by Brenda Joyce
Kate followed her gaze and saw Edward, who had dismounted, approaching them. "Indeed it is," Kate said, smiling as if she were serene, calm, and unmoved by his appearance at Swinton Hall. Kate hardly knew what to do. She twisted her gloved hands nervously.
He paused before the two girls and bowed. "Ladies." His gaze was on Anne. "Lady Bensonhurst, I beheve?"
Anne had not been home on either of the occasions when he had called on Kate. Now she lowered her eyes while extending her hand. "We have not been properly introduced," she murmured demurely.
"I am happy to make the introductions," Kate said, sharing a glance with Edward while Anne's gaze was lowered. "Viscount Braxton, my dear friend. Lady Anne."
He bowed over her hand, then took Kate's, bowing over that. His clasp on her fingers was a warm squeeze, and it seemed overly long. "How lovely the two of you are," he said, smiling into Kate's eyes, nol even looking at Anne. "When did you arrive at Lord Willow's box?"
"We only arrived the day before yesterday," Kate replied, trying to keep her tone even. How very hard it was. "And we shall be staying another week."
"How fortunate for me," he said, teeth flashing white against his swarthy skin. "As I, too, stay an entire week."
Kate's heart did a series of rapid somersaults. "How wonderful," she whispered. "I had not heard that'you were back, my lord."
"I returned home but a few days ago," he said, his tone as low, his gaze unwavering.
Their gazes held. Kate could not look away. She forgot about Anne, standing beside them. When would he kiss her?
she wondered. He had almost kissed her that day he had driven her to the fair in his motor car. He would be in Swin-ton for a week. She would be there for a week. This then must be heaven. Surely at some time this week he would hold her passionately, the way she had been dreaming of being held and touched by him.
Surely this time, it would be their beginning, the beginning of something vast and magnificent, of something soul-shattering and eternal.
"Anne! We are to depart!"
"I am afraid I must go," Anne said. She smiled at Edward and curtsied. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Lord Braxton."
"The pleasure has been mine," he said with a bow.
They both watched Anne hurry away, climbing into a carriage with her mother and Cecilia. As the carriage drove past them, Kate was aware of both ladies staring directly at her and Edward. Then they put their heads together, and Kate knew they were speaking about her, discussing her prospects of catching England's most sought-after bachelor, and dismissing the possibility as ludicrous.
"They are such witches," she said.
"I beg your pardon?"
She was briefly horrified by the slip of her too-bold tongue, but then she saw the laughter in Edward's eyes, and she laughed, too. "They talk about me behind my back. I'm Irish, I'm American, and I am not fit to be in the present company," Kate said without bitterness. She was smiling. "I would respect them more if they would speak openly. How narrow-minded they are."
"Hypocrisy is an ugly thing," Edward agreed, "as is such condescension. Unfortunately, I have found out that the wealthiest people tend to be the most judgmental. It is a shame, is it not?"
"Yes, indeed," Kate said happily. "But I do try to feel sorry for Lady Bensonhurst. Clearly, in spite of her wealth and her position, she is very unhappy with her lot in life."
"How astute you are. You do know that Lord Bensonhurst is quite the man about town?"
"I had guessed." Kate smiled archly. "Does he really keep a French actress as a mistress?"
"I shall never tell," Edward vowed with a grin.
"Ah, I can see the truth in your eyes. Well, then, we must feel sorry for Lady B. Not only must we feel sorry for her, we must hope that she continues to shop her life away. After all, that is the only satisfaction she seems to receive in life, is it not?"
"It is," he said. "Many women would be happy with such an arrangement, a titled husband who goes his own way, not bothering them with his more pressing needs, but leaving them with a carte blanche for the shops and stores." His gaze was searching.
"Not I! I care not one whit for shopping, and one day, I expect my husband to be as smitten with me as I am with him." Kate smiled boldly.
Edward stared. "One day, beauteous Kate, you will undoubtedly have your wish."
