Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (22 page)

If the Caddyhorns hadn’t stolen our inheritance, the money wouldn’t be an issue,
she thought bitterly. They’d
taken so much, murdered, stolen, swindled at every opportunity.
They should have a taste of their own medicine, she mused. Let them be the victims for once.

But the possibility of the Caddyhorns’ facing justice was so remote, she bowed her head in defeat. Her chin bumped into something hard in her satchel. Then she remembered. The journal. The Thief of Robinson Square.

The idea flashed in Catherine’s mind like lightning. Bright, intense and magnetic enough to draw her to it like a beggar to the flash of silver. It was so well timed she felt like it had to have been providence. The journal had been sent down from the heavens to save her.

There was one way to find out if the book was on the up and up. One chance to determine if she had it within her to seize the day. One means of securing the money she needed quickly to save her brother.

Could she dare? Would it be possible?

“Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt,” she quoted the journal in the echoing stairwell.

The journal had also said that intelligence was the key. Catherine recalled every detail of the house where the Caddyhorns resided since it had once been her own family’s London residence. As of ten years ago, she’d known which room each member of the Caddyhorn family slept in as she clearly recalled the heartbreaking day when they’d infested her childhood home.

Catherine would never forget her impotent outrage when Lady Frederica had taken her mother’s precious jewels, especially the pieces that Catherine had known were intended for her. “They’re a woman’s ornaments, not a child’s,” Lady Frederica had said with disdain. Catherine had known at that moment that Lady Frederica never
intended for her mother’s precious pearls ever to rest on her own daughter’s neck.

Lady Caddyhorn had always slept with her treasures under her pillow. Catherine would bet good money that she still did. But it would be easy enough to find out. Lady Caddyhorn was far from subtle and she always had a household of disgruntled servants. And servants talked, especially when they were ill-treated by their employers.

So Catherine had intelligence, a good portion of it, and only needed it to be verified. Then it would be up to the journal to walk her through the rest. She just prayed that the book was as good as it appeared.

Her life—and Jared’s—were depending on it.

M
arcus kicked his heels, spurring the borrowed stallion onward, feeling the great mount’s muscles bunching and stretching beneath him.

Beside him, Tam followed suit. He bounced around on the chestnut mare as a banner flops on a frantic wind. He was going to be sore as hell in the morning, but the good sergeant was keeping a stiff upper lip tonight and Marcus was glad for his staunch spirit. The lanky man hunched over the horse’s mane, his lean features creased in deep concentration, as if he held on for his life.

Marcus wondered if offering to let Tam slow and come later was not a bad idea. But he didn’t want to injure the man’s pride. Better a man’s pride than his bollocks, Marcus recognized. “There’s a village coming up around the bend,” Marcus cried over the wind. “Why don’t you stay over while I go ahead? I still have to stop in Reigate. You can easily catch up with me in London.”

“Nay, sir,” he puffed. “I’m right as rain and it’s by your side where I’ll stay.”

Marcus grunted, the man was going to be bedridden more than likely, but Tam knew his own endurance better than anyone else. And Marcus appreciated the show of support. It had been a rough week and Tam’s assistance had been invaluable.

Renfrew was dead. His confessions heard and memorized. The evidence laying out his guilt was at that very moment being carried by messenger to Lord Wellington. The stage where Renfrew had been setting his scheme had been burned to the ground in a heap of ash.

It had been a fool’s design, destined for failure from the start. But even in failure, it had caused enough damage to have been a tragedy. This was one mission that had left Marcus with a sour taste in his mouth for the devilry that man could lay on his brother.

In the same spirit as when siege layers of old would catapult diseased carcasses over a wall, Renfrew was trying to find a way to infect the British army. The problem was, he couldn’t find a disease suitably injurious that didn’t cripple every carrier he tried to have transport it.

Stupid, irresponsible, knave. Renfrew hadn’t seemed particularly disturbed by the fact that his efforts had cost the lives of countless men and women in the remote area near Dover where he’d been hatching his schemes.

The only thing to have upset the blackguard was when Marcus had accused him of killing his father. The man had been virtually affronted. Marcus hadn’t believed a word of his protestations. He had to have been behind his father’s murder. It had to be Marcus’s fault, albeit indirectly.

Marcus cursed the scoundrel and wished a pox on all of his comrades in arms. But those men would be tasting Wellington’s wrath soon enough. Each name had been carefully logged with their activities and locations. They’d all be dead within the week.

