Hope Tarr

by Untamed

  He sucked in his breath when she found him and thrust. A small bead of moisture blessed her palm. She smiled, and so did he.

  “Tell me, my lady wife, just how many men is it you’ve seen—naked men, mind?”

  He had her there. Sliding her fingers along the length of him, Kate faltered. “Well, none before you. But I did once see a photograph of Da Vinci’s David. Though he’s wearing a fig leaf, I could glimpse sufficient to, um … use my imagination to fill in the rest.” Her husband exceeded her most elaborate fantasies in that department, as well as every other way.

  Rourke threw back his head and guffawed.

  It was Kate’s turn to blush. It seemed the natural order between them was once more restored, for she felt her face flame. “What? What did I say?”

  Rather than answer, he flipped her over on her back and rolled atop her. A hand braced on either side of her pillow, he shook his head. “God, Kate, you do please me. You please me mightily. Not only are you beautiful, clever, and saucy, but as I’ve discovered of late, you’re also ticklish.” He leaned in to tweak her belly.

  “Rourke, no! No!”

  Giggling, Kate pushed against his chest, futile though that was. Her husband was solid as a stone wall and nearly as implacable. Not that she really wanted to budge him so much as an inch. If the past week’s bliss had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t have to be in complete control every waking moment. She’d taken the week off, leaving the reins of household management in Hattie’s more than capable hands. Amazingly, the earth had managed to continue to rotate and the sun to come up in the morning and set again in the evening, all without her guiding hand.

  Perhaps being married wasn’t so very bad after all. It was good to have a helpmate, a partner. Provided that partner was Rourke, she had little to complain of these days. She looked up at his grinning face, the rush of feeling, of love, she felt almost frightening her. It did frighten her. Experience had taught her that loving someone was the surest guarantee that they would be taken from you.

  Beyond that, love sucked you in, love drained you dry. Her father, and Beatrice to a lesser degree, left her feeling exhausted and empty, resentful and sometimes even angry. Why was it that their happiness and well-being always took precedence over hers? Why was it she felt as though she was always scraping for crumbs? For the first time it occurred to her that her happiness and well-being might be every whit as important as theirs. Damn it, it was as important as theirs, and so was she.

  Was it possible to love someone, to love Rourke, and not lose herself?

  Carriage wheels sounded from the pull-up below, cutting off that thought. Their heads turned to the window.

  “Were you expecting visitors?” Kate asked.

  He eased off her. “Nay, were you?”

  “Not I. Scotland in the dead of winter isn’t a terribly appealing prospect to other than native Scots.” Curious, Kate reached for her robe and padded across the carpet to have a look.

  Peering through the leaded glass, she saw the cabbie climb from the box and lower the carriage steps. Kate had no difficulty in recognizing the tall, lithe young woman stepping down first. It was her sister. A second woman of similar height but fuller figure climbed out behind her. Kate caught a glimpse of red curls from beneath a garish purple hat.

  From the bed, her husband’s sleep-husky voice called out, “Who is it?”

  Heart dropping, Kate turned away from the window. She sensed their honeymoon idyll had just come to an end. “My sister is below, and it seems she’s brought a friend.”

  Her gaze traveled the room. The bedsheets were rumpled, the floor strewn with clothes. A barely touched breakfast tray sat abandoned on the bedside table, a perfectly good chocolate croissant lying uneaten because even chocolate couldn’t come close to the deliciousness of making love with her husband. It had all been so lovely. Oh, why did happy times always have to end so very quickly?

  “Katie?”

  Rourke sat up in bed, the sheet drifting to his waist. Even with her fine mood fading, she couldn’t help but catch her breath at how purely magnificently beautiful he was. Kate wasn’t given to displays of emotion, but the feeling of foreboding settling in her belly was too strong to be denied. She bounded over to the bed and threw herself down next to him, needing to feel his strength, his warmth.

  Pressing her face into the warm crevice of corded throat and broad shoulder, she said, “Hold me.”

  His arms went around her. He pressed a kiss against her temple and tightened his hold. “What is, sweetheart? What’s the trouble?”

