Three Weddings and a Murder

by Milan, Courtney

  His pride had fared no better.

  “It is lovely to have you home, my lord.” Cat crossed her arms, mimicking his posture. The tasseled riding crop in her hand stuck out at a funny angle. Only Cat would have a silk crop specially designed to match her riding habit. “The villagers will be delighted that the lord of the manor has finally returned to Forster Abbey.”

  She sounded anything but delighted.

  “I am happy to be home.” Dread heavy in his belly, he widened his stance. His favorite chair waited behind him, now covered in some appalling fabric. But it didn’t seem he’d be sitting down any time soon. He’d been at sea often enough to recognize the signs. This storm was gathering strength, not abating.

  Foolishly, he’d thought a surprise reunion might work in his favor. A warning of his return would afford his wife time to amass her anger against him. Apparently she didn’t require time or warning to gather her fury. Her blond curls trembled with emotion beneath her riding hat.

  She smiled at him. Or, more correctly, bared her teeth. “I trust you will discover we bore your absence well. Splendidly, in fact.”

  “I see.”

  “I do hope you found what you were looking for during your travels. But perhaps I shall decline to recognize you? Perhaps I shall call for a contest. Whoever shall string the king’s bow and shoot an arrow through twelve axe-handles may win me.”

  “If it pleases you, Penelope.” He smiled back. Always quick with the retort, his Cat. “But might I remind you I was gone five years, not the twenty Odysseus was away.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides. Her blue riding habit matched her eyes. The jacket was tight with double buttons beneath her breasts. He knew those breasts. Knew the weight and shape of them in his palms. Knew how she most liked to be—

  She smacked her crop against her boot. Jamie looked up.

  “I am your wife, Forster, whether you wish it or not. I have maintained your household, brought kindness to your tenants, and otherwise been faithful to my vows. All the while I’ve had no notion where you were.”

  “You act as if I owe you an explanation.”

  “I made a mistake. I apologized for it. Five years ago.” She ground out the last.

  “Perhaps I was five years wounded.”

  “Perhaps you were five years stubborn.”

  “Perhaps my pride needed time.”

  “Perhaps you are a hardheaded man.” Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She was awake in this world and alive within it. He had always liked that about her.

  Right now, he was half tempted to carry her upstairs and show her how hardheaded he was. Perhaps they could wrestle this quarrel to its natural conclusion.

  He forced himself to take a step back. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Lady Forster?” Better she not know the inescapable effect she had on him. The control she had always held over him.

  She smashed her lips into a hard line, obviously holding back whatever retort she wanted to make. Her whip whack-whack-whacked against her boot. Then, with a toss of her head, she looked out the window.

  But he’d seen it, in the quiver of her chin and the slant of her eye. Seen what he’d not wanted to see.

  Her vulnerability.

  “Cat, I…” He what? He had no notion what to say. Certainly he did not owe her an explanation. She was the one who had been found in a compromising position with a known libertine only two weeks after their wedding. He was the one made to look a fool.

  “Why are you returned, Forster?” She directed her query to the afternoon sunlight slanting through the window.

  How to answer her question? On every piece of land he’d visited, no matter how breathtakingly beautiful, he’d missed the rolling hills and familiar hearths of his childhood home. But the truth, the more immediate cause, pressed at his tongue.

  It was difficult, the real cause for his return, and Cat might not like it, but he would honor her with it. There would be no more games between his wife and him, no more half-truths or misunderstandings. “Sutton passed.”

  “Yes.” She swung her cautious gaze back to him.

  “I no longer have an heir.”

  “I am sure there is someone.”

  “Not in direct line.” Only some fourth or fifth cousin he’d never heard of. It had been a damnable curse, the lack of males in his family.

  “I see.” She held herself very, very still. Perhaps she did see. Perhaps he should simply leave well enough alone.

  But he wanted to be crystal clear. “I need an heir, Catherine.”

