Flight to Verechenko (3 page)

‘You can't possibly be serious? No one can imagine I would marry anybody so soon after Robert's death? And a man I've never met? It's ridiculous.'

‘Please stop using that word. It is
not
ridiculous. It is a perfectly sensible solution to all our problems.'

‘It's a sensible solution to Dominic's problems. Without a marriage satisfactory to his parents Dominic does not return to Geddings. What sort of life must he have led if the Duke has to arrange a marriage for him? It could only be because no right-minded girl would marry him. He's
using
us, don't you see?'

‘I see that once you are married to Dominic, we'll be secure,' Lady Davencourt said grimly. ‘ He will have to make
some
provision for us. He can't allow his parents-in-law to become paupers and that is just what we
will
become if you don't behave sensibly and marry him.'

Catherine snatched her hand from her stepmother's cold grasp. ‘I'm not marrying him. Not for you. Not for anybody. There must be some way we can manage.'

‘Not without Geddings!' Lady Davencourt hissed.

‘You can't expect me to marry a man I've never met! A few weeks ago you were referring to him as a lecherous womaniser whose name I shouldn't mention! Now you want him for a son-in-law!'

Lady Davencourt was not used to exerting patience and her face was mottled with the effort. ‘Circumstances have changed, Catherine. Of course you will accept. Dear God, the man is heir to half the Southern counties!'

‘I don't care if he is heir to the throne of England,' Catherine said tightly. ‘I am not marrying him!'

They faced each other, eyes blazing. Lady Davencourt made one last, strangled effort. ‘ There is a noble precedent for this sort of thing. Think of the King. He married his brother's bereaved betrothed.'

Catherine took a deep, quivering breath. ‘There is nothing noble about it at all. I am not marrying Dominic Harland.'

Lady Davencourt's patience was at an end. She towered over Catherine, fists clenched, her face suffused with blood. ‘For the last time, I am ordering you to marry the Duke!'

‘He isn't a Duke yet.' Catherine sprang to her feet, refusing to be intimidated.

‘He will be, my girl! He will be! And you will be a Duchess!'

Catherine stared at her incredulously. ‘You are unbelievable. You don't care about me, or papa, or anyone. All you care about it getting your hands on Geddings.'

Lady Davencourt slapped her cheek hard. ‘You listen to me, my girl. Your father is on the verge of bankruptcy. If you don't marry Dominic we'll be social outcasts. The Duchess is very fond of you. She believes that if you marry Dominic he will settle down. I don't care whether he does or not. But you're going to marry him, Catherine. I'm not going to be reduced to penury because of your petty whims!'

‘You can't force me to marry him!'

All her patent dislike of her step-daughter filled Lady Davencourt's face as she said, ‘ Can't I? I can make your life exceedingly unpleasant for you if you don't!' And she marched from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Catherine, one hand on her stinging cheek, hadn't the slightest doubt that she meant what she said. It was useless appealing to her father. He was no match for her step-mother. There was only one person who was—her grandmother. But Gianetta was in Paris with a broken leg. By the time she could come to Catherine's assistance it would be too late. There was only one solution and that was to go to Paris.

She would need money and the niggardly amount her step-mother allowed her would not be enough for the fare. She would have to borrow it from Caroline. There would be no chance to speak to her tomorrow. Catherine doubted if she would even be allowed out of her room until she had agreed to marry Dominic. If she was to see Caroline it would have to be tonight.

Even while she was thinking she was dressing, putting on her walking shoes and coat. Scarcely daring to breath she crept from the house and out into the gas-lit street.

As she headed across Sloane Square and into Symons Street, she was busy making plans. She would leave in the morning, before her stepmother rose. Lady Davencourt would think she was sulking. With luck on her side it might be evening before her presence was missed. Time enough to tell them where she was when she was safely under her grandmother's roof.

She turned sharp right into a narrow alleyway that cut ten minutes from her journey. Even if her father brought her back, Dominic would no longer wish to marry her. It would make him a laughing stock. She was so immersed in her thoughts she was not at first aware of the sound of footsteps behind her. When at last they permeated her consciousness she glanced nervously over her shoulder. In the thick darkness she saw a roughly dressed man rapidly gaining on her.

