Always a Temptress (24 page)

“Wait,” she said, scrambling out of his embrace. “I can take care of it.”

“Take care of what…?”

But her fingers were already on the placket of his pants. Harry almost swallowed his tongue. “What the hell are you doing?”

He was sitting up now. She knelt between his legs, a curious purpose in her eyes. “You’re hard as a rock. I’ll solve it.”

Harry grabbed her hands. “Stop that.”

She tried to pull away. “But this is something I
can
do.”

Harry’s body begged him to say yes. His cock threatened to burst his breeches, and his heart was about to jump out of his chest. And she was looking at him as if he were a rug that needed to be beaten.

“It is something I will not do,” he told her, trying to ignore how his hands were shaking. “Not like this.”

She looked around. “Then like what? The only women around here are my staff, and if you try to relieve yourself on one of them, I’ll gut you like a carp.”

“Kate…”

“You could handle it yourself, but I know that isn’t satisfactory.”

He couldn’t allow her to continue. Jumping up, he pulled her to her feet and held her. “Kate,” he said. “Of course I’d like you to…finish this. I’d love it. But not like this. Not unless
you
want to.”

She blinked as if he were speaking a foreign language. “It won’t take a moment.”

He laughed; he actually laughed. “No it won’t, because it’s not going to happen.”

She looked truly confused. “But if you aren’t relieved, you could suffer an injury.”

“Who told you that?”

“
You
did.”

He actually felt himself blushing. “Well, I didn’t teach you
that
,” he protested, gesturing toward the general vicinity of her former position.

It was her turn to laugh, only Harry heard little humor in it. “Of course not. Murther did that. He preferred it. Actually,” she said, shadows darkening her eyes, “so did I. But it would be much easier with you, Harry. After all, you bathe.”

Harry saw that memory in her eyes and wanted to hit something. “Why didn’t you just bite him?”

She paled and sat down. “Because he would have retaliated.”

Harry sat next to her. He couldn’t imagine anything more terrible than the desolation in her eyes. She looked so suddenly young, stripped of the brittle shell she donned for the public. Beneath it, she was still so bruised and wary.

“He would have hurt you,” Harry said.

She shrugged. “The staff. Bea.” She took an unsteady breath. “Poor Bea. She suffered so much for me.”

She’d surprised him yet again. “Bea?”

She looked up. “How do you think she was so grievously injured? She tried to stop Murther and he shoved her down the marble staircase.” Her smile was grim. “I always considered it poetic justice that he died going down those same stairs.”

“Was he pushed?”

“Sadly, no. He was drunk and lost his balance.”

Just from the too-brisk tone of her voice, Harry wondered if there was something more to the story. He wondered if Murther had met his fate trying to hurt Kate. But she wouldn’t enlighten him. She simply rubbed at her eyes with a hand that shook just a bit. “So then, you refuse to take me up on my offer?”

“Regretfully, yes. Especially if there is no reciprocation.” He tilted his head, smiling. “Have you ever had it done to you?”

Now she was staring, as if he’d just slapped her. “Had…” Impossibly, her eyes grew bigger. “Good God. Are you serious?”

He shook his head. “Oh, Kate, the things you have to learn.” He couldn’t help it. He kissed the tip of her little nose. “I promise that we’ll reinvestigate this area of lovemaking if you’d like. But only at a time and place when we can take our time and truly enjoy it. And only when you go first.”

She swallowed hard. “Women
like
that?”

“I know you don’t believe me, but I guarantee it.”

For the longest time she just sat there, her gaze unfocused, as if imagining the act. Finally, she shook her head. “Harry, you’re an education.”

“I’ll certainly try to be,” he said, and pulled her back into his arms. “Now let’s get back to lesson one. Kiss me, Lady Lidge. I think I need more practice.”

In the end, Kate didn’t get much sleep that night, either. Harry refused to accept a good night without a generous amount of kissing that seemed somehow more exciting lying in his arms. She had never known a tongue could be so clever. But Harry seemed to have surprising talents, which incited a lot of giggling and not a little sighing before he finally kissed her eyes closed and told her to go to sleep.

She lay in his arms for the longest time smiling into the flickering candlelight and thinking how amazing it was that she could smile at the thought of relations. Sex. Lovemaking. She’d stayed away from the words all these years, because none of them fit what had gone on in her house. It was much easier to use words that distanced herself from the act. She was beginning to hope that wouldn’t be necessary anymore.

She was drifting to sleep when there was a scratch on the door, and Harry stiffened. “What?”

Kate opened her eyes to see Mudge opening the door, still clad in a darned old shirt and pants, hair sticking straight up. Obviously woken as well.

