by Laura London
“That’s not quite what I wanted to hear but it’s very clever. Did you make that up?”
“No. Shakespeare made it up.” They stopped at the tiled roofs far side and stopped. Drew looked across the level three-foot space to the next building and nodded with satisfaction. “Good. We can jump it.”
“Worse and worse and worse,” groaned Katie. “Drew, can’t we stay here and scream for help? You threw the ladder down and Guy and Chilworthy have no way to follow us.”
“They’ll find something. That old barn is full of wood. All they need is one plank.”
He took some steps backward, ran and leaped across.
“Jump, Peaches. You could clear twice this distance. If this was on the ground, you’d think nothing of it.” He opened his arms. “See, I’ll catch you.”
Katie peered across the open space and forced herself to jump, colliding sharply with Drew’s hard body as she landed. But her purchase gave way and for one terrible instant there was nothing underneath her. A small torrent of broken masonry was falling away.
“I’ve got you, Peaches, it’s all right. Damn crumbling parapet.” He pulled her after him, past a jutting air vent, past a pile of roofing material. Katie’s blood was roaring in her ears. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Chilworthy break into the open on the many-chimneyed roof. He loped across to the gap, covering ground rapidly on his gangly legs. Drew had seen him as well and yanked her after him as she gave a small despairing whimper. Without breaking stride, Chilworthy leaped confidently into the air, arms spread wide, only to do a ridiculous dance step as the parapet gave way beneath him and he disappeared into eternity, leaving behind a disbelieving howl.
“That’s one less to worry about,” said Drew callously.
“Oh, Drew, he must have been killed!” said Katie, her face shocked and pale in the dim light.
“What do you want to do, stop and have the obsequies?”
They picked their way across the roof. The sun had left them, taking with it the orange highlights from the sky, leaving them to flee through a deep blue atmosphere. The lamplighters were beginning to make rounds; tiny points of yellow light were popping into their field of vision. Another warehouse was looming ahead of them.
“Drew, look!” she said excitedly, pointing. “Isn’t that the warehouse where my father is?”
“Of course it is, sweetheart. Did you think we were plunging headlong to nowhere? Unfortunately, it’s a bloody twelve-foot jump from here, and the room where they are is on the other side.” He bent to scan the wall below him.
“Drew, be careful.”
“We have to get off of this roof,” he said. “The only way appears to be through that window.”
Katie looked over the edge and saw a small black rectangle positioned about four feet below them. Far down on the ground she could see the coach and four and three saddled hacks still chewing at the straggly grass.
“It’s impossible, unless we grow wings,” said Katie with certainty.
“No, it’ll be all right,” said Drew. “I’ll lower you by your wrists and you swing into the window.”
“Never!”
“Listen, we don’t have time for me to convince you. We don’t know where Ivo Guy is; he could be right behind us, taken a short cut. This is better than getting shot, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not,” replied Katie. “I’ve already been shot, I know what it’s like, and this is much worse.” She lowered her voice. “Think of Chilworthy.”
“Think of Ivo Guy.” He grabbed her wrists, lifting her bodily, and swung her over the edge of the roof. She cried out, feeling herself fall and then jerk to a stop, her legs dangling fruitlessly.
“It’s right in front of your feet,” he urged.
“I… I can’t find it,” she moaned, frightened.
“It’s down there,” he said encouragingly. “Swing your feet a little to the left and you’ll have it.” Katie did as he suggested. Her feet landed solidly on the windowsill.
“Now, hook yourself in there and you’re safe.” She let herself go with a little push and found herself, after a brief, terrifying moment of suspension, sitting firmly on the windowsill from which, with a great sigh of relief, she dropped to the floor. She had never been so glad to have done with a task. Drew followed her easily.
They were standing in a large, exotically scented storeroom, lit by flickering smudgepots. The sickly greenish-yellow glow from the pots reflected off ropes of garlic draped from the ceiling, and loose, fragrant piles created dark, random masses on the floor. Pipes of rum were standing in the far corner.
“Drew, what is this place?”
