“Put me down,” she said.
He wouldn’t turn away from a good reason for touching. “I will, at your destination.”
“I want to say good morn to Stella.” Irritation laced her voice. Was she suffering as much as he with too little sleep? It was difficult to read beyond her frown, although he was starting to think it was a familiar mask she donned. He set her before the horse. She shooed him away with her fingers, and he strode back to pick up his sword. His gaze followed Cat even if he forced himself to keep a distance.
She touched her forehead to Stella’s nose, the horse remaining still as if enjoying the comfort from her mistress. He turned away from the beauty of the two of them together. He’d learned long ago to look away from desires that were fruitless. He was not the man for the wildfire that was Cat Campbell, not when he must uphold the Worthington name. Tension rolled through his jawline. Damn. He didn’t want to consider Cat finding another man to make her writhe in pleasure either.
He raked one hand through his hair before he caught himself. “With effort, we will make it to Hollings late this afternoon,” he said.
She didn’t give a reply, but he wasn’t expecting one. She’d taken to silence since their night pleasuring each other. He couldn’t figure out if she regretted their interlude or was heeding his warning about not truly knowing him. Asking her might melt the ice she’d erected around herself, and then he wouldn’t be able to resist her if she became warm and pliable again. It was better this way, for they could never be together. Benjamin Worthington was surely thrilled about his lasting power as he danced with the devil for eternity.
Nathaniel donned his short cape and strode to the tarp to release the knots. Shaking it straight to fold, he looked toward the familiar path. They were close to Lincolnshire, and the nearer they ventured, the tighter his chest felt and the heavier his responsibilities pressed upon his shoulders.
Cat limped around a large rock face before he could stride over to her. When she returned to the clearing, the skin of her face looked damp.
“I will ride Stella then,” she said. “Since we are soon to arrive at Hollings.”
“Not with your foot still injured,” he said, lifting the saddle onto Gaspar’s back. Even if he couldn’t kiss and stroke Cat, he wasn’t going to forfeit holding her one more day as they rode together.
“It will be scandalous if we ride up together,” she said, staring at him without expression. Those had been his words before, and she was right. “If we are seen alone together, it will sully the good name of Worthington and compromise your reputation.”
A bigger danger would be in giving any man hearing of it the idea that Cat was a loose woman and someone with whom they could dally. In order for her to be accepted at court as a friend of Queen Catherine, someone who could move in the queen’s circle to figure out if there was treason afoot, she should be above reproach.
“We will arrive from the back, leave the horses, and find Jane Pitney inside who will say that we had a chaperone who returned immediately north.”
He fixed the rest of their belongings to Stella’s saddle, checking the mare’s girth belts. Cat stood watching him from the mare’s head. “Jane will lie for ye?”
“Yes. She is completely loyal to the Worthington family.”
He moved around Gaspar to Cat’s side. With a rein on his attraction, he slid an arm behind her back, the other lifting under her legs. He held her against his chest as he walked back to his horse. “She is loyal out of love or out of fear?” Cat asked as he held her for a moment, looking into her lovely, fresh face speckled with brown freckles. Her full lips had the fairy kisses, as his old nursemaid from Ireland had called them. The memory of those freckled lips moving against his made his mouth turn dry.
He swallowed. “For love I suppose, although not for my father. Does it matter?” he asked. This was madness, this spell she seemed to cast over him. Blood rushed to his jack, making it harden as he lifted her to sit on Gaspar’s back. Her red curls touched the horse’s rear as she leaned back to raise her injured foot up and over.
“Aye,” she said, sitting tall. “Loyalty for love is stronger by far. People will die for it.”
“You speak with confidence about an emotion you swear never to entertain.” He set his boot in the stirrup and climbed on behind her. He clicked his tongue to get Gaspar moving, ignoring his hard member that she no doubt could feel riding against her sweetly rounded arse. Stella moved at the end of her tethered lead beside him.
“I have seen love before,” she said. “Seen people die because of it.”
