by Carla Kelly
“Kate, I love you,” he said, his voice almost inaudible to his own ears. I love you when you’re happy, and when you’re worried and trying not to let anyone know, and when you’re peeved with me, and especially when there is a look in your eye that says you wish I would kiss you and maybe do something more—even though you are too much a lady ever to admit it.”
He leaned over her and kissed her. To his delight she raised her hand to his cheek. He kissed her again and then let his lips rest against her skin where the chemise curved over her bosom. Her flesh was warm and smelled of lavender and Kate. Her hand went to his hair, and with a strength that he wouldn’t have credited in one so dainty, she pulled him closer. He held his breath in wonder as she slowly kissed his ear, his neck, and then his lips, each kiss longer than the one before.
She sighed and opened her eyes. “I didn’t think I was dreaming,” she said, her lips so close to his mouth that he almost felt her words before he heard them, a sign of love that made the room even hotter.
He didn’t want her to stop, but she stiffened her arms and held him off. “I was so afraid for you,” she said, her eyes on his. With another sigh that seemed to come from her toes and all the way up her body, she twined her fingers around his back and hugged him to her. His arms encircled her, and as she clung to him, he marveled how a grip so strong could feel so yielding at the same time.
He lay down next to her, resting his head on her breasts, pillowed there as she gently stroked his face. “I was afraid I would never see you again, Hal,” she said. “It was almost more than I could bear.”
He could hear the anguish in her voice. If he had any reservations about the depth of her feelings, they vanished in another wave of desire that flowed over him. I have met my match, he thought, as he touched her breasts, tentatively at first, and then with more assurance. I shall come to know this woman more thoroughly than I know myself, he told himself as he cupped her warm flesh and kissed her again.
That she was his for the taking he had no doubt. His inner sense that grew warmer by the moment told him that she would do whatever he wanted. It was an awesome power he had never possessed before, and he closed his eyes against it. As he lay there in her arms, she touched his face, and he opened his eyes to a glimmer of gold from the wedding ring he had given her.
“Kate, will you marry me? I love you.” He spoke quickly, impulsively.
Her hand stopped its caress of his face and he almost cried out in disappointment. It was as though his words, spoken in love, were a basin of cold water tipped over them both. As he nearly groaned out loud, she slowly untangled herself from his embrace, tugged her skirt down below her knees where it had crept up, and struggled to sit up. He had no choice as a gentleman but to allow her to move.
“Oh, Kate, please …” he pleaded. Please what, he thought wildly as, with trembling fingers, she began to button her dress. Let me make love to you right now? Let me just lie here and talk to you? Let me plead my case, even as I see you turn away? What did I say?
There were tears in her eyes as she pulled her tangled hair back from her face and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I love you, too, Hal,” she said, her face turned resolutely away from his. Her voice faltered. He reached for her hand, wanting contact with her any way he could get it now, but she would not let him touch her. “I can’t even fathom how much I love you. There aren’t words, only deeds, and we can’t do that.”
“Kate, we can if we are married!” he pleaded, his voice rising.
“No!” The word was wrenched from her. She looked at him then, her eyes huge and beautiful. “Only imagine what your family would think? No one would ever understand.”
She got to her feet, swayed, and leaned against the wall. “I can’t imagine what came over me,” she said, shaking her head as he reached to steady her. “If you don’t have any sense at all, then I must. No, Hal. Not now, not ever. You would come to despise our unequal birth.”
“By the infernal, I would not!” he snapped. “And who said it was unequal? I know you are from a good family. I know …” He stopped. She wasn’t listening to him. While all the protests filled his heart, she began to cry. It was the most hopeless sound he had ever heard, and it chilled him to the marrow.
God grant me a little wisdom, he pleaded. Without a word he helped her back to the bed, made her lie down, and covered her with a light blanket. The air had turned cool quite suddenly. “Don’t, Kate,” he whispered. He stood looking at her for a long moment, then touched her hair. “I do not require that you trade your dignity. I am sorry I spoke so.”
