At first, Cat gave the man little thought. He seemed harmless enough with his small talk about the ball and the island. She made appropriate replies, while her mind wandered to Ransom. And Cordelia. As he droned on, she stared fixedly ahead, sipping champagne and unwilling to make the effort to rid herself of his company.
Even when he turned the conversation to Ransom, Cat paid little heed, for the duke was the topic on everyone's lips. She answered politely, if rather distractedly, as he posed innocuous questions until something in his tone of voice suddenly made her attend him.
Then Cat turned and really looked at Mr. Blakely him for the first time, and she did not like what she saw. His head was tilted slightly to the side, his lips curved into an odd smile, and there was something about his eyes...
He reminded her of nothing so much as a weasel, and her own eyes narrowed as she wondered if the resemblance extended to his character, for this was no chance encounter. Mr. Blakely had sought her out for a purpose.
He continued chatting, as though oblivious to her scrutiny, but somehow Cat did not think him unaware. She imagined, with an eerie certainty, that not much escaped him, and she began to concentrate on his words.
"...Of course, those of us who know the duke are well aware that you have captured his most tender feelings," the man said. "Can nuptials be too far in the future?"
"I'm afraid you are mistaken, Mr. Blakely," Cat answered. "His grace holds me in no more regard than any other acquaintance. Or perhaps you do not know the duke as well as you profess?"
Her companion's lips thinned in response, but he bowed his head as if in apology. "You are too modest," he murmured. "Ah, well."
He sighed and looked down at the floor, then tilted his head again, as his gaze, alight with intent, shot to her face. "But if one were to have influence with the duke, such influence would be very valuable, don't you think?"
Her wits dulled by champagne, Cat struggled to make sense of his words, but she was in no condition to decipher obscure messages. "What do you mean?"
Mr. Blakely appeared surprised. "Why, there are always people willing to pay for influence with the nobility, Miss Amberly," he explained. "Such practices are commonplace in London."
"You are willing to pay me to influence his grace?" Cat burst out, incredulous.
"No, no." Blakely laughed, demurring. "I was only pointing out that such business arrangements are prevalent among the rich and powerful. Lud, Miss Amberly, I would never include myself among such personages."
Apologizing profusely for any misunderstanding or offense, he seemed intent upon keeping Cat by his side. "Tell me of your aunt's gardens. I have heard so much of them," he urged.
But Cat had no wish to tarry with this man. "Perhaps another time, Mr. Blakely," she said, eager to be free of her unwanted company.
As she made her escape, Cat set aside her empty glass and vowed it was her last for the evening, no matter how many women she saw dancing with Ransom. Drawing a deep breath to try to clear her head, she wondered if she had imagined ill intent in Mr. Blakely when there was none.
After all, no harm had been done, she thought, shaking her head. Had she turned back in time to see his smug mile, Cat would have known differently, for Devlin's man had accomplished just what he had set out to do.
Ransom saw Blakely's expression and longed to wipe it from his face. But he waited until the man had turned to study a portrait before he stepped out of the shadows.
"Richard Blakely," Ransom said coolly as he approached. Although the blond man remained still, exhibiting no signs of nervousness at his appearance, Ransom was not surprised. Nothing much ever showed on Blakely's face.
"Your grace," Blakely said, bowing slightly. "How delightful to see you again."
"Do you think so? I regret having to change your mind," Ransom said. Without a moment's hesitation, Ransom’s fingers curled around Blakely's neck, slamming him against the wall with a dull thud. And there the man dangled, his feet inches off the floor, while he struggled for breath.
"Where can I find your master?" Ransom demanded. Receiving only a choked gurgle for his trouble, he increased the pressure of his grip. "Where is he?" Ransom asked again, the steady calm of his voice in sharp contrast to his actions.
"L'Etoile... the Rue de la Paix."
"Very good," Ransom said. Loosening his hold, he let Blakely slide down the wall to the floor. Blakely gasped and eyed his captor warily, for Ransom still clutched his throat.
