The Sinner (12 page)

He knew all that of course, but he'd never been very good at doing the right thing. That was why he liked being an assassin. It was perhaps the least acceptable thing for an earl to do, and he reveled in his role. His friends too were not the sort a nobleman should have, but Hughe had never let that worry him. He knew he could trust them with his life and that was all that mattered.

"How many children does she have?"

Her question caught him off guard, although he probably should have seen it coming. Marriage was, after all, about getting heirs. "None."

Her eyes widened. She leaned forward as if she hadn't heard him correctly. "None?

"None."

"You chose a barren wife! Have you lost your mind?"

Sometimes he wondered that himself. "The lack of children could have been her husband's fault. Indeed, I think it may have been, since he had many mistresses and had no children from them either." He'd had his men ask the servants and villagers, and all had reported the same thing. Cat's husband had taken many women to bed over the years and there'd been no children born to any of them that could be attributed to him.

His mother conceded his point with a huff. "It's still a gamble."

"Would you have preferred I bedded her and waited a few months to see the result?"

She didn't answer and he wondered if he'd been right. He knew his mother wanted to ensure the Oxley line wouldn't end with him; she had told him as much on numerous occasions. It was why he felt sure she would come to accept Cat in time. She may not be his mother's choice of bride, but she was the only way he was going to get an heir now. Besides, Cat was amiable. His mother would have loathed sharing her home with a silly girl.

He stood and kissed her white lace cap. "Whatever you think of my actions, Mother, do not take it out on Cat. Be civil to her."

"I am always civil."

"Then be nice."

She said nothing and Hughe left, wondering if he could waylay their meeting a little longer.

***

Cat had expected the dowager countess to be a large woman who looked down on everyone else from a great height. From the answers the maids had given her, as they helped her dress in the dark green gown, Cat had thought her future mother-in-law would resemble a dragon. But she did not.

The woman Hughe presented her to in a pretty chamber on the topmost floor was feeble and small. One side of her face drooped and a walking stick leaned against her chair. Her pale skin was mostly smooth, except around her mouth, eyes and the bridge of her nose where wrinkles gathered. It wasn't any of these things that struck Cat, however. It was her eyes. They were so like her son's, as ice-blue as a frosty February morning. She did not rise when Cat entered, but did look up from her sewing.

Cat curtseyed low.

"You may rise," Lady Oxley said in a tone more imperial than the queen's, despite the slight lisp. "Sit."

Cat sat on the chair one of Lady Oxley's three companions vacated for her. Hughe gave Cat an encouraging wink. If he was nervous about this meeting, he didn't show it.

"You may go, Hughe," his mother said.

"I'd rather stay," he said.

"Nevertheless."

Cat caught his attention and gave him a reassuring smile. He bowed. "It would seem I'm not needed," he said.

All the women watched him go. The dowager's companions were about her age, which must have been fifty or so. They sat on chairs lower than the dowager's, their backs to the wall of windows that overlooked the front drive and the pretty views of Hampshire beyond.

"This is a lovely room," Cat said, meaning it. She could understand why the ladies had been here ever since her arrival, since the dowager was most likely not very mobile.

"Are your eyes good?" Lady Oxley suddenly asked.

Cat blinked. What an odd question. "I, uh, yes."

"Do you sew well?"

"Quite well." Cat's needlework was excellent, but she didn't think it a good time to boast.

The dowager handed her the garment she was working on. "It's a shirt for my…" She cleared her throat as if something had gotten stuck there. "For your betrothed. The light grows too poor for me to continue."

The daylight was indeed fading, but Cat could probably see well enough for another half hour at least. After that, if enough candles were lit, she could continue through the evening. She almost laughed at the thought. Of course candles would be lit and likely dozens upon dozens of them at that. By the look of the opulence greeting her in every room, the expense of candles could be spared. They wouldn't be tallow ones either, she'd wager.

"Has my son shown you around the house?"

"Crane has, my lady. Hughe was busy attending to estate matters."

She arched a brow. "'Hughe?'"

