The Wicked Viscount

by Heather McCollum

  “’Tis a gown for court, made originally for Scarlet, but she did not have time to wear it before leaving,” Jane said. “I think it is most becoming on Lady Campbell.”

  Cat barely heard the annoying title with him staring at her. His reflection in the mirror before her was clear. His mouth moved slightly as if he were sampling a sweet wine, and she watched his gaze travel down her back where the rich fabric gathered to flow over her backside. Just the passing of his gaze made her skin feel alive, her heart thumping under the sturdy boning of her stays, and she quelled a delicious shiver.

  A look of concentration hardened the set of his jaw, and he inhaled fully. She turned slowly around. Good bloody Lord, he was handsome, especially cleaned up, his beard trimmed, his hair still longish and tied back to show his strong jawline. His eyes were as intense as last night, and a flush suffused her neck.

  “Well,” Jane went on. “I would reprimand you for not complimenting a lady on her new costume, as I am sure I taught you as a youth, Lord Worthington. But being tongue-tied with awe over Lady Campbell’s appearance will do.”

  The tightness to his lips and jaw relaxed as he continued to meet Cat’s gaze. “Yes, Mistress Jane, tongue-tied indeed. Lady Campbell, you are beautiful.”

  Jane preened as if the compliment had been about her. “Well, it is a start. The lady has a lovely figure. Now to tame her wild hair and groom her nails.”

  Cat’s smile soured as her eyes shifted, and she frowned at Jane. “Ye can check my teeth, too, but I take special care of them. Unfortunately, I am lame with this twisted ankle. Perhaps ye better see me out back with a musket.”

  “I see you two are getting along just fine,” Nathaniel said, and her middle tightened at the aristocratic slant to his English accent. It was more clipped and precise than it had been up at Finlarig, as if the English air had melted away his common speech.

  “Your teeth look white and healthy,” Jane said. “Now for your spots—”

  Cat held up her hand. “There is nothing ye can do about my freckles. Ye will not try to rub them away, and I will not wear that thick powder all over my face.”

  “I agree,” Nathaniel said, any humor replaced by a tight seriousness.

  “I was about to say,” Jane continued slowly, as if the roughness in his voice had given her pause. “That your spots are intriguing. We will just wash with some gentle soap and add a bit of ochre mixed in oil to your lips. We also have a number of black patches that Tildy cuts into little shapes like hearts and birds.” Her hand went out to one of the maids, and she bobbed, smiling.

  “Patches?” Cat asked.

  “They are quite popular,” Jane said, and all the maids nodded. “They are made of black velvet and stuck to the face.”

  “Tildy?” she said.

  “Milady?” She answered with a little curtsey.

  “Do ye honestly see ladies wearing black patches stuck to their faces?”

  The other maids giggled, and Tildy nodded. “Yes, milady, especially at balls or at court.”

  Cat glanced at Nathaniel at the hearth. “And ye have seen these patches?”

  He was watching Jasmine chase about the room, prancing as if she stalked an imaginary foe. “Yes,” he said, glancing up to meet her gaze, a slight grin to his mouth.

  The fire crackled in the hearth, and the kitten startled, running straight for Cat’s gown. With a sudden flattening, she dove under the layers of magenta silk. Nathaniel nodded to it. “You have a visitor under your skirts.”

  Two of the maids giggled while Tildy crouched down, lifting the hem and batting away the fullness of the petticoats. “Here puss,” she called.

  Cat continued to meet Nathaniel’s amused eyes. “Her name is Jasmine,” she said, a smile curving her lips. “After the flower.” Inside her chest, her heart seemed to quake. Was this what ladies felt when they said that their hearts fluttered?

  Under her skirts, the kitten’s claws pricked as the wee beast tried to scale her leg. “Och,” she said, shifting. “Perhaps I should call her Rose, because she is currently using her thorns to climb up my stockings.”

  “Goodness,” Jane said with a huff and dropped to the floor herself. “Do not let it ruin the silk stockings. Girls,” she called, and the other two joined in, all four of them throwing up layers of petticoats to find the kitten. The whole time, Cat met Nathaniel’s gaze, barely containing her laughter.