“Spice warehouse. Of the West India Company by the looks of it. See, they use smudgepots to keep off the humidity.” They headed across the room to the only door. He tried to open it, without success, and turned to Katie, setting her gently onto a pile of jute sacks stuffed with rice. Drew put his arm around her shoulders.
“I have a confession to make,” he said. “Now that I’ve gotten us in here, I don’t know how to get us out. The door’s bolted from the outside.”
“What do we do?”
“We wait. They’re not going to leave the smudgepots unattended. Must be a watchman coming around to check them.”
As if in answer to his surmise, there was a scuffling of footsteps outside the door. The bolt scraped and the door swung open to reveal—a heavily panting Ivo Guy, training a pistol on them with one hand, wiping his foam-flecked mouth on the back of his other wrist.
“Winded, Guy?” taunted Drew. “Don’t shoot yourself while you’re cleaning up.”
“You little rats,” he said, his voice cracking with exhaustion. “Which one of you wants to die first?”
Drew stood and put Katie behind him. “You’ll have to kill me to get to her.”
“Stop being noble,” Katie said, wretchedly trying to wiggle out of his arms.
“I’m not being noble, just conventional,” he said. “My upper class instincts. Guy, look behind you!” Drew pushed Katie face downwards into a pile of dried basil leaves while Ivo Guy wheeled. There was a rapid succession of deafening explosions and a fog of discharged gunpowder added its bitter scent to the room. A heavy thump shook the floor, followed by an exhale of air as Katie’s cousin breathed his last pomposity.
Katie lifted her head to see Lord Linden lowering his small pistol. Streamers of smoke were meandering upward from the barrel and lock, turning a sinuous lime green in the light from the pots.
Drew covered her eyes and shoved her face back down. “Don’t look, Katie, you’ll get sick. Wait ‘til he’s covered up.”
There was a rustle of cloth and Linden walked across the room to them. “Andrew, you’ve earned yourself a night at the most expensive bawdyhouse in London. On me.”
The rest of the evening passed for Katie in a procession of odd, disjointed impressions. There seemed to be a dozen people asking questions; her father, Zack, Winnie, Lady Brixton’s coachman with a bruise on the side of his face. Then they were home and it was Lady Brixton and Suzanne floating before her. Linden handled them all.
“Just put her to bed,” he snapped at Suzanne. “And let her sleep.”
So they bathed her and put her to bed, with a small nightlight and a call bell beside her.
Katie stared for a long time at the Montgolfier air balloon chandelier and then drifted unknowingly into sleep.
The next morning brought a cool breeze from the north and London sang with relief. Sparrows trilled in the trees of Hyde Park, puppies left off their panting and began to play, Lady Brixton’s housemaids waged war on the infinitesimal dust that had gathered on a day’s remove from their feather dusters. Katie woke in the same way she had fallen asleep, lying still on her back, staring at the ceiling. In her dreams she had tried to cross the wooden ladder to Drew, but it had stretched before her like a desert. No matter with what desperation or speed she crawled, she would get no closer to the other side. Katie rose and st
ood gazing out her side window at the garden. Thus she was found by Suzanne and Lady Brixton who had had the full tale last night from Drew. These ladies fairly bristled with compassion, and fussed over Katie like a mother over a favorite child with measles.
Katie sat quietly under their ministration, let them feed her breakfast, and dress her in a white muslin gown blazing with royal blue ribbons. She tried to let their generous comfort cover the painful echoes of last night, the thud of Guy’s body hitting the floor, Chilworthy’s scream as he fell from the parapet, her father’s voice as he told her kindly that he didn’t want her, no one wanted her, she should become Lord Linden’s mistress. The words clung to her, stinging like hot sand. Dear God, must it have been so public? How much more vivid it had made the words to see them met with Zack’s expression of resigned condolence, Andrew’s angry pity, and Lord Linden’s—well, Lord Linden had simply looked angry.
