by C. J. Archer
Unfortunately that made her a fool by association. She wanted to dig a hole and bury herself. She didn't dare look at Lord Oxley. To make it worse, her face grew so hot he must have noticed.
"I'm not available tomorrow," Oxley said smoothly. "Or I would be delighted."
"The next day then," Slade persisted. "We can stay in London a little longer."
"I'm not free, alas. Indeed, I'll be leaving the city very soon."
The silence thinned. Cat wished she could run and hide. She had not felt quite so humiliated since, well, ever. She kept her head bowed so that she didn't have to see Oxley's handsome face screwed up in distaste at the thought of taking her to the theater, thereby announcing some sort of connection between them.
"You can see all the theaters of note from this side of the river," he was saying with rather more enthusiasm than necessary. "There's no need for Lady Slade to venture over to Bankside."
"An excellent suggestion," she cut in before Slade could open his mouth and put the other foot in. "I'll do that. Thank you, my lord. It's been our great and humble pleasure to meet you, but we mustn't keep you any longer."
His eyes briefly flashed, adding warmth to their depths. But it passed so quickly that she began to wonder if she saw it at all.
He bowed to her. "It has been my pleasure, Lady Slade. Enjoy your stay in London. I hope your brother-in-law will find the time to take you to the theaters himself."
He gave Slade a shallower bow. "Take care of my hat, sir."
Slade said nothing as he watched Oxley retreat to the door, only to be held up before making his exit by a dark-haired lady whose tight dress barely contained her cleavage. She leaned against Oxley's arm, pressing her virtues into him where he couldn't fail to miss them. She giggled behind her fan then he said something and she tapped him lightly with it. He seemed absorbed by her attentions. Widow Slade was already forgotten.
Cat turned away, and tried to ignore the sinking sensation in her chest. She had enjoyed her conversation with Oxley. She'd wanted it to continue, but of course it could not. He was a busy noblemen with high friends. She was the widow of a poor baron and the sister-in-law of a tedious man.
That tedious man reeled on her. "You let him go! Stupid girl. You almost had him."
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, curt. "He was simply being polite." And if anyone was responsible for Oxley's leaving, it was Slade.
"He liked you. I could tell. Not sure why, but I suppose you're witty when you want to be, and a dandy like Oxley likes wit." It was quite the compliment coming from Slade and took her by surprise.
"It's no matter. He was never going to consider me as a wife. He could have any lady in this room." Wit wouldn't be enough for a handsome, dashing earl. It was something she had accepted long ago.
Slade heaved a sigh and glanced around at the glittering women, from the giggling girls to the more mature and elegant ladies. "True. I briefly hoped he might take you on as a mistress, but I see now that it's hopeless."
"Mistress!" He would dare suggest such a crude thing to his own sister-in-law?
"As you say, you're not a contender for a wife, but I do know that Oxley has a mistress. Several, in fact, although not all at the same time." He directed a nod at the buxom woman smothering Oxley with her charms. "Of course, if that lady is the sort he prefers, then I'm afraid you'll never be a contender. Pity. I hear he's very generous to his mistresses. You could have had a comfortable life, even after he grew tired of you."
He walked off and Cat watched him go, not bothering to follow. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her, a mistress to an earl! Or to anyone, for that matter. It was such an absurd notion. She was hardly the right sort, as he pointed out. Mistresses were flirty and buxom. Cat was a mere mouse by comparison. The best hope she had was to wed a dull, moderately wealthy baron of no particular importance. It had been adequate enough when she married the first time and would be adequate for her second marriage. There was no point in aiming for something more, someone higher.
She swallowed past the lump that had risen to her throat and glanced around the room at the courtiers, with their jewels and expensive clothes, laughing and getting drunker with each cup of wine. None would take any notice of her. She could never hope to make an impression on the gentlemen when there were so many ladies to choose from. Just like she'd made no impression on Lord Oxley. He'd not even glanced back at her as he walked off.
It was silly to be disappointed by his disinterest, and no one had ever accused her of being silly before. Yet the lump in her throat remained.
