Edmund knew Catherine loved her older brother deeply. Knew she would do anything for him. Did that include breaking the law? Keeping his dirty secrets?
“You don’t think it’s true, do you, Mother?” he asked at supper table one evening. Catherine had picked at her meal for a while before returning to her bedroom as usual.
His mother let out a heavy sigh. She looked toward the staircase up which Catherine had disappeared. “I want nothing more than to believe that girl is innocent, just like you do…”
“But?” Edmund pushed.
She twisted a ruby ring around her finger. “But I find it difficult to believe she could live in the same house with that boy for so many years and remain completely blind as to what was going on.”
The two of them sat in silence for a moment, unspoken guilt hovering between them.
The Dowager Viscountess took a miniscule bite of her raisin pudding, then let out another theatrical sigh. “I know Catherine can be somewhat withdrawn,” she said finally. “But she’s no fool.”
* * *
Catherine gripped the bannister, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had felt bad for leaving the supper table so early. Aunt Cornelia and Edmund had been doing their best to make her feel welcome, and she’d repaid them yet another night of silence at the supper table. She had re-emerged from her bedroom, intending to apologize and join them for a cup of tea, only to hear her name being tossed about among bitter accusations.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, clenching her teeth. Edmund and Aunt Cornelia were supposed to be on her side. And here they were doubting her, just like the rest of society! Her throat tightened.
No. No tears.
She already felt as though she were trapped beneath a weight she couldn’t crawl out from. She would not—could not—fall into a crying heap each time the world shook beneath her. If she continued to do that, she may as well just curl up and die.
She slipped back into her bedroom and locked the door. She couldn’t bear to look her aunt and cousin in the eye right now. Anger was beginning to bubble beneath her skin.
She climbed into bed and pulled the covers to her chin.
Curse on Edmund! How dare he?
Acting so protective, shielding her from kind men like Lord Ramshay. All the while doubting her, just as the rest of society was doing.
She had a sudden urge to run. Escape this house, this gossip, this life. But of course, where was she to go? She had no money, no connections. Her chances of finding a husband had been crushed. What choice did she have but to stay here with Aunt Cornelia and Edmund, people who believed her guilty?
Catherine’s throat seized. The tears she had been fighting for days welled behind her eyes again. This time she let them fall. Never in her entire life had she felt so utterly alone.
Chapter 7
Patrick found himself pacing across the parlor. The leather-bound notebook was sitting on the table in front of him. It had been sitting there for the past two days, a reminder that he had not yet built up the courage to take it to Miss Barnet.
He kept pacing…Kept eyeing the book.
He felt certain she would appreciate it. Even if she were not ready to begin writing again, perhaps the sight of it might remind her of her forgotten talents. Remind her of just another thing she had to offer.
It ought to have been the simplest thing in the world to just drop by the manor and hand it over to her. How many times had he turned up unannounced on the Featherstones’ doorstep?
But Edmund was making this thing damnably complicated, prowling around his cousin like some territorial beast. Patrick felt sure his attentions had not disturbed Catherine any further. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had seemed to enjoy his company.
Besides, he feared that if he did not call on her, she might well spend the entire day locked up in her room, hiding from the world. The thought of it made his chest ache.
Is it Edmund making things complicated? Or is it my feelings for Miss Barnet?
Perhaps it was not wise to call on her after all. Patrick knew he would not be able to simply drop off the notebook and leave it at that. He had lusted after Catherine Barnet for far too long for such a possibility.
At the sight of her, his skin would tingle and his heart would thud and his throat would grow so dry he’d struggle to get his words out. He would look at her and imagine how it might feel to run his fingers across her pearly skin. He would imagine the softness of her lips against his, the whisper of her breath against his neck. Imagine how it would feel to have her move in his arms. And then he would spend another night staring into the fire, analyzing their conversation and wondering how things might have been different if he’d learned to waltz.
For goodness sake. This girl has turned me into a dithering idiot.
He grabbed the book, and his coat, and disappeared out the door.
* * *
When Patrick knocked on the Featherstones’ front door, his resolve had disappeared somewhat. His mouth felt dry and his hands felt sticky, just as they had done when he had approached Catherine in the churchyard. But it was too late to back out now. And these nerves brought about by being in Catherine’s presence, he was coming to realize, were not entirely unpleasant.
The door creaked open to reveal the Featherstones’ aging butler. “Lord Ramshay. Good afternoon.”
“Well, Ramshay,” Edmund boomed, appearing in the entrance hall like he had been waiting for Patrick to show himself. “I must say, I’ve been seeing far more of you lately than I’d ever hoped to.” There was that joking tone again—the one that didn’t quite sound like a joke.
He gestured for the butler to leave them, then turned back to face Patrick, his arms folded across his chest. “Here to see me, I assume?”