  She sighed. “This past week, it’s been so lovely, hasn’t it?”

  “Aye, it has, but, Kate, love, why are you acting as though ’tis come to an end? We have the rest of our lives before us, my heart, fifty-odd years and then some. We’re only at the start of it all. Think of this week as the beginning of Act I of a verra long and verra happy play.”

  In that moment, Kate didn’t only think she loved him. She knew it. “Promise me my sister’s coming won’t change anything. Promise that we’ll still go on as we have this past week.”

  “Of course, we shall. Why wouldn’t we? Surely it’s only a holiday visit, and even if it werena, a castle is a verra big place, mind.”

  “Humor me and promise anyway.”

  He carried her hand to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “In that case, milady, I’ll do a good deal better than promise. I do solemnly swear.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, Or else my heart, concealing it, will break.”

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Kate, The Taming of the Shrew

  h, Kat, do stop fussing. If I’d known you would ring a peal over my head, I never would have come. I wish I had not.”

  Bea faced Kate with arms folded. They were in one of the newly appointed chambers in the east tower. Bea’s friend Felicity was in the room next door.

  “I’m not ’ringing a peal,’ as you call it. I’m simply trying to discover what is going on. But if you don’t want to stay, you’re free to leave.”

  Kate had not called her baby sister’s bluff often over the years. Had she done so, perhaps Bea might not have turned out quite so self-centered and spoiled. Looking back, she supposed she’d tried so hard to compensate for a missing mother’s love and a father’s neglect that she’d erred too far in the opposite direction. But what was done was done.

  Bea’s shoulders slumped, and her chin dipped. Her bottom lip stuck out as it had when she was a very little girl. She poked at the carpet with the toe of one satin slipper.

  Gentling her tone, Kate confirmed, “You haven’t anywhere else to go—have you?”

  Bea shook her head. “Aunt Lavinia is horrid. She wouldn’t purchase a gown for me that was any color other than white. Papa drinks all the time—and gambles.” She said the latter in a hushed voice as though it wasn’t common knowledge. “After Hattie left to come to you, I couldn’t bear it.”

  Kate didn’t for a minute think that her father nearly losing the estate to her husband would be the catalyst for him turning over a new leaf. Gaming was like a fever firing his blood. It would only be a matter of time before he got himself into another scrape, and when he did, she wouldn’t be surprised to find him knocking on her door, too.

  “What of your new friend, Miss Drummond. She seems … pleasant enough.”

  In truth, Kate had an uneasy feeling about the young woman. Though her behavior had been decorous enough when Kate showed her and Bea to their rooms, there was something about her slanted green eyes, a serpentlike watchfulness that Kate couldn’t like.

  Because of it, she was moved to ask, “How did the two of you meet?”

  “Papa’s friend Lord Haversham introduced us.”

  Alarm bells sounded. “She is a friend of Lord Haversham’s?”

  Bea nodded. “Felicity’s a lot of fun. She knows all sorts of clever things.”

  I’ll wager she does.
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  “You and your, uh … friend may stay through the Christmas holiday, but in the meantime, you must write Aunt Lavinia and make apologies for running off. As for the other, I’ll see if I can’t convince her to let you expand your wardrobe beyond white.”

  Eager to get back to Patrick—odd, how she’d fallen into using his given name without thinking—Kate headed for the door. “I’ll leave you to settle in.”

  “Kate?”

  Kate turned about. “Yes?”

  “Thank you for being my sister.”

  Sitting before the dressing-table mirror, Felicity pulled the stopper from the vial of eau de cologne and dabbed a liberal dose behind either ear. The jasmine scent once had driven Rourke mad, or the nearest thing to it. So far she hadn’t seen him, though she meant to remedy that state of affairs and soon.

