by Galen, Shana
This time Colin didn’t react at all to what must be his first indication Benedict had a wife. Colin gave a curt nod. “Anything else?”
“I feel I should tell you—”
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I know your skill, and you’ll find out anyway. Better to hear it from me. Catarina is my wife. It was a marriage of convenience that took place years ago. She’s in London to arrange an annulment.”
“She’s a Catholic,” Colin said, showing that he understood the matter perfectly.
“Don’t involve her if you can avoid it, but find out why she wants the annulment, if you can. See if Juan Carlos has a reason to want this marriage annulled.”
“Anything else?” Colin asked again.
Benedict took a deep breath. “I feel as though I should ask how your wife fares.”
FitzRoy’s light eyes turned dark. “Don’t.”
“Understood. You will report back when you have information?”
“Count on it. I’ll take my leave then.”
“You have my permission.”
And he was gone.
Benedict sat for a moment, sipping his tea. FitzRoy hadn’t even touched his. He was a good man, but Benedict couldn’t save them all.
At the moment, he wasn’t even certain he could save himself. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking of the kiss he’d shared with Catarina. It had fired his blood like nothing else he could remember. He still wanted her, and if he was not mistaken, she still wanted him.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Six
“Hover through the fog and filthy air.”
Macbeth, William Shakespeare
“ARE YOU CERTAIN WE should do this?” Ines asked for at least the fifth time in the last hour.
“Do we have any other choice?” Catarina shot back. “I won’t stay here to be raped and abused or risk the same happening to you.”
“But what if Colonel Draven won’t take us in?”
“He will.” At least Catarina hoped he would.
“What if he lied, and he does have a mistress living with him?”
“Then I toss her out.” She might toss Draven out too if she found a woman at his house.
The two sisters were locked in the bed chamber, whispering by candle light. They’d stayed inside the room all day, refusing to come out to eat, for fear it was a trick by Juan Carlos. Catarina had pushed a note and a couple coins under the door for a maid, asking her to have the letter sent to Colonel Draven.
In it, Catarina had claimed her sister was ill, and she must stay home from the theater to tend her. She had been careful to say nothing of her plan, lest Juan Carlos intercept the letter. She had no doubt he was keeping a careful watch on the room.
“What do you think Juan Carlos will do if he catches us?” Ines whispered.
Just then Tigrino pawed at the base of the door, rattling it, and both women jumped. When their hearts had slowed to a gallop, Catarina took her sister’s hand. “He won’t catch us. Now, lay back and try to sleep for a while. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
Ines rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. Tigrino, annoyed at being held captive in the room all day, jumped on the bed, and began to clean himself, his back to Catarina. Catarina stroked her sister’s forehead until Ines fell into a restless sleep. Then she stood and paced the room, listening for the sound of the outer door and Juan Carlos’s footsteps.
Sometime after midnight she heard the key in the lock and hurried to blow out the candle still burning in the bed chamber. She hardly dared breathe as the footsteps came closer to the bed chamber door. She saw Tigrino’s silhouette as he sat up, his ears twitching. The latch on the bed chamber door rattled but would not lift. Catarina listened as Juan Carlos moved around the sitting room and then finally departed, closing the outer door softly behind him.
And still she and Tigrino listened. She heard nothing more. Indeed, even the city outside seemed to have quieted, though it never went completely silent. Finally, Tigrino curled into a ball on the bed. Catarina went to wake her sister.
It was just before dawn when Catarina, her sister, and the cat in his latched basket crept out of Mivart’s. Ines carried the basket and Catarina carried two valises, stuffed with as much as they could manage. She and Ines had to leave several dresses behind, but there was no question that her bobbins and thread were more important. She could buy new dresses but not if she couldn’t make lace.
A footman snored softly in his chair by the hotel’s door and somewhere below a plate clinked. Silently, Catarina pushed the hotel’s door open and stepped into a gray fog that swirled through the still dark streets. She led Ines away from the hotel, across the street and out of view of the front door—not that anyone could have seen anything in this fog, even if the sun had been shining in a cloudless sky. Catarina paused, setting the heavy valises down and resting her arms. “I don’t know how we’ll find a hired carriage in this.”
“Perhaps we could walk.”
Catarina bit her lip, not wanting to admit she did not know London well enough to discern in which direction to walk. But they couldn’t stand here. The longer they waited, the more they risked. Once Juan Carlos realized they were gone, he would go on a rampage to find them. Catarina had to have Ines safely inside Benedict’s residence before that happened. But how was she to walk blindly about London carrying two heavy valises and leading her younger sister and a cat?
“Which way?” Ines asked.
Catarina sighed. Anywhere else was better than here. “This way?” She lifted the valises and began walking away from Mivart’s. Maybe once the sun came up and the fog burned off, she would be able to locate a landmark or recognize a street. She’d worn her warmest cloak but hadn’t thought to wear mittens, and her hands were already cold. It wouldn’t be long before the damp seeped through her cloak and she was shivering.
A dark man-sized shape stepped out in front of them, and Catarina halted. Why hadn’t she thought to bring anything she could use for a weapon?
“Do you need assistance?” the man asked.
