by Untamed
Rourke, too, was passing a talkative afternoon in the company of friends. Somehow his intention to show Gavin and Harry the new railway-history exhibit had been subverted into a rescue mission. Claiming thirst, Harry steered them to a local public house just off the High. Before long the ale flowed apace with his friends’ unsolicited advice.
Starting into their third round, Harry hefted his pint. “To Gav, my favorite barrister friend—actually my only barrister friend—many happy returns, mate.” Lowering his glass, he wiped foam from his lip and pinned his blue eyes on Rourke. “Speaking of birthdays, you have one coming up soon, don’t you?” Rourke admitted he did. “In that case, give yourself an early birthday gift and make it up with your wife. Kate’s mad for you. It’s as plain as the broken nose on that boxer’s mug of yours—plain to everyone but you.”
Rourke lowered his gaze to his glass of Scotch whiskey. “Kate is no more in love with me than I am her. We’re a mismatch, plain and simple.”
Gavin sipped his sherry, not terribly good sherry, but when one was rusticating in a Scottish backwater, one must make do. “I agree with Harry. If not love, why else would a woman go to the trouble of showing a man such spleen?”
Rourke lifted the shot of whiskey and tossed it back in a single swallow. Swiping his hand across his mouth—why bother with manners when everything he’d just come to care for was apparently lost to him?— he answered, “Because she’s a bullocks-busting shrew, that’s why.”
Had another man, including either of his two best friends, said the same or even half as much, he would have driven his fist through his face with nary a thought. But having just had his balls busted—and his heart slashed in twain—by said shrew gave him a feeling of entitlement.
Unlike Hadrian, who’d been a confirmed bachelor until he’d fallen for Callie, he’d always supposed he would marry, that the right woman would happen along. Once she did, they would marry, have a family, and live blissfully ever after with scarcely more fuss required than the horses he bred.
So far, horses were proving a lot easier to manage.
Thank God, he’d held off on telling Kate he loved her. Every time he considered just how close he’d come to confessing it, he felt shame wash over him to rival any embarrassment he’d felt from the garden episode. His wife was a marvel, truly she was. Just when he assured himself she couldn’t possibly hurt him any more, she came up with some new and creative way to crush his hopes and his heart beneath her slender slipper.
Apparently oblivious to the danger he courted, Harry leaned across the pub table and wagged a forefinger in Rourke’s face. “Mark me, numbskull, I knew Katherine Lindsey before she was your wife, before you ever clapped eyes on her. She was as sharp as glass and about as warm as snow, a proper ice maiden for all that on the surface she was perfectly friendly and polite. Not once in all our sittings did I ever peer through the lens of my camera and see her eyes light and her skin glow and her scowling mouth soften as it does whenever she’s near you.”
Gavin, ever the calming voice of reason, raised his snifter and asked, “It seems to me that the fundamental question remaining to be answered is, what do you want most: to be right or to be happy?”
Happy—Rourke wasn’t certain he even knew what that meant, but that honeymoon week with Kate, he’d felt himself come close to it—close enough to touch it, even visit for a while, but not stay—never to stay. The sex had been sublime, the best of his life, and yet what he’d felt for her surpassed the physicality of their joining. How he’d loved the trusting way she’d laid her head in the crook of his shoulder and snuggled up next to him, her petite body molding to his despite the differences in their sizes, her slender leg tossed across him, the latter a wordless act of sweet possession. And yet even during that idyllic week, he’d never been able to let down his guard and relax, not wholly. Even propping himself on his elbow watching her sleep, he’d been seized with the irrational fear that at any minute she might disappear—or be snatched away. Was that a normal newlywed reaction? Rourke didn’t think so. When faced with any other sort of obstacle, his natural inclination was to dig in his heels, raise his fists, and fight for what he wanted, what he believed in. Why was it, then, that when it came to his heart’s desire, Kate, it felt safer somehow to simply walk away and give up on her, them?
He shook his head and considered ordering another drink. “Why is it I have the feeling ’both’ isna an option?”
Gavin answered with an ironic smile. “I can tell you, my friend, that making a marriage work has very little to do with being right, let alone emerging the victor. It has to do with caring and compromise and choosing to do the morally right thing, the selfless thing, above one’s own self-interest. But above all, it is about love. Beyond who is right and who is wrong, it is love that will carry you through.” As if sensing Rourke was about to interrupt, he added, “If you’ll recall, I came close to breaking it off with Daisy when I thought she’d accepted a bribe from my grandfather. My stubborn pride almost had me walking away from her forever.”
“Just as I very nearly walked away from Callie rather than face her after that damnable photograph came out in the papers.” Expression thoughtful, Harry traced the wet ring his beer glass had made atop the table. “I tried telling myself I was doing the noble thing in walking away, that she’d be better off without me, but the truth was, walking away wasn’t about being noble at all. I was bloody scared she’d turn me away, not that anyone would have blamed her, me included. But if I had walked away, only think what I’d be missing—the best lover, friend, and wife any man could ever ask for, and, God willing, in another five months, the best mother, too.”