  I NEED AN HEIR, CATHERINE.

  Thirty minutes later, Cat still could not catch her breath. Jamie had made the preposterous statement with utmost calm, his face quiet, his gaze steady on hers. As if he’d said “I need a new pair of boots.”

  An heir.

  Her skin burned with the very word.

  It was not the thought of children that unsettled her. Not even the knowledge of how children were created.

  It was the memories. Vivid flashes of heat that thrummed under her skin. Jamie in her bed. The shock of his mouth everywhere. His skin impossibly smooth against hers. The places she craved him. Jamie filling her, again and again, the madness between them. Her unimaginable pleasure.

  Five years of a cold bed and she had not forgotten a thing.

  Her hands were unsteady on the reins as she rode the six miles to her brother’s estate. She could not go into the village as planned.

  No. A friend, that’s what she needed. Someone who would not be easily shocked. Someone like her sister-in-law.

  Cat urged her mount on faster. What would it be like, to bed the man Jamie had become? All thick shoulders and cool composure?

  She drew in a deep breath, only then noticing she was close to the main gates of Giltbrook Hall. It was good her horse knew the way, for she’d not paid a single thought to the passing scenery.

  Moments later, she tossed the reins to a stableboy and entered the back of her childhood home. Really, she’d rather not see any of the staff in her present state. She slipped silently through the hall, but the butler still found her. She waved him off with a request for a pot of chocolate—yes, in the middle of the afternoon—then found Mazie outside on the sunlit terrace. Her sister-in-law, normally spry and ever on the move, was lying on the divan, a wet cloth across her forehead.

  “Please, don’t sit up.” Cat approached with soft feet. “The nausea is not improved?”

  “It is torture, Cat. I am never having another child.” Mazie’s day gown was hopelessly wrinkled, her chignon askew. “Did something happen to the village project? Are the workers behind schedule?”

  Cat felt a twinge of guilt for neglecting her duties in the village today. “Everything is still on schedule. The families visit in a few days’ time.”

  “Good, I’ve gathered some more furniture.”

  “Send it when you are ready.” Cat couldn’t sit down, not when she was so full of ache and fire. She twitched her skirts out of the way and paced the length of the terrace. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the heart of the matter. “He’s returned.”

  “Who has returned? Trent is not to be back for a few days.” Mazie peeled the cloth from her forehead and scanned the terrace. With a groan, she covered her eyes again. “Is someone pretending to be the Midnight Rider?”

  “No, no.” Cat whipped around. “Forster.”

  “What?” This did prompt Mazie to sit up. She put the cloth aside and studied Cat. “Forster is here? In Nottinghamshire?”

  “Yes.”

  “My goodness. No wonder you are so upset.” Mazie made a halfhearted attempt to corral her chignon, which threatened to fall off one side of her head.

  “Oh, Mazie, what am I to do?” Cat needed someone to give her answers, for she certainly had none.

  “To begin, you must stop pacing.” Mazie pressed her hand over her eyes. “I cannot watch you.”

  Cat stifled a sigh and sank into a chair. She had finally
made a life for herself that did not include her husband, or her lack thereof. What was she to do now?

  A footman arrived with a pot of warm chocolate and two slices of lemon cake. He placed the tray on the small table between them.

  Mazie leaned back onto her divan. “How can you drink that vile stuff?”

  “Chocolate? You love it.”

  “The smell.” She waved her hand and mumbled something about locks on her bedroom door.

  Cat took pity on her sister-in-law and moved the tray to the far side of the terrace. She filled her cup nearly to the brim before returning to her seat. Chocolate could fix anything.

  “Forgive me for being such a terrible malcontent today, Cat. I am glad you stopped by. Forster understands you did not truly have an affair, doesn’t he?”

  “I have told him the truth. Beyond that, I do not know what he thinks.” Cat took a healthy sip of chocolate. “The annulment papers are in my desk.”

