Further Than Passion

by Cheryl Holt

"I loved him," Kate groggily confessed. "Did you know that?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "Regina attacked me, because I loved him."

  "Oh, Kate ..."

  "I would have fought her, but she knocked me down before I could. Then she hit me and hit me."

  "Hush." Selena glanced at her maid and gestured for her to find Edith.

  "He's about to marry Melanie."

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  "You must have misheard."

  "It's true. He was very clear."

  "Then he's a fool."

  "Yes, he is." She chuckled, half out of her mind with pain and melancholy.

  Edith entered as Kate clutched at her ribs and seemed to pass out. Selena used the interlude to have Edith bring hot water and towels, as well as ointments and warming pads for Kate's swelling bones and joints.

  Selena spent the next hour calming and soothing her. Kate's panic waned, but was replaced by heartache and sorrow. Selena forced some laudanum down her, and she rested on her side, staring blankly out the window. An occasional tear dribbled out and flowed down her cheek, as Selena patted her hair and murmured soft words of support.

  "It's over," Selena told her. "You'll never have to go back there. You'll never have to see her again. I guarantee it."

  Silently, she vowed that the outrage would be avenged. If it took till she was a hundred years old, she would ensure that Regina paid for the assault. Regina thought she was omnipotent, but she'd made a fatal error in assailing Kate.

  Regina wasn't aware that Selena was about to become Countess of Doncaster. Her perfidy would be thwarted, her despicable deed revealed for the odious, horrid crime it was.

  A rapping sounded outside, but Selena was so absorbed with Kate that she scarcely heeded it, so she was irked when Edith led two men into the salon. They were attired as gentlemen, but they exuded a tough,

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  coarse attitude that boded ill. They resembled well-dressed ruffians, or pugilists at a fair.

  "What is it?" Selena rose, instinctively positioning herself between them and Kate. Kate sat up, but she was too dazed to speak.

  "They're here for your sister," Edith explained.

  "For what reason?"

  "They have a warrant, signed by a Mr. Thumberton, who is having her arrested for theft of the funds in your trust."

  "What utter nonsense! She's done no such thing!" Selena approached the pair. "Get out of my house."

  One of them politely tipped his hat. "Sorry, miss, but we have orders to seize her."

  Selena nearly flew at him, but Edith prevented her. "You can't argue with them, Selena. It's the law. You'll only land yourself in trouble."

  "But... but they can't just make off with her. We can't let them. This is wrong."

  "You don't know that," Edith gently chided.

  "Oh, but I do! Kate would never deceive me!"

  As if Selena were invisible, the duo circled around her, advancing on Kate and roughly jerking her to her feet. She winced.

  "Brutto stupido!" Selena bellowed. "Can't you tell she's injured?"

  "It can't be helped," one of the knaves contended, as the other pulled a rope from his pocket and bound her wrists. "She's a dangerous felon."

  Without another comment, they marched her out. Kate was too stunned to react, and Selena followed behind, frantic to hinder them, but Edith kept her from trying anything rash.

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  The men hoisted Kate into a wagon and dropped her on the hard planks of the bed. Kate moaned in agony, and Selena shrieked with indignation.

  "Where are you taking her?"

  "To Newgate. Where would you suppose?"

  "What is Newgate?" Selena asked Edith.

  "It's a prison," Edith whispered, and she clucked her tongue in dismay. "It's an awful place."

  The pair climbed up onto the wagon, clicked the reins, and the horses started off. Selena ran alongside, unable to see over the wooden panel.

  "Be strong, Kate," she shouted. "Don't give up hope. I'll come for you as soon as I can."

  ******************

  Marcus dawdled at his desk, staring at nothing. The sole noise was the tick of the clock. He sipped his whiskey, reliving—over and over—the hideous scene with Regina and Kate.

  He was to be married in seven days. To Melanie Lewis! His stomach roiled. How had he tumbled into such a wretched predicament? What must Kate have thought?

