Virginia Henley (38 page)

“Permission to speak, milord?” she asked with heavy sarcasm.

“Granted.” He nodded and settled back with a cheroot, exhaling the smoke to mask his expression.

She did not use an accusing tone but decided to set forth the facts as simply and quietly as she could.

“The same night you left me, I was frightened out of my sleep. I discovered my husband and his friend raping Terry. I shot my husband through the head. It was an accident, of course, but even so took a great deal of explaining on my part. I went to London after the funeral, hoping you’d been delayed. I met Charles there. He was kind and compassionate and asked me to marry him. The idea of marrying any but you was unthinkable, even when I discovered that you had gone away and left me with child. My one thought and desire was to reach you as soon as possible. Some notion of honor kept me from wanting to be the mother of a bastard. Your
whore shackled me to a black man and sold me to the slave trader. I was resold to a brothel in the islands, but before I could be delivered, Charles rescued me. I stood before Charles in this shift, my belly distended with your child, and he took me to his heart and cherished me.” She handed him the parcel and tore it open for him. He pulled out the orange rag caked with dirt and encrusted blood. Instead of recoiling from it, he held it to his cheek and said, “Forgive me.”

“You are probably right. Most of the blame is mine. Damn if I cry, I’m undone,” she said, dashing away her tears. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

“Please, I insist, let me be the villain,” he said and smiled.

“A bloody role that suits you down to the ground!” she cried, snatching the hanky from him and blowing her nose.

“Darling Kitty, we’ve hurled accusations at each other, spat out our hatred and venom, and after all the blood and tears, it still boils down to one thing: You’re mine, and I want you!”

“Patrick, it’s too late for that,” she said wearily.

“Listen to me, kitten. I’ve murdered for you. Killing brutalizes a man and reduces his quality. I’ll stop at nothing to have you. Besides, it’s clear you want me too.”

“Patrick, you must listen to me. The only reason I came here tonight was because Julia said you might invest the money from the mills in slaves. I came to beg you to have nothing to do with slavery. I don’t want you to destroy your soul.”

“Julia’s a bitch! She lies to amuse herself. Besides, America is on the threshold of a civil war. Mr. Lincoln will put an end to slavery.” He began to undo the buttons on her pelisse.

“Don’t do that, Patrick. I’m not staying.”

She put her hands out to stop him and felt the knotted muscles in his arms quiver. His voice roughened with desire
as his lips found her neck. “You don’t think I’m going to let you go, do you?”

As the old remembered tingling sensations started, she panicked and tried to pull away. She managed the top half, but his strong hands slid quickly to her buttocks and pressed her into his thighs. She could feel him hard and ready. As he bent his head to take her lips, he was shocked to see the look of fear in her eyes.

“I’m frightening you,” he said, and reluctantly withdrew his arms.

“Patrick, you’re so strong, I know you can force me, but I didn’t come here so you could make love to me tonight.”

“I don’t want you just for tonight; I want you every night and I want my son. I want you to come away and live with me. It’s love, not lust I feel for you, Kitty. Why are you afraid of me?”

“You have such dangerous weapons you can use against me. I can’t leave Charles and come to you. He’s such a fine person and he’s been so good to me. He dotes on Charles Patrick; it would kill him to deprive him of the boy. I couldn’t be that cruel.”

“Believe me, kitten, you are quite capable of cruelty,” he said pointedly.

“Patrick, I love you with all my heart and soul, and I’m so guilty about it, but I never could leave Charles.”

A look of triumph came into his eyes. He tipped up her chin with his fingers. “I’m content for now. You’d better leave; you’re completely aware of how much you arouse me, and I’ll curse myself for a fool the moment you’re through that doorway.” The next morning she received a basket of tiger lilies. The card read: Somewhere, Somehow, Someway, Someday!

