SoundsofLove

by Marilyn Kelly

  She’d be a fool not to be frightened of the earl. Her stomach coiled into a tight ball, and breathing became difficult.

  He emerged from his bath wrapped in a black dressing gown, his manner shifted to conciliatory. He sank to the floor in front of her chair and sat at her feet, taking her hands in his as he spoke gently. “Don’t be afraid of me, Cathryn. I’ll never harm you, I swear it on my grandmother’s grave.”

  That puzzled her, and her stomach unknotted slightly.

  “I was very fond of Grandmama,” he added softly. She took a deep breath and a small smile broke through her dark thoughts. He responded by kissing her fingertips. “I asked Hedges to pull up, and he lost control of his mount, but I did him no harm. There was no need.” He kissed her knuckles again. “Never doubt me in the future. Do I have your word?”

  He looked at her expectantly, and her recent qualms rushed her mind, causing her to hesitate. “I…don’t doubt you.”

  He leapt to his feet, and the wound seemed to gripe him still, because he doubled over slightly and his voice held layers of pain. “You do!”

  Her mind was spinning. “This is a great deal to consider. Please don’t press me.”

  “You still think I killed him?” His look was volcanic and she recoiled.

  “No, of course not!” she yelled back. “But you frighten the daylights out of me sometimes!”

  The words hung in the air, and she saw his entire body tense.

  “Hedges said you seduced Dr. Kinsley while your husband yet lived.” A slap would have been less surprising, and the truth must have shown on her face because he leaned over her grimly. “Did you?”

  The truth. “Geoffrey hadn’t spoken in over a year, he was dead to the entire household.”

  Julian jerked back as if she had slapped him, his blazing eyes and fighting posture signaling his rage. “You lied to me.”

  She wished the earth would swallow her, as this was surely the lowest point of her life. Her few sins were haunting her, and she lashed out in discomfited anger. “At least I didn’t welcome you with another man’s scent still on my fingers.”

  His hands tightened into fists. She feared she had gone too far.

  “I don’t know you at all.” He pivoted and strode into the bath, slamming the door behind him.

  She didn’t know him well, either. Only two weeks had passed since their first kiss in her parlor. His behavior that day had not been in the least bit honorable or virtuous, although she relished his blatantly erotic nature. He was a man of great passion, breathtakingly handsome, and he’d swept her away in scandalous fashion. She’d thought him the perfect mate for her newly awakened carnal cravings, and she had fallen in love.

  A sob surfaced with her enormous doubt that she and Julian could ever recover from this horrid episode. The thought stole her breath and she fought to stay in control of her emotions. The voices in the bathing room ended, and Julian did not return. Would he seek out Fiona? That was a chilling thought. Perhaps she should request her company this evening, as a safeguard against a transfer of his affections.

  How would she face Fiona and the others? There was no defense for her behavior. She and the doctor’s brief liaison had been within the technical bounds of her marriage, and she couldn’t blame Julian for distrusting her. He’d never forgive her deception and public doubt, even if she could disregard his mercurial temper.

  She’d just lost the man she loved…and the world faded to bleak.

  Chapter Twenty

  The pounding of horse hooves on the dirt road matched the onslaught of Julian’s dark thoughts as his coach sped through the morning light towards London. Agonizing, repetitive snippets of his fight with Cathryn haunted him as they had all night, accompanied by his own justifications, which screamed righteous indignation at each of her offenses.

  Her shocked face when he’d confronted her with Hedges’ accusation was etched in his mind. She’d never thought to be caught, and surprise rather than remorse played across her lovely features. Her lies made her untrustworthy, and he could never forgive that transgression. She’d thought to protect herself by changing the truth to suit her, and Julian would have none of that. Truth was truth. Geoffrey breathed while she shagged the doctor.

