by Liz Carlyle
“Yes, it will be gossip-worthy, won’t it?” he crowed, seeing her dismay. “Tomorrow morning I’m sure you—and Lord Upshaw—will see the sense in an expedient wedding.”
Kate kicked again, sending up a cloud of dust, but Reggie just laughed.
“Yes, Lady d’Allenay and her once-betrothed have slipped away to rekindle their passion,” he said. “Or perhaps everyone will simply imagine your little sister besting you to the altar put your nose out of joint? In any case, I shall delight in Upshaw’s outrage—not to mention Quartermaine’s.”
Pushing at the gag with her tongue, Kate stopped long enough to grunt out another string of curses.
“Indeed, fit to be tied, I should imagine!” said Reggie cheerfully. “And Upshaw will be only too glad to demand I make an honest woman of you, Kate, since you will be ruined—just like your sister.”
With a wrench of her jaw and a determined push of her tongue, Kate dislodged the handkerchief. “You ruined me years ago, you damned fool!” she cried. “Why didn’t you just tell him that?”
“What, and have you call me a liar?” Reggie’s countenance darkened. “No, no, my dear, that won’t answer. Besides, given that trick your Bedlamite of a mother pulled, it will take a very public ruination to urge Upshaw’s sympathy to my side.”
Kate just shook her head. “Reggie, your desperation’s driven you mad,” she said. “I’m not Nancy; I’m of age and I’m a baroness, for pity’s sake! I’ll never marry you. I’d sooner cast my good name to the wind.”
“You don’t mean it!” he hotly interjected, leaping off the stool and seizing his pistol. “You used to love me, Kate! You—why, you gave yourself to me! You swore to marry me!”
“Before I came to my senses!” she cried. “I was just grief-stricken, Reggie, by Stephen’s death. Yes, I slept with you and agreed to marry because I felt so alone. So overwhelmed. Can’t you understand that?”
“No, you … you waited for me!” he cried, waving the weapon wildly. “I depended on you. And you were waiting, Kate! It’s not fair to now pretend you weren’t!”
“Is that what you thought?” Kate cried. “Truly? That I was … what, pining? Just biding my time until you returned with some platitude about begging forgiveness?”
“Yes, for you’d no choice,” he snapped. “No decent man wants a soiled bride, and you’re not even a beauty. Besides, I—I can make you do it! Do not try me, Kate! You don’t know what I’m capable of!”
“You’re capable of gross stupidity,” she said on a snort. “That much is clear.”
It was a terrible mistake to taunt him. “Don’t laugh at me, you insolent bitch!” he shouted, leveling the gun at her head. “No one else shall have you, I swear to God!”
“Reggie,” she said calmly, “move the gun away.”
Instead, he shoved it nearer, the barrel trembling. “Oh, how it galls me, Kate, to come to Bellecombe only to find that scourge of humanity, Ned Quartermaine, cozied up in my place! That was a grave mistake, my girl. I will not have it. By God, I will not.”
Kate was suddenly frightened. Reggie no longer looked like himself; his face was twisted with rage, sweat beading on his forehead as his hand shook with the weight of the gun.
“Just let me go, Reggie,” she said softly. “Let me go and we’ll forget this happened. Don’t be a fool.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fool is,” Reggie snapped. “It’s you, Kate, if you think Ned Quartermaine will do a damned thing for you. The man is utterly without remorse or Christian charity. He’ll toss up your skirts and go back to London laughing.”
“And aren’t you a fine one, Reggie, to speak of tossing up skirts and running off!”
“I didn’t run, Kate, I just had a little f—” Reggie had cocked one ear toward a distant corner, his expression blanking.
Kate became gradually aware of a sound; a distant hum at first, rather like an angry beehive, and then more of a snapping sound. Suddenly, she caught a whiff of smoke.
Kate glanced up to see it gathering in the rafters. “Reggie!” she cried, “there’s a fire!”
“Fire?” Reggie spun around, pistol in hand.
She could hear distinct crackling now. The adjoining cowshed. “Reggie, untie me,” she ordered, jerking against the iron ring. “Oh, God. My horse! Where’s Athena?”