She spoke of her parents, and he frowned at the back of her head. He didn’t like the thought of her going through life without letting herself love or be loved. Nathaniel held the reins lightly before her, his arms flanking her sides. “Some people feel that love makes one stronger, not weaker. My sisters, for instance. Your chief also.”
“People who have fallen under the spell of love are often misled by it. They can no longer judge it as the danger it truly is.”
There was no arguing with her, and he didn’t have much experience with the blasted emotion, so he fell silent. They walked through the woods, coming out along the edge of a lake that would lead to a stream that he’d follow to Lincolnshire. A soft patter of rain fell, and he covered them with the woolen blankets.
The day wore on with them shrouded in the wet blankets as the drizzle turned to a drenching rain, pocking the snow until brown mud broke through the white. It would have been miserable, icily damp and full of gloom, except that he held Cat before him under the heavy blankets. Sometimes she dozed, her head falling against him so that he could look down on her. Lips slightly parted, cheeks full and raised to the misty sky, wet lashes spiked against her smooth skin. The freckles covering her face were unique, a soft feathering of color set like constellations across her skin. Did they extend under her clothes? It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered. The nagging curiosity would likely never abate unless he did catch a glimpse of her naked form. Even if they had stripped each other bare the other night in the tent, it had been too dark to see.
She murmured softly, her lips pressing against each other. Luckily Gaspar seemed to know the way, for Nathaniel couldn’t drag his gaze from the beauty pressed against him. The curls in her hair had tightened with the rain, framing her face with the freedom that reflected her spirit. Wild, non-conforming, and fierce.
Cat Campbell was nothing like the women at court, the women from whom he’d been told to pick and wed to carry on the Worthington line. Duty, honor, power, and responsibility were attributes that far exceeded attraction, respect, and love for a woman. Or at least so he’d been told. For the first twenty-eight years of his life, his father’s words and constant advice had sounded wise. That was before he’d woken from being shot to find an angel with red, wild curls hovering over him, demanding he live with colorful curses in her thick Scottish accent. To have someone who cared that much about him, not his estate, money or title, but about him… It was not something he’d thought possible. But would she care about him if she knew of his past in the English army? The boulder of his secret sat in his gut. No. She would not.
Cat shifted, her head rolling to one side. It was a shame she’d sworn off love, not that he desired her love, for it would make his life even more complicated. But the woman was the most passionate person he’d ever met. Could she possibly go through life without that passion turning into love for someone? His hands tightened on the reins. Who would she love? No doubt, he’d be a strong, Highland warrior, someone who could curse with color and yell Gaelic war cries. The thought soured his stomach.
She sniffed, and her eyes opened. “Where are we?” she asked, straightening away from his chest. The blanket fell around her waist, and her glorious hair sprang forth. She wiped a hand over her damp face and glanced around.
“We entered Lincolnshire some time ago,” he said, spotting a low stone wall that marked the boundary of Hollings Estate.
“Really?” Her head swiveled left and right. “Wet and muddy.” She adjusted her seat, and he noticed her grimace with the movement.
Raising his arm, he pointed through the trees, the increasing rain bouncing off his gloved hand. “Hollings is through there on the far side of a rise. We will ride around the lake and come in by the stables.”
“Ye said there was a warm bath waiting at the end of this miserable journey,” she said, twisting in her seat to look up at him. “If that was a lie, I might skewer ye with my sgian dubh.”
A smile broke along his lips, loosening the tightness he always felt in his gut when he spotted Hollings. “I would never lie to a lady, especially an armed and volatile lady.”
She stared up into his face, the increasing rain starting to weigh down her hair. A broad smile spread across her lips. “Good. I do not like liars.”
Was neglecting to tell her about his past or about his father’s wishes, spelled out in hellish detail in his will, considered lies? He raised his gaze to the distant rise. The twist in his stomach answered “yes.”
They broke from the tree line, and the rain began to dump from the gray clouds. “Hold on,” he said and pressed into Gaspar, clicking his tongue for Stella to follow on her tether.