It was nearing eleven o’clock when a footman appeared with the intelligence that Lord Linden was below and requested the favor of Miss Kendricks’s company. Katie walked into the hallway and down the elaborately carved oak staircase. Short figures of playing children surmounted each column along the balustrade and Katie touched their cool hardwood bodies as she padded down the stairs, the sharply pointed steps mewing curtly under the weight of her slippered feet.
Lord Linden, she found, was in the green drawing room leaning against the mantel, dressed with careless elegance in a russet coat, whipcord breeches, and black leather boots. Katie crossed the room to him.
He said her name once, “Katie…” as if it were a greeting, and reached up to caress the base of her throat with his knuckles, feeling the rhythm of her pulse increase under his touch. “Katie, I meant it last night when I said that I’d protect you,” he said softly.
She stepped back, raising her palm to cover the spot where he had touched her, as though to preserve its warmth. “You have, my lord,” she said, a sweet uncertainty in the flower-petal eyes. “From Ivo Guy. He can’t hurt me now, so I don’t believe that I need to be protected anymore. I’ve been thinking this morning that perhaps your grandmother might have a friend who would hire me as a maid? Or Miss Steele might? Not a lady’s maid, I know I’m not qualified for that, but perhaps something helping out a cook, scrubbing pots and such things, or dusting?”
“Or maybe Zack would buy you back if I gave him fifty pounds,” snapped Linden. “Or, if we’re committed to that course, we could sell you to Andrew. I could probably turn a nice profit and you’d be much better taken care of.”
Katie retreated another step from the temper in his restless sable eyes. She stood still and fragile, like a porcelain fashion doll. “I’m sorry I made you angry,” she whispered.
“I’m not angry, damn it.” He reached out, drawing her to him, his arms tightening around the slight body, as though he could pull her inside himself. “Be still. Rest quietly against me. God, you’re fearful with me today. Does it frighten you to feel how much I want you? No? Then…” He stood back, studying her thoughtfully.
“Katie, was it something your father said to you last night? I see. And now you’re afraid that I’m about to make a dishonorable proposal? Oh, God, is that all? I thought for a minute it was something serious.”
Katie fought free in a flash, but when she looked up, she saw his eyes were light and smiling. Linden took Katie’s head between his hands, placing them tenderly over her ears, his fingers spread. He tilted his hands slightly, lifting her face.
“My bonny Kate, if you had sprung from a large family who was devoted to furthering your interest, I might have been able to seduce you with a clear conscience. Though I doubt it. As things stand… Katie, will you marry me?”
She stared at him. It seemed as though the very beat of her heart stopped with surprise. “You… but you must be saying that because you think you’ve compromised me.”
Linden kissed her eyelids, feeling the feathery touch of the lashes against his lips. “Katie, I’ve been compromising girls since I was Andrew’s age. If I’d asked them all to marry me, I’d have a harem like the Grand Turk.” He moved his thumb to caress her jawline, then her lips, which curved into a feeble smile.
“You’re only being kind,” she said bravely. “I know you are.”
Linden made a sound something like a groan and brought his mouth down on Katie’s. “Kate. Sweet Kate. The prettiest Kate in Christendom. There’s no help for it,” he murmured, his lips moving against hers, “you’ll have to marry me because I’ll never be able to bring myself to stop compromising you.”
Katie turned her head to the side so he cradled her against his chest, one hand on her cheek, his lips brazing over her curls. “You can’t…” faltered Katie. “Your family, your friends, what will they say?”
“They’ll say you’ve redeemed me from a life of corruption and dissipation,” Katie could hear the smile in his voice. “If I know anything about Grandmère, I’ll wager she’s upstairs writing our betrothal notice for the Gazette.” His long fingers slid under her hair to explore the fine skin of her neck. Then he stroked back the hair that covered her dainty ear and kissed its tip. “Katie?” he whispered. “Listen. This is the first time I’ve ever said this to anyone. God. I hope I don’t choke on it.” His arms tightened around her. “Katie. I love you.” He looked down at her, smiling. “I love you.” He recaptured her face in his hands, and turned it gently from side to side, dragging her lips across his, saying it again and again until he felt her arms slide around his neck and cling to him, her lips dilated and pliant. She pressed herself closer to him of her own accord, moving against his hard body in innocent unconscious arousal.
