Anita Mills (8 page)

“There …there … of course you have,” he murmured soothingly, holding her. “But—”

“First we were beset by robbers, then he was shot—and he bled so much—” She looked down to where her stained gown clung in indecent invitation against her breasts. Crossing her arms to cover herself, she went on. “And we—Jem and I—thought he would die of it. We took him to an inn, that a doctor could be summoned, and it was terrible. I assisted while the ball was removed. Then this morning, there was the magistrate we fled, and now the wheel is broken—Charles, I am at the end of my wits!”

“Of course you are, but—”

“He’s wounded badly. The ball’s out, but it will take him weeks to recover, and—” She had to catch her breath momentarily. “Can he stay here until he can be moved?” she finished quickly.

“Here? Kitty, I don’t … Mama …” Then, perceiving the appeal in her eyes, he protested, “Dash it, but what am I to say to her? If she don’t get the story of me, she’ll pry it out of him!” With one arm still holding her, he reached with his free hand to brush back his hair distractedly. “Kitty, abduction’s a crime!”

Jack lurched into the doorway. “A very affecting reunion, I am sure,” he muttered thickly, weaving. “But I need water and …”

“Egad!”

Both of them lunged to catch him before he lost his balance and fell. Sturbridge shoved a shoulder beneath his arm, trying to brace his greater weight. Kitty slid both arms around his waist and held on. Jack caught her, returning her embrace with his good arm, then leaned like dead weight.

“Got to get him inside—lay him down—” the viscount decided. “Cannot take him to Mama—she’ll have you in Newgate over this, Kitty.” He adjusted his weight beneath Jack’s. “Here—I’ve got him—too heavy for you by half.” Twisting his head sideways, he asked him, “Can you walk between us, do you think? Put you in m’rig.”

“Yes.”

They walked him, Kitty supporting more than her share due to a propensity on his part for leaning to her side. “Ain’t got but two seats,” Sturbridge recalled. “Have to ride on the groom’s shelf, Kitty. Tell you what—take him to the crofter’s cottage—the Kerrs is moved out and it ain’t let yet.”

“There are times, Charles Trevor, when I could kiss you!” Kitty breathed, relieved.

“Servant,” he murmured, reaching for the side of the tilbury. “Can you step up?” he asked Haverhill. “I can push.”

“Yes.” Jack caught the side bar with his hand and, taking a deep breath, swung shakily up. Sturbridge threw his weight beneath him, effectively pushing him into one of the two seats. “Gad, but I’m tired,” Jack said, closing his eyes.

“Can you ride back there, Kitty?”

“Of course.”

She hung onto the wet iron as the two-seater took the rutted road. The mud splashed from the wheels, spattering the hem of her gown and her stockings. It was all of a piece, she decided wearily, for nothing could harm her dress further anyway.

The cottage was dry enough, but musty. After they got Haverhill to the bed, Sturbridge moved about the place opening the windows just enough to admit a little air despite the spring chill, then busied himself starting a small blaze in the dusty fireplace. Kitty managed to find a battered cup, which she carried outside to the well. Returning with it filled, she handed it to Jack.

“ ’Tis the best I have just now, my lord.”

He sat, head in hands, on the side of the bed. When he looked up to take the cup, he stared into the swell of breasts outlined beneath the damp fabric. And suddenly the dryness in his mouth had little to do with thirst.

“We’ll leave him here until a reasonable explanation can be contrived,” he heard Sturbridge say in a tone that indicated he expected hell would freeze first. “And I will, of course, take you home.”

“But who will tend him?” she asked anxiously. “He is in no case to care for himself.”

“No, of course not. Cannot just send anyone though.”

“Jem.”

“That coachey of yours?” The viscount laughed. “He begged twenty pounds of me, saying only that you told him to ask. By now, my dear Kitty, I suspect he is halfway to Scotland, running as though hell pursued him.”

“Oh—no! And I had hopes of persuading Aunt Bella that I’d duped him into this. Oh, dear.”

