The Pride of Lions (10 page)

Hearing footsteps out in the hall, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. “You mustn’t do anything until you
get well. Please, Hamilton, please promise me you will not do anything until you have your strength back.”

“It was a trick, you know. It had to be. I don’t know how he did it. No one has ever bested me before; no one ever will again. Yes … yes, somehow a trick—”

“Hamilton … I want to stay with you, but we need time. Time for your wounds to heal, and time for Father to realize what a dreadful thing he has forced me to do. No, listen to me—” She placed her fingers gently over his mouth to prevent an interruption. “I will leave with Montgomery in the morning, as planned. I must. But at the first inn we come to, I shall tell him I intend to go no farther. I will wait for you there, Hamilton, and … and we can run away together. I will go anywhere you want me to go, my love. Anywhere.”

“Montgomery is your husband. He can force you—”

“He cannot force me to do anything,” she declared vehemently. “And I did not hear him rushing eagerly to repeat his vows. He wants this marriage less than I do, and I am sure he will have no objections to finding someone to annul this entire mockery at the first opportunity. What’s more,” she said, leaning even closer to whisper against his lips, “I am eighteen now. When the marriage is annulled, the dowry my grandmother left me will be mine. I shall insist Montgomery sign it back as the terms of our parting.”

The glazed eyes stared up at her, fighting to absorb everything she was saying.

“He will not touch me, Hamilton, that much I swear to you. As long as you love me and want me, I am yours. No other man shall have what belongs to you alone.”

His hand snaked up and curled around the nape of her neck, pulling her roughly forward, crushing her mouth over his. The kiss was anything but gentle and loving; his teeth bruised her lips, his tongue was hot and sour where it thrust into her mouth. But she shuddered away her revulsion, knowing it was a kiss of desperation, of anger, of helplessness.

“Tell me you love me,” he commanded harshly.

“I love you, Hamilton. With all my heart.”

“Tell me you want me. Only me.”

“I want only you,” she whispered ardently, aware that they were no longer alone in the room. The servant had come back, and on her heels, Dr. Moore. “Rest now, my love. We will be together soon, I swear we will.”

The coach pulled up to the front of Rosewood Hall just as the dawn light was painting the horizon pale blue. The last of the brightest stars still winked overhead and the ground shimmered under a carpet of mist and dew. Catherine stood in the foyer, her gray velvet traveling suit covered beneath the wings of a light woolen cape. Her hair was protected against the morning dampness by a muslin cap trimmed in lace, surmounted by a small gray felt hat. Her hands were gloved, her slippered feet tucked safely inside leather pattens to guard against mud and water.

She was determined not to cry. Her expression was taut, her eyes heavy and strained from sleeplessness, and it gave her some measure of satisfaction to see that Sir Alfred was not bearing up well under her accusing stare. His bloodshot gaze avoided meeting hers. His lips were held in a tight pucker that made him look a bit like a stuffed chicken; his neckcloth was loosened, his jabot askew, the front of his shirt spattered with stains.

“Kitty?”

She turned from her father’s discomfort and allowed a small sigh as she leaned into Damien’s supportive embrace.

“Kitty, I don’t know what to say.…”

She had been tempted, seeing the terrible, haggard look on his face, to tell him her plan—hers and Hamilton’s—but she had to be certain nothing else would go wrong. He had told her she could go to London and live with him there, and she was counting on him to uphold his promise once she was away from Montgomery.

“It isn’t as if I am the first daughter in the world to be
tossed away like so much excess baggage,” she said bitterly. “Mind, if I were you, I would be quick about having the banns read for you and Harriet … before someone takes it upon themselves to destroy
your
life and happiness.”

The sarcasm was not lost on Sir Alfred, who reddened further and cleared his throat with a vengeance. But if she hoped for an apology or some sign that he truly regretted his decision, she was sadly disappointed again.

