Realizing that her concerns must have shown in her expression, Kitty shook her head. “Assemblies in Bath are quite reserved in comparison to this,” she offered by way of explanation.
“Not what you were expecting then?” Declan asked.
He stood close to her. Not so close that they appeared to be in one another’s company, but close enough that they could converse if needed. She wished him closer still, to feel the weight of his hand at her back, the warmth of his body next to hers. “No. It’s very different here. Livelier, less reserved and quite extraordinary. Bath is always about seeing and being seen… but there’s no real gaiety, no joy.”
“If we go back to Ireland, I’ll take you to a céilí,” he offered with a smile. “You’ll be in for a right treat then.”
Kitty didn’t answer. The crowd had parted and she spied Livingston, identifying him from the description that Declan had given her earlier. But it wasn’t Livingston to whom her gaze was drawn. Her heart began to beat faster in her chest and that all too familiar feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. They had far bigger problems than the possibility that he might not be swayed by her charms. It was the man who stood at his side who posed the greatest threat to her—to them both.
“Declan… that man with Livingston?”
“Yes?”
Kitty took a deep breath and uttered a phrase that very nearly made her ill. “Declan, that’s my father. We’ve done all this for naught.”
Declan looked at the man Kitty had indicated and muttered a curse under his breath. Of all the times, why now? An ugly suspicion entered his mind. “Kitty, how well acquainted was your father with Samford?”
“I can’t say. He introduced us. He certainly endorsed the match, so much so that my choice in the matter was rather irrelevant. They must have had business dealings with one another. I can’t imagine how else they would have become acquainted.”
“What sort of business is it, precisely, that your father is involved in?”
“He’s an investor. Father puts money in various ventures—shipping, imports, all manner of things really.” She stopped then, realization dawning on her. “You don’t think he could be part of the business with Samford and his uncle, do you? My father is not a kind man, but surely he could not be such a monster!”
“He knew Samford. He knows Livingston. What are the odds that two men involved in such business would also be involved with your father if he was not as well?” Declan posed the question knowing it would break her heart. Whatever her relationship with her father, she cared for him and wanted him to care for her. But at a glance, it was easy enough to see what sort of man he was to know, beyond a doubt, that Kitty would be disappointed in him.
“Oh, dear heavens,” she whispered. “I know you are correct but there is nothing I would not give for it to not be so.”
“I still have to get into Livingston’s rooms, Kitty,” he said. It was too much to ask, but he had to. Lives were at stake, after all. Taking her hand, heedless if anyone saw, he met her wavering gaze with a steady one of his own. “You don’t need to flirt with him or play the coquette now. But you have to face him—your father—alone. Can you do that for me, Kitty?”
“How am I to act as if I do not know, Declan? As if it wasn’t my own father who tried to sell me to Samford and who tried to force my hand by sacrificing my reputation?” she asked.
“I know he did those things… and I know from what I’ve seen in you, Kitty, that he’s done much worse. He has wounded you a dozen times over every day of your life. Tiny wounds that were never allowed to heal. If there was any other way, I would not ask this of you.”
She glanced over at Livingston and her father once more. “How long?”
“Until you see me enter this room again,” he said. “Whatever you do, do not let Livingston slip away until I return.”
“Then go… and make haste to return because I do not know how long I can tolerate this,” she said.
Impulsively, Declan drew her hand to his lips, kissing it in an uncharacteristically tender gesture. It wasn’t just desire he felt for her. It was something more, something else that ran so much deeper. But there was no time to explore it in that moment. It was neither the time nor the place. “Be careful, Kitty. They are dangerous men. Blood ties mean little to their ilk.”
“You be careful, as well. If my father is involved and he’s here, there must be a reason,” she insisted. “I don’t know what it is, but your estimation of his character, Declan, is correct. He is capable of it, much as it pains me to admit it. So go, and do what you must. Just hurry!”
“I will return as soon as possible. Just stall… as long as you can, stall them.”