Without another word he let himself from the bedroom. He closed the door and leaned against it a moment, bereft of all energy. I have left my strength behind in that room, he thought, and then forced himself to remain calm. I must think.
He came back into the green room, where only Malcolm and Ivy waited now. They sat close together, holding hands, and the pain of his own empty hands washed all over him again.
Malcolm looked up from his contemplation of his wife. “May we wish you happy?” he asked.
The marquess shook his head. “No, you may not. Kate insists on being sensible.”
Hal sat down. The knot on his head, which he had forgotten about, began to throb again. He felt old and tired as he rested his head in his hands. “Malcolm, this may require some creative planning.”
When he looked up again, the Bladesworths were gone. He heard Kate’s quiet tread past the green room, where she hesitated and then moved on. He thought about everything, and nothing, and when he finally stood up to go to bed, he was feeling quite creative, indeed. And audacious, still very much in love with Mrs. Hal Hampton. “There is more than one way to skin a wife,” he said and managed a smile he did not quite feel. “If you have thrown down the gauntlet, well then, I have picked it up.”
Chapter 15
To say that the week before the opening of Well Married was purgatory would have been to put a rosy gloss on the matter. In all the history of the world, Kate Billings knew there never could have been a more terrible span of seven days.
The first morning was difficult enough, as she lay on her pallet and mentally kicked herself for ever letting the marquess know how much she cared. I must be an idiot, she thought, and her face burned from the memory of her behavior the night before. Could I actually have kissed him like that, and not once, but over and over? He could have taken me right then in the Bladesworths’ bed, and I would have let him, without a single complaint. I did everything but spread my legs.
That it was shameful behavior, she was acutely conscious. Her own upbringing may have been casually eccentric, but she knew better than to allow a man to fondle her that way and offer no objections. Had it been anyone else, she would never have come so close to abandoning her virtue. But it was Hal, and she would have done anything for him.
The others still slept, so she got up in silence, unable to lie quietly under such torment. As she dressed, she glanced over at Maria’s bed. It was empty. She must already have gone to see about the runner. “Will, you are in good hands,” she said softly as she straightened the blankets on Maria’s bed, which looked as rumpled and restless as her own twisted sheets.
During all those interminable hours yesterday everyone had seen a different Maria. With no joking or wisecracks she had stayed close to Will’s side, keeping a cool cloth pressed to the bump on his forehead and murmuring to him quietly when he opened his eyes. She would not leave his side until he was fully conscious, and only then did she allow Phoebe to cajole her into eating dinner. Before the rest of them had scarcely begun, she was finished and back at Will’s side, holding his hand, saying nothing, but speaking volumes with her eyes.
Malcolm had watched her go and then turned to Ivy. “My dear, our little girls are growing up,” was all he said.
But I am grown, Kate thought as she left the bedroom without a sound, tiptoeing on stockinged feet and carrying her shoes. She went to the stage, avoiding the green
room and the next room where the men slept, and sat down on the apron, looking out over the empty chairs. The paint smell was strong, but not unpleasant. Today they would move some plants into the lobby and hope for the arrival of the lobby carpet Ivy had purchased for a song and the price of a billboard in the merchant’s shop window.
It is my theatre, she thought, and felt a spark of pride. It was a beautiful building, with cream-colored walls, elegant gilt chandeliers and sconces. If the curtain was shabby and patched in places, no one would notice when the play began. We will spin our little story for their entertainment and portray people we are not. They will laugh and forget their own problems, large and small, for a few hours, and then we will all go back and become the people we were before the play began.
And through all this theatre magic, I must remember who I am, she reminded herself. I am a twenty-six-year-old spinster with no prospects beyond this theatre, which may succeed or may fail, depending on the whims of chance. I am in love with someone who can do much better for himself, if he will only give it a little exertion.
