The Deepest Well

by Juliette Cross

  “What is that, Lady Katherine?”

  “Memories of my father.”

  By this time, they’d reached the carriage. Mr. Delacroix handed up Jane and then her maid. Katherine turned to Lord Thornton, fearful her emotions would be transparent in her countenance. She’d enjoyed being with him, talking with him, far more than she should have. He helped her up into the carriage, holding her hand till the last possible moment.

  “Thank you, Lord Thornton.”

  She wasn’t thanking him for the assistance into the carriage. And he knew it. He smiled a smile that warmed her inside and out.

  “You’re most welcome, Lady Katherine. Any time I can be of service.”

  They stepped away, and the coachman jolted the carriage forward into the lane. Jane grinned like a fiend from her seat directly across, shaking her head.

  “I don’t want to hear a word,” said Katherine, stopping her teasing before it could begin.

  “Oh, you will.” Jane glanced warily at her maid, never wanting to share any secrets in front of her lest the maid confess them to her mother. “You will.”

  Chapter Four

  Katherine stepped into the front hall, draped in a perfectly fitted dress of shimmering champagne silk. Clyde stood with his hat in one hand and that odious lion’s head cane in the other, raking her body with a ravenous gaze. She shivered. He’d avoided her bedroom for some time, thankfully, but she knew her respite would soon be over.

  “Right on time, darling. Shall we?”

  She swept past Edmund, who held open the door, and down to the carriage, where Peter helped her in. “To Covent Garden, Peter.”

  Her husband stepped into the carriage and sat opposite her, grinning. Choosing to ignore his arrogant display of husbandly possession, she stared out the window, remembering the sunny walk in the park and her genteel companion earlier that day.

  “What’s the matter, dear Katherine? You’re not still angry, are you?”

  “Why would I be angry?” she asked in a bored tone.

  “The scullery maid.”

  She could’ve taken his own cane and beaten him with it for putting that image back inside her head. She’d had such a lovely day. She closed her eyes for two full seconds, then settled her gaze on him, willing the anger in her chest to stop burning. His grin widened. He enjoyed her anger, the very reason she fought so hard to hold it in control.

  “Do not vex yourself, darling. My affection for you is not diminished.”

  “Perhaps mine is for you.” She regretted opening her mouth, but once she had, she couldn’t stop the words from spilling. “As long as you entertain someone else in your…bed”—though there had been no bed involved—“you can rest assured that you’ll not be sharing mine.”

  “Is that right?”

  His voice was edged with ice. She might have pushed too far. There was one thing Clyde relished above all things, even his pride—his possessions.

  “Perhaps you’re unclear on how a marriage works. You see, you now belong to me. And so does your bed.”

  The carriage rolled to a stop. They’d arrived at the opera house. Katherine leaned forward to open the carriage door herself, eager to flee his presence. He grabbed her upper arm in a tight grip.

  “Let go.” She tried to pull away. “You’re hurting me.”

  He gripped more tightly. “Remember what I’ve said, my darling.”

  She stopped struggling, meeting his stormy gaze with calm and resolve. “I heard you, Lord Blakely. Now free my arm before you leave a mark and you’re forced to explain my bruises to your gentlemen cronies.”

  The door swung open, but Katherine crouched at the entrance, still held by her husband, while Peter stood there, waiting.

  “Lady Katherine?”

  Clyde released her, and she stepped down with great speed, tripping on the hem of her gown when she landed on the pavement. Peter helped her catch her balance before she fell.

  “Are you all right, Lady Katherine?”

  “Fine, Peter. Thank you.”

  She moved away a few steps, longing to run fast and far away. But Clyde would only catch her, then punish her for inconveniencing him. He sidled up next to her, offering his arm, brandishing his cane in the opposite hand. Katherine glared at the brass lion’s head at the top, hating the object as much as its owner. Clyde didn’t need a cane, but he fancied himself a dazzling eccentric. He thought the damned thing added a touch of power and prestige. What a fool.

