In Bed With the Devil (5 page)

But to have her refuse him because she feared this life…Had living here been that hard on her?

The old gent had taken her and a few of Feagan's lads in when he'd discovered Luke sneaking them into the house to feed them and give them a warm place for the night. He'd watched them closely, not quite trusting them. He'd hired tutors. He'd seen that they were taught proper behavior.

So what was Frannie afraid of? What did she think she didn't know? Or was there more to
her refusal than he wanted to accept? Was it the darkness that resided within him that she couldn't live with and she was simply too kind to admit it?

Luke tossed the empty bottle aside. He reached for another and something beneath the far chair caught his eye. He stood and the room spun. Dropping to his knees, he crawled to the chair, reached beneath it, and folded his fingers around the object. Turning, he put his back against the chair and studied the clasp.

Lady Catherine's clasp. It must have fallen from her pelisse. One of his servants wasn't taking as much care with the floor as she should, but he wasn't particularly upset about her shoddy work. He felt the smallest movement of his mouth as though a smile were forming as he remembered Catherine's bravado, remembered her surprise that he knew her name.

Oh, yes, he'd known who she was. He'd uncovered that little truth the first night he'd set eyes on her. Even the most loyal of servants favored their pockets over their masters. Offering a few coins, he'd found someone willing to hide in the bushes, peer through the window with him, and identify the lady Luke pointed out.

He'd not been surprised to find her in his library. He'd been surprised only that it had taken her so long to make an appearance. That night at the ball he'd felt an immediate attraction, the intensity greater than any he'd experienced before or since.

He'd always assumed that if he'd first met Frannie as a young woman, his attraction for her would
have hit him as hard, if not harder. But they were children when they'd first been introduced and they'd grown into affection.

He rubbed his thumb over the clasp. Catherine was different. Catherine was—

He heard the laughter echoing around him, only vaguely aware that he was responsible for the sound.

Catherine was the answer to his acquiring what he wanted more than anything else.

V
ery deliberately and carefully, Catherine dipped the gold nub of her pen into the inkwell. Her father wouldn't be pleased by her actions, but she didn't see that she had any choice.

I hope it finds you at all, she thought wearily.

Her hand was shaking when she again dipped into the inkwell. She had Sterling's traveling schedule, but she had no idea if he was following it diligently. Still she didn't see that she had much choice except to try to get in touch with him. But then the doubts surfaced.

How could she even consider asking of her
brother what she'd asked of Claybourne? He didn't possess Claybourne's dark soul. Her brother was kind and generous. She loved him dearly—except for the fact that being several years older he seemed to be of the opinion that his was the only one of any importance. That attitude had no doubt led to the row with her father, bless him.

How might her request change Sterling? Would it turn him into a man like Claybourne? Did she want to be responsible for turning an angel into a devil? But she was so worried that the next time Avendale took his fists to Winnie he'd kill her.

Claybourne was right. She should see to the matter herself. But oh, dear Lord, where would she find the strength? And how would she do it? A pistol? A knife? Poison?

How many times would she need to shoot him or stab him? She'd never even seen a dead person—at least not so she'd remember. Her mother had died giving birth to a babe who didn't survive. Catherine had been a child at the time. Her mother had simply appeared to be sleeping. Was all death as peaceful?

Catherine was startled from her morose thoughts by a light tapping at her door. Her maid, Jenny, peered inside. “My lady, a missive has been delivered.”

Catherine's heart fairly stopped beating. Was it from Winnie? Had the worst finally happened? Or was it from her brother? Was he on his way home at last? Were her prayers to be answered?

“Bring it here quickly.” Her trembling worsened as she reached for the letter. It bore no seal. Just a glob of wax to hold it closed. How strange. She slipped her silver letter opener beneath the wax, parting it from the parchment. Then she unfolded the letter.

C? Who the devil—

She nearly gasped.

Claybourne?

She quickly folded up the letter and looked at Jenny. “Who brought this?”

“A young lad.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Only that it concerned an urgent matter and should be delivered to you straightaway. Is everything all right, my lady?”

Catherine cleared her throat. “Yes, all is well. I'm feeling a bit restless tonight. I shall take a stroll later, around midnight, after which you may help me prepare for bed.”

“Yes, my lady.” Jenny curtsied and left the room.

Catherine unfolded and reread the missive. Oh, dear Lord, she'd called at the devil's door and now he was calling at hers. This did not bode well, this did not bode well at all.

