She was watching him still, a mask of calmness across her face.
‘With myself,’ came the dry reply.
Silence echoed.
‘They think you’re keeping m’companion as your mistress?’ Lady Maybury questioned with alarming candour.
A sharp intake of air from the slender figure opposite, and the stormy grey eyes with all their hurt, all their fury, all their incredulity, dropped to the floor.
‘It would appear so, ma’am,’ Ravensmede conceded.
She turned to face her grandson. ‘Then you had better speak to Kathryn,’ said the dowager, and walked out of the room.
The latch clicked into place. The grandfather clock ticked its slow steady rhythm.
‘Tell me the whole of it,’ Kathryn said in a small, tightly controlled voice.
‘It’s better that I don’t.’
Her shoulders squared back, her chin thrust out in defiance. ‘I need to know.’
He gave a curt nod. ‘Harry Silverton has been busy informing anyone who will listen that I was responsible for the ruination of a young lady acting in the capacity of my grandmother’s companion. He’s adamant that he witnessed you within my arms while I was in state of some undress upon the sofa in the drawing room of our rented accommodation.’
Kathryn’s temper flared, ‘What nonsense! He’s misinterpreting the whole thing. Where is the mention of his drunken state, or the fact that he shot his pistol at you?’ Her eyes flashed and colour burned in her previously pale cheeks. ‘Can we not discredit his lies?’
‘Even if we could, I’m afraid that Silverton’s tale is not all.’
‘There’s more?’ An incredulous frown wrinkled her brow.
He reached for her.
Adamant, she shook her head. ‘No. Just tell me.’ If he touched her, the last of her brittle control would shatter.
In a calm mellow voice the Viscount proceeded to apprise Kathryn of the worst of their problem.
‘And you have seen this printed leaflet yourself?’
‘Yes,’ he said grimly. ‘Cadmount kept one copy and destroyed all the others he could find. Unfortunately, it seems that the damage was already done.’
She held out her hand. ‘May I see it, please?’
‘I’m afraid it is a crude and vulgar piece, not fit for the eyes of any lady.’
‘Not even the subject of its story? Have I not a right to know?’
His eyes did not leave her face. ‘It is where it belongs, Kathryn, burned to a cinder.’
She swallowed hard, determination and anger and devastation glinting in her eyes. ‘What exactly did it say?’
An uncompromising expression slipped across Ravensmede’s face.
‘Tell me.’
His jaw set firm.
‘Would you have me alone ignorant of what all of London is saying?’ She saw the flicker in his focus, knew he was weakening. ‘Please, Nicholas.’
He sighed. ‘It is a tale in which the Viscount of R. and the widowed Mrs W. arrange an illicit liaison in a back room at Lady Finlay’s ball. The widow arrives, only to interrupt a scene of impropriety between Lord R. and a certain Miss M., whom he later installed as his mistress under the guise of his grandmother’s companion.’ He did not tell her that every tawdry detail of the encounter had been obscenely exaggerated.
Kathryn’s face paled. ‘Only Mrs White knew,’ she whispered.
‘Mrs White is hardly portrayed in a flattering light within the article. Had Amanda White been responsible, I’d warrant it would have read a tad more in her favour.’
‘Who would do such a thing? Pay from their own pocket to print and distribute such a spiteful piece of work? No one else knew.’
The bright green eyes narrowed of a sudden. He indicated Kathryn’s barely touched glass of brandy. ‘It might be a good idea to take another sip…a big one.’
Kathryn gripped her hands together tightly to stop them from shaking. ‘You know, don’t you?’
His gaze faltered. ‘It is not pleasant,’ he said.
‘None of it is.’ A terrible coldness was spreading through her body, tensing each and every muscle. And the dread of foreboding writhed in her gut. She waited, watching his anger vie with compassion, his rage with tenderness.
There was nothing but the moment and the waiting.
‘I’ve spoken to the printer and the boy who delivered the article and instruction to him.’
‘Already?’
