by C. J. Archer
His sweet, gentle Cat had been replaced by a ferocious woman he didn't recognize. And he had no one but himself to blame.
"Cat, please." He had to keep on trying. Had to win her over again. He stood and reached for her, but she slapped his hand away. "I'm not lying," he tried.
"Don't. I know you are. I know the signs."
Signs? He had no signs. He gave nothing away. In fact, he was a bloody good liar. How could a woman who'd known him mere months not be fooled, when everyone else was? He didn't dare ask. She looked like a ferocious she-wolf.
Her nostrils flared. Tears welled in her eyes. "I know I cannot ask you to give her up."
He frowned. "Pardon?"
She placed her hand to her stomacher. Her breathing calmed a little, but her eyes were still filled with angry tears. "I know you had mistresses long before you wed me, and I know you'll continue to have them."
"No. You're wrong."
Her lower lip wobbled until she bit it so hard he worried she'd draw blood. "But I had hoped you would wait until you stopped sharing my bed before you ran back to one of them!" She spun around and ran to her bedchamber.
But Hughe ran faster. He caught her round the waist and held her against him, her back to his chest. She kicked out and struggled, but he wasn't letting her go. Not yet. Not when so much was at stake.
"Shhh, Cat. Calm yourself."
"I. Will. Not." She clawed at his hand and it stung worse than a thousand wasp stings. But he didn't let go. If he let her go now, he might not get her back.
"Listen," he said in a tone he hoped she knew to be serious. "Listen to me. Please. Let me explain."
She stopped fighting him, and went still in his arms. But he wasn't fooled. He didn't loosen his grip. She must be able to feel his heart hammering into her back. It beat furiously, as if it would break out of its cage.
"There are no others, Cat." He heard the desperation in his voice and didn't care. He had to make her understand. "You are the only woman. My only one. You always will be now, I promise you." He felt like he'd just sliced his chest down the center and exposed more of the real Hughe than he'd shown to any woman. If she didn't believe him when he opened himself to her like that, there was no hope of winning back her trust.
"How do I know you're telling the truth," she whispered, "when all you've fed me are lies?"
Not all, he wanted to tell her. But that would mean admitting that he had lied about some things. And no matter what happened, revealing those things would cause an even bigger mess. One he could never claw his way out of. As it stood now, he still had a chance to prove to her that she was the only woman for him.
"You have to believe me on this. Please, Cat. I can't give you up." Everything inside him felt tight, fragile. With one elbow to the ribs, he might shatter. He buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. Her scent filled him, made his head dizzy like the strongest wine. He loosened his grip so she could turn around and face him.
But instead she pulled free and ran to her bedchamber. He did not chase her, but watched her go with a heavy heart.
She stood by the door and fixed her tearful gaze on him. "I know I cannot stop you from having them, but I need time to adjust and—"
"There are none, Cat. I can swear to that on every Bible."
After a very long moment, she inclined her head. "I'm glad to hear it."
He approached her slowly, carefully, so as not to alarm her. "Then will you come here and kiss me?"
She put her hand out to stop him drawing closer. "I'm tired tonight. I'm going to bed."
She shut the door and slid the bolt home. He stood there and stared at the solid wood and wondered where this strong-willed, jealous woman had come from. He thought the lady he'd married was demure and amiable. In truth, in the beginning, he thought he could keep her at Oxley House and his mistresses elsewhere, and have the best of both worlds. It was, after all, what all noblemen did, many with the blessing of their wives.
Now he knew that she would never give her blessing. He smiled, despite everything. He was glad of it; more glad than he could ever have imagined mere weeks ago. He didn't want a mistress; he wanted his clever, spirited wife. Now all he had to do was win her back. It would take time to earn her trust again, but he would not give up.
Just as long as she never found out about his other lie.
***
Cat didn't want to be a jealous shrew of a wife. She hated ranting and raging at her husband, but she couldn't help it. Her emotions were spilling forth and she couldn't keep them in check.
