Ned had nothing to say in response.
“That’s all you’ve ever given me—words.”
“No. You can trust me.”
She clenched her hands and faced him. “Who do you suppose I am?”
Kate was the impossibly attractive woman he’d married, and if he’d craved her before today, he hungered for her now.
She raised her chin. “I was the one who waited at home while you strolled the world. I withstood the questions. I endured years of the betting books, and I held on to fidelity through all the long years of your absence.”
“I—I may not have acted as well as I could with regards to you. But that’s going to change, Kate. It’s already changing. Listen—”
“If you had really wanted to stay—if you had really wanted to keep company with your new wife, you would have found a trusted minion to take your place. I think you wanted to go. I think,” she said, “that like all young men, you wanted to sow your wild oats. And having lost your chance to do so here in England, by virtue of your unfortunate marriage, you decided to take the matter abroad.”
She raised her hand again, to tally that second accusation against his chest. Ned reached out and grabbed her fingers. “No,” he said. He could barely recognize his own voice. “No. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t why.”
“How many women? You were gone three years. In all that time, how many women did you kiss?”
“One,” he replied. “And she was you.”
She waited. The silence that followed was cold with her disbelief.
“I was young, Kate. Young and determined to prove I was more than a useless fribble. I’ve made mistakes. I wanted to show everyone that my mistakes hadn’t made me. That I was rational. Sober. Reliable.”
“And what did you want to show me?”
“You?” He glanced at her and understood innately why he’d left. She flummoxed him. Even now, peering into the gray of her eyes, he could feel a tide of want and desire rising. He’d had a million reasons to go. But primary among them, he’d fled England because when he was around her, that sober, rational, reliable part of him faded into nothingness. It left behind this dark beast, this needful thing. When she stood near him, he sure as hell didn’t want to honor her. He hadn’t wanted to keep any of the gentle vows required by the Anglican ceremony. No, standing this close to her, he yearned to possess her. He wanted to own the curve of her waist with his hands. He wanted to claim her for his own. And he was unable to suppress that longing, no matter how ferociously he tried. He’d hoped that proving to himself that he was steady and reliable would alleviate that want.
“I left to find control, not to dispense with it. I didn’t sow any oats, Kate. It would have defeated the purpose.” He could hold his wants in check. He was the master, not his lust, not his cavernous want and not his deep, dark fears.
Unfortunately, three years of intimacy with his own palm had done nothing to alleviate his physical longings. Where Kate was concerned, he’d not become more sober. He’d become less.
But she didn’t understand that. She stood next to him without the least bit of concern for her person. His hand was still wrapped around her fingers, and she looked up at him, not understanding the danger she was in.
Instead, she sighed. “I thought not,” she said. “When you left, you weren’t thinking of me at all.”
“I thought of you.” The words sounded hoarse and guttural in his ears. “I thought of you…often.”
Her lips pursed, but still she looked at him, her head tilted to one side.
“You’re wondering if you can trust me,” Ned said. “You can.” She didn’t know that he knew her secret. And he wanted to win her trust, not force his knowledge upon her. He waited.
“I trust you,” she said calmly. “I trusted you enough to marry you. I trusted you wouldn’t abscond with the portion of my fortune over which you were granted free rein. I trusted you wouldn’t hit me.” Her voice dropped on that. “I trust you enough to do my duty, should you require such a thing again. I trust you to put your own comfort first. But you told me that we had a marriage of convenience. Why should I trust you with anything more?”
“Because…” Ned began, and then ran smack into the hard truth of it.
He had no reasons. She was right. He’d left, thinking selfishly of himself and what he could prove. When he’d thought of her, it had only been to imagine what she might do for him. To him.
Even now, he was putting her in his bed.
Oh, why bother to travel so far? His dark selfishness was undressing her here. He was imagining peeling the gown from her shoulders. He would kiss his way down each rib. He was on the edge of forfeiting every shred of control he’d ever fought for. He was still holding her hand, crumpled up like a handkerchief. Her fingers trembled in his.
And yes, he was—and he had been—a selfish cad. He leaned forward. The motion pulled her skirts against his trousers. For one glorious second, he held her—her body, her sweet curves, sliding against him. He could smell the faint scent of her rose soap. One last inch, and he could possess her as he’d always wanted.
For one glorious, lightless second, he thought of giving in to his selfishness. But no. He was still in control of himself. Once she trusted him…
Slowly, he released her hand. She flexed her fingers in the air. She had no idea how close she had come to being ravaged in broad daylight.
“You’re right,” Ned heard himself say. “You’re completely right. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
Her eyes rounded.
He sketched her a half bow, and turned to go. But before he could complete that turn—before he could give her his back, one last strand of selfishness caught in his chest. And he checked that movement and stepped toward her.
“You’re right,” he said. “I haven’t given you much reason to trust me. But Kate…” Ned let his index finger draw near to her. She did not draw back, not even when he placed it on the edge of her lips. “Kate,” he repeated, “I will. I promise.”
Ned handed her his bag of peppermints and walked away, swiftly, before he changed his mind.