  The air still reverberated with her presence. She'd looked so small, so young, a beautiful, tragic figure wedged between his disinterest and Regina's wrath. He'd meant to do right by Kate, to save her from ruin and have her safely established in a new life at Don-caster. Why, then, was he feeling as if he'd betrayed her?

  His conduct left a bitter taste in his mouth. Regina had been so cogent in her arguments that it had seemed logical to acquiesce to her plan. Yet, despite Regina's

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  evidence to the contrary, he didn't believe that Kate had stolen from her sister, and he couldn't understand why he'd been so willing to assume the worst.

  He was plagued with doubts. Why hadn't he furnished Kate with a chance to defend herself? Why hadn't he questioned Regina, or at least scanned her documents? Why hadn't he deliberated and pondered— as was his usual habit? He'd simply cut Kate loose, cast her to fates Regina insisted were real, but how could he be certain?

  He closed his eyes, and attempted to picture where Kate was at that very moment. Although he hadn't been apprised, he knew she'd departed. He was so attuned to her that he could perceive her absence. The drafty mansion was dead of energy, forlorn and gloomy without her.

  Was she on her way to Doncaster? When would she arrive? Would she hate him forever? Would she ever forgive him?

  "I'm sorry, Kate," he murmured to the empty room. "So sorry."

  Footsteps approached, and he steeled himself, smoothing any hint of emotion from his expression. Pamela staggered in, attired in her nightclothes even though it was late afternoon. It was obvious she'd been awakened to answer his summons. She was bedraggled, her hair down and tangled, and she was pale and drawn, as if she'd been sick at her stomach.

  "This better be good, Stamford," she snarled as she stumbled over and sank into a chair. "I was asleep, and it would be best for both of us if I still was. My head is about to explode."

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  Dispassionately, he scrutinized her, and he struggled to remember why he'd ever imagined himself in love with her. The explanation had to be the impetuosity of youth, for when he peered at her now, he felt nothing, not a glimmer of camaraderie, not a glint of esteem, not a flicker of sympathy.

  She'd made her bed, and she was about to lie in it.

  "You haven't seen Christopher, have you?" she inquired, glancing about as if he might be hiding in the drapes.

  "No, why?"

  "Last evening, I slipped a little something into our drinks—a tonic to enhance the mood—but I'm terribly woozy from it. I'm worried that he might be under the weather, too."

  "You've been fornicating with Christopher?"

  "He has been fornicating with me. He can't resist." She raised a brow. "You'll shortly be hearing a great deal more about Christopher and myself."

  "I've no idea about what you're talking."

  "The boy is absolutely infatuated."

  "With you?" Christopher had mentioned that he had a secret, that he'd met someone special, but he was very clear in stating that she was a girl. Pamela had to be out of her mind.

  "Oh yes. I've discussed the matter with his mother, and she was extremely amenable. You can expect an announcement very soon."

  "An announcement about what?"

  "I'm about to become a countess again."

  He chuckled. "You're mad as a hatter. You actually suppose Regina would let you have her only son?"

  "Why wouldn't she?"

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  "Maybe because you're a thirty-year-old widowed, diss
olute harpie, whom Regina can't abide."

  "I don't feel well enough to sit here and be insulted by you." She stood, ready to stomp out in a huff.

  "I haven't excused you."

  "As if I need your permission!" She took one bold step, then another.

  "Stop!"

  She evaluated him, and something in his gaze forestalled her. She wavered, then plopped into her chair, but her exasperation was plain.

  "What is it?"

  "I'm glad you presume you'll have somewhere to stay."

  "Why?"

  "Because your days of residing here, and leeching off me, are over."

  She gasped. "What?"

  “Even as we speak, the housekeeper is packing a trunk for you. It should tide you over for a while, but you'll need to supply me with an address, so I'll know where to deliver the remainder of your belongings."

  "I refuse to go!"

  He shrugged. "Then I shall physically toss you out onto the street."

  "But this is my home! This has been my home for fourteen years!"