  He batted away a nagging doubt over her sedation on that day, and the image of a thinly gowned Fiona hovered guiltily in the shadows of his mind. Would he have lied if he hadn’t been caught with her scent on his fingers? No. He would have told the truth, no matter the cost, no matter the extenuating circumstances. His honor demanded no less than absolute honesty, and his wife needed to share the same values.

  He shook his head as he considered how close he’d come to being duped by the dark beauty. I’m not schooled in deception, she’d said sweetly to him once. Ballocks. She was deception incarnate, he saw that now.

  An accident? Her soft question had destroyed his faith in her. She should have been unquestioningly loyal—that’s what good wives did. He could never tolerate a woman who challenged him so, but what did he expect after her abhorrent behavior at the Philological Meeting? She’d been rude to him from the beginning. He rued the day he’d considered such behavior charming.

  Her greatest insult came when she yelled, you scare the daylights out of me. He’d never harmed her, never touched any woman in anger. How could she think he would hurt her? His promise in her study—to do well by her always—that was his intent.

  Hedges brought the violence. Julian merely reacted to each escalation with equal force as he protected Cathryn from the evil baron. His valiant efforts were greeted as heroic at the time, but now the tables were turned and he looked a miscreant. His hands tensed at the thought.

  The Earl of Trenchford made a fool of himself and his title when he fought for an unworthy woman. His escapade’s unwelcome publicity meant the press would hound him, and her, until they understood the breakup. If Hedges’ death cost him the Philological Society election, he’d be further dishonored.

  Charles had sent for a magistrate last evening and the inquest was already filed. If Julian had thrown the dagger, it would have been a different tale—he’d be a murderer and even now in custody. His restraint had paid a handsome dividend, but he felt less the man for it. His skin crawled as humiliation again seeped into his veins. He should leave London for a few weeks, to go lick his wounds in private. He was past due to visit York.

  The coach slowed as they passed the sight of the accident. Giles caught him staring out the window at the scene. “My lord, you have no fault in this.”

  “Don’t I?” Julian faced his valet. “I startled him and forced a panic. I flushed him out of his safe haven at Lincoln.” He shook his head. “I stole his…” The word wouldn’t come.

  “He was legendary for his mistreatment of underlings,” Giles said gravely. “Including myself. You did the world a favor bringing him to light.”

  If Cathryn had been worth it, perhaps.

  “And Lady Sibley deserved better,” Giles added softly.

  Julian couldn’t argue with that. No one deserved to be married to a man like Hedges, not even a lying, unfaithful, disloyal, sharp-tongued shrew like Cathryn.

  He’d lost her, and someone else would have her, and cherish her. The image played in his head of her descending the stairs of her townhouse with her thick hair down, wearing the copper silk gown he had chosen personally and Grandmama’s cameo perched between perfect breasts. He’d foreseen her wedding dress, and her presentation to the Queen, and her children happily gathered around her. All that would belong to another man.

  The scenery shimmered as he stared out the window. Everything that was perfect about Cathryn came flooding back to him—her lemon-scented hair, her silky skin, her tight sheath… His cock twitched at the thought of her naked and eager to please, reminding him that he’d woken with a painful erection and the expectation of her by his side. But she’d been down a long hallway, with Fiona attending her throughout the night. He’d heard her sobs twice and nearly go
ne to her, but his wounds were too deep to recover from so easily.

  Dammit, she’d seemed the ideal wife.

  Clearly, she was not.

  * * * * *

  At three the next afternoon, Cathryn fumbled through her reticule for a key, after knocking repeatedly and finally realizing that no one was home to answer the door of her townhouse. Violet was visiting her mother, the Lewins were God-knew-where putting their lives back together, and the Ahlquist footmen and maids had apparently returned to their proper places across town. She heaved a sigh of relief when the lock turned. After a quick look around the downstairs to be certain no one was lurking about, she returned to the carriage boy who waited with her bags in the silent foyer. He had picked up a stack of colorful envelopes and placed them on the side table. She dismissed him with a pang of anxiety.

