by Georgie Lee
“I’m sorry, Mother.” She closed the box and wiped the stinging tears from her eyes. The last two years had torn everything from her and she was tired of struggling and losing the things she loved. Yes, she could stay, continue to put her trust in Devon and the hope he might help her, but at what cost? She’d foolishly turned to Lucien for help and he’d nearly ruined her. She wouldn’t make such a mistake again.
Rising, she removed her faded cloak from the wardrobe and pulled it over her shoulders. Taking out an old reticule, she stuffed the velvet box inside then pulled the strings closed, noting their frayed and worn edges. The last time she’d used this reticule, she’d gone to Gin Lane in search of the maid Martha had thrown out, and had been horrified by the wasting poverty she’d seen.
The loneliness and vulnerability she’d felt after Thomas’s death gripped her, along with the old fear. If the ring didn’t bring enough and she walked away from Devon, how long until she shared the maid’s fate?
No, I won’t end up like her. I can’t. Once she had the money, she’d find a way to survive on her own. She had no choice.
* * *
Devon sat on the edge of the bed, the image of Cathleen clawing at his arm like a snared rabbit haunting him more than the nightmare. The dream had never been this powerful before. He felt sick, his body shaking with images of what might have happened if she hadn’t awakened him. He dropped his head in his hands, his fingertips digging into his skull. What must she think of me?
He stood, sucking in a quick breath as a bolt of pain shot down his leg. He had to apologize, and explain what happened before more damage was done, before his chance of winning her vanished completely.
He snatched the rumpled coat off the back of the chair, pulled it on and then tugged on his boots. Limping to the door, he stepped out into the dark hallway and heard the squeak of the front door hinges echoing through the house. Struggling against the stiffness in his leg, he hurried to the top of the staircase in time to see Cathleen’s slender figure concealed by a plain cloak slip out into the gray morning.
Panic hit him with surprising force. He started down the stairs, leaning hard on the banister until the stiffness in his leg eased and he could walk without trouble. Yanking open the front door, he stepped outside, the cool morning air stinging his face. He caught sight of the dark cloak heading into the park across the street, and was about to call to her when a hackney rattled by, the clatter of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones echoing off the surrounding buildings. Once it passed, he ran across the street and into the dark shade of the trees, crushing leaves underfoot and sending small animals scurrying back into the underbrush.
Following the curving path to where it opened up on a wide central lawn, he saw Cathleen pass through the wrought iron gates on the other side. He followed, stopping at the gates to look right, expecting to see her heading in the direction of her brother’s. To his surprise, the long, house-lined street stood empty. Looking left, he caught her figure moving through the thick crowd of hawkers and journeymen, the cloak pulled low across her face, a simple reticule dangling from one hand.
Where’s she going?
The sky continued to brighten as he followed her to a part of London he’d not ventured to since his time in the army. On either side of the street, prostitutes lingered in doorways, calling out to him while they bent over to reveal barely contained breasts. Their filthy children, dressed in rags, swarmed around the gentlemen who pushed them aside as they staggered bleary-eyed out of the bawdy houses, or shamefaced from the pawnbroker, their pockets and consciences heavy.
She maneuvered the labyrinth of buildings with surprising ease, the only hint of discomfort revealed when she drew the reticule up under her cloak. Devon kept up with her, remaining at a discrete distance until she turned down a narrow alley. He followed her to it but stopped at the entrance, peering around the brick corner to watch. She rapped on the plain wooden door of a ramshackle house stuck between two taller buildings, shifting from foot to foot while waiting for an answer. He knew this place. He’d accompanied an officer here once to pawn a watch to pay a gambling debt before they left for France.
What has she stolen?
The mysterious letters she’d mailed yesterday came to mind. Had she sent word to her brother, outlining the items she intended to steal? How long before the rat arrived to collect his money?
Devon’s fingers tightened on the edge of the building, the sharp stones digging into his skin, anger pushing aside his earlier shame. In the carriage yesterday, she’d been so sincere and eager to free him of a burden. Then this morning, the concern she’d showed coming to him... It must have been a ruse, a way to draw him in, make him trust her so she could take advantage of him.
The seconds stretched out and she knocked again, the faint sound lost in the noise of wagons and men calling to each other in the nearby streets.
Unwilling to let this farce continue a moment longer, Devon stormed down the alley. “A strange place for a lady so early in the morning.”
She whirled to face him. “And for a gentleman.”
“Was the promise of all my estates not enough for you?” He stood over her and she drew herself up to her full height, refusing to be cowed. Despite his anger, he admired her spirit.
“And what price will I pay for them?” she countered, holding up her bruised wrist. The slight tremble in her hand betrayed her bravery. “Will you hurt me again the next time I try and comfort you?”
The sight of the dark marks on her white skin dampened some of his anger. Then the faded sign above the door swung on its rusted hinges, a grim reminder of where they stood.
“I followed you to apologize, until I realized where you were going. I know this place. What’ve you taken?” He snatched the reticule from her hand, turning slightly to keep her from pulling it back.
