Читать книгу Regency Vows - Kasey Michaels, Alison DeLaine - Страница 47

CHAPTER FORTY

“YOU MUSTN’T BE angry with me,” Honoria said as she swept into Katherine’s dressing room, which Katherine knew could only mean she would be angry with Honoria the moment she spilled whatever news had pruned those barely painted lips. “La—is that your costume?” Honoria stopped short, staring at the bed.

There was a certain satisfaction in answering, “Yes.”

“It’s...” Honoria shifted wide eyes from the costume to Katherine’s face. “Quite daring.”

“You disapprove?”

“Not at all.” Honoria went to finger the flesh-colored breeches. “I am undone with envy, in fact.”

“Ridiculous. Your costume is fabulous.” But Honoria hadn’t come here to discuss the masquerade. That much was clear, and it was a good bet what Honoria did want to discuss.

Honoria turned her back on the costume, and Katherine held her breath. “Katherine, I’ve been to Croston— No, do not be angry. James is my brother, after all.”

It was the one drawback of their friendship. “I am sorry for your misfortune, but in this case I do not wish to be company for your misery.”

“I’m worried about him, Katherine.”

Honoria’s tone gave her pause. She ignored it. “Your worry is wasted. He may not be accustomed to losing, but you may rest assured he knows from experience that underhanded battle tactics do not always succeed.”

“It isn’t like James to be underhanded,” Honoria said quietly. She took Katherine’s hand and squeezed it. “I can’t condone what he’s done—he was a fool, and nothing less. If he wasn’t my brother, I might even say he’s done the unforgivable. But, Katherine, I’ve never seen him like this.”

Like what? “If he appears to be suffering, you’ve come to the wrong person with your concern.” But her mind conjured up all sorts of imaginings of the state James might be in. She tried to feel pleased.

“Hear me out. Please.” Her gravity was a little alarming. Katherine tried to ignore it. “He’d been drinking when I arrived. It was only one o’clock.”

“Hardly uncommon, and hardly cause for worry.” Though not like James, but she hardly cared.

“He was half-drunk, Katherine. Rumpled clothes, unshaved, hair a mess—he was reading a treatise about pigeons, Katherine. Pigeons!”

“In other words, he is enjoying the retirement he’s been speaking of since he first came aboard my ship. Honoria—”

“No. You don’t understand. There was a quality in his eyes, Katherine. I’ve never seen it before.” Her voice faltered, and Katherine looked hard for any sign Honoria was putting on a performance. “It was as if he didn’t care whether he lives or dies,” Honoria said with difficulty. “Katherine, you must do something. If not for him, for me. I’ve already lost one brother—I don’t think I could stand to lose another.”

Now she was being melodramatic, but it would have been cruel to say so.

“I realize how much I’m asking,” Honoria added. “And that he’s been a complete, utter ass. I told him as much.”

“Yes, he has. He stole my inheritance, Honoria. He lied to me, betrayed me—”

“I know, I know—”

“—after everything he knew, everything I told him! I trusted him.”

“He loves you, Katherine— No, don’t scoff. Please. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

“If he loved me—”

“I know, I know. He never would have done any of this. But Katherine, this is James. You know as well as I how he’s accustomed to thinking. Orders, commands—if he could have commanded you to marry him, I am convinced he would have. Because he loves you, and he doesn’t know any other way.”

* * *

IF HE LOVED her, he would have found another way, Katherine fumed on the way to the masquerade. Such as telling her he loved her, which he’d never done—not when she’d agreed to marry him, not after their wedding, and not when she’d confronted him with his treachery.

Lord and Lady Pollard’s grand masquerade was a glittering sensation, a mass of fabulously costumed people swirling through an endless ballroom beneath painted ceilings and sparkling chandeliers. Dancing, laughter, drinking, gaiety—all of it closed in around Katherine while she tried in vain to forget what Honoria had told her.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Katherine caressed the handle of her cutlass, which for once hung prominently at her side. I won’t draw on you, Katherine. Coward. If he truly respected her, they would have met on the field for what he did.

Let him waste away at Croston. Tonight she felt powerful. Beneath her tricorne hat, her hair hung in loose, shining curls to her waist. Madame Bouchard had altered Grandfather’s old coat so that it hugged her curves. She’d let it hang open in front, revealing a corset and breeches in soft beige that gave the perfect illusion of nudity.

“There isn’t a man here who’s taken his eyes off you all evening,” Honoria said under her breath, giving the white drape of toga across her breasts a little tug—downward. “I ought to send you home.”