  The elegant gentry filed up the stone steps of the Royal Opera House. The women filled the hall with an array of rich-colored silks—deep crimson, darkest sapphire, and emerald green—their glittering jewels draping delicate necks and fine wrists. The men contrasted the vibrant hues in black evening dress. Katherine and her husband proceeded up the staircase toward their box.

  “Good evening, Lord Blakely, Lady Katherine.”

  “Thank you, Lady Helene,” said Clyde, silky smooth. “And where is Lord Weathersby?”

  “Oh, probably curled up in his study with a bottle of his favorite port, I imagine.”

  Katherine smiled. She loved that Lady Helene said the God’s honest truth whenever she damn well pleased. She longed to do the same.

  “You look lovely, my dear,” she said to Katherine. “You are a diamond shining brighter than the rest.”

  “Isn’t she?” Her husband agreed with his usual finesse, but Katherine’s knowledge of the beast within made her cringe.

  “Shall we?” she asked with a polite smile, wanting to get to their box, where she could escape for a while in the opera, Faust.

  “Certainly, darling.”

  Katherine wished with every fiber of her being that he would stop calling her darling. She was not his darling. She was not precious to him at all, except as a commodity for appraisal and to elevate him in the eyes of the aristocracy. Her family had an impeccable reputation, generous to a fault, though always judicious in where they bestowed charity and aid to others. Now, with her husband as an anchor on her estate, spending her inheritance on frivolous nonsense—like expensive, imported canes—he’d proven that she was his purse, his ornament, but never his darling.

  “Good evening, Lord Talcombe,” Clyde greeted one of his overstuffed gambling partners, a member of the House of Lords as well as a notorious inebriate. The gentleman’s jowls slackened when he took in Katherine at Clyde’s side.

  “Well, well, Blakely. This is your lovely wife? We have never met.”

  “Please allow me to introduce Lady Katherine Blakely.”

  “What a pleasure,” said Lord Talcombe.

  She dipped a small curtsy to avoid offering her hand in greeting. Though Lord Talcombe was obese with a ruddy complexion and looked nothing like Clyde, he bore a striking resemblance to him in demeanor. She had no intention of letting the man’s lips come near her hand, even well-covered in a silken glove.

  “And you.”

  She wore her society smile as the two men exchanged a few niceties, coupled with secretive whisperings. Katherine hadn’t a care. Her mind had already wandered to a lovely park where a tall, handsome man’s auburn hair gleamed in the sunlight. If she could disappear and transport herself to Hyde Park seven hours earlier, she would. In a heartbeat.

  “Well then, Talcombe. I’ll be seeing you soon,” said her husband in parting. The two shared another deviant chuckle, but she cared little about her husband’s mischievous activities.

  As Clyde led her away down the second-floor corridor toward their box, he said, “I forgot to mention that we shall have company joining us tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. A recent newcomer to London. And his friend.”

  Katherine’s legs immediately wobbled. She wasn’t sure how or where Clyde might have had occasion to meet Lord Thornton, but there were few newcomers to London this late in the
Season. It must be him. This smothering evening with her husband suddenly took a turn for the wonderful. She inhaled a deep breath and steadied herself as they stepped into the box.

  Then her heart fell. Lord Radcliff and his friend Alexander Godfrey, the two who’d put Lord Thornton so much on edge at the Weathersby ball, stood to greet them.

  “Ah, Lady Katherine,” said Radcliff, bowing, “what a pleasure that we meet again.”

  “You’ve met my wife?” asked Clyde in a tone hinting at suspicion.

  “Only briefly. At the Weathersby ball.”

  “Oh yes. What a bore,” said Clyde, proving he was an arrogant ass even in front of near strangers.

  “Good evening, Lord Radcliff. Mr. Godfrey.” She attempted to lighten the awkwardness of Clyde’s greeting. “I did not realize you were acquainted with my husband.”

  “Newly acquainted,” said Lord Radcliff. “We appreciate the invitation to accompany you tonight. Don’t we, Godfrey?”

  “Absolutely. Stunning view of the stage from here.”