But Reggie was running from wall to wall, feeling them as if for heat. Suddenly the smoke was roiling down in great clouds between them. On the other side of the wall, the crackle was rising to a roar.
Genuine fear began to churn in her stomach. “Reggie, we have to get out!” she cried, twisting her hands behind her.
Neither the rope nor the iron ring would give. Reggie shouted something—a curse, she thought, and turned, still clutching his weapon. Through the haze she could just make out his eyes shying wildly. He tried the door, but it seemed stuck. He flung himself at the first set of shutters and began beating at them.
“Reggie!” The air was thickening with smoke. “Where’s Athena? We have to get out!”
But Reggie had run back to the door. Finally he put his shoulder into it. A shower of sparks rained down from the rafters. Reggie panicked, and hit the door again. It flew wide and he bolted down the path. The door banged shut after him.
In that moment, Kate realized what true terror felt like. “Reggie!” she screamed. “You coward!”
Within seconds, a loud ka-boom! rattled the shutters. Kate screamed, and wrenched at the iron ring with all her strength. And then Edward was shouldering his way through the door, a look of grim determination on his face as he emerged through the smoke.
“Kate! Good God!” He shoved what looked like a pistol into the band of his trousers, and fell to one knee. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, but—oh, Edward!” She swallowed down her terror. “The fire! Athena!”
“Athena’s well away, and the fire is just a ruse—for now,” he said, his fingers swift on the knots. “Oh, Kate. Oh, love. I’m so sorry.”
“Did you shoot Reggie?” she asked, relief flooding through her.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
“I didn’t kill him.” He was tugging furiously at the knot behind her. “Should I have?”
“Oh. Well.” She gave a thready laugh. “I’m so relieved to see you, I can forgive that small oversight.”
The fire was above the wall and teasing at the far corner of the rafters now. Suddenly Kate felt the rope fall from around her waist, and Edward was up, hauling her to her feet.
Scooping one arm under her knees, he tossed her up and against his chest as if she were weightless, then shouldered his way back out the door and strode away from the burning building.
Reggie lay along the path—precisely where Kate had heaved up her breakfast—clutching one blood-soaked thigh. His pistol lay several yards away.
“You—you shot me!” Reggie screeched. “Damn you, Quartermaine! You tried to kill me!”
“I merely winged you,” said Edward. “Pray don’t make me regret it.”
Kate looked down at the man writhing in pain, and suddenly, the hilarity of it struck her. “It warms my heart, Reggie,” she said, “to see you rolling around in a patch of vomit.”
“You little bitch!” Reggie seized as if with pain. “I may never walk again!”
“Another insult to the lady,” said Edward coolly, “and you’ll never breathe again.”
Reggie shot him a vile look, then his face crumpled to near tears. Suddenly there came a hard pounding of hooves behind the cottage. Kate whipped her head around.
“Anstruther,” said Edward, his somber gaze drifting over her face. “Sorry for the fright, but it seemed safest to flush Reggie out. Can you stand, my love?”
“Oh, yes, set me down,” said Kate gratefully. “My arms were numb but they’re just prickling now.”
Gingerly he did so. When her feet hit the ground, Edward held her at a distance, his gaze sweeping down her, as if she were a f
ragile piece of porcelain. An instant later, Anstruther drew his massive horse around the cottage, throwing up mud and bracken.
“Kate, lass, are ye hurt?” he demanded, flying from the saddle.
“No, no,” said Kate, dragging a hand through her hair. “Just filthy and a little nauseous. He clapped some sort of drug over my face.”
“Weel, did he now?” Anstruther reached back his booted foot and swung it hard at Reggie’s arse.
Reggie squealed at the blow, and tried to sit up.
“Aye, ye glaikit fool,” Anstruther grunted. “I’ve wished to do that an age now.”
“I can’t believe you’d kick a man when he was down, Anstruther,” said Edward dryly.
“Aye? Well, I can’t believe you dinna aim a tad higher and save me the trooble.” Anstruther was looking at the burning cottage. “Flushed him out and picked him off, eh? It wanted a new roof in any case.”
