‘I am not sure of the correct course, Tremayne, I fear if we insist on Dorothea staying that we will be sending for the doctor ere long. Though I feel a great reluctance to leave Catherine after the revelations of the night. Her father would expect that in his absence, I make her welfare a priority, I am sure.’
‘You would do better to see to the welfare of your own wife Brook, and let me see to mine!’
On hearing this Dorothea began to cry again and Charles lost no time in leading her out to the waiting carriage, though with an obvious reluctance. Catherine followed, waiting at the foot of the carriage steps while Dorothea was settled inside. She was aware that Alex had followed too and that he stood silent close behind, he moved one hand to rest on her shoulder and leaning in murmured in her ear.
‘I will not let you leave me Kate.’
Then he stepped back out of sight of the still sobbing Dorothea, who’s outstretched hands reached for her sister.
‘Kate please, you must come away with us, you must, it is not safe here and how am I to tell all of this to Papa and Mama without you to help me?’
Alex watched as she moved forward to take Dorothea’s outstretched hands, steeling himself not to move to pull her back. He’d meant what he said, he would keep her, and by force if he had to, but for some reason he wanted her to make the decision to stay. He needed her to chose him, despite all that been revealed, despite the accusations her sister had made against him, he willed her to have faith in him. To chose to remain here as his wife.
Dorothea had stopped sobbing now, nor was she begging Catherine to leave with her. He could hear her draw deep shuddering breaths as she listened to whatever Catherine was saying. She spoke softly and he couldn’t make out her words but he recognized the love in them. Then Catherine stepped back and turned to Charles who embraced her.
‘Write to me Charles, let me know how they all are, and I will write too.’
Charles threw a dark look at Alex before answering.
‘Take care sister, and if I can be of assistance you have only to send for me and I will come, I promise.’
Then Charles took his seat, the carriage door was closed and they drove off into the night.
Catherine stood, drained of emotion, watching the carriage roll out of sight. She was alone now and in some obscure way it was a relief. Now all she had to contend with were her own feelings and Alex and there was no doubt that the task was daunting enough without having to cope with Dorothea’s hysteria. Now she would try again to find the solitude she needed to think.
Alex stood watching Catherine watching them roll out of sight down the moonlit driveway. Then she turned and looked at him, her gaze fathomless as, without a word , she walked back into the house. She crossed the hallway to the drawing room, and Alex followed, intrigued to see where she would take this, closing the door he strolled with exaggerated nonchalance over to help himself to a glass of wine before moving to occupy his customary seat in front of the fireplace. Catherine stood with her back to him, staring out of the window across the moonlit parkland of the estate. After many long minutes she turned to look at him and the glint of tears he saw in her eyes made something twist unpleasantly in his gut.
‘What now my lord, you have had your way, I remain here, but for how long and what can I be now?’
‘Of course you remain here, always, you are my wife, where else should you be? And as such you have your role to play in running this house, and tending to my needs, all of my needs Kate, let us be quite clear on that point.’
She seemed to give in then, he watched as the defiance went out of her slight frame and her eyes darkened with emotion, but still she held herself firmly in control, not willing to let him see her weakness.
‘Very well my lord, now if you will excuse me I will retire.’
She didn’t wait for his answer, but walked purposefully from the room. He let her little show of defiance go unchallenged. Time enough to assert his authority later.
Chapter 9
Catherine made her way to her chamber with leaden feet. She was more tired than she’d ever been in her life, yet her brain was still whirling as it sought to make some sense of everything that had been thrown at it over the last few hours. Sleep would not come easily she knew, and then there was Alex. He would follow her, determined she continue play the dutiful wife, and she had no idea how she would cope with that. Could not even begin to understand her own feelings with regard to the momentous changes that had been wrought in her life in such a short time. Only half a day past she had been full of hope, it had seemed that after the upset of her less than welcome marriage, things were beginning to work out for the best. Her feelings for Alex had changed, oh there had been passion from the first, but it had grown into something deeper and infinitely tender and she had been sure it was the same for him. For the first time in her life she had begun to accept the role that society dictated for women of her class. Coming to see it not as that servitude to a husbands demands she had been determined to avoid at all costs, but as a new life, one that gave her opportunities for joy she had never guessed at. What effect would the day’s revelations have on such a new and fragile love? She was still pondering this question as she made her way across her chamber to the seat beside the fire blazing in the grate, sinking into its cushioned softness.
As the warm glow from the fire bathed her tired body it seemed also to calm her whirling thoughts. She began to think the events of the day through, one revelation or accusation at a time, as it had happened. Trying to find some semblance of order, to construct a sequential account that would allow her to separate fact from fiction, exculpation from accusation. She remembered her words to Alex in the orangery, how she had, in that heated moment, hit upon the most fundamental truth. That the way to understanding her own emotions lay in separating the accusations from the actuality of his actions. To do that she must replay every conversation, beginning with all that Dorothea had said and begin by reading again each letter until it was clear in her mind. Yes that was what she would do, she would make it all straight in her mind.