"And that one?" Ransom asked, nodding in the direction that Catherine had gone.
"What?"
"Who is the girl?" Ransom asked, his fingers tightening again.
"I never saw her before," Blakely answered. This time, the force of Ransom's movement knocked his head against the wood paneling.
"Is she in Devlin's employ?"
"Yes, yes." Blakely muttered as he struggled to stand. "She was to ensnare you."
"Thank you," Ransom said. "You've been most helpful." Releasing his quarry, he stepped away smoothly. And without another word, he turned, his long strides taking him from the gallery without a backward glance.
Richard slid to his knees to slump upon the tiles, rubbing his neck as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He did not even bother to congratulate himself on the success of his plan. Instead, he silently berated himself for his miscalculation.
Miscalculations were dangerous and messy, and, in this case, painful. But who would have expected the cold-blooded Duprey to become violent? Yet Richard blamed himself. It was his job to foresee all possible problems, and he had not guessed just how touchy Duprey would be about the girl.
Yes, he had definitely miscalculated, for Duprey was not just taken with Catherine Amberly. He was in love with her.
***
Shaking off the odd encounter with Mr. Blakely, Cat ducked into the blue salon to freshen up, her thoughts turning once again to Cordelia and Ransom. She wet a handkerchief and dabbed at her temples, trying to ward off the effects of the heat and the wine.
Looking into the mirror, she realized it was too late to hope that she would sprout a cloud of red hair accompanied by a pale complexion of milk and honey. But as she stared glumly at her own reflection, she watched the features she had hoped to attain appear.
"Cordelia!"
"Catherine Amberly, why didn't you tell me?" Cordelia asked breathlessly, taking both of Catherine's hands in her own.
"Tell you what?" Cat asked, flustered.
"Only that a duke is so taken with you that he can't keep his eyes off of you!"
"What?"
"It's true," Cordelia whispered as they sank into two gilt chairs. "Of course, when I asked him, he denied it and gave me quite a setdown, but it was obvious to anyone watching him. Oh, Catherine, he is simply mad for you!"
Relief flooded Cat with the knowledge that her friend had no interest in Ransom, but she remained skeptical of his supposed tendre for herself. Cordelia tried to convince her, detailing with some excitement Ransom's every move since he stepped into the ballroom, until Cat was giddy with confusion.
"He was watching the door like a hawk until you arrived, and then I think he would have rushed to your side if I hadn't teased him about it." Cordelia laughed. "Isn't he the most handsome of men? Intelligent, dashing, very sure of himself and so aristocratic. But tell me, what is he really like?"
What was he like? There's the rub, Cat thought, for she did not know what to say. Although she considered Cordelia her best friend, she had never divulged the secrets of her past to anyone except Amelia.
"Don't be coy with me, Catherine! Rumor has it that you two have been seeing quite a lot of each other."
"Rumor probably spread by Amelia, whose eyes have been glazed ever since she saw his title," Cat said.
"Who can blame her? After seeing him, I admit to being a bit dazzled myself. Of course, I am terribly cross with you, you goose, for not rushing to me immediately with the details," Cordelia said, smacking Cat playfully with her f
an.
"How often is there a tall, gorgeous duke chasing after you?" Cordelia asked. “I don’t understand how you can be so nonchalant about the whole thing. Why, I would be positively bursting at the seams."
Cat laughed along with her friend, for Cordelia's enthusiasm was contagious. But Cat could not allow herself to become too carried away. After all, Cordelia knew nothing about Ransom, neither his views on women, nor the bold way he had seduced her. If Ransom was mad for her, it was strictly lust that drove him.
"Tell me," Cordelia asked, leaning close. "Has he kissed you?"
The question was so close to Cat's thoughts that she looked up in startled surprise, effectively answering the question without uttering a word.
"He did! Tell all," Cordelia urged, making a face when Cat shook her head. "Well, I am quite jealous, you know. Why, just think, you might be a duchess!"
"Believe me," Cat assured her grimly. "The rogue does not have marriage in mind."