“Sorry, sir. You’re needed downstairs. Matter of some urgency.”

Harry bolted up so fast Kate wondered if he remembered she was there. He did kiss her on the head as he grabbed for his robe. “Stay here.”

She burrowed into the pillows as Mudge closed the door behind them. She listened to the sounds of the house, but heard nothing until the front door closed.

Harry didn’t return. When another half hour passed and he was still absent, she climbed out of bed, grabbed her own robe and slippers, and followed downstairs.

He was sitting in the front parlor, where she received guests. Only one candle flickered at his elbow, and it was cold in the room. And dark. Kate shuddered, stepping into the room as if wading through the moors at night. There were too many shadows.

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

His head jerked up, and she saw a disturbing glassiness in his eyes. Without hesitating, she walked over to the drinks table and poured him a stiff tot. He didn’t even seem to notice her return until she handed him the drink.

“Now,” she said, sitting next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Again he looked over at her. This time, he shook his head. “It’s Ferguson.”

“Ian?” She sat abruptly and took his free hand. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. The official word cannot be the truth. I won’t believe it.”

“What truth?”

He blinked. “I’ve known Ian for years. Fought alongside him. In fact, he saved my groats more than once when I’d given myself up for a goner. I don’t know a more honorable man.”

Her stomach had begun to crawl with dread. “Harry. What happened to Ian?”

“He’s dead.”

She grabbed his arm. That wonderful, outrageous Scot. Dead?

“How?”

When Harry looked up, his expression was flat with shock. “He was shot while trying to assassinate the Duke of Wellington.”

H
arry said the words, but he didn’t believe them. He thought of that mad Scotsman facing off with Kate’s brother, kilt swinging, eyes alight with manic energy. He thought of that last bottle they’d shared after Quatre Bras. Ian had drunk every other man under the table and then climbed atop it. Brandishing his battle sword over his great red head like a Scottish berserker, he’d bellowed out a fine rendition of “Scots Wha Hae,” and then demanded every man in the room raise a toast to Wellington, “T’ only bastard with cods enough to pull us through Waterloo.”

“What happened?” Kate asked. “Is the duke alive?”

Harry startled, almost forgetting Kate was there. “He was unharmed. It seems Ian was stopped in time. It’s a bit muddled. It happened at night. They were at sea, on the way home for a quick visit. Wellington had come on deck to blow a cloud. Several shots were exchanged. Ian and two of the ship’s crew, they think.” Harry looked down at the drink in his hand, not exactly sure how it got there. “Ian was shot and went over the side. So far he hasn’t been found.”

“Then he could be alive.”

Harry shook his head. “He was shot through the heart.”

Kate squeezed his hand. “Take a drink, Harry.”

He did. He was glad she didn’t express her sympathies. He couldn’t have tolerated that. “I’ve lost my share of friends. God, Waterloo alone took too many, good men all. But somehow this is worse.” He shook his head, the shock spinning around so fast that the facts couldn’t gain purchase. “I swear Ian was the best of us.”

It just wasn’t right. Ian had made it home. He should have been safe. Tipping back the glass, Harry let the whisky sear his insides.

“How can I help?” she asked, her hand still in his.

He shook his head. “You don’t know the people involved. I have to convince them that they’re wrong. Ian wouldn’t have done this. I have to at least send someone to search for his body, and I have to notify his family.”

“Where did they search for him?” Kate asked.

“They were about to put into Portsmouth.”

“Why don’t you go on down and search for yourself? You need to know for sure.”

He blinked, feeling stupid and slow. “You know I can’t.”

She smiled. “I’m better protected than the royal family,” she said. “And I have quite enough to do to keep me busy. Heavens, I haven’t even made it past Uncle Hilliard’s haberdasher bills.”

He kissed her hand. “Thank you, Kate, but I can’t. I need to be at the Home Office. Ian wasn’t the only news. One of the undersecretaries for the Home Office was also found murdered last night and his offices and home ransacked.”

He looked up, suddenly, realizing that he hadn’t told Kate about the new assassin. He didn’t want to. She shouldn’t have had to add this fear to her load. But it wasn’t safe to keep her ignorant of any new threats.

“Kate, you need to know that his throat was slashed.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh…”

“And a quote was carved into his body.”

Kate blanched, but didn’t quail. “But the Surgeon is dead. I saw him myself.”

“He evidently taught someone else his craft. We have to be even more careful, Kate. I want you to stay in.”

She was already shaking her head. “For how long? If I cower in the house, people are going to think you’ve coerced me into this marriage. I need to be seen enjoying myself. And you need to be seen enjoying yourself with me.”