Hurrying through the door to Alex’s chamber she gathered up the letters and the velvet pouch still on the rug where they had fallen, and then reached for the miniature Alex had placed on the low table. Carrying them back to her own room she proceeded to climb onto the bed and arrange them across the satin cover, before seating herself where the candlelight was brightest. She began with her father’s letters to Alex, for these had seemed to hold the most pressing secrets. Reading with care this time, she struggled not only to understand them, but to try to imagine what could have been written to him, that would have elicited her Papa’s sometimes rambling, emotional writings. On finishing this part of the task she paused to gather her thoughts before continuing.
It was clear from these writings that her father feared that Alex meant to harm her, in fact was harming her, there was no denying that, as there was no denying his intention to send her away. Then there was her Papa’s guilt, not so clear, he seemed to both deny and accept it. It was clear that Alex had written of his intentions, why was that? His mission of hate must have been made clear during those long discussions before the wedding, so it could be assumed with some certainty that he wrote to torment. Then there was the stark reality of the nature of the revenge, that she was married “ without a thought to the value a gentleman should put upon a wife”, her innocence the price to be paid. She pondered that element for many long dark minutes. The passion he had made her display in their bed had made her fear that she was by nature wild and wanton, had not Mama warned of just such failings? But Alex had soothed her fears away, delighting in her responses to him, reassuring her.
Alex had taken her to wife to extract his revenge that much was clear. It was just as clear that though he may not have physically hurt her, he had let her father think it. The awful realization of another truth now dawned on her. She was merely his instrument of revenge. Every tender moment had been an illusion, a lie. She
felt the sting of tears but brushed them away angrily, focusing once again on finding the truth.
So what of her father’s guilt? Reaching for the portrait she examined the face of the girl who, if she had lived, would now have been her sister. It was a pretty face and yes, she could see a determination there too. The evidence for a tender love affair between this girl and Papa was compelling. A doomed love affair between a married man and a young girl, who consequently gave birth to a child before losing her life in the murky waters of a river in spate. It was a tragic tale, but was it simply a tragedy of lost love, deep despair and suicide? Or was the real tragedy the murder of a poor ruined girl?
Was Alex capable of more than ruthlessly marrying her for revenge? Was he capable of murder? Dorothea was convinced that Alex had done his sister harm, though she had not shown any evidence of that, only supposition and an hysterical fear that he meant to harm his wife too. Closing her eyes to concentrate on her own feelings, once again Catherine felt the certainty she had known in the orangery when she stepped out to face her husband. He was not a murderer, she felt it in her heart and she was not, could not be afraid of him, but could she, in light of all this still be a wife to him?
Alex stayed in the drawing room well into the night. The rich red wine did nothing to quell the demons in him. He knew his faults well enough and he knew that arrogance and the propensity to take defiance badly were numbered among those faults. He’d seen it in his father, grown up with it, watched it eat into his mothers pride and confidence and vowed that he’d be a different man, and he had, until Emily...
He groaned under the burden of his grief. Until Emily had been lost, lost because of the actions of a philandering rake, lost to the shame of her situation, or was it lost because of the actions of a despotic brother?
‘God Emily why? Why could you not come to me, speak to me, tell me of your despair? We used to be so close, sharing so much. How could you leave me to look after your little one alone?’
His words echoed around the room, and he reached again for the glass, knowing it would not make any real difference to the situation, but for now it might help him forget. But of course it did no such thing. His thoughts turned to recent events and the conundrum of Kate. How on earth had he let it get to this? He’d planned his revenge with care, and indeed Calthorpe had suffered, the revelations of the evening had confirmed that at least. It had been part of the plan that all should be revealed, though admittedly not this soon. He’d intended to father an heir first, and then having secured his own line, ruin Calthorpe by sending back his daughter, used and discarded. It had been a sound plan, a plan that once carried out would leave his enemy in ruins and himself to raise two children, his and Emily’s. They would be his own salvation, by ensuring their health and happiness he’d make amends to his sister and so find a little peace, a little respite from the demons that had driven him since her death. So why did he feel that it had all gone so wrong? Why had the look of disbelief and pain in his wife’s eyes bothered him so? It had left him feeling as if he was in the process of losing something infinitely precious and had awakened every instinct he had to guard against that loss. He’d kept her from leaving for now, but what next? Realizing he had no idea, he reached again for his glass.
It was late when he moved to retire, the decanter was three quarters empty, but he was no nearer the oblivion of either drunkenness or sleep. He was however clear on one thing, he would join his wife, now, tonight. It was the only way to proceed. She’d chosen to stay, and now the best course of action would be to cement that decision in the marriage bed.
Catherine was still awake when he went to his chamber, she’d been standing looking out over the darkened park so long her eyes had adjusted to the night and she was able to make out the familiar landscape cloaked in charcoal and indigo. She heard the muffled sounds of him retiring and imagined each minor event. He’d undress, wash and shave, though would he shave if he was not coming to her? She heard his manservant leave, closing the door behind him. Alex would snuff the light now, shed his robe and. “No, don’t think about him, naked in bed. Don’t imagine being in his arms, or remember the feel of him, the taste of him...”