She refolded the letter and slipped it inside a book. Then she got up and began pacing. What
should she wear for this midnight encounter? A cloak, perhaps, something to hide her from watchful eyes. Although with the meeting being held in her garden, the only watchful eyes would be those of her servants, and she'd simply forbid them from going in the garden at that time.

She looked at the clock ticking on the mantel. She had two hours of waiting, two hours of worrying. She'd no doubt be wise to ignore his summons.

We need to meet.

Need. Had he not indicated that he had everything he could ever need? Then what could she possibly provide?

Another kiss perhaps? Had he lain tossing and turning every night as she had? Had he been unable to sleep? Had she haunted his dreams as he haunted hers?

She couldn't deny that she was anticipating his visit. She actually
wanted
to see him again. Maybe the next time she invited him to a ball, he'd attend.

She sat down, watched the clock, and waited. At precisely five minutes before midnight, she got up and slipped her cloak around her shoulders. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, tucked a few stray strands of her hair back into place, then laughed at her silliness. He'd barely be able to see her in the darkness. And she certainly didn't care what he thought of her appearance.

She considered donning her gloves, but this wasn't a formal outing. They'd have no reason to touch. With a calming breath, she lifted the lamp from her desk and walked out of her room.

It was very quiet, most of the lights in the household doused by now. She was almost to the morning room where doors would lead her into the garden when she heard—

“My lady, may I be of service?”

She swung around and smiled at the butler. “No, thank you, Jeffers. I'm having difficulty sleeping. I'm simply going to take a walk in the garden.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, it's our garden. I should be quite safe.”

“Would you like me to have a footman accompany you?”

“No, thank you. I welcome the solitude. As a matter of fact, please see to it that none of the servants disturb me.”

He bowed slightly. “As you wish.”

She headed to the morning room. Once there, she took a moment to gather her resolve as closely around her as her cloak and stepped out through the doors into the garden.

When they had parties, they lit the lanterns that lined the walk, but she didn't see the need for that much trouble or that much light, yet as she wandered along the path she began to second-guess her decision. She hadn't realized how very dark it was among the hedgerows and the flowers and the ivy-covered trestles, how very ominous, how very—

“Lady Catherine.”

With a little squeak, she jerked around. How had she not seen him standing there? He seemed to emerge from the night shadows like the prince of darkness himself.

“You startled me, sir.” Then she cursed herself for speaking before her heart had returned to a normal beat. Her voice sounded like the warbling tones her brother had exhibited when he was on the cusp of manhood.

“My apologies,” Claybourne said.

“Your tone lacks any contrition. I daresay you did it on purpose.”

“Perhaps. I wasn't certain you'd meet me.”

“Your missive indicated you had a ‘need.' Unlike you, I'm not one to generally ignore those in need.”

“Indeed.”

His voice had grown husky and she wondered if she'd inadvertently sent him a message she'd not meant to send. She was upset by his calm and her lack of it. She took a deep breath and asked tartly, “What was it that you needed, my lord?”

“Let's walk, shall we?”

“Not beyond the garden.”

“Certainly not. But farther away from prying eyes and ears.”

He began walking without waiting for her. She hurried to catch up. “I've instructed my servants not to disturb us.”

He came to an abrupt halt, and she nearly bashed her nose into his shoulder when he turned to face her. He was so incredibly tall and broad. His mere presence made her heart gallop.

“You told your servants you were meeting me here?” he asked, his voice laced with incredulity.

“No, of course not. I misspoke. I told them not to disturb
me
. As far as they're concerned I'm having difficulty sleeping.”

“Is that common for you? To have difficulty sleeping?”

He actually sounded curious, as though he had a care for her.

“No, not usually,” she said. Unless she was thinking of him, then it was nigh on impossible.

“I daresay you will.”

Whatever did he mean by that?

He began walking again, and against her better judgment she fell into step beside him. She was grateful she'd brought the lamp. While it didn't provide an abundance of light, it did provide enough that she could see him clearly.

“I wish to speak with you about your…proposition,” Claybourne said with as much emotion as a lump of coal.

“I didn't think you were interested.” She didn't quite trust him. He'd rebuffed her offer and made her feel quite silly in making it.

“I wasn't.”

“But now you are.”

“You sound annoyed. Have you found someone else to do your bidding?”