For years she'd turned a blind eye to Stephen's indiscretions, but she couldn't do that with Hughe, even if she’d previously thought she could. Not once had she felt as bereft then as she did now. Her heart clenched in pain and she couldn't stop the cascading waterfall of tears.
Despite Hughe's assurances that he kept no mistresses, she didn't believe him. He was lying. She knew that as surely as she knew she loved him. He sounded so convincing, however, with his gentle yet insistent voice assuring her she was the only one. And then when he wrapped his powerful arms around her and held her as if he didn't want to let her go, she could almost believe that he loved her.
But then came the lies again and she knew it was all a game for him.
She must have fallen asleep because she woke up to the sounds of her maids moving around the chamber and sunlight peeking around the edges of the shutters. They eyed her with sympathy and kept eerily silent. For two chattering girls, that was quite a feat.
Cat was in no mood to speak to them. She was in no mood to speak to anyone. She kept to her bedchamber, not even venturing into the sitting room she shared with Hughe. He was the last person she wanted to encounter.
So when he knocked on her bedchamber door and asked to see her, she had one of her maids tell him she was unwell. Cat heard him ask if he could fetch the wise woman, but the maid said she just needed to rest for the day. He left with a promise that he would return later.
Elizabeth came to visit in the afternoon. Cat allowed her to enter. She hadn't cried all morning, perhaps because she'd used up all her tears the night before, so her eyes wouldn't be too swollen.
Nevertheless, Elizabeth knew Cat wasn't ill the moment she saw her. Elizabeth sat on the bed and drew her into an embrace. Cat's eyes banked with tears once more.
"If it makes you feel any better, Hughe is miserable too," Elizabeth said, drawing away but holding Cat by the shoulders.
It didn't make her feel better. It only served to confuse her. Perhaps he had been telling the truth. Then what was he hiding, if not his mistresses?
"Pass me the comb," Elizabeth said to one of the maids. The girl did as she was bid then left when Elizabeth dismissed them both. "I'm going to fix your hair."
"I don't want my hair fixed," Cat said.
"Then do it for me. I used to comb my sister's hair all the time, and I find the activity soothing."
Cat shifted down the bed to allow Elizabeth to settle behind her.
"You have lovely hair," Elizabeth said, running the comb through.
"It's a dull brown shade and dead straight." Not like Lady Crewe's glossy locks.
"It reminds me of wood worn smooth over time."
Wood? That was the best she could do? After hearing how plain she was, first from her parents and then Stephen, she knew she was no beauty. No amount of flattery could make her believe she was anything but ordinary.
Elizabeth stroked the comb through her hair then arranged it into a style. Cat allowed her to do it, mostly because Elizabeth had fallen blessedly silent. She didn't want to hear any more about how miserable Hughe was.
Well, perhaps a little bit.
"Has he gone back to Larkham?" Cat asked.
Elizabeth's hands stilled. Cat held her breath as she waited for an answer. "No."
"Is he still here?"
"He and Edward are out."
"Where have they gone?"
"I don't know."
Lies, lie
s and more lies. "Elizabeth, what are you all hiding from me?"
Elizabeth was saved from answering by one of the maids re-entering. "M'lady, a Lord Slade has arrived."
Cat spun around to face her, bumping Elizabeth's arm. "Slade! What's he doing here?"
The maid gave her a blank look. It would seem that was a question only Slade could answer.
"Is that your brother-in-law?" Elizabeth asked.
Cat nodded. It was very odd. Had Slade come all the way to see her? Whatever for? She'd not expected to see him ever again, and now this, at a time when she was feeling too fragile to face anyone.
Elizabeth closed her hand around Cat's arm and gave her an encouraging smile. "Shall we see him together?"
"It's kind of you to offer. Thank you."
Elizabeth helped her dress in a rust-colored gown with a fine lace ruff and heavily embroidered forepart. She was determined to look every bit the countess and show him how far she'd risen. He could not injure her now.
