by Dorothy Mack
The ray of sunshine had advanced across the room and was now illuminating Kate. Its warmth was delightful, and she shook off her melancholy mood and returned her interest to the books behind her. So engrossed did she become in turning the pages of an old folio edition of Shakespeare that the sound of the door opening did not reach her. Ulysses opened one eye, then stretched himself mightily and ambled over to the quiet figure standing just inside the door. Kate continued to pore over her book, unaware at first that Ulysses had been picked up and was being absentmindedly stroked by the man whose eyes never left her profile bathed in a golden shower that brought out the highlights in her shining brown hair and bestowed a soft glow on her cheeks. Something in the atmosphere reached her shortly, however, for she glanced up, turning toward the door.
“Nicholas!” she gasped, and fell silent, staring at the man holding the grey and white cat.
He had been studying her fixedly but could detect nothing save surprise in her reaction to his unexpected appearance. With a wriggle, Ulysses indicated that he had had sufficient of tribute, and the viscount set him down before slowly approaching the girl perched above him on the steps. He stopped abruptly a few feet from her as he noted the wariness of her regard. Did she imagine he had come to continue their quarrel in his grandfather’s house?
“Hallo, Kate. You are looking well.”
“So are you, Torvil. You have acquired a tan.” For the life of her she could not produce anything less banal to say to the unsmiling man who seemed to be devouring her with his eyes, though he stood absolutely still. The familiar tension filled the space around them. Nothing had changed. She shifted her gaze to Ulysses, who was wreathing himself around the viscount’s legs.
“He’s glad to see you,” she commented absently.
“And you, Kate, are you glad to see me?”
“Of … of course. Lord Bartram will be delighted to welcome you. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
She extended one foot to descend the steps, then retracted it as he announced, “Grandfather knows I’m here. I have already spoken to him. He told me where to find you.”
“I … see.”
“I have just arrived from Ireland.”
“Oh.” After a pause she said again, “I see.”
“Do you?” he replied quietly. “Can you guess why I went to Ireland, Kate?”
“Did you … see Robin?”
“Yes, of course.” Nicholas unclenched one hand and thrust it through his crisp hair in a gesture that was habitual with him when he was ill-at-ease. “I went because I had to know the absolute truth.”
“And did you find out?” she asked evenly.
“Yes. I owe you an apology, Kate, and I do apologize, most humbly.”
“It does not signify,” she replied with indifference, and watched the colour drain from beneath his sun-bronzed skin as his tight control snapped.
“No, it doesn’t signify, does it?” he ground out. “Because something had happened before I accused you of being unfaithful, had it not — something that had turned you cold? I jumped to the conclusion that it was Robin because it seemed to fit the evidence — what I thought was evidence,” he corrected, and continued, making an obvious effort to speak without inflection, “Was it another man then, not Robin?”
“There was no other man.”
Husband and wife looked levelly at each other, and Nicholas had the queer notion that she was totally inaccessible to him, but he refused to accept defeat. It mattered too much, and desperation rang in his next question.
“Then what happened? What went wrong between us? Can’t you be honest with me, Katie?”
Her response to this plea took him completely by surprise. Seeing Nicholas again so unexpectedly had undermined all her recently achieved serenity. Kate was at the end of her emotional tether, and she flared like straw at the touch of a torch.
“Honest? I be honest with you? When were you ever honest with me? Do I not deserve the same consideration as your mistress? At least you told her why you were getting married and reassured her that her status should not be affected by such a small matter as your marriage to another. Could you not have been equally honest with me? Why did you have to pretend to care for me? Why could you not have left me in peace?” She subsided at last, trembling with reaction but with her head high.
A white-faced Nicholas attempted a swift gathering of his wits after this amazing tirade and tried to marshal his arguments.
“I have never been dishonest with you, Kate,” he began earnestly, and raised a silencing hand as she opened her lips to refute this. “No, let me finish, please. A man doesn’t generally tell his wife about the women he knew before their marriage. They don’t concern her. It’s what happens after marriage that is important. I don’t know what busyhead told you that I had a mistress once, but I assure you that —”
“I have known about Lady Montaigne since before I knew your name, Nicholas,” Kate interrupted. “I was present when you told her of your prospective marriage and your plans to continue your affaire with her.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded.
“At the Westerwood ball you chose a spot in front of some palms in which to make your announcement. I was seated behind the palms fixing my stocking. I heard every word.”
In the silence that followed this blunt declaration, Nicholas searched back in his memory for details of that almost forgotten incident. Kate watched the changing expressions of astonishment, comprehension, and chagrin chase across his countenance, but she was unprepared for his next words.
“So that accounts for the way you looked at me at our first meeting.” He sighed deeply. “No wonder you could never bring yourself to use my name.” He seemed to be talking half to himself in soft, weary tones. Kate felt the swift tears of reaction crowding her eyelids, and she turned her head away to hide them. In the next instant her hand was gripped tightly, and she was eased down the library steps.