With her hands wrapped around the pommel, Cat raised her face to the rain and laughed as Gaspar charged forward, Stella keeping up easily. Blanket falling low on her hips, she seemed to embrace the cold, wet air. As they rounded the lake to crest the first hill, Hollings came into view, and her laughter stopped as she leveled her gaze outward.
Hollings Estate was massive. It was as large as Finlarig Castle, although not as soaring. Two stories of brick stood with dormer windows up in the sloped roof to show a third floor. Stonework rose in front with two sets of stairs, curving up to a stone porch with a pair of large wooden doors at the center. Massive windows ran evenly spaced on both levels around the house. The glass in them alone would have cost a fortune. Another porch jutted out from a set of doors on the second level on the side Cat could see clearly. Intricately trimmed gardens ran in patterns around the estate. As they neared, she could see brick pathways between winter-dried lavender and other herbs. Some areas were covered as if to protect plants from a potential frost. The falling rain and clouds gave the mansion an ominous look.
“Stables first,” Nathaniel said near her ear, his voice having lost all its humor. “We can enter from the back unseen.” He turned them toward a large white barn set in the back with fenced areas. Pressing Gaspar into a slow canter, they breeched the rise along a span of tall birches. “Damnation,” he murmured, his body tensing behind her.
Cat sat up straighter and glanced at the large windows along the back. Her breath came out in a low sigh. At least five people stood looking out at them as they passed in the rain. She couldn’t make them out very well, but Nathaniel’s arrival had definitely been noted.
He slowed Gaspar and Stella to a trot, guiding them under a wide eave before the barn doors. “Hang on,” he said and dismounted to slide the bar across, opening one side of the tall wooden doors. Both horses followed him easily down the central corridor that was covered with sawdust and scattered straw. The inside smelled of fresh hay, leather, and mineral oil with an underlying tang of horse dung.
Stalls lined both sides, and several occupants looked out at them as they walked briskly down to a large stall on the end. Gaspar lifted his head, sniffing the air. He neighed, responding to several horses along the line. Stella snorted, shaking her head, her bridle jingling.
“I will put you both in here,” Nathaniel said over the thudding rain on the roof high above them where Cat spotted a series of swallow nests. “Until I can find Stella her own stall. Yours is occupied.” He ran a hand down Stella’s wet nose and unhooked her tether, leading the mare into the roomy rectangular space.
Cat swiveled in her seat as two gangly lads ran inside the barn toward them. “Lord Worthington, sir,” one said, his voice high like a chirping bird. “Rudy and I can take care of them for his lordship.”
“Make sure to wipe them down and cover them well,” Nathaniel said. “They need proper watering and a hearty share of oats and hay.” Both boys bobbed their heads. They kept their eyes on the ground, only giving Nathaniel quick glances. He didn’t smile nor thank them.
Cat cleared her throat. “Thank ye,” she said.
“Aye, milady,” they said in unison, only glancing at her briefly before closing in on Stella and Gaspar’s bridle.
Nathaniel reached up, encircling her waist, and lowered her to the ground. His hands dropped from her very quickly as if the closeness they’d shared over their journey had never happened. The blankets fell to the hay, and she balanced on her one foot. Damn rain was making it hurt worse. In fact, all her bones ached after two weeks of travel on the back of a horse and a cold, wet ride today. She longed for that promised bath. At least she was able to stand now upon dismounting instead of falling onto her backside in the mud, although her injured foot wasn’t making it easy.
“This way,” Nathaniel said and swooped her up again into his arms. She’d complain, but it was certainly the quickest way to get her indoors where it was dry and warmer. She would just have to deal with the awareness his touch still caused. After that night in the tent days ago, the carnal ache had returned almost immediately, intensifying deeply within her, making her skin extra sensitive every time he happened to touch her, pulling away as if she’d scalded him.
“I need to get you to Mistress Jane,” he said. His voice sounded cool with a hint of contempt. It caught at her breath.