  “Come puss,” Jane called.

  “Jasmine,” Tildy called.

  “Rose,” another said. “Is she not called Rose?”

  Nathaniel leaned against the wall next to the hearth, watching. Even though his face still held its serious aristocratic mask, laughter sparked in his eyes. “Apparently,” he said, “there is room for four under your gown.”

  “Four plus a puss,” Cat said, her smile widening.

  A chuckle escaped his tight jaw. “Mistress Jane, are you in need of assistance under there?” he asked.

  A bubble of laughter burst from Cat’s lips, and she covered her mouth with a hand.

  “I got you, you little skelm,” Jane said, and the kitten released her leg. All four ladies crawled out from under the full skirts, and stood, straightening their caps and aprons. Jane held Jasmine, kissing the kitten on top of the head before frowning at Nathaniel. She marched over toward him to press the kitten into his hands. She didn’t say a word, but the rebuke on her face admonished him as if he were still a lad. Probably for his inappropriate comments.

  The maids led Cat back to the mirror where they continued to pin and tuck the fabric around her middle. Jane brought a pair of silk slippers for her to wear with the gown, ones with ribbon ties to be tightened or loosened so she could wear the slipper over the bindings on her foot. The maids moved around the skirt, snipping the hemline seam to add more length.

  “Hmmm…” Jane said, tapping her lip with a finger. She nodded. “Yes, it will do quite nicely.” Her gaze slaked over the dress while Tildy twisted Cat’s curls up on top of her head and secured the mass with several pins. “Beautiful fabric and nicely fitted,” Jane said.

  “I will need to hide my knives on me,” Cat said, glancing toward the door where Jasmine had scratched. Were they still hidden under the bed in the other room? She turned back to the housekeeper. “Somewhere I can reach even when imprisoned in stays that are cinched so tightly I can hardly bend.” She shifted, dropping her arms in an attempt to reach under her skirts. It was possible, although perhaps only if her life depended upon it.

  “Excuse me? Knives?” Jane asked, her head sliding slightly back on her shoulders like a hen’s. The maids all stopped to stare at Cat with wide eyes.

  “Aye,” Cat said. “I have three that I must wear, plus my hair spike.”

  Jane looked around the room as if the blades were lying about.

  “I…have them hidden away right now,” Cat said. “But I will need to carry them on my person.”

  “Good God.” Jane looked to Nathaniel.

  He held the kitten against his chest. Even though his face had once again grown serious, the softness of the kitten held so gingerly in his large hands made Cat’s breath catch. With his rich clothes, wavy hair, and a delicious scar here and there, he was incredibly delicious to look upon. But with the kitten against him, a ball of gray fluff trusting him to keep her safe, he was…perfect.

  “She is a Highland Rose,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. “And roses have thorns. The hair stick will be easy to conceal in her curls. You will need to work in some pockets or straps for the others. She is accustomed to wearing one tied in a garter low on her leg.”

  Tildy’s mouth dropped open as if shocked that he knew what was tied to her leg.

  “The queen requested a lethal Highland Rose,” he said when no one moved. “Cat Campbell is the most dangerous Rose at the school.” He kept his gaze level. “Even with her foot lame, imprisoned in stays, and with a kitten beneath her skirts.”

  Jane’s bottom lip pinched upward into a pu
cker. “Very well. We will add some pockets with slits in the outer gown, and she can secure one knife in a garter if tied correctly. I am sure Tildy and Meredith can manage to work the hair stick into her curls. We will have her ready for whatever challenges she must face at court.”

  Nathaniel nodded, and the warmth they had just shared faded as his serious expression solidified into a stone mask.

  She cleared her throat softly. “Were ye planning to read me whatever is on that paper?”

  He set Jasmine down and straightened, pulling a small paper from his jacket. “Yes. To start with, James is the new king. You will call him Your Majesty. The same with his wife, Queen Mary. The two of them are openly Catholic, which has the entire country concerned. James is not as merry as was his brother, Charles, though he does keep a number of mistresses.” Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “Do not find yourself alone with him or any man at court.”

