In Love With a Wicked Man (28 page)

“No time soon, it is to be hoped,” said Kate. “Mamma, really. Stop speaking of such things.”

“
Eh bien
, the end, it comes to us all,” said Aurélie evenly. “But it will not come to His Grace’s dutiful assistant anytime soon—well, not at his wife’s hand. Was it not kind of him to grant the Reverend Mr. Richard Burnham a special license to be married today?”

“Yes, and without her father’s blessing, or her guardian’s blessing!” countered Upshaw. “And thus it is patently illegal!”

“
Mon Dieu
, Archie!” Aurélie finally rolled her eyes. “The thing is legal—unless you’re unwise enough to make an issue of it.”

“And what if I do?” he complained.

But here, Aurélie shot Kate another glance, her face turning a little pink. “Actually, Archie, if you mean to persist, I
did
have Nancy’s father’s blessing,” she said. “I took him with me to Exeter.”

The room fell still as death.

“I will own, however,” Aurélie went on, “that I’d as soon you didn’t force me to make that public in the Court of Chancery, and thus embarrass my daughter.”

“Oh, Mamma!” said Kate, clapping a hand over her mouth. “You didn’t . . .”

“Oh, I did,” said her mother. “You will recall,
mon chou
, that I asked your sister what she was willing to give up to have this marriage. I hope it shan’t come to it, of course.”

“But you . . . you
slept
with Anstruther?” said Kate.

Lord Upshaw gasped.

“That poor man! Oh, Mamma, how could you?”

Aurélie lifted both eyebrows a little haughtily. “Oh, it was not difficult,
mon chou
,” she said lightly. “You should have seen him in his youth! Even now, one must admit, John Anstruther is every inch a man.”

Upshaw shook his head as if throwing off a bad dream. “Aurélie, that does not make him Nancy’s father,” he said. “Not in the eyes of the law. You cannot even prove that he
was
her father.”

Aurélie shoved the entire stack of letters across the table. “
Non?
” she said lightly. “His Grace’s dutiful assistant thought I made a good case. I have Anstruther’s love letters, too. His angry demands that I let him acknowledge Nancy. His insistence we go to France and get a divorce for me, then marry. That we kidnap Kate and Stephen, and run off to Scotland. On and on with his mad notions. It is a good thing, Archie,
n’est-ce pas
, that one of us exercised good judgment?”

“God help us,” muttered Upshaw, whose bare forehead was now sheened with sweat. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Aurélie plucked another from the pile. “Ah, and look here! Here is James’s sullen accusation that Nancy could not possibly be his,” she said, fanning herself with it. “Alas, he was in Paris with his mistress the whole month of her conception.”

“And likely wished to throttle you when he got back,” declared Upshaw, “a sentiment with which I find myself in charity.”

“Oh, James was not well pleased that his wife was in love with his mother’s godson,” Aurélie acknowledged with another casual shrug, “but he had long ago lost interest in me, and in the children he did have. He would never have paid Nancy any mind. Indeed, he wanted rid of her.”

“Oh,
Mamma
!” said Kate, covering her eyes.

“I am sorry,
mon chou
,” said her mother. “But you know it is true. Until Stephen was old enough to dice and whore, your father spared even him not a glance. But Anstruther—oh, ho!—he was very plainspoken. He wished his little girl here, under his watchful eye. And here she was to stay, or there would be hell to pay.”

“Well, what a fine mess this is!” said Upshaw. “Aurélie,
why
did you not tell me?”

Again, the Gallic shrug. “Because I was ashamed?” she suggested. “Because I had not the power to gainsay my husband, and go to my children and the man I loved?” She waved her hand dismissively. “So many reasons, Archie!—and none of them very interesting. Another person’s tragedies never are.”

“Good Lord,” said Upshaw. He was mopping his head with a handkerchief now. “I am exhausted. I have to lie down.”

Just then, the maid came in with the tea tray and the argument fell silent.

“Thank you, Hetty,” said Kate. “What time is dinner?”

“Pushed to half past eight, my lady, Mrs. Peppin says,” reported the girl. “Shall I have Jasper lay for nine?”

“Thank you, Hetty, but no,” said Upshaw, slowly rising. “I have lost my appetite.”

Kate came to her feet. “Hetty, make up the room across from me for Lord Upshaw,” she said.