  She’d gotten an eyeful of his very proper English wife, however. Pondering her rival, Felicity couldn’t comprehend the attraction. She might be merely a squire’s daughter, yet her looks easily trumped her rival’s. The little brown woman was hardly a proper armful. A big, strapping Scot like Rourke needed a woman who could match him in every way, but particularly in the bedchamber. Like all men, he fancied females who told him what he wanted to hear. She would have thought Kate’s brash honesty would have worn thin by now. Felicity was careful to coat her every word in honey. When honey wasn’t enough, she outright lied.

  Not only was Lady Kate stunted and fork-tongued, but she was old. From what Haversham had told her, her tight-arsed “ladyship” must be thirty or nearing it. How could she possibly hope to compete with Felicity’s apparent sweet disposition, youth, and flamboyant good looks, looks that deserved to be showcased onstage?

  From what the sister, Bea, so far had blabbed on the dreary train trek north, all was not as it should be between the newlyweds. Reports of blackmail, mad weddings, and missed bridal breakfasts had cheered Felicity considerably. She meant to exploit every weakness and seize every opportunity to widen whatever cracks there were so that she might insinuate herself back into Rourke’s life. Assuming Lady Katherine could be dispatched, she really wouldn’t mind marrying him, but beyond all, she wanted him to open that theatre for her.

  She’d been a fool to release him in the first place, but when one was young and hungry for adventure, it wasn’t always easy to know what to do. Fortunately all the signs pointed to the foolish act being remedied. There were cracks in this marriage that, if subjected to the proper amount of pressure, might lead to an irredeemable splintering in twain.

  Felicity meant to exert pressure on each and every one.

  Rourke was finishing dressing for the day when Kate returned from settling in her sister. The adjoining door stood open on purpose. He’d been hoping for another glimpse of her before they both started their days. Catching her eye, he beckoned her inside.

  “My sister has run away from home after a fashion. I’ve told her she and her companion may stay through Boxing Day. She has nowhere else to go.”

  The little wrinkle appeared in the center of her forehead. By now he knew it only showed itself when she was worrying. “Of course, she can stay.”

  She regarded him, some of the wariness leaving her eyes. “You don’t mind?”

  He found his smile. “I didn’t say that. Selfish lout that I am, I fancied having you to myself a while longer, say the next fifty-odd years. But she is your sister, your blood, which makes her my responsibility, as well.”

  The gratitude shining from her beautiful eyes shamed him more than any spoken reproach ever could. Accustomed as she was to doing for others, to giving but rarely receiving, she was pathetically easy to please. He only hoped she liked the surprise gift he had planned for her. He was going into Edinburgh to pick “it” up.

  She shook her head, eyes shining. “Oh, Patrick, you are good to me.”

  She stood on tiptoe, wound her arms about his neck, and pressed her lips to the side of his neck, surprising and delighting him with that one small, sweet kiss. The dazzling smile she sent him had him forgetting to breathe.

  Patrick. She’d said his name yet again. His heart warmed; his chest swelled. “If I’m good to you, Katie, it’s only because goodness is your due.” He almost added “because I love you,” but stopped before he might. He’d tell her when they could be private and not distracted by guests. “I have to go into Edinburgh to attend some business. I’m afraid it’s going to be an overnight trip, but I’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Her face fell, but she quickly covered her disappointment with a smile. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to having you not only around but all to myself. I forget you have responsibilities, a company to oversee.”

  He pulled her to him, gratified she apparently didn’t want him to go. “Katie, I meant what I said earlier this morning. The honeymoon isna over for us; it’s just beginning.”

  Kate was in the kitchen the next afternoon when Rourke returned from his trip. She looked up from the dough she’d been rolling on the marble counter to see him coming toward her. Forgetting the flour on her apron, she dropped the rolling pin and launched herself into his arms.

  Behind them, one of the new kitchen maids tittered, and the cook cleared her throat. Kate was too happy to pay them any heed. Since knowing Rourke—Patrick—appearances didn’t hold nearly the weight they’d used to in her life.

  “You’re back,” she said, then marveled at what a simpleton love had made her. Still, she pulled back to look at him as though he’d been gone a year rather than a single day.

  “I am, and I’ve come bearing gifts or at least a gift.” “You didn’t have to buy me anything.” His emerald eyes twinkled. “Think of it as an early Christmas present.”

