by Lauren Royal
“No problem a’tall, my lord.” The butler eyed Cait with interest. “And the lady—”
“The lady will be lodging here as well.”
“Jason?” she whispered.
Jason was…a lord?
And this was his town house?
She’d fully expected his “town house” would turn out to be a garret in a questionable neighborhood. This house had several garrets of its own. Both tall and wide, its face was divided by columns and studded with big rectangular windows, each crowned with a triangular pediment.
Her mind reeled.
Goodwin held the door open wide, and Jason ushered her inside. She stopped dead on the threshold, staring at the home’s interior. The enormous windows made it lighter inside than any house she’d ever seen. Carved flowers and ribbons festooned the pale painted plaster walls. A wide staircase curved gracefully up to the next floor.
She turned to Jason. “What kind of a lord are you? A prince?”
“Nothing so grand.” He offered her an apologetic smile. “A marquess.”
She blinked, trying to absorb it all. Her legs felt shaky. “You’ll excuse me if I need to sit for a moment.” Spotting a pair of brocade chairs in the entry, she made her way over and lowered herself to one of them.
A marquess. Her head spun at the mere thought. She certainly couldn’t picture her very-Scottish self the object of an English marquess’s love. Not that Jason—Lord Whoever—would ever really love her. Wheesht, the fellow hardly believed a word she said.
She looked over at him, struggling to focus her eyes. The room seemed too bright. “Who are you? The Marquess of What?”
“Cainewood. A castle and lands down south.” He set the wig on a small gilt and marble table. “I told you about it, remember?”
The butler discreetly disappeared while Caithren digested the information. And here she’d made fun of Jason pretending to be an aristocrat. Well, he’d deserved it then, didn’t he?
“I live in a castle as well,” she said, lifting her chin. “And my father was a baronet.”
“I know. You’ve told me.”
“You believe me, then?”
He shrugged, a telltale red staining his face.
She wasn’t going to feel sympathy for his predicament. To the contrary, she felt like lashing out with her claws bared. “Well, I’ve always told you the truth. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“I know,” he said in a small voice. “But I never told you anything that wasn’t true.” He moved close and put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes begging her to understand. “I just—left out some details.”
“Details?” She pinned him with her best disdainful look. “That’s got to be the most glaring understatement I’ve ever heard.” She closed her eyes, put her fingers to her forehead, then opened them again and looked up at him. “My mam always said that credit lost is akin to broken glass.”
“Pardon?” His jaw tense, he stared at the toes of his black boots. “I understand the words, for once, but the meaning eludes—”
“Broken trust can never be restored.”
“Cait…” He went down on a knee before her, and she almost—almost—felt sorry for him.
But she felt too betrayed. “With all the deception we’ve had between us—”
Glimpsing something over her shoulder, he stood and pulled away. She looked up and back to see a young man and a young woman trooping down the stairs.
“Jason!” the female exclaimed. She ran down the last few steps and threw herself into his arms. “Are you healing well, then? Any news on the Gothards? My heavens”—she touched his face—“what happened to your hair and your mustache?”
“Let me guess,” Caithren said dryly, rising from the chair. “Your wife.”
She wouldn’t put it past him, no matter that he’d been kissing her. The young woman was petite and prettier than she was, with dark red hair and a fine complexion.
“Not my wife,” Jason said. “My sister, Kendra. And my brother, Ford.” He gestured toward the tall, young gentleman. Ford had long, wavy brown hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “Ford, Kendra, this is Caithren Leslie.”
“Caithren, is it?” Kendra said with a wide smile. “Familiar, aren’t we?”
Cait curtsied, but Kendra rushed forward and kissed her on both cheeks. “Welcome to our home. Where did you find her, Jason? Are you two in love?” She gasped, holding up Caithren’s left hand. “Are you married? Jason—”
“No, we’re not married.” Her face on fire, Cait wrenched the ring off her fourth finger—she’d forgotten it was there—and thrust it at Jason.
Who promptly dropped it. “Kendra,” he groaned, kneeling to scrabble on the floor.
