Chapter 14
Catherine felt tears welling in her throat as she made her way out of the jail. She tried to swallow them down. Lord Ramshay would be waiting for her outside and she did not want him to see her cry.
In the weeks since Robert’s incarceration, she had done her best to convince herself that she was not to blame for her family’s downfall. With each passing day, she had begun to see the situation with more and more clarity. She had begun to see that there truly had been nothing she might have done. And with her brother locked away, the echo of his scornful voice had begun to lose its power.
But the anger in Robert’s eyes had chilled her. It had reminded her of the helplessness she had felt the day he had been swooped upon by the authorities. Reminded her of just how pathetic and blind she had felt when she’d heard the whispers of her being his accomplice.
There was nothing I could have done, she told herself, as she followed the guard back to the visitor’s gate. I couldn’t have stopped them from selling the lands. Robert’s debts were too large.
But the words felt hollow. Meaningless. Robert’s disdain had cut through to her core and made her feel more guilty and worthless than she ever had.
Lord Ramshay was waiting close to the visitor’s entrance, his hands dug into the pockets of his greatcoat and the collar turned up against the wind. At the sight of him, Catherine felt relief flood her. A sudden warmth began to bloom inside her.
How thoughtful that he might have waited for her so close to the entrance of the jail. How selfless that he might be willing to tarnish his reputation so she might not have to walk this street alone. His kindness brought fresh tears to her eyes.
He gave her a small smile. “Is everything all right, Miss Barnet? Is your brother well?”
Catherine tried to return his smile, but tears tightened her throat. “Robert is as well as can be expected,” she said, her words coming out husky and half-voiced.
“And the reason for his requesting your visit? Nothing is wrong, I hope?”
She shook her head. “My brother just wished to see I was getting by,” she managed. Her words were thin. Surely, he could tell she was lying.
But Lord Ramshay just gave a nod of understanding. They stood in silence for a moment, meeting each other’s eyes.
Catherine knotted her hands into her cloak. And for a moment, she was acutely aware of Edmund’s words.
“You know, surely, that Lord Ramshay has feelings for you…”
She dropped her gaze to the ground, unable to look at him. Perhaps he had had feelings for her once, but it would only be a matter of time before they faded away—if they hadn’t done so already. How could he care for her when she was standing outside Newgate prison, dressed in stolen servants’ clothes? How could he care for her when she had let her family’s house and land be sold? How could he care for her when she had stood back and watched while her brother had been dragged into the underworld?
The tears she was fighting spilled suddenly down her cheeks. She tried to cough them away, swiping at them with a clenched fist.
“Oh, Miss Barnet.” Impulsively, Lord Ramshay pulled her into his arms, and held her tightly against his chest.
Catherine felt her breath leave her. The shock of it was enough to halt her tears. Enveloped in his strong embrace, her heart began to race. She found herself sliding her arms around his waist and pulling herself against him.
This was wrong, she knew. If anyone were to see them, it would cause the greatest of scandals. And yet, how could something so wrong feel so intensely right? With her head resting against Lord Ramshay’s broad chest, with the steady thud of his heart against her ear, the sting of Robert’s words began to fade. A part of her longed to stay there forever.
Suddenly aware of herself, she pulled herself away, wiping away the last of her tears. She looked up to meet his warm brown eyes.
“Forgive me,” she coughed. “The visit...It was more difficult than I was anticipating.”
Lord Ramshay shook his head gently. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Miss Barnet. Please don’t apologize.” He glanced over his shoulder into the busy street. A crowd was beginning to gather outside the Old Bailey. “This is not a safe place for a lady to be,” he said. “You ought to go home and rest a while. Shall I find you a cab?”
Catherine shook her head. The thought of going back to Aunt Cornelia’s was unbearable. Being in Featherstone Manor just reminded her that her own family home was gone. Robert had gambled it away, and she had sat back and let it happen. Soon, yes, she would need to return to the manor. Would need to sneak back into the house and pretend she had been lying ill in her bedroom all morning. But she couldn’t do it yet.
“I just need to walk a while,” she told Lord Ramshay. “Clear my head a little.”
He gave her a short nod.
She felt suddenly, intensely grateful that he had seen fit not to question her. Not to probe into the reasons for Robert requesting her presence or harp on about how inappropriate it was for a young lady to be wandering the streets alone, as she felt sure Edmund would have done. For not the first time, she began to believe that Lord Ramshay truly did understand a little of what she was going through.
When he looked back at her, she saw that familiar shyness in his eyes. “Perhaps I might accompany you?” he ventured, looking at once both hopeful and uncertain.
Catherine felt a fluttering deep inside her. It began in her stomach and worked its way up to her chest, leaving her entire body tingling with energy. She did not know what this was. She only knew there was nowhere else she wanted to be other than in this man’s company.