“Kate, my darling, look at me. Ours got off to as bad a start as any marriage could, and I realize it was my fault entirely, but surely you must have sensed very early that I was falling in love with you, that I wanted you and only —”
“Please don’t lie to me, Nicholas — you who value honesty so highly.” She wrenched her hand from his hold and faced him proudly. “Has not Lady Montaigne told you of our meeting at the Mendleshams’ ball, when she did me the honour to compliment me on the heart-shaped pin you purchased for me at her suggestion?” She laughed raggedly at the expression of utter consternation on his face. “What did you buy for her that day you went shopping together? The twin to my brooch? Well, she may have mine with my compliments. I never want to see it or you again.”
Before he could recover the use of his suspended faculties, Kate had slipped around him and was dashing out of the library after flinging wide the door. Uncaring who saw her flight, she headed for the stairs. The tears she had repressed so far were running down her cheeks and blurring her vision. She was conscious of her husband’s voice calling after her, and she put on a burst of speed as she reached the staircase. Suddenly a grey and white object streaked past her — Ulysses, with less than his customary dignity, was heading upstairs too. A loud hiss drew her glance upwards to where another mass of fur accompanied by a menacing growl was moving rapidly toward her.
“Hamlet, no!” she cried, frightened for the safety of her pet.
Ulysses rapidly altered his course and started to descend with Hamlet in hot pursuit. Kate was aware of a confusing mass of paws and teeth as well as voices, her own and that of Nicholas, before a sudden impact jarred her off her feet. She grabbed for the railing, but it was falling away from her — or she was falling. The next sensation was pain, sharp and overwhelming in her head — then nothing.
Kate’s head ached abominably and her eyelids felt weighted, but she was aware of voices, all sorts of voices, calling her name. She tried desperately to answer, but the pain in her head needed all her attention, and now the v
oices were drifting away — or she was drifting away.
The pain was bearable now, and her eyelids were functioning again. How strange! Everything was in darkness. She peered about her, taking care not to move her head, which still ached considerably. She was in her own bed, though she did not remember going to bed at all. She had been dashing up the main staircase when the animals started fighting; she must have fallen. Her eyes closed again and she concentrated on her actions of the morning. She and Nicholas had quarrelled and she had run away. How foolish of her to try to escape. Nicholas must know she wouldn’t have been so upset had she not loved him desperately. She opened her eyes again and shifted her gaze toward a lighter area to her right. A candelabrum stood upon the table near the bed, and seated next to it with his elbows on the table was her husband. He was seated facing her bed, but his head was in his hands and she was able to observe him unnoticed for a moment. At the sight of that familiar dark head, a wave of longing washed over her. He had said he loved her — if only it were true.
Just then Nicholas raised his head and Kate drew in her breath sharply. Never before had she seen a look of such intense anguish on any face! Either she had made some sound or he could see in the dark, because he rose from his chair and advanced toward the bed. His strained expression changed to one of incredulous joy as he perceived her eyes upon him. Of its own volition, her hand extended toward his.
“Kate, thank God you’re awake!” He sank to his knees beside her and bowed his head over her hand. After a long moment when he simply clung to her hand with both of his, she brought her other hand hesitantly across her body and touched his hair lightly. “Nicholas, what is it? What is wrong?”
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, a trace of recent suffering still clouding the eyes he raised to hers. “It’s been so long.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten. You’ve been unconscious for better than eleven hours. Tell me, is your vision blurred? The doctor warned us you might have trouble focusing at first.” His grip on her hand had tightened involuntarily, but Kate found she enjoyed the pain of the contact.
“I can see fine,” she answered gently, “but my head aches and I should like a drink of water.”
He reached for a glass on the table beside the bed. “Don’t try to sit up, darling. The doctor says you must stay relatively flat for a time.” Kate relished a few sips from the glass he held to her lips, but it was a relief to sink back the few inches to her pillow again. She closed her eyes briefly.
“Are you all right?”
The anxiety in his voice brought her eyes wide open. She managed a tremulous smile and both were silent for a time, looking rather searchingly into the other’s face. Her husband’s drawn expression worried Kate, and she spoke quickly.
“I’m sorry, Nicholas. I did not mean what I said about never wanting to see you again.”
“I’m glad of that, dearest, because you’ll be seeing me for the rest of our lives. Perhaps it is not chivalrous to continue our discussion when you cannot very well strike back or run away, but I must tell you one thing before I call Mrs. Ekstrom to bring you one of the doctor’s powders for your head.” The small smile that had flickered at mention of running away faded to an intent, earnest look. “I love you and only you, and I have never been unfaithful since our marriage — this, I swear. You have to believe this, Katie,” he added with great urgency, and the look on his face told Kate more than the most cogent argument could. It was absolutely vital to him that she accept his assurance.