“You misunderstand, Lady Kendra,” Cait broke in. “I’m only traveling with your brother due to…unfortunate circumstances.”
“You’re Scottish,” Kendra said. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“Aye, and—”
“Scottish?” Ford interrupted. He examined her with keen interest, his gaze settling on her amulet. “Might you go by the nickname of Emerald?”
“Nay,” Cait said firmly. “My name is Caithren.” She turned to glare at Jason, half-expecting him to defend his brother. “Not Emerald.”
“Emerald?” Kendra scoffed. “As in Emerald MacCallum? Look at her, will you? Does she look like she chases outlaws?” She put a hand on Cait’s arm. “Men can be so thick-headed at times. I apologize for my twin. He is more thick-headed than most.”
Cait’s lips thinned. “No more than Jase.”
“Jase?” Kendra looked to him. “You let her call you Jase? Now I know you’re in love.”
Cait blushed so wildly, she could only hope the color would wear off by evening.
But Jason ignored Kendra’s cheeky comment. “What are you doing here?” he asked her.
Ford sighed. “I’m sorry to say I’ve yet to discover the name of the man you…er…”
“Killed,” Jason supplied succinctly.
“Um, yes. But I turned Chichester upside down and found a tavern the man had frequented along with two companions. A serving maid overheard the men saying they were going to Lord Darnley’s wedding. Tomorrow, is it not? So we ought to be able to find them there and—say, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Jason said woodenly, though nothing could be further from the truth.
Tomorrow Cait would learn he’d killed her brother, whether he told her or not.
He should have confessed the minute he’d realized the truth—surely his soul would be the better for it now. But he’d promised her a night to remember, and he wouldn’t ruin it for her just to ease his own anguish.
She’d have her evening of happiness before their world collapsed.
“I thank you for making the inquiries,” he told Ford. “Excellent work.”
“And what of Gothard?” Ford asked.
“Still unresolved. It’s a long tale, best discussed over dinner.” He turned to his sister. “How fares Mary? Is she…”
“Dead? No.” Kendra grinned. “The doctor says it’s a miracle. She’s getting better.”
“Better?” A rush of hope coursed through him. “She awakened?”
“Yes. Her speech is slow, and she couldn’t walk at first; she has trouble walking still. But every day she improves a little. We don’t know if she’ll ever—”
“She’s alive.” Jason made his way to the chair Cait had vacated and dropped onto it. “That’s all that matters.”
Kendra walked over and took his limp hands from his lap. “You feel a responsibility for her, I know. But it wasn’t your fault.” Jason noticed her gaze alight on his own ‘wedding ring’ and hastily rotated it to reveal the Cainewood crest.
“He feels a responsibility for everything.” Cait crossed her arms. “I’ve been trying to cure him of that, to no avail.”
“A worthy project.” Kendra dropped Jason’s hands and went to Cait, a conspiratorial gleam in her ey
e. “Have you managed to get him to do anything just for the fun of it? Rather than to accomplish some specific goal?”
“Well, we did chase a ghost. And—”
“Cait,” Jason groaned.
“We went to a fair, but that was to buy me some things. And—oh!” She grinned. “He danced with the Gypsies, though not for long.”
“He danced with the Gypsies?” A flash of curiosity crossed Kendra’s face. “I will need to hear more of this.”
Jason rose. “Cait doesn’t have time to gossip with you. We have plans. Kendra, there must be a ball this evening?”
“Lady Carson’s annual affair.” She regarded him with puzzled light green eyes. “But why would you want to know that?”
“Lady Carson’s balls are boring,” Ford put in.
“They are not,” Kendra argued. “And I’ve heard Charles will be in attendance this eve. But why?” she repeated.
“I’ve promised Cait an evening of London entertainment. She’s never been here before. And no,” he added, forestalling her question, “you may not come along.” He frowned at her pout, then realized it would be hours until evening and the ball. Too many hours—too much time for his sister to question Cait. “Perhaps we shall attend the theater first. What is playing at Lincoln’s Inn Fields?”
