by Anne O'Brien
‘No. Of course he did not!’ she snapped, disliking Marlbrooke’s silky tones and the threat of the hard-held emotion in his thinned lips and raised brows. She had no intention of accepting criticism of her actions from him. ‘No one did. Indeed, my mother … But it seemed to me to be the most sensible policy.’
‘Did you see fit to inform your mother or your uncle of your intentions?’
‘I left a letter to tell them that I would be at Widemarsh Manor with Aunt Gilliver. That I would be quite safe and write to them when I had spoken with her.’
‘And presumably that would stop them from worrying! A more hare-brained scheme I have never had the misfortune to come across.’
‘I did not see the necessity to tell them anything else.’ The slightest twinge of conscience put an edge on her voice. She would not make excuses to him. ‘They would certainly have prevented me from coming to Aunt Gilliver. Both of them are intent on securing my marriage to you, so it was not likely that I would receive a blessing from either of them. And, it is not your concern!’
‘Oh, but it is.’ He walked towards her and held out the letter. ‘You are legally bound to me. It is certainly my concern.’ His comment might be expressed in a quiet tone, but she was left in no doubt of his temper. She quaked inwardly when he remained standing before her.
‘And what do you wish to do now, Mistress Harley?’
‘I will go to Widemarsh Manor as I had planned. As soon as may be.’
‘Then I will take you tomorrow.’
‘I suppose I must thank you, but I do not see the need. All I require is a horse.’
‘Your cousin might allow you to ride off unescorted and unchaperoned, but it might surprise you to know that I have more of a care for your safety.’ He frowned at her, a flare of temper quickly hidden.
‘It does surprise me. Since you could not even recognise me as your betrothed. Even after you had kissed me!’
It was the wrong thing to say. She realised it almost immediately as she detected a flash of grim humour in his eyes and slight curl of his lips. It was a mistake to expose the real source of her humiliation to him.
So that was it! He should have realised. ‘So I did. Perhaps if I had kissed you again, here, I would have noted the resemblance. And there I was, trying hard not to kiss you. I resisted kissing Viola very successfully, if not always comfortably!’
She did not understand his implications, but understood only too well his approach and the intent written on his face.
‘Well, Mistress Kate, let us discover if this helps me, and you of course, to remember. I do not think we will be disappointed.’
He grasped her shoulders before she could retreat and pulled her hard against his body. Angling his head, he crushed his mouth ruthlessly to hers before she could struggle or resist. There was no gentleness here, as much anger as desire, and directed at himself more than her. He forced her lips apart to accept him, all heat and possession, taking the kiss deeper when she refused to relax into his embrace, but stood rigidly against him, her lips cold and unresponsive. He raised his head and looked down into her shocked eyes.
‘No, I fear I would not have remembered. There was far more sweetness in your lips last time. And, in truth, perhaps I was in a better humour. Let me try again.’
He turned instantly from possession to persuasion. His mouth was softer, caressing, seducing her lips to part, her tongue to match his. She found to her shame that she could not withstand the tender onslaught any longer. The force, yes. That could be resisted as a matter of pride. But not this gentle insistence. She felt herself melt and damned him—and herself—for allowing it. Now her lips softened and grew warm, the warmth beginning to spread through her blood to her fingertips.
‘Ah, yes.’ He raised his head at last to smile at her bemused expression. ‘I remember that.’
Disgust whipped through her. How dare he! Without thought, without reason, she lifted her hand, struck out, striking his handsome smiling face with a slap of her open hand, the sharp sound echoing in the room. He released her, more in surprise than anger, so that she almost staggered, losing her balance. Shock at her actions swept her face, emotion raw in her eyes. What have I done? How could I have struck him? How could he humiliate me so? She could not bear it, the whole sorry situation. With a sob she turned on her heel and ran from the library before she could expose her emotions further.
As she reached the door, it opened to allow Elizabeth to enter. Kate brushed past her with a stricken glance, tears evident on her cheeks, and a murmured apology.