Oh, she wished she had. She wished she could turn on her heel and walk away. He unsettled her. She thought of his warm fingers trailing over the pulse at her throat, making it jump. She remembered his hot mouth devouring hers…

“No, I've not found someone else.”

“Have you taken care of the matter?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps we can strike a bargain. There is a young lady who I wish very much to make my wife.”

Catherine stumbled to a stop, schooling her features not to reveal how the shock of those words had struck her as a blow. What did she care if he took a wife? She didn't. She absolutely did not care, and yet, she couldn't deny the disappointment. She'd spent so many years dreaming of him, although not by choice. He simply invaded her dreams as though he belonged there.

He was studying her now as though she was a curiosity. What did her face show? Nothing she hoped. Or perhaps he was simply trying to determine how much to reveal. He was as closed as a casket before it was lowered into the earth.

“She, however, has qualms about marrying me,” he continued.

“Because of the wicked things you do?”

His mocking smile was all the more visible in the darkness. “The wicked things I do, Lady Catherine, are the very reason you're drawn to me.”

“I'm not
drawn
to you.”

“Are you not? I don't recall you're being overly upset that I kissed you. I suspect you were hoping for a taste of wickedness.”

“You know nothing at all about my hopes, my lord.” She swallowed, striving to regain her frigid composure. “The young lady has qualms. I can hardly blame her.”

“In negotiations, Lady Catherine, it doesn't serve one well to insult the one from whom you require a favor.”

“Yes, so you explained the other night. My apologies if I gave insult. She will not marry you and that has caused you to summon me because…”

“She fears our world. She doesn't feel that she'll fit in with the nobility.”

A commoner? He was going to marry a commoner? On the other hand, what choice remained to him? She could think of no woman who would welcome his attentions, no father who would seriously consider allowing Claybourne to pursue his daughter's hand in matrimony.

“I'd not noticed you particularly trying to fit in.”

“Quite honestly, Lady Catherine, until recently I'd not given a damn if I fit in or not. But Frannie and I will no doubt have children, and I don't want them whispered about as I am.”

Frannie. He'd wrapped a wealth of warmth around the name as he'd spoken it. Who'd have thought he'd be capable of so grand an emotion as love?

“You are not whispered about, my lord. People do not speak of the devil.”

“Now, Catherine, I know that to be untrue. Otherwise, how would you have known to come to my door?”

He purred her name with an intimacy that caused honeyed heat to pool in her belly. How quickly he gained the upper hand. How desperately she needed to reacquire it.

She angled her head and met his smile with one of her own. “Point made. So you want to ensure your children are accepted among the aristocracy.” She could hardly imagine him as a father, much less a husband.

“Indeed. But before I jump forward to that problem, I must give Frannie the confidence to honor
me with her hand in marriage. And that is where you come in.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I need you to teach her all she needs to know to walk confidently among us. Once you've accomplished that task, I'll dispense with the person of your choosing.”

“I no longer have confidence in your ability to carry out my request, my lord. You said you'd not killed.”

“No, I said I'd not killed my uncle.”

She studied him and the familiar features that had haunted her dreams for so long. “Dear Lord! You don't believe you're truly the Earl of Claybourne.”

“What I believe or do not believe is of no consequence. The old gent believed and the Crown believed.” He held out his hands. “And so here I am.”

“You have an odd sort of honesty about you.”

“So have we a bargain?”

“You said that you'd see to your end once I'd seen to mine. But my task could take months. How do I know when I'm finished, that you'll carry out yours?”

“You have my word on it.”

“As a gentleman?”

“As a scoundrel. Have you not heard that there is honor among thieves?”

Oh, dear Lord, she feared she was playing a very dangerous game here.

“Still, you are asking a good deal more of me than I'm asking of—”

With his gloved hand, he gripped her chin and
leaned near. She could see the muscles in his jaw tightening. “You are asking me to surrender the last of my soul. Once it's done, it can't be undone. All I'm asking of you is that you teach someone how to properly host an afternoon tea.”

Swallowing hard, she nodded, speaking through clenched teeth. “You're quite right. Now if you'll be so kind as to unhand me.”

He seemed surprised to discover that he was holding her. He lowered his hand. “My apologies. I—”

“Not to worry. I don't believe you bruised me.”

He turned away, and if she didn't know he was a fraud, she might have thought he was struggling with his conscience. “Quite honestly, my lord, I'm not certain that what I require of you can wait months to be carried out.”