“If your toga dips any lower,” she said to Honoria, “you’ll have the attention of every man and woman when your female charms go on public display.”

“I would never allow such a thing to happen.” Beneath her ivy-edged mask, a wicked smile curved Honoria’s lips. “At least, not in front of the entire party.”

Phil, barely concealed in a patterned tunic that was supposed to make her look like an Egyptian goddess, made a noise.

An ill-concealed Duke of Winston ducked through the crowd and joined them. “You look magnificent tonight,” he said to Katherine from behind a sleek black mask. “Positively terrifying—and damned tempting.”

“How impolite to imply that you’ve guessed my identity, Your Grace,” she scolded.

A sparkling white grin appeared below the mask. “My apologies, Madam Pirate. And may I add, I have a great deal of respect for your costume accessories.”

“Perhaps a chain mail tunic should have been your choice for the evening,” Phil told him.

He laughed. “Chain mail is much too tedious for the kind of unexpected situations one finds oneself in at these events.” Even as he spoke, he surveyed the crowd with a glint in his eye.

“Searching for prey, Your Grace?” Katherine asked. He was tiring of their arrangement. So was she, but for entirely different reasons. Her gaze strayed toward the entrance, and she yanked it back. James would not be here tonight, nor did she want him to be.

Above the mask, Winston’s dark brow rose with interest as he returned his attention to her. “Why would I search for prey when I have such a delectable morsel right here at my side? Perhaps you and I could find a secluded alcove and—”

“And nothing,” Honoria snapped. “This has already gone too far.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Katherine said, eyeing Winston. “It might be an enjoyable distraction to cut someone to ribbons this evening.”

The brow disappeared. “Naturally,” he drawled. “Very well, then. No secluded alcove. A dance, perhaps?”

She didn’t want a dance any more than she wanted an alcove—unless both were with James. But that was folly, so she let Winston guide her into the crowd. They took their places in a line of couples that seemed to stretch for a mile. Music filled the room, and she turned with him, stepped aside, stepped together.

Her heart began to ache. He loves you, Katherine.

No. He’d tricked her. Lied to her. Stolen the freedom she could have had.

Step, turn, change partners. She took the hand of a man dressed as Henry VIII.

James knew what freedom meant to her. He knew she valued it above anything, that she would give it up for nothing.

Step, turn, duck, and she was back with Winston.

He knew.

A fledgling realization tumbled through her mind, and she faltered the next step. Winston righted her, and she kept on.

Turn, duck, turn.

He knew.

They turned again, but this time she missed a step because the couples were suddenly moving the wrong direction. She reached to the side to grasp the gentleman’s hand for the next sequence, but nobody was there. The couples had scattered. It took a moment to realize what was happening as the crowd backed away and one by one down the line couples stopped dancing.

A second pirate had joined the masquerade.

A burgundy tunic hung casually over broad shoulders and a solid chest. A length of black linen covered his head and was tied in the back, letting dark waves shot through with silver peek out below. Gold hoops flashed at his ears, and loose, black linen trousers flowed around his legs.

A Royal Navy officer’s sword gleamed at his side.

Winston raised a brow at her and melted into the crowd. Silence descended over the ballroom in a wave that radiated from the center outward. And then a great murmur went up. The same word was on everyone’s lips.

Croston.

He watched her with ruthless green eyes. There was barely a moment to savor the joy that leaped in her pulse before his hand went to his side and, with a smooth shink of metal, he drew on her.

A collective gasp went up through the crowd.

With lightning instinct she matched his motion, and in a heartbeat they faced each other, sabre to sabre.

His stoic expression revealed nothing. Through the corner of her eye she could see people retreating, backing up into each other, at once escaping and giving them room. But her entire focus homed in on his blade.

Whatever this spectacle of a marriage was to become, it would become it right here, right now.

He lunged. She parried. Metal clanged against metal. He circled around, stalking her like a lion hunts its prey. She lunged this time.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Bastard. Liar. Wretch.

She drove him back, back, nearly into the crowd before he regained the advantage. She whirled then and met metal with metal. He held nothing back and soon she forgot all about the crowd. All of her rage at his betrayal exploded to the surface.

There was a sharp sting when his blade nicked her shoulder. A clean bite when her blade sliced his arm.

“Good God, they’ve drawn blood!” someone shouted.

Her breath came fast and hard.

How dare he withhold the committee’s decision from her.

Clang!

Let her marry him believing she had no choice.

Clang! Clang!

