“And ye did not tell me,” she said.
What could he say? It was true. He’d wanted to tell her several times. First, he’d delayed in order to make the trip easier and swifter down to England. But their relationship had shifted by the time they reached Hollings, and yet his oath to Charles had held his tongue. Each time they’d come together, his silence about his past had weighed heavily. He should have put a stop to the inferno building between them, but his reaction to her touch had rendered him a fool. A bloody foking fool.
“I did not. And for that, I have no adequate excuse.” For his excuse chose a dead king and his politics over her.
Candlelight glowed along her from the sconce, the royal gown accenting her lush form, her curls swept up from her beautiful, tragic face. She looked like a queen, one who had just received news of utter betrayal.
The pain in his chest spread out along his entire body as he fought against grabbing her to him in a desperate attempt to prevent her from walking out of his life. “Cat…I had no idea about your mother. I am terribly sorry.” A terrifying thought surfaced within him. “Is that why you sought out Craig to teach you how to tie a noose? In case you wished to follow her?” His words were a mere whisper in the dark.
“And leave Izzy like our mother left us?” She shook her head and glared at him. “I asked to be taught so that when I caught the English bastard who had killed my da, I could wrap a rope around his neck.” Cat turned, grabbing up her heavy skirts, to run down the darkened gallery toward the hall of bedchambers.
In the shadows, Nathaniel pulled in a long inhale, his blood pumping and anger surging up through him. Damn him to Hell. He pivoted at the sound of boots on the carpet behind him.
Wallace Danby strode toward him from the salon. “Dinner is served.”
“Go in without me,” Nathaniel answered. Food held no interest for him.
Danby glanced both ways down the long gallery. “Where did the lovely Lady Campbell run off to?” He smiled then, a sly insinuating leer. “Perhaps to rendezvous in your chambers.”
In two steps, Nathaniel had Danby by the throat, his fingers clutching the fall of lace at his collar. His words came from clenched teeth. “Speak of her in the most pure ways, or I will leave you slashed and bleeding.”
How could he ever have thought Baron Danby an entertaining man? He shoved the bastard as he let him loose. Danby glared at him as he straightened the fall of his costume, all vestiges of humor gone from his face.
“Hell Worthington. The woman is beautiful and unique, those speckles all over that smooth skin, but she is nothing to battle over. Your loyalties and the Worthington name are not worth a loose trull from Scotland. She likely spread her legs in hopes of snaring a Viscount.”
Nathaniel’s fist flew, a perfect aim straight into Danby’s jaw. The pain in his knuckles was barely noticeable as he watched the bastard drop to the rug, leaving Nathaniel to stand over him. “That was your warning. Next time my sword will find your heart.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cat’s slippered feet flew under her despite the heaviness of her rage and hurt, as if she sought to outrun the pain.
She ran down the empty hallway as tears, which she’d thought she’d rid herself of after her mother died, streamed down her cheeks. Not since seeing the woman’s feet dangling above her head, had Cat felt such a crush against her chest, such anger and turmoil. Such utter abandonment.
She had built a new cottage and moved her mother away from the house that held the memories of her husband. She had thought that with him gone, her mother might actually improve, since he wouldn’t be there to yell at her in drunken stupidity. But she’d become more despondent after he died, going for days without rising from her bed. Despite the cures Cat had forced on her and all the attempts to sway her from her melancholy, the woman had risen during one night to climb a tall tree to end her life.
Betrayal—it surrounded Cat. A father who had spent most of his waking life drunk and bellowing until he left his family to plot with covenanters. A mother who had left Cat to raise her younger sister all by herself. And now Nathaniel, the man with whom she’d fallen in love. A sob tore through her at the confession, for she knew it was true. Nothing but love could cause such piercing pain.
Cat threw herself into the door opposite the unicorn painting. Jane stood at the fire, her hands clasped together. Could she possibly already know everything that had just happened?
Jane didn’t say a word, just handed her a square of cloth for her face. Cat couldn’t even look at her, knowing there would be disappointment, judgement, fury, or condemnation. She sank onto the edge of the bed, the bed that she’d shared with Nathaniel.