***
Hughe's mind was still on his conversation with the Slades as he made his way to the exit. That was his only excuse for not seeing Lady Crewe until her breasts squashed up against his arm.
"My dear boy," she cooed, wrapping her talons around his elbow. "Didn't you see me? I've been trying to gain your attention all evening."
He was never sure why she called him 'boy'. He may be five years younger than her, but he did outrank her husband. "My heartfelt apologies, madam." He kissed the heavy cheek she offered. It was sweaty from exertion, and he wondered if she'd chased after him. "It wounds me to know that I may have offended you. I didn't see you." He waved at the courtiers still mingling in the Presence Chamber and caught sight of Lady Slade's lithe figure before the crowd swallowed her up. She had a slender waist, a small frame and sweet face. It was her eyes, however, that had caught his attention. That and her wit, but the eyes first. As soon as he realized who had waylaid him, he'd intended to make his excuses and leave immediately, but he'd been held captive by those orbs. It wasn't just their color, although they were as blue as the sapphire on his finger, but it was…what? For once, poetic words failed him. He couldn't think clearly. He felt like he was in a mist and couldn't see a thing ahead of him.
He supposed that's what happened to a fellow when he was unexpectedly waylaid by the widow of the man he'd killed.
"Oxley?" Lady Crewe's fan tapping against his shoulder brought him back to the present. "Oxley, are you listening to me?"
"Of course, my dear lady." He had no idea what she'd been saying. Probably something about her middle son seeking a page's position in Hughe's household. It was why he'd ended his affair with Lady Crewe a year ago, after a delightful six months. Hughe had thought he'd finally found someone who agreed with him, that love was a sentiment sensible people should avoid. Little had he known that she'd planned to use their relationship to further the interests of her family. He had indeed tried to avoid her, and several others, throughout the evening. Among them were past mistresses and family members of noblemen he'd assassinated. It would seem he had overwhelmingly failed on both counts.
Lady Crewe clicked her tongue. "You were not. Your mind was still on that plain little cat." She giggled, making her breasts jiggle against his arm. "Cat, you see. Her name is Catherine and her brother-in-law calls her Cat."
"Ah! You mean Lady Slade." He managed to sound flippant when he felt anything but.
"You knew who I was talking about, you sly fox. Yes, Lady Slade. She seemed to have your entire attention. Her conversation was riveting, was it?"
"She does have a certain wit," he said, trying not to smile. Women like Lady Crewe had a way of sinking their claws into others they considered rivals and he didn't want her to get the wrong impression. Lady Slade was not a rival in any shape. She never would be. He had two golden rules when it came to women—avoid eligible ladies, and avoid relatives of his targets. Lady Slade was both, added to which she would make a poor choice of wife. Although imagining his mother's horror if he brought home such a bride made him smile. It would serve her right for constantly badgering him to marry.
But it would never happen.
"What are you smiling at?" Lady Crewe said, touching her closed fan to the corner of his mouth. "You're not picturing that little chit in your bed, are you? She's most certainly not your usual type."
He had a type? He thought he'd always been qui
te well-rounded when it came to his choice of mistresses, eligibility notwithstanding. "You think not?"
"For one thing, she's got no sense of style."
"She's in mourning."
"Black can be made to look becoming with the addition of a few jewels."
That got him thinking. Lady Slade had worn almost no jewelry. A set of earrings and a wedding ring, and both of those were simple. Still, they'd suited her. With eyes like hers, she'd not needed jewelry to draw the gaze away. Better to allow eyes of such depth and luster to be admired unhindered.
"And the cut of that gown!" Lady Crewe shook her head. "She may be in mourning, but she's not dead herself. If the rumors are to be believed and she's here looking for a new husband, then she ought to wear something that reveals more throat and…" She rubbed herself against his arm like a dog in heat. "And more."
"Perhaps she's not the sort of woman who wishes to flaunt herself so soon after her husband's death."
She snorted. "Or perhaps her womanly features aren't so womanly. Going by the flatness of her gown, I'd say I'm right."
He'd had quite enough of her waspish company. He'd not thought Lady Crewe so cruel, but then he'd never spoken to her about other women. Their conversations, when they'd had them, were always about her sons. He tried to extricate himself from her, but her talons dug into him. She'd be shredding his sleeve next.