His shoulders shrugged. ‘I was still late for the theatre, and I would not have had you face that alone for all the world, Kathryn.’ Their eyes locked. ‘The boy took me to the house from where the letter was sent…’
She wetted the dryness of her lips. Suddenly knew the name that would pass his lips. The blood roared in her ears, so loud she feared she would not hear him.
‘It was in Green Street. The woman who paid for the article was your aunt.’
Even as he confirmed what she feared she sat still as a statue in the chair, unmoving, lifeless, her expression frozen, her eyes wide and unblinking. And then her eyelids shuttered.
She did not hear him move, was not aware that anything had changed around her until she felt him kneel before her and pull her into his arms. His warmth thawed her, his strength anchored her. All around her a storm was breaking, and he was her only haven. She felt the wetness upon her cheeks, tasted the salt upon her lips, and did not know that she was weeping. A sobbing escaped her throat before she could catch it back. She laid her face against his chest, felt his hands upon her back, reassuring, protective. They did not speak; they did not have to.
A dam had broken, and all the misery, all the suffering, everything that Kathryn had so carefully stoppered through the past years rushed out. Fear and frustration and fury. Hurt and betrayal and grief. In three long years she had not wept, not once. Now that the tears had started it seemed that they would never cease. She wept until there were no more tears to weep. When finally she stopped there was nothing. Just an emptiness, and the throb of her head and the gritty nip of her eyes.
She noticed then the damp wool of Nicholas’s coat lapels against her cheek, the warmth of his arms wrapped around her. Noticed too that she was standing, her body pressed into his, although quite how or when she rose from the chair she could not say. Neither of them moved. Both seemed content just to be, unmoving in the calm hush of peace. Steady thud of heartbeats, gentle rise and fall of breath. It was a place in which she could rest for ever. Seconds stretched to minutes, minutes dragged to hours, until at last his fingers found her chin, tilted her face up towards his, and Kathryn knew she could hide no longer.
‘I never meant for this to happen,’ he said.
‘I know.’
A little pause.
‘You know too that you’ll have to marry me.’
A rapid inhalation of air. She should have known it was coming. He was too honourable a man to do anything else, despite all that society thought him. A proposal of marriage from Nicholas Maybury, the man that she loved, the man of whom she had dreamed. She should have been ecstatic with happiness. But she wasn’t. He was a viscount, heir to an earldom, wealthier than she could imagine. She was untitled, poor, with neither dowry nor connections. Moreover, he was expected to marry Miss Francesca Paton, if the scandal had not already jeopardised that arrangement. Kathryn could not hope to wed…not as a fallen woman. She was alone, and would stay alone.
There was also the small matter of love. She felt it. He did not. Her eyes closed. She thought of Nicholas’s father and the Earl’s expectations. She thought of Lady Maybury and of all that the dowager had done for her. She thought of Miss Paton waiting patiently for Nicholas’s offer of marriage. But most of all she thought of Nicholas and how much she loved him. Her pulse steadied. When her eyes opened Kathryn knew what she must do. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I know no such thing.’
Nicholas gave a crooked smile. ‘You do now.’
‘No, Nicholas.’ She captured his fingers within
her hand. ‘I thank you for your kind offer, but I’m afraid I cannot be your wife.’
‘Kathryn, you’re ruined. You’ve no other choice but to marry me.’
Slowly she shook her head. ‘It’s my reputation that’s ruined, not myself.’
‘You’ll exist as a pariah, not received in any decent house. If you think your treatment harsh so far, it will only get worse.’ His gaze razed her. ‘Men will think you an easy target for their attentions. You’ll be subjected to the worst of their lechery.’
Still she did not speak.
‘You must know that you cannot possibly continue as my grandmother’s companion.’
Her head bowed. She swallowed hard. ‘I understand.’
The green eyes narrowed as if he understood for the first time the absolute certainty of her resolve. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Kathryn. You’ve no other option.’
‘I can think of one,’ she said, and her cheeks burned pink at the audacity of what she was about to suggest.
A tiny frown creased between his eyebrows. ‘Pray enlighten me,’ he said in a quietly dangerous voice.
