Shattered Rainbows

by Mary Jo Putney

  "Something like this was bound to happen," Michael said in a conversational tone. "It's not for nothing that society says men and women should not be alone together unless they're married. The way we've been living in each other's pockets is enough to strain even the best of intentions." He gave her a slanting glance. "It doesn't help that I think you're the most attractive woman I've ever known."

  "Oh, Lord." Catherine stopped, paralyzed by dismay. "If I had known how you felt, I never would have asked for your aid. I've put you in an intolerable position."

  "How were you to know? I did my damnedest to behave myself in Belgium." He tugged on her hand and got her walking again. "Even though our little charade has played holy hell with my self-control, I'm glad you came to me for help. Though I'll understand if your trust is gone. I deserve to be horsewhipped."

  "Please, don't blame yourself," she begged. "This whole convoluted mess is my fault."

  The knowledge that he was behaving honorably while she was deceiving him sickened her. For a moment, she teetered on the verge of telling him the whole truth: about Colin's death, and her own secret love. But the reasons for silence were as strong as ever. Stronger, if anything. "We must leave the island immediately. I'll tell my grandfather that I can't bear to be separated from Amy any longer."

  "He'll tell you to send for her. He doesn't want you to leave, and I can hardly blame him. The least we can do is stay the full fortnight. I'll sleep up on the battlements. That will remove the worst of the temptation."

  "You can't do that," she exclaimed.

  "Of course I can," he said mildly. "I've slept beneath the stars many times before. I rather enjoy it."

  She bit her lip. "I'm causing you so much trouble. I'm the one who deserves to be horsewhipped, not you."

  His mouth curved ruefully. "Beautiful women are for kissing, not whipping. Which is why I'll sleep on the roof. We'll manage."

  No doubt they would. Yet as she remembered the fierce pleasure of his lovemaking, she knew that what was preserving her virtue was not honor, but fear.

  * * *

  Anne Mowbry was in the parlor, teaching embroidery to Molly and Amy, when Lord Haldoran called. Since it was the maid's afternoon off, she answered the door herself.

  Haldoran removed his hat. "A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Mowbry. Is this a good time to visit?"

  Why did visitors always come when she was wearing her third-best morning gown? "As good a time as any, my lord," she said philosophically. "Please, come in. It's kind of you to call."

  The visitor stepped into the hall and was immediately surrounded by dogs and little girls. Anne concealed a smile at how taken aback he was. His lordship was obviously not a family man. Still, he greeted the girls politely and refrained from kicking an overexcited Clancy.

  After the dogs had been shut away, she led him to the drawing room. As they went, he said, "Apart from the pleasure of seeing you, I have a mission on behalf of Mrs. Melbourne."

  "I'm sorry, but Catherine is out of town at the moment."

  "I know—she's on Skoal. I've just come from my house there. My family is from the island, and it turns out that she and I are cousins." He smiled. "I suspected it in Belgium, when I saw her eyes, but I didn't say so because I wasn't sure."

  "Are you and I cousins, too?" Amy's voice piped up.

  Anne glanced over and saw that the girls were sitting on the loveseat in the corner with their embroidery. In theory, they were dutifully working. In fact, they were eavesdropping shamelessly. "Yes, Lord Haldoran would be your cousin, also. But out with you both. You shouldn't be here."

  "Actually, my visit concerns Amy. Since I was coming to London, Catherine asked me to bring her back to Skoal on my return journey. She wants her daughter to meet the laird."

  "Really? I received a letter from her two days ago, and she mentioned nothing about that."

  "She decided on impulse." He smiled tolerantly. "I suspect that the real reason is that she simply misses her daughter."

  That had the ring of truth; Catherine had not liked going off without Amy. Anne said, "Did she give you a note for me?"

  He shook his head. "As I said, she decided on impulse and came down to the harbor just as I was embarking. I had to leave quickly or miss the tide. I was pleased to be asked. After all, Amy and I are old traveling companions."

