Because of him, she’d believed she’d disappointed her parents. Because of him, she’d allowed herself to be practically held in slavery. Because of him, she’d walked away from London. Because of him, she’d branded herself—but no longer.
The time had come to face this demon and put him firmly in her past.
Chapter Eight
Bran watched her shadowy form emerge from the tent.
He stepped back into the tree line, waiting, knowing now that she would come.
She wore a heavy gown with a shawl and her wildly curling hair was down around her shoulders. She reminded him of Artemis, goddess of the moon, stepping out into the night.
Except she wasn’t a goddess of grace and beauty. She’d used him. She’d tossed him aside for wealth and privilege. His love had meant nothing to her.
He could not forget why he was here. “Is my nephew in your bed?”
Even in the waning moonlight, he could see his question startled her. She stopped. Studied him a moment, the set of her mouth grim. She bent down.
He waited, wanting an answer to his question.
Kate straightened and before he knew what she was about, she threw a rock at him with surprising strength. The stone hit him in the shoulder and it hurt.
“What the devil—” Bran started, stepping back.
She bent down, picking up something else—acorns!
He wasn’t about to let her throw those at him. They could be vicious little missiles. He started forward, but she was faster. She threw all she had in her hand. Several hit him right in the face. They smarted. He turned his head, grimacing, which gave her time to pick up a stick. Kate attacked, her arm raised as if she would lash him with it.
Bran leapt toward her, reaching her before she could him. He captured her raised arm.
“Where is Winderton—”
His voice broke off with a wheeze as her knee came up and delivered an almost mortal blow to his manhood.
He doubled over, releasing his hold. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He was done in. He backed away.
Kate could have left then. She could have flailed him with her stick. She didn’t. She stood over him, glowering.
Bran looked up at the stars and wanted to howl. His voice came out guttural, “Why the devil did you do that?”
“Oh, Mr. Balfour, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
She didn’t sound penitent at all.
“Are you happy?” he barked. He reached out, finding a tree to lean against, praying for the pain to subside.
Kate had the audacity to smile, the expression wicked in the moonlight. “As a matter of fact, yes, it was satisfying. And, no, your nephew is not in my bed. So, there, you have your answer. Good night.”
She would have turned on her heel but Bran was not ready to let her go.
“Wait,” he called, his hushed voice sounding loud in the night.
“For what? You to insult me again?” She snorted her opinion—and yet she did not leave.
Bran tried to straighten. The pain still radiated. “We have unfinished business between us. We should discuss it like civilized people.”
“Oh, no, we can’t. I’ve come a good way from the young woman who was gullible enough to be snatched from the street.”
That caught his attention. “Snatched from the street?”
Instead of answering, she again started for her encampment.
“Kate,” he called, trying to keep his voice quiet. “Kate.” If he wasn’t quick, he would lose her.
Determination drove him forward. His gait was lopsided. However, the pain was subsiding. He caught her as she stepped out of the line of trees, hooking his hand around her elbow. “Kate, talk to me.”
She attempted to yank away. “Why should I give you a moment more of my time?”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Her dangerous knee lifted again, except he was ready for her. He blocked her movement with his thigh. “Talk to me, Kate.”
“Let me go.” Her voice sounded feral.
“I will, once you answer my questions.”
She shook her head as if to deny him. He tightened his hold. It was a good thing she had almost gelded him or he would not have been able to be this close to her and not have reacted. She was naked beneath the nightdress. Granted, he’d seen canvas tents that were thinner than the gown she wore, but she was naked.
Immediately, he recalled those hours when he’d been naked in bed with her, of her toes wiggling as they touched and teased his. The intimacy of the image stirred life back into him.
“One question,” he pressed.
“Let me go.”
He released his hold.
She stumbled back, however, she surprised him when she did not race to the tents. Instead, she repositioned her shawl around her shoulders, drawing it closer to her, her arms crossed. She did not trust him and certainly did not like him. Her eyes were cold and silver in the night. “What is your one question?”
Bran felt as if he’d been given a moment of grace. He kept his distance from her, not wanting to do anything that might make her run again. “You said I sent you a letter and it led to you being ‘snatched from the street.’ That is what you just said. Do I have that right?”
“Is that your question?”
She was harsh. “No,” he hurried to answer, not trusting her patience. “I want to know about the letter.”
In truth, he had written to her—love notes in poor attempts to woo her. He’d slaved over those few letters. Had even attempted poetry. But he had never sent any of them.
Now, older, more experienced, and far too jaded for anyone’s good, he was startled by what a lovesick fool he’d been.
“What did the letter say?” he asked, his voice quiet in the night. “And what made you think it was from me? Because, Kate, I never wrote you.”
Her chin lifted as if she had expected that response. He held his hands out as if to assure her he meant no tricks. “When did I send a letter?”