“Mr. Stephen’s room?” said Hetty. “ ’Tis done already, miss, and the bags took up.”

“What happy news,” grumbled Upshaw, starting from the room. “At least someone here is competent.”

He followed Hetty out, and a moment later, only three of them sat around the tea table, staring at the untouched tray. A heavy silence lay over the room. Aurélie Wentworth’s face had softened with that odd, wistful look Edward had glimpsed once or twice before, and he wondered, fleetingly, if anyone truly knew her.

John Anstruther, perhaps, did.

Edward had espied them once, caught in the throes of an argument. It had been the night he’d kissed Kate in the rose garden. Afterward, he’d slipped around to a distant door to discreetly return to the house, only to stumble upon Mrs. Wentworth and Anstruther alone in the passageway.

Their argument had looked deeply personal, with Anstruther’s big hand locked around Aurélie’s wrist, as if he restrained her from something. And yet, even then, Edward had had the impression that this was nothing new between them. There had been . . . yes, a physical familiarity between them. A passion, he now realized.

“How long, Mamma?” Her voice hollow, Kate had not lifted her gaze from the tea tray. “How long did you and Anstruther . . .”

“Have an
affaire d’amour
?” asked her mother. “Oh, la, child! When one is my age, one prefers not to count that many years.”

“I believe, my dear, that what your mother is saying is that the
affaire
has perhaps not ended,” Edward gently suggested.

“Oh, Mamma!” Kate whispered. “You? And Anstruther?
Still—?
”

“
Bah!
” Aurélie tossed her hand. “Much of the time the man is so stubborn as to be unbearable.”

“But . . . but what about
le comte
?” said Kate, incredulous. “All those years with him—all those gentlemen forever surrounding you . . .”

Aurélie just smiled her vague smile. “Oh,
mon chou
, de Macey and I make better friends than lovers. As to Sir Francis, he, too, is de Macey’s friend, and I had need of him. He does not admire me.”

“Yes, you brought him because of Nancy.”

“In part,” said her mother, her lips making a little pout. “But Sir Francis would rather shoot with de Macey from daylight to dark. Besides, I have decided his eyes are too sly; I have surrendered him to Julia, much joy may he bring her. It is as well Nancy preferred Richard, and that you . . . ah, well, that is neither here nor there!”

It was very much here to Edward, though he refused to hold Aurélie Wentworth’s gaze. Even as she sat so quietly beside him, her hands folded in her lap, Kate drew the whole of his attention; drew from him the male instinct to protect and to defend.

He thought again of the pompous Lord Upshaw; of how close he’d come to dragging the man out in the passageway and bloodying his damned nose for the tone he’d taken with Kate.

Oh, he had looked controlled, perhaps, for it was a skill he’d honed relentlessly, but he’d been an inch from doing violence. One might dress a thug in Savile Row, but temper could not be shrouded.

No, as much as he yearned to care for her, he was still the last thing the well-born and well-mannered Baroness d’Allenay needed in her life.

“
Eh bien!
” Aurélie rose, then leaned over to kiss Kate’s cheek. “I must go and change for dinner. If anyone asks, Nancy is wed and Upshaw has given his blessing—for he must, once his tantrum is over.”

Edward stood, and Kate joined him, her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders slumped. They watched her mother stroll from the room, the reticule stuffed with love letters still swinging from her elbow, her head still held high.

“Well.” Kate turned to him with a wan smile. “I should go,” she said, “and see if—if—”

Her words halted, her lower lip trembled tellingly.

“Oh, Kate,” he said softly, opening his arms. “Oh, love. I know.”

She fell into his embrace and he simply held her. “Oh, Edward! It has been the most frightful two days! Everything seems so . . . so
upside down
!”

“I would turn it all right side up if I could,” he said, bending his head to kiss her forehead. “But Kate, you acquitted yourself well with your uncle. I’m always so proud of you. You were truly meant to be Baroness d’Allenay. And Lord Upshaw is formidable.”

“He means well,” said Kate. “I console myself with that thought.” Then she lifted her head and set her hands to his chest, pushing away as if to study him. “Thank you for being my champion. You were daunting, Edward; so cold and so furious. I thought you might thrash the poor man.”

