by Galen, Shana
Benedict stood, releasing her hands. He paced away, his breath coming quickly now. “Go on,” he said, his voice calm, though it was obvious he was upset, even angry.
“He bent me over a table and started saying who are you to deny me? You think you are better than Don Felipe? He was going to rape me, senhor.”
“Did he?” He knelt in front of her. “It won’t change how I see you. I won’t blame you. I’ve been to war. I know what happens, and few women are strong enough to fend off a man. Those who do are often killed for their pains.”
She swallowed because she heard in his words that he did understand. And she knew, too, that he was the kind of man who would never take a woman against her will or condone any other man who did so.
“He didn’t have the chance. I grabbed a pair of scissors on the table and stabbed him in the leg. I was terrified, and when he fell—” She covered her mouth.
Benedict took her in his arms, holding her tightly. She stiffened with surprise at the unexpected comfort. “I’m here. You’re safe now.” He stroked her hair, and she let out a breath. Then took another in, inhaling the scent of him—the smell of tea and butter and, more faintly, gunpowder and horse.
“I don’t know what happened. He was lying there, injured, and I didn’t care. I stabbed him again.” She closed her eyes. “And again. And again.” She shuddered at the memory of the blood on her scissors, her hands, her face.
“You killed him.” His voice was even and matter-of-fact.
She nodded, even though he could not see her face. “I did not mean to.”
“It was instinct. Your instinct to protect yourself took over.”
She sat back and looked into Benedict’s eyes. He was so close to her now, his hands resting on her waist. “When I came back to myself—I suppose you could say—Juan Carlos was there. He had been standing in the doorway the entire time and had seen everything. Or at least enough.”
Benedict’s lip raised in disgust. To a man like him it must seem inconceivable that another man would stand by and do nothing to help a woman in distress.
“I was weeping and frightened,” she continued. “I did not know what to do. Juan Carlos told me to leave everything to him. He went for Ines himself, and she brought clean clothes. In the back room, we burned the blood-soaked clothing and cleaned all the blood from my hands and face. When we came back to the front room, the body of Don Felipe was gone. Juan Carlos had disposed of it. Ines and I cleaned the blood from the floor, and it was almost as though it had never happened.”
“Except Juan Carlos knew.”
Benedict hadn’t moved away from her. His hands still rested on her waist. Was it possible he really did not see her differently?
“Yes, and he finally had the leverage he needed.”
“How long ago did this happen? Did you leave for London to find me right away?”
She knotted her hands in her lap. “Not right away. I knew you did not consider our marriage valid, but I tried to use it to keep from having to marry Miguel. I should not have involved you. You never wanted any of this.” She gestured widely to indicate her presence at the house.
He grasped her face lightly in his hands. “Don’t apologize. You did the right thing. There’s nowhere I’d rather you be than here.”
She frowned at him. How could he say that? He hadn’t wanted to marry her in the first place. Five years ago, she’d been a thorn in his side. Now she brought him more trouble.
“We will solve this problem.” He said it like a soldier riding into battle, as though success was a foregone conclusion.
“How?”
“Not by hiding. Let’s see Juan Carlos as soon as possible. I want to know if he intends to carry out his threat against you. If so, I’d like to warn him of the dangers.”
She placed her hands over his, lowering them. “I thought of that. If Juan Carlos reveals my crime then he implicates himself as well. But he says no one will believe me, and he is right. Who would take the word of a woman over a powerful man like Juan Carlos? His family is wealthy and respected in Barcelona. I’m an outsider, a provincial from Portugal. I am no one.”
“That’s not true. You are someone, and your voice matters.”
“But I killed a man,” she whispered. “Even if I do not hang for it, my business is destroyed. Who would want to wear Catarina lace if it is associated with a murderer?”
“It’s a risk we have to take because whatever happens, I won’t allow you to marry Miguel. You’ve faced this alone. Now we face it together.”
BENEDICT LEFT CATARINA and her sister at his residence with strict instructions to Ward not to admit anyone, and Benedict had complete confidence that if Juan Carlos tried to force his way in, Ward would stop him. He’d offered to pay Maggie extra if she would act as a lady’s maid to the women, and she’d happily agreed. An older woman, she had a son with a wife and children, and the additional funds would be appreciated.
At the Draven Club, Benedict handed his coat to Porter in the wood paneled vestibule. “Where is FitzRoy? He sent me a note to meet him here.”
“He’s in the card room, Colonel. Shall I ask him to go to your parlor?”
“The card room is fine. I know the way.” He climbed the winding staircase carpeted in royal blue then made his way past the dining room with its murmur of male voices to the card room. It was empty except for Colin FitzRoy, who sat at a table covered in green baize, a deck of cards in his hand, turning them over onto the table and sorting them into groups. The chairs at the other two tables had been turned upside down and were resting on top of the tables. The scent of lemon oil lingered and the wooden mantel gleamed.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” He crossed the small room and sat across from Colin.
“Not at all. I still have half my ale.” He lifted his mug. “Should I ring for Porter to fetch you something?”
Benedict flicked his wrist. “No need. Your note indicated you have information for me.”
