“You know how I feel about Phelia.” Fabian lifted a golden brow. “Her character leaves some doubt about her accusations.”
Kay expelled a loud breathe. “Why are men always so eager to champion each other?”
“I’m not championing him. I’m simply giving him the benefit of the doubt.”
“And Uncle Fergus agrees?’
“He’s bent on securing your future. That sort of thing probably hasn’t even crossed his mind. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” Fabian patted her hand. “We both trust you to make the right decision.”
The Duke’s trap seemed to close in around her.
Kay could hardly breathe.
Desperation swelled in her breast.
Yet, she felt powerless to do anything about it. He’d cleverly initiated his claim on her by informing her Uncle of his interest. Panic rose in her throat, but she pushed it down. No, no, no, she would not let him snatch her last month of freedom away.
They’d struck a bargain. She had no intention of playing the happy bride until the vows were exchanged. If he thought to give her an opening to spring the news of their betrothal on her uncle, he was sadly mistaken. She had no intention of sealing her fate so soon. As long as there was a chance of her circumstances changing, she planned to leave her options wide open.
“I’ve promised the Duke a game of cards,” Fabian informed her when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Would you like to join us?”
“No!” she expelled with a small gasp, then quickly recovered. “I mean… I think I’ll stay and keep Grandmere company.”
“Whatever you say, Puss.” Fabian delivered her to Grandmere who was seated with her friends along the perimeter of the room.
Kay watched him go with a rebellious lift to her chin. A game of cards, indeed, she wished she knew what Wallshire was up to. Surely he wasn’t planning to blurt the news of their betrothal to Fabian or he’d have done so already. Perhaps he was just feeling the situation out to see if there’d be any resistance when the time came. Kay wished she had the nerve to observe their gaming, but she couldn’t bring herself to be so near the man.
Kay spent the rest of the evening dancing with the young people in Grandmere’s circle of close friends. Though her nerves were nearly rubbed raw wondering what the Duke was saying to Fabian in the drawing room, she forced a smile to her lips.
The Count appeared as promised to dance with her again. When Grandmere grew tired, he offered them a ride home in his carriage.
The rest of the week was spent attending soirees with the Count as their escort. Fabian had fallen into the habit of consorting with his gambling cronies, staying out until the wee hours of the morning never rising until past noon. After the fourth night of keeping these reckless hours, he gave into exhaustion, staying home to dine.
“It’s a rare evening to have your company,” Grandmere commented while the footman swept away her empty soup bowl. “I hope this does not mean you’ve gambled away all of your money, mon amie?”
“On the contrary, I’ve cleaned up every night. Even the Duke’s skill hasn’t held up under my luck. In fact, I’ve fleeced him out of his box at the opera tomorrow night so you shall both enjoy the unexpected pleasure as a result of my winnings. Of course, I’ve magnanimously offered that he should join us.”
Kay’s mouth dropped. “What!”
“Well, I can’t be too terribly cruel to the poor fellow, beating him was punishment enough.”
“I’m sorry,” Kay blurted in a rush to escape the situation, “But I’ve promised the Count that Grandmere and I would accompany him to a dinner party.”
The Countess raised a slim brow at this, since the arrangement had only been tentative.
After a glance between them, Fabian gave her a long look down the length of his nose. “Then you may invite him along. No excuses. The Duke is looking forward to your company, and I expressly told him you’d be there.”
Kay couldn’t understand why Fabian was being so insistent. He seemed to have formed some attachment to the Duke over the past week—one that was not to her liking. She couldn’t resist saying so. “You and the Duke seem to have become fast friends in a very short time.”
Fabian swirled the burgundy wine in his glass, then took a careful sip. “Gossip can be very destructive whether it’s accurate or not. I’ve found the Duke’s character to be amiable and above reproach. And since I cannot also say the same for Lord Galloway, I feel inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Kay squirmed in her seat. She couldn’t very well argue with his logic without revealing her situation. If she told him about the forced betrothal, the Duke might make good on his threat.
The best she could do was to extend an invitation to the Count, hoping he’d act as a buffer during their evening.
As it turned out, she need not have bothered. The next night just as they were about to depart, a messenger arrived with an apology from the Duke. Urgent business made it impossible for him to attend. At first Kay was relieved, but as they set out for the theatre in their carriage, a strange and unaccountable disappointment flitted over her. She didn’t know why she should feel disappointed and chastised herself for feeling so. Perhaps, it was the Count’s ever growing possessiveness, or her guilt at using him as a human shield.
Yes, that was probably it.
After they’d taken their seats in the Duke’s box, Count Geneau offered to fetch them all champagne. While he was gone, Kay noticed Fabian shifting restlessly, casting her fervent glances as the orchestra warmed up.
She leaned toward him on the arm of her chair. “What is it? Is there something wrong? You’ve been rather cool with the Count. Has he said or done anything to offend you?”
Fabian plucked absently at his sleeve, his brow contracted. “I don’t know how I should put this, but it has come to my attention the Count may be pursuing you under false pretences. What I mean to say is… his financial situation is less than satisfactory.”