“He’ll come about,” Sturbridge promised her. “Ten to one, he’ll have a position ere he reaches Gretna. The problem is Haverhill.”

Jack drained the cup, then rolled onto the bed, where he lay exhausted. He was about to tell them to leave him be, that all he needed was rest, when he heard her tell Sturbridge that if none could be found, she’d come back herself.

“Dash it, Kitty, but you cannot!” The viscount cast an aggrieved look Jack’s direction. “You are forgetting what he did to Jessica!”

“But if he cannot tend himself—”

Jack forced himself to groan loudly.

“I suppose I can look in on him,” the viscount conceded, “but I am no hand with the sick.” He moved closer, staring down on the baron’s pallid face. “He don’t look good, does he?”

Jack rolled onto his back, holding his shoulder as he moved, and beads of perspiration damped his forehead. “Deuced good of you to note it,” he muttered dryly.

“I shall have to come back,” she decided. “I cannot abandon him, no matter what he is.”

“And tell Mrs. Merriman what?” Sturbridge demanded incredulously.

“I’ll have to tell her something, anyway.” Kitty looked down on her ruined dress and sighed. “ ’Tisn’t as though she will not ask.”

“Tell you what—if you can mollify the old girl, we’ll come back together. She ain’t going to cavil if you are in my company, after all. Say we’re going driving.”

“In the rain?”

“It don’t signify, Kitty. Lovers don’t pay much heed to weather—and neither do matchmakers. Look in on him every day, if you want. Then, when he is better, we’ll think what to do.”

She moved back to the side of the bed. “I am going to have to go home, my lord, but as soon as may be, I shall come back. Is there anything you’d have me bring you?”

“Damned near everything.” His hazel eyes traveled upward the length of her soiled gown to her face. “But mostly yourself.”

Despite the flush that heated her cheeks, she felt an odd thrill course through her. “I’ll bring a basket of food.”

“If you were able, I’d be tempted to call you out, sir,” Sturbridge told him coldly.

“If I were able, you would not wish to,” Jack retorted.

As they left, the baron turned his face toward the wall, denying the stab of jealousy he felt. The viscount’s voice floated back. “Did you mention the divorce?”

“An annulment would be better,” she replied. “And there was not the time.”

He began to think differently of Henry—the old stick had had a secret life, after all. And by the looks of it, the chickens were coming home to roost on his heir.

I
T WAS LATE AFTERNOON
when Kitty and Lord Sturbridge arrived at Rose Farm. As they climbed the steps of the house, he offered her his arm, but she shook her head. The butler opened the door, stared, and stepped back. The expression on his face spoke more than words, saying that he thought she had exceeded all bounds of decency. The housekeeper, a buxom woman named Crane, came into the foyer and stopped.

“’Pon my word!”

“Summon Mrs. Merriman, if you please,” the viscount ordered a stunned footman.

“I say, but what’s the commotion?” Roland demanded, emerging from the front saloon, a book of military history still in his hand. “Egad—Kit!” His eyes took in her wet, bloodstained gown. “Who did this to you?” he demanded. “I’ll see him pay for it!”

“Oh, Rollo, ’twas —”

Her words stopped as her aunt came from the back of the house, shadowed by the footman who’d fetched her. Isabella looked Kitty up and down. Charles Trevor’s hand reached to support one of Kitty’s elbows.

“I trust, Catherine, that you have an explanation?” was all Isabella could think to say.

All of die excuses, all die plausible stories she’d concocted in Sturbridge’s tilbury, done deserted her in favor of the truth. Kitty sucked in her breath, then nodded. Exhaling slowly, she looked to the saloon. “If we may all be private …”

Her aunt turned on her heel and walked into the room, with the others filing after. Sturbridge was about to shut the door in the faces of the curious servants when Kitty stopped him. “You’d best get Jess also.”

She waited, painfully aware of the scrutiny of her family, while Jessica came down. Then, shutting die door herself before a disappointed Crane, she turned to face her aunt. “’Tis a long tale at best, Aunt Bella. Suffice it to say that I have brought Haverhill here—well, to Sturbridge’s actually,” she amended truthfully.