Kate felt herself blushing. "I do, perhaps, have odd expectations for a marriage. I fail to understand why more men do not take their wives seriously. Why bother to shackle oneself to a mate if one intends to go about life as if one were not so coupled?"
"Ah, well, we all have our duty to perform," Edward said, holding out his hand. "We have titles to pass down—heirs to conceive—alliances to mold. Walk with me, Kate. Being with you again is like being let out of an old, musty closet and finding oneself on the seashore."
"You are a poet, sir." Kate laughed as they strolled through the picnic.
"Hardly." Edward laughed as they left the meadow behind. A small trail led them through a cluster of birch trees and into another field. "But let me say again, dear Kate, that you are a sight for sore eyes. Your beauty ties my tongue in veritable knots."
Kate knew she blushed. "You overpraise me, my lord. Do not forget, my tongue is too sharp, my freckles too dark, my nose far too Roman—I am hardly en vogue."
Edward roared with laughter. He halted, as did Kate. The
picnic party was no longer in sight. Ahead of them was a shimmering green valley, crisscrossed with stone walls. Beyond that, a series of stark hills faced them, covered in purple gorse. The sky overhead was perfectly blue, and the sun was shining, warm and bright, down upon them. "I like the fact that you are woman enough to know yourself, that you accept yourself with true grace."
"Ah"—Kate smiled—"so you admit I am flawed."
"I admit no such thing! I think your freckles endearing, your nose striking, and should you mince words, you would bore me as most of those debutantes have done before."
Kate's smile faded. As did his. A long moment passed. Kate said, "Has there been no one, then, in all these years, who has caught your eye and your heart as well?"
He hesitated. "Have you not heard, dear Kate, that my heart is cold, that I am an utter rogue, and that I will only marry when my father has either blackmailed me into it, or is on his deathbed and gasping out his last dying breath?" .
"Is that what they say about you?" Kate gasped, genuinely appalled.
"That is what the mothers who have set their caps for me as the husband of their daughters say, repeatedly. No mother, apparently, accepts the rejection of her daughter with dignity and grace. My reputation apparently is so black that no woman is safe alone with me." His golden eyes held hers. "Do I frighten you, Kate?"
"No." Kate's pulse throbbed. "You could not possibly frighten me. You can only intrigue me."
He reached for her. "And you intrigue me. You have intrigued me from the moment I first laid eyes upon you. You are different from them all. But then, you know that, and you are proud of it, and that, perhaps, is the most wondrous thing about you."
Kate's heart felt as if it were expanding to impossible proportions. "You shall soon embarrass me, good sir," she whispered.
"I don't think so. I have missed you, Kate. I have thought of little else but you since we met." His gaze held hers, darkening now with startling rapidity..
Kate's heart soared with joy. "I have also missed you, my lord," she whispered, "And I, too, shamelessly, have thought of little else."
He stared. A scant instant later he pulled her into his arms, his mouth on hers. Kate returned his kiss with one of her own. She felt him tense and knew she had crossed the line, becoming impossibly bold. But then he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, bending her over backward, all hesitation gone. Kate's lips parted; her fingers dug into his strong shoulders. The kiss lasted forever; but when it was over, it felt as if it had lasted mere seconds.
He dropped her arms, eyes wide, steppin
g away from her.
Kate stared at him with real shock, her heart beating so thunderously she thought they could both hear it. Now, for the first time in her life, she understood desire. "Oh, God." She did not realize she had spoken aloud until it was too late, and she pressed two fingertips to her mouth.
He stared. And finally he said, "No woman has ever affected me as you have."
She wet her lips. "Meaning what?"
His stare remained; it was unrelenting. "You haunt me, Kate, ceaselessly, day and night, night and day. My journey abroad felt endless because I yearned for you." He paused then said, "We should not be alone together again."
"No!" Her cry was sharp, startled.
Edward stared. "Do you know how dangerous it is for us to be alone together? The gossips already blacken me, and you as well. Should we be caught in such a compromising position, you would be truly ruined, my dear."
Then marry me, Kate thought, but she said no such thing. "I don't care about the gossips. I care about you."