“I’ve stolen nothing.” She tried to reach around him for the bag but his shoulders were too wide. “It’s mine, give it to me.”
“Did you plan to give your brother the money?” He tore at the knot but it wouldn’t budge.
“I have nothing of yours.”
He snapped the ribbons apart and shoved his hand inside. Grasping the velvet box, he yanked it out and opened the top, staring dumfounded at the small ring in its thin gold setting.
“It was my mother’s.” She snatched it back, shoving the box into the now-ruined reticule. “It’s all I have left of her and I couldn’t bear to part with it before, but I should have sold it, along with my wedding ring and every last scrap of clothing long ago to free myself of men like Lucien and you.”
She pushed past him and ran down the alley. Two dirty men leaning against the building across the street watched her, nudging each other knowingly until they caught Devon’s hard eyes. Fixing them with a warning glare, he ran out of the alley after her.
“It’s not safe for you here.” He slid his hand under her arm, grasping it tight when she tried to pull away.
“Perhaps it would be safer for me in Fleet Street.”
“You can’t blame me for my assumption.” He pulled her close, maneuvering them around a flower cart blocking the sidewalk. “You sneak out of the house before dawn and walk quite easily to a place no lady should know of.”
“I only know it because Lucien made me go there to pawn our father’s books.”
The wrought iron gates came into view and Devon guided her into the quiet of the park. “How far do you think the money from the ring would have taken you?”
“Far enough to escape from men who only wish to use and hurt me.” She wrenched her arm away, and shock tore through Devon, followed by shame. He saw the creature his nightmares made him reflected in her sharp eyes, and hated it.
He tugged at the bottom of his jacket, wishing he could wrap her in his arms, feel her cheek against his chest as he caressed her back, dispel
ling her doubts and worries and convincing her he wasn’t the mad man she’d witnessed this morning.
“I’m sorry for what happened. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s only ever been my intention to help and protect you.”
“Why? What am I to you?”
The image of Captain Selton lying in the center of the courtyard flashed through his mind but he didn’t say his name. If he told her about Thomas, she’d only hate him more. But there was another truth to reveal, and he shifted on his feet, struggling to find the words to say it.
“I used to think I could conquer my dreams. But every night they grow worse.” He looked over her shoulder at a young woman guiding an elderly man with a cane down the path. “In Bath, there were soldiers who walked with their families, muttering to themselves, cursing at invisible enemies. I once saw a man lash out at his poor wife. She stood in the street while he railed, unable to help him. I used to be thankful I hadn’t come home so wounded, but the distance between me and those men is shrinking. I fear someday there’ll be nothing left for me but Bedlam.”
Cathleen kept her head down, tying the torn reticule ribbons into a small knot, her lips pressed tight together as she fingered the frayed fabric. Devon stepped closer and took a deep breath. He feared it was too late to recapture the tenderness she’d shown him before, but he had to try. “There’s a tranquility in you I admire. It’s touched me like nothing else since coming home and made me feel as if I can escape everything I’ve been through. I know I don’t deserve your trust, especially after this morning, and if you truly want to be free, I’ll provide for your shop.”
“You will?” Her excited eyes met his, making him swallow hard with fear. He felt her slipping away and he wanted to hold on.
“Yes. But before you refuse me, please know I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone before. I’m afraid of what will happen to me without your steady presence.” Reaching up, he slid a lose curl behind her ear, his fingers barely grazing her skin. He expected her to turn away or flinch, and hope filled him when she didn’t. “After what I’ve done today, I don’t deserve your trust. But believe me, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and happy. Please Cathleen, will you marry me?”
Chapter Six
“They’ve gone to Malton Hall.” Martha threw open the thick curtains and bright afternoon sunlight flooded the bedroom. Lucien sat up in bed, coughing and shielding his red eyes with one hand.
“How do you know?” He reached for an old glass of brandy on the bedside table but she snatched it away, emptying the content in the slop jar.
“I have my sources. Seems he’s quick to make her his wife. She must have turned quite the trick once he got her home,” Martha snorted, wondering what the whore had done to catch the earl. None of her games had ever landed her such a prize. Rolling the glass in her palm, bitter hate curled through her. She deserved better than this life, yet everything she tried always failed, while simpering wimps like Cathleen gathered all the riches. Well, she’d have her revenge and her reward. “The earl bought himself a special license. Wedding’s this afternoon. They left this morning and won’t be back for some time.”
“So much for our plan.” Lucien fell against the pillows, sighing with more relief than worry.
Anger crept up her spine. “Nothing’s ruined,” she snapped, pouring herself a drink from the decanter on the dressing table. “This will work to our advantage.”
“How?”
She swallowed slowly, indulging in a thirst which lately never slackened. “Malton Hall is not so far from London. It isn’t as simple as slipping a knife in a man’s back in the middle of a dark street, but in the country it’s easier to do a deed without being seen. We can get there and back before we’re even missed.”
“How will we know when they’re alone?”
Martha set down the glass and then perched on the edge of the bed. “The earl’s driver can’t hold his gin. Talks too much.”
“And when it’s all over, he’ll gladly see us hang.”
