Regency Debutantes (69 page)

He moved from the fireplace to take up the seat that Miss Paton had so recently vacated. Kathryn edged closer to the opposite arm of the sofa. He arched an eyebrow. ‘Scared?’

‘No. Should I be?’

A nearly smile pulled at his mouth. ‘Most definitely so. I’ve just neatly disposed of two of your objections to marrying me. Two more to go and then you’re mine, Kathryn Marchant.’

Shock rippled across her face. ‘You still wish to wed me?’ There was a definite breathy catch to her voice. ‘Even after…’

‘Especially
after your proposition.’ His eyebrow twitched.

Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘It was not a proposition,’ she said stubbornly.

He gave her a knowing look. ‘If you say so.’

Her gaze fluttered away, and her fingers picked at the skirt of her dress.

He couldn’t afford to let himself touch her…not yet. He produced a letter from his pocket and threw it on to the sofa between them. It was addressed to Miss Kathryn Marchant. No other direction had been added.

She peered at it suspiciously.

‘Open it.’

A moment’s hesitation, and then she did. The wafer broke beneath her fingers and the paper unfolded to reveal the lines of black flowing script. Disbelief creased her forehead. Slowly, concentrating on each word, she read the letter’s contents again. ‘It’s from my uncle. He has enclosed a banker’s draft for five hundred pounds…as a dowry.’ The paper fluttered to her lap. She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You’re his brother’s daughter. It is only to be expected that he would supply you with a dowry.’

‘But…the scandal…my uncle and aunt have disowned me.’

‘It would appear that they have changed their minds.’

Her eyelids shuttered momentarily. She pressed her fingers to her lips, as if to stopper any flow of emotion.

‘So it seems, Kathryn, that you now have a dowry…if you should choose to use it as such.’

‘I…’ He could see her confusion.

His voice gentled. ‘Which leaves only your last excuse…your family.’

‘You cannot change that, nor would I wish you to,’ she said softly.

‘Why would I want to, when you have such good connections?’ A wry smile curved. ‘I have it upon the best of authorities that your mother was a Thornley of Overton.’

She wiped the emotion from her face, fixed her expression to one of blandness. Several heartbeats passed. ‘Before you say any more, Nicholas, there is something I should tell you.’ Not one movement. Not one betraying flicker of her eyes. ‘This is not the first scandal to be attached to my family name. My father…’ An image of her papa lying slumped upon his desk, a spent pistol in his hand. She stopped. Cleared her throat. The blink of her eyes lasted just fractionally too long. ‘My father…’ Again it seemed she could not bring herself to say the words.

‘I know, Kathryn,’ he said, wishing to spare her the worst of it.

Her gaze clung to his. ‘How did you find out?’

‘Does it matter?’

She shook her head, inadvertently dislodging a few curls. ‘No. I suppose not. It’s just that I’ve never spoken of it. Never. But not one day has passed without its memory. So much blood…and the pistol still in his hand…and his face…’ She caught at her lower lip with her teeth.

He moved then. Closed the space between them, until their legs touched together on the sofa. Took her hands in his. Gripped them firm. ‘I did not mean to remind you.’

‘I cannot forget,’ she said. ‘But with time it grows easier, and there are other things that help me not to think of it.’ Such as
daydreaming and the man who sat so closely by her side, but she would never say so.

Her fingers were small and cool beneath his. His thumb stroked at the back of her hand. ‘Your father’s death was a tragedy, but the blame is not yours. It has no bearing on our marriage.’ He leaned back against the sofa, keeping her within his gaze, watching the emotion cloud the brilliance of her eyes. ‘So,’ he said, ‘Kathryn Marchant, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ Blood pulsed through the pulse point at the side of his neck. Thud. Thud. Thud. His hand still covered hers. Everything was still. Motionless. Breath caught and held, waiting to exhale.

She looked at him, really looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

His grip unwittingly tightened.

‘Yes,’ she said, in a whisper. And a small sigh escaped her.

Whether it was a sigh of sadness or resignation or relief, Nicholas did not know. He pulled her into his arms and dropped a kiss to the top of her hair.

It was Kathryn who pulled back. Kathryn, whose free hand touched to his cheek, her thumb brushing against his lips, tracing down to his chin. He saw her eyes drop to his lips, sensed her need. And then her mouth touched to his, her lips moving in sweet tentative enquiry.

The green eyes sparked. His lips answered her call, sliding and teasing, caressing and tickling.

