In Love With a Wicked Man (25 page)

“I know you mean well, but let it go, Kate.” Edward’s jaw had gone a little rigid. “As to disparagement, Lord Reginald over there looks willing to do the job for me. If that black gaze of his were a scythe, he’d have sliced off my head by now.

“Never mind Reggie,” said Kate impatiently. “Tell me about Aunt Isabel.”

“Isabel?” He looked surprised.

“Is she living? Do you like her? She clearly likes you.”

His smile was muted. “She likes me well enough, yes.”

“What balderdash,” said Kate. “The lady gave you a watch worth a small fortune.”

At last the smile deepened. “And I like her,” he said, “very much. Though I rarely see her.”

“Where does she live?”

“In Belgrave Square.”

“Indeed?” said Kate. “Then why do you see her rarely?”

He hesitated. “It’s complicated.”

“It cannot be that complicated,” said Kate tartly. “She is fond of you. You’re fond of her. And she lives all of, what?—a mile from St. James?”

They had resumed their sedate stroll and had nearly reached the rear boundary of the churchyard. Even Kate, independent though she was, knew better than to disappear from sight of the crowd on the infamous Ned Quartermaine’s arm.

She turned around and noticed Nancy and Richard by the tower door, speaking to each other intently. His expression was dark. Nancy’s hands were both fisted at her sides, arms rigid.

Aurélie
, thought Kate grimly,
what now?

She wanted to sigh; her mother was nearly unmanageable. At least this visit had been relatively sedate and—until today, perhaps—without drama. Kate forced herself to smile. “You were going to tell me about your aunt?”

Edward shrugged. “I see her privately when I can, but it is awkward,” he said. “The Quartermaine Club is hardly the sort of place one can invite someone like Isabel, Lady Keltonbrooke.”

“Ah, so you live there.” Kate considered it. “But you might buy a house.”

“I might,” he said.

“Or you might simply ask your aunt what she wishes.”

He hesitated for an instant. “She wishes to see more of me,” he admitted. “She is getting on, and she’s childless. Frederick and I are all she has.”

Kate paused to consider it. “Are you afraid of seeing your brother?”

Again, the faint pause before answering. “It would be awkward,” he said. “Beyond that, I should prefer not to ruminate upon the past. Forgive me, Kate, but Anstruther has brought our horses round. I had better return you to your mother.”

Anstruther was indeed looking impatient. “Yes, of course,” she murmured. “I forgot. The two of you are off to Heatherfields.”

By the time they reached the sunny front lawn, the last of the villagers were trailing through the lych-gate. She watched Edward stride down the path after them with his confident, long-legged gait and felt her heart oddly lurch. She really was quite hopelessly in love with him; it seemed not to matter who he was, or what he had done.

He was a good man, and whatever she might think of the way he earned his living, it was something that had been thrust upon him by circumstance—or so she told herself. In all other ways, Edward was everything that a gentleman should be.

In the street beyond, Fendershot was handing Mrs. Peppin up into his dogcart for the drive back to Bellecombe. For a moment, Kate debated wedging herself onto the seat beside Mrs. Peppin so that she might avoid the drive with Reggie. But that was just foolish.

On a sigh, she turned to see that the churchyard was empty save for Aurélie, who stood just inside the porch, picturesquely framed in the ancient stone arch. She was waving good-bye to Anstruther, a waterfall of lace hanging from her sleeve, as Edward flung himself into the big black’s saddle.

“Aurélie, your coachman is waiting,” said Kate as the two men rode away.

Aurélie turned to look at her as if bestirred to the present. “Ah, yes,” she said. “But a moment, if you please,
mon chou.
I must go back inside and speak to Mr. Burnham.”

Kate arched a disapproving eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

Aurélie flashed her usual coy smile, and yet some inscrutable emotion lay just beneath it. “I was not jesting,
mon chou
, at breakfast,” she murmured. “I mean to ask our good priest to hear my confession.”

“How can you poke fun at Richard?” Kate chided. “Unlike you and de Macey, his duties are not a joke to him. He’s very devout. Besides, you’re not even Catholic.”

Lightly, she shrugged. “
Oui
, but I am, perhaps, half a Catholic, on my mother’s side? Besides, cannot a very sinful person confess to their rector and ask forgiveness?”