Harry wanted to laugh. How could he enjoy himself? He rubbed at his eyes, wishing he could climb back into bed with Kate. It was pure hell lying with her in his arms all night without doing anything, but it certainly took his mind off everything else. And he needed his mind off Ian for a while. He couldn’t do anything about him yet. He couldn’t even relegate him to that amorphous netherworld of nonexistence where Harry had hidden all of his other comrades who hadn’t come home. Not until he knew what really happened.

“Come on, Harry,” she said, her voice dry. “You need some sleep.”

He was shaking his head, even as she helped him to his feet. “I need to be…”

“You’re sure Ian is dead.”

He nodded.

“Is an extra hour going to bring him back?”

He didn’t know how she did it, but she helped him undress, all the way to his boots, shoving Mudge back to his own bed, and then she coaxed him back into that soft marshmallow of a bed and for an hour, held him. And when he felt her tears sliding down to his neck, she let him hold her as well.

As he lay wrapped in her warmth, Harry felt something old and tight in him loosen. Something that had protected him from hurt. He didn’t want to lose it. He didn’t want to feel this shaky and uncertain. He didn’t want to feel anything, but it was far too late for that.

“There is one good bit of news I can give you,” he said.

She didn’t move. “What’s that?”

Fingering her hair, he smiled. “You’re not crazy.”

Her head shot up. “Lady Riordan?”

“Is just where you said she was. One of Diccan’s household brigade managed to get a position at the asylum.”

“Has she been rescued?”

Harry heard the stain of old fear in her voice, and wished he could reassure her. “I don’t know what the government plans to do.”

Kate shuddered. “Poor thing.”

Harry pulled her into his arms. “If it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t have a chance.”

She laid her head on his chest, as if it were the most natural thing to do, and Harry burrowed his face in her hair.

“One more thing,” he said, feeling even worse.

She nodded against his chest. “Wellington was attacked,” she said sounding unsurprised. “So you were wrong. The Lions aren’t waiting for the verse to move.”

“If they’ve already made an attempt on the duke, then who knows what else they’re getting ready to do? We’re running out of time.”

And we still don’t know
, he thought, sharing the tense silence with her,
why they want you dead
.

Kate was distracted the entire next day. Harry was still off at Horse Guards, and she was stuck with boxes of minutiae.

Harry needed to get to Portsmouth. He needed to defend his friend’s memory, but as long as she was in danger, he was caught here. And the only thing Kate could do to help was rifle through a dead man’s life. She had begun to hate the search of Uncle Hilliard’s things, because it was beginning to look pointless. There just wasn’t anything to him. Besides, it gave her far too much time to think, and what she thought of was Harry. Old Harry. New Harry. The Harry she’d kept in her head, who had abandoned her on a whim to live a better life, and the Harry he’d actually been: dedicated, driven, honorable, and kind. The Harry who was now determined to stand up for his friend.

She wanted to help him. No matter what he’d done to her in the past, he was trying to become a real husband to her now. He was being kind and understanding. The least she could do was to support him back.

But how? She felt so at sea. It had been so long since she’d
wanted
to comfort a man; ever since her father died. And heaven knew she’d never been successful comforting him.

But Harry? She wished she’d had more time to hold him after he’d gotten the news about Ian. She wished he would come back so she could sit with him, just that. Just hold his hand or wrap her arms around him until that stark shock left his eyes. She wanted, unbelievably, for him to hold her back.

Harry was changing her life. Not in obvious ways; in little quiet ones that seemed completely alien to her. Kisses that seemed to go on forever without expectations. Disagreements that didn’t involve fists or feet or the cold silence of isolation. Laughter. God, would she ever have expected laughter in a marriage? And the quiet courage of a man who kept his nightmares in a used-up sketch pad, and yet rose every morning to face the world without hesitation.

Compared with him she was a coward. She hadn’t accepted her nightmares and moved on. She had let them cripple her. If Harry hadn’t forced his way into her life, she would still be locking her doors and trying to fend off the night with her candelabras. She wouldn’t have known how to change, how to expect more.

How much did she want, though? she wondered as she pulled out another of her uncle’s boxes. Did she want a marriage, even though the thought frightened her to her toes? Did she want Harry to go on his travels, leaving her to the life she had always wanted, or did she want him to forfeit his dreams and share hers? Or did she want to go along with him? Did she even know how to ask?

It wasn’t a question that was going to be answered now, however. Now her focus had to be on playing the part of besotted wife well enough that Edwin lost his case. She had to help Harry pull lion’s teeth. Only after that happened would she have the chance to decide what to do about her marriage.

