far beyond progressive that even she had never thought of it. “I would stand behind you all the way,” she said.
“Good,” he answered.
He brushed a hand over her face, cradling her cheek and leaning in for a kiss. Katya closed her eyes and parted her lips, finally ready to give in to him as part of her had longed to do for ages.
But before Malcolm’s lips met hers, there was a horrendous crash and the front door flew open, revealing Rupert. Katya and Malcolm jumped apart, but the expression on Rupert’s face was not one of excitement or joy that his plan had worked. Instead, he looked far more alarmed than Katya had ever seen him.
“Mama, Lord Malcolm, you have to come now,” he said, all seriousness. “Shayles’s trial has been moved to tomorrow.”
Chapter 18
In an instant, the sticky swirl of emotion that had made Malcolm feel as though he were drowning was replaced by familiar fury. He leapt up from the sofa with the energy of a man half his age and marched to Rupert.
“How do you know?” he demanded, more out of frustration for Shayles’s capacity to worm his way out of any situation than because he doubted Rupert.
“Because I told him.”
Shock lodged like a shard of iron in Malcolm’s gut as Mark Gatwick stepped into the cottage. The man was dressed for a London soiree rather than the wilds of Scotland, but where Malcolm expected him to sneer at his surroundings, Gatwick barely seemed to notice them. He wore an expression of uncharacteristic focus as he nodded a greeting to Malcolm and to Katya as she stood and walked to Malcolm’s side.
“What are you doing here?” Katya asked, suspicion warring with surprise on her face. “I thought you were in Paris.”
“I was,” Gatwick answered. “I returned as soon as I heard Shayles was in custody.”
“Returned to help the bastard go free, no doubt,” Malcolm growled. “You’re responsible for having his trial miraculously moved up, aren’t you?”
“No,” Gatwick replied, absolutely straight. “You may find it difficult to believe, but I want Shayles taken care of as much as you do.”
“I’m sure you do,” Malcolm said, enough sarcasm in his voice to hint that he meant exactly the opposite.
But there was nothing in Gatwick’s demeanor that suggested he was anything other than honest in all he said. He studied Malcolm with an unreadable expression before saying, “My reasons for wanting Shayles brought to justice go back much farther than yours.”
Malcolm wanted to challenge that statement, to remind Gatwick that he’d been Shayles’s closest friend and toady for decades. Why would a man who wanted justice cling so closely to a devil like Shayles unless they were, in fact, friends?
But before Malcolm could say anything, Katya narrowed her eyes and asked, “How did you know we were here?”
“Lady Lavinia informed me the two of you had retreated to Scotland,” Gatwick answered. “Your butler informed me you’d come here specifically.”
“I’ll wring Mackay’s neck,” Malcolm said, starting for the door.
“He had good reason to be open with me,” Gatwick said, following him.
Katya and Rupert brought up the rear. The girls were waiting outside, along with Cecelia’s old nanny, Mrs. Elkins. All four women looked anxious, and the girls seemed ready to charge off into whatever battle waited for them. Malcolm nodded to Mrs. Elkins, wishing he had more time to either thank her or berate her for enabling his daughter to get into mischief, he wasn’t sure which.
“How did Shayles manage to get his trial moved to tomorrow?” he asked as their entire group started back toward the center of town, where Malcolm’s carriage—and presumably whatever conveyance Gatwick had taken to reach them—waited.
“He has powerful friends,” Gatwick answered. “Friends who will be present at the Palace of Westminster tomorrow, even if others aren’t.”
Malcolm huffed a humorless laugh. It was exactly as he thought, even without elaboration. “Shayles is trying to pack the House of Lords full of his allies and push the trial through while his opponents are away.”
“Peter is still in Cornwall, awaiting the birth of his second child, isn’t he?” Katya asked.
“He is. And Basil is languishing in Cumbria, ignoring it all.” Malcolm swore under his breath. “At least Armand is in town. And we may be up here, but we can make it to London by tomorrow morning if we head straight to the train station,” he said, thinking aloud. “Rupert, I’ll need you to linger behind to make arrangements with Mackay to send my things and your mother’s things after us. And somebody needs to send telegrams to Peter and Basil advising them to get their arses back to London immediately.”