‘What is it?’ Lady Elizabeth turned in astonishment to look after her. ‘I heard raised voices. What have you said to her to upset her so?’
‘Thank you for your confidence, ma’am! But for once I must agree. The fault is entirely mine. It is a long story, Mother. You should sit down and I think some wine would help.’ He sighed and moved to pour out two glasses of claret.
‘It is not an easy tale to tell and does not sit particularly well with me.’ He leaned against the edge of his desk and, abruptly and concisely but leaving nothing unexplained, proceeded to enlighten his mother. Elizabeth listened in silence, making no attempt to interrupt, simply noting her son’s refusal to justify his actions or lift any of the blame from his own shoulders.
‘And so,’ he finished, ‘you entered on the final unedifying scene. I had remarkable success in rousing her anger against me, did I not?’ He ran his hand over his jaw. ‘She expressed herself with some force, to my cost. I find I cannot blame her.’
‘Nor can I!’ Elizabeth might understand the situation, even sympathise with him, but she had seen the despair on Viola’s face and could not imagine the horrors of her recent heartbreaking discovery. It would do Marlbrooke good to deal with a degree of guilt.
‘And you did not even recognise her, Marcus?’ She kept her tone stern and unyielding. ‘How humiliating for the poor girl. Apart from everything else that she has rediscovered today, how must she feel to realise that she has actually been living in the house which she believes should be her own? And that she owes her rescue to the one family whom she has been brought up to regard as her enemy? My heart goes out to her.’
‘Mea culpa.’ Marlbrooke threw himself down in a chair and groaned. ‘I blame myself. She blames me. You blame me. I shall take to sackcloth and ashes if it will help. But I cannot see as yet how to put it right. In fact, I doubt if I can.’
‘So what now?’
‘Tomorrow I will escort her to Widemarsh Manor and deliver her to her great-aunt as she wishes. After that … we shall see.’
‘Yes, I agree. That is where she wishes to be and it will give her time to come to terms with events.’ Lady Elizabeth looked down at her clasped fingers and decided to speak her mind. ‘I shall miss Viola.’
‘You might come to like Kate just as well.’
‘Marcus, can I say … perhaps this unfortunate situation might help to solve a dilemma for you.’
‘You need to explain such an enigmatic remark, Mother. My brain feels as if it has been pummelled from Kate’s attack!’
Elizabeth smiled briefly in some sympathy. ‘I have seen the way you have dealt towards Viola. The way you have looked at her. And yet you kept your distance from her when you might have been tempted to do otherwise. And I believe it was because of Kate.’
‘You are far too percipient.’ Marlbrooke’s returning smile had a sardonic edge. ‘But I fear that Viola might have been more receptive to my advances than Kate will ever be.’
‘Give her time. Her situation has been impossible.’
‘I know. And I will give her the time and space she needs. She mentioned a cousin—Richard—who has some interest in the outcome of these events—and perhaps in Kate herself.’ His tone was pensive and caused Elizabeth to raise her brows.
‘Indeed?’
‘Yes. I need to know more about Richard Hotham. Hotham is a name that was once feared by many in this land—presumably his father. I knew of th
e connection between the Harleys and Simon Hotham, of course, but did not know of the son. He must be of a similar age to myself.’ Marlbrooke tossed off the wine in his glass as if he had come to a decision. ‘I need to know what Richard Hotham intends—because, whether she is Kate or Viola, I fear that I have fallen in love with her.’
Kate awoke instantly. Alert, listening to the silence around her. Breathing shallowly, heart thudding in her breast.
There was no sound. The house slept silently round her. Kate groaned into her pillows and forced her muscles to relax. She was merely suffering from an overactive mind after the dreadful revelations and events of the day.
She snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes again. She really was too tired, too numb to re-stoke the anger against Marlbrooke. But the image of him was immediately there, as she had seen him behind her in the mirror. Tall and dominant and devastating. She would not relive his kisses. The possessive sweep of his hands. The lean, firm body pressed hard against hers. She would not think of that. Or of his teaching her to dance, his innate grace, the laughter that they had shared. And she would definitely not dwell on the depth of love and compassion that he showed, but carefully masked, in all his dealings with Lady Elizabeth. It was easier to think of her humiliation at his hands than his caresses. His impossibly handsome face. Those clear grey eyes that stripped her to her soul. His devastatingly charming smile … She turned her face into her pillow and willed herself to sleep.
Her body tensed again. Something had woken her. The air temperature around her had dropped to ice, sending shivers through her from head to toe despite her warm coverings.
Struggling up against the pillows, she prepared to light the candle, which stood in readiness on the night stand. Probably only the skitter of mice behind the wainscoting. Or a hunting owl outside her window. She lit the candle with trembling fingers, acknowledging the relief that swept through her when she found that her room was empty, though she had experienced the distinct impression that she was not alone. But it was so cold, the icy chill pressing down on her to fill her lungs with freezing mist. And then from the chill came such a sense of uncontrolled grief that Kate caught her breath. It surrounded her, filled her head and her heart, pulsed through her veins with her blood. Such sorrow. It was so intense that she expected to hear someone sobbing in despair. But there was no sound, only this terrible sense of anguish and betrayal.
‘Who are you?’ Kate whispered, but there was no response. ‘Can I help you?’ Nothing. Kate realised that tears had come to her own eyes. She would weep for this grief-stricken creature if she could do nothing else.
And then, as quickly as it had come, the chill was gone. The room returned to its normally cool atmosphere, scented with lavender and rosemary. It might all have been a dream. But Kate was left with the residue of heartbreak and knew that it was not some trick of her imagination. Her breath continued to catch, the tears to slide down her cheeks.
For a little time she simply sat, not knowing what to do. She certainly could not sleep, as if nothing were amiss. And where had the presence gone? How could it tolerate such emotion without someone to offer comfort? She threw back the covers, snatched up the candle and a shawl for her shoulders, and went quietly out of the room. Whether to give comfort or to seek it for herself she was unsure. But such grief could not, must not, be ignored. She turned her steps towards the Long Gallery where she sensed the presence had gone.
Viscount Marlbrooke was not asleep. He had not even gone to bed, but had shut himself in the library, stretched out in his chair behind his desk, with a series of unsettling thoughts for company. A number of glasses of red wine did nothing to lesson the turmoil within.
By some mischievous quirk of fate, his dilemma had indeed been solved. He had planned to marry Katherine Harley to secure an inheritance. No love, no complications, no commitment other than a legal binding and a need to produce an heir to secure the future stability of the estate. It would serve his purposes very well. And if she had no feelings for him, then so much the better. It was not necessary to find affection in marriage.
But, damn it, he had fallen more than halfway in love with Viola. He remembered the impact on his senses as he had untied the linen cords of her shirt and uncovered her delicate feminine body. He drew in a deep breath. He remembered the silken glide of her collarbone beneath his fingers. And after that he had simply fallen into the abyss. Not the easy lust of desire he had felt for other women, the practised ladies at the Court, but a blow to his gut that had almost sent him to his knees to ask her forgiveness for feasting his eyes on so much beauty without her consent.
But now, although the outrageous complication had been removed, there seemed to be little hope of his love ever being returned. Because he had hurt her—Kate and Viola.
And she hated him. Understandably, in the circumstances! If he had wanted to destroy Kate’s self-esteem, he could not have made a better job of it. To converse with her, to stand in her home and discuss marriage settlements, to compliment her beauty, to kiss her—and then not to recognise her! She had every justification for refusing to accept his excuses. Yes—she would hate him. His eyelids masked a gleam of bitter emotion.
Or did she?
He experienced an uncomfortable tightening in his loins as he remembered her unwilling response to his kiss, the soft lips parting beneath his to allow his tongue to invade and possess her sweet and tender mouth. Perhaps she was not as angry as she believed. He was a patient man. Within reason, at any rate. He would be willing to lay siege to her damaged heart and teach her the delights of love. He wanted her and he would have her. He wanted Kate to smile at him, as Viola had done, so that he could sink fathoms deep into her glorious eyes.