He laid one hand firmly on the back of her neck, and his other hand floated gently down her back, touching his fingertips at random intervals, feeling her trembling body, until his hand came to rest on the full swell of her hip. He became aware then of her own small white hand, laid flat on his chest with just a hint of pressure. “I feel your heartbeat,” she said, her voice quiet and interested. She was so close to him now, her eyes luminous, and suddenly their lips met in a clinging kiss, deep, passionate, and free, and they were holding onto each other tightly, trying not to fall, trying not to remain standing, but above all else, trying to be close.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “Love me. Katie, hold me.” He led her to a low couch nearby, and she felt supported and safe and close as he lowered her there and his mouth met hers again in a biting liquid search.
There was the quiet clack of a well-oiled door handle turning and a hesitant footstep, followed by Andrew’s intensely apologetic voice.
“You wouldn’t believe how sorry I am,” he said, “but I’ve been compelled to, er… keep you company. By Grandmère.”
There was silence from the low couch. Katie whispered something and then Andrew heard his brother’s rueful laugh.
“No, I’m all right, Katie,” said Linden, his voice still slightly thick. “ ‘Time in its aging course teaches all things.’ I should have locked the door. Andrew, take your hands off your eyes, you look ridiculous. What did Grandmère threaten to do, come in here herself? God, that would have aged me ten years. What did she say?”
Drew placed a light armless chair backwards, close to the couch. He straddled it, folded his arms across its crested top rail and grinned. “She said, I won’t have any innocent young lady under my protection debauched by a notorious libertine. Take yourself down those steps, boy, and into that room before Katie becomes the first girl ever to lose her virtue on my drawing room floor.’”
It was three months later when Kathleen Janette Byrne, Lady Linden, found herself snuggled in the depths of a great tent bed in her husband’s ancestral mansion. He had pulled her tight against his chest, his arms entwined about her neck, his fingers tracing shifting sensual patterns over the smooth flesh of her back. Katie felt the hard, steady flow of his heart under her cheek.
“Lesley?”
“Mmmmmm?”
“Thank you,” he said. Then, “Your expectations, I collect, were not high.”
Katie giggled. “Not that, that was wonderful. I was talking about our wedding this morning.” She let her hand stray through his hair; it was a silky delight beneath her fingers. “You really have an enormous family, don’t you? I mean, twenty first cousins! But I’m afraid that Lady Brixton did not at all like it when Papa slapped her backside.”
“No. But everyone else did.”
Katie strained the onyx curls through her fingers. “Do you think Papa will like it in America?”
“He’d better like it. The ticket I bought him was only one way. Come here.”
Katie laughed again, though this time the sound came from deeper within her throat. “I’m here already.”
“Closer.” He rolled onto his back, drawing her gently over on top of him. He stroked the little freckled nose above him.
“Did I tell you where I got my nightgown?” asked Katie. “Laurel sent it to me! Lady Brixton said it wasn’t a fit garment for a decent woman to wear and it ought to have been white but Suzanne said she thought it would be just the thing and that Laurel ought to know. Did you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. I thought you might not have noticed it much, you snatched it off me so quickly.”
“Poor Katie.” She felt his finger’s gentle urge beneath her chin, and raised her lips obligingly to his.
Between kisses she said, “I’ll bet when we met at the Maidenhead that you never thought we would ever be like this, together?”
“Mmm? Like this? I’m afraid, my innocent, that it was one of the first thoughts that occurred to me.”
“It’s very pretty of you to say so! But am I not too heavy for you?”
“Lord, no. Lie on me forever if you like.”
“I would, but we’d present a most unconventional appearance at your grandmother’s soiree for the prince next Thursday. Lesley, dearest Lesley, I’m so happy!”
“Good. It’s too late for an annulment.” His voice was muffled by the cascade of her auburn curls as he pressed his lips to her throat.