Puritan Bride (25 page)

‘I do not see any benefits. And I simply presumed that you might wish to return to the company of Alicia Lovell.’ There! She had said it! Kate swallowed against the misery that threatened to rise from her heart to choke her. ‘It has been clear to me from the beginning that you wished to marry me for one reason only.’

She was shocked out of her own misery by his reaction: the flash of anger in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the tightening of the muscles in his shoulders.

‘So you expect me to bed you, get an heir on you and leave you here alone while I return to the delights of Court? To break my vows to you in sins of the flesh?’ He had never spoken so harshly to her.

‘Yes,’ she answered in defiance of his challenge.

‘Then I would hate to disappoint you, Mistress Harley. Or Richard Hotham or Gilliver—whoever has sown this unpleasant seed in your mind. You clearly have little regard for my feelings towards you and are more likely to listen to their words rather than mine. I was clearly foolish beyond measure to tell you that I love you. How could I have been so careless of my own happiness as to drop that little gem into your hands and hope that you might return my regard?’ His words were a lash of bitterness, his mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘But understand this, Katherine. Alicia Lovell means nothing to me. Nor has she since the day I asked for your hand in marriage. I am not guilty of such deceit.’

‘No. I never meant that. It was just that …’ She
floundered into silence as she realised the enormity of what she had allowed herself to be driven to do, now that he had painted the truth of it in stark black and white. She had been wrong! She had misjudged him beyond forgiveness. And he now thought, with terrible justification, that her family was guilty of poisoning her thoughts against him. She dare not tell him of Felicity’s cruel words, calculated to hurt and undermine. Her thoughts were in turmoil, more so when he clamped his hand around her wrist and dragged her back along the corridor to thrust her into her own bedchamber, locking the door behind him.

‘Please …’

‘What do you want from me? Compassion? Pity? I doubt it.’ His voice was clipped, harsh, hiding the amazing depth of hurt that assailed his heart. ‘I presume you and your family think me incapable of such a sentiment. And yet you would accuse me of such monstrous selfishness—it is beyond bearing.’

He pounced on her with all the elegant strength of a hunting beast. Before she could register his intent, he had unlaced her bodice with deft fingers, pushing her chemise from her shoulders to expose her breasts. He took her mouth in a hot angry kiss, forcing her lips to part beneath his, his tongue invading, plunging deep. When he pushed her back on to the bed she fought against him in sudden panic, struggling against his hard hands, pushing ineffectually against his shoulders. He stepped back
from her, but merely to strip off his coat in one fluid movement. When she tried to slide away across the bed, he lunged to grasp her skirt and pull her back.

‘Oh, no, Mistress Harley. If you will fling down the gauntlet, you stay to face the consequences.’

And she knew she must. She struggled no more, but waited for the onslaught. But she could not stop the tears sliding down her cheeks into her hair. What had she done? She had no reason to suspect him of neglect, thoughtlessness, lack of consideration. He had always treated her with kindness and respect for her difficult situation. Yet she had allowed Felicity—and Richard—to push her into false accusations. She trembled at the heat of his mouth on her shoulders, the roughness of his hands as he pushed her skirts and chemise above her thighs. She dare not look at him, to see the anger and rejection in his brilliant eyes, of which she had been the cause. She closed her eyes against reality.

Then she was crushed beneath him, his body pinning her to the bed, the ridge of his erection strong and powerful against her thigh, mouth hot and hungry on her breast, the scrape of his teeth against her sensitive nipples. Although her mind rejected his assault, her treacherous body heated beneath him, her nerve endings shivering with sensation.

Then she became aware that he had frozen above her, his touch stilled, his breathing caught. Kate opened her eyes to see his face, an expression in his eyes she had
never seen before as he looked down at her. Horror primarily, and an abhorrence too deep to be expressed in mere words. He saw the tears on her cheeks and wiped them away with gentle fingers, which trembled with the realisation of what he had almost done. Her eyes were wary, watchful. But there was no fear. Regret, perhaps.

In God’s name, what was he doing? How could he have allowed himself to be driven to such a wanton act? Was his self-control so diminished in his dealings with her?

‘Kate … As God is my witness, this was not how I meant it to be between us. I have hurt you beyond redemption and that was never my intention.’

‘I know that you would never mean to.’ Her voice might catch on a sob, but her eyes met and held his calmly.

He looked down at her, trapped beneath him, his weight doubtless crushing her. What was he doing, treating her no better than a London whore, without consideration or finesse? He knew better—he knew how to deal with a woman, especially the one whom he loved above all else in life—and yet had been for that moment prepared to use her in his anger and frustration, his sense of betrayal, to destroy her innocence. He closed his eyes momentarily against the wave of guilt that swept over him. He deserved to suffer the unending torments of hellfire for his thoughtless cruelty.