They turned. She sidestepped. Parried. Thrust. Lunged—

Froze.

With shock, she realized the point of her blade rested at the hollow of his throat. And the point of his rested at the hollow of hers.

Stalemate.

The ballroom was deathly silent. The stench of perfumes and powders filled her nostrils.

She stared at him. The rise and fall of her breath pressed the point of his blade into her skin. A bead of perspiration trickled down the side of his cheek. His hand was steady, his lips hard. He faced her as an equal now, and her heart pounded as she held his gaze, waiting. Waiting.

He was so beautiful her heart hurt.

I love him. The words leaped from her aching heart into her thoughts, an unexpected jab and parry. God help me, I still love—

He moved suddenly, and with a quick flick of his wrist he knocked her sword out of her hand. It clattered to the floor.

A deafening cheer went up from the crowd and there was barely time to realize what was happening before James had sheathed his sword. Fresh anger welled up. He had seen her distraction and taken the advantage. He stepped forward, taking hold of her arm.

“Unhand me.” The commotion made her command nearly inaudible.

“I don’t think I will.” Instead of letting go, he lifted her into his arms.

“Put me down! Wait— No!” He lifted her higher, up and over his shoulder, tossing her like a sack of flour so that her hat dropped to the floor amid feminine shrieks and gasps that were audible even among the commotion. “Put me down!” She grabbed the hem of his tunic and thumped her fist against his back. “I shall kill you in your sleep if you don’t put me down this instant!”

His reply was impossible to make out, but his unconcerned tone reached her perfectly. Already they were halfway through the ballroom, headed toward the doorway as the crowd closed in behind them. Then they were outside in the damp darkness. She fought and struggled, but his arms held her fast as mooring lines.

Even as people spilled out of the doorway he forced her into his waiting coach, somehow managing not to bang her head against the side. And then the door slammed shut and the coach lurched forward.

“Devil take you, James!” She pushed against him, but he held her fast by his side. “I swear on my life, if you don’t release me right now I will consult an apothecary, and you won’t like the result!”

He was still breathing hard from their fight. “If you still wish to murder me after I’ve had my say, I invite you to try.”

“Where are you taking me?”

He looked at her—inches away from her face—and smiled a little. “I’ve ordered the coachman to take a detour through the countryside.”

“You’ve gone mad.”

“No.” With his torn shirt and his earrings glinting in the darkness, he looked exactly like the fearsome corsair he portrayed. “I’m in love with you.”

She stared at him. Every emotion she’d spent the past week fighting tooth and nail threatened to overcome her. Whatever she’d thought he might say, this was not it.

“I don’t believe you.” She didn’t dare believe him. She knew better. “You knew what Dunscore meant to me. You knew how I valued my freedom.”

“I did.”

And that, she’d realized in the ballroom, was exactly why he’d done it. Because he feared he’d never win her without taking her.

She pushed away from him. “Let me out of the coach.”

“Damn you, Katherine.” In the dim light she could see the frustration in his eyes. The pain. “I’m asking your forgiveness.”

“No—damn you, James. You say you love me, but you—” her voice caught “—all you want is to own me. Possess me.”

He trapped her face in his hands. “You’re damned right I want to possess you,” he said harshly, so close she could feel his breath against her lips. “For Christ’s sake—you possess me, Katherine. Down to my very last drop of blood. You own me, body and soul. You want to know why I did what I did? That is why. Because I love you, and I don’t want to live without you, and I knew that given the chance you would turn away from me and never look back.” His voice tore. “And now I will never know if by some bloody miracle you might have chosen me, anyway.”

He was such a fool. “I chose you days ago. Weeks ago.” She paused. “I love you.” She practically spat the words.

His hands tightened. “Katherine—”

“But I can’t surrender. I can’t.”

“I don’t want your surrender,” he said roughly. “I want your choice.”

Her heart ached as if it should be mangled and dead, but it pounded fiercely with life.

Her choice. His feelings were unmistakable, and yet—

“A ship can only have one captain,” she said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

He searched her eyes. “Then I shall be your captain,” he said, smoothing his thumbs across her face, “and you shall be mine.” The raw hope in his voice said more than he ever could have—this man who had once nearly killed her and then appointed himself her savior, and failed at both. This man, who made her senses come alive and made her hope again, who made her daughter find the happy things.

“I love you, James.” A great weight lifted off her heart as she spoke the words.

Her name exhaled from him as he pulled her into his arms and held her as if she were the only thing keeping him alive.

She closed her eyes and let herself relax in his embrace.

* * * * *