And the Bride Wore Plaid (23 page)

“That is still too good for him.”

She waved a hand. “What is gone is gone.”

The gesture softened his anger, and he was once again assailed with the desire to hold her. He took her hand in his. “Kat, you are a passionate woman. There is nothing wrong with that.”

She grimaced. “As Malcolm’s mother was quick to point out, I am just like my mother.”

“Then your mother was a joyous, warm person.”

A flicker of emotion crossed over Kat’s face, followed by a deep sigh. “Thank you. At the time, facing Malcolm’s anger and his mother’s bitter disappointment, I felt a fool.”

“You were seventeen and alone.” Devon pulled her closer and kissed her nose. “Listen to me, Kat. You are not a bad person. You are not an evil person. You are not a confused person. You are a strong and beautiful woman. And there is nothing wrong with being passionate with someone you care about.”

“Not everyone sees it that way.”

“So, who are you are going to listen to? Me? Or Malcolm’s bitter mother? And let me point out that I have never lied to you, nor have I asked you to wear fashions that do not complement your gorgeous body.”

Her lips quivered, her tears fading from her eyes. “You are a wretch to make me smile while I’m perfectly happy being miserable.”

“It’s a gift.” He cupped her chin, rubbing his thumb over the softness of her cheek. “There. Do you have anything more to confess? Something of real import?”

“That was important.”

“If that was your only sin, then I feel as if perhaps I should begin making confessions of my own, for my life has not been so lily-white.”

“Oh?”

“I just hope you do not wish me to confess
all
my sins of a passionate nature. I fear my voice would give out before I could cover half of them.”

She fingered the top button of his waistcoat. “Have there been many?”

Before now, Devon would have answered without a twinge of guilt. After all, he had never transgressed the bounds of society. He never philandered with innocents, never compromised a lady’s reputation unless she initiated the event herself, and never ever mentioned names, even when deep in his cups.

But somehow, looking down into Kat’s green eyes, he felt the faintest hint of a blush on his own cheeks. In all his years, Devon didn’t think he’d felt a blush more than two or three times, and all before he was fourteen. “Yes,” he finally said. “There have been that many sins in my life.”

“Hm. And according to what you said about never staying interested more than a few months, there are going to be hundreds, perhaps thousands more.”

Devon didn’t answer. He couldn’t. A deep loneliness gripped him. Was she right? Was he doomed to spend his life wandering from bed to bed, searching for the perfect woman, a woman he was beginning to think didn’t exist?

Of course, Kat was close to his vision of perfection, and coming closer all the time. She was smart, attractive, capable, strong, and passionate ... He frowned. Was she getting closer to his image of perfect or was he merely beginning to mold his image of perfection until it looked like Kat?

Whatever the truth, it didn’t solve the problem of his own fickleness. His own lack of strength in committing. His own tendency to hurt those who came to care for him.

Whatever he did, Devon did not want to harm Kat. She’d suffered enough. So it was with the greatest effort that he stood and pulled her to her feet. “The rain is lessening. It will be over soon.”

A shadow crossed her face. “Does this mean ...” Her gaze lifted to his face. “You don’t wish to be with me now that you know—”

“No! It just means that I don’t want either of us doing anything we might regret. I enjoy your company too much to allow it to turn counterfeit.”

“I see,” she said, disappointment deep in her voice.

He almost laughed. That must be what he looked like every time she pulled away from him. She was simply adorable. So natural and free. And he was beginning to like spending time with her a bit too much. Thank God he was leaving soon.

But the thought brought as much of a twinge of pain as it brought relief. He’d be gone and Kat would be left here, to live her life in the woods while more of Malcolm’s guests came to stay. Perhaps, one day, one of them would realize exactly how special Kat was, and sweep her away. It was as if, in a moment of extreme clarity, Devon could see the future.

Bloody hell. That was exactly what would happen.

“Devon?”

He realized Kat was looking up at him. “Yes?”

She wet her lips, the innocent gesture sending his senses reeling yet again. “Devon, what if I decide that
I
want for us to be closer? What then?”

“Kat, if we were to get closer than we are now, that—”

“You think my heart would be affected.”