Her fingers still touched lightly against his. She could not look him in the eye. Drawing all of her courage together, she forced the words out quickly before she could catch them back. ‘Once before, in St James’s Park, you made me…a different offer. Yesterday, in the coach on the way back from Brighthelmstone, you would have asked me the same thing. If the offer is still open…I accept.’ She felt his fingers stiffen beneath hers. Saw the incredulity in his eyes.
He gave a spurt of ironic laughter. ‘Let me check that I understand you correctly, Kathryn. You’ll consent to become my mistress, but not my wife?’
It sounded so brazen that she felt the heat spread from her cheeks to burn the very tips of her ears. ‘Yes,’ a hoarse whisper of agreement.
‘May I ask why?’
She loosed his hand. Stepped back. Met his gaze. ‘I would not force you to a mésalliance.’
He said nothing, just waited expectantly.
The explanation came tripping out of her mouth unbidden. ‘I am not titled or wealthy. Indeed, I cannot bring you either a dowry or connections.’
No reply.
‘And this is not the first scandal to attach itself to my family name.’
Still he did not speak.
She found herself rambling on. ‘It would not be fair to either Lady Maybury or your father.’ Her eyes darted away. ‘And then there is Miss Paton.’
‘What of Miss Paton?’ he asked, and his face was leaner and harder than ever she had seen it.
‘You have long been promised to marry her.’
‘Have I?’ His focus pulled her back, never wavering for a moment. ‘And what if I say that it is not true? That I have no need of more money. That each and every one of the reasons you list is nothing more than an excuse. And that the proposal I would have made you yesterday was one of marriage.’
She shook her head, knowing that his honour forced him to deny the truth.
‘Yet you still offer yourself as my mistress?’
The breath felt trapped within her lungs. Her fingers gripped against her skirt. She could feel his tension as clearly as if it were her own.
‘Why would you do that, Kathryn?’ he said silkily, and moved closer.
She could not tell him. Would not speak of love. That small last vestige of pride held strong. She stepped back, striving to maintain a distance between them.
‘You think that is what you want, do you?’ Without any further warning he pulled her to him, crushing her in a brutal embrace. His lips raked hers, punishing, hard, taking what they would. This time there was no tenderness, no teasing affection. It was a kiss to brand her, a kiss of possession.
She was powerless to resist such an assault.
At last he raised his face from hers and the determination in his eyes took her breath away. ‘I disagree. Besides, the offer I made you in the park no longer stands, Kathryn.’ He released her and stepped away, watching while she stumbled back into the chair. And then he was gone, leaving Kathryn more confused than she had ever thought possible.
Chapter Fifteen
It was early the next morning when a commotion sounded in the hallway of Ravensmede House.
‘I don’t give a damn what he’s doing. I want to see him, and I want to see him now!’ A man’s face contorted with fury as he strode uninvited into the drawing room. The volume of his voice carried throughout the house.
Within the breakfast room Ravensmede set down his coffee cup. He waved away the footman and without further dalliance moved swiftly and sleekly along the corridor to meet his father.
They faced each other across the drawing room.
The Earl was almost as tall as his son; his silver locks glistened in the sunlight that streamed into the room through the four large-paned windows. ‘So it has come to this,’ he said, ‘as ever I knew it would.’ His hand slipped into the pocket of his immaculately tailored coat and withdrew a folded piece of paper. With a deft flick of his wrist he unfolded the paper and, turning it round so that his son might see the printed side, dangled it between the tips of two fingers as if he thought to contaminate himself from its touch.
One glance at the sheet told Ravensmede all he needed to know. It was Anna Marchant’s leaflet.
‘You’ve gone too far this time, boy. What the hell do you think you’re playing at, dragging your family into your schemes? I didn’t think that even you would stoop so low as to attach such scandal to your own grandmother’s name.’
Not one glimmer of emotion showed upon Ravensmede’s face. Only the slight tension around his jaw betrayed the mask for what it was. ‘For that I beg her forgiveness. It was never my intention.’