"What was Lady Slade asking of you?" she said. "Let me guess. She offered herself up as a potential wife? No? A mistress?" Another snort. She often snorted, sometimes derisively, sometimes to show displeasure or even pleasure. For the first time, he thought the noise suited her. There was certainly something piggish about her behavior tonight.
"Neither," he said, jaw tight.
She placed her fan over her mouth, but it didn't hide the mirth in her eyes. "Do not tell me that a woman like that didn't offer herself to you! Silly creature. Doesn't she know that you could solve all her problems with just a few months of commitment? And such fun commitment too," she cooed, nuzzling into him.
He leaned away, but wasn't able to politely remove his trapped arm. If she continued on in such a gross manner, he may have to do it impolitely, and in front of onlookers too, of which there seemed to be many. He spotted Lady Slade watching from the balcony. Even from a distance, he thought he saw misery lurking in her eyes, although it hadn't been there before. What had made her so unhappy?
He came back to the conversation with Lady Crewe as if she'd suddenly hit him over the head. "What do you mean?" he asked, frowning at her. "What problems?"
"Don't you know? She's as poor as a mouse, and as plain as one too. She hasn't got a hope of securing a good second marriage. I feel a little sorry for her. She's out of her depth trying to catch the eye of every eligible gentleman here. It makes her look quite desperate."
He stared at her. "Poor? Did her husband leave her in debt?" He knew full well the previous Lord Slade hadn't been a wealthy man, but Hughe had left enough money for his widow to cover his debts and live on for an entire year. It had cost Hughe a considerable sum, but he'd done it anyway. It was the least he could do for her. That and removing the monster from her life.
The previous Lord Slade had been a murderer, liar and adulterer. According to some sources, he beat his wife. According to others, he simply neglected her. The rumors on that score hadn't been consistent. The charge of murder, however, had been true. He'd investigated himself and discovered Slade had murdered the husband of one of his mistresses. Hughe and his man, Cole, had gotten to Slade after investigating first and proving to themselves that Slade had indeed murdered the man when he'd confronted Slade about his relations with his wife. There had been no doubt about his guilt.
But there had always been one thing that bothered Hughe. He had never discovered the person who'd hired him and brought the matter to his attention. Hughe always checked out his anonymous clients; he always discovered their reason for hiring him, just to be sure there was no ulterior motive. Thanks to his complicated network, no one was ever aware they had hired a peer of the realm to undertake an assassination.
"Quite a lot of debt," Lady Crewe went on. "I believe she's very poor and the estate is in difficulty. It's fortunate her brother-in-law is prepared to keep her or she'd be in serious trouble."
"Fortunate indeed," he muttered. He couldn't imagine how she had coped with that leather-brained fellow all these weeks. Slade Hall certainly wouldn't be filled with witty banter and amusements of the sort to entertain such a quick mind as Lady Slade's. Yet she was fortunate to have someone to look after her. So many widows had no one.
"The question is, for how long will he keep her?" Lady Crewe said. "I can't imagine a new wife wanting the previous lady of the house in residence, and by all accounts, Lord Slade hasn't got the softest of hearts. Driven by greed, so I've heard. It will be interesting to watch the story play out, don't you think?"
"Interesting is not the word I had in mind," he said, flatly.
"Now, about my Francis," she said, rounding on him.
"I have to go. It's been a pleasure, Lady Crewe, as always." He jerked himself free and bowed. He hurried away before she had a chance to protest. The usher opened the door for him and he finally—finally!—exited into the courtyard.
