In Bed With the Devil (16 page)

Few came to the old gent's funeral. Until that moment I'd not realized what it had cost him to take me in, to announce to the world that I, the suspected murderer of his second son, was in fact his grandson.

A week after his passing, I attended a ball. I knew it was in bad form, that when one is in mourning one does not attend affairs that exhibit gaiety. But I also knew that gentlemen were often forgiven for not adhering to the strictures of society.

Besides, I had a point to make. I wanted no one to doubt that I was taking my place as the old gent's successor.

I remember little about the ball except that from the moment I began descending the stairs, I regretted that I'd come. People stared at me as though I were an unusual-looking creature on display at a menagerie and, with that thought, my head began to pound. I desperately craved a glass of whiskey. I desperately wanted to be at Dodger's.

Ladies lowered their gazes. Gentlemen looked away. Some stepped back as though they feared being contaminated by my presence.

And then I spied her.

Her.

Lovely, elegant, and daring, she not only met my gaze, but she held it as though she was as fascinated with me as I was with her. For the briefest of moments, I contemplated asking her for the honor of a dance, but I knew such an action would tarnish her reputation. That night, for the first time in my life, I understood the sacrifices that were required to truly be a gentleman.

With regret, I turned away, the wonder of her in my arms to remain a mystery that would often haunt me.

C
atherine couldn't sleep and it seemed a waste to lie in her bed alone with eyes open, staring at the canopy. She could at least be useful so she went to her father's bedchamber and told his nurse to go rest for a bit. Catherine would wake her when she was ready to retire.

Her father appeared to be sleeping, but still she found comfort in holding his hand. Even if he were awake, she couldn't tell him that she'd allowed Claybourne to kiss her three times now. Claybourne's reasons for kissing her she understood: intimidation, distraction, frustration.

But her reasons for kissing him—because she had welcomed his kiss, all three times to her shame and mortification—were a mystery. It was only because she'd thought her legs were going to buckle that she'd pushed him away this evening. The truth of the matter was that she'd rather hoped he'd ravish her further. Even as she'd thought that, she'd remembered Frannie and Dr. Graves waiting for them to return to the dining room.

When they had finally returned, Frannie had refused to hold her gaze. Catherine wondered if something in her eyes or her swollen lips had screamed out that she was a wanton woman.

She didn't want to desire Claybourne, but desire him, she did.

She shouldn't have left the invitation, but she thought if she could just have one dance with him, she'd be content for the remainder of her life. Although she couldn't imagine that a dance would be nearly as satisfying as his kiss.

“I've never known anyone like him, Papa,” she whispered quietly. “Sometimes I think he'll break my heart. Not on purpose, because he doesn't know how my feelings are shifting, but it will break all the same.” She stroked his hand. “Did you love Mother, I wonder? If so, how did you bear it when she was no longer here? I think that's what worries me the most. I've grown so accustomed to being with him that I'm not sure how I'll survive when he's no longer a daily”—or more accurate, nightly—“part of my life.”

She pressed her cheek to the back of his hand. She would find a way to survive.

 

Catherine had thought it would be fun to bring Winnie's son, Whit, to the Great Exhibition. Winnie had wanted to come along as well. Had insisted on it, actually, convinced that Catherine's reputation would be irrevocably ruined if she were seen out in public without benefit of a chaperone, and as Winnie was married, she served nicely in the role.

They'd arrived at Hyde Park shortly after
breakfast to wait in line. It was the cheap-ticket day, the day when tickets were only a shilling, and common folk more than the elite were about. Winnie's bruise was almost gone, but still she didn't want to meet up with anyone she might know. She thought it less likely if they came today.

The iron and glass building known as the Crystal Palace was an amazing twenty-six acres of exhibits, almost overwhelming with everything it had on display, especially for a child of four. The stunning glass water fountain in the center of the building had caused Whit's eyes to widen, and Catherine had to hold tightly on to his hand to keep him from trying to climb in.

Now, three hours later, Whit was growing weary and grumpy because his legs were tired. Catherine had carried him for some time now, hoping to see more of the exhibits before being forced to leave because her arms were growing as tired as his legs. Catherine understood now why the queen had come five times already. It was impossible to see everything in one go.

“Whit is getting so restless. Do you think we should go?” Winnie asked.

Catherine heard the disappointment in her voice, and she wondered if it was leaving the exhibition or returning home that left Winnie with regret. “Why don't we push on for a little while longer? I'd really like to see the Koh-i-Noor diamond.”