“No. Well, not as a matter of ecclesiastic obedience.”

“But as a matter of personal absolution?”

Kate had never imagined debating church doctrine with her mother. “Well, it is permitted, yes. One can ask for absolution if one has sinned.”

Aurélie smiled as if her point had been made. “And perhaps I may have sinned once or twice? And now I feel the need to tell the Reverend Mr. Burnham of it—and I wish to do so within the protection of the confessional.”

“There is no actual confessional, Mamma. Honestly, sometimes I think you quite mad.”

Aurélie gave a dismissive toss of her hand. “
Ma foi
, you are hardly the first to say so,” she returned. “But if the wind will not serve, as they say, one must take to the oars. And if your sister is not at least halfway to the altar before I leave this dull, miserable wilderness, then I am a lesser mother than even rumor would have me.”

“Oh, Aurélie.” Kate just shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I always know what I am doing.” Aurélie looked at the tiny bejeweled watch that swung from a chain on her reticule. “So, you will meet me here in half an hour,
s’il te plaît
. And what has become of Nancy and Reggie?
Mon Dieu
, Katherine, go and find them.”

She was already making a shooing motion with the back of her hand when the massive oaken door swung inward on shrieking hinges and Reggie strode out, his tall beaver hat clasped rigidly in his hands. Dark, hard eyes locked to Kate’s as Aurélie brushed past him, almost unheeded, into the church.

“Mamma requires a moment with Mr. Burnham,” Kate explained, turning to step back into the sun of the churchyard. “I trust you don’t mind waiting?”

When he said nothing, Kate turned to fully face him.

“Actually, Kate,” he said snidely, “I begin to mind waiting a great deal.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When it comes to you, all I do is
wait
,” he snapped. “I have been
waiting
eight years now for you to accept my apology. I have been
waiting
for days here, in hope you might spare me so much as one heartfelt word. I have made my interests plain, and I have
waited
—holding my tongue, mind you—and in response you choose to insult me—”

“Heavens, Reggie, have you taken leave of—”

“—to
insult
me,” he repeated, speaking over her, “by strolling about like some strumpet on that man’s arm. And by God, Kate, I will not have it. It is beneath me to play second fiddle to the likes of Ned Quartermaine. And you’d do well, my dear, to remember it.”

Kate widened her eyes. “Have a care, Reggie. Because you’re on the verge of getting that heartfelt word you so long for.”

But caution had left him. “I find it beyond the pale, Kate,” he gritted, “that you’d dare be seen on his arm in front of the village. To invite him to Sunday services and parade him about when I have bowed down to you and groveled to you. When the whole bloody parish is holding its collective breath, expecting any day now to hear that—”

“What, to hear the truth about Heatherfields?” Kate coldly interjected. “For that’s the only village gossip with any legitimacy to it, Reggie.”

“How dare you throw a run of bad luck in my face,” he said.

“With very little effort, to be honest,” Kate answered, “for it isn’t a run of bad luck, Reggie, that has ruined you. It is folly, plain and simple. And I trust that no one—yourself included—would ever be fool enough to suggest publicly that you and I might reconcile.”

Reggie’s clenched fists had gone white, his handsome face black with rage. “How dare you,” he said again. “Why, if Stephen were alive, he would put you over his knee for this.”

“Oh, he might try—
if
he were alive.” Kate’s emotions were rubbing raw. “Which he might be, Reggie, had the two of you not got yourselves rip-roaring drunk and climbed up that bell tower in the dead of night. And
if
you had not wagered him fifty pounds he could not balance on that bloody ledge.”

Reggie thrust his face into hers. “I didn’t push your damned brother, Kate.”

“You didn’t have to! Your presence—your constant challenging and teasing and taunting—it was always sufficient!” Suddenly, Kate burst into tears. “Reggie, you were older. Stephen looked up to you. How could you not be more careful?”

Reggie seemed unmoved by her crying. “Oh, yes, as usual, it’s all my fault!” he snarled. “Damn it, Kate, I tried to make it right.”

“To
make it right
?” she cried. “My brother
died
, Reggie. My whole life changed. This—Bellecombe—all of it—was meant for Stephen. Not for me. There is no making that right.”

“Well, didn’t I offer to marry you? To take those future burdens from your shoulders?”