  Mazie lifted the cloth from her eyes and looked over at her. “Will you file them?”

  “It has been my plan for some time.” Jamie certainly had not displayed any joy at their reunion. She had no cause to change her plans.

  “You will claim breach of contract?”

  “Yes, I will try.” Cat studied the floral pattern on her cup. “I don’t think he missed me at all.”

  “You cannot know that—”

  “What if he fell in love with someone else?”

  “That would certainly be unfortu—”

  “What if he plans to leave again and not return for another five years?”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “No. I argued with him.” Cat laughed at herself but felt no humor. “He wants an heir.”

  “My goodness, that was some argument you had.”

  It would have been a much better argument, had she remembered half the things she wanted to say to her errant spouse.

  A breeze blew across the lawn, bringing the scent of ripening apples. Somewhere, a warbler trilled. The little bird would be leaving soon, making the long flight to warmer climes.

  “You would make a wonderful mother,” Mazie murmured.

  “So you think I should stay with him?” Cat turned to her sister-in-law. If only there were an answer to the riddle in her heart.

  “Oh, my dear, I cannot tell you what to do.”

  Cat sighed and drained her cup of chocolate. She could stay with Jamie, be a mother, and learn to live with the ache in her heart. Or she could strike out on her own and start anew, as had been her plan this last year.

  “Are you in fear of him, Catherine?” Mazie asked quietly.

  “No, of course not.” It was herself she feared. That she would let her husband break her heart again.

  CAT WAS AVOIDING HIM.

  Jamie had not seen his wife in two days. Not in the hallway, not in the breakfast room, and certainly not in the dining room.

  He did hear her at night, though. The wall connecting their bedchambers was not thick enough to drown the sound of her voice as she chatted with her maid. Alas, he could not make out her words no matter how he strained to hear. She sounded happy enough, if one went by tone alone. Other than taking pains not to see him, she seemed unaffected by his presence in the house. He, on the other hand, could not stop thinking of her.

  It seemed to always be this way.

  He padded around his bedroom and sitting room. He would focus on his delight to be home, and not his frustration over his wife. Some of his luggage had arrived and he unpacked the souvenirs from his trip. A ceremonial mask from Senegal sat beside a Ming vase atop his bookshelf. A statue of the Hindu god Ganesh acted as a bookend on the middle shelf, holding his travelogues upright.

  But it was not his journeys that interested him. It was his home. He had spent the last two days visiting his estate and reacquainting himself with the land and people he had left behind.

  Except for his wife, that is. She was nowhere to be found.

  Jamie knew she had retired for the night. He had listened to the muted lilt and fall of her voice as she spoke with her maid. Silence had settled a bit ago. What would she do if he poked his head into her room and wished her a good night?

  Toss him out, most likely. She had not liked his pronouncement that he needed an heir.

  But perhaps she would welcome him. Perhaps they could talk. He would like that, to talk to her.

  Before he could reconsider, Jamie walked to the door adjoining the two rooms and knocked. She did not answer.

  He pushed the door open and peeked inside.

  Cat was asleep on her bed, a book still in hand. A fire blazed in the hearth and a copper tub, full of water, sat in the middle of her chamber. She had been naked. Or perhaps not naked but wrapped in a wet, translucent shift.

  He nudged the door open a few inches more.

  Her blond hair was unbound and spread out in waves across her pillow. It would most likely be damp from her bath and smell of roses. She’d pulled on a green silk robe but her lower arms and legs were exposed to the heat of the room. He’d forgotten how elegant she was. The shape of her face, the curve of her ankle, the milky-whiteness of her skin.

  He had missed her.

  The realization hit him like a fist to the gut. Like he could no longer make sense of his breath. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and took his time looking at her.

  His wife.

  The word still felt awkward. She was Cat, the girl he’d known forever. The girl he’d wanted as long as he could remember. And when he finally got her, he’d left.

  He could just make out the shape of her slim calf in the shadows. He knew her body. Knew it with a thousand caresses. Knew it as well as his own.