There are things you should know about me, Cat. My past— He had tried to stop her, but she’d thrown herself at him, certain that he would just talk about his father’s will and his need to marry someone who was not her. She hung her head, letting a few fresh tears drop onto the silk of her petticoat.
The older woman knelt before Cat and slid her slippers off one by one. She went to the side table and brought back a glass of brandy. “Tonight will fade away. There is always something new to make tongues wag at court.”
Cat glanced up at her. Instead of judgment, there was compassion, and more tears bled hotly from her eyes.
Jane motioned to the drink, and she took a sip of the strong spirits, letting the fire burn along her throat. “Best to let the tears swell out of you…Cat,” she said, using the familiar name.
“Ye…ye heard…about the card game in the salon?” she asked, her voice strained.
“Master Brooks ran here straight away,” she said.
Cat met her gaze. “After…all of it?”
“When you stood up from the table to leave, he ran out first. He is quite spritely. Slips right out without people noticing.”
“Then ye know what was said likely won’t fade away during my lifetime.”
Jane didn’t agree, but she also didn’t disagree, because she must know the truth in Cat’s words. She’d let her anger and hurt boil away her sanity in a fury-blinding attempt to cause Esther Stanton pain for telling her the truth of Nathaniel’s past.
Jane helped Cat ready for bed and even tucked the blankets around her before leaving the room, using one of the chamber’s two keys to lock her in. The other one perched on a hook beside the heavy door. Cat lay, much like the stone coffins that she’d seen in one of Evelyn Worthington’s history books at the Highland Roses School. She’d never actually been tucked in before. When Izzy was a little lass, and their mother had been too tired and low in spirits to care for anyone, Cat had tucked Izzy in with blankets, though she hadn’t made them quite this tight. Stretching against the layers, she loosened the bedding to turn on her side.
What must Nathaniel think of her? She flopped to her other side. Damn him. It didn’t matter what he thought of her or her mother. Why had she even told him about her suicide? It had just gushed out with her tears, as if the rending of her heart had let the poison bleed out. For she’d never told anyone about finding her mother that way, not even Izzy. She had told everyone that she’d died of illness, so she’d be buried properly. No one had questioned her about the bruises and rope burn around her mother’s neck, kindly turning their eyes from the truth.
Nathaniel had seemed sorry for not telling her about being at the Battle of Bothwell Bridge. He hadn’t tried to defend himself, just admitted it. He hadn’t railed against her for everything she’d declared before his aristocratic friends, about him tupping her, and revealing everything she knew about Esther, who would now refute it all, calling her a liar.
Cat flipped again, shoving her face into her pillow, but the blasted thing held the faintest scent of Nathaniel. She pushed back from it, glaring down at the spot where his head must have rested the other night. Clutching the offending plumpness, she hurled it away from her so that it rolled off the end of the bed. Frig is all. She’d ruined everything with her anger. And damn him, Nathani
el had ruined everything with his silence.
Catherine de Braganza likely knew of her scandal by now. She would be so disappointed in Cat, embarrassed that she’d sent for her from the Highland Roses School. Cat sighed heavily as she stared up at the silk canopy lit by the cast of firelight from across the room. Had her outburst hurt the reputation of the school? Would Catherine withdrawal her support? She covered her face with her hands. Evelyn and Scarlet would…she couldn’t even imagine the looks on their faces when she had to tell them that she’d put a terrible taint upon the school.
“I must do something,” she whispered. Something to redeem herself in the eyes of the court. She glanced toward the door. There was a traitor here, for she was certain that Esther Stanton had bought Wolfsbane for some devious reason. Even if no one believed what Cat had spewed at the Whist table, it was still true. If only she could prove it.
Cat slid from the warm covers and padded across the thick carpets to the trunk that held her black training trousers. The white leather trousers had been scrubbed of river taint but were still drying and stiff, and the black ones would hide her in the shadows. If someone was creeping around the castle at night, she must catch them.