Remembering Robert's fate, Catherine did not hesitate. She picked up her skirts and ran. His feet thudded heavily after her. A hand grabbed at her shoulder. Sick with fear she wrenched away, but before she could recover her balance he had her by her coat, pulling her round, tugging at her purse.

Terrified that he would strike her if she continued to clutch it she thrust it into his hands, hurtling over the cobbles as he let her go and began to rifle through it. Dimly she heard it being tossed to one side. She ran faster, exerting every ounce of strength, but he was gaining on her, his breath harsh on her neck as his fingers grasped her shoulders ruthlessly. This time she swung round with a desperate cry, scratching wildly at his face.

He swore, grabbing her wrists cruelly, forcing her back against the wall, pressing the heavy weight of his body against hers.

She struggled frantically, screaming for help, twisting her head from side to side to avoid the leering mouth and foul breath. She gave one last piercing cry and then, so suddenly that she almost fell, she was free. She stumbled, gasping for breath, sobbing with relief.

A lithe figure hauled her attacker into the centre of the alley, punching him forcefully on the jaw, knocking him into the gutter. He staggered to his feet, head down, rushing at her rescuer like a maddened bull. The dark, cloaked figure stepped adroitly to one side, her attacker's own momentum sending him sprawling. Then, grasping the back of his collar, he hauled him to his feet, and with a well-placed boot on the rear, sent him reeling and cursing into the darkness. For a few seconds there was only the sound of his fading steps and then her rescuer adjusted kid gloves and turned to her.

‘Are you hurt?'

‘No. Thank you …' Her voice was unsteady, her breath coming in harsh gasps.

The moon sailed from the bank of cloud and she saw him clearly. He was young, tall and well-built, with thick black hair tumbling low over dark eyes. Deep frills of lace adorned the front of his shirt and emerged beneath the cuffs of his jacket, proclaiming him to be a gentleman. The evening cloak he was now idly adjusting was lined with a gleam of silk, but there was nothing of the dandy about his face. The nose was strong, the cheek-bones high; the near-black eyes intimidating.

Catherine brushed a stray curl back into place and was aware that her hand was trembling. ‘Thank you,' she said again, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks.

The expression on his face changed as his gaze travelled over her. Her hair had become unpinned in her flight and fell in wild disarray about her shoulders. Her breasts still heaved as she fought to regain control of her breathing. White teeth flashed in a sudden, devastating smile.

‘You're too beautiful to be on the streets,' he said, eyeing her appreciatively. ‘Change your profession before you get hurt or murdered.'

She gasped, hardly able to believe her ears.

‘How dare you!' she cried, raising her hand to deliver a stinging blow to his cheek. He moved swiftly, catching her wrist in a steel-like grip, his eyes hot and dark as he bent his head, kissing her until she lost her breath in the passion of his mouth. Heat surged through her body as his lips seared hers, his body pinioning her against the cold damp of the wall.

As suddenly as he had seized her he released her, gazing down at her with a mixture of amusement and regret, chucking her under the chin with insulting intimacy, before striding off into the darkness.

As his footsteps faded, Catherine remained against the wall, leaning on it for support, her heart beating widly and irregularly. Slowly she raised a trembling hand to her burning lips. Only Robert had ever kissed her: and not even he had done so with such indecent thoroughness. Shame suffused her. Why, with his lips on hers, had she not struggled to be free? The answer brought the blood stinging to her cheeks. She had not struggled to be free because she had not desired to be free. With a sob she picked up her skirts and began to run in the direction of the Oversley town house.

On reaching it she rapped on the door with an unsteady hand. A frightened looking maid promised to bring Caroline down, leaving Catherine shivering in the hallway. A few minutes later Caroline was swearing the maid to secrecy and ushering a dishevelled Catherine into the drawing room.

‘Whatever has happened, Catherine?' Caroline asked, her violet-blue eyes wide and shocked.

Catherine's body still felt as if it were on fire, throbbing with an emotion she was powerless to control. She said with difficulty, ‘They want me to marry Dominic and I won't. I'm going to my grandmother in Paris. I haven't any money of my own, Caroline. I thought you might be able to help me.'