‘Still awake Kate?’
She’d not heard him open the door and so his quiet question startled her, she spun around to face him as her heart began to thump out a less than steady beat in her chest.
‘And still dressed, now why is that? Is your maid to be reprimanded?’
He moved over to her bed, looking down at the letters and the velvet pouch with its contents strewn there. He spoke without looking up.
‘Ah I now I see, you have been distracted, so engrossed in reliving the evening’s events that you have quite lost track of time and failed to prepare for bed. So tell me Kate, what conclusions have you come to? Have you revised your earlier estimation, are you afraid of me now?’
Now he looked up, eyes dark, fathomless as he waited for her reply.
‘No my lord, I am not afraid of you.’
He heard the tremor in her words, and moving closer could see it in the almost imperceptible movement of the narrow shoulders she was trying valiantly to hold steady. He reached out one hand to lightly trace the delicate line of her collarbone, and watched her indrawn breath.
‘Sure about that Kate? Have you not found the proof of my guilt in your further reading? Surely now you are convinced of my part in my sisters death.’
‘I am as sure of your innocence in that respect as I am of your guilt in others.’
Very well, and what of these other crimes, do they not engender fear in your heart Kate?’
He was close now, she could see the stubble darkening his jaw line, so he’d not shaved. She could feel the heat of him, and her chilled body, seemed to lean towards that heat of its own volition as she looked deep into the darkness of his eyes. She turned away, staring back out through the window into the night in an attempt to halt the clamouring of her senses.
‘No my lord, for now that they are revealed you can do no more harm. I cannot be despoiled by you as long as I remain here, your wife at least in the eyes of the world, though you might still, of course send me home to Sussex a shamed and rejected wife, though somehow I feel that as that would reflect as much on you, it may have been but an idle threat to torment my father even further. However my letters will reassure him of my well-being. So there is no danger and so no cause for fear.’
He moved close behind her, raised his hands to her shoulders, gently running them down to her elbows and then back, savouring the feel of her cool, smooth skin.
‘So the danger is passed, good, for though I find a little nervousness in a bedfellow can be quite stimulating, making love to a woman in fear of her life is quite another matter, puts a fellow off in the most disconcerting way.’
Catherine spun around to face him, eyes flashing as she placed two small hands on his chest and pushed him with enough force to propel him back a pace.
‘You are mistaken sir if you think I have any intention of being your bedfellow, tonight or any other night. Your callous use of me is beyond despicable and is indefensible. I have no choice under the law but to remain here, but even the law my lord cannot force me back into your bed.’
‘Ah now you are only partly correct in that assumption my dear. The law , if consulted, would not only insist that you fulfill your duties as my wife, it would also uphold my right to take any steps necessary to ensure you do so. Whatever those steps might entail.’
She was bristling now, spine rigid, eyes flashing. Alex watched her digest the meaning behind his words, trying to decide if he really meant to force her compliance, but more than that, trying to work out how best to counter him.
‘You are despicable sir, utterly despicable.’
Moving forward he caught her by her shoulders once more, pulling her close so that she had to look upwards to spear his eyes with her own defiant gaze.
‘Maybe Kate, but I am your husband and I will have you in my
bed this night. Come let’s begin by removing this gown.’
He moved a hand to the ribbon at the neck of her dress, but before he could tug it free she’d spun away out of his grasp and marched through the open door to his chamber, leaving him with little choice but to follow. He’d not made love to Kate in this mood before, spitting fire, it would be interesting to see how long it would take him to turn such a rage into passion. He leant with a studied nonchalant air he did not feel, on the doorframe, watching her as she moved over to his bed. Halting on the opulent rug beside it she proceeded to undress, sharp jerky little movements betraying her agitation. Then when she was quite naked she looked at him, eyes afire and her voice husky with contempt.
‘Here my lord, have what you and the law decree is your right, take it and be damned to you for yet again making a whore of me!’
With that she turned climbed up on the bed, lay on her back and spread her naked body wide to receive him.
Alex stood for a full minute striving to control the blast of lust that had surged through him at the sight of her glorious, defiant nakedness. She was more upset than he’d ever seen her and despite the desire coursing through his veins, he was finding this a shallow victory. Slowly his control returned and he moved to sit beside her on the bed. He let his eyes roam over her, from the tips of her toes to the silken swathe of her hair, taking his time, letting her anger cool. Her eyes were shut tight against him.
Catherine lay still, trembling with temper. He’d sat down beside her, had he removed his robe? What would he do next? She desperately wanted to open her eyes to see but that would be giving up some of her defiance and she balked at that.
‘Open your eyes Kate.’
His voice was low and as dangerously calm as it was compelling, she complied but looked straight up at the canopy above her head. He exhaled sharply, the sound of air leaving his lungs testament to growing impatience. Rather than command again he reached across and with a firm movement turned her face to him, making her meet his eyes. She registered the dark blue of his robe as she listened.
Vengeful Lord, Defiant Lady. Page 13