But Kate’s storm began to clear as swiftly as it had broken, and she blew her nose loudly on the handkerchief she’d shaken from her pocket.

“Listen to me, Reggie, for you’ll hear these next two words but once,” she said through the snuffles, shoving it back in again. “
I apologize.
Stephen’s shortcomings were his own. No, you did not push him. Yes, you were devastated by his death. But you knew the barony would come to me, and your proposal was opportunistic.”

“An outright lie!” cried Reggie.

“It is not,” said Kate. “Grandpapa knew it—and he saw your disappointment when you learnt how cash-poor we were. Yes, I knew why you proposed, Reggie, and I was willing to accept it. But I will not accept a confirmed adulterer or a gazetted gamester for a husband. I have seen my mother live that life and
I will not.
”

“Oh, Kate!” Reggie rolled his eyes. “Sauce for the goose, sauce for the gander! Aurélie was as unfaithful as your father.”

“Not at first,” Kate countered. “But that is neither here nor there, Reggie. What you must understand now is that
I will never marry you.
”

“Kate, you don’t know what you’re—”

“Yes, I do,” she cut in, “and further, you do not even
want
to marry me. Your nose is simply out of joint. I have been nothing but the ace up your sleeve for years now. You have always believed that, if it became financially necessary, you could charm good old Kate back into your arms.”

“Yes, perhaps even back into my bed,” said Reggie nastily. “Longing for another taste, Kate? I could be persuaded.”

“Reggie, you cad!” Kate hissed. “You
seduced
me. You used Stephen’s death as an excuse, and played upon my stupidity.”

“Yes, that would be your version, my love.” Reggie flashed a snide smile. “But as I recall it, you flung yourself into my arms, begging to assuage your grief, and I merely obliged you. After that, there was no one else you
could
marry. Shall I tell Ned Quartermaine all about it?”

“You would not dare,” Kate warned.

“I do dare, and I shall,” said Reggie, “if you do not announce our betrothal.”

“
Betrothal?
” Kate’s mouth fell open.

“Announce it,” he commanded. “At dinner tonight. And do not trifle with me again, Kate, or you will learn I’m not to be trifled with at all.”

At that, Kate drew herself up to her full height. “Well, Reggie,” she said briskly, “you had better hurry along, then. Mr. Quartermaine is off to survey his new property, and if you try, you might just catch up with him.
At Heatherfields.
”

“Damn it, Kate—”

But Kate was striding away in the direction of the rectory. “I trust, Reggie,” she said over one shoulder, “that you can make your own way back to Bellecombe. Because just now, I do not fancy sharing a carriage with you.”

She did not turn around again, and instead marched up to the rectory and pounded on the door. Nancy came out at once, her head hung oddly low.

“Are we ready to go?” she asked, brushing past Kate.

Kate turned. “Yes, almost.”

Nancy didn’t look at her as they crossed the street. Something had happened, Kate realized. Had her sister overheard the quarrel with Reggie? Or had it been the thing she and Richard had been discussing outside the church? Was it, in fact, Aurélie?

Kate didn’t have time to press Nancy, for as soon as they crossed the street, Aurélie flew out St. Michael’s door, one hand clapped on her hat as if to hold it in place.

“
Dépêchez-vous!
” she ordered, motioning impatiently. “We haven’t got all day. Julia and the others await us.”

Neither Nancy nor her mother bothered to ask Kate what had become of Reggie. Both their minds were clearly elsewhere throughout the drive back to Bellecombe. Aurélie was looking oddly dreamy-eyed again, while Nancy just looked distraught.

When they arrived home, Aurélie went at once to her guests. Lady Julia and the gentlemen were lazing about with their coffee in the front parlor. Absent any shooting, and the hour being as yet too early for serious drinking, or even cards, the four of them were looking dead bored. Nancy brushed past without sparing them a glance.

“Come upstairs, Kate,” she said quietly. “I think I had better speak with you.”

Kate cut her mother a dark glance and followed Nancy up to her private parlor. Mrs. Peppin was there before them, replacing the bottle of cordial that Aurélie had been gradually draining.

“All right, Nancy, out with it,” Kate demanded. “Is Mamma teasing Richard? Or . . . or
flirting
with him?”

Nancy’s eyes flared wide. “Oh, no! Nothing like that.”