One Night of Surrender: The Brothers Mortmain, Book 1 (9 page)

Her own hired coach was hidden around the corner. Oh, she was prepared. She’d been planning this for weeks. She would follow and discover for herself where Gervais was hiding, and then…then she would demand he return her child to her and to explain himself.

She had never been so angry. Her anger had built over time until she was afire with it. She could hardly sleep at night for thinking of Gervais and his lies.

There was movement in the lighted doorway and the earl came out, a woman behind him with a swaddled bundle. A wet nurse, of course. Katherine tried to ignore her own aching breasts. She had last fed her son this morning and already they were swollen and painful, despite being bound tight with the bandages of linen which Anila had instructed her to wear. Eventually her milk would dry up, she thought bitterly, and it would be as if Anthony had never existed. And what if they changed the name she’d given him? What if he was no longer Anthony?

The earl and the wet nurse climbed into the coach with the baby, and after a moment it began to move slowly forward. It picked up pace as it reached the end of the narrow street and turned onto one of London’s busy thoroughfares.

“Follow them!” she commanded, slamming her own coach door. “And don’t lose them!” She had hired the fastest coach and horses—the earl had paid her well for the child—but still she was worried she would be left behind.

When they reached the thoroughfare the driver called from the box above her, “I see them!” and Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. She tried to sit back, but it was impossible to relax. There was too much to worry about. Too much at stake.

If it hadn’t been for her driving need to find out where Gervais was hiding she would never have given up her child. She would have run away long before the earl returned. But out of necessity she had pretended to acquiesce to the earl’s plans; to pretend she was beaten. It had been difficult, and sometimes she’d seen Anila watch her carefully, as if she suspected something. But in the end it had come off, and now here she was, speeding through the night.

“They’re turning into the posh part, ma’am,” the driver called out. “Stopping at some grand house in the square. Should I follow? They might see me if I get too close.”

“No, stop.” Katherine waited until he’d obeyed her and then opened her door and stepped out.

They were in a grand part of London, the tall houses facing onto a treed square and gardens. It was pleasantly quiet at this time of night, although she could still hear the distant rumble of vehicles.

For a moment she stood, indecisive, and then she looked up at the driver. “Wait for me here,” she instructed him.

The earl’s coach had come to rest outside a particularly stylish house, three stories tall, with a portico at the front and a gravel drive for coaches to turn in. The windows were mostly dark, apart from several on the ground floor, and the door was open wide. Katherine could see the fine furnishings inside and the commencement of a broad curving staircase.

The earl had come home. He wasn’t going out of London, not yet anyway. Disappointment filled her; tears of anger and grief stung her eyes. Gervais could not possibly be here, right under the nose of the authorities. He’d be a fool to do so and Katherine knew he was no fool. No, she would never find him, and now she had lost her child as well.

How could she have possibly believed she could pull this off against the might of Mortmain?

And then she saw someone else standing against the light, a dark silhouette. Tall, broad-shouldered, his head held a certain way. She knew him.
 

Gervais!
 

With a gasp she melted into the shadows of the square, but he wasn’t looking in her direction. He was looking up at the stars.

He stayed a moment longer, then he went back inside and closed the door.

Gervais stood a moment, dazzled by the lights from the chandelier in the foyer. He had hoped Katherine would insist on coming too. Even though she couldn’t know the truth he had hoped, somehow, to spy upon her from the doorway, to see again the woman he’d spent his last night with.

But she hadn’t come. And who could blame her? His father had been very generous in his payment for the child’s guardianship. Now she could put all of this behind her, start a new life, become some other man’s wife, some other child’s mother.

He had tried hard to forget her, Katherine his fair beauty. When his father had told him what was to happen, that he wasn’t going to die after all, he’d wanted to turn around and run back to her. To take her with him. But his father had called him an imbecile, that he couldn’t have her, that nothing of his former life could be part of the new.

If he wished to live he must put the past behind him. He must start again, become a new man, and Katherine must never, never know.

In time he’d seen the prudence of this. His father was right. He must forget the past and look to the future. He had fled across the channel. Later, he’d returned, and went north to his father’s estates in Scotland and pretended to be a cousin called Jerome, and there he intended to live out his life as best he could.

And then word came that there was to be a baby. Katherine’s child.
His
child. A spark of excitement grew in him and a need, perhaps a selfish one, to have the child with him. His father had made the offer to Katherine, and although Gervais had hoped she might refuse—some obstinate part of him still did not believe she hadn’t—she had accepted.

When word of the agreement arrived, he’d swallowed his foolish disappointment and set his sights on taking the child with him back to Scotland. He told himself he’d be a good father to Anthony, and unlike his own absent father he would be there to keep an eye on his son’s wilder antics.

So, despite his father’s objections, Gervais had come back to London, putting himself at risk for his son. But that wasn’t entirely the truth. He’d put himself at risk because he still hoped that somehow the Katherine of his dreams would return to him.

Behind him there was a pounding on the door and his thoughts shattered.

Startled, he turned back to stare at the closed door, just as the earl came striding out of the other room, grim-faced, with the new wet nurse peering over his shoulder.

“Pray God it isn’t the authorities,” he said with a groan. “Hide yourself, son.”

“Let me in!” shrieked a woman’s voice, and it was a voice Gervais remembered. His dark eyes lit up as they hadn’t for months and excitement began to build inside him.

“It isn’t the authorities,” he said, and hastily moved to open the door.

“Gervais!” he father yelled, forgetting to use his new name.