  Clyde stared distractedly at someone down below. Probably a mistress, Katherine presumed. As if on cue, he turned with a tight smile. “If you’ll pardon me, I must see to a matter of business. I’ll return shortly.” With that, she was left alone with two men she hardly knew, though they appeared harmless enough.

  “Would you have a seat, Lady Katherine?” asked Lord Radcliff, sweeping an arm in a gallant manner to the front row.

  “Thank you.”

  She took her seat and adjusted her skirts, resting her reticule in her lap. Lord Radcliff took the seat directly on her left. Mr. Godfrey took the seat next to him, closest to the stage.

  “Did you enjoy the ball the other evening?” asked Lord Radcliff.

  “I suppose so. Lady Helene always puts on the most lavish occasions.”

  Katherine caught sight of Clyde speaking to a tall, dark-skinned man—certainly a foreigner—with a ravishing blonde on his arm. To her surprise, Clyde paid no mind at all to the beautiful creature at the man’s side but spoke intensely with the gentleman. She was wrong. He seemed to have business to attend to after all.

  “You don’t sound as if you enjoyed this lavish occasion.”

  Katherine tore her attention away from her husband and turned to Lord Radcliff. She’d never been this close to the man, but now that she was, she couldn’t fail to notice that he was remarkably attractive. Fine-boned with a Grecian profile. Dark, wavy hair that fell just right across the brow—not too styled and not disheveled. Clear green eyes that gleamed reddish-gold by the candlelight in the sconce on the wall. Strange.

  “Lady Katherine?”

  And his voice. Deep and sonorous and entirely unfair for an attractive man to possess. He was a rake of the highest order. Of that she was certain. And yet his demeanor was not lecherous or even suggestive. But patient. Like a tiger in the tall grass, waiting for the most opportune moment.

  “Lady Katherine?”

  “Oh, I apologize. You were saying?”

  A smile crinkled one side of his mouth as he spoke. “I was saying that you don’t sound as if you had a lovely evening at the ball. Was it something to do with Lord Thornton?”

  “Lord Thornton?” Her heart sped up at the mere mention of his name.

  “Did he distress you in any way?”

  If she was honest, yes, he actually had. He had disturbed her on the most elemental level, rousing first anger, then frustration, then undeniable desire.

  “No,” she lied. “Not at all.”

  “And how long have you known Lord Thornton?”

  Curious that his inflection changed when speaking of the man who so obviously held mutual animosity for him.

  “I met him only that night.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “He seemed to take a particular interest in you. As if he had a right—” He glanced away toward the audience below. “Forgive me. It is not for me to pry.”

  Katherine laughed. “There is nothing to pry into. I met Lord Thornton at the Weathersby ball for the first time, and we waltzed once. That is all.”

  His gaze swiveled back to Katherine, watching once again like the predator in the shadows. She felt peculiarly on edge for the briefest of moments.

  “I see,” he finally said.

  “And how are you acquainted with Lord Thornton?”

  She tightened her gloves at the elbow, seeming to be indifferent to his answer, though she eagerly longed to know how and why the two were acquainted.

  He leaned back in his chair, resting a hand on the knee closest to Katherine’s skirt. “Lord Thornton and I have known each other for many years. Our families have been at odds for some time.”

  “Oh? I’m sorry to hear that. What is the grievance, if I might ask?”

  The orchestra’s warm-up sounds of strings and horns died at once. The lights dimmed just as Clyde stepped back into the box and took his seat next to Katherine.

  “Perhaps another time,” said Lord Radcliff with a smile, turning to the stage.

  Katherine let her unease wash away as the music of Louis Spohr filled the theater. The somber strings and dulcet tone of the horns carried her to a peaceful place where she was no longer tied to Clyde, where she ruled her world in her own right.

  If only.

  The guile with which the black-clad Mephistopheles crept across the stage and lured Faust into a deal with the devil sent an alarming chill down her spine. The eagerness with which Faust signed away his soul gave her even more discomfort. At one point, she felt Lord Radcliff’s gaze on her. When she finally glanced his way, he smiled nonchalantly and faced the stage once more, his long fingers tapping on his knee to the rhythm of the orchestra.