His senses suddenly became alert and aware of his surroundings, jerked out of his thoughts. Not a sound exactly, but something had caught at his attention. Perhaps Master Verzons or one of the servants still not abed.
He yawned, rose to his feet and opened the library door. The hall was dark. No one there. And then—a glimmer of light. From the Long Gallery, he deduced—someone with a candle? He walked quietly across the hall, up the staircase and turned to where the Long Gallery ran the length of the front of the Priory.
‘Katherine!’
She walked towards him, a slight figure in linen nightgown and shawl, her bare feet making no sound, her candle guttering as she moved.
‘Is there something wrong? Do you need anything?’ She looked lost and alone in the dark expanse of the vast room.
When she did not reply, he strode towards her, thinking for a brief moment that she might be sleepwalking, a reaction to the stress brought on by the tensions of the day. But her focus was keen and sharp and she responded to his voice, quickening her step. He took the candle from her and lifted it high. What he saw stopped his heart. The tears no longer fell, but there was no hiding the fact that she had wept. Her cheeks were stained, her lashes damp. Coming to the obvious conclusion and cursing himself silently, he set the candle down and took hold of her hands.
‘Kate. Don’t cry. It was never my intention to humiliate you or distress you. I know that the blame is all mine and I am beyond redemption. It is not worth your tears.’
To his amazement she simply stared at him, uncomprehending, eyes blank.
He wiped away the remnants of moisture with the edge of her shawl. ‘I deserve to be thrashed for causing you such pain. I would beg your forgiveness, on my knees, if you wish it.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, surprising him again. ‘No!’ More insistently now as she realised his misunderstanding. ‘It is not what you think. Can you not feel it? The presence here?’ She turned her head to look over her shoulder. ‘She is so cold and desolate.’
For the first time Marlbrooke became aware of the atmosphere in the Gallery. His dark brows snapped together. Yes, it was unduly cold. And a wash of some intense emotion touched his senses with invisible fingers.
‘Yes. I feel it.’
‘I co
uld not rest. I could not imagine so much sorrow. And I did not know how to console her.’
In reply, the Viscount drew Kate gently into his arms, enfolding her close, simply giving warmth and comfort. Anticipating her rejection, primed to release her at her demand, he relaxed when she made no move to resist. Instead she stood, breathing softly within the circle of his embrace, her forehead resting against his shoulder as the taut silence settled around them.
‘She has gone now.’
‘Yes. There is no need for you to cry, Kate. I was arrogant enough to believe that I had been the cause of your tears.’
‘No.’ It was little more than a sigh.
For Kate it was as if a spell had been lifted. Embarrassed by her tears, her unconventional attire, her presence in the Long Gallery in the dead of night, she moved to extricate herself from Marlbrooke’s embrace. What must he think of her? But he would have none of it. Instead, he bent and lifted her into his arms.
‘Just hold on to me. You are quite safe and I will take you back to your room. She has gone, whoever she is, and her sadness is not yours to bear.’
His words had the desired calming effect. She clung to him, face turned into his throat, all the journey back to her room where he lifted her on to her pillows and pulled the bedcover over her. She still trembled a little and her hands, when he took hold of them to tuck them under the quilt, were icy, but the emotional storm had passed, enough for her to attempt to hide her tear-ravaged face from him when he lit the bedside candle. He smiled at her very feminine response, reaching to push some wayward strands of hair from her cheek.
‘What a momentous day you have had, Viola. But you are safe now and you must try to sleep.’
‘Yes.’
He hesitated, thought better of what he would have said and turned to leave.
‘My lord?’
He turned his head.
Her eyes rose to his, shyly, hesitantly, before the words tumbled out. ‘Please don’t leave me. Stay a little while. She did not frighten me, but …’ Her breath caught, although she could not have explained why.