He had no response to that; he merely held her solemn gray gaze. Then something inside her seemed to give way—some strange, mixed emotion went sketching over her face, and Kate rose onto her tiptoes, hesitated another instant, then shut her eyes and set her lips to his.

He returned the kiss, slanting his mouth hungrily over hers. And as he’d known it would, the embrace warmed and blossomed, unfurling in the heat to something far more sensual and hungry than a mere gesture of thanks.

He held her to him, inch to inch, his hand roaming down to stroke and shape her. The turn of a shoulder, the smooth, silken strength of her back, that sweet sway of her spine he loved so well; Edward’s hands could have sculpted her in the darkness, so well did he know Kate.

Theirs was a rare passion; one that could not be contained, and Edward wondered yet again how he was to go on. How he was to look back on this time, and not think of her? How, even years from now, could he call on Annie, and not look across the fields and moors and wonder?

“Kate,” he murmured against her lips. “You know how much I care, yes?”

She drew away with one last, lingering kiss. “I know you care,” she said, her lashes sweeping down. “But you cannot stay, you’ve said.”

“Not . . . stay, no,” he rasped. “But perhaps I might be near?”

“Oh,
near
!” She sighed. “Sometimes I wish you’d never come to Bellecombe, Edward. That you’d never met Reggie, never bought his damned house. Or that I’d never learnt what it was like to want someone so much.”

He threaded his fingers through the soft, loose hair at her temple and wondered what a man said to such words.

“Do you know, Kate, before I regained my memory,” he murmured, “I feared that what I felt for you was just a sort of desperation; a lost soul clinging to the only rock he had. I told myself that when I was well again, I would not need you. That I’d be ever grateful—and ever fond of you—but that would be the end of it.”

With a hint of reluctance in her eyes, she returned her gaze to his. “And now—?”

He inhaled deeply, and blew it out again. “It is not the end of it, Kate,” he said grimly. Sometimes I wish for my own ignorance back. I still want to hold on to you, and it is just so unwise. There are a thousand men better suited for you than me. If I were any sort of gentleman, I’d encourage you to go find one.”

“I am perfectly capable of it,” she said, “should I wish to.”

He forced a smile. “And if you do,” he said, “you will always have my deepest regard. A part of me will always be with you.”

“Oh, Edward.” She did push away then. “Oh, that is just not fair!”

It was not fair. Certainly not to her.

He wanted to tell her the whole truth; that he’d long ago fallen in love with her—with her earnestness and her simplicity and that eternal, quiet beauty that enticed him like the loudest of sirens’ songs. That his love for her fit perfectly into that small, black spot in his heart that had so long remained a void, and made him whole again.

He wanted to tell her he did not know how to return to the bleakness of his old life, certain he would find it all the more desolate for her absence. Kate had become his warmth and light and peace. And yet a part of him kept thinking there had to be a way to get beyond this.

But the only way he could see was to have her. To pull her down to his level, another Persephone dragged into the underworld, just to satisfy another’s lust.

Was that how it had to be? Was there no other option?

Could he not
make
himself worthy?

But he had tried that once before, and seen it end in tragedy. And Kate was not waiting to find out, he gathered.

“Well,” she said, letting her arms fall. “What a muddle this day has been.”

Edward took the hint, and stepped back. “Don’t think hard of your mother,” he said, forcing a normal tone. “There are a great many people who’ve made a worse muddle of their lives.”

“Yes, but Nancy!” said Kate. “Imagine how hard this must have been for her to hear.”

Edward shrugged. “For what it’s worth, Kate, your sister has learnt that her father is a good and honorable man,” he said. “A man she has long adored. A father who wanted her near him above all things, even if he could not tell her the truth. A less honorable man would have ignored her existence.”

At that, Kate’s expression tightened oddly.

“And that would have been cruel indeed, wouldn’t it?” she said coolly. “There are a great many men who think nothing of fathering a child and simply ignoring her.”

Edward set his head to one side, suddenly wary of the edge in her voice. “Anstruther is not that kind of man, Kate,” he said. “And Richard is man enough not to care about Nancy’s parentage. Indeed, he may be much comforted by the knowledge, assuming he knows.”

“Oh, he knows.” Having turned to go, Kate looked back. “I realize what happened now. Mamma confessed to him on Sunday—though she took the precaution of asking absolution.”