“Stay well, daughter. Behave yourself. Show this fellow Montgomery what stock we Ashbrookes are made of. Say good-bye to your mother now and promise to send her your address in London so that she may deliver her felicitations.”

Catherine’s eyes stung with tears, despite her resolve. She felt Damien’s arm tighten around her shoulder, but it still took every last ounce of strength she had remaining to appear calm as she turned to Lady Caroline. There were signs of a long, sleepless night etched on her mother’s face, but somehow Catherine doubted they were the result of any overt concern for her daughter’s welfare. Her mouth was puffed and tender-looking, her cheeks and throat were chafed pink. It was more likely that she and Lord Winston had made up for the brief interruption in the library.

“Good-bye, Mother,” she said coldly. “Try not to worry about me.”

Lady Caroline offered a weary smile. “There is far too much of my blood in your veins for me to doubt you will eventually come to make the best of this situation. Your husband is rich, he is handsome, he is incredibly”—she took a slow, deep breath while she searched for the precise word—“
male
. Do bring him home for a visit now and then. You know you will always be welcome.”

Catherine turned away.

“Catherine! Catherine!” Harriet came through the front door like a small hurricane, her hair straggling down her back, her gown rumpled from her having fallen into a fitful
sleep in a chair. “You weren’t going to leave without saying good-bye, were you?”

“You were up with me most of the night,” she murmured, the words muffled within a frantic hug. “I did not have the heart to disturb you.”

“I want you to write me every single day, do you hear?
Every day
, no matter what!” She lowered her voice to a fervent whisper. “And if that brute mistreats you in any way, Damien and I will fly to your rescue. We will absolutely
fly
.”

“I will write,” Catherine promised softly, her heart lodged in her throat again. “I promise. Every single day.”

The desperate exchange of embraces ended abruptly at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Raefer Montgomery, his broad frame cloaked in a flowing greatcoat, rode into view. He was astride the gigantic black stallion Catherine had seen in the clearing, and his face, glowering out from beneath a tricornered beaver hat, was as bleak and grim as the cloud-ridden sky. Dressed all in black, with his black eyes and his black stare, he seemed a larger-than-life specter out of some terrifying nightmare.

“Well, Mrs. Montgomery? Have you dispensed with your farewells?”

Catherine flushed at the coarseness in his manner, at the deliberately mocking inflection he gave her new name.

“I’m ready.” She gave her brother a final, quick hug before stepping up to the coach.

Montgomery waited until Damien had handed her inside before he touched a gloved finger to the brim of his hat. “My thanks for an interesting and eventful evening. We must get together and do it again sometime.”

Damien opened his mouth to respond, but Montgomery had already wheeled the stallion around. The attending coachman closed and latched the door, and before Catherine could lean fully out and wave a hand, the driver was cracking the whip over the heads of the matched bays, reacting smartly to a barked command from her new husband.

Sir Alfred had spared one of the smaller carriages, a vehicle that could seat Catherine and her personal maid, Deirdre, in relative comfort, as well as transport her two massive trunks in the boot. Constructed of glossy black oak, the side panels were chased in brass and emblazoned with the Ashbrooke family crest as well as the stamp identifying Sir Alfred as a member of the British Parliament. The team of bays was handled by a driver and coachman, both on loan until Montgomery reached London.

Judging by the speed at which they raced along the road, Catherine assumed he wanted to set a new record from Derby to London. The trunks rattled and shook so much she feared the bindings would not hold. The thunder of the horses’ hooves was so loud and incessant that a constant vibration hummed in her ears and she could not relax, could not even contemplate trying to recoup the hours of sleep she had lost during the long night. Deirdre O’Shea, normally a bright and cheerful companion, was pale from fear and doubtless could not have bolstered her own spirits, much less those of her mistress.

Montgomery made no attempt to see her or speak to her during the long morning, and it was not until well past noon that he deigned to spare a thought for her mental or physical comforts. By then she was in fine fettle, ready to slap his face or gouge out his eyes at the least provocation.

