by Evie North
For a moment she stood, indecisive, and then she looked up at the driver. “Wait for me here,” she instructed him.
The earl’s coach had come to rest outside a particularly stylish house, three stories tall, with a portico at the front and a gravel drive for coaches to turn in. The windows were mostly dark, apart from several on the ground floor, and the door was open wide. Katherine could see the fine furnishings inside and the commencement of a broad curving staircase.
The earl had come home. He wasn’t going out of London, not yet anyway. Disappointment filled her; tears of anger and grief stung her eyes. Gervais could not possibly be here, right under the nose of the authorities. He’d be a fool to do so and Katherine knew he was no fool. No, she would never find him, and now she had lost her child as well.
How could she have possibly believed she could pull this off against the might of Mortmain?
And then she saw someone else standing against the light, a dark silhouette. Tall, broad-shouldered, his head held a certain way. She knew him.
Gervais!
With a gasp she melted into the shadows of the square, but he wasn’t looking in her direction. He was looking up at the stars.
He stayed a moment longer, then he went back inside and closed the door.
Gervais stood a moment, dazzled by the lights from the chandelier in the foyer. He had hoped Katherine would insist on coming too. Even though she couldn’t know the truth he had hoped, somehow, to spy upon her from the doorway, to see again the woman he’d spent his last night with.
But she hadn’t come. And who could blame her? His father had been very generous in his payment for the child’s guardianship. Now she could put all of this behind her, start a new life, become some other man’s wife, some other child’s mother.
He had tried hard to forget her, Katherine his fair beauty. When his father had told him what was to happen, that he wasn’t going to die after all, he’d wanted to turn around and run back to her. To take her with him. But his father had called him an imbecile, that he couldn’t have her, that nothing of his former life could be part of the new.
If he wished to live he must put the past behind him. He must start again, become a new man, and Katherine must never, never know.
In time he’d seen the prudence of this. His father was right. He must forget the past and look to the future. He had fled across the channel. Later, he’d returned, and went north to his father’s estates in Scotland and pretended to be a cousin called Jerome, and there he intended to live out his life as best he could.
And then word came that there was to be a baby. Katherine’s child. His child. A spark of excitement grew in him and a need, perhaps a selfish one, to have the child with him. His father had made the offer to Katherine, and although Gervais had hoped she might refuse—some obstinate part of him still did not believe she hadn’t—she had accepted.
When word of the agreement arrived, he’d swallowed his foolish disappointment and set his sights on taking the child with him back to Scotland. He told himself he’d be a good father to Anthony, and unlike his own absent father he would be there to keep an eye on his son’s wilder antics.
So, despite his father’s objections, Gervais had come back to London, putting himself at risk for his son. But that wasn’t entirely the truth. He’d put himself at risk because he still hoped that somehow the Katherine of his dreams would return to him.
Behind him there was a pounding on the door and his thoughts shattered.
Startled, he turned back to stare at the closed door, just as the earl came striding out of the other room, grim-faced, with the new wet nurse peering over his shoulder.
“Pray God it isn’t the authorities,” he said with a groan. “Hide yourself, son.”
“Let me in!” shrieked a woman’s voice, and it was a voice Gervais remembered. His dark eyes lit up as they hadn’t for months and excitement began to build inside him.
“It isn’t the authorities,” he said, and hastily moved to open the door.
“Gervais!” he father yelled, forgetting to use his new name.
But the door was open and there, with the hood of her dark cloak thrown back and her pale hair tumbling over her shoulders, her face white and her blue eyes blazing with anger, was Katherine.
Joy surged through him. He might have wrapped his arms about her, he might have kissed her. But before he could do either, she’d pushed against him, forcing her way over the threshold like a raging fury.
“You liar!” she cried. “You let me think you were dead! You thought you could lie to me and steal my child and that I would stand by and let it happen?”
He stepped back beneath her onslaught, and again when she gave him another shove. He still wanted to put his arms about her and hold her tight, but she seemed ready to fight him to the death. Explanations were useless right now. It was action that was required.
“No one is stealing your child, Katherine. Are we, Father?” he added, with a meaningful glance over his shoulder at the earl, who seemed frozen to the spot. “If you want your child then you shall come with us. Do you want to come with us?”
Gervais had taken the wind out of her sails, but Katherine was still furious. He could see her chest heave as she tried to catch her breath and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. God, how could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? In fact he thought her to be more beautiful than before, when Newgate had pared the flesh from her.
The earl came forward to join them and Gervais willed him to say the right thing for once in his life. “Of course,” he said, with a doubtful sideways glance at his son. “You should have said. I imagined you’d be happy to be rid of the burden, Katherine. And you were well paid,” he added, a hint of reproach in his voice.
Katherine gave him a blistering stare. “You can have your money back. All of it. I only pretended to go along with your plan so that…” But she stopped, shook her head.
The earl frowned. “Who told you about Gervais being alive? Was it Anila?”
Katherine said nothing.
“The child is in the other room.” Gervais gestured toward an open door. “Come along, Katherine. No one is keeping you from him.”