He was motionless. "You are a woman without guile—a woman of vast courage. I care about you, too, Kate. Still, our emotions are running wild. They might run away with us. We must exercise caution."
"Why? What good is caution? Does that bring joy, love, happiness?"
His eyes were unblinking, and filled with a serious light.
"Should we live life fettered by the likes of Lady Benson-
hurst?" Kate cried. "If we should live our lives, always caring what others think of us, pray tell me how one finds happiness, not misery?" She stared, imploring. "I have found happiness with you, my lord. Do not ask me to throw it away because of a few bitter, jealous old ladies with wagging tongues who delight in causing trouble."
He reached for her and pulled her close, embracing her without kissing her. He held her for a long moment. "I do not want to hurt you," he said.
Kate pulled back so she could see his face. "And how would you hurt me, my lord?"
"My father plans for me to marry some proper English miss. He has a hst of young ladies with impeccable lineage, huge fortunes, and overly significant titles. I am a hair's breadth away from falling in love with you, Kate. Maybe I am already in love with you." His hand raked through his hair. "That would be a terrible mistake. It would be a mistake, for us both."
Kate drew away. "Love, if it is true, if it is brave, if it is strong, is never a mistake."
"You are too romantic," he said.
"Yes, I am. And will you always obey your father?" Kate returned unsteadily.
"I am his heir. I have a duty to him, to the earldom," Edward said flatly.
Kate remained motionless. Despair mingled with joy. He wanted her, perhaps he even loved her, as she did him, but he was honor-bound to obey his father, to marry some proper Englishwoman with an ancient title and a fortune. How could he even conceive of such a thing if he was falling in love with her?
Then Kate reminded herself of the power of true love, of the destiny of two fated souls. She had loved him from the moment she had seen him, that day at Brighton, and she knew he loved her, too, as passionately—it was there in his eyes, even now. Surely one very old man, powerful as he was, would not stand in their way. True love, Kate knew, would always prevail. "I will not tell you good-bye when we have only just begun."
He smiled slightly. "Did I speak of good-byes? I am not capable of saying good-bye to you, Kate. Perhaps that is what so frightens me."
"It does not frighten me," Kate returned softly, exhilarated yet again.
His eyes darkened and he pulled her into his arms another time. This kiss was reckless, so much so that they fell to their knees in the grass, where they remained locked in an embrace until a cloud passing overhead blocked out the sun and brought them back to their senses.
And later, that night, when Kate lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of her room, listening to the sounds of lovemaking coming from the adjacent bedchamber where Lady Cecilia was allowing Lord Howard certain liberties, she thought about Edward, his sense of duty, and their blossoming love— which they only dared to claim. Edward's father might disapprove of her, but that was not going to stop her from seizing her dreams. Kate had no doubts. A true love such as theirs was far more powerful than a seventy-year-old man who should have died well over a decade ago.
Kate fell asleep, a smile upon her face, dreaming of Edward and the future that belonged to them.
Seventeen
OHE SAW THE THREE OF THEM, AJVNE AND EdWARD AND KaTE.
Jill tossed restlessly as the sights and sounds of a dinner party became more vivid, more clear, finally coming into sharp focus. She knew she was asleep, and dreaming—and she did not want to dream. Tension kept her body stiff and rigid even as she slept.
But it was only a dinner party, she managed to think. A long table was covered in a blinding white tablecloth, crystal stemware, and gold flatware, with beautiful gold-rimmed plates. Overhead were three or four huge crystal chandeliers, illuminating the room, causing the glasses to catch the light. Several dozen ladies and gentlemen were present, all resplendently dressed for evening, the men in black dinner jackets, the ladies in bare gowns of silk, taffeta, chiffon, in a riot of rainbow colors. Gems glittered upon swanlike throats, dangled from delicate earlobes, winked from graceful fingers. Laughter mingled with the quieter tones of pleasant conversation and the clinking of flutes and wineglasses.