"No!" Cordelia gasped. "He would seduce you?" But she looked more intrigued than shocked. "How exciting! Don't you wish that you could let him? I can't wait until I am married and can accept such offers. Personally, I plan to have lots of handsome lovers."
She laughed gaily, but Cat did not join in. Such grandiose claims were amusing now, but Cat knew that if Cordelia fell in love, she would change her views. She turned back to the mirror and tucked away some stray locks.
"Oh, Catherine, aren't you flattered?" Cordelia asked "The only men who try to seduce me are old, balding merchants or gawky young boys."
The words, meant to be cheering, hung in the air. And the room, so filled with fun a moment ago as two young women giggled over whispered confidences, suddenly seemed quiet and empty.
Cordelia tilted her head and looked closely at Cat's somber reflection. "You love him," she said, softly.
"Don't be silly," Cat said, adjusting the shells in her hair.
"Oh, Catherine, how do you know he won't consider marriage?" Cordelia asked. "I know he's smitten with you. Any fool can see that."
"You have been known to exaggerate," Cat said, turning toward her friend with a smile.
"Catherine," Cordelia began, but she was interrupted by a group of shrill matronly women entering the room.
"Come, Cordelia, we're missing the ball," Cat said, taking her friend's arm and urging her forward.
The two had barely stepped from the room when Cat saw Ransom looking solemn and determined - and gazing intently in their direction.
"What did I tell you? Cordelia whispered behind her fan. "Why, he resembles a hawk ready to swoop upon us, and you, dear Catherine, appear to be the main course."
Cat stifled her answering laugh, for Ransom was wearing a serious expression as moved toward them.
"He is sinfully handsome," Cordelia said, "but much too ferocious for me." She shook her head, sending her auburn curls floating around her in charming disarray.
"If I were married to that one, I wouldn't dare take any lovers. He looks far too possessive. but with a man like him, perhaps you wouldn't need anyone else," she added, with a giggle.
"Sh!" Cat whispered, having started at the word "lover" as Ransom approached.
"Miss Amberly, Miss Westland," he said with a nod. Then, taking Cat's arm none too gently, he turned to Cordelia. "You will excuse us?" He asked the question in a tone that brooked no argument, before whisking Cat peremptorily onto the dance floor.
Cat's heart leapt at his forcefulness. Maybe Cordelia was right, and he was having a change of heart. Placing a trembling hand upon his arm, she remembered all too well the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. Had it only been yesterday that they had been entwined so intimately?
Cat couldn't look him in the face as the memory assailed her. And yet, the attraction between them was palpable, drawing her ever closer. She leaned in to take a deep breath of his scent, only to wince at the strong odor of alcohol.
She eyed him curiously, but his face, cold and composed, told her nothing. "You've been drinking," she said, surprised.
"So have you, my love."
"Not as much as you, I'll warrant," Cat said, staring at him in wonder and amusement. But her merriment died as his features went rigid with fury.
"Watch yourself, my love," he said in a harsh tone. "Your master would not like that that tone."
"My master?" Cat's brow furrowed in puzzlement. Why was he so angry? And why was everyone talking riddles? Cat vowed never to touch champagne again.
"You are a fine little actress, but the play grows thin. Let me assure you that I am no longer an interested audience," Ransom said.
When Cat blinked up at him, his lips curled into a smirk. "Is your hearing impaired, or am I speaking over your head? I tell you there is no need to continue playing the innocent, for I know who you are."
Cat stifled a gasp of surprise at the revelation that Ransom had finally recognized her. That certainly explained his foul mood. He had been taken in by a woman - one who had earned his respect and regard when in her guise as his cabin boy.
Whatever warm feelings, if any, he had once harbored for his young friend were gone now, for he smiled cruelly. Again Cat cursed herself for indulging in too much wine when she needed all her wits about her. Finally, she lifted her chin.
"I did what I had to do," she said softly, "to save my own life."