  "Well, you'll have to find a new one. You claim you're about to be the next Countess of Doncaster, so you may have others to impose upon." Grimly, he smiled. "Although I don't think you should depend on it."

  "You can't just evict me!"

  "I can, and I have."

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  "But... but..."

  "You'll be off as soon as you're dressed."

  "No!" She leapt up and shouted, "I won't permit you to do this to me. You've no right. No right at all!"

  He didn't rise with her, but sipped his whiskey and watched her tremble and rage, and he was surprised by his limited emotion. It was as if, with Kate gone, any lingering spark of humanity he'd possessed had been snuffed out.

  "You shouldn't have told Regina about myself and Miss Duncan. I'm curious as to how you learned of it."

  "Who the hell is Miss Duncan?" She studied him, puzzled over Kate's identity, but recollection rapidly dawned. "Ah ... she's the bit of fluff you were tumbling upstairs."

  "Had you ordered the servants to spy on me?" He hoped not. It would be a shame to have to fire somebody because of her.

  "No. I saw you myself." She turned cunning, then cruel. "Is that what this is about? I discovered your peccadillo, so you're having a tantrum?"

  He unfolded from his seat, working to keep his temper under control. "How dare you tell anyone my private business. Especially Regina Lewis."

  She realized that she'd struck a nerve, and stupid female that she was, she was determined to use it to her advantage. "You've really lowered your standards."

  "Have I?" He was lethally calm.

  "You're utterly smitten," she crowed. "How droll! I can't wait to share the news that you've finally been caught, and it's by Regina's maid!"

  She chortled with glee, her nasty disposition flooding over him, and in a flash, he was round the desk and

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  gripping her by the throat, tightly enough to cut off her air. "If you mention her name to a single soul, I'll kill you."

  He shoved her away, and she lost her balance and fell to her knees, and she hovered, rubbing her neck and steadying her breathing. She glared up at him, malice rolling off her in waves, but she had the foresight to hold her tongue, and in a way, he was relieved that Kate might be on the road to Doncaster.

  Pamela could be a treacherous adversary, but she'd never have the courage to seek revenge at himself. She'd retaliate against someone weaker, someone more vulnerable. Kate would have been an easy target.

  Slowly, Pamela crawled to her feet, biting down on the insults she was dying to hurl, but she recognized that she'd pushed him too far.

  "What am I to live on?"

  "I'll have my solicitor contact you regarding an allowance."

  "How much will it be?"

  "I'm considering five hundred."

  "A month?"

  "A year."

  It was a pittance, and once he'd cooled down, he'd relent and grant her more, but it pleased him to have her fretting.

  "You can't mean it!"

  "What have you done to earn more? Besides spreading your legs for me and my father?"

  "I hate you!"

  Then again, maybe he wouldn't increase the amount. "So you've said. Many times. Now get out."

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  "I've always hated you."

  She spun and ran out the door.

  ******************

  Christopher tarried in his mother's sitting room, riffling through the documents on her desk and rudely snooping through the satchel she routinely carried. He was perplexed as to where she was and what could have distracted her so that she'd left it behind, but he wasn't concerned over his prying. After all, he was the Earl of Doncaster. Any records dealt with his people and his properties, and suddenly he was frantic to ascertain what information she kept hidden from him.

  To his amazement, the first item he stumbled upon was Kate's letter to the attorney, about Selena's trust fund discrepancies. Why hadn't Regina dispatched it?

  A feeling of dread washed over him. There was a malevolent ambiance in the house that he didn't like. All afternoon, he'd been searching for Kate, but her bedchamber was empty, her clothing missing, and he was growing alarmed. Where would Kate go? Why would she leave without a good-bye?

  The butler had revealed that she'd been summoned to an appointment with Regina and Stamford. He'd claimed not to know what was discussed—an out-and-out lie, Chris was sure—but after the meeting Kate had vanished.

  He couldn't imagine what Regina and Stamford could have wanted with Kate and was worried that they'd forced her departure. But why would they?