He paused. Then nodded. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You think I would fall in love with you if we slept together. That would be my problem and not yours.” She placed her hands on his chest, then tilted her mouth to his and encompassed him in a kiss.

Devon’s manhood stiffened immediately. He could no more resist Kat’s lush body pressed so firmly against his. Her plump breasts were so close, just a waistcoat and a shirt away from his bare chest, her hips held intimately to his.

He was afire, hot and wanting, his thoughts breaking apart, dissolving before the onslaught of her soft mouth, her delicious body.

She broke the kiss, and he realized that he was once again holding her, pulling her to him. Her green eyes sparkled into his, and she said with a definite purr to her voice, “Tomorrow, we finish this.”

He knew in that second that she was right; they would finish it. And for some reason, that thought made his very soul quake.

Mon Dieu!
I awoke to discover that my house had sprung a leak, the cook had quit due to an unfortunate incident involving a chicken liver, and my son had written to say that if I do not provide him with financial assistance forthwith, he will be forced to become the plaything of a certain elderly lady who has no hair and very bad teeth. Remind me not to wake up again
.

Madame Bennoit to her assistant, Pierre, while searching the storerooms for a particular shade of violet muslin to be used for the Countess of Bridgeton’s new ball gown

Fiona opened the door to the green guest chamber and peered around the corner. Breathing a sigh of relief that it was empty, she quietly closed the door behind her and crossed to the window, her skirts whispering over the thick rug.

Once there, she pushed back the curtains and lifted on her tiptoes. She could just make out St. John talking to Kat in the courtyard below.

Fiona’s gaze traveled over Kat, her eyes widening. Poor Katherine had been caught in the sudden storm and was bedraggled and wet. Kat’s habit appeared black and sodden, her hair fell in long strands about her face, a sopping wet scarf trailed water into a puddle behind her. Devon was no better. His breeches were now indecently molded to him, his coat open, his shirt undone. By all accounts, the two should be miserable, but instead, they were laughing.

A pang formed in Fiona’s heart at the sight. They looked so happy, just as she and Malcolm had once been. Her lips quivered at the thought. She had to win the wager with Malcolm. The only thing that could save her marriage was if she could get him away from Kilkairn, back to Edinburgh where they’d been gay and carefree. Once there, she was certain he’d forget about having children, and there’d be no more discord.

Perhaps then he would realize he still loved her, if he did.

Meanwhile, she was going to have to be more underhanded in her methods. She hated that, but it was necessary. Fiona eyed Kat for a long moment, deciding that while the habit looked wondrous on Kat’s generous figure, a ball gown would not be nearly as attractive, with the high waistline and voluminous folds.

Murien was, as usual, quite right. Kat, dressed in a form-fitting habit on a horse, was one thing. Kat in a ballroom was quite another thing altogether. And as much as St. John might enjoy his flirtation, he would not tolerate a companion who could not hold her own in public.

Fiona dropped the curtain just as a voice said in her ear, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Her heart jumped and she fell back, pressing a hand to her pounding heart. “Malcolm! Do not sneak up on me in such a manner! I thought you were St. John’s horrid valet. I vow, but the man frightens me to death.”

Malcolm looked past her to the window. “Hm. Spying on Devon and Kat, were you?”

“No,” she said, her cheeks heating. “I was just here to—to make certain the room was clean.”

Malcolm didn’t look convinced. “What a lovely hostess you are, m’dear. Always worried about the health and welfare of your guests.”

She stiffened. “I do my best, though how anyone can keep a castle clean is beyond me. It’s like scrubbing the earth, all it does is make more mud.”

“How would you know? You’ve never scrubbed a thing in your life.”

“ ‘Tis not my fault. You are the one who brought me here to this horrid damp place.”

“It’s my home, Fiona. I thought we could share that, at least.”

There was a tiredness to his voice that twisted deep into her heart. “Malcolm, I—” She what? She loved him but would not have his children? She adored him, but could not stand the home of his birth?

His gaze met hers, searching, seeking. “Yes, love. What is it?”