Cat blushed to the roots of her hair. "His lordship asked me to call him that."

The dowager huffed and turned her face away. Cat supposed meeting one's future daughter-in-law was taxing enough, particularly when that daughter-in-law wouldn't have been her first choice. Perhaps not even her hundredth.

The ladies resumed their conversation after a few moments of strained silence. Although they didn't specifically draw Cat into their chatter, she joined in anyway where it felt appropriate to do so. She only wished the dowager would, too. Whether she was always this silent, or whether it was only because Cat was there, she couldn't tell, since the lady had closed her eyes. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep.

When it grew too dark to continue sewing, one of the ladies rose and lit all the candles. Two kitchen maids entered, carrying trays laden with cheese, dried figs and small tarts for supper. Cat looked past them to the doorway, hoping Hughe would join them, but he did not. She ate with Lady Oxley and her companions and wondered when it would be polite to leave. She still had much investigating to do. She'd only tried on two gowns after her bath. One was far too big, the other, the green one she'd left on, was a better fit, although it was somewhat out of fashion.

"You didn't bring many belongings with you," Lady Oxley said, rubbing crumbs from her fingertips. "Only one trunk." So she
had
seen them arrive.

"I brought only what I needed."

"Hmmm."

What did that mean?

"Where did you meet my son, Catherine? May I call you that?"

"I prefer Cat."

"I don't."

Cat sucked in a breath along with some patience. "I met him at Whitehall. Didn't he tell you?"

"You've been to court?"

"Twice."

"As often as that?" The sarcasm dripped from her tongue like poison.

Cat concentrated on her food. She would not be drawn into an argument with this woman. She had a feeling she wouldn't win and it would only make her blood boil more.

"I would have gone more often but Lord Slade didn't like court. He preferred hunting."

"Most men do."

"Hughe doesn't seem to. Does he hunt? There looks to be a lovely forest out there. Is it well stocked?"

The dowager arched her brow again. "It is, but my son doesn't hunt often. He's got more important things to do than pursue animals."

"Of course. I'm sure the estate keeps him busy."

Lady Oxley picked up her wine and pressed the glass to her lips. "Oh no, Catherine. Didn't he tell you? His land steward takes care of the estate. That frees Hughe to pursue…other interests."

Cat lowered her gaze to her trencher. She no longer felt hungry. The last two days had been so pleasant that she'd forgotten about Hughe's 'other interests'—his mistresses. Of course, it was unlikely he'd give them up and she had no right to ask him to do so. Still, she hoped, in time, that he would find all he needed in his wife at home. She lifted her gaze to Lady Oxley's. "Other interests," she echoed, "but not animals."

Lady Oxley flinched, wrinkling her nose. Cat frowned back at her. She got the feeling the dowager hadn't meant to imply that he was pursuing
females
. So what had she been referring to?

"If you'll excuse me," Lady Oxley said. "I'm tired." One of her companions handed her the walking stick then two of them helped her to stand. "Good night, Catherine. I hope the bed is to your liking."

"Thank you, my lady. Good night."

Lady Oxley's ladies flanked her as she slowly hobbled out, leaving Cat alone. After a moment, she picked up one of the candelabras and blew out the others.

She found her way back to her rooms easily enough. Her two maids were sitting together in one of the lesser chambers, altering her new gowns. She sat with them for a while and helped until she sent them off to bed when the younger one yawned.

With both girls sleeping on the truckle beds on her bedchamber floor, Cat doubted Hughe would visit her, so she was surprised when a knock on her door sounded.

"It's me," Hughe called out.

One of the maids opened it and let him in, but he stepped only as far as the end of Cat's bed. "My apologies," he said. "I lost track of time. I had hoped to speak with you tonight, but I see I've woken you. I can only apologize for the intrusion over and over."

"Please, don't," she said, laughing. "It's quite all right." She wanted to tell him he could visit her any time, but she didn't think she knew him well enough for that. Besides, her maids were there and the wedding hadn't yet taken place.

