Virginia Henley (51 page)

Her hands were trembling as she set the incriminating document aside and put all the other papers back into the strongbox. Then she returned the strongbox to the top of the tall chest and removed the footstool. She took the paper and her dagger back to her bedchamber and set them on her dressing table. Cat looked into the mirror and examined her reflection dispassionately.

How strange that I look exactly the same on the outside, when inside I am completely changed.
Then she looked into the eyes that stared back at her.
No, I don’t look the same, after all.
Gone was the shining, naïve innocence. In its place glittered the age-old wisdom of Eve.

Catherine called for a bath. She poured herself a goblet of wine and sipped it slowly as she lay in the warm, perfumed water. An hour later, she opened her wardrobe and deliberately selected her most flattering gown, a pale peach velvet, whose sleeves were slashed with vibrant emerald green. She sat down at her dressing table to fashion her freshly washed hair into a cascade of shining black curls, held in place by a peach-colored ribbon. Then she adorned herself with the emerald earrings Hepburn had given her.

She heard the echo of Margretha’s words:
Don’t expect your devoted husband to return tonight.
Catherine smiled knowingly into the mirror. The enticement of the slim, seductive lady-in-waiting paled into insignificance when measured against the irresistible lure that awaited him here. Spencer Park was the object of Hepburn’s undying passion. Gretha didn’t stand a chance of keeping him in London.

Twilight was deepening into darkness by the time Patrick arrived home. He stabled Valiant and praised the grooms for the excellent job they’d done cleaning the stalls used by the royal party. His irritation at the slow pace of the day’s travel dropped away from him as he walked toward the house. The lit windows of the stately mansion welcomed him, and a sense of well-being filled his soul. Hepburn marveled at his good fortune. Spencer Park was like a gift from the gods.

Though he was hungry, he curbed his impulse to go to the kitchens, hoping that Catherine was awaiting his return so that they could eat dinner together. The nightly ritual in the privacy of their bedchamber had become such a pleasurable interlude that his anticipation mounted with every step as he climbed the stairs.

He walked into the room and paused at the vision before him. His wife, bathed in candlelight, was the loveliest female he had ever seen. “Cat, your beauty takes my breath away.”

“I hope so,” she murmured softly.

He threw off his doublet and crossed the room with the intention of taking her in his arms. Instead, he took the tankard of ale she thrust into his hands. He grinned as his glance slid over the bed with its covers turned down so invitingly. “You fulfill all my needs. I hope you didn’t eat yet. I’m ravenous.”

“You have a rapacious appetite for all things—not just food.”

“You know me so well,” he said with a wicked leer.

“I thought I did, but my curiosity about you is insatiable. I have many unanswered questions.”

“My greatest desire is to satisfy you. Ask away, my beauty.”

“Did Margretha manage to catch up with you this morning?”

Her question took him off guard for a moment, but it awakened his natural instinct to be wary. “Margretha?”

“She deliberately stayed behind so she could have the pleasure of taunting me about you.”

“Sweetheart, Gretha means nothing to me!” he vowed.

Cat laughed prettily. “Oh, I know that compared with what you have now, she means less than nothing. And Gretha knows it too.”

“Exactly. Why else would she try to hurt you with her desperate lies? What did she tell you?” he demanded.

“She couldn’t tell me anything about your relationship that I hadn’t already guessed. In spite of her claiming to be your mistress, I know it was a casual affair. You simply took what she so freely offered. Then you met me and it was all over.”

“It was over long before we met, Catherine.”

She saw him reach out to touch her cheek and stepped back. “She deliberately intended to hurt me with the things she said. I wanted to show her that her words could not wound me, so I told her she was deceiving herself; that you were in love with me.”

“Sweetheart—”

Catherine held up her hand to stop his words. “She told me that I was the one who had been deceived. Margretha claimed you did not marry me for love, but for money.”

“Cat, you know that is untrue!”

“She said that Anne told her King James had pledged to give you your choice of any English heiress you desired.”

“That’s a damned lie!” he growled.

Her eyes glittered triumphantly. “I knew you would deny such a foul accusation, Patrick.”

He stepped forward to take her in his arms, but with a feline movement she eluded him. Silently, she picked up the document from her dressing table and handed it to him.

He saw the royal seals and immediately knew what it was. An obscenity fell from his lips. He silently cursed himself for not burning the evidence once they were safely married. Yet he knew full well why he hadn’t. The agreement promised him an earldom that hadn’t yet materialized. Hepburn took the offensive; he knew no other way to fight a battle. He flung down the document. “You opened my strongbox!” he accused. “You went through my private papers!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “You broke a sacred trust.”

Cat snatched up her dagger and plunged it into his hand, which gripped her shoulder so powerfully.

Stunned that she would do such a thing, he released her instantly and stared down at the blood that flowed from his hand. “You stabbed me,” he said with disbelief.

“That wound is nothing beside the one you have inflicted upon me, Hepburn,” she snarled through bared teeth. “To learn,
from your whore,
that your towering passion was for Spencer Park and not me was such a cruel blow, it shattered my heart.”

He snatched up a bed pillow, ripped off the pillowcase and tore it into linen strips. He bound his hand tightly and tied the bandage with his teeth. Then he grabbed the dagger from her hand and flung it across the room. It embedded itself in the doorframe that opened into the adjoining chamber.

“You are uncivilized!”

“That makes two of us, Hellcat.”

She snatched up the incriminating paper and waved it in his face. “You made a deal with the Devil. Nay, I’m wrong. It was Jamie Stuart who made a deal with the Devil! What did you promise him in return? The document is purposely worded vaguely:
for services rendered to the king’s satisfaction.
What were those services, Hepburn? Something unholy connected to his obtaining the throne of England, I suspect!”