  Anne thought of the anxious trip from Brussels to Antwerp. With Haldoran's escort, it had gone very smoothly. He had been patient under trying conditions. Letting Amy go with him now was hardly like turning the girl over to a stranger. Still... "I don't know if I should let Amy go without word from her mother."

  Haldoran's brows rose, giving him a faintly disdainful air. "You are a fine guardian, Mrs. Mowbry, but really. After all, Catherine is my cousin."

  "Please, Aunt Anne," Amy said coaxingly. "Mama said she might send for me if the visit was going well."

  "Naturally, I'll hire a maid to travel along with us to attend to the young lady's needs," Haldoran added. "We'll leave early tomorrow morning."

  Besieged on all sides, Anne capitulated. "Very well, you can go, Amy. But you'll have to take your lessons with you."

  "I will!" Amy said exuberantly. She whirled and dashed out of the drawing room, presumably to start packing. Molly followed more slowly, disconsolate that she would not be going along.

  Anne's heart lifted. Their luck had turned. Because of Lord Michael's reference, Charles was now happily working for the Duke of Candover and earning an astronomical salary, and it sounded as if Catherine was making good progress toward becoming the Lady of Skoal. How very grand they would all become. With a smile, she turned back to Lord Haldoran to finalize the traveling plans.

  Chapter 26

  As Michael had suspected, there was tension between him and Catherine after the harrowing incident on the beach, but after a day it began to fade. She still tended to avoid his eye, and he had trouble looking at her and not remembering the taste and feel of her breasts. However, he was able to keep his hands off her, and that was what counted.

  Three days later, they dined with the vicar and his wife. It was a pleasant evening, and Michael was feeling mellow when they returned to the castle. Another week and they would be safely back in London, beyond the reach of temptation. But in the meantime... he had another week with Catherine.

  The front door was unlocked, like all Skoalan homes. They entered the foyer together. He was about to go upstairs when she glanced at a side table. "Some letters came for you, my dear." She handed him a small packet wrapped in oilcloth.

  Michael felt a twinge when he saw the name "Captain Colin Melbourne." He really did not enjoy using Colin's identity. The parcel was certainly for himself, though; it was franked "Strathmore" in the corner and addressed in Lucien's hand. "I wonder what was important enough to be sent here."

  "A matter of business, I expect." Catherine covered a yawn with her hand. "I think I'll go and say good night to my grandfather if he's still awake. I'll be up in a few minutes."

  It was one of many such contrivances they used to give each other privacy for washing and changing clothing. He went to the bedroom and lit the lamps, then slit the oilcloth. Inside were several letters and a note from Lucien.

  Michael—

  Your brother sent a message that seemed to require forwarding. I'm including the other letters that have come for you. Hope the dragonslaying is going well.

  —Luce

  Underneath was a letter franked "Ashburton." Michael held it in both hands, studying his name and the underscored word "Urgent." Though this Ashburton was his half-brother, not the man he had thought his father, the sight of the brusque signature aroused reflexive anxiety. The old duke had never written except to criticize or condemn. It was doubtful this letter would be any different. He tried to imagine what the new duke might have to say that Michael would want to hear, but he could think of nothing. Probably the letter concerned some legal business that he didn't give a damn about.

  As in Londo
n, he held the corner of the letter in the candle flame and set it alight. That time he had been despairingly angry. Now he felt coolly determined to end the connection. After this, the new duke was unlikely to write again.

  He tossed the burning letter into the fireplace and leafed through the other messages. As Catherine had guessed, most were business, but two were from Kenneth Wilding in France. In the one with the earlier date, Kenneth recounted news of the regiment and several amusing anecdotes about life with the army of occupation. The best bits were the tiny, wickedly satirical sketches that illustrated his stories.

  Michael grinned at the end and set it aside. Wondering why Kenneth had written two letters so close together, he opened the second. It was a single scrawled page with no drawings.