Kendra brightened. “Dryden’s The Feign’d Innocence. It’s hilarious. Ford and I saw it yesterday, but I’d love to see it again.”
He smiled benignly, deliberately misunderstanding her. “Maybe Ford will take you again tomorrow.”
“I’ve nothing to wear,” Caithren reminded him.
“Oh!” Kendra’s eyes sparkled. “I can take care of that.”
“Choose quickly,” he said, wishing his siblings had stayed tucked away at Cainewood. “We need time for dinner, too.”
“It isn’t even noon yet.” His sister’s smile was all too knowing. “We’ll eat first and hear your long tale. Your Cait will have plenty of time to dress after that.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
KENDRA’S CHAMBER upstairs was a confection of mint green decor. She strode to her carved-oak clothes press, threw the doors open wide, and perused the gowns hung inside on pegs. “Green, blue, purple?” She turned to Caithren. “Which do you fancy?”
“I-I don’t know,” Cait stuttered. “I’ve never been to a ball.”
“No?” Kendra riffled through a few more, then pulled out a gown in a deep, rich rose and held it up to Caithren’s cheek. “Lovely,” she declared, dragging Cait over to a gilt-framed pier glass. “Look.”
Caithren had to admit the hue flattered her complexion, but it was the most elaborate gown she’d ever seen. Gold threads were woven into the fabric in a diamond pattern, and the underskirt was shimmering gold tissue. “I couldn’t possibly wear this,” she breathed, wishing all the while that she could.
Even though it was English.
“Don’t be a goose.” Kendra tossed the gown on her curtained four-poster bed. “Not only can you wear it, you can keep it. I cannot imagine what possessed me to order it. It looks hideous on me with this red hair.” She reached to lift a hank of Caithren’s straight mane. “What beautiful colors. I’d wager you could wear anything with this.”
When she let go, Cait watched in the mirror as the wheaten strands cascaded back to her shoulders. Maybe her hair was pretty, down loose like this. She’d never paid it much attention other than to bind it out of the way.
Kendra smiled at her in the mirror. “I’ll have Jane in to curl it.”
“Jane?” Cait’s voice sounded feeble to her own ears. Too much had happened in the past couple of hours—too many surprises.
Her world was off-kilter.
“Jane is my maidservant.” Leading Cait to a marble-topped dressing table, Kendra sat her down. She pulled open a drawer filled with little boxes and bottles. “But I won’t call her in until after we’ve finished with the cosmetics.”
“Cosmetics?”
“Do you not wear cosmetics in Scotland?”
“Crivvens, nay.” Cait felt as though she’d been spirited to a country even more foreign than England. Perhaps she’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in Sweden. “I’ve got nowhere to wear cosmetics to.”
“What a shame.” Kendra clucked her tongue. “I think you’ll be happier here with Jason.”
“With Jason?” Caithren jumped from the chair. “Whyever would you think I’d be with Jason—I mean, Lord Cainewood?”
“Caithren…” Kendra eased her back onto the embroidered velvet seat. “May I call you Caithren?”
“Aye,” she said weakly. “Or Cait.”
“Cait, then. I like that better. Jason calls you Cait, doesn’t he?” She plucked a small box from the drawer. “Anyway, as I was about to say, you can protest all you wish, but I’ve got two good eyes in my head.”
“Two eyes?” Cait’s own eyes bugged out in the mirror as she watched Kendra fluff white powder onto her face.
She couldn’t believe she was allowing this, but she felt too shocked and overwhelmed to protest. Jason was a marquess.
A marquess.
“Two eyes,” Kendra said firmly. “And I’d need only one to see the two of you belong together.” Setting down the powder, she took up a stick of kohl. “Why, I haven’t seen Jason squire a girl to a ball since—since ever.” She leaned closer. “Look up.”