Kitty had trouble sleeping. She tossed and turned, banishing dark night thoughts. Her nerves seemed to be on edge to a point where she wanted to scream. There were nights when she was so jumpy her skin felt too tight for her body. At social functions, she spent more time in the card room than on the dance floor. Gambling was becoming an obsession with her. Charles was wise enough to realize that things usually ran their course before they stopped, but he did keep an eye on her. They were having what appeared to be a cozy afternoon tea together when Charles Patrick fell from the last two stairs.

“Take those damned things off immediately!” shouted Kitty.

“Whatever’s wrong, sweetheart?” asked Charles, who’d never heard her raise her voice to the child before.

“He’s always got those damned riding boots of yours on. It’s the third time he’s fallen down the stairs this week. If you fall down one more time, those damned boots go on the back of the fire! All he ever talks about is the horse you’ve promised. He’ll break his neck!”

“Charlie, go upstairs and take the boots off. I’ll try to coax Mummy out of her bad mood. Now what is it, Kathleen? Come and talk to me—we’ve always talked things out before. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I’ve been gambling and losing. I lost those lovely earrings you bought me, and worse still, I came within a hairs-breadth of losing that country cottage in Kent you gave me last month, and I haven’t even seen it yet. I don’t like myself
very much these days, Charles. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

“I do,” he said simply. He patted the couch beside him. Slowly she went to him and sat down. He put his arm about her and hugged her reassuringly. “You’re young and beautiful and bursting with life. You’re not being fulfilled and it’s making you restless.”

“I don’t understand, Charles. What do you mean?”

“You’re young and I’m not. I can’t satisfy you in bed. The fires of my blood have died out, but yours are just beginning to burn. No, don’t look so shocked, darling, it’s perfectly true. I’m a realist and I knew it would happen one day. You need a lover. I’m not so selfish as to deny you such diversion. I only ask that you be discreet.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Do you mean you wouldn’t mind?”

“I shall mind like the very devil, so be sure to keep me in ignorance.”

“Oh, Charles, you can always make me laugh.”

“And a good thing, too. You were sulky as a bear with a sore arse. That child probably is crying his eyes out upstairs,” he teased.

“You lie through your teeth. You know I can’t dampen his high spirits.”

Her words were punctuated by a loud clatter. She ran to pick her son up, and he protested, “It isn’t the riding boots, Mummy, it’s that damned beeswax the bloody servants keep polishing the stairs with.”

“He has a salty vocabulary for someone who hasn’t reached his third birthday. Speaking of birthdays, you’re about to celebrate one shortly. Why don’t we give a costume ball?”

*   *   *

Kitty was wise enough to take the suggestion her chef offered for the buffet-style supper. Charles had refused all blandishments to get him to wear a costume. He wore his dark evening clothes and told Kitty, “If anyone objects, you can tell them I’m supposed to be Beau Brummell.”

Most of the ladies went all out with rather grand costumes. There were many Marie Antoinettes, and many medieval ladies, each one in a steeple headdress. Julia, resplendent in red wig, made a magnificent Elizabeth and contrasted well with Kitty’s authentic Gypsy dress. Everyone wore masks, so it took a few minutes to recognize some people. Kitty was surprised to find the man in the common seaman’s striped jersey was none other than the Prime Minister. She winked at him. “Always predicted you would amount to nothing—glad to see you’ve fallen far below my expectations.”

Charles found her sparring with Julia. “You are audacious to dress as a Gypsy girl, Kitty. I think it’s demeaning to the duke.”

Kitty laughed as she tipped back her third glass of champagne. “Careful what you eat, Julia; we cooked one or two hedgehogs this morning.”

“It’s midnight and there’s no sign of anyone leaving. I think it’s been an unqualified success, darling,” said Charles.

“The masks definitely allow people to have more fun. Everyone still will be here at breakfast time,” she said happily.

“I think I’ll go up now. I’ll slip away quietly so people won’t get the idea we want them to leave,” he said.

“There’s no fear of that. This lot will see the dawn arrive. Why don’t you open up a card room?” she suggested.