The smile that illuminated her pale face was the most beautiful that Nicholas had ever seen. He leaned over the bed and kissed her very gently, loving the way her lips clung to his. After a moment, though, she moved her head restlessly and a shadow appeared in her eyes.
“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me, please; let’s have no more secrets.”
“Nicholas,” she hesitated, then plunged, “how could you let that woman assist you in selecting a gift for me?” Tears that were ninety percent weakness spilled from under her lids. He wiped them away with his fingers and kissed each eye.
“Do not cry, please, darling. I wish I could explain how Cécile found out about that pin, but I cannot. The only contact I had with her before she made that claim was an accidental encounter on the street, and this was before I purchased the pin. I had planned to see her just once more to break off our affaire. Since you overheard that revealing conversation, you will understand that I felt I owed her an explanation, but before I got up nerve enough to do so, I had given you the pin and you had met Cécile. After that, I was too concerned with what was happening to us to give her a thought. The only person who saw the pin before you, except the jeweller of course, was Robin, and I cannot imagine him blabbing to Cécile. He is barely on nodding terms with her so far as I am aware. It’s a pretty thin story I know, but dammit, Katie, no man would let his mistress choose a gift for his wife; it’s insane!” The viscount pushed his fingers through his hair and regarded his wife with patent sincerity.
Her lips twitched slightly, but she agreed solemnly, “It did not seem quite the thing to do.” She brought the hand holding hers up to her cheek and cuddled it lovingly. “I’m so glad you love me, Nicholas, because despite a firm resolve to do otherwise, I began loving you almost from the beginning. I … I did not think there was much chance we could have a successful marriage, though, so I tried to avoid you whenever possible.”
“You certainly led me a merry dance.” He grinned boyishly, then became serious again. “It was a difficult situation to say the least. I was furious that my father could coerce me into taking a wife of his choosing, so I was not at all interested in trying to make it a good marriage until after I met you, Kate. Oh, I’m not trying to claim it was a case of love at first sight — at that time I didn’t even believe in love, for myself, I mean. But from the moment I first clapped eyes on you, I liked what I saw; and, I must admit, your attitude intrigued me more than if you’d been willing to be pleased with what fate had dealt you.”
“That was precisely what I was afraid of,” Kate retorted with spirit, “and what I attempted to prevent.”
Nicholas laughed and kissed the side of her mouth swiftly. “You get high marks for determination, darling, but if you want to discourage a man, you should not be born with such a kissable mouth.” He pushed himself resolutely to his feet. “I should not be keeping you talking. You need those headache powders and a lot of rest. Could you drink some soup, do you suppose?”
“Yes, thank you, I am famished,” declared Kate, who did not possess the proper instincts to derive any profit from the status of “interesting invalid.”
Nicholas smiled at her in a way that made her toes curl with delight, and went out of the room in search of the housekeeper.
Kate regarded the closed door with a contented expression while the image of that last smile of her husband’s remained in her mind, but after a time her gaze sobered and became thoughtful. Nicholas had admitted that he had planned to see Lady Montaigne once to end their affair, but he had not done so up to that awful night when the woman had arranged to be presented to her. It was as clear as crystal now that his mistress had planned that meeting for the express purpose of driving a wedge between her former lover and his wife when he had not immediately resumed his visits to her. And her tactics had almost succeeded in wrecking the marriage, because the initially unwilling bride and groom had not had time enough to become secure in their love for one another. Had not Nicholas been so determined to arrive at an understanding with his wife, once he had struggled through the first rage and hurt of their estrangement, the coldness between them might easily have become permanent. Kate acknowledged with a little shiver that she had been too hurt and too proud to make any overtures toward her husband. She could never be grateful enough for his persistence in believing that what had been growing between them was too valuable to surrender without a supreme effort to retrieve it. And she loved him ten times more for makin
g that effort!
It had not escaped her notice, of course, that he had made no mention of whether or not he had actually seen Lady Montaigne at some time during that bitter period of believing that his wife had been unfaithful. Being a woman, she longed to know if such a meeting had taken place — or several meetings — but Kate, too, had learned something from this unhappy interval. It would be the height of folly to allow her jealousy of Lady Montaigne to propel her into playing the unsympathetic role of the suspicious wife. Through some happy miracle Nicholas loved her, not Lady Montaigne, despite the latter’s provocative beauty, and he had sworn that he had not been unfaithful. She must accept this and go on from this moment to create the kind of marriage they both desired.
Kate had never felt more at peace with herself or more sure of her course in her life, and it was Nicholas who inspired this newly gained confidence. She settled back comfortably into her pillows just as the door opened.
“How are you feeling now, darling?”
“Gorgeously happy,” replied Kate, smiling radiantly at her companion in joy, the husband of her choice.
***
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