But the door was open and there, with the hood of her dark cloak thrown back and her pale hair tumbling over her shoulders, her face white and her blue eyes blazing with anger, was Katherine.

Joy surged through him. He might have wrapped his arms about her, he might have kissed her. But before he could do either, she’d pushed against him, forcing her way over the threshold like a raging fury.

“You liar!” she cried. “You let me think you were dead! You thought you could lie to me and steal my child and that I would stand by and let it happen?”

He stepped back beneath her onslaught, and again when she gave him another shove. He still wanted to put his arms about her and hold her tight, but she seemed ready to fight him to the death. Explanations were useless right now. It was action that was required.

“No one is stealing your child, Katherine. Are we, Father?” he added, with a meaningful glance over his shoulder at the earl, who seemed frozen to the spot. “If you want your child then you shall come with us. Do you
want
to come with us?”

Gervais had taken the wind out of her sails, but Katherine was still furious. He could see her chest heave as she tried to catch her breath and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. God, how could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? In fact he thought her to be more beautiful than before, when Newgate had pared the flesh from her.

The earl came forward to join them and Gervais willed him to say the right thing for once in his life. “Of course,” he said, with a doubtful sideways glance at his son. “You should have said. I imagined you’d be happy to be rid of the burden, Katherine. And you were well paid,” he added, a hint of reproach in his voice.

Katherine gave him a blistering stare. “You can have your money back. All of it. I only pretended to go along with your plan so that…” But she stopped, shook her head.

The earl frowned. “Who told you about Gervais being alive? Was it Anila?”

Katherine said nothing.

“The child is in the other room.” Gervais gestured toward an open door. “Come along, Katherine. No one is keeping you from him.”

She gave him one last furious glance and then ran past him into the other room. He followed behind slowly, asking himself why she had come here and not simply refused his father’s offer. Was it because she imagined him to be stealing her child? Had she wanted to face him? Could she have longed for him as much as he’d longed for her?

When he reached them, he found Katherine standing with the baby in her arms, cooing at him, her face full of smiles. Briefly he enjoyed the sight, but they had no time to linger. He couldn’t stay in London for long. It was too dangerous. He must set out for Scotland immediately.

“Have you luggage?” he demanded, his voice rough with emotion.

All Katherine heard was his impatience. He didn’t want her. Not really. It was as she’d known all along; he’d never wanted her. She closed her eyes, briefly, but she knew his reluctance changed nothing. The time to go into hiding with Anthony had passed—the earl and Gervais would never let him go now. Whatever indifference or ill will was between them, she would not abandon her son.

“I have a coach at the end of the square. There is a bag inside.”

Gervais nodded at a lurking footman, who scurried outside.

“We will leave at once,” he said. “I have my own coach in the mews at the back.” His dark eyes were hard. “Is this really what you want, Katherine? Once you are in my coach there is no changing your mind. I won’t allow it.”How well she remembered him issuing orders!

But this time he would not find it so easy to browbeat her into obedience. Katherine knew she had to agree but beyond that she no longer danced to the tune he played.

“I am coming with you,” she said in a low voice.

For a moment she thought he was going to smile but then she saw he wasn’t even looking at her—he was looking at Anthony. Of course he was. Gervais walked away and Katherine stalked after him with the baby tight in her arms.

Chapter Twelve

Katherine had planned to breastfeed the baby herself, but it seemed that the unpleasantness and worry of the last weeks and days had worked against her. Her milk was drying up and, faced with a hungry baby and a willing wet nurse, she reluctantly relinquished her child.

At first it was difficult watching Susan with Anthony, but the girl was gentle and kind, and Katherine told herself she was fortunate to have someone so competent. “He looks like his father,” Susan said with a smile, and Katherine had to admit it was true. Anthony was the spitting image of Gervais, or Jerome as she must now learn to call him.

Their journey was a long one and she was glad to sleep, closeted in the coach with Anthony and Susan, while Gervais—Jerome—rode alongside or sat with the coachman. She could only think that he didn’t want to be with her—she’d forced herself upon him and he preferred to ignore her.

Well that was perfectly fine because she didn’t want to spend time with him either. He’d hurt and humiliated her, and yet by her own actions she’d placed herself in his hands. Although it was true that the white heat of her anger had cooled a little, there was still enough of it left to stoke the fires whenever she thought about how he had treated her.

Katherine preferred instead to remind herself that she was with Anthony. Surely that was the most important thing? She had her son and she would devote herself to him.

Finally they approached their destination, a remote Scottish castle set upon a mirror-like loch. The white turreted building stood amid a forest of trees, with the hills rising behind it, all reflected in the curve of water that lay before it.

Katherine stepped down from the coach and eyed her new home with some unease. The air was crisp and sharp, and apart from a few birds singing there was little to hear. Used to the hustle and bustle of London, she felt the isolation of this spot from her head to her toes.

“Welcome to my castle, Katherine,” Gervais said with some irony. He gave her a bow and gestured toward the thick wooden door at the head of some shallow stairs. A stag’s head carved in stone stared down at her from the lintel.

Gervais had strode ahead and she followed behind with little enthusiasm. How could the man she’d known at Newgate, the reckless and daring highwayman, the wealthy younger son of the Earl of Mortmain, transform himself into someone who would be happy alone at the edge of nowhere? But, she reminded herself, she had never known him as well as she’d imagined. Gervais was as much of a stranger to her now as he’d been at Newgate.

The staff were waiting inside, lined up to greet them, but their formal stares soon melted at the sight of the baby. They gathered about the women and Anthony.