“Nathaniel,” she said, resting her hand on his shoulder.
He paused before the open barn door, the rain showering in sheets of water before it, and looked down at her. His face had hardened, the pinch between his brows deep and his lips tight. “What is it?” he asked, the chill in the air making his breath puff in the gray light.
She didn’t know what to say. All her instincts screamed that whatever had transpired between them was gone, like the snow in the pouring rain, leaving only a disappointing puddle of mud. She took a deep breath and nodded. “I will…try to be the lady ye need me to be.”
Instead of a smile or comment about the impossibility of that, he just gave her a curt nod and carried her out into the rain. Didn’t he understand what a big step that had been for her? She glared at the buttons at his throat.
He made for a set of doors with glass windows built into them at the back of the huge estate house. Glass in the doors was a paltry defense. And the estate had no wall around it. The arrogance of the English showed that they assumed no one would attempt to take what was theirs. Yet the English continually tried to take what belonged to the Scots. Anger balled in Cat’s middle.
He walked briskly through puddles, the mud splattering up her white leather trousers where her legs dangled. She’d have cared if they weren’t already soaked and stained. It would take much beating in a stream and bleach to get the doe skin white again. Perhaps Jane Pitney had some laundry soap. But first, Cat needed a bath, even more so than a meal.
Nathaniel turned them, so he could back into the doors. Her breath caught as her gaze slid to the smooth plaster walls and marble tile along the corridor. Nathaniel was wealthy, exceedingly wealthy. She should have known that a Viscount in England, whose father had been a member of parliament, would have a comfortable home, but this was beyond grand. Frig. She lived in a pig barn compared to this. Her face flushed with embarrassment and then anger at herself for feeling that way.
“Where are we going?” she asked through her teeth.
“To secret you up to a bedroom where Jane can help you.”
“Help me with what exactly?” she asked, holding onto him with her arms around his neck. His unshaven jawline looked tense.
He glanced at her, his eyes just as sharp. “A bath. A physician for your ankle. Food. Everything.”
“And when will I see ye again?” she asked as h
e carried her around a corner under lit sconces.
“After Lord Worthington has taken our interview,” said a gruff voice before them.
Looking away from her, Nathaniel halted. He held her in his arms in a wide corridor, walled in with polished wood. But she had no time to peruse the riches around her as she met the dour frowns of half a dozen, old plump Englishmen wearing puffed, short breeches and long wigs. If Nathaniel hadn’t been holding her, she would have drawn her dagger, for there was no doubt in her mind that this was a battle, even if the men didn’t hold swords.
With slow care, Nathaniel lowered her boots to the floor and helped her stand next to him. He said nothing as a short man wove his way forward through the group. He was younger and thinner but dressed the same ridiculous way as the older men, a ruffed collar around his neck. “Lord Worthington,” he said, bowing before Nathaniel. He seemed to hunch slightly like a dog who’d been beaten and expected more cruelty. “Lord Stanton heard from his contact at Whitehall that you were likely journeying to Hollings Estate and came to meet with you, milord.”
“Yes,” the one who had spoken before said, the single word like a bark. “We need to know where the house of Worthington stands in all this.”
In all this?
Nathaniel’s voice came low, with restrained strength. “I will be with you as soon as I see to the comfort of this lady and myself. You shall wait—”
“We have been waiting for three days,” Stanton said, his voice booming. “We will have your answers—”
“Three days of dining in my home and using my servants to attend you in the luxury of Hollings Estate. Without,” his voice snapped, “an invitation.” He took a step forward, his back straight, fists at his sides. Two of the men retreated a step, and another leaned backward. Cat could only see the back of Nathaniel’s head, but his gaze must have been fierce to match his voice. It was as if he drew the sword at his side.
His legs braced apart, he crossed his arms over his chest. “If you are not inclined to wait for me to see Lady Campbell into my housekeeper’s competent hands, then you are encouraged to depart. We will journey to Whitehall in three days’ time.”
The Wicked Viscount (The Campbells) Page 10