  Michael—

  Forgive me if I'm going beyond the line of friendship, but it seemed in Brussels that your feelings for Catherine Melbourne were a good deal more than those of a friend. For that reason, I thought you would be interested to learn that several weeks ago Colin Melbourne was murdered on the street, apparently by a Bonapartist. A wretched business; they've still not found the killer. The incident has been hushed up for fear of political repercussions. I only learned of it by accident, from a drunken officer of Colin's regiment. He said that after the funeral, Catherine took Amy back to England. I imagine Anne and Charles Mowbry would know her current location.

  Of course it's bad form to pursue a widow when her husband is hardly cold in his grave, but Catherine is worth breaking a few rules for. Even if you have no romantic interest, you might want to see if she is in need of help. To no one's surprise, Melbourne died with his affairs in a shambles.

  If you find Catherine and there is anything I can do for her, please notify me immediately.

  Yours in haste,

  Kenneth

  Michael stared at the page, feeling as if he had been kicked in the stomach. He read it again. Could Kenneth be wrong? Not likely. But why would Catherine lie to him? He had thought there was honesty and friendship between them.

  It wouldn't be the first time a woman had made a fool of him.

  He was staring numbly at Kenneth's letter when Catherine entered the bedchamber. As she closed the door, she said cheerfully, "The laird was tired, but he still had the energy to explain how the islanders pay an annual tax in capons on each chimney. Fascinating customs." She started to say more, then frowned. "What's wrong?"

  "A letter came from Kenneth Wilding," he said tightly. "Is it true that Colin is dead?"

  The blood drained from her face, leaving the perfect features as pale as marble. She caught the back of a chair to steady herself. "It's... it's true."

  "Jesus bloody Christ!" He crushed the letter in his hand, feeling a shattering sense of betrayal. His beautiful, honest Saint Catherine was a liar. "Why the devil didn't you tell me?"

  She brushed at her hair with a trembling hand. "Because I didn't want you to know, of course. I thought you might feel honor bound to offer for me because I nursed you after Waterloo. It was simpler to let you think Colin was alive."

  This was another blow, almost as hurtful as the first. "Is the idea of being my wife so horrific that you had to hide behind a dead husband?" he bit out. "If you didn't want that, you could always have said no."

  She dropped into the chair, her shoulders hunched and her gaze on her locked hands. "It... it wasn't horrific. It was appealing enough that I would be tempted to accept, so it was better if the question was never asked."

  "Forgive my stupidity," he said icily. "If you thought I might propose, and you didn't dislike the idea, why the lies?"

  "Because it's impossible! I will never—never—marry again. If I was fool enough to accept you, I'd make us both miserable," she said unevenly. "I can't be your wife, Michael. I have nothing left to give."

  His anger vanished, displaced by despair. "So you loved Colin that much, in spite of his infidelities and neglect."

  Her mouth twisted. "One can't spend twelve years married to a man without caring, but I didn't love him."

  Michael could think of only one reason for her attitude. "Your husband abused you, so you've sworn off marriage," he said flatly. "If he weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself."

  "It wasn't like that! Colin never abused me." Her hands clenched. "I wronged him far worse than he ever did me."

  He studied her haunted expression. "That's hard to believe. Impossible, in fact."

  "I know everyone blamed Colin and pitied me because of his womanizing, but I was the one who made a farce of our marriage," she said in a low voice. "He behaved with great forbearance."

  "I'm very slow, apparently. Explain to me what you mean."

  "I... I can't." She looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

  Exasperated, he stalked across the room and put his hand under her chin to raise her face. "For God's sake, Catherine, look at me. Don't you think I deserve an explanation?"

  "Yes," she whispered, "but... but I can't bear to talk about my marriage, not even to you."

  Getting information from Catherine was like trying to drag oak roots from the ground. It was time for another approach. He curved his hand around her neck and bent to kiss her, hoping that desire might do what words couldn't.

  For a moment she responded with desperate yearning.

  Then she wrenched away, tears running down her face. "I can't be what you want me to be! Can't you simply accept that?"

  In a distant corner of his mind, he began to have an inkling what this might be about. "No, I'm afraid I can't 'simply accept that,' Catherine. I've wanted you ever since we first met. God knows, I've tried to deny it and find someone else. But I can't. If I'm going to spend the rest of my life miserable because I can't have you, it will be easier if at least I understand why."