Catarina took a step back, colliding with Ines. “No.”
“Are you certain? The streets are dangerous at night.” The light from a lantern blinded Catarina for a moment. He must have raised the shutter. She squinted and saw the man had lifted the lantern higher so she might see his face. He looked far less threatening than he’d seemed in the dark. He had a mop of curly dark hair and pale eyes that looked out at her with a despondent expression.
“Perhaps you could direct us to Jermyn Street.” Her voice shook slightly, but she hoped he’d attribute that to the cold.
“Of course, but you’re not thinking of walking?”
“Is it far?” Ines asked.
“Far enough in this fog and with the baggage you carry. Would you allow me to find you a hackney?”
Catarina put a hand on Ines’s shoulder. “That would be very kind of you, sir.”
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll return in a few minutes.” His lantern disappeared into the fog, and Catarina and Ines huddled together for warmth.
“What a nice man,” Ines murmured.
“Yes, but why is he being so nice to us? What does he want in return?” She had learned early in life not to trust men.
Ines huffed out a breath. “Why do you always suspect people of the worst intentions?”
Because in her experience people usually did have the worst intentions. “It seems suspicious. Why is he out here in the middle of the night?”
“We’re out here in the middle of the night.”
“Shh!” Catarina heard footsteps approaching and then spotted the faint beam of light bobbing closer.
“Mrs. Draven? Are you still there?”
Catarina opened her mouth to reply when she realized she hadn’t told the man her identity. Ines must have realized it too because she gasped. “Don’t say a word,” Catarina hissed. “Here!” she called so the man
could hear.
“I’ve found you a hackney. Follow me.”
“Thank you.” She lifted one valise and motioned for Ines to take the other. It was a heavy load for the slight girl, but it would only be for a moment. The man waited until they were in the beam of light then turned to lead them to the hackney—if there really was a hackney.
As soon as his back was turned, Catarina swung her valise high and hit him hard in the back. He doubled over with a loud “oof!,” and she moved to the side and smashed him in the face. The lantern shattered on the ground and the light went out.
“Drop the valise and run, Ines!” she said in Portuguese. Ines ran in the opposite direction, and Catarina followed, dropping her valise too. Ines still had Tigrino’s basket, and she clutched it to her chest as she tried to pick up speed.
“Wait!” The man called after them in Portuguese. “I’m here to help.”
Catarina slowed then shook her head and continued running. So he knew Portuguese. Juan Carlos might have hired him.
“I work for Benedict Draven!” he said. “Isn’t that where you want to go? His flat on Jermyn Street?”
Catarina stopped. “Wait.” She panted. “Ines!” She turned, watching as the man gained his feet. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“It’s no mistake I’m here,” he said, voice pinched with pain. “Colonel Draven asked me to try and speak with a man named Juan Carlos de la Fuente and find out why he’s in London. I had no luck last night and decided to stay close in case I saw him this morning.”
“Don’t come any closer. Who are you?”
“Colin FitzRoy.”
“That means nothing to me.”
“I’m one of the Survivors, one of his men.”
One of Benedict’s soldiers then. Hadn’t Benedict said this afternoon that he kept in contact with his men? But how did she know this man was telling the truth?
“You don’t have to believe me,” he said, “but at least let me escort you to Draven. He’ll kill me if anything happens to you. Not to mention, you’re running in the wrong direction.”
Catarina took a breath, considering. The man hadn’t come any closer. If he truly had malevolent intentions, would he wait this long to act on them?
Tigrino gave a plaintive wail, and Ines whispered. “I trust him.”
Catarina almost rolled her eyes. Ines trusted everyone.
“I really do have a hackney—if the jarvey hasn’t driven away by now. It’s cold. Let me take you to Draven’s.”
“Very well,” she said. “But be forewarned that I have a pistol, and I’m not afraid to use it.” She wasn’t lying. Her grandfather’s pistol was in her valise. She didn’t have powder or shot for it, and as far as she knew it hadn’t been fired for fifty years, but she found it a useful item to brandish every so often.
“Point taken. My lantern has gone out.” To his credit, he didn’t mention her part in that problem. “You’ll have to follow closely.” He bent and lifted the abandoned valises. “I’ll carry these for you.”
Catarina moved closer and held out her hand. “I prefer to carry my own, thank you.”
He handed her one. “Just don’t hit me in the head with it.”
She wasn’t making any promises.
Colin FitzRoy, however, seemed inclined to keep his. Catarina was almost ready to bolt again when they finally came across a line of three or four hackneys on a side street. She would never have found them on her own. FitzRoy called out to the jarvey who answered sleepily, then FitzRoy told the man to stay put as he stowed the luggage himself and handed Ines and Catarina into the carriage.
When he climbed in, Catarina scowled. “What do you think you’re doing, sir?”
“Taking you to Draven.” He pulled the door closed and knocked on the roof. Since she’d heard him give the address, and it seemed to be the correct one, she didn’t say anything further. FitzRoy did not break the silence. He sat slumped on his side, occasionally rubbing his head where she had hit him.
Ines took Catarina’s hand in hers. “All will be well. You’ll see.”