She gave him one last furious glance and then ran past him into the other room. He followed behind slowly, asking himself why she had come here and not simply refused his father’s offer. Was it because she imagined him to be stealing her child? Had she wanted to face him? Could she have longed for him as much as he’d longed for her?
When he reached them, he found Katherine standing with the baby in her arms, cooing at him, her face full of smiles. Briefly he enjoyed the sight, but they had no time to linger. He couldn’t stay in London for long. It was too dangerous. He must set out for Scotland immediately.
“Have you luggage?” he demanded, his voice rough with emotion.
All Katherine heard was his impatience. He didn’t want her. Not really. It was as she’d known all along; he’d never wanted her. She closed her eyes, briefly, but she knew his reluctance changed nothing. The time to go into hiding with Anthony had passed—the earl and Gervais would never let him go now. Whatever indifference or ill will was between them, she would not abandon her son.
“I have a coach at the end of the square. There is a bag inside.”
Gervais nodded at a lurking footman, who scurried outside.
“We will leave at once,” he said. “I have my own coach in the mews at the back.” His dark eyes were hard. “Is this really what you want, Katherine? Once you are in my coach there is no changing your mind. I won’t allow it.”How well she remembered him issuing orders!
But this time he would not find it so easy to browbeat her into obedience. Katherine knew she had to agree but beyond that she no longer danced to the tune he played.
“I am coming with you,” she said in a low voice.
For a moment she thought he was going to smile but then she saw he wasn’t even looking at her—he was looking at Anthony. Of course he was. Gervais w
alked away and Katherine stalked after him with the baby tight in her arms.
Chapter Twelve
Katherine had planned to breastfeed the baby herself, but it seemed that the unpleasantness and worry of the last weeks and days had worked against her. Her milk was drying up and, faced with a hungry baby and a willing wet nurse, she reluctantly relinquished her child.
At first it was difficult watching Susan with Anthony, but the girl was gentle and kind, and Katherine told herself she was fortunate to have someone so competent. “He looks like his father,” Susan said with a smile, and Katherine had to admit it was true. Anthony was the spitting image of Gervais, or Jerome as she must now learn to call him.
Their journey was a long one and she was glad to sleep, closeted in the coach with Anthony and Susan, while Gervais—Jerome—rode alongside or sat with the coachman. She could only think that he didn’t want to be with her—she’d forced herself upon him and he preferred to ignore her.
Well that was perfectly fine because she didn’t want to spend time with him either. He’d hurt and humiliated her, and yet by her own actions she’d placed herself in his hands. Although it was true that the white heat of her anger had cooled a little, there was still enough of it left to stoke the fires whenever she thought about how he had treated her.
Katherine preferred instead to remind herself that she was with Anthony. Surely that was the most important thing? She had her son and she would devote herself to him.
Finally they approached their destination, a remote Scottish castle set upon a mirror-like loch. The white turreted building stood amid a forest of trees, with the hills rising behind it, all reflected in the curve of water that lay before it.
Katherine stepped down from the coach and eyed her new home with some unease. The air was crisp and sharp, and apart from a few birds singing there was little to hear. Used to the hustle and bustle of London, she felt the isolation of this spot from her head to her toes.
“Welcome to my castle, Katherine,” Gervais said with some irony. He gave her a bow and gestured toward the thick wooden door at the head of some shallow stairs. A stag’s head carved in stone stared down at her from the lintel.
Gervais had strode ahead and she followed behind with little enthusiasm. How could the man she’d known at Newgate, the reckless and daring highwayman, the wealthy younger son of the Earl of Mortmain, transform himself into someone who would be happy alone at the edge of nowhere? But, she reminded herself, she had never known him as well as she’d imagined. Gervais was as much of a stranger to her now as he’d been at Newgate.
The staff were waiting inside, lined up to greet them, but their formal stares soon melted at the sight of the baby. They gathered about the women and Anthony.
“He’s your image, sir,” one of them, a black-gowned housekeeper, declared.
“Thank you, Mrs MacNee,” Gervais said. “See that our…guests are made comfortable.”
Katherine glanced up and found Gervais’s eyes on her. For a moment she couldn’t look away, there was something in their dark depths that drew her, but then he turned his back and walked into a room off the hall, closing the door. To Katherine the gesture had been clear enough; he didn’t have to tell her he wanted nothing to do with her.
“Your room is this way, ma’am.” The servants led her up the staircase, past elaborately arranged weaponry. She wondered if she should correct them, remind them she was a ‘miss’, but it seemed churlish.
Soon Katherine was in a warm, comfortable room. She noticed there was a bowl by her bed with oranges in it. The vibrantly coloured fruit made her smile. How long since she had bitten into the succulent flesh of an orange? Not since that night in Newgate, surely? Picking one up, she held it to her nose and breathed in. Delicious.
Her room overlooked the long curling stretch of water that, so a maid informed her, eventually ran into the sea.
“There’s a pleasant beach down there, ma’am. Sometimes, if the weather’s warm enough, the master swims.”
Katherine stared down, trying to imagine Gervais crawling through the water, or standing on the shore shaking himself, his hair dripping, his naked body etched against the wild scenery.