  “Early, indeed. Christmas is a fortnight away.” Two weeks was not much time. Hattie was even now directing the decorating of the great hall with bows of holly and evergreen. It would be their first Christmas together, first Boxing Day, first Twelfth Night. She wanted to do everything properly. His friend Gavin’s birthday fell in December, too, and they’d invited him, his wife, Daisy, and Hadrian and Callie to come up and celebrate. Kate was looking forward to becoming better acquainted with Rourke’s friends. She already knew Hadrian and had met and liked Callie. She hoped the other couple would become her friends, as well. Perhaps their “Roxbury House Orphans’ Club,” as they’d called it, would admit her as a fifth, albeit honorary member. She hoped so.

  But in the main her focus was Rourke. She’d spent the past few days struggling over what to give him as a gift. What did one give the man who apparently had everything? What she really wanted was to give him her heart, the whole of it, but she didn’t yet dare. She could be brave about many things, but she’d yet to shore up sufficient courage for that.

  In light of her dilemma, his early gifting was a fortunate thing. She could take her cue from him and gauge her own gift accordingly. “What is it?”

  He rolled his eyes. “If I tell you, it wouldna be a surprise, now would it?”

  “Not even a hint?”

  He shook his head. “My lips are sealed. You’ll just have to come outside and see for yourself.”

  Kate wiped her floury hands on her apron front and stepped back from the block. A few weeks ago it never would have occurred to her to allow something as frivolous as a gift get in the way of completing a task. Spending time with her husband was having a positive effect on her in more ways than one. Rourke wasn’t a shirker by any means; his industry was evident from long hours he spent in his study at night bent over his ledgers and business reports, but he also knew how to be spontaneous, how to play.

  She lifted her coat off the wall peg. He helped her on with it, and together they stepped out into the walled kitchen garden. “Where are you taking me?”

  He grinned and squeezed her hand. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  They started walking in the direction of the stables. There was a thin crust of snow on the ground, and the air was what she’d come to think of
as crisp rather than cold. Scottish winters took some getting used to, but Kate fancied her blood was beginning to thicken.

  They drew up to the paddock. She glanced over at her husband. Apparently they had reached their destination. On the other side of the fence, Mr. Campbell led a small pony inside the gate. Even from afar, Kate could see the animal wasn’t young. The swayed back and gambling gait were telltale signs of age, but the patchy coat and ribs protruding from her sides bespoke of neglect, even abuse.

  One booted foot resting on the rail, Rourke turned to her. “What do you think?”

  She cast a sideways look at her husband. He was beaming. Who was it that said never to look a gift horse in the mouth? She glanced back to the horse. Mr. Campbell was walking her over to them. As the animal neared, understanding dawned. The white blaze; the big, intelligent eyes; and the nut-colored mane she’d once braided with multicolored ribbons fit for a …

  “Princess!” Tears filled her eyes, spilled over her bottom lashes, and ran down her cheeks. “Oh, Princess, sweetheart, can it really be you?” She climbed up onto the top fence rung and reached out to the horse.

  Princess sniffed, nostrils working. She nickered and shoved her nose into Kate’s neck and hair, “grooming” her as if only a day had gone by rather than almost seventeen years.

  Beside her, Rourke explained, “I telegraphed your father and asked after the neighbor who’d … acquired her. It turned out it was a local squire with lands just outside of Romney. From there, it was a matter of tracking the bill of sales to several owners. I put Sylvester on it. She’d ended up in Edinburgh as a costermonger’s cart horse.”

  She looked up from the horse and over to her smiling husband. “I can’t believe it! All these years I’ve dreamed … How can I ever thank you? You can’t know what it means to me to have her back. She’s a greater gift than diamonds or pearls.”

  More tears skittered down her cheeks, crystallizing in the cold. He reached inside his coat pocket and produced his handkerchief. Handing it to her, he said, “I’d shower you with those, too, if only you’d let me, but for now I’ll leave you two to your reunion.”