Kate was astonishing in her beauty. Her bronze lace gown daringly bared all of her shoulders and a great deal of her chest. Her curly hair was for the moment tamed, swept back and up on top of her head and held there with diamond pins in the shape of butterflies. A gold locket was around her neck. Jill recognized it immediately and her tension, and her expectation of dread, grew. She knew there would be two exquisite portraits inside, one of Kate, the other of Anne.
Edward was seated across from Kate, beside Anne. In his tuxedo and white shirtfront, he was outstanding—impossibly -debonair, elegant, utterly handsome. He was smiling, his gaze on Kate.
Jill could not see Anne clearly. Her gown was a soft blue, perhaps. Her dark hair was, she thought, curled and hanging loose. But her face refused to come into focus. Beside Edward, Anne somehow vanished among the other guests, as if plain and nondescript, as if she were only a shadow of herself.
Edward caught Kate's eye, lifting his flute ever so slightly in a silent salute, to her, for her, to them.
Kate hid her smile, casting her eyes down.
Anne watched them both.
Jill turned over onto her back, wanting to wake up. She did not want to know what might happen next. Kate was happy, Edward was happy, it was too good to be true . ..
The gardens at night, rich with the scent of hyacinth, freesia, lilies, and tuberose. A star-studded night. The guests were strolling outside. Inside, a small string orchestra played. Jill had never heard a harp before, but she recognized its melodious notes now. The pleasant harmony drifted on the night air. Anne, Edward, Kate. The trio was standing by a stone balustrade, not far from a water fountain. Edward said something amusing. Kate's laughter was low, husky, Anne's startling in its high, unusual pitch.
I must wake up, now, before something terrible happens, Jill thought, her fingers digging into the bed beneath her. It was cold, wet.
Why was it cold and wet?
Why was she so cold? Freezing cold, in fact?
Jill's fear grew, she froze.
Anne excused herself.
Jill felt as if she were there. She could not move. She watched Anne turning, leaving the terrace, moving with a grace she must have been schooled in since a child, wanting to see her face—yet not wanting to. Yet Jill could not envision her expression. Anne's small back was to her. Was she dismayed? Hurt? Angry? Or at this point in time, did she not
even care about the love affair unfolding before her very eyes?
Was she happy for Kate?
Kate and Edward watched her go. Then Edward touched Kate's bare shoulder. She turned to him, f
ace uplifted, eyes soft with love.
A stone wall reared itself up in front of Jill.
No! She tried to shout, to scream, the wall so close that she could touch it, push at it, desperately, but it did no good, it would not move. It was cold and rough beneath her fingertips.
No! Jill wanted to wake up. She wanted to wake up now, before she saw something she did not wish to see—not ever again.
The stone wall loomed over her. Jill tried to push it away with all of her strength, the effort costing her dearly, hurting her hsmds, her shoulders, her back. Sweat began to trickle down her body, down her temples, interfering with her vision. No! As she pushed again, the wall seemed to be moving toward her, leaning in over her, closing in upon her ...
Kate's face flashed before her eyes. Alight with love and laughter, the locket on the velvet ribbon about her neck.
And in the next instant, the image changed. Kate's face was stricken with fear. Her porcelain skin was streaked with tears and dirt. Her eyes were wide, imploring, filled with desperation, and she was reaching out, reaching out, something in her hand...
Jill sat up with a cry.
For one instant, she did not know where she was, still caught up in the dream, Kate's face in front of her, strained with fear, her hand extended toward her.
Jill clutched the ground. And only then did the dream vanish, as Jill's fingers dug into cold, wet dirt.
She inhaled, in that shocking instant realizing that she sat outside, in the dirt and grass, as dawn's gray light crept over the night. Jill glanced wildly around.
A mist was swirling over the grounds, but she could just make out the stone walls of the house, perhaps fifty yards from where she sat. She had wandered outside in her sleep!
Jill looked down at herself in amazement. She was wear-
ing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Her nightclothes were soaking wet and streaked with dirt. She realized she was just as wet, and freezing cold. Shivering, Jill slowly got up, pushing her hair out of her face.