The night air was cool compared to the stuffiness inside, yet it was still a warm evening for so early in the summer. Soon the queen would leave for her annual progress around the countryside if she were well enough, but for now, she enjoyed the splendor of Whitehall along with her courtiers. Hughe had made his biannual visit to London as promised, and had met with his old friend Rafe Fletcher and Rafe's wife. The couple had bred quite a brood and seemed in good spirits. But it was time for Hughe to go home to Oxley House. It was the base for his operations, and although his mother was there, his men were too. There was a new operation to coordinate, another dish of justice to serve. The target happened to live near the village of Sutton Grange, where his newly married friend Orlando Holt lived. It was an unfortunate location, so near people Hughe cared about, but it couldn't be helped. If the brute wasn't stopped, other girls would suffer. Hughe would send his most seasoned, level-headed man, Cole, to do the work. There was no one like Cole for getting tasks done with utmost efficiency and minimum fuss. Cole would never do something so stupid as fall in love and leave the Assassins Guild the way Orlando had. Luckily for Orlando, his wife was delightful or Hughe would never be able to forgive him.
Hughe retrieved Charger from the palace stables and after a few moments talking to the grooms, rode out of the gate. He had no man with him since he preferred to travel without an extra burden whenever possible.
Unfortunately the air wasn't cool enough to take his thoughts away from Lady Slade. The sorrow on her fine, oval face haunted him. The notion that she may be impoverished thanks to his actions ate at his gut. Where had his donation gone? He'd left it with the mayor of the village and watched him deliver it to the house himself. Cole had later asked the mayor if he'd given it to the lady and he'd assured Cole that he had. Perhaps he'd lied and given it to the brother-in-law instead.
The cur. He would have to—
"Stop! No!"
The cry drifted to him on the breeze. A woman's cry. Bloody hell, where was she?
"Stop it at once, you're hurting me!"
To the left. Hughe dug his heels into Charger's flanks and kept his ears peeled for more sounds. He swept the area and finally saw the clump of figures in the darkness dead ahead.
"Help!" the woman screamed.
Charger streamed forward and Hughe drew his sword as it became clear two men stood over a woman on the ground. Both men held knives at her throat. "Unhand her!" he shouted. "Or by God I'll cut off your limbs."
One man scampered away without a glance back. The other stood his ground. Hughe didn't want to kill anyone tonight, and not in front of a woman, but if the man didn't move soon, he was going to get a blade through his belly. Thank God he collected his wits and realized he c
ouldn't win against a sword-wielding gentleman on horseback. Hughe let them go, not because he wanted to, but because the lady was unaccompanied and he couldn't leave her alone and at the mercy of more vagabonds.
She was indeed a lady. She wore a hooded cloak and leather shoes, although when he jumped down he saw that the soles were a little worn.
He sheathed his sword. "My lady, are you all right?" He crouched beside her and touched her shoulder. Her body shook as if she cried silently. "My lady, you're safe now. Let me help you."
She sat up and touched her hand to her temple. "I'm all right. Thank you, sir." She pushed the hood off her head and two big doe-like eyes blinked back at him. Eyes that he recognized. Eyes that were going to haunt him from this night on. "Lord Oxley! It's you."
"Lady Slade," he said, bowing. Bloody hell. It would seem he couldn't get away from this woman no matter how hard he tried.
CHAPTER 3
Lady Slade appeared unharmed, but rattled by the experience. She shook uncontrollably. Hughe knelt beside her and took her small hand in his own. Tendrils of hair had escaped from her widow's hood and dangled around her face like springy coils. He brushed them aside. What he saw made his heart lurch. The moonlight revealed lashes damp from crying and a cut on her cheek. He wiped the trickle of blood away with the pad of his thumb and received a wobbly smile in return.
"Do you have any other injuries?" he asked, checking her over. If those men had done more damage, he'd hunt them down and gut them.
She gingerly touched her cheek. "No. I'm all right, my lord. Your arrival was fortuitous. Thank you." She blinked those big eyes at him again. "I am so very grateful."
"Any gentleman would do the same."
"No, my lord, they would not." She spoke with jaded conviction, but conviction nevertheless. He hated to admit she was right.
"Where is Lord Slade?" he asked, glancing back to the palace gate. "Why didn't he escort you?"
"He wasn't ready to leave."
Hughe frowned. "He allowed you to walk alone at night? In London?" He shook his head. Some gentlemen didn't deserve to be known as such. "The man is a fool. Worse than that, he's negligent." He squeezed her hand and he was relieved to feel it tighten around his. "Can you stand?"