“Malcolm, you know I care for you. That I—”

Could she say it? Could she tell him that she loved him dearly, desperately? And if she did, would she lose something because of it?

She looked at Malcolm, at the way he regarded her so seriously. At the curl of his hair over his ears. At the dimple in his chin that she’d kissed so many times. Fiona took a deep breath and said, “Malcolm, I love you. But I do not wish to have children until I know for certain that you will not love me the less. I have to have your promise that it will not be that way.”

He stiffened, as if she’d delivered a blow of some sort. “Fiona, I love you. I think I always will.”

I think
. She needed more than that. More than he seemed capable of giving. “I want us to be the way we used to be, before we came here and everything became so horrid.” She bit her lip, fighting the tears. “I do not wish to live here, in this castle, watching our marriage fade away.”

A flicker of pain crossed his face. “Fiona, we can’t go back. No one can. We can only go forward.”

He was right. Her heart pained, she collected herself as best she could, lifting her chin. “Of course. Forward. We will let our marriage rest on our wager then,” She met his gaze evenly. “You may think you have won, but you have not. Not yet, anyway.”

Malcolm sighed, disappointment evident. “Your sister is looking for you. She’s in the sitting room.”

“I’ll go to her at once.”

“I thought you would.” Malcolm’s sharp gaze rested on Fiona’s face. “Murien mentioned something about a ball.”

Fiona heard the note of accusation. “Yes, I have decided to give a small ball. We never use the ballroom, and I thought we might do so while we have both St. John and Murien here.”

Malcolm’s expression hardened. “I know what you are about, Fiona. I will not let you embarrass Kat.”

“Then she needn’t attend. It will be her decision.”

“I see. You will invite her in such a way that she cannot refuse.”

Fiona nodded, suddenly feeling miserable. She didn’t wish to use Kat in such a way, but Fiona had no choice.

Malcolm looked at her a moment more, then moved past her to the window. “Murien is waiting for you.”

That was it. He’d dismissed her as if she were nothing more than a bothersome chambermaid.

“I—I’ll go at once.”

“Do so.” He lifted up the edge of the curtain, his gaze on Kat and Devon. “I will be down shortly,” he said absently, as if he’d already forgotten Fiona’s existence.

She stood a moment more, waiting for some sign. Some indication from her husband that he cared. But no such reassurance was forthcoming.

After a long, silent moment, she turned on her heel and left the room, and Malcolm, behind her. Disconsolate, she made her way to the sitting room.

Murien whirled on Fiona as soon as she entered. There were lines of tension on Murien’s usually smooth face. “Thank God you have come. I was dying of ennui.”

“Yes, it has been a rather dull day. Perhaps because of the rain.”

“That didn’t keep St. John from going out,” Murien said in a discontented voice. “I don’t understand how he can continue to see Kat. Surely the attraction, if it ever was that, has paled by now. The time has come for us to separate them.”

Fiona sighed at the waspish note in Murien’s voice. She hated it when her sister was out of sorts. Which lately was more oft than not.

“Where is St. John now?” Murien asked. “I am so tired of sitting around, waiting on him to return.”

“He is in the courtyard saying good-bye to Miss Macdonald. It appears they were caught in a rain shower.”

Murien stood and raced to the mirror over the fireplace. “Why didn’t you say so?” She patted her hair. “Come! If we go out on the terrace, we can see them from there.”

“Yes, but—”

“Come along. I can’t go alone.” Murien turned on her heel and swept from the room.

Fiona stared at the empty doorway. She was beginning to believe that her sister was a wee bit selfish. Sighing, she followed Murien down the hall to the library and then out on the terrace.

They had a prime spot to witness Devon’s goodbye to Kat. Though he never touched her, there was something intimate about the way they stood. Watching them, Fiona felt a wrench of jealousy. Why should Kat have what Fiona had been denied?

Murien, meanwhile, was having similar thoughts.

It burned her soul to see a man, any man, that she deemed hers, paying attention to another woman. But there were ways to deal with such inconveniences. A word here, a word there.

More was won by innuendo than by fact. Murien found a smile. “Do not fear, Fiona. I will make certain our dear friend Katherine appears at our wondrous ball.”