  At intermission, Lord Radcliff stood first and offered her his arm. “Lord Blakely, you do not mind if I escort your wife to the lounge, do you?”

  “Of course not, Radcliff.”

  Katherine caught an icy tinge to her husband’s tone, but his abrasive demeanor was not unusual as of late. Though the music was dark, this had never unsettled her before. The opera had always set her mind at ease, even in the company of her husband. However, tonight she sensed that danger was near, circling, weaving through the mingling crowd like a concealed viper.

  Lord Radcliff led her to the farther side of the foyer, where the crowd was thinnest. He beckoned a servant carrying a silver platter with crystal flutes of champagne. All this time, Godfrey remained passive and silent at his side. Rather odd, but the fellow seemed as ill at ease as she did. He searched the room as if waiting for something, for someone.

  “Here you are, Lady Katherine.”

  Radcliff handed her a glass. Though she rarely drank in public, she took it willingly and let the cool liquid tingle down her throat.

  “So what do you think of the opera?” he asked.

  “I’ve seen Faust before, but there is something troublesome about this performance.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Perhaps it’s the actors. They seem… They appear so genuine in their performance that I find it disturbing.”

  He chuckled. “Really? You can’t fault the performers for doing their job well.”

  “No. I don’t fault them at all.” She took another sip. “It’s just that the very idea of selling one’s soul makes me heartsick.”

  “Does it?” His keen gaze fixed on her, his voice rolling deep. “Would you not give everything for love and comfort and happiness?”

  Katherine felt stricken by the question, by his intense demeanor, by the very idea. “Is that what Faust bargains for? It appears to me to be lust and money and fame.”

  “Interesting. Then it all depends on one’s perspective, does it not?”

  He swigged the rest of his c
hampagne with a swift tilt of the head. Katherine felt a sinking sensation, realizing this disarming, charming man was powerful in stature and even more powerful with some indefinable energy pulsing in the air around him. She thought herself mad, but she couldn’t stop staring, wondering who he truly was.

  He edged more into her intimate space, whispering low. “One man’s heart’s desire may appear unjust and sinful to another. But the man longs to capture the beauty of his eye all the same.” His gaze drifted over her cheeks down to her lips and lingered there. “I’d bet even a lady such as you has her own heart’s desire which may not seem fitting to society or the laws of man…or even the laws of God. Yet your heart wants what it wants, does it not, Lady Katherine?”

  At the moment, her heart was beating frantically, sensing danger on a dramatic scale. What was he truly asking her? Did he know how she felt about Lord Thornton? Was he professing his own desire for her? Confusion befuddled her thoughts. She couldn’t say a word. She tried.

  “I—I’m not sure what you mean, Lord Radcliff.”

  “Yes. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

  She turned her head, afraid she might give her emotions away if she remained in his clutches one more second. Clyde stood apart from them, speaking to the tall foreigner with the lovely blonde still on his arm. The man gestured over Clyde’s shoulder. He turned and looked directly at her, frowning at Lord Radcliff, then nodded to the gentleman. They walked together toward them. Godfrey remained silent and to the side, drinking a glass of champagne.

  “Mr. Calliban, please meet my wife, Lady Katherine.”

  The man bowed properly. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.” His accent was thick, though he spoke English as well as any gentleman of London. Detecting the precise origin of his accent was more difficult. She’d met men of the Middle East before, but none who sounded exactly like him.

  “And you, Mr. Calliban. May I ask, is your homeland Persia?”

  “Thereabouts, my lady. We have homes in many countries.” He peered down at the woman at his side with a covetous expression, though she never even glanced his way, gaze forward, serene smile in place.

  The sensation of dread that had swirled around her during the performance now swelled to new heights. This was no ordinary man. All her instincts told her he was…evil. How could she possibly think such a thing about someone she had never met before? His firm and controlled demeanor put her on edge. He had the look of a man who’d seen a thousand horrors, and they’d not touched him at all.