Without a candle, dressed in her dark, sleek clothing with her hair braided, Cat slid her daggers in their attached sheaths, the twisted hair stick holding the braid in a knot on her head. She grabbed her dark cape and moved through the door, locking it softly behind her. She slid the curtain, which blocked the window next to the unicorn painting, aside to hide the key on the sill of the casement. She looked out into the darkness upon the gardens beside Whitehall. In the daylight, she had seen the extensive orchard of trees and the labyrinth of flower beds and arched trellises, covered with tarps or dormant for the winter. She watched the shadows appear and disappear as the moon shone down through fast moving clouds.
Cat’s inhale paused as a faint speck of light sparked amidst the flower beds. Then it blinked out. From the corner of her eye, another light shone from one of the dozens of windows opening onto the long gallery to the right. Turning her face, she pressed her cheek against the cool glass pane, holding her breath so as not to fog it up. The candlelight blinked out. Cat looked back out to the darkness of the garden, and the speck of yellow light reappeared and disappeared. Two heartbeats later, the light along the gallery did the same. Two people were signaling each other. Was it a romantic liaison in the gardens or a meeting of traitors? Her stomach clenched at the thought of Nathaniel signaling to Esther, but despite his betrayal, she didn’t think he would meet with the evil woman.
Keeping to the shadows, Cat flew silently along the corridor to the gallery. Could she catch the person signaling? Her heart pounded as she rounded the corner, the vast gallery in shadow, and stopped. The few lit sconces showed…no one. Damn. But that made sense. Why would someone go to the gardens to be signaled to come inside when it was so cold? No, the meeting must be outside.
Cat hurried toward the steps that led down to the back doors into the gardens. She would just take a walk outside to get some fresh air. Being a country lass, she missed the open air, and she wasn’t a prisoner here, at least not yet. She kept to the shadows, using light, quick steps to keep her boots silent when she stepped off the scattered rugs and onto the wooden floor.
Down the steps, she raced as lightly as possible, the gentle tapping of her boots the only sound. Guards would surely patrol the doors, so she peeked out before opening one fully. No one. Could they have been sent away by someone powerful? Blast. Her mind was running dark and suspicious.
She kept her cloak wrapped closely around her and ran on the balls of her feet to minimize the crunch of gravel. Maybe she should just change directions and run for Stella in the stables. Nay. She might be rash and headstrong, but she wasn’t foolish enough to run away by herself, trying to journey alone up to Scotland after picking up her kitten at Hollings.
Crouching low, she ran down one bricked path in the general direction of where she thought she’d seen the light. She would circle behind and keep low to the flowerless rose bushes and hedges of holly. If no one was near, she’d simply slip back inside and up to her room. But if traitors were planning, perhaps she could redeem the name of the Highland Roses School. The thought of ruining all that Evelyn and Scarlet had started, on top of the disaster of Nathaniel’s betrayal, was too much to bear. Damn. How had she let these people mean so much to her? How could she have let herself fall in love?
The chill in the winter air helped cool her flush. Cat moved slowly, bent closer to the ground, and concentrated on setting her feet down soundlessly.
A gasp came from a spot off to the left where a thick hedgerow blocked the path. “Lord Hunt? Why are you here, too?” It was a woman’s voice. Cat paused, straining to hear.
“Two will give you more pleasure than one.”
“But…Wallace, Lord Danby…I thought to meet you…alone.”
The words were terrible enough, but it was the woman’s tone that made Cat’s head snap around to stare in their direction. For the pitch held panic, suppressed, as if the woman was trying to figure out a way to escape without letting on that she was desperate for help. Cat had experienced the horrific trembling of the heart herself, as she hid up in trees to escape the English bastard who had stalked her months ago. And she wouldn’t leave a woman to suffer such a fate. Cat turned in their direction, walking as silently as she could. Discovering traitors would have to wait.
“Wallace, pull him off me,” the woman said, the pitch of her voice higher.
“Blast it, Lu, you are too much of a tease for your own good. Don’t do anything permanent to her, Hunt. But darling, if you are going to meet a man out in the dark, you need to come with an understanding.”