  No matter how he’d tried to push her from his thoughts in their years apart, she always came back in his dreams. Long limbs. Full breasts. Hair spilling as it was now.

  He dragged his gaze up her legs to the mound of her sex. She would be soft from her bath. Warm. He could be hard for her in a moment. Was already hard.

  She was naked beneath her robe.

  His cock throbbed, and he forced his gaze away. She’d redecorated the room. The purple and silver suited her in its refinement with a hint of passion beneath. Vases full of roses sat atop her bedside table and her dressing table.

  The second bloom of late summer roses always was her favorite. “It’s as if they know winter is coming and are eager to give away all of their beauty,” she once said.

  His gaze found its way back to her. The fucking would be the easy part. It was the forgiveness that would be a challenge. He’d not forgotten how she’d hurt him. The weight of his anger had been a chain around his neck for all these years.

  He did not wish to carry it anymore. What is it they said? Forgiveness frees the one who had been wronged.

  Could he possibly forgive his wife?

  Would she welcome him into her bed if he did not?

  Jamie took a deep breath. It was odd, this ache in his chest. He could not account for it. One felt such things upon leaving a beloved land or watching a particularly inspired sunset. Not spying on one’s estranged spouse as she slept.

  Cat’s lady’s maid slipped in from another door. Jamie recognized the woman, but could not recall her name. Beneath her white cap, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a hard scowl. She appeared ready to stomp across the room and slam the door in his face.

  Once, he might have reprimanded the audacity of her disrespect. Now, irritation burned across his chest, but he did not react.

  He knew the servant was no fool. She saw written on his face what he could not hide from his heart.

  Ancient anger. The fire of ache. And the signs of an internal war.

  Casting one last glance at his sleeping wife, he stepped back into his room and pulled the door closed.

  THE SEPTEMBER DAY WAS LOVELY, as was often the case in Nottinghamshire. Cat tried to focus on the sunshine and the work ahead of her rather than thoughts of her husband.


  Three days and he had yet to seek her out. She did not know whether to be disappointed or relieved. She should be thinking of her future, of the plans she had created for herself. Plans that did not include the presence of the marquess. Despite the suddenness of Jamie’s return, and the boldness of his demand, nothing had changed.

  Jamie’s lack of attention did not influence her toward wanting to start a family with him. She desired a child, but that child needed a father.

  A large patch of Michaelmas daisies bloomed in the open plot between the Wentons’ and Rogers’s cottages. Bees hummed in the purple flowers, content to be busy on this fine day. Cat crossed the street to walk in the shade. Honey and sunshine and soft sounds invited a languidness she could ill afford. Already her blood moved in a slow rhythm, exhausted from the previous evening. She’d lain awake in the dark. Wondering if Jamie would visit. Telling herself she would not welcome him into her bed and imagining it all the same.

  She was imagining it now. Silly girl. Cat took her pencil from her pocket and scribbled some rather useless ideas in her notebook. Really, she ought to pay better attention to the work around her. She wanted this cluster of cottages to be perfect for the families who would soon inhabit them. She wanted the children, a few of whom had spent years in the workhouses, to know sunlight and fresh air. The gardens would help their bodies to be healthful, while the open fields and trees to climb would repair their spirits.

  These were not families who knew comfort, as she did. They knew work, and sickness, and hunger. And some of them, gaol.

  In three years’ time, this end of the village would be full of life. The families would be healed and the flower boxes would be overflowing.

  And Jamie, would he still be home?

  Pushing the thought from her mind, she entered what would be the Warners’ cottage. The north-facing windows were particularly large and exposed to the street. Redford’s Mercantile had some new fabrics in stock that would make lovely drapes.

  The deep blue velvet she had seen last week would be too formal for the cottage, but perfect for Jamie’s bedroom. The cool color suited him well. Especially his eyes, and the way they were set off by his darkened skin…