The Earl with the Secret Past

by Janice Preston

  She crossed the meadow, stepping high through the long grass which would soon be cut to make hay. Wild flowers were in bloom—meadowsweet, campion, purple loosestrife—and she admired their delicacy after the showier blooms she had cut in the garden.

  She reached the welcome shade of the belt of trees. A brook trickled through it and she turned to follow its course towards the larger expanse of West Whitlock Wood, which reached almost as far as her old childhood home. She’d met her father only once after she married Edgar and that had been the year before both he and Edgar had died, when he had called at the Hall to beg for money to pay his debts. Ten years they had been neighbours, yet her father might as well have lived on the moon. He never mingled in local society. Was never seen in church. Never attended society events in London. Never went anywhere respectable as far as she knew. But, so Edgar had told her, he’d still visited those old haunts of his—the gaming hells in St James’s and other, less salubrious, areas of London—and still mixed with the villains and reprobates who had brought him so low as to offer his only daughter in payment of his debts. He had never changed his ways.

  Thunder growled, far in the distance, and Kitty turned her steps in the direction of home, up through those familiar woods, the woods where she had run to meet Adam whenever she could, breathless with excitement and the joy of seeing him again, of feeling his arms around her, his lips on hers. She dragged her mind away from those memories and the treacherous feelings they evoked. Whatever she had felt, he had not shared her feelings and it still hurt that such lies had fallen so easily from his lips. She had truly believed he loved her, but now she was wiser and would guard her heart against more pain, even though her pulse quickened at the sight of him and the scent of him and at the sound of his voice.

  The thunder grumbled again—a long, drawn-out rumble—and she quickened her pace, taking a shortcut up a steep wooded slope that would bring her out close to the back lane that led around to the stable yard. As she neared the edge of the wood, however, she slammed to a halt at the sight of Adam seated under an oak, his back propped against the massive trunk, legs bent, arms resting on his knees. His head, hatless, was tilted back, his eyes closed. Her heart squeezed at the memories that again crowded her head—how many times had she found him waiting for her in just such a pose?

  A sane woman would retreat. Quietly.

  Kitty walked forward, making no attempt to hide her approach. Adam’s eyes sprung open and he raised his head.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded. ‘Did you follow me?’

  He huffed a laugh. ‘I did no such thing. I was here first. Besides, ye told me ye had domestic matters to attend to.’ He waved his arm. ‘I shouldna call these surroundings domestic, precisely.’

  Kitty pushed a fallen lock of hair back under her hat, aware her face must be pink and shiny with the effort of hurrying up the slope in the heat of the afternoon. Adam, on the other hand, was the epitome of cool and collected as he squinted up at her.

  I cannot keep running away. I cannot allow my misreading of a young man’s intentions all those years ago to continue to blight our every conversation.

  ‘You’re right. I am sorry I left so abruptly.’ She clasped her hands together at her waist and inhaled. ‘Please forgive my rudeness.’

  ‘I shall forgive you on one condition.’

  ‘Condition?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Adam rose to his feet in one smooth movement and Kitty stepped back. He followed, towering over her, but she had never felt intimidated by Adam and she still did not fear him. Not physically, at least. His temper was a touch more volatile than she recalled, but, if she were honest, so was hers. It seemed each sparked intense feelings in the other without effort. And, for all the local gossip that the apple never fell far from the tree, Kitty had never seen any sign of uncontrollable anger or any hint of violence in him.

  He had been silent for too long, just staring into her eyes. She turned aside. ‘Well? Will you enlighten me, or do you mean to make me guess?’

  ‘Yes...sorry... I thought...my condition is that you call me Adam and I call you Catherine.’

  She opened her mouth to refuse. Such intimacy would, surely, only encourage those long-ago memories; the memories she worked so hard to suppress. But...could she reasonably say no? Robert and Adam had lapsed into their old familiarity, from when Robert had been eleven and Adam just the architect’s apprentice. Adam would remain at the Hall several more days and Rob would be curious if Kitty and Adam maintained a polite distance. He knew Kitty was often informal with her friends, both male and female, and that she called them by their given names. But it still moved her one step further along a path she had no wish to travel, still uncertain of her ability to guard her heart.

  She took refuge in teasing to mask her unease. ‘Not Ambrose?’

  ‘No. Not Ambrose.’ Adam’s mouth twisted in distaste. ‘I have always been Adam. I am in no mind to fit myself entirely into the mould of a stranger.’

  His words, and the bitterness that tainted them, reached into Kitty’s heart, beyond her own fear of being hurt again.

  ‘Is it true you had no idea whatsoever of your beginnings?’

  ‘None. My mother saw fit to keep the whole of her past—and, therefore, my past—to herself until she was forced to admit the truth by the fact of my father’s death.’

  She believed him, despite her initial suspicion he might be lying about that.

  How hard that must be, to discover your own mother has lied to you your entire life.

  Kitty allowed herself to study him more closely. The harsh lines drawn from nose to mouth...the crease between those dark brows, the etched line that never disappeared completely although it did soften from time to time...the latent anger she had sensed from their first meeting, anger that simmered just beneath the surface to erupt at the least provocation...all these began to make sense. She had been wrong to attribute his anger solely to her, but there was no doubt that some of it was, for she certainly seemed able to provoke an eruption with little effort, just by her presence. As he provoked her anger with ease. Their shared history had left its scars on both of them.