“You
what
?”

“I abducted Baron Haverhill.”

“Kitty!” Jessica wailed. “How
could
you?”

Roland looked again to her dress. “Fellow must’ve put up a devil of a fight—pardon my saying so, coz, but looks like you slaughtered him. Not that he did not deserve it,” he added hastily.

Isabella Merriman sank into a chair nervelessly, and sat fanning herself with a newspaper. “I should ask for the vinaigrette, but I have never fainted in my life, and I shall not do so now,” she assured herself. “I have never succumbed to the vapors.” Her eyes, when she raised them to Kitty again, were full of reproach. “The whole story, if you please—and do not think to spare me, I pray you.”

“You brought Haverhill here?” Jessica demanded almost hysterically.
“Why?
Has he not done enough? Could you not let me forget the humiliation?”

“Sit down, Jessica,” her mother ordered. “Let her speak.”

“But I
hate
him!”

“Ain’t fit to live,” Roland agreed.

“I did it for you, Jess.”

The room went silent. Kitty looked from the sympathy in Sturbridge’s eyes to the tears in Jessica’s, then to the incredulity of her aunt’s. “Six years is a long time for a young girl to pay for that which was not her fault, do you not think?” she asked softly. “And now that—”

“No! I pray you will not say it! Not now—not yet!” Jessica implored her.

“All right. Suffice it to say that you are tied to a man you cannot love, one who does not hold you in the least regard, Jess.” She turned her attention again to Isabella. “’Tis no life for a vivacious girl to be cooped up here, the object of pity among the neighbors.” She watched her aunt stiffen. “The object of pity,” she repeated. “For as long as there is Haverhill, she cannot wed, and if he does not acknowledge her, ’tis assumed she is naught but an ape-leader rather than the truth.”

“I do not think that Lord Sturbridge ought to have to hear our family scandals, Catherine,” Isabella interrupted her uneasily. “Perhaps he would prefer to come again later.”

“If he is to become a member of this family, he has a right to know.”

“It ain’t for you to tell ‘im,” Roland protested. “As head of this house, I—”

“Do
you
wish to tell him?” Kitty asked, turning to him.

“No—of course not. And you ought not neither,” he muttered defensively.

“All of this brangling is nothing to the purpose,” Isabella conceded wearily. “Apparently, he has a fair notion already, I suppose. Go on, Catherine.”

“I have hopes that Haverhill will give Jess a divorce, Aunt Bella—or perhaps an annulment. I have not broached the specific subject with him yet, but—”

“A divorce!” Roland choked. “Brand her for life! Might as well call her a—a—well, you know—” he finished, his face reddening. “Kitty, what was you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of Jess.”

“You have explained nothing, missy!” Isabella snapped, losing the battle for control of her nerves. “I’d hear how it is that you have been gone for two days and one night, how you have come home in the company of Lord Sturbridge—” She rose to face her niece, her voice rising as she catalogued the perceived sins, “—how it is that you look as though you have been slaughtering in a pigsty—and without your petticoat, missy!” Her eyes took in the offending dress as though it was in itself proof of her perfidy. “ ’Tis positively indecent! I have seen more clothing on a—a—”

“Now, Mama, you ain’t seen any of ‘em, I’ll be bound,” Roland hastened to assure, her.

“—a lightskirt!” she finished triumphantly. Her temper vented, she sat back down. “Well, Catherine, I am waiting for the rest of this tale.”

“I went to London, Aunt Bella, with the express intent on abducting Haverhill, and—”

“Ohhhhhhhh,” her aunt groaned. “Kitty, how could you?”

“Little thing like you?” Roland scoffed. “Couldn’t have made a flea jump.”

“I used a pistol, Rollo. Anyway, I got him into the carriage to bring him here, but unfortunately we were beset by highwaymen, and he was shot.”

“Shot!” Isabella fanned faster, making the paper almost snap. “With what?”