“Your suspicions are wrong, Catherine,” he lied smoothly. “The service I rendered was finding a man whom James could trust to carry private letters to Elizabeth. That man was Robert Carey.”

Her eyes widened as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. “You lured him with promises of gain. Robert and Liz’s royal appointments are rewards
for services rendered.
And Spencer Park is your reward. How bloody naïve I was!”

Patrick heard the bitter regret in her voice and tried to dispel it. “I understand how this document condemns me in your eyes, but don’t you see that the words
any English heiress of your choice
should absolve me? Catherine, I chose
you
! I had my choice of
any
and I chose
you.
”

“I see quite clearly. You chose me, an heiress to vast landholdings in both England and Scotland, because I was tailor-made for your devious scheme.” Her eyes glittered with contempt. “Jamie also promises you an earldom. Can you deny that the earldom you have in mind is Winton?”

Hepburn’s jaw set. “You are my wife, Catherine, and nothing you can say or do can alter the fact.”

“Oh, I am painfully aware of all the legalities of this unholy union. A wife’s property becomes her husband’s once the marriage is consummated, and you certainly made sure that it was well consummated. Spencer Park is yours, and there is naught I can do about it. But I’ll be double damned if I will let you have your cake and eat it too. I wish you joy of your ill-gotten gains, but you’ll enjoy them alone. I will never again live with you as your wife, Hepburn.”

The words she threw at him challenged his manhood. The need to bend her to his will rose up in him. In her raging fury, with her eyes glittering like golden fire and her luscious breasts rising and falling with every breath, she had never been more sexually alluring. Anger and desire mingled, driving him nearly to madness. He wanted to throw her on the bed, mount her and ride her until she yielded everything to him and admitted that she loved him with every fiber of her being. He took a threatening step toward her.

The thought did not deter him. It was pride that stopped him. His towering pride would not allow him to be intimate with a woman who was not eager for his passion.

“Geordie will have to die before you become the Earl of Winton,” she spat. “Are you plotting his early demise?”

Hepburn clenched his fists, fighting to master the violence her accusation provoked. “If any other man or woman dared to utter such words to me, I would knock them down.”

“Such control,” she mocked. Then her anger dropped away and was replaced by an attitude of cool indifference. Slowly, deliberately, she removed the emerald earrings. “I once said that I wanted to get you out of my system.” She slipped his rings from her finger. “With your help, I have finally achieved my goal.” She laid the jewelry on top of the royal document. “In the morning I shall pack my things and leave you alone with your beloved, Spencer Park. I bid you good night, Lord Stewart.”

Cat made her way to Maggie’s chamber and slipped inside without knocking. “I’m sorry to disturb you. May I sleep here tonight?”

“I heard ye shouting at each other and kept my distance. What is amiss between ye, my lamb?”

“Nothing!” Cat shook her head. “Everything! You are the only one who ever loved me, Maggie.”

“What nonsense. Yer husband loves ye to distraction.”

“You are confusing love with lust, just as I did. Patrick Hepburn only married me for the landholdings I would bring him.”

Maggie knew better than to argue. Catherine was too impetuous for her own good. In the morning, she was sure that the newlyweds would regret their lovers’ quarrel and all would be forgiven. “Let me help ye with yer gown. Then I’ll give ye a glass of whisky to comfort ye and drown yer sorrows.”

It was Patrick’s turn to pace the bedchamber. He stormed back and forth like a caged beast, trying to control the urge to drag his wife back to their room, throw her over his knee and tan her arse until she came to her senses. He caught a glimpse of his dark furious face in the mirror and realized that he must not lay a hand on her until his temper had cooled. Catherine was right, he acknowledged; at the moment he
was
uncivilized. He strode into the adjoining chamber and lifted down his strongbox from the tall chest. He ignored the throbbing in his hand as he opened the lid and stared down at the papers he’d put there for safekeeping.

“The bitch! I’d like to wring her neck.” He was not speaking of Catherine, of course. He was speaking of Margretha and wondered what it was that prompted one female to poison another with such deadly venom.

Hepburn cursed James Stuart.
Why the hell did he have to blab our agreement to Anne? Surely Jamie knows a woman is incapable of keeping a secret. Once the queen knew I’d been promised an heiress, she couldn’t wait to share the amusing gossip with her ladies. Women love to see men shackled in wedlock!
He booted the footstool across the chamber and carried his strongbox into the other room.

Patrick sorted through the papers and saw the contract he and Geordie Seton had drawn up.
That was the day I had my first vision of Catherine. She enchanted me before I even knew who she was. Then, when I finally met her in Richmond, I knew I wanted her for my wife that first day.

“I was attracted to her long before I knew she was an heiress. Then, in Scotland, the day we rode with the wild horses, I showed her how much I loved her.”

“I proposed marriage to her last November,” he insisted righteously, as he stabbed his fingers through his hair.

“What the devil is wrong with marrying a woman of property so long as I treat her well and make her a decent husband?”

He strode to her dressing table to retrieve the damnable document that had caused such horrendous trouble between them. Her emerald earrings and betrothal ring lay on top of the folded parchment. He picked them up and weighed them in his hand before reluctantly putting them in the strongbox along with the accursed agreement. He stared at himself in the mirror for long moments.

“Well, Hepburn, the honeymoon is over.” He laughed without mirth.
Catherine is convinced that my desire for her landholdings is greater than my desire for her, and at the moment nothing will convince her otherwise.

Patrick knew it was impossible for him to remain at Spencer Park. His pride was too great to allow his wife to pack and leave her own property. He had no intention of relinquishing his ownership, of course, to either his property or his woman. He would return to Scotland. Catherine would soon mourn his absence. He was in her blood. He was convinced that she could not exist long without him. When she begged him to return, he would do so.