“I should like that, Lord Ramshay,” she managed. “I should like that very much.”
* * *
Patrick offered Catherine his arm and she took it shyly, her fingers resting softly against him. He glanced down at her. Her tears had dried, but he could see the ache in her eyes.
How well I know that look. How often I’ve seen it in the mirror.
That look of shame, of worthlessness. That look of misplaced responsibility, of wondering if there might have been something more you could have done.
It had taken Patrick a long time to realize he was not to blame for his father’s mistakes. Perhaps he was still not quite there yet.
A childhood of hearing otherwise was a difficult thing to undo.
Patrick’s mother had died bringing him into the world, and from then on, his father had blamed his son for everything.
Financial strains were the fault of the child who needed nurses and schooling and new clothes. Lord Ramshay’s inability to find a second wife was, of course, due to the presence of his son. He had even found fit to blame Patrick for his failed business ventures, claiming he had taken up too much of his father’s time.
Patrick had grown up fearing his father, a man who seemed to take pleasure in wielding the cane. A man with a wild temper and loose fists. Patrick had assumed all fathers were the same until he had begun to attend school and make friends. It was then he had learned that not all boys froze in fear at the sight of their father. Had learned it was not routine for one’s arms and legs to be constantly purple with bruising.
When Patrick was fourteen, something in him had snapped and he had found himself returning the blow—a fist to the side of his father’s head. His father had stumbled backwards and the two had found themselves staring at each other. Patrick could not believe he had dared do such a thing. A wave of guilt flooded him and he began to apologize profusely. His father said nothing. Just walked from the room in icy silence. But Lord Ramshay had never raised a hand to his son again.
From then on, Patrick’s father became a distant figure in his life. Though the two men shared the townhouse, they saw little of each other, rarely taking meals together and doing their best to keep their distance. It had been a lonely thing, to have no one to speak to in his own home, but a thing Patrick was glad of. Silent, solitary suppers were greatly preferable to the horrors he had en
dured throughout his childhood.
Though he would never dare admit such a thing aloud, there had been a part of him that had been relieved when his father had passed away. With his death, the tension hanging over the townhouse had evaporated. For the first time in his life, Patrick had felt comfortable in his own home. At least until the man in black had appeared on his doorstep.
He walked with Catherine toward the river. Beside them, the dome of the cathedral rose into the clouds.
He felt Catherine’s eyes on him. “Are you not ashamed to be in my company, My Lord? What if someone were to see you? And at Newgate prison of all places.”
That self-loathing in her voice…
How well he knew that.
And so he said, “I had a visit of my own to make at Newgate this morning, Miss Barnet.”
Catherine’s neat eyebrows shot up. “You did?”
He nodded. “When you asked me to obtain you a permit, I secured one for myself as well.”
Her eyes were wide. “Who were you visiting?” There was curiosity in her voice. She stepped a little closer to him. Patrick caught a faint waft of lavender. It was a blissful tonic after the stenches of Newgate.
“An associate of my father’s,” he told her.
“Of your father’s?” she asked.
They had reached a small patch of greenery by the King’s Wardrobe. A stone bench sat outside the church. Patrick sat, gesturing for Catherine to join him. She perched on the edge of the bench, her skirts brushing the edge of his boots.
“My father was a gambler,” he told her. “And a terrible one at that. He lost my family’s fortune at an illegal gambling den in Seven Dials.”
Catherine didn’t speak at once. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked up at the spire of the church. “Seven Dials,” she said. “That’s where the gang my brother was involved in operated.”
Patrick nodded. “I’m sure there are many poor fools who have lost their way in Seven Dials.”
He instantly regretted his words. “I’m sorry. I—”
Catherine gave a small smile. “It’s all right. My brother is a fool.” There was a hint of light in her voice. She bit her lip. “And here I thought I was the only one whose family had a dark side.”
Patrick shook his head slightly. “I assure you, Miss Barnet, you are not.” He had longed to tell her of these things since he had first seen the sorrow in her eyes that day at St Matthew’s. Had longed to make her see how much he understood what she was going through.
But speaking of the sordid past of one’s family was just not done. Especially around a lady he cared for so greatly.
“Believe me,” he said, “I understand what you’re going through. If my father was still alive, I’m sure he’d have found himself in Newgate by now as well.” He hesitated. Telling Catherine of the man in black would do nothing to help his chances of looking like a marriageable young nobleman. But he had already begun to share. And he was going to finish. Sharing his sorry tale, he felt certain, would go some way toward helping Catherine feel better about herself.
He sucked in his breath and turned to face her. “Once a month I’m visited by the men my father owed money to. Men who run the gambling dens. I pay them regular installments on the debts my father racked up.”