‘I am so sorry.’ He took his weight on to his elbows so that she might breath again. His own breathing was still ragged, but his control was once more in place. ‘I
have probably just proved to you that I am guilty of all the things you have believed me capable of doing.’ He closed his eyes momentarily to blot out her concern and bewilderment. ‘Apologies will never put it right.’

‘I should not have said what I did. I did not really believe it. But she said—’ Kate broke off before she could say more, before she could lay her own faults on to Felicity.

Marlbrooke smoothed her hair with gentle fingers, pushing back the wayward curls from her forehead.

‘No. There is no blame attached to you—how could there be? My behaviour has been unwarrantable and I deserve all your reproaches.’

He moved further, pushing his body to take his weight from her, to release her and free her from his demands.

‘No.’ To his astonishment she dug her fingers into the heavy linen on his shoulders. ‘No! Do not leave me like this. I could not bear it.’

‘After what I have done?’ He watched her carefully, in disbelief, momentarily stunned by the fierceness of her response, not understanding its cause. ‘I can think of no way to make amends. I deserve no kindness from you.’

‘Don’t go.’

She did not want him to leave her with this terrible emptiness that seemed to have occupied all the spaces in her heart, in her very soul. She wanted him to hold her and caress her as she remembered from the first time he had taken her to his bed with such finesse. And, most of
all, she wanted to wipe away the bitter self-mockery and disgust in the lines around his grim mouth. On impulse, she reached up to touch her lips to his in a featherlight kiss. To him it was the ultimate sign of forgiveness. To her—her heart turned over in her breast. And she knew that she could love this man who possessed her—and would love him until the day of her death.

‘Don’t leave me,’ she repeated, a catch of panic in her voice.

‘If you are sure.’ He kissed her gently now, her tear-stained eyelids, and felt his heart swell with tenderness and a depth of love that shocked him to the core.

‘I am sure.’ It was little more than a whisper, but enough. He was hard, aroused, and she was so very desirable. He eased himself into her and began to move slowly, savouring the heat, enclosed in glorious silk. Now he deliberately gentled his touch, taking his weight from her so that he could watch her face as he claimed her. One sign of distress, he promised himself, and he would withdraw, end it. But her willing softness seduced him utterly. In all honesty he would not be able to stop. When she arched her body instinctively to meet him he was lost and had no choice but to drive on to his completion, totally enslaved by her female powers, albeit wielded with such innocence. He was overwhelmed by her generosity of spirit when he had almost forced her against her will.

For her, it was just as she had remembered yet more intense. His kisses woke unbearable tremors through
her body so that she forgot all her fears, swamped by the knowledge that he had taken control of her heart as he had her body. She moved in response to his thrusts, delighting in the union of their bodies, absorbing him, imprisoning him in the silken chains of her body as he reached his own powerful fulfilment.

Her mind accepted her lack of reticence without surprise. She gloried in his demands and felt a need both to give and take more. Not understanding, she was content for the moment with the flow of golden warmth and satisfaction through her veins. Yet the heat in her belly and thighs lingered and beckoned.

Afterwards he held her in his arms until their breathing settled, content to just have her near him, enjoying the memory of her asking him to stay, to continue the union of their bodies. Her head was comfortably turned into his shoulder, one hand clasped firmly in his.

‘I would never use my body to punish you, Kate. You must know that.’

‘Yes. And I would never believe … what I accused you of. It was unforgivable of me to do so.’

‘You humble me, Katherine. When I have used you ill—and have not yet been sufficiently unselfish to awaken you fully.’

‘No?’

‘No. It should be breathtaking. Magnificent. Shattering.’ He laughed softly at her raised eyebrows. ‘Or
something like that!’ He closed his hand over her breast to feel the nipple begin to harden again against his palm.

‘Then I will wait,’ she remarked, somewhat breathless at her immediate response to his touch.’

‘Not too long,’ he murmured the promise against her hair.

They remained silent for a little time, enclosed in their own world of drowsy pleasure.

And then, ‘Was it Felicity?’ He remembered her hastily suppressed words.

‘Yes.’ Kate did not pretend to misunderstand.

He kissed her hair and the sensitive skin on her temple. ‘I will not ask you what she said—but there is something you should know about Felicity.’