With that, Declan left quickly. At the door, he paused and glanced back at Kitty. She still stood there, watching him depart. He winked at her and then slipped out into the darkness once more.
Most of the traffic in town was headed toward the assembly rooms. Few people were out and about heading in the opposite direction. It was easy enough to slip through the alleyways to reach the house where Livingston stayed. It wasn’t an extremely wealthy home, but there were still servants. Getting past them and into Livingston’s chamber unobserved would be his greatest challenge. Rather than risk the stairs, Declan used a tree growing in the back garden to shimmy up to the second floor of the house. There was a small ledge there and, experimentally, he tested it under his weight. When it did not give way, he stepped fully onto it and used the tools he withdrew from his pocket to jimmy the latch free. It slid upward with some effort and he was inside.
The sitting room was clearly one used by a woman. Sewing notions and a half-finished piece of embroidery work were placed on a table nestled beside a chintz settee. Creeping as quietly as possible to the door, he opened it cautiously and peered out into the hall. There were only four additional doors. So long as everyone in the house was attending the assembly, and they likely were, he’d make quick work of it.
On the third try, he found Livingston’s chamber. The trunks positioned at the foot of the bed were embroidered with his crest and monogram in a gaudy fashion. Offering up a quick prayer that he’d find what he needed, Declan set to work.
Chapter Fourteen
Kitty took a deep, fortifying breath and crossed the expanse of the ballroom to where her father stood. As she neared, he turned and faced her. It was apparent that he did not immediately recognize her. Was a new hairstyle and a fashionable gown really all it took? Or was it simply that he’d never bothered to look at her in years? Looking through people, especially if they were not of use to him, was a skill he excelled at.
“Papa?” Her voice was halting as she called out to him. She despised it and the weakness she heard in it. Even now, she’d do nearly anything for a kind word from him and she hated herself for it. Not that it mattered. Kind words would never escape his mouth.
He did look at her then. The nostrils of his thin nose flared outward and his lips thinned in immediate disapproval. “Katherine? What is the meaning of this? Why are you here in Bodmin? You eloped with Samford!”
“I did not,” she said, and stepped closer to him. She used the walking stick Declan had procured for her from some unknown source. Unsteady as she was in that moment, she was even more grateful for it. “He abducted me, Papa. I did not willingly go with him. He grabbed me from the street, hauled me into a coach and threatened my life if I attempted to run away.”
He sneered. “Then how are you here? Abducted or not, the bounder has ruined you and marriage is the only course! If he did not—”
“I am married,” Kitty offered. She saw it then, the quick flare of satisfaction in his eyes. If she’d had any doubt that Samford had acted with her father’s full knowledge and permission, that abated it entirely. There was more than a little answering satisfaction in her own words as she continued, “But not to Samford. I escaped him near Birmingham.” Given the events that had unfolded in Stoke-on-Trent, it seemed foolish to intentio
nally place herself there with Declan. The very last thing they needed was to be implicated in Samford’s murder. The less her father had to use against them, the better they would be.
“Married to someone else?” he thundered, heedless of the crowd around them. Several people gasped and all eyes turned toward them. One of the violinists hit a sour note. “How precisely did that come to be?”
“He was kind to me and assisted me when I escaped Samford,” Kitty explained. “Papa, you must be calm. This cannot be good for your heart!”
“The only thing in this room that is bad for my heart, girl, is you!”
Livingston cleared his throat. “I should head off and leave you to settle this!”
Realizing that things were taking a very bad turn, Kitty knew she would have to do something drastic if she intended to keep her eyes on Livingston until Declan returned. “Papa, I cannot understand how you can be angry with me! You’ve no idea how frightened I was. When I think of Samford’s brutal treatment and threats,” Kitty said. “Oh dear, just thinking about how horrible it was makes me feel weak. I need to sit, Papa!” At that moment, she allowed her entire body to go limp, praying someone would catch her before she hit the floor. Luckily, for her sake, Livingston, cad that he was, did at least understand rudimentary decorum. He rushed forward and caught her before she fell.