Edward smiled at Kate and shrugged. “I’ve been in a mood to burn something down today,” he remarked. “It was this or Heatherfields.”
He had settled one arm around Kate’s waist, and seemed deeply disinclined to let go.
On a sigh, Anstruther bent down and hauled Reggie up onto his good leg. “Weel, hop along ye game-legged eejit,” he said. “You’ll be wanting Fitch and his scalpel, I reckon.”
“What’s best done with him afterward?” Edward mused. “Truss him up like a Christmas goose and haul him before the justice?”
Reggie looked on the verge of tears now. Anstruther chewed on his lip a minute.
“I say we just get rid of him,” said Kate flatly.
“Aye?” said Anstruther hopefully. “And bury him where?”
Kate gave a bark of laughter. “No, Anstruther, just make him go away,” she said. “Haul him down to Southampton and put him on a ship bound for some hellish hot, midge-infested island.”
“I can recommend Ceylon,” said Edward dryly.
“Hmph,” said Anstruther. He was rummaging through his saddlebag. “I’ll have him shut up in the village jail for now,” he said, extracting a length of rope and a large canteen.
“Thank you,” said Edward. “Kate, my dear, I had better wait and let the worst of the fire go out. Will you—”
“I will be fine,” she said firmly, taking the canteen from Anstruther. “I’m staying. Thank you both. Thank you ever so much for rescuing me.”
Reggie having been well bound with the rope, the big Scotsman hefted him up with very little help from Edward, and tossed him sidelong across the saddle, his expression resolute. But the rope had hardly been needed; Reggie had fallen into what could only be described as a state of utter despondency, and all the fight had gone out of him.
Edward led Kate around the cottage and up the hill. From this vantage point one could see the ancient roof burning briskly, but there was no wind to carry the flames, and no place, really, for it to go, given the damp. But the surge of anger he’d felt upon seeing Kate bound and filthy had rushed through him and left him almost sagging with relief.
Kate found a thick patch of grass in the lee of the hill and sat down on a sigh. “Do you know, for an instant there I feared Reggie might really shoot me,” she said, tucking her legs beneath her. “It came as rather a shock, really, for I’d imagined him too useless to seize initiative.”
“Reggie has been seized by insanity,” said Edward—who knew, he imagined, just what sort of madness Kate could inspire in a man’s heart.
She looked up and smiled at him, then held up a hand. “Come, sit down,” she said softly. “There’s nothing to be done for a time.”
Instead he went down on one knee and, having extracted a handkerchief from his coat pocket, soaked it with the canteen and began to gently wipe the dirt and soot from Kate’s face. “You look a fright, Lady d’Allenay,” he murmured, dabbing gently at a scratch on her temple. “I would still like to take a horsewhip to that dog.”
“I’m tempted to let you.” Kate lifted her chin for his ministrations, and when he was finished, she took a long drink from the canteen. Then, in a wonderfully unladylike gesture, she spit it some distance into the grass. “Bleh!” she said. “I think he gave me chloroform.”
Edward held her gaze for a long moment, then laid his handkerchief aside. “Kate,” he said quietly. “Oh, Kate, I ought never have let you from my sight.”
Confusion sketched over her face. “Edward, I can’t see how it’s—”
But the sentence was cut short, for he had caught her in his arms. “Kate,” he whispered into her hair. “Oh, Kate, my love. I could not bear it should anything ever happen to—”
“Nothing did,” she interjected, pushing herself a little away so that she might look up at him. “Nothing happened, Edward. You came. And Anstruther came. And Reggie is an ass.”
“I should never have left you.” His eyes were locked to hers now, his hand cupped tenderly around her face as he pondered what he might have lost. “Not with that lunatic on the loose.”
Kate broke the gaze, and turned away. “You didn’t abandon me, Edward,” she said. “I believe we made—perhaps foolishly—a mutual decision that you should go.”
“Kate,” he rasped. “Kate, love, look at me, please.”
She did so, her eyes wide and honest in the sunlight.
“Kate,” he said again. “Was it foolish?”
“Oh, Edward!” she said, her voice very small. “I lost my temper and I said things I ought not have said.”