Catarina didn’t have Ines’s optimism. What would Benedict do when she turned up unannounced on his doorstep with her sister, running from a man who would now have no reason not to ruin her? Benedict would probably beg her to sign the annulment papers. He had not asked for, nor did he deserve, the problems she brought with her. It was one thing for him to help her five years ago. It was quite another to expect him to continue saving her when she was a grown, independent woman. She should never have asked him to marry her in the first place.
She couldn’t go back and undo the past, but she could certainly control the way she treated him in the future.
The carriage lurched to a halt, and Catarina peered out the grimy window. Benedict’s windows were dark. Sunrise was probably less than an hour away, but if he’d gone to the theater without her he would not have been in bed very long.
She hoped he was at least in bed alone.
FitzRoy opened the carriage door and handed both ladies down then paid the driver. She really should apologize for hitting him in the head. He had been nothing but kind to them. At some point, he had retrieved his lantern and lit it from the lantern in the hackney, and now he lifted it to light their way to the door. Setting Ines’s valise down, he knocked loudly on the door.
Catarina waited, her heart hammering in her chest. No sound came from within, though the noise of fist hitting wood had seemed loud enough to be heard for miles.
“Should we knock again?” Ines asked.
“Let’s give him another moment,” FitzRoy said. A few seconds later, they heard the sound of someone moving about and the door swung open.
“Hello, Ward,” FitzRoy said brightly. “Is Draven at home?”
“Not to you,” the butler muttered. He was a short man of perhaps forty with a bald head and the shadow of stubble on his cheeks. Catarina had met him when she’d come to Draven’s flat that first night.
“I bring guests.” He moved aside. “Mrs. Draven and her sister, Miss Neves.”
Ward looked at the women then at FitzRoy. “I suppose you’d better come in then.” They moved along a hallway shared by Draven as well as those living on the upper floors, and Ward opened the door on the ground floor. When they’d all squeezed into the warm receiving room, Ward held up a hand. “Wait here.” He disappeared into a side room and Catarina heard him pound on another door. “It’s the woman from Portugal, Colonel. She’s back with FitzRoy.”
She didn’t hear Benedict’s response, but Ward came back. “He says to show you to the blue room.” He led them to a parlor with walls papered in blue, a small desk, a cream-colored couch, and blue-and-white-striped chairs.
“I’ll light the fire if you fetch tea, Ward,” FitzRoy said.
Ward gave an exaggerated sigh and stomped out of the room.
“Ladies, please sit down. This will only take me a moment.”
Catarina sank into one of the chairs. Her entire body felt heavy and sluggish. The lack of sleep was finally catching up to her. Now that she knew she was safe, she could hardly keep her eyes open. It seemed a great deal of time passed before FitzRoy had the fire going, but it was probably very little time at all. Ines was perched on the edge of her chair, looking about with wide eyes. Tigrino meowed and scratched at the basket. “Shall I let him out?” Ines asked.
“What’s in there?” FitzRoy asked.
“A cat, if I’m not mistaken.”
Catarina’s head jerked up at the sound of Benedict’s voice. He stepped into the room, dressed in trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He wore no waistcoat or neckcloth, and his hair was sticking up like the red flames in the hearth.
“Sir!” FitzRoy jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I found them wandering outside Mivart’s and thought it best to accompany them here myself.”
Benedict waved a hand. “At ease, man. You’ve gone above and beyond.”
“I wish that were so, but I haven’t yet spoken with de la Fuente.”
“Let’s discuss that in private at another time. For now, go home and get some sleep.”
“Permission to return to Mivart’s, sir. When de la Fuente finds the ladies missing, it might provide an excellent opportunity to engage him.”
Benedict looked thoughtful. “Do as you see best, Colin. I owe you for this.”
“I didn’t think we were counting, Colonel.” He gave a slight bow to Catarina and Ines. “Ladies.” And then he was gone.
Finally, Benedict’s bright blue eyes fell on Catarina. The warmth from the fire had already seeped into her, but the warmth in his eyes made her restless. She felt the need to reach for her collar and unfasten her cloak.
“You look done in, Mrs. Draven.”
“I should explain.”
“You can explain in the morning. Right now I think you and your sister—it’s Ines, yes?—should go to sleep. Let me settle you in my spare room. Ward!”
Ward entered then, carrying the tea tray.
“Leave that, Ward. It’s too late for tea. Carry the ladies’ valises into the spare room. I’ll take Tigrino, so he’ll be close to you.”
“Thank you,” Catarina said, forcing herself to her feet.
With a heavy sigh and no little muttering, Ward set the tray on the table and lifted the valises. She followed Benedict to the room, where Ines immediately entered and began to look around and explore.
“Bank the fire in the parlor, Ward.”
The butler glared at her as he walked away.
“I’m so sorry for causing so much trouble,” Catarina said, still in the doorway.
“You have a rare talent for it.”
“I can explain—”
“I want you to, but not until you’ve rested. Then you and I shall have a long talk.”
She nodded.
“Good night, meu amor.”
Startled at the endearment, she almost missed his arm when she reached to grasp it. “Thank you, Benedict.”