Gavin and Rourke snapped their heads up at once. “Harry?”
Harry looked up, handsome face breaking into a broad and prideful grin. “We’re having a baby.”
Rourke reached across and clapped his friend on the back. “That’s bonny news, mate. Congratulations. This calls for another round.” Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he beckoned to the barkeep.
Imagining Kate’s taut, lithe body increasing with his babe, Rourke felt a funny pull in the vicinity of his heart. He’d seen her kindness directed toward tenants’ children, the younger members of the household staff, and yes, even his mongrel dog. What a beautiful mother she’d make and a good one, too.
He waited for their drinks to arrive, and then lifted his glass to lead them in the requisite toast. Raising his glass, he offered, “To good friends and second chances—I hope.”
They touched glasses. Gavin’s solemn eyes met his across the table. “It’ll work out, Patrick, you’ll see.”
Harry set down his glass and nodded. “It’s always darkest before the dawn … or some such thing.”
Swallowing, Rourke admitted, “I’ve never felt worthy of Kate, not really. She started out as this glittering trophy to be won, someone beyond my touch or very nearly so. Once I had her, I couldna credit my good fortune. I wasna sure what to do with her—well, I knew well enough what to do with her in some respects, but in others … She’s a lady bred, after all, and I’m well, me. A bruiser such as I ought to count himself lucky the likes of her would let me near enough to touch her, let alone wanting more, but I did want more, not only her body but her heart. And then her sister showed up with Felicity, and everything we’d built over the week, the trust and the friendship and yes, the loving, crashed down upon our heads like a house of cards.”
“Do you want my advice?” Gavin asked.
“Have I a choice?”
Gavin and Harry exchanged glances. In unison they shook their heads and answered, “Not really.”
“I didn’t think so. In that case, out with it, then.”
Gavin sighed. “Go to her, Patrick. Go to her the moment we get back. If you tell her even half of what you’ve told us here, she’d be a fool not to at least meet you halfway. If she doesn’t, then at least you’ll know you did everything in your power. You can move forward with your life with
out looking back, without regrets.”
Harry agreed. “Gavin’s right on the money, mate. While you’re at it, you might want to give Felicity her walking papers. Having your former mistress under the same roof as your wife can’t be helping.”
Rourke shook his head. “Kate thinks Felicity is only a friend of her sister’s. She has no idea Felicity and I were ever more than passing acquaintances, and I’d just as soon keep it that way.”
Harry snorted. “So say you. Women don’t have to think about these things. They know. They’ve eyes like eagles and noses like bloodhounds. Take our advice. Send that particular baggage packing and go to Kate. Gav’s right on the mark. If you don’t at least try to mend matters, you’ll regret it for the rest of your days. When it comes down to it, Rourke, regrets are a far more bitter tonic for a man to swallow than sins.”
As soon as the men returned home, Rourke meant to take his friends’ advice and go in search of Kate. Felicity’s waylaying him was an unpleasant surprise. She must have been watching from an upstairs window because she stepped off the stair landing before the main door closed. She flounced into the front hallway wearing a garish, low-cut gown more suited to evening than day.
Slanted gaze tunneling to Rourke, she said, “I must speak with you—in private.”
Gavin and Harry exchanged frowns but made their excuses to be on their way. Before going, Harry muttered, “Mind regrets versus sins.”
Rourke blew out a breath. His friends’ counsel had included sending Felicity packing. Apparently there was no time like the present. Resigned, he led her into his library and closed the door.
Leaning back against the front of his desk, he regarded her. “Very well, Felicity, I’m listening. Not promising, only listening. Out with it.”
Slanted green eyes met his. She whetted her lower lip. “The other day you asked me what I wanted, and I’m prepared to tell you. I want another go of it with you.”
“In case you havena noticed, I’m married now.” He almost added “happily” but held off. The outcome remained to be seen, but his afternoon with Gavin and Harry had him feeling hopeful.
“Oh, Rourkie, you were always so good to me, only I didn’t properly appreciate you back then.” She batted her eyes and looked up at him through her lashes.
Such artifice once would have melted him, but not so now. How very much more appealing he found Kate’s honest, head-on gaze to be.
Patience nearing its end, Rourke shook his head. “It’s water under the bridge now.”
And it was. If he’d to sum up the paltry feelings he still had for her in a single word it would be pity. He doubted Felicity would ever know the glory of loving another person with all one’s soul. Though his own dabbling in matters of the heart hadn’t worked out according to plan, not yet at any rate, loving Kate had made him a better man. He wouldn’t trade their blissful honeymoon week for all the world’s riches—which stood as quite a statement for such an acquisitive man.
“Since you can’t have me, have you anything else in mind?” Knowing Felicity, he felt certain she had a backup plan.
She hesitated and then admitted, “The other night at dinner, I may have gilded the lily a bit about my theatrical career.”
Rourke listened in silence. That didn’t surprise him in the slightest.
“I can’t go on dancing in that horrid club in Leicester Square night upon night, I just can’t, but it’s hard for a girl like me to get a leg over in a city like London. But if I had a place of my own where I could set myself up as the headliner, like your friend Daisy does, well, that would make all the difference.”