He had never given any thought to what it meant to be a husband. The duties, he’d supposed, were spelled out by the marriage ceremony: endow her with worldly goods and, when necessary, father children. He had only to look at Harcroft to find a husband who had done substantially worse.
But when the best thing your wife could say of you was that you didn’t beat her, you weren’t doing very well.
As for Kate herself, Ned knew he’d left England too soon after their marriage. He’d been as fooled by her delicate demeanor and her fine clothing as Harcroft.
He wondered how often he’d looked at her, not seeing anything except the exquisiteness of her features. There was more to her than he’d imagined.
A second realization struck him as he turned down the path that led to the barn.
She’d wanted him once. What would it be like, to don a mask all your life? To hide what you could accomplish behind layers of silk and lace? To do all that, knowing that no one—not your husband nor your family—knew the truth of who you were?
Kate was complicated. She was strong. And she was very much alone. He might do something for her besides meet the bare necessity of their physical needs. He could mean something to someone besides being a mere provider of things. He wasn’t much of a knight, and he’d just left Kate with the closest thing he had to a war stallion.
Still, he might be the rock she could stand on. He could be the arm she leaned upon. She wanted proof? He could start, for once, by letting her know what she could mean to him.
Ned swallowed again and clenched his fist. For a long time he stared at his fingers, wrapped in a ball. He thought of strength, of power. He let himself feel all the fear of failure that had once entangled him. He imagined it, a dark solid ball in his hand, all those fearful thoughts holding him back. And then, slowly, he pulled back his arm. He threw his fears as far from
him as he could. He imagined them soaring above the barn, high over the house in front of him, before plummeting to the ground and bursting apart like dry, baked clay.
Black magic, for sure; but he’d been crippled by doubts before. He didn’t have time for them any longer.
It was time to start becoming the husband he could be.
CHAPTER TEN
“I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING.”
That harsh voice echoed in the marble entry as Kate entered the manor. She had stared at Champion for a few minutes after her husband had left her, and then, confused and heartsick, had returned home. Now, she paused on the threshold, her eyes still adjusting to the dark of the interior, before she located Harcroft. He stood in the comparative shadow of the hallway, watching her. His expression was shrouded in darkness. Then he walked forward and the light caught his features. A half-mocking smile curved his lips.
Kate’s silk stockings were still damp about her ankles where the grass had brushed her feet. He looked her over; instinctively, she pulled up the black stole that she’d looped around her arms, covering herself.
He had changed into soft slippers and loose trousers. Smoke curled from the pipe he held in one hand—he must have just come in off the verandah—and he put his other hand up and leaned, negligently, against the wall. It would be foolish to draw back in fear, as she wished; it was doubly foolish to wish her husband present, to step between them.
But Ned wasn’t here. He’d walked away from her again.
Kate took a deep breath. Harcroft couldn’t know what she was doing. He couldn’t possibly have any idea. She’d do best to keep up her ruse.
“Good heavens, my lord,” she said warmly. “However did you guess? Was it the wet shoes? Or the damp hem of my gown?” She tried to keep her smile friendly; it was like trying to smile at an Egyptian crocodile without noticing the sharpness of its teeth.
Harcroft took a step toward her.
“Perhaps the hour of the day, just before supper.” She reluctantly pulled the stole from her shoulders and folded it; the action gave her an excuse to step away and set the garment down on a table. “Whatever it was, you must tell me how it is you figured out that I was just about to change my clothing. I had thought to wear my blue satin tonight. Do you think my mother’s pearl necklace would suit? Now, if you’ll pardon me—”
“Pardon?” He spoke in a low growl. “There is no pardon for what you’ve done.”
She stared at him, feigning blankness. “You feel strongly about the pearls, then.”
“You think yourself very clever, don’t you? All those backhanded comments, every last word spoken in front of the group. I haven’t forgotten a word of them, you witless woman.”
Kate let her eyes widen in shock. “Oh, dear. How inexcusably rude you are being, Harcroft. I know your delicate emotions are overset by recent events, but I must insist that in my own home, you treat me with respect.”
If he heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. “No doubt you talked to my wife about marital affairs that ought to stay between husband and wife. No doubt she offered you her own female version of events, calculated in typical feminine fashion to make me appear as awful as possible.” He spat the words female and feminine as if they were the foulest curses imaginable.
If he thought she’d restricted herself only to talk, he really hadn’t the faintest idea what she’d done.
Still, Kate blushed. “Ooh.” She let her eyes drop. “You mean…you knew about that? But how humiliating for you. And no wonder you are rude. All married ladies talk about the marital bed. How else are we to have a point of comparison? Infidelity is gauche. One must rely upon gossip instead.”
“Gossip about the marital bed? But I was speaking of—”
“If you must know,” Kate continued, “it happened years ago. Louisa was curious, and I had questions. We described our respective experiences and asked for advice. When it was Louisa’s turn, it was Lady Moncrieff who made the indelicate comparison to an undersized carrot. I never mentioned it. I promise you.”
That froze him in his spot. He licked his lips carefully, and then looked around, as if to ascertain that nobody else had heard. “An—an undersized carrot?”