As if recognizing that they were beginning to make a scene, her father conceded with as much graciousness as possible. He signaled to a footman, and a chair was brought over immediately. Livingston assisted her into the chair. “My dear, how dreadful to be meeting you under such stressful circumstances, but how glad I am to meet you regardless. I am Lord Livingston, an old school chum of your father’s. And what fortune that you should be in Bodmin just as your father is! Might I ask what brings you to Bodmin rather than returning to your home in Bath?”
Kitty smiled wanly. “You are too kind, sir! We were bound for Bath by way of Bodmin. My husband has an estate here and after our ship went down off the coast of Wales, it was easier to come here first rather than continue sailing on to Brighton.” She was simply making things up and telling lies without thought, at that point. Please, she prayed, let me remember them all!
Lord Livingston clucked his tongue sympathetically. “My dear, what a time you have had of it! Where is this husband of yours now? Perhaps once your father meets him and sees that he is a man of means and breeding, his anger will be mollified.”
Kitty sighed as if she were somewhat put out with him. “He received a missive just as we arrived regarding some urgent matter with his estate. He is sending instructions for his staff and then, once that is complete, will join us here.”
Her father sniffed disapprovingly. “He is landed at least, and a gentleman, I presume?”
“You would find no fault with his manner, Papa. I assure you,” Kitty said. It wasn’t a lie, per se. Declan, when it suited him, could blend anywhere.
“Titled?”
“No, Papa. He is a connection of the Earl of Eastridge, however.” It wasn’t a lie. Illegitimate or not, there was a connection.
“Connection. Pshaw!” her father snapped. “We are all connections of someone! Is he a pauper or not?”
“He is not wealthy, Papa, but he is hardly impoverished.” The implication that he would likely not be inclined to share Kitty’s inheritance with her father was clear to them both. She could see the fury banked in her father’s gaze and feel the tension rolling off him. He was near to exploding. His temper, when provoked, could be vicious.
“Wyverne,” Lord Livingston cautioned again in a low voice. “You do yourself no favors by browbeating the girl in public. You must hold your temper, man!”
“Oh, Lord Livingston,” Kitty simpered. “Thank you. You are too kind, sir. I am still feeling very out of sorts. Would it be possible for you to get me a glass of punch?”
He patted her hand, his touch lingering far longer than necessary even as his gaze drifted to the décolletage of her gown. “I will get you some ratafia, my dear girl. The punch would not set you to rights at all, I fear. It has been rather liberally altered by some of the guests with liquor of unknown quality.”
Kitty made a slight moue of her lips. “Heavens! How awful! Ratafia would suit me well, my lord. Thank you!”
When Livingston made his way to the refreshment table, her father glowered at her with narrowed eyes. “What are you about, girl? You’ve never simpered and flirted in your life, to my eternal dismay! You’ve only ever been as dull and drab a church mouse! And that gown! It’s scandalous. Where on earth did you get such a thing?”
“It was a gift from my husband,” Kitty replied. She knew that every time she uttered the word husband it only prodded his temper to greater heights.
As if on cue, he threw his hands up in the air and began to pace in front of her. “I won’t have it! Some nameless man with barely two pence to rub together! We’ll get it annulled and find you a suitable husband!”
“That won’t be possible, Papa,” Kitty said.
“Why the devil not?”
She didn’t answer, but let her silence speak volumes.
The champagne glass that had been in her father’s hand smashed to the floor several yards away in a shower of tiny pieces of glass. “You little trollop! Couldn’t wait, could you? You’re just like your mother!”
Kitty felt her own fury roar to life then. “If by that you mean I am eager to be free of your presence in my life, most assuredly yes, I am exactly like her!”