They found Slade with Lord Lynden in the summer parlor, making polite yet stilted conversation about crops and sheep. No doubt Lynden was enjoying telling his poorer guest how many head he kept, if his puffed chest was any indication. Hislop was nowhere in sight, thank goodness. Hopefully he hadn't even come.
"There you are," Slade said, rising. He bowed, but not deeply. "Dear sister-in-law."
"What are you doing here?" she asked. It may have been blunt but she was in no mood for idle chatter with Slade. He was quite possibly the last person she wanted to see.
Lynden shifted in his chair and looked embarrassed by her bald question, but Slade showed no signs of discomfort. "I wanted to see my sister-in-law again. I've missed you."
"Nonsense."
He cleared his throat. "Lord Oxley's people told me you came here together, so I decided to continue on. It's only another day's ride from Oxley House and I'd already come so far." His smile was as oily as his hair. Cat didn't trust it.
She knew she would not get a real answer from him while the others were nearby. She also suspected he was there because of his ridiculous claim that Hughe had killed Stephen.
Her spine tingled. She'd learned much about her husband since arriving at Sutton Hall, including that his friend Cole was a killer.
Cole.
The name scratched at the edge of her mind, but she couldn't place it.
Hislop strode into the room ahead of a scurrying Sutton Hall servant, who glanced anxiously at his master. Hislop stood in the center of the room, feet a little apart, hands on hips, looking every bit like he was the master.
"Who are you?" Lord Lynden asked, rising to his feet. Cat was impressed that he could put on such a haughty air in the face of Hislop's commanding stance.
"My man, Hislop," Slade said quickly.
Hislop's gaze swept over Lynden and Elizabeth with bored indifference. It stopped when it reached Cat and a sneer distorted his lips. "Lady Oxley," he said without bowing. "Always a pleasure to see you again. How Slade and I have missed you these last weeks." The slippery tone slithered across Cat's skin. She shivered and nodded a greeting.
Elizabeth closed her hand over Cat's. The gesture was a comfort. She was not alone now, she had nothing to fear from these men.
"There appears to have been a mistake," Hislop said to Lynden. "I've instructed your man to find me a room in the house. He seems to think there are none and has placed me in the stables with the grooms."
The manservant standing behind Hislop colored and bowed his head. Surely there'd been a mistake, as Hislop suggested. A house the size of Sutton Hall must have more guest chambers fit for a retainer. On the other hand, Cat liked the thought of Hislop sharing an empty stall with the spotty stable lads. She had to press her lips together hard to stop her smile from escaping.
"I, er, that is…" Lynden appealed to his man, but the servant merely pulled a face at Hislop's back. Clearly he didn't like the brute either, and thought the household would be safer with him outside.
"There are no more rooms in the house," Elizabeth cut in before her cousin could speak. "There are a number of guests at the moment and the only space is in the stables. Unless Lord Slade wishes to share with you." She arched her brow at Slade.
"No," Hislop snapped before Slade could answer. He narrowed his gaze at Elizabeth. "Who are you?"
"Elizabeth Monk, companion to Lady Oxley. Who are you?"
He turned to Cat without answering. "My, my, how you have risen. You have companions, no less! Where is your husband?"
"Out," Cat said. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you both, although somewhat confused as to why you came at all."
"I told you," Slade said with barely disguised irritation. "Weren't you listening?"
"I was, but I simply don't believe you. You were never interested in me before."
"On the contrary! You are family, even now. I have always been interested in your welfare. And besides, we have much to discuss. I hoped you would have some news for me." He might as well have winked at her, his intention was so obvious. It would seem he hadn't given up his quest to blame Hughe for Stephen's murder.
Cat may have her own fresh doubts about Hughe's honesty, but she would not share them with Slade. Whatever Hughe had done, he was still one hundred times the man that Slade was, and a thousand times better than Hislop.
Slade rose and approached Cat. He gave her one of his odd half-smiles that didn't reach his eyes and barely even reached the corners of his mouth. He held out his hand. "Care to walk with me, Cat?"
"Not now."
His fingers curled up. "When?"