“Do you think it's really as spectacular as they say?”

“Everything else we've seen so far has been.”

“Even the people,” Winnie whispered. “Have you ever seen such an assortment? They're from all over the world. Every time I look around—oh, dear Lord.”

Winnie had grown ghastly pale.

“What is it?” Catherine asked.

“Claybourne, and he's coming this way.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I knew we never should have spoken of him in Lady Charlotte's garden the other day.”

Catherine spun around. It was indeed Claybourne and Frannie. It was quite evident that they were strolling toward them—as though Catherine and her party were themselves an exhibit to be studied. She felt a little shiver of anticipation. She was safe here with people about and Frannie at his side. He'd not tempt her into thoughts of wickedness with a kiss. It would all be very formal, very proper.

“Ignore him,” Winnie said, digging her fingers into Catherine's arm.

Ignore him? How could she when he looked so exceedingly handsome in his dark blue jacket and trousers. His cravat was also blue, but his shirt and waistcoat were a gray that almost matched the silver of his eyes. One leather-clad hand held his black top hat and walking stick. She knew what that walking stick was capable of. It was nearly as dangerous as its owner.

“I won't give him a cut direct he hasn't earned.” Although she could feel Winnie's horrified gaze on her, Catherine acknowledged Claybourne with a smile and wondered how to best handle this situation without causing Winnie to suspect
that she and Claybourne shared more than a passing acquaintance. She should have known Claybourne would have the situation well in hand.

“Lady Catherine Mabry, as I recall,” he said lazily, a hint of teasing in his eyes that she doubted Winnie would notice. She suspected Winnie feared the man so much that she wouldn't lift her gaze above his neckcloth. “Our paths crossed at a ball once, some years back, but I don't believe we were ever formally introduced.” He bowed slightly. “I'm Claybourne.”

“Yes, I recall that ball. It has been some years. What a surprise it is to see you here today.”

“I have it on good authority that the Great Exhibition is not to be missed.”

“I daresay they'll be talking about it for years to come.” She turned to Winnie. “Duchess, allow me to introduce Lucian Langdon, the Earl of Claybourne.”

Winnie's fingers were still digging into her arm, and Catherine could feel her trembling. What was it she feared? The man had done nothing threatening.

“My lord,” Winnie said succinctly, and Catherine doubted that Claybourne had missed the rudeness in her tone, yet he didn't seem bothered by it.

“Your Grace,” he replied. “Allow me to introduce Miss Darling. An acquaintance.”

Frannie was dressed very much as she had been last night. Her dress a drab gray as though she wished to draw no attention to herself. Even her bonnet had very little color in it, almost as
though she were in a later stage of mourning.

“Yes, quite, I'm sure,” Winnie said, haughtily and suspiciously.

Claybourne narrowed his eyes, and Catherine was certain he'd taken offense. It was one thing to slight him, but to slight the woman he loved—

“Have you been here long?” Catherine asked, trying to make up for Winnie's impoliteness.

“No, not long. Miss Darling wanted to rush through and get a lay of the land, as it were. I prefer a leisurely pursuit. Which do you recommend?”

“I believe it's impossible to see everything in one go. At least by going slowly you see everything in more detail.”

“My thought exactly.”

Whit began rocking against her, his short legs kicking her backside and hip. “Go! Go!”

Catherine set him down before her arms gave out.

Claybourne immediately crouched in front of him. “And who are you?”

Winnie gasped.

“The Earl of Whitson,” Whit said, mimicking his mother's earlier haughty tone. As young as he was, already he recognized differences in the classes.

“Did you know they have lemonade, pastries, and lollipops over there? Would you like to buy some for you and your mum?” Claybourne asked.

Whit nodded enthusiastically, his weariness suddenly cured.

“Hold out your hand,” Claybourne ordered.

Whit did.

“Fold it up.” Claybourne demonstrated, closing
his hand into a fist. Then he snapped his fingers. “Open your hand.”

The boy did, his eyes growing wide at the ha'penny resting on his palm. Winnie gasped again.

“Hmm. I'm not certain that's enough,” Claybourne said. He looked up at Frannie. “What's your opinion on the matter, Miss Darling?”

“Definitely not enough. I should think he'd need at least a shilling.”

“I suspect you're right.” He turned back to Whit. “Close your hand around the coin and say, ‘Please, sir, may I have more?'”

Whit closed his hand around the coin. “Please, sir, may I have more?”