Her mouth opened in sensual invitation.

The hot moisture of his tongue penetrated. She met his probing with her own. Tongue lapped against tongue.

He groaned and pulled her fully into his arms. ‘Kathryn!’ The rawness of emotion rendered his voice hoarse. His hands moved upon her back weaving patterns of age-old magic that she could not ignore.

Her fingers threaded through the burnt umber of his hair. Deep within her was an ache of longing. The hardness of his
chest grazed her breasts, and she thrust against him and felt the thrum of his heart beneath that warm solid wall of muscle.

His hand moved to claim first one breast and then the other. Much more of this and he would be lost. The last vestige of reason pulled him back from temptation. Gently he eased himself away, looking her full in eyes that smouldered with passion and emotion. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said, ‘it’s a good thing I already have the special licence. I don’t think my restraint will last much longer.’

With only two days to go before the wedding Lady Maybury decided a mammoth shopping expedition was in order. ‘It’s such a shame that there’s not time to have a new gown made for you. We’ll have to make do with a new bonnet and gloves. Oh, and a bandeau perhaps, and stockings…and a matching reticule.’ The dowager was warming to her theme. ‘And most definitely a new and rather exciting nightdress.’ She slid a mischievous look at the young woman by her side.

Kathryn ignored the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer such luxuries, but I already have more than enough.’

‘Nonsense,’ replied Lady Maybury. ‘I can’t have my granddaughter dressing in rags. We shall start with Miss Walters, move to Madame Devy, and Mills, then work our way along to Mrs Shabner, not forgetting Millards.’

A sigh was stifled as Kathryn allowed herself to be led into first one shop, then many more.

The day was warm in the extreme. Lady Maybury did not appear to notice. She was busily immersed in yards
of ribbons and lace, and had just dispatched their footman to empty his arms of the multitude of parcels into the carriage.

‘How dashed inconvenient!’ Lady Maybury’s nose wrinkled with irritation.

The woman serving behind the counter looked up, shock displayed across her face.

‘James has taken the turquoise turban and I need it in order to select the best matching feathers.’

‘I’m sure we can make a very good guess at which colours will suit,’ Kathryn said.

The dowager raised an imperious white brow. ‘Indeed we will not. When he returns, I’ll send him back for it.’

Kathryn thought of the rising heat of the day. She thought of the footman’s warm woollen coat, and the long walk he would have to reach their carriage. ‘He’s only just left and cannot have gone far. Perhaps I could stop him in time.’

‘My dear gel—’

But the slender figure was already disappearing through the doorway.

The shop assistant sniffed, but said nothing.

Kathryn scanned the street and there in the distance was the retreating footman struggling under his load. Without a further thought she hurried towards him. Her breath became laboured and she felt the sweat bead upon her brow. ‘James!’ she said in a loud voice.

The footman disappeared around the corner.

Kathryn walked faster still. From out of nowhere an arm snaked around her waist, pulled her into an alleyway and slammed her hard against a wall. Her scream was rendered useless by the hand clamped across her mouth.

‘Out walking alone, Kathryn, without even the accompaniment of a maid? What will people say? But then I’m forgetting that your reputation is already in tatters.’

She stared up into the face of Anna Marchant. Kathryn ceased her struggles, the blood draining from her cheeks until, beneath the heat of the day, a cold tremor pricked upon her skin.

The kid-clad hand dropped from her lips, but the grip remained around her wrist.

‘Aunt Anna!’ she exclaimed, unable to believe who it was that stood before her.

The older woman’s lips smirked. ‘Why so pale, niece? Did you think to play me for the fool quite so easily?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she whispered, feeling the stirrings of fear.

‘Oh, but I think that you do, Kathryn. Sending Ravensmede to blackmail your uncle into paying a dowry.’

‘Blackmail? I thought…’ The words trailed off.

‘You thought what?’ sneered her aunt. ‘That your uncle paid the money out of some sense of obligation? Affection, even? So sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but only Ravensmede’s threats forced Mr Marchant’s pen to paper. You could rot in hell for all we care.’

Realisation hit Kathryn between the eyes. ‘He used the leaflet.’

‘Very good. Did you like it? Really most effective, even if I do say so myself. Because of it, Amanda White dare not show her face. Did you know that she’s left the country? Ran away to Italy, so they say. And you and Ravensmede are the scandal of London. All according to plan. Such a shame that he discovered my part in the affair.’