She looked at the ring on her left hand and took it off. Her hand seemed bare without Hal’s ring. “Oh, God,” she whispered out loud. “How can I bear this?” He would probably want the ring back when his adventure was over and he returned to life in London. He could take the ring, but already, after only a month of wearing the wedding band, the skin underneath was whiter than the rest of her fingers. Somehow, whether on or off her fingers, the wedding band would be there to tease her.
She put the ring back on her finger. Drat the marquess, anyway. She had felt nothing beyond a casual interest at first, and a certain guilt at striking him with a candlestick. And then they were thrown into a closer relationship to protect him from the runner, who seemed to know everything anyway, and his nephew Algernon, who was out to do him harm. How did he become so attractive to her?
He was tall and inclined to plumpness and had none of the robust good looks of Gerald Broussard or even Will. She had to smile, in spite of herself. Lord Grayson was not in the image of any girl’s prayers for a husband. But he was kind, willing to try new things, and not embarrassed of making a fool of himself on stage, as she was. He always seemed to have time for her, and when she was with him—even in a crowd of Bladesworths, as was usually the case—she felt as though they were the only ones in the room. And after those breathless moments last night, she knew how much he wanted her.
I must speak to him, she thought. I must apologize for my unseemly behavior and beg his pardon, and pray that he hurries up and returns to London before I embarrass myself again. Kate put on her shoes and got to her feet. She heard someone in the wings and held her breath. Don’t let it be Hal, she prayed. I am not ready yet. I must compose myself.
It was Davy. He waved her a cheerful greeting.
“Is Will feeling more the thing?” she asked as he came closer.
“He’ll do. Said his head pounds like a drum.” He made a face. “He and Maria are making such sheep’s eyes at each other! It’s enough to put me off my feed!”
Kate laughed. “And Maria is standing sentinel?”
Davy nodded. “I would rather be raking old leaves outside than watching the two of them.” He jumped off the front of the stage, heading toward the entrance.
“Wait, Davy,” she called. “Could you … could you ask the marquess to come out? I need to speak to him.”
Davy stopped. “He’s already up, dressed, and out, Kate. Said he had something important to do that couldn’t wait.”
Inwardly sighing with relief, she waved Davy on. If he is wise, he is renting himself a post chaise for a speedy return to London, she thought, and then corrected herself. He would never leave before the play, not when so many depended on him. Fresh doubts assailed her. Hadn’t Abner Sheffield said he was lazy and inclined to frivolity? Wouldn’t it be entirely in character for him to abandon ship at this point? I will not consider such a thing, she told herself, but doubts continued to pinch at her. Surely he would not leave everyone in the lurch, not when they needed Antonionus Pinchbeck to woo Agatha Rowbottom?
She kept her fears to herself through breakfast and a brief visit with Will, who was protesting Maria’s loving tyranny over him.
“Kate, tell her that I am perfectly able to be up!” he insisted. “It is only a small bump!”
Kate twinkled her eyes at Maria, who smiled back. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering,” she said. “Whatever Maria says, that will I agree to.”
Maria put her hands possessively on Will’s chest. “And Maria says he is not to stir until this evening’s rehearsal.”
“There you have it, sir,” Kate replied. “You can petition no higher tribunal.”
As the morning wore on and Hal did not return, Kate joined Ivy and Phoebe in the wardrobe room, where the women were putting the final touches on a coat for Squire Pinchbeck. Ivy patted the seat beside her and put the suit coat in her lap. “Since this is for your fubsy suitor, you can sew his buttons,” Ivy said, handing her a needle and thread.
“My fubsy … I tell you, he is not my suitor!” Kate burst out, close to tears.
Ivy patted her hand. “In the play, my dear, in the play,” she soothed.
“Oh yes, the play,” Kate mumbled as she bent over the coat. The women were kind enough to overlook her outburst as they spoke of trivialities and then traded lines.