"How did your meeting with my mother go?" he asked.

"As well as can be expected."

"As badly as that?"

She grinned. "It went well enough. She just needs time to adjust to having me here. I'm of the opinion that she wasn't expecting you to bring home a bride."

"True. Usually it's a batch of letters and a new piece of jewelry. Cat," he said, growing serious. "I have to leave tomorrow."

Leave? Already? "Oh." It wasn't her place to ask him why or to plead with him to stay, but she had to bite her tongue to stop her questions.

She waited for him to offer more information, but he didn't. He came around to the side of her bed and took her hand. A jolt of heat and something else whipped through her, setting her body alight. They'd touched before, but either one or both of them had always been wearing gloves. Not this time. To her surprise, his hands weren't soft and fine, but strong and calloused. They weren't a dandy's hands. He bowed then pressed her knuckles to his lips. Now
they
were soft. Warm. She would like to feel those lips on other parts of her body, trailing kisses down her throat, her breasts, her belly, her thighs.

Her breath hitched, the sound audible in the silence.

Hughe jerked upright as if she'd flicked him off. His back and shoulders were as rigid as marble. Perhaps he had been as shocked by the connection as she was. It was too dark to see his eyes, but she imagined them to look smoky with desire and pent-up passion, only because she knew her own told a similar story. Her entire body tingled and it hadn't even been a proper kiss!

"I'll be gone for a week or more," he said quickly, returning to the foot of her bed. He sucked in a deep breath that seemed to ease his rigidity, and flopped down on the mattress near her feet like a rag doll. He lay across ways, his elbow bent and his head propped up on his hand. "We'll wed upon my return and celebrate with a grand feast. There won't be time for most of Mother's friends to get here, but believe me, that's a blessing! It'll be the servants and villagers and a few of my own friends who will absolutely adore a little Cat like you. It'll be quite the party, my dear! I love parties. Don't you?" He patted her toes beneath the covers and stood. "Good night, dear betrothed. Sleep well. See you in a week."

He swept out of her bedchamber before she could utter a word. She blinked after him, wondering what had just happened and why she was still feeling like she'd been hit over the head after such a simple, chaste kiss on the back of her hand.

"Is he always like that?" she asked her maids.

"Don't know, my lady," one said. "He's not at home much and when he is, we see him rarely."

Cat sank back into her pillows with a deep sigh. Once they were wed, would she only see him when he came to her chambers to perform his husbandly duties? And would that be immediately before or after he visited his mistresses?

CHAPTER 7

Hughe wasn't gone for a week. He was away for three, although he did write from a village called Sutton Grange to inform Cat he needed to stay longer to attend a wedding. She had much to do in that time, from sewing a new gown to meeting all the servants to preparing for the wedding feast. The entire household was giddy with excitement about the upcoming nuptials between their master and his mysterious betrothed. Cat took great pains to become less mysterious, and she thought she succeeded where the servants were concerned. She had even managed to win over the dowager's companions, who now actively drew her into conversation.

The dowager herself was another matter. She became quieter, rarely engaging in conversation with anyone. She sat in her enormous chair like a queen holding court and either sewed or closed her eyes and slept.  

"Are you ill, my lady?" Cat asked her the morning before her wedding was to take place. The sun shone through the windows like a beacon, turning the dowager's silvery hair even whiter. The weather had been fine all week and looked set to continue for the wedding.

"I am quite well," the dowager countess said, without looking up from her sewing.

"Are you worried that Hughe has not yet returned? I admit to being concerned myself. Will he be home in time for the ceremony, do you think?"

"He will be. My son may be many things, Catherine, but he does not give his word lightly. If he promised you that he will be back in time then he will be."

Cat bowed her head. "Of course. I do not doubt it." She returned to her sewing, aware that the eyes of the ladies were on her. All except the dowager's. The stiff old lady was proving to be more difficult to win over than Cat had expected. Even so, she kept trying.

Cat pressed a hand to her stomacher. "I admit that I'm a little anxious now that the wedding is so close."