"Spare me the heart-wrenching excuses," Ransom said, as though her admission only enraged him further. "I haven't the time or the stomach for them."
"Have I committed a crime, then, your grace?" Cat asked. "The islands are a refuge for those with unusual histories, and masquerading seems to be common enough."
Something flashed in his eyes, but it was too quickly gone to decipher.
"I'm glad that we understand each other," Ransom said, with an eerie smoothness. "The game might be up, but perhaps we can find new amusements to entertain us. I'm sure we can work out something to our mutual satisfaction."
Cat blinked up at him in puzzlement. But there was no mistaking his intent when he leaned indecently close and whispered in her ear. "I'm leaving tomorrow, so let us make our last night together a memorable one."
Cat shivered, despite the heat, and her gaze flew to his, searching for some sign that he would miss her. But the brown depths showed nothing except contempt, and his mouth had hardened into a tight smile. "Claremont has put me in the west wing. Meet me there when our dance has ended," he instructed coldly.
Cat's head snapped back as though he had slapped her. "You conceited oaf! You think just because of what happened yesterday... that I..." she sputtered. She fought the urge to strike out blindly at him, halted only by the desire not to make a spectacle of herself among her neighbors.
"Come now, let's not drag out this charade any longer," Ransom said. "I won't be back, so if you want something from me, you had better act now."
"I want nothing from you except your absence from my life," Cat said, furious, embarrassed, and hurt. "Let me go this instant, or I will do more than trod on your foot, as I did with Mr. Pettifer. Instead, I will gladly give you my knee right here in front of everyone. Then maybe you will be less cocksure."
"As you wish." Ransom shrugged and let her go with a graciousness that did not extend to his eyes. If she had been less upset, Cat might have seen the threat implicit in his gaze. They were in public, so he was forced to respond accordingly, but his glare held a promise that all was not done between them.
Unwilling to draw attention to herself, Cat resisted the urge to rush from his side and took slow, measured steps across the floor. She put a hand to her throbbing temple and promptly informed Amelia that she was leaving.
"But we just arrived," Amelia said. The look on Cat's face must have stopped any further protests, for she scooped up her shawl without another word.
Hurrying after her niece, Amelia turned to pick Ransom out of the crowd. She found his tall, handsome figure easily enough. He was lounging negligently, his shoulders against an
archway, glowering at them with a fierceness that made her start.
And even Amelia began to doubt the wisdom of interfering in that one's life.
Chapter Fourteen
Cat tossed and turned in her bed, knocking her fist into her pillow in an effort to make it more comfortable, but to no avail. She could not drive the night's horrible experience with Ransom from her thoughts.
Amelia had wisely kept her mouth closed on the way home, and Cat had gone straight to bed, without volunteering any information. Still, she was too upset to sleep. Finally, she swung out of bed and threw a wrapper over her thin nightgown. Automatically, she slipped her knife into the pocket, for the habit was too ingrained to change now, despite the changes in the man who gave it to her.
Outside, the terrace was cool and quiet. A slight breeze stirred in the trees, while the moon was bright above in a sky brimming with stars. Up at the great house, they would have finished their late supper and returned to the receiving rooms and ballroom, though some of the older guests would have made their departures.
Shaking off thoughts of what she was missing, Cat drew a deep breath. The perfume of roses and orchids mingled in the air, and she reached out to snap a blossom from its stem.
Her toes dug into earth, and she scolded herself for going without her slippers as though she were still acting the young boy. Had she really changed so much since then? One thing remained the same: whenever Ransom entered her life, her emotions ran awry and confusion reigned.
The love she had felt was overwhelmed now by resentment and betrayal. Cat felt as though she was a casualty of some battle, pounded by cannon shot, while Ransom had walked away from the engagement without a scar.
He had meant to seduce her all along, offering her the role of his mistress, then claiming he had not. And this time there had been no talk of her becoming his mistress. She had been offered only a night in his bed, and a bitter, chilling offer it was, too.
Cat shook her head. She still couldn't believe the extent of Ransom's rage over her deception.
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