He kissed her again, taking possession of her hands and holding them against the steady beat of his heart. ‘I know how she appears, bitter and suspicious, quick to blame and condemn, but she was not always so. She was once betrothed. It was not a love match, but it was very suitable and she wanted it. It would have given her a home and family, which is what she desired above all things. Perhaps it would have tempered her sharp words and intolerant opinions. But he was killed at Edgehill by a musket ball in the very first charge of the battle. There has never been any hope of another marriage for her. So, as you see, she has not been dealt with kindly. And her hatred of Parliamentarians is inordinate. You must not mind her words, Kate.’

She sighed a little at the justice of his explanation. ‘We all have burdens from the war, do we not?’

‘There are few families who do not. She has had much to contend with, and being a dependent is not enviable. As you should know.’

She turned her face into his chest. ‘I deserve that. I should not have been so quick to judge her and you are right to chastise me.’

‘Never that, Kate.’ Marlbrooke tightened his hold to press her close. ‘But you should understand why she finds it difficult to like anyone, except my mother, of course, who rescued her from penury—she has Felicity’s total loyalty and service. But do not expect too much for yourself or honesty from her. She will see you as a thief who has stolen what she sees as being rightfully hers—and that is my mother’s gratitude and affection. To Felicity you, my love, are a usurper who has taken her role in the household. She will not be quick to forgive.’

‘I understand. And I am sorry I doubted you.’ Kate kept her face hidden against him.

‘It is not easy, is it, Kate?’ He felt her shake her head. ‘Smile at me.’ He tilted her chin with gentle fingers to make her look up. ‘Perhaps one day you will believe me when I tell you that I love you.’

He was so handsome, so caring of her. Her dark eyes were trapped in the clear grey depths of his and she smiled. For the first time their future together seemed to be filled with brilliant promise.

She was so lovely, he thought, and did not realise it. His heart tightened as he realised her growing power over him. And the guilt that he had almost been driven to hurt her more than she deserved or could bear remained with him with unexpectedly sharp claws.

‘H
er ladyship is resting. She should not be disturbed.’ Mistress Felicity stood firmly, determinedly, in the half-open doorway to Elizabeth’s room to bar the way. Her face was set, her eyes angry, her lips compressed. She stood like a dragon guarding its young.

Kate recognised defeat and turned to go. She had little alternative, short of forcing her way into the room. It would never be possible to find some common ground with Elizabeth’s companion, not now, after her deliberately destructive and malicious taunts when Kate had last visited the Priory. Felicity folded her arms in triumph.

‘Felicity? Is that Kate come to see me?’ Elizabeth’s voice sounded from the depths of the room. ‘Let her come in.’

‘But you should rest, dearest Elizabeth.’ Felicity turned
her head to look over her shoulder, but did not move her body. ‘It is too soon—’

‘I wish to speak with Kate.’

Felicity stood back and allowed the door to swing open. Kate tried not to be affected by the hatred that shone in the lady’s eyes. She walked past her into the bedchamber.

Elizabeth’s first words were for Felicity’s compliance. ‘If Kate comes to see me, unless I am asleep, I do not wish you to refuse. I know that you have my comfort and safety at heart, but to refuse is to presume too much. I am sure that I make myself clear.’ Although the tone was as tolerant and mild as ever, there was a distinct edge. Perhaps Elizabeth’s patience was wearing thin. For perhaps the first time Kate saw a clear similarity between Marlbrooke and his mother.

‘Of course, dear Elizabeth. I would never do anything against your wishes. I only—’

‘I know. Let it rest.’ The smile that accompanied the words was kind and understanding, but did not win Felicity over. Elizabeth, with the slightest of shrugs, turned her head to address Kate. ‘Come and sit. Tell me what you have been doing.’

Elizabeth was on the mend, seated in the window embrasure before her favourite view, a piece of intricate embroidery on her lap.

‘You look well.’

‘Indeed I am and so pleased to be on my feet.’ The
grey tinge to her skin had quite faded, her cheeks had a delicate flush and her grey eyes were bright once more. Perhaps she had lost a little weight, but nothing to signify.

‘Look.’ She held out the pattern of tiny stitches, interwoven flowers and leaves, with all the eagerness of a young girl. ‘See how much better my fingers are. This morning I walked in the garden with Marcus, and, when I grew tired, used the chair along the paths and the terrace.’ Her face lit with pleasure. ‘It makes so much of the gardens accessible to me.’ Elizabeth hesitated, almost shyly. ‘Will you help me to restore them? When you live here permanently?’ She stretched to touch Kate’s hand. ‘I would like it if you would.’

‘Of course.’ Kate returned the pressure.

‘Perhaps we could make some changes. Become
fashionable.
’ Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled.