  Unbidden, Lady Datchworth’s final words of the day before whispered through her mind. ‘Look after Kelridge, Catherine. He is not nearly as tough as he likes to pretend.’

  Was she right?

  ‘Very well. I agree. Adam it is. And... I am sorry our meeting again has been difficult for us both. I hope we are truly able to put the past behind us now.’

  ‘As do I.’

  They were still standing, several feet apart, facing one another. Adam’s gaze roved over Kitty’s face, as gentle as a caress, and her pulse stuttered as she willed herself to remain still.

  ‘And just so you know,’ he added, softly, ‘I did feel the same as you, fifteen years ago.’

  Kitty stared at him, unsure how to react but, before she could speak, thunder cracked overhead. She started at the suddenness of it and cast an anxious glance up through the canopy of leaves to the ominous sky above.

  ‘We must go back to the house or we are likely to get drenched.’

  She took Adam’s proffered arm, thankful for the reprieve, her stomach tightening at the warmth of bare, hair-dusted skin beneath her hand. They set off, emerging from the wood into a meadow where sheep huddled together, their backs to the rain which by now had started to spatter down in huge drops as the wind gusted.

  The lane that led back to the Hall was across the meadow and it was not long before Kitty’s gown was uncomfortably damp and clinging to her legs.

  ‘Is there anywhere nearby we can shelter?’

  Adam splayed one large hand to the small of her back, urging her to hurry, and Kitty found herself trotting to keep up with him.

  ‘Yes! This way.’ She tugged at his arm, turning him aside and heading for the hedgerow that edged the mead
ow. ‘There. Look.’ She pointed out the old gamekeeper’s cottage behind the hedge. ‘It is a bit rickety, but it still has a roof. Hurry!’

  The rain worsened, soaking through Kitty’s gown in seconds. Lightning split the sky, followed quickly by another crash of thunder, louder than before.

  ‘There it is.’

  They hurtled the last few paces to a gap in the hedge and slammed through the already ajar door into the stone building.

  ‘Phew!’

  Adam shook his head, scattering drops as the rain drummed on the slate roof, dripping through in several places. He returned to the door and shoved against it to push it shut. The hinges groaned in protest, but eventually the door closed against the downpour. Kitty, still panting from that mad dash through the rain, scanned the dim interior of the cottage, the sole source of light one grimy window. A pile of sacks in one corner—a corner free of leaks—caught her eye, and she approached gingerly to poke the pile with one foot, fully expecting to see mice scatter. None emerged and her breathing steadied. She discarded the uppermost sack and picked up the next one, conscious that her drenched muslin gown must be nigh-on transparent and would no doubt cling to her body in a scandalous fashion. She pulled off her sodden hat and draped the sack around her shoulders, banishing her distaste at the thought of the dust and dirt that would transfer to her clothing and of the likely former use for such sacking found in a gamekeeper’s cottage.

  She turned to Adam. His shirt, beneath his waistcoat, clung to the heavy muscles of his chest and she glimpsed a hint of dark curls at the open neck. Her pulse quickened again, the sound of her now ragged breaths thankfully drowned out by the drum of rain on the roof. She averted her gaze and thrust a sack in his direction. There was one rickety wooden chair and she stalked across to it and sat as another crack reverberated around the cottage. Lightning flashed simultaneously, illuminating the room with its ghostly glare.

  ‘Thunderstorms usually pass quickly. We shall not be stuck here long.’

  Her voice shook, irritatingly. She stared straight ahead, avoiding looking directly at Adam, but from the corner of her eye she saw his lips widen in a smile as one brow quirked up. The dratted man was fully aware of her discomfort at being closeted with him in this tiny cottage, but at least he made no move to approach her. Instead, he spread his sack on an area of dry floor next to the cottage wall. He sat down, adopting the same pose as he had against the tree trunk earlier, as the lightning flashed again. After a short delay, the thunder crashed, more distant this time.

  Kitty wished she could be on her own to think about what he’d said, but they were stuck there and she could not run away this time. If he hadn’t lied about loving her, if that was what he meant, then why had he said those hateful words fifteen years ago? Words that had haunted her for years.

  ‘I’m fond of ye, Kitty, but this was never more than a pleasant way to pass the time when I had an hour to spare. I thought ye understood that.’

  Words that had added to her feelings of worthlessness all these years.

  His eyes were on her, watching her, and she shivered. If it was true...if he had loved her, all those years ago...what then?

  ‘Why did you say what you did? That last day?’

  He heaved a sigh and gave her a rueful smile. ‘I thought it would make it easier for you. Better to think me a liar and a scoundrel than to grieve over what might have been.’

  She should feel mollified to hear that after all this time. But fear wound around her heart as her anger drained away for, without anger to cling on to, she felt...naked. Lost. Vulnerable. And she thought that, maybe, the awful truth was that she had been holding on to that anger to shield her from the feelings Adam had roused within her since his return. Unwelcome feelings. Frightening feelings. To allow herself to care for another man—and this man in particular—was to risk more heartache. A risk that scared her more than she cared to admit.