Marcus spit on the side of the road. A nasty business. He couldn’t wait to see Cat and be reminded again that there was sweetness and good in this world. He hadn’t slept a decent night since he’d left her and he could use that sense of hopefulness that she seemed to infuse in him. Oh, how he’d missed her. He urged his mount onward into the wind.

Darkness was descending on the road, but it was a well-traveled path and the horse’s eyes were sharper than his. The moon scarcely hid behind a nearby ridge and was beginning to give additional illumination. The clatter of his stallion’s hooves and those of Tam’s mare filled his ear with welcoming rhythm as Marcus settled in for a long ride. The scent of chimney smoke reached him and lights suddenly appeared as they made it around a bend.

“Are we going to change horses, sir?” Tam enquired, adjusting his hat that kept slipping into his eyes. The back of his bald head shone in the pale moonlight.

“At this pace, we’re going to have to. I can’t abide exhausting a good mount.” Even if every instinct in him was urging him toward London as if the city itself was burning. He couldn’t quite explain the feeling driving him onward, the need to get back once more to where he should be. “But these horses are hardy,” Marcus added. “And have more leg in them. So we can wait a bit.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not much for riding, sir,” Tam ventured, grabbing for his hat. “Sorry to be holding you back.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Tam. You’re a foot soldier, not cavalry. And I thank my lucky stars for it.” Marcus gently tightened his grip on the reins and eased the horse’s stride. The pace wouldn’t save much time in getting to the village and Tam seemed so stoically miserable. “We’ll walk into the village from here. I feel the
need to get to London posthaste. But that doesn’t mean that I have to wound my best sergeant in the process.”

“I’m your only sergeant, sir,” Tam remarked, but in the light of the moon, relief flashed across Tam’s craggy features.

“But the best one I could hope for.”

Tam yanked his reins and the mare’s pace slowed to a trot, sending the sergeant bouncing. The mare was puffing almost as loudly as her rider, her breath misting in the night. “Andersen Hall is going to look mighty welcoming to me,” he muttered, as the pace eased. The mare’s tail swooshed behind him. “I’m sure you can’t wait to get home.”

“Andersen Hall is not my—” Marcus stopped himself, realizing that the feeling thrumming through him might actually be a sense of belonging. Yet, it did not relate to Andersen Hall, but to the lovely lady he’d left behind.

When Marcus was with Catherine he felt almost lighthearted, reminding him of the sensations he’d felt after he’d been promoted two summers past. In celebration, he’d had a few beers and had fallen asleep in the shade of a lovely palm on a sandy white beach. He’d felt good about himself then. He was a winner. A man worth reckoning.

He felt that way when he was with Cat—successful, and worthy of it. Moreover, she made him feel as if she’d always be on his side. That with her, betrayal was simply not an option. The idea was a bit astounding to Marcus, given he lived in a world where treachery was as common as a cold. She gave him a sense of hope, he realized, that he’d thought lost long ago.

Tam coughed into his hand, then spit. “I’d be rushing back to Miss Miller, too, if she was mine.”

Mine
. Marcus did feel possessive about Cat. But he had no claim on her. In fact, miracle of all miracles, for all of
their fantastic love play, never once did he breach her innocence. It had been a mighty struggle, but at least on that front, he’d won. And it had made him an exceedingly inventive lover. Marcus had been as impressed with himself as he’d been with the pleasure that could be gotten if one used one’s imagination.

Cat hadn’t been very appreciative about not getting to “dessert,” though. Marcus shifted in the saddle, feeling the familiar pull in his loins whenever he thought about bedding Cat. Obviously she had no idea how hard it had been on him. She was passionate enough to tempt even the most chaste priest. Reason had won out, however. He didn’t need a babe complicating his life any more than she did. Especially since neither one of them wanted to marry…

“It’s tough being away from your girl,” Tam commented, matter-of-factly. “I don’t envy you when you have to say good-bye for good. Soon enough we’ll be back to the Peninsula.”

Marcus adjusted his coat and frowned, finding the notion unpleasant.

Perhaps when the war was over…

That seemed so distant; he almost could not imagine it. Would she wait for him? He knew it was utterly selfish to demand that she suspend her life until his return. Knew that he had no rights over her. And so much could happen in the interim. He might die, she might…His mind reared away from thoughts of anything untoward happening to his precious Cat.