“I received a letter from you right before my performance after we—”
Her voice broke. Her arms crossed tighter. She took a breath and amended her original thought. “After you . . . had me.”
The anger had returned to her voice. An accusation that he did not understand.
After he’d had her? As if he’d pirated his way with her and she’d not been the willing, mercurial bed partner who had haunted his dreams all these years?
Oh, he wanted answers about her choice of words, because as he remembered that night, they had been joyful bed partners. The moment they had finally allowed themselves to touch, a power beyond all reason had taken over. They had fallen into each other’s arms as if they had not been able to contain themselves—and she had been just as willing as he had.
“Kate, I did not write a letter.”
“I received one.”
He took a cautious step toward her. “Why would I need to write a letter? We had agreed that I should meet you backstage after the performance. I was there. They told me you had left. You had hurried off, but we’d agreed to meet at the theater and I waited.” He’d been dogged. The back-door manager had told him she’d been eager to leave. He had even speculated that Kate had an assignation, one obviously not with Bran.
He’d hated the man’s sly, knowing looks as he’d cooled his heels. Kate was the “Aphrodite of the London stage.” What would she want with an insignificant nobody when she could have claimed a prince? “Tell me about the letter.”
“You asked me to meet you on St. Clement’s steps. That is where I hurried off to.”
“I did not write such a letter.”
“You signed it.”
“I couldn’t have. The letter was not from me. My word of honor.”
She seemed to search his face for truth, her stance rigid in the moonlight, and then, an ugly sound, one of sudden horror, escaped her. It was uncontrolled, bitter, heartbreaking. She began to collapse.
<
br /> Bran moved forward to catch her. She shook her head, warning him away. Sinking to the ground, she hid her face in the crook of her arm and began weeping. Her hair fell forward as if to shield her shame.
He knelt, wanting to take her up in his arms and afraid he would upset her further if he did so. Her soft sobs tore at his heart. “Kate, what is it?”
With heaving breaths, she gathered herself. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” She swiped angrily at her eyes.
She did not look at him.
“Kate?”
She drew her heavy hair over her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter now.” She gave a shaky half laugh. “I was so naïve.” Moving as if she was exhausted, she started to rise.
This time when Bran offered his hand, she took it. The moment she was on her feet, she attempted to pull away, but he would not let go.
“Kate, what happened? If my name was used in some fashion I should know.”
Finally, she looked at him. “I thought you wrote that letter. For years, I have believed it was from you.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“You went to meet me?” he prompted.
Her gaze dropped away. “I went to the church. A coach pulled up. Two men came out and told me you sent them.”
“Two men in a coach? I did not own a coach. And back then, I could barely afford my dinner let alone hiring a vehicle like that.”
“I’m not a fool. I was suspicious, but then they grabbed me right there on the street. It was like a scene from a play. No one cried out an alarm and those men would not let me leave. They told me you’d planned a surprise.”
“And what sort of surprise did I have for you?” Bran asked with a deadly calm he was far from feeling.
“They took me to the Marquis of Hemling’s country house. He told me the two of you had come to an agreement concerning me.”
“I knew of no such thing. Kate, I was frantic when I couldn’t find you.”
Again, there was that searching look . . . and he remembered the girl she had once been, the one who had trusted easily. “Kate, what happened?”
“I told him I wanted to be returned to London. I had a performance the next day and needed to be taken home immediately.”
She sounded imperial, and distant. The weight of what Bran believed he was about to hear settled deep in his gut. “And then?”
Kate leaned away from him, her gaze moving to some point in the darkness only she could see. “He raped me.”
Rage shot through him. Bran turned away from her, needing to wrap his arms around the trees and pull them up, needing to shout to the heavens—
“Kate, you should have sent for me. You should have let me know. I would have murdered him.” Happily.
But then he remembered the worst part of that summer, what had driven him to seek the farthest corner of the world away from England to escape her, even thoughts of her. “You stayed with him. He did that and you stayed with him?” Days after that night, word went out that Hemling was her protector. He’d won the bets on the books—and the woman. She’d been with him when Bran had sailed for India almost a month after her disappearance. “Did he hold you captive?”
Her jaw hardened. She turned and began walking away.
He reached out, grabbed her by the crook of her arm and swung her around. “Why did you stay with him?” Bran had to know. “You could have sent for me. I would have come for you.”
She jerked her arm from his hold. “Come for me? I thought you were the one who helped him kidnap me. I never heard from you. I thought I was all alone—”
“I searched for you. I couldn’t believe you would leave your play without notice—”
“I was a prisoner. Hemling wouldn’t let me leave—”
“This is England, Kate. There are laws. If a man imprisons you against your will, you have recourse—”
“Is that what you think?” She gave a harsh laugh. “Well, why not? You are a man in England. You have no idea what it is like to be a woman alone. The laws do not protect us.”