“How thoughtful of you to inquire after my necessities,” she said seethingly. “How considerate of you to stop every few miles that we might stretch our legs or ease our thirst with a sip of water. And how
very
kind of you to instruct the driver to slow down for bends in the road and to do his utmost to avoid every pit and rut across the county.”

Montgomery was standing by his horse, stroking the
beast’s neck, but showed no reaction to her outburst aside from a faint tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Have you nothing to say?” she demanded, stamping her foot with frustration.

“If the accommodations were not to your liking, you should not have come.”

Her eyes blazed violet fire as she planted her hands on her waist. “You know very well I was given no choice in the matter.”

“People always have choices.”

“Really? And what were yours, pray tell? You looked even less pleased than I did—
if that is at all possible
—and yet you went through with the wretched ceremony anyway.”

His eyes lifted from their indolent study of her mouth. “It seemed the most expedient way of getting through an awkward situation.”

“Expedient? You call entering into a marriage that neither of us wanted … 
expedient
?”

“That … and a damned nuisance. I told you, I was pressed for time. I still am, so if we could dispense with the rest of your righteous indignation, I’d like to see if we can’t reach Wakefield by nightfall. With luck we should be able to find a sympathetic—or greedy—magistrate thereabouts who will legally annul your father’s error in judgment.” His smile broadened and he arched a saturnine brow. “Unless, of course, I have misread the lovely flush in your cheeks each time you are addressed as Mrs. Montgomery and you would prefer to keep the designation a while longer?”

Catherine’s anger drained away in a dizzying rush. She stared up at his bronzed features, totally at a loss for words. She was not even sure she had heard him correctly.

He laughed softly. “My dear Mistress Ashbrooke, while I will admit to a certain misguided attraction to your more earthly charms, I would not now, or ever, consider them worth relinquishing my freedom. I would not relinquish that for you or, indeed, for any other woman.”

The candor heightened the flush in her cheeks. “You have an aversion to marriage, sir?”

“Distinct and everlasting, madam. But aside from that, do I honestly strike you as the type of man who would take an unwilling wife to hearth and home?”

“I suppose … if I thought about it …”

He laughed again. “If women thought about a tenth of the things they
should
think about, I warrant the world would be a far less complicated place to live in.”

“Are you suggesting this was
all
my fault?” she asked, her eyes narrowing with renewed vindictiveness.

“Are you trying to tell me you considered the consequences—
all
of the consequences—of using me to rouse your lover’s jealousy?”

The heat in Catherine’s cheeks reached a searing level. “Lieutenant Garner is not my lover.”

“A moot point. Obviously no one has ever cautioned you against pricking the vanity of proud men or wild animals; neither is completely predictable.”

“And which of those categories do you fit into?”

“I’ll leave the choice solely to your discretion,” he mused and bowed solicitously. “And I am still in a hurry, so if you don’t mind—” He tilted his dark head in the direction of the lunch Deirdre was laying out on a blanket, and with a haughty swirl of her skirts Catherine walked away. He followed the play of her hips beneath the gray velvet skirt, then all but ignored her for the next hour while he shared his cigars and chatted with the coachmen.

6

T
he afternoon passed in as much discomfort as the morning. Catherine’s only consolation for the bumps and bruises was the promise of speedy salvation at the end of the trek. An annulment at Montgomery’s suggestion was the best possible solution she could have hoped for. No arguments. No questions asked. No claims against her dowry. He was actually being quite civil about the whole thing, rather good-natured … almost indifferent. In fact, if she thought about it she could conceivably become just as angry at him for the exact opposite reasons. Did he think he was too good for her?
An aversion to marriage
 … the scoundrel should have counted himself the luckiest man alive to have won the hand of Catherine Augustine Ashbrooke at the small sacrifice of a cut temple and a skewered thigh!