His voice was darker this time. Edmund pinned Patrick with a steely gaze. The air seemed to hum with tension.
In the ten years the two men had known each other, their difference in rank had rarely been an issue. Despite his lofty status, Edmund had always looked to his friends as equals. But it felt suddenly as though something had shifted between them. Under Edmund’s scrutinizing stare, Patrick felt every bit the lowly baron he was. He held the notebook out in front of him as though it were a shield.
“Miss Barnet and I were discussing her diarizing on Sunday. I’ve simply come to give her this.” He met Edmund’s eyes pointedly. “Nothing more.”
Edmund raised his eyebrows. “You and Catherine were discussing her diarizing? And when exactly was this?”
Patrick straightened his shoulders. He refused to be intimidated by one of his closest friends. Particularly when he’d done not a thing wrong. “I saw her home after church. She overheard some ladies speaking about her and it caused her some distress.”
“I see.” Edmund’s words could have cut glass. He held out his hand. “Give me the notebook. I will see it makes its way to Catherine.”
Patrick kept the book in his hand. “I’d rather give it to her myself, Featherstone.”
Edmund shook his head. “No. It’s not a good idea.” His voice hardened slightly. “I’ve told you this before.”
“It’s all right, Edmund.” Catherine’s voice on the staircase made both men turn. “I would very much like to see Lord Ramshay.”
Patrick’s heart gave a sudden thump.
Was that ice in her voice? Was there tension between she and her cousin?
A frown of confusion passed over Edmund’s eyes, as though he too was surprised by her sharpness.
He turned to face her. “Catherine,” he said slowly. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“Perfectly wise.” She made her way slowly down the staircase, her gray silk skirts sighing as she walked. She fixed her cousin with hard blue eyes. “I appreciate your concern, Cousin, but it is not necessary.” She did not sound appreciative in the slightest.
In spite of the tension, Patrick was unable to hide his smile. He dared a look at Edmund. Would the Viscount pull rank, he w
ondered? Remind both he and Catherine of their places in the world?
But Edmund just nodded tautly. “Very well,” he said. “As you wish.”
Patrick followed Catherine into the parlor, feeling Edmund’s eyes burning into the back of him.
The remains of a fire were crackling in the grate, filling the room with the scent of wood smoke. Catherine gestured for Patrick to sit. He perched tentatively on the edge of an armchair. She rang the bell, and requested a pot of tea when the housemaid appeared.
He held out the book. “I’ve brought you a notebook,” he said unnecessarily.
“A notebook?” She took it from his hands and peered inside. Her thin fingers moved over the smooth leather cover. Patrick couldn’t take his eyes from them. How would it feel to have those delicate fingers sliding over his body that way, he wondered?
He shoved the thought away hurriedly.
“I thought—” Patrick cleared his throat. “I thought that if you ever felt the desire to begin diarizing again, it would help if you had something to write in.”
For a moment Catherine said nothing. Her eyes glistened, and Patrick felt a fierce stab of regret.
I’ve done the wrong thing.
But Catherine said: “Thank you, Lord Ramshay. That is incredibly thoughtful of you.” A waver ran through her voice.
She gripped the notebook tightly, her knuckles whitening around the cover as though she planned on never letting it go. Patrick felt something tighten in his chest.
After a moment, a maid appeared with a tea tray. She filled their cups, then vanished from the parlor without a word.
Patrick sipped his tea. He knew he ought not ask about it. But the question came tumbling out on its own accord. “Has something happened between you and Edmund?”
The moment the words were out, he saw Catherine’s face twist into a grimace. She let out a long breath, as though debating whether to respond.
Perhaps best she doesn’t. Edmund is my friend. I don’t want Catherine to come between us.
Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps she already had.
“I overheard my cousin and aunt speaking several nights ago,” Catherine said. Her voice was low and secretive. “They believe I may have been involved in my brother’s crimes. They believe I may have been his accomplice.”
She kept her eyes down, as though ashamed of the words she had spoken. Despite her attempts to hide herself, Patrick could see the hurt splashed across her face. Anger at Edmund began to bubble beneath his skin.
Catherine knotted her fingers together. “I’ve come to expect such accusations from strangers,” she said. “But I had not been expecting them from my own family.”
“No,” Patrick said huskily. “Of course not.”
There was far more he wanted to say. He wanted to curse at Edmund, to rave about his betrayal of his cousin. But he could do no such thing, of course.
“Forgive me, My Lord,” Catherine mumbled. “I ought not have said a thing. I just…I suppose I was finding it a difficult thing to keep inside.”
Patrick nodded toward the notebook. “Perhaps it may help.”
Catherine looked uncertain.