Colin nodded, his green eyes unreadable. “I happened to be loitering in the lobby at Mivart’s this morning when an irate Señor de la Fuente stormed in and demanded to know where his women had gone.”
“That sounds like quite the scene.” Benedict reflected that it was fortunate he hadn’t come upon de la Fuente. After what Catarina had told him, he wanted to throttle the man.
“It might have been had Señor Martinez had not intervened.”
Benedict ran his gaze over FitzRoy’s coat. It had a distinct Spanish look about it.”
“Found it at a pawn shop,” Colin said, noticing his gaze. “Paired with this”—he removed what looked like mutton chops and a mustache from his pocket—“I made quite the Spanish gentleman.”
“I’m sure.”
“Señor Martinez offered Señor de la Fuente his assistance, which de la Fuente declined until I offered to buy him a glass of Madeira at the tavern across the street. Several glasses later and we are the best of friends. Would you believe we were both born in the small town of Besalú?”
“What a coincidence,” Benedict drawled.
“A fortunate one because we could reminisce about our old friends.” Which meant Juan Carlos could reminisce and Colin could pretend he knew the same men. “But then I asked him why he left, and he told me his family was well-known for making lace. They had a shop in Barcelona.”
“They have a reputation for Spanish blonde lace, I believe.”
Colin raised a brow. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”
“You’re corroborating.” And it was good to hear Catarina’s story supported. She might be his wife, but he didn’t know her well. He wanted to trust her, but as a lifelong soldier he had learned the value of verifying.
“If I only needed to corroborate, then you might have mentioned that so I didn’t have to hear about lace for a quarter hour.” Colin sipped his ale.
“I assume you heard about de la Fuente’s competition.”
“Yes, she of the
Catarina lace. I had no idea last night that your wife was such an important personage.”
Benedict crossed his arms over his chest. “Meaning?”
“I have three sisters, and every single one of them is mad for Catarina lace.”
“And here I thought today was the only time you were forced to listen to talk of lace.”
“Would that it were. Usually, I can ignore it, but no one could ignore the way my three sisters argue over that lace handkerchief. They have one Catarina lace wipe between them, and every day there’s a squabble over who had it yesterday and whose turn it is today.”
“You need your own quarters, FitzRoy.”
“You are not wrong, sir. However, my living situation proved useful today as I knew exactly what Catarina lace was and how costly it is. It’s no wonder de la Fuente wants to marry your wife off to his son.”
Benedict tried not to let the casual talk of his wife disconcert him. “So you learned that. Did you determine his plan?”
“He knows a secret about her. He was careful with his words but said enough that I gathered she had done something illegal. I can’t think murder of her, but he hinted at that possibility.” Colin’s eyes met Benedict’s, but Benedict kept his face expressionless.
“Go on. Will he ruin her or is he all bluster?”
“It’s hard to say. He has a high opinion of himself.”
“Meaning his pride will be hurt if she doesn’t marry his son.”
“His business as well. I deduced he’s been losing money to her shop for some time now.”
“Any suggestion for how I should deal with him?”
“Don’t humiliate him publicly. He’ll strike back. I don’t think he’s open to negotiation, either. He’s decided he needs Mrs. Draven to save his business and, now that he’s made it public she will marry his son, his reputation. I’m not sure he can be disabused of that notion.”
“If I offer him money?”
“He’ll be insulted. He’ll probably take the coin.” FitzRoy finished his ale. “But he’ll still want your wife.”
“If I agree to a business partnership?”
Colin shook his head. “He wants it all, though he might agree initially and then try to swindle you later.”
“So basically, he’s to be a permanent thorn in my side.”
“You could have Mostyn kill him,” he said, referring to the soldier who the others in the troop had called the Protector because of his strength and fighting skill.
“I’m not an overly religious man, but I seem to remember an injunction against murder.”
Colin shrugged. “Send in the Negotiator then, but I don’t think even Phineas will sway de la Fuente. He’s made up his mind.”
“I’ll simply have to unmake it for him.” Benedict rose. “Thank you, FitzRoy. I—”
Colin stood abruptly. “With all due respect, Colonel, if you tell me you owe me again, I may lose my temper.”
“Understood.” And Benedict did understand. His men were brothers-in-arms. They did not keep score. He had never quite felt a part of that brotherhood, but he knew the men considered him one of them. He didn’t deserve that position. If nothing else, he deserved their contempt. He’d been the one sending them into battle. He’d been the one asking them to risk their lives while he sat safely in his tent behind friendly lines.
Colin sat again. “I think I’ll finish my game.” He indicated the cards he’d left on the table. “If I go home now, I’ll probably be subjected to more talk of lace.”
Benedict understood this reference too. He’d opened this club so his men would have a place to gather. A place to lick their wounds out of the gaze of the public. A place where the brotherhood they’d forged in battle could take root in peace. And Benedict was a part of this place too. He was here to offer advice, lend aid and sometimes blunt, to catch a man veering off course and set him right again.
But he didn’t expect any thanks for it. He’d created the Draven Club for himself as much as for his men, because he needed a respite from the outside world too.