  Cat remembered the horrible episode that Scarlet Worthington had endured at court and nodded. “I will remain armed.”

  “Oh, Good Lord,” Jane murmured. She looked directly at Cat. “Do not stab the king, else find yourself in the Tower or hung.”

  She shifted her jaw back and forth as she returned Jane’s stare. “I will endeavor not to commit high treason.” She turned back to Nathaniel. Did he worry about her doing something irreparably foolish? “And the ladies?” she asked. “You have told me a bit about them, but are any dangerous?”

  “Many are schooled in cutting remarks, but none should require you to use a knife to defend yourself,” he answered.

  She tipped her head to the side to watch Jasmine climb up one of the curtains framing a window. “I don’t know about that. A slice or nick could be just the thing to stop a wagging tongue.”

  “Sweet Heaven help us,” Jane said, her words coming out in a voluminous huff. “This trip to court may be our last.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I will also ride in the carriage,” Nathaniel said to Benedict as he watched Cat descend the front steps of Hollings. She snuggled the little gray kitten one last time and handed it to the stable boy whom she’d employed to care for Jasmine while they were in London.

  Lord, she was exquisite, the English garb fitting her form in rich waves of green fabric edged with lace and fur. The velvet traveling ensemble draped her lush curves beautifully. Although, the intricate lacing and pinning of the aristocratic costume seemed to suppress her freedom, like taking a wild horse and tailoring it to fit into a nobleman’s stable. She was beautiful in it, but he’d rather strip her out of the finery. The thought made him suck in a breath through his teeth.

  He’d spent the evening meeting with several of his tenants who had petitions and disputes on which he must pass judgement. Then he’d worked with his solicitor, Edward Brooks, to strategize how to maneuver within the new monarchy and influence James to reinstitute parliament. Secretly Cat and he would also investigate a possible treasonous act for the Duchess. However, with such time passed, they wouldn’t even be able to see Charles’s body.

  By the time Nathaniel had climbed the steps to the maid’s room that Cat had claimed again last night, she’d been sound asleep. She would need all her strength for the days ahead, so he had lowered silently into bed with her, pulling her to him. Would she want him there if she knew the details of his past? No, but he wasn’t willing to give up a night of inhaling her scent and feeling her warmth and softness when it could be his last chance.

  Court was a dangerous place, and he would don his father’s political ways while there. He would uphold his vow of silence made to Charles until he discussed the military history of English-Scottish conflict with James. There would be no room for frivolous wants, no matter how strong his desires ran. The weight of guilt and silence pressed on his chest. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret his time with Cat, even if she hated him later.

  Cat walked across the courtyard with the aid of a beautifully carved cane that had been his mother’s at one time. Even favoring her foot, she was still graceful, the natural strength in her muscles helping her to glide along the ground in the deep green traveling costume. Her flaming curls were caught up high into a twist with small pearls attached to a scattering of strands, and he could see the rose hair stick impaled through the middle. The shape of the gown accented her full breasts and narrow waist, and her height gave a regal air to her voluptuous form.

  In the short, dark hours right before dawn, she’d stirred, and they’d come together, silently reveling in their secret passion. He’d barely made it out of her rooms before Jane came to wake her to prepare to leave.

  He held out his hand for her to take. She placed her gloved fingers into his palm. “I could smell ye in my sheets this morn after ye left,” she whispered. She met his gaze with a mischievous grin and ducked her head to enter the carriage. Her face appeared like a speckled, slender moon in the darkness as she leaned toward him, her eyes looking upward at him. “Ye stopped counting at five hundred and sixty-nine, but I have plenty more freckles to count,” she whispered.

  Good Lord, he’d have to start wearing baggy breeches when he was around her if she was going to talk like that. If donning a kilt wouldn’t bring on questions that he didn’t want to answer, he’d have sent Benedict to secure one.

  Nathaniel followed her up and into the dark interior of the coach. “You will need to keep your distance from me at Whitehall.”