“You mean he’s after me for my money.”
“Well… yes. It’s not very pleasant, but there it is. The Duke tells me his family fortunes have never recovered since the revolution. As hurtful as it might sound, Puss, it’s likely his motives stem from need rather than affection.”
“How conscientious of the Duke to warn us,” Kay said, unable to keep the dryness from her tone. She wished the Duke were there so that she could tell him just what she thought of his well meant advice.
If he meant to curtail her freedom or dictate her society in the month to come, he was sorely mistaken. It stuck in her craw that he sought to manipulate her choice of escort under the guise of a caring friend. Perhaps he was afraid she’d marry the Count and live abroad where the English courts couldn’t touch her. The thought had crossed her mind, but leaving her family and her beloved horses behind would be too much to bear.
The Count returned with their champagne just as the curtain began to rise. Kay sipped hers, paying little attention to the performance. What she needed was a reason for him to reject her—a reason that made her unsuitable for matrimony. Loss of virtue would certainly be reason enough. A Duke of the realm could hardly marry a fallen woman, but she wasn’t willing to destroy her reputation to escape him. No. There had to be a better way.
If there were only a way to make him believe she wasn’t virtuous without anyone else knowing, and without actually sacrificing her innocence. He’d drop her like a hot coal if she smeared him and his title in any way.
But the entire idea was madness.
It was far too risky an endeavor to despoil her reputation when it might ruin her own family.
Perhaps, she should consider marrying the Count.
During the first interval Fabian excused himself to fetch more champagne.
Kay listened distractedly as the Count discussed the performance with Grandmere. Kay glanced around the crowded boxes, fiddling with the pale gold silk fan that matched her gown.
Fabian return
ed just as the curtain rose, announcing, “Look who I’ve found.”
The three in the box turned in their seats to find the Duke of Wallshire at Fabian’s side, elegantly dressed in black evening attire.
Kay’s mouth went dry.
Her heart picked up speed.
Fabian made the necessary introductions as the Duke took his seat.
Kay murmured a good evening, sparing him only a brief glance before returning her eyes to the stage.
Thankfully Fabian had put the Duke beside him so she was spared his proximity. She adjusted her posture so that she could give the Count her full attention, meeting the amused smile of her Grandmere on his other side. The Countess lifted a questioning brow in the direction of Fabian and his guest in quiet discourse. She must have noticed the displeasure on Kay’s face.
The remainder of the evening passed in a blur while Kay fought to maintain her composure. With the Duke so near, she felt the pressure of her situation weighing upon her like the crush of an ocean. It was impossible to ignore Wallshire, especially with the Count sending her hungry glances whenever he thought her gaze trained on the stage. Though, his attentions seemed benign with a greater threat looming so near.
To exert her independence, Kay edged her chair closer to the Count. She bent her head intimately close whenever he spoke, her smile soft and encouraging. When he amused her with some comment she let her soft laughter tinkle forth without constraint.
All of this playacting made for a tiring evening, putting a great strain on her already tightly strung nerves.
When the curtain finally dropped, she rose with such haste to quit the box she lost her silk fan beneath her seat. By the time she’d retrieved it, she found herself exiting in front of the Duke.
His hand on her arm stilled her progress, making her quiver, forcing her to turn and meet his gold flecked gaze. “Please, do not touch me,” she said tightly, attempting to jerk her arm from his warm grasp.
He ignored her protest, drawling against her ear, “I know what you’re doing.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Her voice sounded brittle enough to crack. “I have a month left to fulfill our bargain. It’s you who isn’t holding up your side of the agreement.”
He chuckled, soft and low against her ear. “Does my being here interfere with your seduction of the Count?”
Her response came swift and heated, though she was careful to keep her voice low. “How dare you! Not that it’s any concern of yours. If I wish to take a dozen lovers in the month I have left, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
He shrugged, giving her a lazy smile. “Then I’ll have to work all the harder to erase their memory when you’re mine. ‘Tis a task I look forward to more with each passing hour.”
Kay swallowed convulsively. She’d hoped their marriage would be in name only since his only motive for marrying her was to thwart Lord Galloway. The physical obligations of marriage hadn’t crossed her mind. Well, that was a lie. It had crossed her mind, more than once. How could it not—faced with marrying a man as virile as him. But she’d just assumed they’d remain a fantasy.
She was thinking about it right now though, even if she didn’t want to. While the other part of her wanted to flee. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how his threats affected her.
Her poise and confidence had increased over the last month. She wasn’t the same frightened sea nymph he’d cornered in the hall of a Paris hotel. She raised her chin and gave him what she hoped was a cool taunting smile. “Then you shall have to work very hard indeed. I’m not very easily satisfied.”
The dangerous glint in his eyes after throwing his words back at him told her she’d succeeded in pricking his ire.
She jerked her arm free, then glided from the box with an air of haughty indifference.
But during the carriage ride home she couldn’t help mentally calculating the days she had left before her penance began.
Chapter Eight
Hunter downed the last of his brandy, then returned his attention to the cards in his hand, keeping his features carefully controlled as his gaze slid across the table in the noisy candle-lit room. It really had been too easy convincing Lord Hamilton to agree to the wager.