“I would never have participated in such an indelicate conversation, I assure you. A lady should not speak about a gentleman’s vegetables. But you are entirely right to reprimand me, my lord. I sincerely apologize for listening. Sometimes, when ladies get in very large groups, our feminine nature takes over. And we do say some indiscreet things.”
“A very large group of ladies had a discussion about…about…”
All his bravado, all that masculine intent, had shriveled up—smaller than carrot size, Kate judged. He looked about the entry wildly, as if expecting a bevy of ladies to leap from the woodwork, all laughing at him.
“Don’t look so abashed. We only spoke of vegetables for a few minutes. I’m positive nobody else recalls the conversation.”
He looked slightly mollified.
“After all,” Kate mused on, “that comparison was rather eclipsed by Lady Lannister’s comment about a maid—”
“A maid!”
“—beating laundry against a metal washboard.”
He had nothing to say to that. His mouth gaped. He stepped back. “It wasn’t—no—have all the ladies been thinking that, all these years, when they see me?”
“Thinking what? About a very tiny root vegetable?” Kate held up her thumb and forefinger, slightly more than an inch apart. Harcroft blanched.
“No,” Kate said, imbuing her voice with all the reassurance she felt. “Not at all.”
He let out a breath.
“There were other descriptions,” she said cheerily. “All equally memorable.”
He stared, appalled, at the inch-and-a-half gap between her fingers. “Well. This is what you’ve done with your…groundless speculation. You helped lay the groundwork for a good woman—an obedient woman—to question her marriage. You raised doubts in her, about her lawful husband. And no doubt it was the uncertainty that you engendered that fevered her mind.” This track, apparently, took his mind off vegetables. Once removed from the horrifing thought of his inadequacy, he remembered his tirade. “You women, with your disgusting analogies—you caused her to forsake me.”
“Analogies! Oh, not at all, sir! They were more in the nature of metaphors.”
He was still underestimating her, and inside, Kate felt faint with relief. He imagined only that she’d encouraged Louisa’s complaints. If he knew that Kate had planned every step of the journey that had stolen his wife from her home in broad daylight, he would have used a stronger word than disgusting.
“Stop looking at me, for God’s sake,” he snapped. “That’s just—it’s just obscene.”
What was truly obscene was what he’d done to his wife. But Kate couldn’t let Harcroft suspect she was capable of actual cogitation—not that he was likely to attribute such a thing to a woman.
“Harcroft, I know you’re upset. But do try to see reason. I never participated in that conversation. You and I have perhaps not been the best of friends, but I’m Louisa’s friend. I want to help her.” All true; she hadn’t participated in the conversation. At the time, she’d been laughing too hard.
He glanced up at her, warily. But before he could respond, footsteps sounded in the hallway behind them.
“Harcroft?” Lord Blakely appeared behind the man. “Good. I’ve been looking for you. In the latest dispatch from London, there’s some rather interesting news. White has uncovered a woman—a nursemaid—who was hired from her home in Chelsea and spirited away.”
Harcroft looked down at Kate, a confused look on his face. “Chelsea? But I was so sure…” He trailed off. “I thought—well. Never mind.”
Kate couldn’t smile now, or they might wonder. And Kate could hardly disclose that she’d hired a nursemaid and a parlor maid answering to Louisa’s description, to take a paid tour of the Peak district. A nice bit of m
isdirection; now, if only the men would oblige her by being otherwise directed.
“It’s a very interesting report,” Lord Blakely repeated, “and we must decide what to do about it.” He turned back down the corridor.
Harcroft cast one glance backward at Kate. “I apologize,” Kate said in a low voice. “The laundry maid comparison was most unfair. I should never have repeated it.”
He nodded, jerkily, once. “Apology accepted.”
Kate held her tongue until the two men left, until their steps receded down the polished corridor and a door closed softly on their conference.
“A most unfair comparison,” she said to the empty hall. “After all, a scullery maid beats her laundry for longer than two minutes.”
“WHAT DO WE DO NOW? Do Jenny and I go to Chelsea, while you stay here, Harcroft?”
As his cousin spoke, Ned shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The council had convened fifteen minutes prior, right after Ned had come in from the field. Jenny, Harcroft and Gareth had all taken places at the long wooden table.
Notably missing from the conversation was Ned’s own wife. Harcroft hadn’t spoken of inviting her, and given what Ned now knew, he was happier not to have her present.
Across the table from him, Jenny shifted on her seat, her lips pressing together. She glanced down the table where Harcroft sat. Harcroft was—had been—Ned’s friend, not Jenny’s and Gareth’s. Ned had made the introduction. At his request, Harcroft had welcomed Gareth and his new wife into polite society. What might otherwise have been a difficult matter for them had turned into a few months of discomfort, forgotten once the gossip had been eclipsed by the newest scandal. Still, for that, Jenny was obligated to Harcroft, and no doubt thought her assistance on this matter would even out that old score.
But it was just obligation.
And perhaps that was why Jenny shook her head. “Gareth,” she said quietly, “it has been several days. If we venture into Chelsea…”
In front of them, papers lay piled. Reports from Gareth’s man of business were stacked neatly to the side of Harcroft’s map, complete with its prickle of straight-pins.
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