Claybourne snapped his fingers. Whit opened his hand, his eyes wider than before. The ha'penny was gone. A sixpence rested on his palm.

Frannie tapped Claybourne on the head. “You silly man. That's not a shilling.”

Catherine realized they were performing, and she wondered how often they'd worked together on something similar. Was this how they'd fleeced people? Was this performance a remnant of their childhood? They seemed so natural, so comfortable with each other.

“You're quite right, Miss Darling. What was I thinking? Shall we give it another go, Lord Whitson?”

Grinning broadly, Whit bobbed his head up and down and closed his pudgy fingers over the coin. “Please, sir, may I have more?”

“Why, yes, sir, I think you may,” Claybourne said, snapping his fingers.

Whit opened his fist and crowed. “Look! A shilling!”

Catherine realized he wasn't the only one with a wide smile. Winnie was grinning as well, as though her troubles had disappeared as easily as the coins.

“How did you do that, my lord?” Catherine asked.

“Magic.”

“Why, yes, I could see that. But what's the secret?”

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that. It'll ruin the fun.”

“Your Grace, may I take your son over to get some refreshments?” Frannie asked.

Winnie bobbed her head, then said, “I'll come with you.”

Catherine watched as the threesome strolled toward the refreshment booth. “We should probably go with them.”

“Probably,” Claybourne said, offering his arm.

It would be rude to ignore it, so she placed her hand on his arm.

“You do realize you're creating a scandal having Frannie with you without a chaperone.”

“Good Lord, Catherine, we grew up sleeping together, spooned around each other. Do you really think our relationship warrants a chaperone?”

Catherine was hit with an unexpected spark of jealousy and imagined them doing a good deal more than innocent spooning. “Appearance is everything.”

“Very well, but she's nearly thirty. Isn't that the
magical age when a woman no longer needs looking after?”

“She's that old? She doesn't look it. Still, seeing you together out in public, people will assume she's your mistress.”

“I've never bedded her.”

Catherine was surprised by the relief that hit her with that inappropriate confession. “Are you going to wear a sign on your back stating so?”

“You're the one who suggested I do something with her.”

He didn't bother to mask his impatience with her.

“I assumed you'd have common sense enough to realize you needed a chaperone.”

“There's no hope for it then. We'll have to spend the rest of the day with you and the Duchess of Avendale, who as a married woman can serve as her chaperone in order to save Frannie's reputation.”

Catherine narrowed her eyes at him. Had he just pulled some sort of trick on her in order to be included in her party?

“If I didn't know better I'd think you'd arranged this meeting on purpose, deliberately not bringing along a chaperone so I'd feel obligated to protect Frannie's reputation.”

“Does it make me a scoundrel to enjoy your company?”

“You're a scoundrel simply because you're a scoundrel.”

“I suppose I can't deny that, but Frannie learns by imitation. I thought a day of observing you out and about would serve her well.”

“So today is a lesson, not an outing to enjoy each other's company. It defeats the purpose.”

“How can it defeat the purpose when it brings you and me one step closer to obtaining what we each desire?”

Catherine's attention was drawn to the pounding footsteps. Whit approached, holding a lollipop.

“Sir, are you going to come with us now?”

Claybourne crouched. “Would you like me to?”

Catherine was astounded by his rapport with the child.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever seen an elephant?”

Whit shook his head.

Unfolding his body, Claybourne extended his hat and walking stick toward Catherine. “Do you mind?”

She took them. Claybourne turned his attention back to Whit. “Come on then, my young lord.” He hoisted Whit upon his shoulders and the boy crowed once again, his lollipop becoming lost in Claybourne's thick, curling hair.

When Winnie and Frannie joined them, they all began walking, Claybourne leading the way. He seemed to know where they were going, and even if he didn't, he was keeping Whit occupied, which allowed Catherine to enjoy the exhibits a bit more.

Or she would have if her attention hadn't been focused on Claybourne.

It occurred to her that this was the first time she'd seen him when it wasn't night. He seemed
less sinister with the light pouring in through the glass ceiling and windows, illuminating him. She'd known he was tall, but he somehow looked taller. She'd known he was broad, but he appeared broader. He strode with confidence, pointing things out to Whit.

She'd never before been able to imagine him with children, and now she couldn't imagine him without. He'd been gentlemanly toward Winnie and utterly charming with Whit. He'd told Catherine that he knew coin tricks, but she'd never imagined one such as he'd performed. Removing a coin from behind someone's ear—even her father had been able to do that. But what Claybourne had done required very clever hands.