“Unless, o’ course,” Tam commented, swatting at a gnat, “she comes with us. Dr. Wicket could certainly use the help. Having a compassionate hand like hers to hold would certainly make me want to heal quicker.”

“She’d never leave the children,” Marcus murmured,
watching the lights from the houses grow closer.
Unless Andersen Hall closes its doors
. Then it might be a blessing for her to get away. But they would have to marry…

Surprisingly, the thought of wedding Cat did not repulse him, as it usually did when he considered the shackles of marriage. But then he was reminded of his reasons for avoiding the parson’s mousetrap. “I couldn’t do that to her.”

“Do what to her?”

“Marry her. It would be unfair.”

“I’ve heard it called many a thing…”

“My father was always off working for his causes,” Marcus explained. “Leaving me and my mum behind. I couldn’t do that to Cat. I’m a selfish bastard, but that’s a bit much even for me.”

“Fighting Napoleon’s an honorable charge—”

“So were my father’s causes, but it’s abandonment, no matter the reason. It’s not fair to her, nor would it be just to our children.”
Our children
. An uncomfortable chasm yawned open in his chest.

“She’ll make a good mum,” Tam reflected.

“The perfect mother,” he murmured, trying to decipher the strange emptiness swirling in his middle.

“She’ll bring some gent up to snuff, I’m sure. With ’er fine manners an’ education.”

“She’s not interested in marriage,” Marcus replied distractedly.

Tam snorted. “There’s not a woman alive who doesn’t want to leg-shackle a man.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Marcus countered, recalling the adamancy in her tone.

“Rubbish. I’ve seen ’em like her before. They may talk about independence, but in the end they’ll fall. Usually for the man with the most perseverance.”

“Perseverance?”

“You know, the ones who hang about. They wait until the moment’s right, then they make their move.”

Prescott Devane’s handsome face suddenly flashed in Marcus’s mind. Jealousy sliced through him more keenly than a glacial wind.

Tam sniffed. “The best time to nail ’er, on my opinion, is when she’s lonely. Or someone’s just left her. Then the bloke provides that shoulder to cry on and it’s downhill from there. Easy pickings.”

Marcus felt the sudden urge to kick his horse and tear into London. He’d kill Devane if he laid a bloody hand on his woman!

“It’s not such a terrible end, though,” Tam commented. “They both get what they want in the long run.”

Marcus schooled himself to calm. “I do want Cat to be happy,” he murmured to himself.
But not with another man.
But it was more than jealousy that moved him. She couldn’t leave him to live a solitary existence. A lone wolf, traveling in a pack of thousands, isolated, without a home, dying alone…

The ache in his heart appalled him.

But what to do for it?

His intentions were noble in not wanting to marry her and abandon her. Right?

Yet, wasn’t it selfishness personified
not
to marry her? Yes, he’d sworn never to do to a wife and child what his father had done to him and his mother. But who said that he had to abandon his wife? Who said that he couldn’t learn from his father’s mistakes and have a better care with his own family? His reasons for not wanting to marry suddenly seemed insubstantial for the first time in his adult life.

As far as children went, he thought that he might make a reasonably decent father. If he could follow his father’s
positive lead and not make his father’s mistakes, he might be quite good, in fact.

But what kind of husband could he be? That was a bit trickier. He knew that he was self-centered. Used to having his way and being free from commitment. Could he make that sacred vow to a woman and stay with her “until death do us part”? Astoundingly, for the first time ever, Marcus could imagine the possibility.

Mayhap because never before have I met a woman who could entice me to stay by her side
. The revelation almost knocked him from his horse.

His mind reeled. The world seemed to shift and bend before his eyes as realization dawned. Cat meant more to him than any woman he’d ever known. But what did that signify? He was too cynical to believe in love; it was a fantasy crafted by poets and balladeers. And even if it were true, the idea of Marcus Dunn falling victim to such drivel was preposterous. Or was it?

For the first time in his life, Marcus truly wondered. Was the delight that he felt every time he laid eyes on her love? Was the sense of connection he experienced whenever their fingers brushed or he held her hand or they kissed, was that love? Was the feeling of belonging that drove him toward London like a hound to its pack love? Was the joy she brought every time he witnessed her smile or heard her tinkling laugh love?

As he rode toward Reigate in the darkness of the night, strange thoughts and feelings swirled inside of him, until Marcus felt like he couldn’t tell his arse from his elbow. All he knew for certain was that he wanted her. All to himself. The selfish bastard that he was. Now, he just had to figure out a way to keep her.