  The starkness in her eyes showed how much she was affected by his words. Guessing that her resistance was breaking down, he said, "The problem was sex, wasn't it?"

  Her eyes widened in shock. "How did you know?"

  "There were hints in what you said." He knelt before the chair so he wasn't looming over her, and took one of her hands between both of his. Her fingers were cold and shaking. "And it would explain why you feel too humiliated to talk about it. Tell me why you consider marriage unthinkable. I doubt you can say anything that will shock me."

  She crumpled into a ball in the corner of the chair, fragile as a child, her hands pressed to her midriff. "Marital intimacy is... is horribly painful for me," she said in a raw whisper. "It's damnably unfair. I find men attractive, I feel desire like any normal woman. Yet consummation is excruciating."

  And feeling that she was abnormal must be even worse than the physical pain. He asked, "Did you ever consult a physician?"

  She smiled bitterly. "I thought of it, but what do doctors know about how women are made? I couldn't bear the thought of being mauled by a stranger in return for the dubious pleasure of being told what I already know: that I'm hopelessly deformed."

  "Yet you bore a child, so you can't be entirely abnormal," he said thoughtfully. "Did the pain lessen after Amy was born?"

  She looked away. "I became pregnant very soon after we married, and I used that as an excuse to forbid Colin my bed. I... I was never a wife to him again."

  "For twelve years you lived together without marital relations?" Michael exclaimed, unable to conceal his surprise.

  She rubbed her temple wearily. "Colin deserved to be called a saint far more than I. We met when I was sixteen and he was twenty-one. It was a case of youthful infatuation, wildly romantic and not very deeply rooted. Ordinarily the affair would have burned itself out quickly. Colin would have become entranced with another pretty face, and I would have wept for a few weeks, then gone on with my life a little wiser."

  She took a ragged breath. "But my parents died in the fire, leaving me alone in the world. Colin gallantly offered for me, and I accepted with never a second thought. I had assumed I would enjoy the... the physical side of marriage. Certainl
y I had enjoyed the stolen kisses that I had experienced. Instead..."

  She thought of her wedding, and shuddered. After the usual drinking and ribaldry, Colin had come to bed hotly impatient to claim his husbandly rights. Though nervous, she had been willing enough. She had not expected such vicious, tearing pain, or the ghastly sense of violation. Nor had she thought she would cry herself to sleep while her new husband snored contentedly beside her. "The best that could be said for my wedding night was that it was over quickly."

  Michael studied her face searchingly. "The first time is often painful for a woman."

  "It didn't get any better. In fact, things got worse. The... the pleasures of the flesh were very important to Colin. He assumed that in return for surrendering his freedom he was getting a beautiful, lusty bedmate." Sadly she thought of the exciting time when she had just met Colin, and she had believed she was normal. "Based on how I behaved when we were courting, he had every reason to expect that. Instead, whenever he touched me, I began to cry."

  "That must have been dreadful for both of you," Michael said with deep compassion.

  "It was horrible," she said vehemently. "I never refused him, but he found me so unsatisfactory that he soon stopped asking. We were both relieved when I became pregnant. Without ever discussing it, we devised a kind of silent pact that made our marriage tolerable."

  "So you knew about his other women, but never complained?"

  "Complain?" She gave a humorless smile. "I was grateful for them. As long as he was happy, I didn't feel so guilty. I did my best to provide a comfortable home for Colin and Amy. In return, he supported us and didn't torment me about my failure. I got the better of the bargain, really. Colin was a decent husband and a father. He was careless in many ways, but he didn't abandon us, and he never allowed another man to bother me. No one ever knew what a farce our marriage was. Not until now."

  "There were benefits for him," Michael said dryly. "Colin was a born womanizer. In you, he found the perfect wife—a beautiful, compliant woman who was the envy of every man he met. You never nagged about his philandering, and as a married man he never had to worry about other women trying to maneuver him into marriage. Some men would consider that heaven."