Catherine tilted her head empathetically. “I’m so sorry, Lord Ramshay,” she said. “That sounds a dreadful thing. I’m sorry your father left you with such a burden to carry.”
He flashed her a short smile. Paying off his father’s debts had never felt more manageable.
She knotted her fingers together. “Why were you visiting your father’s associate today?”
Patrick hesitated. He wanted to tell her everything, yes, but he felt certain hearing of the ransacking of his house would do nothing to help her fragile sensitivities. Having his house raided had shaken him to the core. He did not want to shake Catherine too. And so he said truthfully, “The man is trouble. It gives me a little peace of mind to know he’s still safely locked away.”
When he finished speaking, an enormous smile spread across Catherine’s face. Her whole face seemed to light, and she looked that carefree young lady he had met at the Duke of Redbridge’s ball. Patrick felt something shift in his chest.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I don’t mean to smile at your family’s misfortune. It’s just…” She wrung her hands together, then looked up at him shyly. “It’s that I no longer feel so completely alone.”
Patrick couldn’t look away. That light in her eyes, that tiny dimple that had appeared beside her lip; how had he forgotten that? The sight of it made his chest ache with longing. How he ached to slide closer to her, to feel her knee pressing against his. How he longed to feel the soft skin of her cheek beneath his fingertips, to feel those full, pink lips graze his own.
“I’ve wanted to tell you all this since I first heard about your brother’s arrest,” he admitted. “I can see how difficult it’s been for you and I wanted you to know that I understand what you’re going through. I know what it’s like to feel responsible. I know what it’s like to blame yourself, and to go through life wondering if there might be something more you could have done. But more than anything, I want to help you see that none of this is your fault.”
Catherine dove forward and kissed him. Her lips pressed hard against his and Patrick felt his heart somersault with the shock of it.
She pulled away quickly and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Lord Ramshay,” she gushed, “please forgive me, I…” Her face flushed scarlet. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I…”
He couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “It’s…it’s quite all right. Please don’t be sorry…” His heart was thumping hard. The feel of her lips against his had ignited something inside him. He wanted more of her. Needed more of her. He didn’t dare look at her in case the blaze that was threatening to engulf him stole his sense of decency.
Catherine climbed hurriedly to her feet. She clasped her hands in front of her and bobbed her head toward him. “Thank you for everything, Lord Ramshay,” she stuttered, her words spilling from her mouth in a garble. “I appreciate it more than you could know.”
Patrick swallowed hard. “At least let me see you to a cab.”
She shook her head hurriedly. “It’s quite all right,” she said. “The walk will do me good.”
* * *
Catherine was a jittery mess as she made her way back to Aunt Cornelia’s. She felt herself trembling from head to toe. Her entire body felt as though it were on fire.
I cannot believe I did such a thing. What must he think of me?
It had been the knowledge that she was not alone that had caused her to throw herself at him in such a way. She’d felt entirely out of control of her own body. When her lips had touched his, she had been as surprised as he.
I actually kissed him. Like some wanton woman. How could I have dared to do such a thing?
And yet, his words were circling through her mind.
“Please don’t be sorry…”
And she had enjoyed it. Oh, she had enjoyed the thing far more than she had imagined she might. From what little she had heard from her friends about a lady’s relationship with her husband, being close to a man was little more than an uncomfortable, unpleasant obligation. But kissing Lord Ramshay had set something blazing within her that felt nothing like an obligation. And it had certainly not been unpleasant. How could the experience of it jar so completely with the tales her married friends had whispered around the tea table?
She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek. Her face was flaming.
I had best steady myself before I try and creep back into the house.
She forced herself to slow down. She had been charging through the streets like a fox after a rabbit. She took a long, deep breath as she entered the manicured streets of Chelsea. She stopped outside Featherstone Manor and peered through the gates.
It was almost dinner time. Perhaps Aunt Cornelia would be comi
ng to her room soon to check if she were up to eating.
I had best get back inside as quick as I can.
She followed the iron fence around the side of the house until she reached the gardener’s gate. Holding her breath, Catherine pushed on it, heaving a sigh of relief when it swung open beneath her hands.
Inside the grounds, she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her hair and walked with her eyes down. No one would be expecting to see her, she reminded herself. And even if Aunt Cornelia were to catch sight of this hooded figure creeping across the garden, she would assume it one of the kitchen staff.
Nonetheless, she let out a sigh of relief when she was back in the safety of her bedroom. She wriggled out of the servants’ dress and tossed it into the back of her wardrobe. She climbed into bed in her shift and pulled the blankets to her chin. She would return the dress first thing tomorrow morning.
Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 9