And so when she followed Grace and Bea up the steps to the Hampton ballroom that night, she was smiling, her hand on Harry’s sleeve. She was surprised at how proud she felt of him in his sleek black evening attire, his wheat-blond hair neatly trimmed, and his neckcloth a perfectly tied Mathematical. Bea had called him Brummel when she’d seen him. Grace had told him that she would always prefer his Rifleman green, but that his formal civilian uniform befitted him well. Kate couldn’t agree more. She just wished the shadows were gone from his eyes.

“Why, Kate, marriage must agree with you,” Lady Hampton greeted her, hands out. “You’re glowing.”

Kate chuckled and took the countess’s hands. “Don’t be silly, Clare. It’s the peach. The color always makes me look healthy.”

Actually, tonight, it made her feel lovely, which was another revelation. She couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like that before, and it unsettled her even more.

The dress shouldn’t have made such a difference. Usually new clothes did nothing more for her than provide a bit of provocation. But this new dress made her feel tender, young. A deliciously soft moire silk tunic over an eggshell-white underdress, it was deceptively simple, embellished only with crystals across the low rounded bodice. A pearl and egret-feather aigret in her hair and diamond parure completed her costume.

“And this is your new husband?” Clare asked.

Kate turned to Harry. “Clare, may I introduce Major Sir Harry Lidge? Harry, this is a friend from the Military Widows project, Lady Clare Hampton.”

Clare, a blond dumpling of a woman who could take credit for six children and three marriages, tilted her head and smiled. “I hope you can keep up with her, sir.”

“I don’t think anybody can keep up with her, Lady Hampton,” Harry said with an engaging smile as he bent over her plump hand. “I plan to just hang on for the ride.”

Only Kate could see the pain that still lurked in Harry’s eyes. He had yet to have any success unearthing the truth about Ian.

The music had begun by the time they reached the main ballroom, a vast, echoing space decorated in white and gold that ran across the entire back of the Hamptons’ home. Harry made both Grace and Bea promise him dances before settling them into chairs. Kate saw General Willoughby marching up to Bea, side whiskers bristling, and knew her friend would be entertained. Turning back to Harry, she found that a number of her own stalwarts had already lined up beneath the great chandeliers.

“Not tonight, gentlemen,” Harry said before she could hand around her dance card. He pulled it from her hand and ripped it cleanly in two. “Tomorrow or the next night, you may return. But for our first ball, I claim a husband’s prerogative.”

One of Kate’s most faithful
cicisbeos
, a painfully young tulip named Tommy, glared at Harry through an ornate quizzing glass that matched the silver embroidery on his blue velvet coat. “Not at all the thing to sit in your wife’s pocket, old man.”

Harry gave the boy a wolf’s smile. “Undoubtedly something better known to those who haven’t spent all their time on the field of battle.”

Kate almost burst out laughing at the boy’s goggle-eyed reaction. “Tommy,” she soothed, a hand on his brocaded arm. “Humor him. He’ll probably run out of patience in an hour or so and scarper for the card room.”

Before Tommy could answer, Harry swung Kate into a waltz. She admitted surprise. Harry really did know how to dance. Even better, she felt as if she could relax in his arms. Any other man would have been fencing with her, trying to either seduce her or see who it was she was being seduced by. Or, like Tommy, participating in the popular pastime of enthusiastically laying his heart at the feet of a notorious woman.

Harry claimed every dance and walked with her in between. It was immediately obvious that her family had already begun their campaign of poison, because more than one back turned as she and Harry passed. A few of the more marginal members of society, who survived by knowing the way the wind blew, defected from her camp to Glynis’s, and a few high sticklers reduced their greetings from smiles to chilly nods. Predictably, the Rakes had made a strong presence and acted as if nothing were unusual.

Kate could not have cared less for herself. She was furious for Harry, though, who was worth more than the vast majority of the people in this room put together. Every time a sharp-tongued matron lifted an imperious eyebrow in his direction, she could feel him stiffen, as if instinctively defending himself from blows.

“How efficient, Harry,” she said, returning the smile of young Lady Finster. “You are culling out the wheat from the chaff tonight with amazing skill.”

“I believe you have that the wrong way around,” he said. “I seem to be the chaff.”

“Bollocks. If a man who fought at Waterloo cuts you, I will take notice. Otherwise, we’re succeeding in rather tidily reorganizing my standard guest list.”

In the end, Kate was encouraged by the fact that the friends she would have regretted losing stood by her side. Since the rest hadn’t interested her on their best day, it all worked out well. And of course, she had her faithful court. Fortunately, Harry understood their place perfectly well, especially the puppies who circled her like uncertain satellites.

“You are poetry in motion, Your Grace,” her faithful Tommy gushed, kneeling at the side of the chair she’d taken alongside Bea. “How could I hear a note of the music when your radiance shone…shined…shoned down on us?”