  I’ve never been truly alone before. She climbed the stairs, barely noticing the deep cold that pervaded the quiet space. She’d left Gorham House for solitude, and it appeared she’d succeeded beyond expectation. Opening the door to her frigid parlor, Cathryn glanced at another large pile of correspondence on her desk. Not today. A hot cup of tea and a long nap were all she craved.

  The hearths were all cold, so the tea would have to wait, unless she wanted to walk down to the tavern on the next corner. Perhaps when she woke she would heat a pot or venture out for dinner. It seemed strange to be considering such normal things when her world was in tatters, but her stomach begged for nourishment, in spite of her pervasive desire to fade away into nothingness.

  Passing the window that Hedges had used to gain entrance, she checked the latch and found it doubled. A sob escaped as she considered all Julian had done to make her safer, and yet, here she was alone. There was only herself to blame for this lonely fate. Her infidelity and dishonesty deserved no defense. If she hadn’t smoothed over the truth when she’d told him about the doctor, if she’d framed the story in its proper context, he might have understood. Finding out from Hedges must have been an awful shock. And she’d added to his burden with a false accusation of fearing him—she knew him to be a kind man who would never harm her. He’d been protecting her, not threatening her.

  A fire was laid in her bedroom, and she checked the flue before she set a match to the kindling. On her knees in front of the stone hearth, draped in her utilitarian brown cloak and winter bonnet, she closed her eyes and prayed that the last day had been a dream—a nightmare—and she would open her eyes to find Julian walking through her door.

  A loud crack in the fireplace interrupted her supplications, and she watched the small flames leap onto a large log. Despair crept over her and suffused her being. Too fatigued to cry, she removed her bonnet and boots before she crawled onto her bed and drew the down comforter over herself. Her corset bit into the undersides of her breasts, the pain an unwelcome reminder that she survived, even when her life had lost all meaning.

  Julian stared out the window of his study at the gray outline of the leafless trees. His insides felt stripped as bare as the pale branches. The endless day of painful ruminations had sucked all his reserves. He had no anger, no sadness, no emotion at all left after the ordeal.

  Giles entered with a parcel, which he set on Julian’s desk. “From the copy maker’s. Four copies of Lady Sibley’s translations.”

  “Send them all to her. I want no reminders.”

  “Shall I send one to Lord Waldemere?”

  Fury shot through him at the impertinence of the question. “You think I should aid her?”

  “You gave her your word.”

  A line sure to deflate a raging ego. “I owe her nothing.” He continued his perusal of the drab view, sensing Giles’ disapproval behind his back. “Send one to Waldemere, if it will ease your concern over my honor.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  A spiteful thought latched on to his discontent. “Send one to the Duke of Clarendon. I gave him my word, as well.” Giles’ disapproval was evident in his silence, and Julian continued, “I want to leave early. Have we heard from Father?”

  “He’ll join you. He wants to bring his own coach, so you may have to wait until noon.”

  “I want a means of escape. Mother is primed to trap me with one of her schemes.”

  Julian’s desire to be gone from London—to be as far from Cathryn as he could manage—was an itch that needed scratching. Perhaps he would marry his mother’s pick and be done with ideas of a romantic marriage. “Bring me a bottle of port. It’s going to be a bloody long night.”

  The fire had died down to embers when Cathryn woke. She struggled to extricate herself from the tangle of blankets, cloak and dress, stopping when she remembered why she was here alone in the dark. Julian was gone, forever. She would likely never see him again.

  Sobbing as she untwined herself, she broke free of her confines and went to stoke the fire before she used the chamber pot. Her stomach growled as she finished washing her hands, and she put on her slippers and padded down to the kitchen. Finding a tin of crackers, orange marmalade and a pitcher of cool milk, she fixed a small tray to have in the warmth of her room. She retrieved the stacks of correspondence from the front hall and parlor and wondered at the size of the piles.