‘Nicholas threatened to reveal the truth if Uncle Henry did not supply a dowry?’

‘Of course. What choice did we have?’

It made sense. Kathryn looked directly into her aunt’s eyes and saw the depths of the other woman’s hatred. ‘Why did you do it, Aunt Anna? Why should you want to destroy me so much as to publish such a thing?’

A smile stretched across Anna Marchant’s face. ‘Why do you think? I loathe you. I’ve always loathed you since the minute you crossed the threshold into my house. Trying to make claims upon your uncle’s affection, thinking you were due our hospitality. I saw what you intended from the start. Trying to cast my own daughter into the shade, thinking yourself superior, and always with that look upon your face as if nothing we did could ever touch you.’

Kathryn stared as if she could not believe the words tumbling from her aunt’s mouth. ‘You are mistaken, Aunt, much more than you could ever know.’

The thing that passed for a smile upon Anna Marchant’s face faded. ‘No, Kathryn. I know full well what you are.’ The ribbons of her bonnet danced in the breeze. ‘I never wanted to take you into my home. You may thank Henry and his sense of duty for that. But why should my family and I suffer? It was not our fault that your slut of a mother died, or that your pathetic sot of a father killed himself.’

Instinct took over. Kathryn drew her hand back, and an almighty crack reverberated through the alley.

The imprint of Kathryn’s hand, stark and red, appeared upon her aunt’s cheek.

For a moment the two women just stared at each other, and then Anna Marchant’s voice dropped to a snarl. ‘You’re going to regret that,’ she said, and tightened her grip around her niece’s wrist. ‘You think to thwart me, but I won’t let it happen. Ruined before all of London, and somehow you end up forcing Ravensmede into marriage in an effort to outdo your cousin. Lottie catches herself a decent gentleman for a husband, but you have to go one better with a viscount, and a rich one at that. Do you think after all that has happened that I shall just sit back and let you marry Ravensmede, and worm you way back into society’s favour?’

‘Take your hand off me.’ Inside Kathryn was shaking, but her voice was clear and calm.

‘Gladly,’ said her aunt, and released her grip on her niece’s wrist. She stepped back.

Kathryn made to leave.

‘Not so fast.’ Anna Marchant drew the small pistol from her reticule and aimed it at Kathryn’s forehead. ‘I’ll see you dead first.’

Kathryn’s heart hammered hard enough to escape her chest and her legs wobbled. ‘You’ll never get away with it. Lady Maybury is in the shop just a few yards along the street. I was
merely trying to catch her footman. If I don’t return soon, she’ll come looking for me.’

‘I know exactly where the old woman is. Did you think that I just chanced to be here? I was following you, awaiting my opportunity…which you have very obligingly just handed me.’ A low hollow laugh sounded. ‘I’ll be long gone by the time the footman returns and the dowager realises that you’re not with him.’

The pistol poked closer. Kathryn determined not to flinch.

‘Just think, dear niece, a lead ball in the head, the same as your papa.’ Scrape of metal, and the pistol was cocked.

A thousand thoughts flashed through Kathryn’s head in that single moment. Images of her father, her mother, her sister, scenes from throughout the years of her life. But one picture dominated all others: Nicholas Maybury. And her one regret was that she would die without telling him of her love. Her eyes closed of their own volition. Her heart was beating in a frenzy, blood pumping so hard that it sounded like the rush of wind in her ears. Yet somewhere in the middle of the storm of emotion was an unexpected calmness, a silent place, a peaceful place.

‘Kathryn!’ The deep masculine voice echoed, and all at once she knew she was safe.

Somehow, by some sliver of chance, he was here. ‘Nicholas!’ she gasped.

‘Ravensmede?’ Anna Marchant swung to face the tall athletic figure. She paled, gulped and stumbled back in the opposite direction.

Kathryn had never seen such a look upon Nicholas’s face. The green eyes glowered dark and menacing, the deep brown of his eyebrows drawn low and angled warned of a mood as black as the devil’s. His hair rippled around a face that was the antithesis of colour. Even his lips, pressed firmly together, glowed with an unearthly pallor. Everything about him was still, tense, controlled. Dressed entirely in the deepest darkest black, he loomed a huge stark silhouette
against the skyline. A chill stole through the air, the sky dimmed as a cloud obliterated the sun. ‘Mrs Marchant,’ he said in a voice filled with menace.