Kate laughed. ‘Why, yes. What did you have in mind? Cascades and fountains and such like? I must admit to knowing little of such things.’

‘Well!’ Elizabeth’s enthusiasm, liberated by her improved health, began to take over. ‘I believe that it is all the rage to create a wilderness—although perhaps we have too much of one here without any effort on our part.’

‘A wilderness?’

‘Groups of trees and shrubs to give shade in summer, with walks to entice you to enter. Shall we make one?’

‘But yes. And perhaps a wider range of flowers in the
beds at the side. Roses for perfume in the evenings. And lilies.’

‘What pleasure we shall have spending Marlbrooke’s money!’

‘And columbines—my mother grew them at Downham Hall and I always thought them so pretty. They are also soothing for sore throats—and, if the seed is steeped in wine, it helps for speedy delivery in childbed—’

Kate fell silent as she felt colour begin to rise in her cheeks.

‘Dear Kate,’ Elizabeth responded, with only the slightest curve to her lips. ‘Then we must certainly grow columbine.’

Kate’s colour deepened further, so she adroitly changed the direction of their conversation to a matter of some immediate concern to her. She glanced towards Felicity, who had busied herself on the far side of the room, as far from the intruder as she could politely manage. Now was her opportunity.

‘Are you sleeping well?’ she asked quietly, knowing that she would be understood.

‘Oh, yes.’ The sigh of relief spoke for itself. ‘So much better. I won’t ask how you achieved it—but I feel so safe and secure at night. The atmosphere is so much more calm and untroubled—it makes me think that perhaps I imagined the … the problem before.’ She frowned. ‘Do you think it was mere foolishness on my part?’

‘No, I do not. I know what you experienced. It pleases me that I could restore your rest.’

‘Do I presume that your aunt was … useful?’

Kate laughed ruefully. ‘Yes—with some persuasion. The extent of her knowledge frightens me. She was able to tell me something about Isolde, the grieving presence who took her own life. She threw herself from the roof here and because of her torments, whatever they were, she did not rest. Her family had her spirit imprisoned and sealed by the bishop in a pottery vessel, which was rumoured to be kept here in the Priory—although Gilliver knew nothing of it. Gilliver could not say why Isolde has suddenly returned to this place. Perhaps she—’

The expression on Elizabeth’s face cut off Kate’s words. It was one of dawning horror, which robbed her cheeks and lips of blood.

‘What is it? What have I said? Do you know something of this?’

‘A pottery vessel, you said? Kept here at the Priory?’

‘Why, yes. Gilliver thinks that …’

‘Kate.’ Elizabeth pushed her stitchery aside with an impatient gesture. ‘Listen to me. I was in the still-room—some time before you came here. And found an old earthenware jug in the bottom of the cupboard. And—’ Her words stopped as she lifted her hands to her mouth, her memory of the event suddenly emerging with painful clarity.

‘What happened?’

‘I dropped it. It smashed on the floor. I remember it had a sealed stopper in the neck, but it was empty. I was concerned because I was unable to bend to pick up the pieces. But perhaps it wasn’t empty after all. What if—?’

‘What if it was Isolde’s troubled spirit, confined and sealed?’

The two ladies looked at each other as they acknowledged the possibility.

‘I think perhaps I was not aware of the cold and grief until after the accident. It would explain everything.’ Elizabeth’s eyes were wide and troubled.

‘It would.’

‘And, if so, it is my fault that Isolde haunts these rooms.’

‘It may be.’ Kate tried to smile reassuringly. ‘But you must not blame yourself. How could you have known?’

‘I could not, of course. But I wish I had never found the pottery jug!’

The discovery would clearly continue to worry Elizabeth. Kate could say no more to comfort her. The deed was done and, as she had said, there was no blame. So she changed the subject once more by producing a small pottery bowl. ‘Gilliver suggested a new salve for your joints, my lady. It is angelica—my aunt’s still-room is a place of wonderful treasures. I have tried the mixture myself—I believe it will be most soothing and remove the redness from your knuckles. It has a lovely perfume, too.’

‘I promise I will try it.’ Elizabeth raised the pot, sniffed
the pale green paste and smiled. ‘What will you do now? Have you seen Marlbrooke?’

‘No. I came to see you. Now that I know you are so much improved, I shall go back to Widemarsh before it is dark.’ She rose to her feet to take her leave.

‘He took you to Glasbury, didn’t he?’ Elizabeth’s sudden question startled her for a moment.

‘Yes, he did.’

‘He should not have done it. It has too many unhappy memories. I would not want your relationship to be coloured by our past—you have too many tragedies of your own to face.’