“I would have come for you—”
She practically screamed her frustration in his face. “You are such a fool. I had nothing and no one. What? Do you think I wanted my parents to learn what had happened to me? Don’t you understand the shame of it? Or the pain it would have caused my family? I kept thinking I could manage to keep everything hidden. And as for you coming for me, well, I am certain that all the betting books knew that Hemling had claimed his prize. I didn’t see you riding up like a cavalier to rescue me. I imagined you had claimed a good share of that bounty.”
The truth of her words chased the anger from him. She was right. Bran had known when Hemling had declared himself the wager’s winner. All of London had known. “The Aphrodite” had chosen the marquis. And Bran’s own sense of how little he had to offer Kate, how little he had deserved her, had allowed him to believe that, of course, she would desert him.
Bran stood powerless over the past, and yet devasted by this twist on what he had believed.
“No amount of gold would have persuaded me to betray you to Hemling. I thought I was in love with you, Kate. He used both of us.”
Her shoulders lowered. She closed her eyes as if she didn’t know if she wanted to believe him.
“However, you stayed with Hemling,” Bran continued quietly. “I thought you chose him over me. I—”
Bran broke off as the truth sank in. What excuses did he have? He’d failed her. “Everyone said Hemling had offered you carte blanche. I never questioned it.”
“Of course not.” The corners of her mouth tightened as she added, “After all, isn’t that what all actresses want? A rich protector?”
Yes, that was what he’d thought. What the world had thought.
“I completely disappeared from the stage. Poof! Overnight, and no one questioned it—as if I had such poor character I would do that to the company of actors I performed with. I have no doubt that Lydia Marksmore who took over my role was thrilled with what everyone believed was my decision. It was as if no one knew me well enough to wonder where I was. Or cared.”
And what could Bran answer? He was guilty as charged.
“I stayed with Hemling because I thought I had no other choice,” she said, her words damning. “I felt trapped. I didn’t know what to do. It seemed as if the world conspired against me. He’d already taken from me my reputation. No theater owner would hire me for fear of offending the marquis. I was lost until I realized I could just walk away. When I finally found my way clear to leave him, I learned you had left England.”
“Presumably with the money I’d received for your betrayal.”
There was a heartbeat of silence. Then she agreed, “Presumably.” She shrugged it away with one shoulder. “When I was under Hemling’s protection, everyone told me I should be happy, except he was destroying me, Brandon. I didn’t like the person I was letting myself become. When I walked out, he demanded I return. He threatened any theater that might have hired me. I did receive some offers, though. From men willing to have me for a mistress. I refused.” The last was delivered dryly.
And she hadn’t had him to turn to.
“Kate—” he started, not knowing what he was going to say, what he could say.
She cut him off. “It is all in the past, Brandon. Hemling is dead. Funny that it matters that the man who tried to destroy me is gone. By the by, did you know my brother is a duke? You probably didn’t even know I had a brother, or cared. We knew so little of each other back then. We were interested in other things, weren’t we?”
He didn’t like the hint of derision in her voice before she briskly moved on. “My father was a younger son. My mother was an actress and the family had disowned him but after everything is said and done, upon my grandfather’s death, the title had to go to Matthew. There was no other. And, he has married an heiress. Funny how life changes. When I attended the wedding last year, I realized that I can return to London now. I have resources. I am not some poor g
irl attempting to succeed on sheer talent alone. I am wiser, stronger, and determined. This time, I will triumph because I own my company. I control my destiny. This is my company, my actors, my decisions. I’m also beyond the age where men will fall over themselves for me.”
“You are still a beautiful woman, Kate. Look at Winderton.”
She gave him a cool eye before saying, “That may be true, except I’ve changed. I’m no longer the trusting doe-eyed miss.”
“That is a pity. I remember her as someone very special.”
“That green girl doesn’t exist anymore, Mr. Balfour. She is gone and I have no regrets leaving her behind.”
He thought back to those days years ago when he’d lived for a glimpse of her either on stage or after a performance. She’d been vibrant with life. He had wanted to possess that quality that made her uniquely who she was.
“However,” she said softly, “I am happy for this conversation. It made a difference. I didn’t like hating you. And now, good night. Tomorrow I have to tell the troupe we have no money, and no prospects. It will be a very busy day.” She didn’t wait for his answer to start moving toward the tents.
He watched her go, wishing he could call her back, knowing there was nothing she could want from him—but then she stopped, glanced back at him and in a voice so quiet he could believe he’d imagined it, she said, “I thought I was in love with you, too, Brandon. I did.”
And then, after that stunning admission, she hurried away.
It was over . . . before it could ever be, and he knew he’d lost someone valuable.
Bran moved through the woods toward the Dower House. He’d forgotten his nephew. Jealousy had driven him to seek out Kate and now, in its place was—what?
He didn’t know.
She had believed herself in love with him . . . and she’d believed that he had been capable of betraying her in the vilest manner possible.
His Secret Mistress Page 10