Caroline gazed round-eyed at the bruises on Catherine's wrists. ‘Did
Dominic
do that to you?'

Catherine gazed down at the bruises and flushed.

‘No. I came through the alley and a man followed me.' Her voice began to shake. ‘ He stole my purse and then …'

Caroline stared, horrified.

‘He was going to … I feel sick, Caroline.'

Hastily Caroline poured her a brandy.

‘He was touching me, pressing against me.' She shuddered. ‘Someone heard me scream. He pulled the man off.'

‘And?' Caroline asked, mesmerised.

‘And that was all.' She fought down the memory of her rescuer. Of the feel of his body against hers. Of the claiming, unhesitant mouth. Of her shameless response.

‘Are you feeling all right?' Caroline asked curiously. ‘ You're trembling.'

‘It's nothing,' Catherine lied, the blood surging through her body in a red-hot tide. ‘Can you get me the money, Caroline?'

‘Yes. But you are making a big mistake, Catherine. If Dominic wants to marry you, you should leap at the chance. I would.'

‘What! Marry a man so that he can return home the prodigal son?'

Caroline shook her head. ‘Dominic wouldn't marry for convenience. He and Robert were very close and used to meet often without their father's knowledge. It's my guess Dominic has seen you many times with Robert when you were in France, visiting your grandmother.'

Catherine stared at her. ‘But why shouldn't Robert have introduced us openly?'

‘And risk the Duke's wrath if you should have inadvertently let it slip? Far easier for you, my sweet, if you knew nothing. Don't act rashly. Wait until you see him then make your decision.'

‘No.' Catherine pushed the shining mass of her hair away from her face. ‘I couldn't love anyone else as I did Robert.'

She felt such pain at her infidelity of a few moments ago that the breath caught in her throat and she could hardly speak. ‘Please give me the money, Caroline. My grandmother will understand. She'll look after me.'

Caroline sighed. ‘Very well. If your mind is made up.'

As she rose to her feet there came the unmistakable sound of a fist pounding hard on the outside door. Caroline's father hurried confusedly downstairs, fumbling with his dressing gown. Seconds later he was facing a raging Lord Davencourt.

‘Is my daughter here?' Lord Davencourt thundered. ‘By God, Oversley, if you've encouraged her in this foolishness I'll never forgive you!'

‘What the devil do you mean?' Caroline's father asked bewilderedly. ‘What
is
this? Stop waving your cane at me in that stupid manner, Davencourt. It's the middle of the night.'

‘I'm well aware what time it is!' Lord Davencourt brushed past Mr Oversley and pushed open the drawing-room door.

The two girls clutched at each other as their fathers' wrath exploded round them.

‘Home!'
Lord Davencourt bellowed.

‘To bed!'
Caroline's father commanded, red with rage at the disturbance of his sleep and fearful of what scrape his empty-headed daughter had got herself into.

‘It isn't Caroline's fault. She didn't know I was coming. I …'

‘Home!'
Lord Davencourt frothed at the mouth.

‘Some explanation, old man,' Mr Oversley said, relieved that Davencourt's wrath was centred entirely on Catherine.

‘Family matter.' Lord Davencourt said, pushing rudely past him as he dragged his unwilling daughter in his wake. ‘Speak to you in the morning.'

Lord Davencourt's fury was nothing to that of his wife. Even Catherine had shrunk before her step-mother's ice-cold rage. Lady Davencourt, knowing only too well that if she took a cane to Catherine she would kill her, had with enormous self-control commanded that Catherine be locked in her room and stay there until she regained her senses.

It was midday before the key turned and Eleanor entered with a tray of water and two thin slices of bread. Outside, and trying not to look uncomfortable, stood two of the footmen.

Catherine laughed mirthlessly. ‘Did Mama think that I would attack you and try to escape?'

‘I don't know, Lady Catherine,' Eleanor said truthfully. ‘ Lady Davencourt is exceedingly angry.'

‘She always is if she isn't having her own way. I wish I were you, Eleanor: marrying a man I loved—or even going to Russia.'