The hours dragged by. Kate was about to rip her hair out by the roots when the marquess strolled into the room. He nodded to the ladies. “Malcolm told me you wanted to see me for a fitting,” he said to Ivy, so casual that Kate wanted to rake her fingernails down his face.
“Help him into the coat, will you, Kate?” Ivy said. “Oh, I do believe I hear Malcolm.” She handed Kate a chalk marker. “If it is too large, mark where the seams should fall.” She left the room. Phoebe followed a moment later, murmuring something about finding Maria, who probably had no wish to be found.
They were alone in the wardrobe room. Kate looked about for escape, but the marquess was removing his coat. He held out his arms while Kate, her face red, helped him into the costume. It fit well across the shoulders without a crease. She patted the material into place, thinking of last night, with her arms locked tight across his back, pressing him to her.
The sleeves were a trifle long, so she marked them with chalk, angry that her hand was shaking. She knelt to pin the coat’s hem, which hung to his knees in fashionable Georgian style. “Lord Grayson, I must apologize for last night,” she began, her mouth full of pins and not daring to look him in the face.
“I won’t listen to a word until you take those pins out of your mouth,” he said, a touch of humor in his voice. “I mean, what kind of an example will you set for our daughters if you carry pins in your mouth as you teach them to sew?”
She spit out the pins and sat back on her heels, gaping at him in amazement. “You cannot possibly be serious!” she exclaimed.
“Well, of course I am,” he replied, the amusement deepening. “After all, children do tend to imitate their parents, and I know you will be a careful mother. It’s just a little bad habit.”
She stood up and stamped her foot. “You great big looby, I am trying to apologize for my unseemly behavior last night, and you speak of our children? Sir, have you been in the sun too long?”
He took her by the arms. “My dearest Kate, you have nothing to apologize for.”
“I behaved like a … a … a light-skirt,” she whispered, breaking free of his grasp. “I am so ashamed.”
“I thought it entirely appropriate and altogether endearing,” he said, his voice soft. “You behaved like a woman in love.”
“I am nothing of the kind!” she exclaimed.
He was silent, watching her. “Very well, then, have it your way,” he said at last, his good humor unruffled. He removed the coat carefully, looking out for pins. “You are more contrary than Balaam’s ass, but I shall overlook it. I am sure I have faults unnumbered that y
ou will have to wink at, once we are leg-shackled.”
She knelt to pick up the pins, unable to look him in the eyes. Hot tears stung her eyes. “You are so provoking, Lord Grayson! We will not be married. I told you that last night.”
She could feel his eyes on her, but she could not bear to look up. “We shall see,” he said. He patted her on the hip as she crept along on all fours, searching for the pins she had scattered about. “By the way, the runner is about, so be more loving, dear wife.”
Another pat, this one more of a caress, and he was gone. She sat down on the floor, amazed at his audacity, wondering how he could make a joke out of the heavy events of last night, and then grateful that he could tease so lightly. She discovered, to her peace of mind, that it was impossible to remain embarrassed.
She pulled the coat into her lap and continued with the buttons. Listening for a moment to make sure that no one was coming, she lifted the coat to her nose and sniffed the collar lining. It smelled of bay rum. “Oh, Hal,” she whispered into the fragrant fabric. “You are so dear to me.”
They assembled that night for the first complete run-through. “Now, remember,” Malcolm admonished. “We will stop at nothing!”
Gerald raised his hand. “There is one problem.”
“Only one? You are an optimist,” said Malcolm, and the cast laughed.
“We still do not have a vicar for the fifth act,” Gerald reminded Bladesworth. “One or the other of us has been reading the part, but we do need to fill it.”
“Let me make the arrangement,” the marquess spoke up. “I met someone this morning who will do the part, if I ask him nicely enough.”
Malcolm nodded. “It is a simple matter. All he has to do is read the marriage lines. We can steer him around the stage.”