“Diarizing,” he said. “Perhaps it may help to write about such matters. Perhaps you will no longer feel as though you are keeping things inside.”
Catherine gave a small smile. “Yes,” she said. “Perhaps it will.” She ran a finger over the smooth cover. “Thank you.”
Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes wide and blue. “You believe I was not involved, don’t you, Lord Ramshay?”
“Of course.”
She smiled faintly. “I’m glad. I’m glad there’s at least one person in this world who knows I’m not a criminal.”
* * *
When Patrick emerged from the parlor, he found Edmund waiting for him in the hall. His arms were folded across his chest and his blue eyes were hard.
Patrick knew that expression well. He had seen Edmund glare at him this way in their first year of university when Patrick had given him a thrashing in the boxing ring. This time, he suspected the Viscount might not be so forgiving.
Patrick straightened his shoulders and met Edmund’s fierce gaze.
Edmund spoke first. “I don’t appreciate this, Ramshay. I expressly told you to stay away from my cousin.”
Patrick stared him down. “And your cousin expressly told you she wished to see me.”
“Catherine doesn’t know what she wants. She’s vulnerable. And she’s just a young lady. Barely capable of making her own decisions.”
Patrick felt the back of his neck prickle with anger. “You underestimate her.”
Edmund stepped close and jabbed a finger beneath Patrick’s nose. “I’m doing what’s best for Catherine. She has enough to deal with without fending you off as well.”
Patrick’s anger flared. “Enough to deal with?” he repeated. “Like you and your mother believing her guilty?” The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. Not that he cared in that moment what Edmund thought. He just hated that it had taken him less than a minute to betray Catherine’s confidence.
“What did you say?” Edmund hissed.
Patrick swallowed. Things had gone too far for him to turn back now.
“Catherine overheard you and your mother speaking several nights ago. You believe she acted as her brother’s accomplice.”
Edmund clenched his jaw. Was he going to deny it? If he did, Patrick feared he might strike him.
“You say you want the best for your cousin,” he said, though gritted teeth. “And yet here you are partaking in this poisonous gossip! Do you truly think that’s what she needs?”
“I’ve done nothing but support and defend Catherine,” Edmund shot. “But I cannot be blamed for asking questions. I have every right to get to the bottom of what took place within my family.”
“And do you truly think Miss Barnet capable of criminal involvement?”
Edmund said nothing.
“Your doubts are not what she needs,” Patrick snapped. “Finding out about her brother’s crimes has done enough to destroy her sense of self-worth.”
Edmund gave a cold, humorless laugh. “I suppose you would know all about such things. Isn’t that right, Ramshay?”
Chapter 8
Patrick needed a drink. And he needed to get out of this cursed townhouse.
He returned home from his skirmish with Edmund and tossed back three glasses of brandy while pacing back and forth across his smoking room.
The liquor had done nothing to settle him. Drinking and pacing like this just reminded him of those nights when shady characters presented themselves on his doorstep. It reminded him that Edmund was right. Patrick knew all too well the way a family member’s crimes could make you feel guilty by association.
He found himself on Simon Moore’s doorstep. “Get your coat,” he said, when Simon appeared. “We’re going to find the filthiest tavern London has to offer.”
The filthiest tavern London had to offer—at the least the filthiest tavern a baron and a marquess could bring themselves to enter—was the Dog and Fox in Covent Garden. It was a shadowy, lamplit mess of a place, with drunkards spilling onto the street and red-lipped women prowling its perimeter. A fiddler played in one corner, drowned out by howls of laughter and the constant clink and thud of glasses.
Patrick returned from the bar with two cups of liquor that the bartender claimed was whisky but it smelled more like boot polish. He dumped them on the table and sat heavily in the chair opposite Simon.
“Well then,” said Simon, sniffing the whisky uncertainly. “An argument with Edmund. I can’t help but think there’s a little more to this mood of yours than that. You and Edmund have been bickering the whole time you’ve known each other. And it’s never had you dragging me out to places like this before.”
Patrick gulped down his drink. Lord, it was bad. And yet dizzyingly good at the same time.
“I can’t help but think,” Simon c
ontinued, “That this might have more to do with Edmund’s cousin than Edmund himself.” He cocked an eyebrow, giving Patrick a knowing grin.
Patrick let out an enormous sigh. “All right. Yes. We argued about Miss Barnet. I went to call on her this afternoon. Edmund thought to forbid it, despite his cousin’s wishes.”
He was dimly aware that he was beginning to sound like a petulant child.
Simon chuckled. “You’ve spent three years trying to build up the nerve to call on Miss Barnet. And you choose now of all times?” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. “I must say, Ramshay, this is quite a turn up. It feels as though you’ve been pining after that girl for a lifetime. I thought you were never going to pluck up the nerve to do anything about it.”
Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 5