Kate sighed a little. The lady understood so much, it touched her heart to be shown so much sympathy. ‘I am glad he did.’ She bent to kiss Elizabeth’s cheek in warm gratitude. ‘It makes it easier for me to understand him.’

Elizabeth considered her, as if she would have said more, but simply shook her head and smiled. ‘He is his own man and must work out his own salvation, but do not judge him too harshly, my dear. And now you had better go home. Come and see me again, dear Kate.’

‘Of course. Do you need anything before I leave?’ Felicity had gone from the room.

‘No. But, yes … I think I left a book in the Long Gallery, most likely on a window seat. Would you look for me? I am reading the poems of John Donne and enjoying them so much.’

‘If I find it, I will bring it.’

*  *  *

The Long Gallery was empty but for a gathering in the corners of evening shadows, imparting a shaded, mystical air to the vast room. The portraits looked silently down in stern judgement. Kate’s heels clicked softly on the oak floor, echoing, the only sound in the empty space. There was no trace of the missing book. Kate fisted her hands on her hips, impatience simmering as she realised that she must not linger, mindful of the short days and approaching night.

In a whirlwind of activity she lifted cushions on the window seats, swept aside and searched behind curtains, riffled through the pages of music on the spinet, opened the lid of Felicity’s workbox and sifted through the bright silks. Nothing. Perhaps Lady Elizabeth had been sitting beside the fireplace and the slim volume had fallen between cushion and arm. She pushed aside the heavy oak chairs, hampered now by encroaching shadows, and managed to unbalance a fire-screen in the process so that it fell to the floor with a loud clatter that filled the vast room. She bent, hissing in frustration, to right it. And stopped, a little guilty, at the voice from the doorway.

‘What are you doing now, Viola? Destroying my property?’

He was standing there, watching her, little more than a silhouette in the gentle dusk. Tall, physically imposing, arrogant even, elegantly clad in silver-laced black velvet … She drew in her breath at the sight of him. She
was instantly reminded of her first meeting with him, his total mastery of the situation. Her heart picked up its beat, but not from fear.

‘You startled me, my lord.’

‘Forgive me, Mistress Harley.’ He swept her a formal bow, all grace and proper respect. ‘It was not my intention. I did not know you were at the Priory until Verzons told me. And so I sought you out.’

He kept the distance between them so that she could not read his face.

‘I have seen Lady Elizabeth. I was looking for her book—the poems of John Donne. It is not here. And I have just managed to—’

‘Katherine.’ His voice stopped her. It was soft with an allure which she could not resist.

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘Will you dance with me?’ He held out a hand, his request charmingly formal, but a demand none the less.

‘Dance? Now?’

‘Why not? You can dance the pavane—you have been well taught!’ She saw the unexpected flash of his grin, which instantly turned her knees to water. ‘We do not need music. Come.’

She obeyed, taking his hand, turning to face him to begin the stately measure.

It was one of the strangest experiences of her life. Caressed by soft shadows, enfolded in silence, except for the brush of their feet and her skirts against the oak
boards, Marlbrooke led her through the steps and movements of the pavane. She curtsied, stepped, circled with grace and elegance as if to some unheard refrain. Their bodies touched and moved apart, their hands clasping and unclasping, palms meeting, a mere whisper of flesh against flesh, as they trod the length of the Gallery. She moved as in a dream, her senses completely submerged in the tone and texture of this heart-stirring courtship. Her heart beat rapidly, her skin felt flushed with an inner heat, but her mind was clear, her focus on Marlbrooke intense. As her hand touched his, the cool sliding of flesh against flesh, she felt the tingle of excitement spread in her veins. She could not have spoken, did not need to speak. Conscious of the soft whisper of her satin skirts, the evening light absorbed into his dark velvet coat, she abandoned herself to the glory of it all. Her awareness was centred on the silver glitter of his eyes as they caught the light, the soft touch of his breath on her cheek as they drew together, the unexpected emotions that filled her body and demanded a response. His eyes never left hers, so that she danced as if under an enchantment. It brought her close to tears from the sheer beauty of it.

By common consent, they drew the dance to a close. The Viscount kept possession of her fingers and raised them to his lips. She was so lovely. And she was his. And whether she realised it or not, she had begun to trust him—perhaps more than that. She looked at him now, her face bright and glowing with pleasure. He could see the
glorious sapphire eyes, the wilful mouth, the elegantly arched brows. Blood surged through his veins, dispersing an elusive happiness into every cell of his body. He pulled her gently forward to take her into his arms, to kiss those eminently enticing lips, to wipe away the tear that clung to her lashes. When he smiled down at her, she returned it without hesitation.