“Daresay it must’ve been a gun, Mama,” Roland told her.

“If you say anything more, Rollo, I shall not continue,” Kitty threatened him. “And after he was shot, he bled rather a lot, so much that we feared he would die from it. I had to stop to get help for him.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know—the Hawk and Pig, or some such—yes, that was the name of it. I shouldn’t recommend the place, in any event. But the doctor came and removed the ball, and the blood was finally staunched. Hopefully, in a few weeks he will have recovered.”

“I don’t want him to recover!” Then, seeing that everyone turned to her, Jessica colored. “He is a hateful, odious man—I shall never forget the wedding. I wish Papa had not insisted, for if none was to discover I’d been compromised, there was no need for it!”

“Perhaps he’s changed, Jess. Perhaps he regrets it as much as you,” Kitty ventured.

Her cousin stared as though she’d lost her senses. “Changed? He could not! And what if he should decide not to divorce me? What if he should wish to live with me? I could not bear it!”

“He ain’t divorcing you—not if I got breath,” Roland promised grimly. “Don’t want m’sister in a scandal broth.”

“And he is at Sturbridge’s?” Isabella asked suddenly. “Lud, but what is your dear mama to think, Charles?”

“Well, actually he is in one of the cottages,” he admitted, not wanting to meet her eyes. “I did not think Mama could be brought to understand, and under the circumstances, it did not seem the politic thing to do, ma’am. But Kitty and I mean to tend to him until he can be on his way again.”

The woman blinked. “Do you now? And have you thought what that will do to my niece’s reputation?”

“If she’s been to the Hog and Whatever with Haverhill, rep’s in shreds, anyway,” Roland pointed out. “Don’t see—”

“You stay out of it, young man!” Isabella told him furiously. “Haverhill cannot wed her—he is Jessica’s husband!”

“What’s that to anything? Don’t nobody know that—all they’ll hear is how Kitty was at some inn with him! Ruined all the same,” he finished defiantly. “Ruined. Ought to be clapped up in Bedlam!”

“Stop it!” Kitty put her hands to her head as though she would block out the arguing. “There is no need to send me to Bedlam, for I think I am already there!” Unused to hearing any outbursts from her, everyone was suddenly silent again. “Thank you. Now—’tis my fault he is hurt, and ’tis my fault he is here, after all, and I shall take full responsibility for it. I will tend him, and perhaps none will know of it. But if they do, blame it on the country of my birth.” Her face flushed, she pushed a straggling lock of hair from her eyes. “It seems to me that there are enough people here ready to condemn me for that, anyway. And when he is well, I shall ask him to give Jess an annulment.” The lock fell forward again, exasperating her. This time, she brushed at in angrily. “Failing that, perhaps Sturbridge can be persuaded to introduce a Bill of Divorcement into Parliament. After all, Haverhill has not lived with her these six years past,” she pointed out reasonably.

“No! Dash it, but it ain’t done!” Roland shouted. “You don’t know! Daresay things is different in America, but this is England!”

Ignoring him, she continued, “And when ’tis settled, I shall return where I belong. No doubt I can ask Papa’s partners to allow me to assist with their books.”

They exchanged glances of consternation, then Jessica stepped forward. “I thank you for trying, Kitty, truly I do, but ‘twill not fadge. Haverhill punishes me for his own folly, and he is not like to cease simply because we ask it.” Her eyes beseeched Sturbridge. “Please, Charles. After all, she is in the basket because of me.”

“Ah-hem.” It suddenly seemed as though the frog in his throat was more like a rock. Manfully, he squared his shoulders to face Isabella. “Mrs. Merriman, there is no need to worry over Miss Gordon, I assure you.” For a moment, he looked again at Jessica, then he exhaled, resigned. “It is my intent to make her my wife.”

“What!”
Kitty choked. “Oh, no, but I—well, I cannot!”

It was as though night had changed to day. Isabella’s face broke into a smile on the instant. “I
told
you, my love!” she crowed to Kitty. “Our little Catherine a viscountess! Lud, but this calls for a celebration!”