  She stared at him, her arched eyebrow rising. “What I need is more vanquishing,” she said. Her gaze dipped to his trousers where she no doubt saw that his jack was very much in agreement.

  “Help me up, Benedict.” Jane Pitney’s voice splashed like cold water over Nathaniel, and he took off his hat to place over his lap. “And have Randal make certain the lad takes care of that little kitten while we are in London.”

  The housekeeper pressed inside and settled herself next to Cat. “I will act as chaperone on the way to court, even though those gentlemen saw you two arrive alone. There was good reason with the loss of Lady Campbell’s maid, driver, and carriage at the hand of bandits. But now decorum must be upheld.”

  “Of course,” Nathaniel said as he drew in a cooling breath of winter air. He should have had Gaspar saddled instead of him trailing behind with Cat’s mare.

  “Might I put my foot up on the seat?” Cat asked, looking across to him as the carriage began to roll.

  He made room between his leg and the outside wall of the coach, and she lifted her wrapped foot to rest in the space. She’d shucked her slipper and as the carriage shifted side to side, her foot brushed against his thigh. Damnation, it was going to be a long ride to Whitehall.

  …

  Three days of jostling in a dark, cramped carriage had Cat close to screaming. She shifted in the padded seat and let out a long sigh, looking across at Nathaniel. He had spent the previous day riding Gaspar, leaving her to listen to Jane’s endless lessons on etiquette and demeanor until she had begged him to ride inside with them on this last day.

  Jane had fallen asleep next to her, a soft snore coming from her parted lips. Cat was tempted to pinch her for making an unladylike noise but preferred the respite.

  “I prefer riding Stella in my trousers to this,” Cat whispered, her foot wedged and warm on the opposite seat against Nathaniel. He hadn’t visited her at the inns at night with Jane sleeping next to her, “as is proper.” Jane was occupied with what was proper and how the house of Worthington looked to the people of England and the court. If this woman helped raise the Worthington sisters, Cat could easily see why they were so bound by prim etiquette most of the time. She could also understand why they wished to live a two-week’s-ride away from their home.

  “We have entered the city and will see Whitehall within the half hour,” he said. His gaze, which had been fashioned on her most of the morning, slid to the window. His teasing and smiles had disappeared during the trip south of Hollings. It was as if the nearer he came to the heart of England, the more his hear
t hardened into that of an English nobleman. Did he regret their two nights together?

  He leaned toward the window, his hand sliding along her calf, and looked out. Without his gloves, his fingers were warm against her thin stocking, and she shifted a glance to Jane. She remained asleep, and his touch pressed into the muscles of her leg. She almost groaned. It felt wonderful, but even more was the relief that he still sought her out to touch.

  “I am so sore from sitting in this rolling box,” she whispered.

  “When one is accustomed to daily exercise and then halted from it, the muscles will ache.” His intense blue eyes slid back to her. Their gazes held a connection, like a tether.

  She touched a finger to slide along her lips. “I think I need daily exercise to stop my aches.”

  He glanced to Jane and then back to her. “At Whitehall…” He stopped rubbing her leg. “I must play my part.”

  “Part?”

  “I am Viscount Worthington and must press the issue of reconvening parliament with James. To be successful, I must be the courtier that James expects. I will follow all the courtly etiquette and pomp.”

  “Wigs and flouncy plumes on your head then?”

  The hardness in his face relaxed somewhat. “I have a distaste for wigs but may have to don one, same with the plumes.”

  “I will tease ye most fervently,” she said.

  He chuckled softly and looked back out the window where the buildings had grown closer together. The rocking of the carriage changed from deep sways to a more even jiggle, the horses’ hooves clopping on cobblestone.

  Nathaniel continued to study the streets ahead. “And you will be the Duchess’s Highland Rose. Find out what you can from her about Charles’s death, but do not mention treason.” His gaze turned to her. “Just the word will throw the court into chaos, and you are liable to be accused since you are Scottish.”

  “Even though I was not here when he died?” she asked, half teasing. Her tone seemed to harden his jaw. Jane still breathed through an open mouth, her eyes closed.