“No, my love.” Martha rose up on her knees and crawled to him, running one finger over the thick stubble on his cheek. “He won’t be around long enough to squeal.”
She leaned in to kiss him but he pushed her back by the shoulders, his thin lips twisted in disgust. “We’re already killing an earl. Now you want to add a driver?”
Martha sat back, scowling at her husband. His stained night shirt hung on his thin frame, and his bony knees dug into her buttocks. “What’s a coachman to us or anybody? Besides, no one will ever find out.”
“Of course someone will. They always do.”
“Then what do you propose? We wait here until Lord Rothdale sends the bailiff to turn us out?”
“No, we’ll go to Italy.”
“Italy? There’s nothing there but fever.”
“In Italy, we can blackmail Cathleen in safety. Once she’s a countess, she’ll pay anything to keep us from spreading stories about her. With her money, we can live like kings.”
“We’d starve to death waiting for their blunt.”
“It’s better than ending up in hell for murder.” He shoved her off him and jumped out of bed, his nightshirt swishing around his thin legs. “Killing Malton seemed like a good idea when I was drunk and desperate, but not now. I won’t put my head in the noose.” His watery eyes filled with panic.
“We don’t have to kill him,” Martha purred, extending one long leg over the edge of the bed and letting her dress hike up to reveal the silk stocking and blue garter encircling her thigh. She watched with triumph as Lucien focused on the creamy flesh, his wild look fading.
“We don’t?”
She slid off the bed, and walked slowly to him, hips swaying. “If Malton is enamored enough to give her his name, he’ll shower her with jewels.” She wrapped her arms around Lucien’s neck and wound her fingers in his hair. “Country roads are full of thieves. We’ll disguise ourselves as highwaymen, hold up their coach, steal their precious baubles and be in Italy before anyone realizes what’s happened.”
“Do you really think we could?” He breathed into her bosom, his chest rising and falling with his growing lust.
“Of course.” She slid her hand under his nightshirt and gripped his stiffening shaft. Caressing it slowly, she watched with delight as he closed his eyes and sucked in a long breath. “Once we’re in Italy, we can concoct stories about Cathleen and hope Malton pays. If he doesn’t, we’ll have his jewels to keep us fed until we devise another plan.”
“And if we get caught?”
“We won’t get caught, not if we plan carefully. Just leave everything to me.” Drawing his mouth down to hers, she slid her tongue between his lips, forcing herself not to gag at the taste of stale liquor. Guiding him to the bed, she imagined herself in the courts of Bavaria, courted by broad-shouldered aristocrats in the market for a widow with a healthy inheritance, which she’d have once she was finally rid of Lucien and Cathleen.
* * *
“What do you think?” Elizabeth moved aside, clapping her hands in excited accomplishment.
“It’s wonderful.” Cathleen stared at herself in the mirror, still trying to believe the woman reflected back was really her. Turning from side to side, the days of her youth echoed in the rustle of silk. Her father never spent lavishly on her clothes, but her stepmother, eager to be rid of her and hoping a splendid match for Cathleen would improve Lucien’s chances, purchased a fine wardrobe for Cathleen’s London season. All but the Egyptian-style dress were left behind when she’d eloped with Thomas and had probably been sold years ago to pay Lucien’s debts. “Thank you again for all you’ve done.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Elizabeth looked over Cathleen’s shoulder, admiring her accomplishment. Mary had finished altering the green silk dress that morning, then fixed Cathleen’s hair acco
rding to Elizabeth’s instructions. To complement the rich fabric and Cathleen’s emerald ring, Elizabeth loaned her a beautiful set of emerald earrings with a matching necklace. “You’ll take Devon’s breath away when he sees you.”
I hope so. She’d been ready to flee from him yesterday, but his apology touched her heart, making her ashamed of the way she’d reacted to his nightmare. He needed her and she couldn’t turn her back on him any more than she could refuse to help someone who was sick. In truth, she needed him too—not just the security of his position but the sense of purpose he offered. In his pleas, she felt wanted and cherished for the first time since Thomas’s death, and it moved her in a way she couldn’t ignore.
Her future decided, she’d returned with him to Grosvenor Square. During the rest of the day, he was polite and considerate, showing her more of the house and describing Malton Hall, but awkwardness lingered in his stilted movements and the way he kept his hands clasped behind his back. In the late afternoon, he’d left for Malton Hall to see to the wedding arrangements, giving her a few hours of solitude. Elizabeth and her husband, Ronald, decided on an early start in their own carriage this morning and despite their invitation to join them, Cathleen chose to make the journey alone.
During the three-hour ride to Malton Hall, all of her concerns from the previous morning plagued her. She’d fiddled with her wedding ring, weighing the logic of her decision and worrying the small gold band until it fell off, sending her scrambling to the carriage floor in search of it.
Then the high, cream stone of Malton Hall came into view. The large, square house with its tall white columns sat on a small rise overlooking a clear flowing river and acres of woods. At the sight of it, she’d put aside all her debates. She’d made her decision and for good or bad, she would live with it.
“Does this remind you of your first wedding?”