And tonight, as planned, Hamilton had done nothing but win in Madame Rosette’s crowded drawing room after the lavish dinner party, pushing his confidence to giddy heights. Hamilton was so sure of his luck, he’d have bet a king’s ransom. Of course, wording the wager in such a way as to make it appear benign had been the final nail in his coffin.
Having found the French officer and questioned him, Hunter was anxious to return to Cornwall to oversee the improvements to the manor. After he made certain the workmen weren’t robbing him blind, he’d travel to London to follow the lead the Frenchman gave him.
However, there was one loose end he needed to clear up before he could depart.
He had no intention of allowing the beautiful Lady Katherine to slip through his fingers once again. At the opera she’d given him every indication she was ready to bolt. He wasn’t about to give her the chance to marry the Count and renege on their arrangement.
Hunter’s attention returned to Hamilton, who wore the confident smile of one who couldn’t lose, as he spread his cards on the table.
When Hunter laid down his winning hand, Hamilton’s mouth flapped as wide as a gate with one hinge. Then, he clamped it shut and shrugged. “I’m not accustomed to losing, but when I do, I have the good manners to weather it gracefully. Now, you have the task of convincing my niece that you’ve won,” he said with a hearty laugh. “I’ve written to Fergus about your interest and he has no objections, so you have both our blessings. The rest is up to you. You won’t have much time, I’m afraid. We’re returning to France tomorrow and no doubt the Count will be hot on our heels.”
“Then I’d advise you to break the news to her tonight.”
“Have a heart, Your Grace. At least allow me time to gentle the blow and let her grow accustomed to the idea.”
“Very well.” Hunter nodded curtly. “I’m returning to Calais to ready my ship. Send word to me there”
“I hope you realize, I can’t guarantee my good word will help your cause.”
***
“What have you done?” Kay wailed. “How dare he!” She paced before the pink marble fireplace in the drawing room, wringing her hands and murmuring curses she’d learned from the stable hands at Butterfield Hall, but until now had not had the occasion to make good use of.
Fabian spread his hands wide in apology, his brow creased below his head of golden curls. “It was just a harmless wager. You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to. I made that as clear as spring water. So you see, I really couldn’t lose, since the outcome rests solely in your hands. I’ve only given my consent on the grounds that you approve the match.”
“Ha!” If Fabian only knew. She wanted to rail and rant that the agreed time was not up, but she dare not disclose their bargain without throwing Charlie to the wolves. “And he demands that I leave for England in two days time?”
“Only if you agree to marry him.”
Which she had. “And we’re to be married in Dover! With no time to prepare—no trousseau, no anything!”
“That was his idea.” Fabian shrugged helplessly, eyes as big as oysters. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“What do you mean you had nothing to do with it?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could he cry innocence? “You wagered my future on a game of cards!”
“Now Kay, there’s no need for hysterics,” Fabian pleaded, looking wounded. “I’ll send word to his hotel that you’ve rejected his offer.”
“I can’t reject his offer! You don’t understand.” She shook her head attempting to clear her mind. “What I mean to say is, it would be unwise to reject it…”
“Yes!” Fabian brightened. “It would be, since he shares your love of fine horseflesh and will no doubt support your sch
eme to breed those Arabs. He seemed extraordinarily fascinated when I mentioned it.”
“What?” Mention of her prize horses—her beauties, gave Kay pause. But what did it matter? How could she trust Wallshire? “Oh this is such a mess! I have to think, I have to think.” She fled to her bedchamber high in one of the turrets, to be alone and calm herself.
Once there, she paced the polished oak planks of the stone room from the green velvet dressed bed to the deep opened window.
But no matter how long she paced or fretted, she found no way out. Whether she liked it or not, through clever manipulations, the Duke had secured her hand with the approval of her family.
The thing was done.
It was over.
With no hope of wriggling out.
***
Kay sat in a daze throughout much of the journey to Calais. She didn’t want to think about what she was doing—she couldn’t think about what she was doing, or she might crumble to bits.
Her life was in ruins.
But when she’d informed Fabian and her Grandmere of her decision, they appeared surprised, not shocked. They found it neither strange nor unusual that she’d aspire to become a Duchess. Fabian surmised she’d always held some secret admiration for the Duke, and her Grandmere assumed there’d been some previous courtship as well. Ha! Why bother to correct them?
The crossing to Dover passed much the same as the carriage ride to Calais—silent and much too fast.
By the time they docked, a protective numbness had settled over her.
When Fabian spotted the Duke’s ship, the Isabella, he spouted admiration over its short haul, and the capacity of the rigging for a huge spread of sail.
Kay forced an interested inquiring look, though the soundness of the Duke’s ship was the furthest thing from her mind. The vessel looked seaworthy enough and that was all that mattered.
At the top of the gangplank, Fabian placed his gloved hand over hers with a worried frown. “You can always back out. I don’t give a sultan’s fig if you marry him. Fergus will get over it in time. I just want you to be happy.”
The Thief and the Rogue Page 10