Something shifted inside her. A longing. A need.
And that made her angry all over again. How could she need someone who had betrayed her so monstrously? Hadn’t she learned her lesson?
But it seemed she hadn’t. Despite her humiliation and anger, there was a part of her that remained attracted to him. She’d known it from the moment she’d seen him again in London, and downstairs when she gazed into his eyes she’d known it too. Was it too late to run away? Should she turn now and take Anthony and flee into the forest?
As she turned from the window however, she saw her son happily cuddled in Susan’s arms, and Katherine’s thoughts softened. A child needed food and shelter and Anthony’s father could give him that. What could Katherine manage if she was on her own? Love wasn’t always sufficient, as much as she wished it was.
She might be trapped here with Gervais, but this was a big castle. It was likely she would not see Gervais from one day to the next, especially when neither of them wanted to be in the other’s company. Surely they could live here together without ever crossing paths?
Summer had come to the castle, and Katherine was slowly growing accustomed to her new life. Out loud she’d learned to call the master Jerome, but in her head, in her heart, he was still Gervais. She did not see him at all, apart from the occasional glimpse from a distance as he rode out on his horse, or as he was leaving the nursery while she was on her way up. Susan said he was very conscientious when it came to his son, and Katherine told herself she was pleased that he spent time with the boy. Still, she doubted he loved Anthony as much as she did.
Breakfast was taken alone in her room, and lunch in the parlour. Dinner was in the small dining room, where she sat ridiculously in state, again mostly alone. Occasionally Gervais would join her, but apart from a few bland questions about her day, they did not speak. And yet dinner was her favourite meal because there was always an orange placed before her for her dessert. The fruit was perfect, fresh and sweet, just as if it had been newly picked from the tree. Katherine thought there must be an orange tree somewhere on the estate, although she would have thought it too cold for them to grow, but however it had reached her, she looked forward every day to her orange.
The peeling of it became a ritual, the first bite an anticipated pleasure. Sometimes the juice ran down her chin and she caught Gervais watching her and thought he must think her childish. But the truth was she didn’t know what he was thinking.
Then one day she happened to reach the door of the nursery before he had left, and saw him smiling down at his son in a way that made her wonder if his feelings weren’t deeper than she’d imagined. His own father had left his sons very much to their own devices, she remembered him telling her, and she wondered if Gervais was making a conscious effort to be different.
He glanced up then and saw her and his smile faded. He bowed politely and left the room, and she stood and listened to his footsteps retreating. But even with him gone, she found her thoughts much occupied with him over the next few days. In fact she thought about him far more than was comfortable. There were things she wanted to ask him, things she wanted him to ask her. That night at Newgate they had spoken a great deal and she’d felt as if they’d exchanged a piece of their souls. Now, in a strange way, she missed that intimacy.
Or at least she missed the man she’d imagined him to be.
Such thoughts were confusing enough, but then one morning she rose early, yawning and stretching, and went to the window. It was a beautiful day, the sun gleaming like sparkling diamonds on the loch, the birds singing. She felt her spirits lift and threw open the casement, leaning out to enjoy her sudden surge of happiness.
Down below in the water, her eye was caught by a splash and when she focussed more closely she could see a man swimming in the loch. His arms
drove through the water, his powerful legs kicking up a foamy wake behind him, and she saw a gleaming naked shoulder and the curve of a firm buttock.
A tremor ran through her, warming her body inside just as the sun was warming her skin on the outside. She had an overpowering urge to see if the reality of him was the same as her memories. Katherine hesitated, knowing she should not, but the urge was too strong to resist. And besides, he wouldn’t know. I’ll keep myself hidden, she thought with a smile.
Not stopping to dress, she quickly wrapped her robe about her naked body and ran from the room and down the stairs.
The beach was not far from the gardens that circled the castle, with some worn stone steps leading down to the loch. She ran past the dovecote, hearing the birds coo inside, and then down the stairs into the garden, crouching low as the swimmer turned and made his way back toward the shore. Frustrated, she realised she wasn’t close enough to see him properly, and she wanted to. Katherine crept through the perennial border until she had a good view, and then she hid behind a clump of plants and waited.
As he turned his head Gervais spotted a flash of colour in the garden. He blinked the water from his eyes and saw a woman running, her fair hair flying out behind her, the sunlight silhouetting her body through the thin cloth of her robe. He’d chosen that robe himself, felt the silk between his fingers, imagined her lovely body clothed in such finery.
Katherine.
What was she doing out here at this time of day? Perhaps she was going to swim as well? But somehow Gervais didn’t think swimming was one of Katherine’s fortes, and usually when she spotted him she turned and went the other way. She’d been avoiding him and he’d been content to let her, uncertain as he was how to reconcile their differences.
At night he’d found himself tossing and turning. Their time in Newgate was suddenly so vivid; the feel and sight and taste of her filled his head to bursting. He imagined getting up and going to her room. Would she welcome him? Take him into her bed? He tried to convince himself she’d be the ardent woman he remembered, but it was more likely she would slam the door in his face.