"I don't know. I'm tired and—"
Determined footsteps approached quickly and Hughe appeared at the door, Edward Monk behind him. Between them they looked like two furious warriors seeking vengeance. Hughe's pale eyes coldly assessed Hislop and then Slade, finally settling on Cat. The rigidity left his jaw and his gaze warmed, but only a little. Rarely had she seen him look so menacing and it chilled her to the bone. Her husband was not a man to be trifled with.
"Slade," he said, flatly. "I hope you're not bothering my countess."
Slade held up his hands. A flicker of panic passed across his face and he looked to Hislop, perhaps for reassurance. Hislop remained where he was, his hands still on his hips, his eyes narrowed to pinpoints as he watched Hughe.
"Bothering her?" Slade said. "Not at all. We were about to go for a walk."
A muscle throbbed in Hughe's jaw and his fists closed at his sides. Slade eyed them warily while Hislop took a step forward. So did Edward, his fingers twitching near his sword. One quick move, one lunge, and the men would be brawling in the parlor.
"I'm not going anywhere," Cat said, rising. "My head aches. I'll be supping in my rooms tonight and don't wish to be disturbed."
Hughe watched her from beneath heavy lids. "Let me escort you to your chamber." It was not a suggestion, but a command that a wife could not refuse in front of others. It served her purposes well enough to have him with her anyway. She only wanted to diffuse the situation and get the men away from one another.
They passed by Edward, facing Hislop, his hand resting on his hip near his sword hilt in what appeared to be a casual pose, but Cat suspected was so that he could draw quickly if necessary. What had Hughe told him about the two?
"Are you all right?" Hughe asked as they climbed the stairs together. He didn't touch her, but she could sense the tension in him.
"Yes. He only just arrived."
"Do you know what he wants?"
"No." She thought about suggesting that Slade may not want anything, but she knew Hughe would see through the lie. It seemed better to keep to simple answers, and avoid Hughe altogether until Slade left.
They came to a stop in the small outer chamber that led to her bedchamber. They faced one another, but Cat couldn't meet his gaze. She knew he would see into her and know her thoughts.
He lifted his hand, but lowered it before touching her. He closed it into a fist,
as if he didn't know what else to do with it. "What about…?" He cleared his throat and blew out a breath. Gone was the masculine bravado from the parlor. He seemed to be having difficulty speaking. "Have you thought about what I said last night?"
"You mean do I believe you no longer keep mistresses?"
He flinched and inclined his head in a nod.
"I have thought about it. It's all I've thought about until Slade arrived."
"And?" The word was barely a whisper.
She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "And I know you're lying about something, Hughe."
He blinked rapidly. His swallow was audible. The fop was nowhere to be seen, thank goodness, but gone too was the self-assuredness that Hughe always possessed in abundance. The absence of it shocked her to the core. He'd never shown shyness or doubt, even when his defenses were lowered during their lovemaking. His cockiness was very much a part of Hughe, something she hadn't realized until now when it was nowhere to be seen.
Dark shadows circled his eyes and extra lines tugged at his mouth. He looked exhausted. Resisting the urge to draw him into her arms and hold him was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She ached to cradle his head in her lap as he drifted off to sleep, and to lie with him until he woke up. But there would be no intimacy between them now.
He looked away, dragging his hand through his hair, already messed up from his day's ride, and down the back of his neck. "Bolt your doors tonight. Until I find out why they're here, don't trust them." His gaze flicked to hers then away. "Good night, Cat." He bowed stiffly and walked off.
Cat watched him go with a bruised heart. It would seem keeping his secrets to himself was more important to him than his wife.
***
"M'lady," said one of Cat's maids when she awoke the next morning. "Your husband is outside."
"Oh?" She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. "Does he request an audience with me?"
"No, m'lady. He's asleep sitting up in a chair by the door. He's wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday. I think he's been there all night."
Cat blinked at the closed door leading to the outer chamber. Her heart sank. Hughe had been there all night to keep Slade and Hislop from her door? He would have slept terribly, and he was already exhausted.