Livingston returned then, a glass of ratafia in his hand. “Now, see here, Wyverne, I know the chit’s a bit impertinent, but this sort of public display does no one any favors”
“Shut up!” her father snapped at his friend. “It will be annulled, Katherine. If I have to bribe doctors and threaten every Member of Parliament! It will be annulled.”
“No,” she said. It seemed that being intractable was becoming second nature to her.
Her father’s hand flew back as if to slap her. She braced herself, but the blow never landed. Opening her eyes, she saw Declan standing there at her father’s side. Her father’s wrist was shackled in Declan’s hand and the quiet rage in her husband’s expression spoke volumes.
“You will not touch her,” Declan uttered, the threat implied.
“She’s my blood—”
“She’s my wife. And I’ll see you and any other man here in hell before a single one of you lay hands on her,” Declan vowed. “But I think your friend, Lord Livingston, is correct. There are things we all need to discuss and they’d be better discussed in private. Enough dirty laundry has been aired here already.”
Kitty spared a glance at Livingston then. His face had paled and he stared at Declan with recognition and no small amount of fear. “There is a card room set up for later, but no one is using it just yet.”
“Lead the way,” Declan said, letting go of her father’s wrist and helping Kitty to her feet.
Livingston and her father walked in front of them. It wasn’t private exactly, but Kitty had to know. “Did you find what you needed?”
Declan smiled. “More. Kitty, it will all be fine now. I promise.”
Following her father and the profusely sweating Lord Livingston into the card room, Declan closed the door. The sound of it echoed and all else was silent.
Declan let the silence stretch, letting it fill with tension, until finally, after a long and unbearable moment, Livingston and Wyverne both began speaking at once.
“Enough!” he snapped, cutting them both of them off. “You are not here to speak but to listen. Wyverne, Kitty might be your daughter but she is my wife. There will be no annulment and if you ever speak to her again the way you did moments ago, I will send you to hell myself. And you, Livingston, you’ve not only been naughty, but sloppy with it. I have the ledgers… the one that tracks all of your payments to Samford and his monstrous uncle. I know precisely what you, or should I say whom, you were paying him for.”
&nbs
p; Livingston was no fool. Even as Wyverne bristled, ready to argue the point, Livingston put a staying hand on the other man’s arm. “What is it that you want in exchange for your silence?”
“Sean Flannigan, Patrick Fitzgibbons, James Shaughnessy and Malcolm O’Donnell will be in your courtroom tomorrow. They are all to go free… and as for your dealings with Samford… no more. No more buying and selling of innocent young women. No more bedding girls that are barely out of the school room because you’d rather rape a child than risk the pox. A likely excuse, at any rate,” Declan continued.
“You cannot dictate what I do,” Livingston snapped.
“But I can and I will… in fact, since you so meticulously recorded the names and directions of your victims and precisely what you paid for them,” Declan continued. “You’re going to provide restitution to them so that they no longer have to whore themselves to keep body and soul together, you selfish bastard.”
Livingston sneered. “You’re a fine one to call a man a bastard. I recognize you well enough. You’re not a connection of Eastridge’s. You’re his bloody son!”
“Grandson, in fact,” Declan replied. “My father was the younger son… the one who has Prinny’s ear? And make no mistake, I have my father’s ear. While my own ability to make your life a misery may be limited, his is not. Remember that, Livingston.”
“And me?” Wyverne demanded. “I’m impoverished now that my worthless daughter has wasted herself on the likes of you!”
“You were impoverished anyway,” Declan said. “You should not have lived beyond your means with the expectation that an inheritance belonging to someone else should have rightfully been yours. And yes, Wyverne, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, too. You will never darken our door and you will never speak to or of my wife ever again… not to anyone.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Wyverne protested. “She’s my blood! She will marry as I see fit!”
Declan was done talking. “Challenge me then. If you want me to put a pistol ball in you, I’ll do it. If you want me to run you through with a sword, I can do that as well. I’m younger, faster, and undoubtedly more skilled with both than you will ever be.”
The Pirate’s Bluestocking Page 8