“Wouldn’t be able to fill it. Too much competition from that moonlit garden. I won’t spoil your party with cards, I’m off to bed. Enjoy yourself, darling.”

“I’ll come up with you for a moment. They wouldn’t miss me if I disappeared altogether,” she said and laughed. “Are
you sure you wouldn’t like me to stay with you?” she asked him.

“Kathleen, I’m very sure. I’m going to have a brandy and a cigar. You get back to the rabble and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She closed the door on the peaceful scene, and before she reached the staircase, the great noise of the party came up to meet her. Steadying herself with the banister, she warned herself not to have any more champagne and descended the stairs. The French doors to the garden stood open invitingly. A tall, masked figure slipped his arm about her and drew her into the night. She turned her face up to him with a polite refusal on her lips, but before she could utter a word his mouth was upon hers demanding a response.

“Patrick, whatever are you doing?” she gasped breathlessly.

“Abducting you, darling,” he whispered deliciously against her ear.

She pulled back reluctantly, so he quickly lifted her into his arms and strode off into the darkness.

“What are you going to do?” she cried.

“You know,” he promised softly.

“Put me down immediately or I’ll scream my head off,” she threatened.

He chuckled and said, “You can scream bloody murder, and who will attend?”

“Why are you doing this?” she cried.

He murmured softly, “Because you tempt me and I cannot resist.”

His carriage was in darkness, but it had a driver waiting. In spite of her struggles, he lifted her inside with amazingly gentle hands.

“I can’t just leave my own party. I’ll be missed! They’ll call the police.”

“Your guests will think you are upstairs and Charles will think you are downstairs. I’ll return you in the morning, and none will be the wiser.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” she demanded angrily.

He easily lifted her against him. “Come to me, darling, while I explain.”

Her skirt and petticoats twisted behind her and she was trapped against him in a reclining position.

“Tonight was a fantasy for you, pretending to be that little Gypsy we both knew, wild and free. I’m completing the daydream where your secret lover comes to steal you away and carry you off.”

She could feel his manhood throbbing through the thin material that covered her thighs. Her senses were being aroused against her will. His voice was coaxing and persuasive. “I’ll make a bargain with you. Give me one last time, sweetheart, and I give you my oath I’ll never bother you again.”

She was being swayed against her better judgment, but his word was his bond and she knew he would keep it once he had pledged himself.

“Patrick, let me breathe. I can’t think coherently when you are touching me.”

“You have the same effect on me, kitten; like heady wine!”

He allowed her to sit up. She immediately missed his warmth and shivered. Wisely he kept his distance. She moved toward him of her own free will. “I’m cold,” she said shyly.

He took his cloak from the opposite seat and wrapped her tightly. The carriage stopped and he jumped out and lifted her down.

“You are a devil to bring me here,” she protested when she saw they were at his house in Half-Moon Street. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and said, “Then
that’s another fantasy you can fulfill—bargaining with the devil for your soul,” he said and laughed.

“It’s the height of arrogance to bring me here for a tryst,” she said with more anger than she really felt.

He set her down on a velvet couch while he lit the gaslight. The light flickered up across his face, so incredibly handsome she had almost forgotten its powerful attraction. “Stay with me tonight, love. Don’t leave,” he begged seriously.

In a far-off corner of her mind she realized it was hopeless to oppose him. He always had his way. “He has hypnotized me,” she thought wildly, then ruefully admitted the strong attraction she felt for him was love inevitable. To be here alone together was paradise. He touched her hair and it curled possessively about his fingers.

“Let me make love to you tonight, so we’ll always remember. Let me play with you. I’ll start with your fingertips and stop at your toes,” he said, pressing quick kisses into the palm of her hand. He kissed the silky flesh on the inside of her arm. “Be generous with me, sweet; you know I’m madly in love with you.” He found her lips and kissed her deeply. His hand caressed her breast. “Chamade,” he whispered hoarsely, “the heart wildly beating in surrender.” Very gently he undressed her, kissing each part as it was uncovered to him.