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said, striving to sound calm. ‘I accept that I was naive...too young to realise the strain we would both have been under. You did the right thing.’ Kitty stood, her heart a touch lighter now the air had been cleared between them. ‘It sounds as though rain has stopped. Let us return to the Hall while we can.’

  Adam leapt to his feet. He came to Kitty and took her hands in his. ‘I still wish you had told me, Kitty.’ His voice rasped with emotion and her heart leapt with joy. And with hope, even though it was far too late. ‘We would have found a way. I—’

  ‘No, Adam.’ Kitty tamped down her whirling emotions and disentangled her hands from his. This roused fear in her heart. What good could come of them raking over coals grown cold, even if a tiny spark still lingered? Even if she was still drawn to him, as a moth to a flame, she could not risk getting burned again. ‘Please, let us not rake it over again. We cannot alter the past and, as we have both said before, we must not mistake the people we were then for who we are now. The past fifteen years have changed us both. Please. Let it be.’

  His eyes searched hers, and she concentrated on smoothing her expression. She’d sworn to never again allow any man the power to hurt her. Look forward. Not back. She’d been in danger of forgetting that one rule by which she lived her life. The rule that kept her sane.

  She enjoyed her steady, unremarkable life. She could live vicariously through the characters in her stories—love, hate, quarrel, laugh—she could explore every emotion, all without risk to her peace of mind or to her heart. And that was how she wanted it to stay.

  ‘Very well. If that is your wish, I shall respect it. For now. But I have never been a man to give up easily, Kitty.’ A smile flickered on his lips. ‘You remember that.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  What was Kitty afraid of? Not of him, Adam was certain—he hadn’t mistaken that flash of joy when he took her hands, before she successfully masked her feelings. He longed to haul her into his arms and to kiss her, as he used to.

  The last vestiges of anger and hurt had drained from him when she explained why she had married Edgar and hope had flowed in to fill the gaps those negative emotions left behind despite Kitty’s assertion that the past could not be altered. Because—although both he and Kitty had changed on the surface—deep inside Adam was confident she was the same Kitty and he was the same Adam. His doubts about his own feelings for her had melted away as completely as his anger and his hurt, and he was as sure as he could be that Kitty was still the woman for him. They belonged together.

  For whatever reason, though, she didn’t fully trust him and had erected a barrier to keep him at bay. Was that to protect her feelings? He was not mistaken about her interest in him—her eyes, so guarded when they had first met again, now could not hide her response to him. The instinctive response of a woman to a man she desired.

  So, she was afraid of getting hurt again. By him.

  She had accepted that he had only denied his love for her in order to protect her, but that didn’t change what he’d done. She’d had fifteen years of believing he hadn’t cared and that he’d lied. It would take time to build her trust and the way to do that was to give her time to get to know him again. To start again, from the beginning.

  This time, they were equals. This time, he was going nowhere. This time, he would court her as though they had only just met, as a gentleman would court a lady, and he would do everything he could to change her mind about remarrying.

  He tugged open the cottage door and peered outside.

  ‘You are quite right. The rain has stopped,’ he said, ‘and the thunder has moved away.’

  He turned to Kitty, smiling as he spoke, then stepped aside and half-bowed as he swept his arm around, indicating she should leave. She picked up her discarded bonnet, squeezed it, then gave him a rueful smile.

  ‘I think I shall just carry this.’

  She stepped outside and they walked side by side across the meadow towards the l
ane that would take them back to the Hall. Adam deliberately did not offer her his arm to lean on, but clasped his hands behind his back to control his visceral urge to touch her. She, he noticed, retained her grip on that old piece of sacking, clutching it tight across her breasts.

  ‘When we danced at Almack’s you spoke of other interests, apart from your stepchildren.’ Adam, alive to every nuance and change in Kitty’s countenance, noticed delicate pink wash across her cheeks. ‘Will you tell me of those? How do you occupy your time here at Fenton Hall?’

  She slid him a sidelong look. ‘You speak as though a house the size of the Hall can run like clockwork, with nothing more than a quick wind of a key from time to time.’

  ‘I know that is not the case, but...’ But I hunger to know all there is to know about you. ‘I am curious as to what interests you have that occupy you fully, as you put it.’

  When she did not reply, he continued, ‘After all, as you said, we are as strangers now. And strangers who spend time together—as we shall, while I draw up those plans—can surely indulge in a little polite conversation in order to get to know one anoth—’

  A loud retort interrupted him and his immediate thought was that the storm had returned but, even as that idea formed, another bang, followed by a searing pain in his arm, swept it away. He gasped, clutching his upper arm, and then Kitty grabbed him, tugging him to the ground.

  ‘Stop shooting,’ she screamed. ‘There are people here.’

  Adam, his heart thundering in his chest as he scrambled to make sense of what had happened, looked up at Kitty. She was on her knees, above him, staring back across the meadow towards the woods. Adam grabbed her, wincing at the pain in his arm as he tried to pull her lower.