  Farther into the satchel, his curiosity was rewarded in spades as he encountered a ledger listing the disbursements from Selena's trust. Kate's tidy handwriting was

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  visible on every page, and he scanned the columns. The sums didn't square with Selena's level of poverty, so he was more confused than ever.

  Where had the money gone?

  He pulled out an envelope, stunned to find Kate's father's will. It seemed odd that Regina would be lugging it around, so he skimmed through it. Kate was to have been reared by an old friend of her father's—and not by Regina, as his mother had regularly contended—and she'd been bequeathed her own trust fund, as well as assets for a dowry.

  Staggered, he collapsed into a chair. Regina had tortured Kate with stories of how her parents had beggared her, with how every penny had passed to the Lewis family and not a farthing directed to Kate's welfare. She'd flailed Kate over her penury, over what a burden she was, over how Regina had to provide for her when her own parents hadn't bothered.

  Why was no one aware of Regina's shenanigans? Where were the guardians and acquaintances who'd been charged with Kate's interests? Why had no one assisted her?

  Regina must have tricked them all. How and why? When they'd initially moved to Doncaster, Kate had been a child. What had generated Regina's animosity toward her? Or, considering his mother's parsimonious habits, had it simply been greed?

  Clutching the portfolio, he exited, crossed to Melanie's room, and entered without knocking. She was pacing, a kerchief dabbed to her reddened eyes, and in the middle of a protracted bout of weeping.

  She glared at him. "Did you hear me invite you in?"

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  Any normal brother might have asked the cause of her upset, but he didn't care enough to inquire. "Where's Mother?"

  "How should I know?"

  "Have you seen Kate?"

  She snorted in disgust. "She's been sent back to Doncaster. In disgrace!"

  His blood boiled. "Why?"

  "She's been having a torrid affair with Lord Stamford. She's shamed us all."

  "Not me," Chris insisted. "She couldn't possibly. No matter what she did."

  "You are such an idiot." -

  "As opposed to you, I've always regarded Kate as my
friend."

  "Well, Stamford is to be my husband," she maintained.

  "He is not." Stamford had said as much himself. He had no desire to marry Melanie.

  "He is, too!" she whined. "I'm to be wed to him next week, after Kate has been fornicating with him like a common slattern. Oh, how could he do such a thing to me? I'll never be able to gaze at him without picturing her! I'm sick, I tell you! Just sick!"

  She slumped into a chair, fresh tears welling, and he sneaked out so she could wallow in her misery.

  The conversation had him more anxious than ever. Regina had probably delivered Kate home, unaccompanied, on the public coach. Was Stamford cognizant of Regina's capacity for cruelty? If so, why would he permit her to abuse Kate so horridly? Particularly if he'd been involved with her? What type of gentleman would be so crass?

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  Chris would never have picked him as the sort who would seduce Kate, or abandon her after, but with women, who could predict how a man might conduct himself? His actions with Pamela were a prime example of male folly.

  He'd philandered to excess, had continued even after he'd met Selena, after he'd fallen in love. He'd been too willing to seek the pleasures of the flesh, so he wouldn't judge Stamford too harshly. At least not until he'd had a chance to question him as to what had occurred, but heaven help him if he'd mistreated Kate.

  Panicked, Chris bounded down the stairs, eager to determine whether Stamford was still on the premises.

  He arrived in the foyer when, to his great dismay, Pamela emerged from the library. She was disheveled and blindly careening toward him, so there was no way to avoid a confrontation, but gad, he couldn't bear to speak with her!

  Their rendezvous the previous evening had left him so groggy and disoriented that he wondered if she hadn't drugged him. He didn't remember much of what had happened, and what he recalled was foul and humiliating.

  Stamford had warned him that she'd had dozens of lovers, mat she burrowed through men like a plow in a field, and Chris was appalled that events had proceeded so far. Where she was concerned, he'd been so spineless! But currently, he had pressing business to attend to, and he couldn't be delayed.

  She espied him and rushed over, pulling him into a tight hug. "Chris! Oh, Chris! Save me!"