Except at the moment, the outside world—or at least one woman in it—was beckoning him home.
Eight
“The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.”
Hamlet, William Shakespeare
“I WISH I COULD GO TO the theater,” Ines said, her lower lip sticking out in a pout. “You look so elegant. I want to go.”
Catarina gave herself one last look in the mirror before giving her sister a sympathetic smile. “This outing is not for pleasure, as you know. When all of this is over, Benedict and I will take you to the theater. It is not as though I go every week and leave you home. I have never been either.”
“It is not fair!”
“No, it is not. It is especially not fair that I will not even be able to enjoy the theater because I will be waiting for Juan Carlos to find me and threaten me.” Ines was behaving as though this foray to the theater was all for amusement. But it had a much more serious purpose. Benedict had said he’d made his plan to take her to the theater well known. Anyone who wanted the information certainly had it.
“Do not allow Juan Carlos to ruin the whole evening. Try to enjoy all the admirers you collect.”
Catarina looked down at the lace on her three-quarter length sleeves and the trimming at her bodice. “We are sure to receive orders for lace trimming after my dress is seen”
Ines rolled her eyes. “I do not mean the people admiring lace. That will be the ladies. I mean the men. They will not be able to take their eyes from you.”
“Why?” She glanced in the mirror again. Her gown was not too low-cut, and she’d put on long gloves to cover her bare forearms.
“Because you are beautiful!”
Catarina smiled. “That is very sweet of you.” But they both knew Ines was the beautiful one. She was slender and her facial features much finer. Even her hair was a lovely shade of chestnut. Catarina looked like the peasant stock from which she had come. She had wide hips and an ample bust. Her face was full, and her hair coarse and dark, though not so dark as to be considered black. She did like her eyes. They were quite dark and her lashes long, but she did not know how a woman with brown eyes could compete with all the blue-eyed beauties in London.
“So you do not believe me?” Ines put her hands on her hips. “Just you wait until your husband sees you. I have a feeling I will be in this bed alone tonight.”
“Ines!”
She blinked in mock innocence at Catarina. “I said nothing improper. He is your husband.”
“You should not speak of such things.” Benedict would certainly have more than enough lovely women to admire tonight. She would try not to be jealous. “Besides, Benedict and I hardly know each other.”
“Mama and Papa did not meet until the week before their wedding, and everyone knows you were born almost nine months to the day.”
Catarina did not want to discuss bedding her husband any further, so she lifted her reticule from the bed she would most certainly share with her sister again tonight and opened the door to their chamber.
Maggie, who had dressed her hair, waited outside. “Colonel Draven is in the parlor, madam.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to wait out here for me.”
The woman indicated Tigrino, who sat in a corner. “The cat growled every time I tried to walk away.”
“Tigrino!” Catarina scolded. In response, Tigrino merely stretched, arching his back. “He will not hurt you,” she said.
“As you say, madam. If you don’t mind, I’ll return to the bed chamber. I thought Miss Ines and I might play a game of cards to pass the time.”
“Yes, thank you. I know she will be glad of the company.”
Catarina made her way to the parlor, followed by Tigrino. She found Benedict inside, standing by the mantel and staring into the fire. Catarina cleared her throat. He looked over at her and his eyes widened. He stared at her for so long th
at she smoothed her skirts.
“Is this dress not appropriate?” Perhaps she did not look British enough. Unfortunately, she had little choice when it came to evening gowns.
He stepped forward then paused. “It’s appropriate. It’s lovely. The lace is yours?”
“I made it, yes.”
“I can see why your work is so highly valued.”
She smiled. “You are a great connoisseur of lace now.”
“No, but I don’t need to be a connoisseur to know what I like.”
“You like my lace?” She lifted her sleeves to examine her work, though she knew it intimately.
He moved closer. “I like you.”
Warmth spread through her at the heat in his voice. Her skin seemed to tingle. “Maggie knows how to dress hair.”
“It’s more than the hair.” He moved so close he was almost touching her. Her head swam and her body swayed closer to his, as though it were drawn by a magnetic force. “It’s everything about you,” he murmured. “You are impossibly beautiful.”
Her breath caught. “You are too kind,” she murmured, knowing he did not mean it. And yet...the look in his eyes, the way he stared down at her—it felt as though he might mean it. As though he might see her as something, someone, desirable.
“I’m not being kind.” He lifted her gloved hand and kissed it, sending heat radiating through her, even though he hadn’t touched her bare skin. “Do you know what I am thinking right now?”
She was afraid to venture a guess. She was afraid she might say something that would shock him—and herself. Something wicked and wanton and something that would reveal how she was feeling. How she wanted him to kiss her again. She swallowed. “Are you thinking that we will be late if we do not leave soon?”
He smiled slightly. “No.” He put his hand around her waist and drew her closer. Catarina’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart pounded in her chest.
“Then what are you thinking?” she whispered.
“That I am the luckiest man in London to be married to you.” He bent and brushed his lips over hers. The world spun and happiness burst inside her. Just as she began to respond to the kiss, he drew back. “Later,” he said. His blue eyes glimmered with promise.