Cat peered through the bushes at the three figures, illuminated by lantern light. Wallace Danby glanced up to the windows of Whitehall, and Cat saw another lantern light from a different part of the palace away from the gallery. “Damn, we best hurry,” he said, making Hunt grab the edge of Lucy’s petticoat, tossing it up as he held her with one meaty arm.
Cat stepped out from around the hedgerow, her legs braced, ready to strike. “And what understanding must a lady have?” she asked, and Matthew Hunt lifted his slack face from where he’d been sucking on the exposed skin of Lucy Kellington’s neck.
Wallace Danby pivoted toward her, the moonlight revealing surprise across his face. “Lady Campbell. I would have thought you writhing with passion under Worthington at this hour.”
She took two steps forward. “What understanding must a lady have when meeting a man at night?” she repeated. She kept Danby before her but glanced toward Matthew Hunt who held Lucy around the waist, his paw grabbed onto one of Lucy’s breasts as he stood behind her. Fear shone brightly in the woman’s face, illuminated by a lantern set on the gravel.
Danby walked closer to Cat. “If a lady is foolish enough to meet a man in the dark alone, then she must be willing to accept the consequences.”
“I thought we would walk the gardens and spy a star or two,” Lucy cried. “That you would not bring another to…to touch me.” She stood there while the other man slid his hands up and down her. She didn’t even try to fight back, but loathing pinched her face as she closed her eyes.
Cat let her cloak fall off her shoulders. “Back away from the lady,” she said.
Matthew Hunt paused to try to focus on Cat. He looked drunk. “Be…gone, woman,” he slurred.
“Ho now,” Danby said, walking closer to Cat, his gaze raking down her fitted costume. “What is this?” He reached forward, capturing her wrist. “Perhaps you need a lesson too, Lady Campbell, since your protector is not hovering. Your curves are quite lovely.” He pulled her closer with the manacle around her wrist and looked down into her face. “I wager I can make you moan even louder than Worthington.”
All the turmoil that had been churning inside Cat over her seemingly constant mistakes and embarrassment mixed with her fury over Lucy’s att
ack and Danby’s words. Her eyes narrowed as a dark smile crept along her mouth, fierce enough to make the Baron pause in his threats.
“If ye care to keep your cock, it best stay very far from me and Lady Kellington,” she said, and the other man laughed. “Let go of me and get that bastard off her. Or I will.”
“God’s teeth, Worthington must have his hands full with you,” Danby said without releasing her. His smile sharpened into a dark frown as he touched what looked like a swollen jaw. He tugged her closer. “Be sure to tell him how I taught you to hold your tongue.”
Fury, like fire, roared through Cat’s ears, feeding into her muscles. Just like her many practice sessions at the school, she twisted and jerked her wrist, yanking it out of Danby’s steely grip. Surprised, but quick, he lunged forward to grab her waist. Her hands dropped hard on his shoulders, her fingernails curling in, though he’d not feel it under his padded jerkin. It gave her an anchor as she stepped into him, the muscles of her leg shooting upward to jam her knee into his ballocks.
The scoundrel doubled over with a deep grunt, but still had enough thought to grab toward her leg. With a quick punch with the heel of her hand, Cat caught his nose, jamming it with the distinctive sound of a break. Baron Wallace Danby slammed onto the ground, one hand grabbing between his legs and the other cupped around his nose as blood flowed freely from it.
“Lady Campbell,” Lucy called, just as thick arms clenched tightly around Cat’s stomach, picking her off the ground.
“You damn bitch,” Hunt said, spitting the curse into her ear.
As he dropped her to the ground, Cat aimed her booted heel directly down on the man’s foot. It wasn’t enough to win her freedom, but it gave him pause. Kicking like an angry mule, she slammed her foot into his knee, bending it backward. He cried out, his arms loosening enough for her to yank her hair spike out. She stabbed it into the back of his forearm at her stomach, feeling the sharp point cut through his clothing and into his flesh.
The Wicked Viscount (The Campbells) Page 24