“I say—’tis the answer!” Roland agreed readily. “Don’t have to worry about the business at the Hog—if he don’t care, ain’t none to complain.”

“The Pig—’twas the Pig,” Kitty managed to correct him. “Charles, we should not suit! Your mama …” She cast about wildly for an excuse that would not cause Jessica more difficulty. “Well, your mama dislikes me, after all!” “She don’t dislike you, Kitty—thinks you are a trifle brown, that’s all. Though where she gets that, I am sure I do not know. Eyesight must be failing.”

“Well, I don’t know whether I am on my head or my heels, I am sure,” Isabella announced happily. “A summer wedding.”

“No!”

“At four and twenty, you cannot think to get a better offer, Kit,” Roland reminded her.

“ ’Tis sudden. No, I—”

“Nonsense, my love. Sturbridge has been most assiduous in his attentions for a full year.” Isabella turned to her daughter. “Would you not agree, dearest?”

“Yes—yes, of course. I wish you happy, Kitty.”

“Well, I won’t do it,” Kitty maintained stoutly.

“Don’t listen to her, Charles,” Roland advised. “Being missish, that’s all. Well, ’tis settled then. Now, what’s to do about Haverhill?”

“ ’Tis not settled, Rollo!”

“Jessica will take care of him, of course. We shall have to send the carriage to Blackstone to fetch him here. And if anything is said, there’s none to cavil with that.”

“Mama—no! I won’t do it! If he should so much as lift one finger to touch me, I should be sick!”

“In truth, he did not appear so terrible to me,” Kitty admitted. “And there is no question but what you will have to face him—how else are we to persuade him that he ought to free you?”

The younger girl shuddered visibly. “He is a veritable toad, Kitty!”

“ ’Tis your overwrought imagination, love,” Kitty soothed her. “I did not find him toadish at all. In fact, there are probably some to account him quite handsome.”

“Handsome? Haverhill?” Jessica choked.

“No need to be in a pelter, Miss Merriman,” Sturbridge spoke up. “Not a reason in the world why Miss Gordon—why Kitty and I cannot tend to him. Engaged, after all.”

“But we are not!”

“Kitty, might I speak with you for a moment? Please, Mama, but I think I can make her understand how it is.”

“There is no need to make me understand anything, Jess—I do not believe Sturbridge and I should suit. And you must surely know the reason why!”

“Very well, Jessica, you have my leave to talk sense to her.” Isabella rose and gestured imperiously to her son. “Rollo, you and Sturbridge will take brandy in the book-room while I see to the ordering of the carriage.”

“Aunt Bella, the carriage—”

“Regardless of who cares for Haverhill, ’twill be done here. Cottage indeed!”

“Then you will have to ask Sturbridge for the loan of his conveyance. The coach must needs be repaired,” Kitty said low.

“
What
?”

“The wheel is broken,” she added more loudly. “We struck a rock or a rut, I know not which.”

To her credit, Isabella Merriman did not lose her temper. “I see,” she said through tightly compressed lips. “Then I suppose he will have to stay there tonight at least.”

“Yes.”

“And I suppose Jem is dead also?” Rollo asked sarcastically.

“Er—I believe he bolted,” Sturbridge answered for her. “He was of the opinion he would be turned off.”

“And so he would,” Isabella sniffed. “Come on, Rollo.”

“You go also,” Jessica told the viscount. “Please.”

He wavered briefly, then capitulated. “All right.”

No sooner had they filed out than the younger girl shut the door carefully behind them. “You’ve got to take Charles, Kitty—you’ve
got
to.”

“Thank you, but I’ve no wish for a husband who cares more for another,” Kitty retorted acidly. “What am I supposed to do, look the other way? And what if I should discover an affection for another myself? I realize that ’tis fashionable to dally after the heir is assured, Jess, but I’ve no desire to have one for Charles Trevor—and I should think ’twould be a trifle difficult to explain if you do.”