‘God knows I’ve tried my best to warn you, but you always were intent on going your own way.’
‘So it would seem, sir,’ said Ravensmede coolly.
‘And what of this Miss Marchant?’
‘Surely your sources will have told you of her? It seems they have not omitted aught else,’ came the gritted reply.
The Earl’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve heard something of Mr and Mrs Henry Marchant. If that family’s character is any estimation of their niece, you are well caught by your own folly.’
‘Kathryn has the misfortune to share her name with those people, nothing more.’
A silver brow arched in an arrogant gesture Ravensmede himself so frequently used. ‘It matters little,’ he said. ‘It’s one thing to waste your time and your money with widows and harlots, it’s quite another to seduce unmarried young ladies, especially those that must make their own way in the world.’
Their gazes met and locked. ‘For once we are in agreement, sir. Nevertheless, I would have you know that the leaflet is nothing but a piece of malicious spite. Miss Marchant is a lady of unimpeachable virtue.’ In his mind he heard again the whisper of her soft voice. Once before, in St James’s Park, you made me a…different offer. If the offer is still open…I accept. The thought of what it must have cost her to say those words wrenched at his heart. She was an innocent…in every aspect of the word. He would not have his father think otherwise. There could only be one real reason why Kathryn had declined marriage in favour of a more illicit relationship. And Nicholas had a very shrewd idea just what that might be. ‘You may say what you will, sir, but I mean to marry Miss Marchant all the same.’
Lord Maybury sauntered to the brandy decanter and poured two large glasses. He lifted one himself and left the other for his son to retrieve. ‘I’m relieved to hear that for once you’re prepared to do the honourable thing. Whether you laid a finger on the girl or not is irrelevant. To all intents and purposes she’s well and truly ruined.’
Ravensmede did not move from his stance next to the blackened grate. ‘I assure you that the leaflet does not figure the slightest in my plans, sir. I have intended making Kathryn my wife for some time.’ The expression on Nicholas’s face was one that the Earl had never b
efore seen.
Maybury grunted. ‘And what of Miss Paton?’ A swig of brandy disappeared down his throat.
A dry laugh erupted into the silence. ‘There was never the remotest possibility that Francesca and I would marry. We would not suit, no matter how much you and her father will it otherwise.’
Silence hissed around them, and from both faces the same green eyes looked out.
The glass banged against the mahogany of the table as Maybury set it down hard. ‘I think that I should meet Miss Marchant.’
‘We may see her in half an hour’s time at Grandmama’s house.’
‘It’s a trifle early to call upon ladies,’ the Earl protested.
‘The visit has already been arranged: there is someone else whom I want Kathryn to meet.’
Kathryn lay awake all the night through, worrying over what to do. Sunlight was infiltrating the blinds and the birds chirping a lively racket by the time she finally reached a decision. Only then did she succumb to the oblivion of sleep. It seemed only minutes later when there was a knock at the door to her bedchamber, the pad of feet, and the rustle of skirt material. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and bread still warm from the oven drifted to her nose. Kathryn groaned, pulled the bedcover over her head and rolled on to her stomach.
‘Beggin’ you pardon, miss, but her ladyship said as how I was to bring you a little breakfast.’ The maid set the tray down on the bedside table and moved across to the other side of the room.
‘Thank you, Betsy. How very kind.’ One bleary eye peeped out from beneath the covers, just as Betsy raised the blind, and bright white sunlight flooded across the room. Another groan escaped Kathryn.
Betsy cast a curious look in the direction of the bed. Lying late in bed was out of character for Miss Marchant, who was normally up and about with the larks. But then again, if the gossip below stairs was anything to go by, the situation that the dowager’s companion now found herself in was far removed from normal. The maid wondered if the rumours were true. Lord Ravensmede was a fine-looking gent, and as the old saying went, there was no smoke without fire. Certainly Toby knew more than he was letting on; no doubt his lordship had greased the footman’s palm to keep him quiet. ‘Are you ill, miss? Shall I fetch Lady Maybury?’
Regency Debutantes Page 53