  Her room was warm enough for her to shed her cloak. She stripped off her dress and corset to replace them with a thick flannel nightgown and the black robe she had worn during her mourning. Settling into a rocking chair by her fireplace, she remembered the many nights she had cried as Geoffrey lay dying in the next room. Twenty sinful minutes with the doctor only added to the painful memories of the room, and Hedges had attacked her only ten feet away.

  Perhaps we should sell this house. We could buy a place in the country for much less. If Violet wants… Her thoughts diverted. Violet and Rune seemed as much in love as she and Julian had been only a day before. What if Violet marries and leaves me alone?

  She nibbled on a water cracker with bitter preserves. It occurred to her that she did not know Violet as well as she’d imagined. The redhead’s sexual antics surprised her more than her own, although she knew not why. Vi had always been so sweet, not at all the sort to spread her legs on a first date with a man. Perhaps she also had secrets that would prevent her marriage to Rune. And there was Elenora Sibley, Violet and Geoffrey’s mother, who was a difficult woman. Americans and other colonists were not appropriate spouses.

  Straying outside the mental confines of her own misery exhausted Cathryn, and she washed down her meager meal with a long drink of milk. The stack of letters seemed a welcome diversion, and she picked up the top one, a lavender envelope.

  My Dear Lady Sibley,

  I am writing to express my admiration for your courageous acts and my gratitude for giving me the pluck to finally leave my violent husband forever. I didn’t stomp or bite him, I just took enough money for a passage to America and left. My future is brighter than my past, and your inspiring article spurred me to action.

  God bless you and may you find every happiness with Lord Ahlquist.

  There was no signature, but the postmark was from the London docks, so Cathryn supposed the woman had found freedom. Fresh tears flowed as Cathryn opened letter after letter and found similar stories, although many were less heartening.

  The sixth dispatch was an accounting from the meat market, which she nearly set aside, but habit caused her to peruse it before she continued with more gratifying business.

  The charges were for a hundred pounds of meat. How was that possible? Cathryn saw other charge slips from the green grocer, milkman, cheese shop, brewery and the linen-maker, and she opened each with increasingly trembling hands. She owed a fortune—the cost of feeding and housing a small army of servants for a week. The bills for Violet’s dresses and accessories were also there, and Cathryn’s one recent shopping excursion for underclothing and sundries amounted to a whopping fifty pounds.

  Cathryn’s stomach sank as she tallied the expenses. Three hundred and forty-nine pounds. She swallowed hard as
she stared into the fire and considered this new dilemma. Her marriage contract offered no recompense should the groom die before the vows, and she doubted Hedges would have a provision for her. Even the Sapphos might be considered part of the estate. She’d better determine the future of her income soon.

  With a stab of panic, she realized that she and Violet might have to sell the house; they owned nothing else of any value. If Violet took half the proceeds, Cathryn would have enough for a very small cottage in the country. She might be forced to move back with her father, in his rambling, dusty house near Oxford. A shudder passed through her as she considered that dreary fate.

  There were always Julian’s gifts—the dictionary, the rare edition of Fanny Hill, the clothes, the sardonyx cameo…the brooch alone could secure her future. She knew he would not take his gifts back, although she should offer to return the cameo as it was a family piece. Once he refused her offer, she could sell it and pay her debts. The disloyal thought brought a new wave of despair. She’d likely die wearing the damn pin.

  Julian’s protection might very well ruin her. If he hadn’t attacked Percival, the man would have stayed put in Oxford. If he hadn’t sent a dozen useless, and apparently ravenous, helpers to guard her home, she’d not be stuck with enormous bills she couldn’t possibly cover. He’d promised to do her no harm, but she felt deeply injured by her brief association with him.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Noel stared at Julian as the mammoth coach began the slow journey out of London. “You were passionate about this girl two days past—whatever happened?”

  “She cuckolded Sibley during his last days.”

  Noel tsked. “Damned shame. I thought you’d finally found a suitable bride.”

  Julian closed his eyes at the burst of pain the statement brought. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “My search for the perfect wife continues.”