“So he doesn’t have a…” Cait couldn’t think how to put it, and besides, it was difficult to concentrate when someone was drawing under your eye. It tickled. “What I mean is—”
“Heavens, no.” Kendra laughed and stood up straight. “He hasn’t anyone special in his life, or if he does I’ve no knowledge of her. He’s never bothered to take a lady anywhere. Most especially not to a ball. I have to beg him on my knees to chaperone me as it is. He hates the things.”
Now, this was interesting information. But Cait found her hopes rising, which wasn’t a good thing. Not with all the half-truths and deceit.
She wasn’t sure what to think of Jason anymore. “He just feels sorry for all he put me through.”
“And what was that?” Kendra smudged color onto Cait’s cheeks. “Do tell.”
Caithren had never had a female friend her own age, and though she barely knew her, she reckoned Kendra could be a good one. “He saw me confronting the Gothard brothers,” she found herself explaining, “and decided I was some woman named Emerald MacCallum.”
“Him, too?” Kendra opened a wee pot. “Is he daft?”
“Exactly what I said. Then, under this preposterous misconception, he tricked me into missing the public coach, to keep me from getting to Gothard first and ruining his chance at revenge.”
“Revenge? As in murder?” Kendra bit her lip and swirled her finger in the pot. “He wants to see Gothard put to trial; he has no intention of killing the man.”
Caithren shook her head. “You’re wrong about that. He wants the reward.”
Her fingertip coated with shiny balm, Kendra paused. “Cait, he posted the reward.”
“Oh.”
Of course.
Cait figured she ought to have been bright enough to put two and two together upon learning his identity, but her head was still reeling. And Kendra didn’t know the whole story. Jason’s dinnertime tale had been abbreviated, to say the least.
“Nevertheless,” she said, “he intends to see the cur dead.”
“Jason? Nary a chance.” With a decisive finger, Kendra slicked the gloss onto Cait’s slack lips. “Jason would do anything to avoid murder. It’s not in his nature to do harm.” She capped the pot. “He’s out for justice, no more. And to see that no one else suffers at the brute’s hands…” A small smile emerged on her expressive face. “Like you.”
“Like me?” Caithren glimpsed herself in the mirror, then quickly looked away. She seemed a stranger. A mysterious stranger.
And at this moment, her feelings were as strange as her appearance.
She swallowed hard. “I’ll admit he
claimed as much, but do you truly think Jason took me along to protect me?”
“I’d bet my life on it. It’s an exceedingly Jason thing to do.” Kendra rummaged in the drawer again and came out with a burnt cork. “Sit still. I’m going to use this to darken your lashes. It might feel funny.”
Nothing could feel as funny as Cait’s stomach did now. Could Kendra possibly be right? That would mean she’d been wrong all along. And about more than just his identity. Those qualities she thought she’d glimpsed—
“Look,” Kendra said, pressing a hand mirror into Caithren’s limp fingers.
She raised it to her face. “By all the saints,” she whispered. She hardly recognized herself. Or rather, she did, but she never thought she’d look so…
“Beautiful,” Kendra said, though Cait had been thinking English. Kendra flicked through a small box with a fingertip. “Hold still.” While Caithren watched in the mirror, Kendra stuck a tiny black heart on her cheek. “There,” she said. “You’re perfect.”
“What is it?” Cait lowered the mirror and felt for the little heart.
With an indulgent smile, Kendra pulled away Cait’s hand. “Careful, or you’ll dislodge it. It’s a beauty patch.” She shook the patch box. “Would you like another?”
Cait felt foreign enough as it was. English. “Nay, though I thank you.”
When her hand went to her amulet, Kendra’s gaze followed. “My, that looks old.”
“It is.”
“It won’t match the gown.” She lifted the lid of a lovely enameled box on the dressing table. “Would you like to borrow some rubies?” Jewels flashed as she delved inside.
Cait shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but nay. This belonged to my mother, and I never take it off.”
“Are you certain?” A frown creased Kendra’s forehead, then she smiled. “I can see that you are. I’ll just get Jane, then. I’ve no talent with hair.” She walked from the room, leaving Cait alone.
Again she took up the mirror. English. She looked very, very English. She put a hand to her quaking stomach.