Distracted with thoughts of Kate, it took Rourke a moment to reckon Felicity’s game. Once he did, it was as if a lamp had just been turned up. “You want the Palace, don’t you?”
She nodded. “With all your money, you’ll never miss it, and it would mean ever so much to me.”
Relief had him feeling generous. So it was only the theater she coveted. Surrendering a property he’d never wanted in the first place was a small price to pay to rid himself of a nuisance. “Verra well, I’ll sign over the deed before you leave.” The latter was by way of being a strong hint.
The property in Covent Garden had been boarded up for two years. Ordinarily he would have offered it to Gavin and Daisy, but they had unpleasant memories of the place. The Tudor-era theatre they’d just restored was the ideal setting for putting on the Shakespeare plays they both loved. The point was, the Palace was sitting fallow. Turning it over to Felicity seemed the solution to serve everyone. How she would finance its opening was her private affair. Given her talents for “getting a leg over” well-heeled swells, he expected she’d work something out.
“Truly!” She squealed and launched herself into his arms.
Felicity had always been a substantial armful and the past few years had not lightened her load. Reflex had him closing his arms about her. Before now he’d always fancied big-boned women with blousy bosoms and full bottoms, but now it was Kate’s lithe, tight little body his arms ached to hold.
She laid a hand alongside his face. “I didn’t say the theatre was all I wanted. Come to London with me. You and I together, we could take London by storm.”
Rourke had had his fill of storms. He was ready to experience the equivalent of placid spring skies—with his wife.
Gently but firmly he eased her off his chest. The intimate contact brought back one or two pleasant memories but no real desire. “I wish you the best, lass, but we’re done, in that way.”
She arched a brow. “As I recall, we were quite good in that way. I could make you happy, Patrick. I did once, mind.”
Rourke shook his head. “You never made me happy, Felicity. We had some grand times for certain, but that was all we had. You and I lusted, but we never loved. Now I must ask you to excuse me. I’m off to find my wife and tell her I’m mad for her.”
Kate headed for the library at a fast walk. The afternoon spent with Callie and Daisy had bolstered her confidence and put her marriage into perspective. She and Patrick were not the only newlyweds to go through a rough patch—or even several. Hang her pride, this time she would find the courage to tell Patrick all that was in her heart, that she loved him and was honored to be his wife. If need be, she would cast herself at his feet like her Shakespearian namesake post-taming. What she absolutely refused to do was let him go.
The study door stood ajar when Kate approached. Surmising he must be entertaining Gavin and Harry, she tamped down her disappointment and turned to go.
Felicity’s voice filtered out into the hallway, stalling Kate in her tracks. “Come to London with me.”
Heart drumming, Kate stepped stealthily to the side and peered through the crack. Rourke and Felicity stood in a close embrace. Her husband had both arms about the redhead. Felicity’s head was tilted upward as if anticipating his kiss, her hand bracing his cheek. He did not look like a man who had just said no.
Kate felt as if an invisible fist plowed into her belly. The pleasant warmth of the sherry coursing through her veins turned to ice water. For a handful of seconds, she feared she might be sick. Pride, or rather the shredded remains of it, was all that held her back. To be found not only eavesdropping but retching outside her husband’s door would seal her humiliation. To think that she’d been prepared to cast herself at his feet and beg his forgiveness!
So far in her marriage she’d been twice a fool, but if Rourke fancied she was fool enough to stay while he kept a mistress in London, he had best think again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Come, my sweet Kate. Better once than never, for never too late.”
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Petruchio, The Taming of the Shrew
ourke left the library and Felicity behind, only too glad to close that chapter of his life. He would sign over the deed to the Palace after breakfast in the morning, and then put his former mistress on the first train back to London. Their business done, she’d declared she meant to have a l
ie down before dinner. She might have hung upside down by her ankles for all he cared.
He came into the front hallway as Daisy and Caledonia entered from the side parlor. Dividing his gaze between the two women, he sketched a brief bow and then asked, “Where is Kate?”
Frowning, Daisy spoke up, “I thought she was with—”
Callie’s hand clamping down on her companion’s arm caused the sentence to die. “I’m not sure,” Callie answered for them both. “I believe she said something about going upstairs to have a lie down before supper.”
Daisy and Callie were acting odd, indeed, but odder still was that Kate would be napping with guests in the house. His wife was the most industrious woman he’d ever known. He doubted that her idol, Mrs. Beeton, could have possessed more energy and enthusiasm than she. From what he could tell, afternoon naps were unknown to Kate. It occurred to him to wonder if she might be pregnant. Though it was a wild guess, and as yet unsubstantiated, it was certainly possible. Before the previous week’s rift, they’d made love all but nonstop. Excitement seized him. He excused himself to the two women and bounded up the stairs.
He gained the minstrel’s gallery and headed down the sconce-lit corridor to the master-bedroom suite. He considered knocking outside Kate’s door, but prudence and pride held him back. This last week they’d hardly been on the best of terms. Instead, he entered his own chamber and headed for the connecting door.