He set a finger to her lips. “And I was not honest with you, Kate,” he said. “As soon as I remembered about Annie, I should have told—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I was mad at Mamma—and perhaps even that was wrong—but I certainly had no right to demand—”
“I give you the right,” he said swiftly. “I give you the right, Kate, to demand of me whatever you need, now and ever after. It’s not as if I don’t trust you. It is not. It never has been. It’s just that Annie is a part of my life that I’ve always … well, reflexively clouded, is the best way to put it.”
“It’s not my business,” she said, her lips thinning.
He took both her hands in his. “It is,” he said, squeezing them. “But Kate, I did not lie to you. Annie is not mine; I was a world away in Ceylon when she was conceived.”
“Oh, Edward!” Sadness sketched over her face. “And you loved Maria so much!”
“I suppose.” Edward swallowed hard and felt the cold uncertainty inside him again. “It’s so hard to know, when one is young. I was a hotheaded young fool, certainly, and she—well, like so many young girls, she loved the romance. The pursuit. The drama.”
“The drama?”
He smiled faintly. “I expect you wouldn’t understand,” he said. “You were not melodramatic, I’d wager, when you were seventeen.”
Kate laughed weakly. “No, I was painfully practical,” she said. “But many girls do love to swoon over tragedy.”
“And I was Maria’s tragedy.” He drew a deep, slow breath, then let it out again. “Kate, do you want to know? Shall I try to tell you what happened, as best I can?”
She gave a feeble shrug. “We do have time to kill.”
“Aye, we do at that.”
Edward stared down at the fire for a moment, contemplating how to explain what he barely understood. “I met Maria at Brighton one summer,” he began. “I told you her father was horrified when I tried to court her. I was bold and impulsive then, and enraged that he found me unacceptable. And, as it would with any young man, that rage served only to make me more determined to have her.”
“It is often thus, I believe, with young men.” Kate smiled faintly. “What form did your determination take?”
“When Maria vowed she loved me, I insisted she refuse the marriage her father had arranged,” he said. “I told her to wait for me; that I’d make myself worthy and somehow pay off her father’s debt, then no one could deny us.”
“And that’s when you joined the ar
my, you said,” Kate murmured.
He nodded, still staring at the flames. “Yes, but a few months into it, Kate, real life settled in and I began to wonder if I was that much in love, or if I was just angry over being denied. I was always angry, Kate, in those days.”
“I expect you were,” said Kate almost defensively. “You had been through a great deal. You’d been torn from your family—from your mother and your brother—and left to make your way in a harsh world.”
“It makes for a pretty excuse, I daresay,” he replied. “In any case, Maria wrote constantly, waxing over her father’s cruelty. How dreadful and overbearing her intended was. How stalwart and brave she was, crying herself to sleep every night. But there was something … something beneath all the words that began to trouble me.”
“Enjoyed it rather too much, did she?” said Kate knowingly.
He winced a little. “I became uneasy,” he admitted, “and I’m still not sure why. Perhaps I felt unworthy of such a noble sacrifice, or perhaps the drama wore me down, but I began to debate the wisdom of my obstinacy. It didn’t help that, before I left England, her mother had accused me of coming between Maria and their neighbor. She claimed Maria had been happy about the match until I came along.”
“Lies, I am sure,” said Kate defensively.
He looked up at her from beneath his lashes, his mouth twisting. “So I assumed …”
“But—?”
He sighed. “When I came home and found Maria dead, her mother flung Maria’s old love letters in my face,” he said. “Apparently, she had indeed written this man several. So I had broken up … something. I had not meant to. I had not.”
Kate set her hand to his cheek. “Oh, Edward, how were you to know?”
“She was young,” he said again. “I … I should have known. I should not have confused her. I should not have ordered her to wait, then gone away and left her. I felt then a little like I feel today—as if I had abandoned someone I cared for—and should have protected—at the very point danger edged near.”
“Oh, Edward. That is just not so.”
Kate was holding her hands in her lap now, clasped a little too tightly. Down the hill, the roof was still burning—well, smoking as much as anything—the dried and ancient beams destined to eventually fall in, he thought. He could feel Kate’s gaze upon him, steady and expectant. And yet he waited.