Lady Midnight (27 page)

"Michael!" Christina called, waving at him with her muddy hand. "Are you going to stand there daydreaming all afternoon, or are you going to eat with us?"

He laughed. He
had
been standing there for an inordinately long time, staring at them as if they were a dream vision. Perhaps he had gotten too much sun today, and that was what caused these roiling emotions.

But he knew in his heart that was not so. It was Kate—his bonny Kate. His curst Kate.

"I'm going to eat, definitely," he answered, striding toward them. Kate and Amelia slid over, making room for him on the blanket. Kate smiled up at him from beneath her straw hat. Red satin ribbons fluttered in the breeze, tangling with strands of her black hair fallen from their pins.

She impatiently pushed that hair back and said, "Would you care for tea or lemonade, Mr. Lindley? And Christina, please do wash your hands before you eat that sandwich. There might be some poisonous residues from those plants."

"Oh, no, Mrs. Brown!" Christina protested, but she
did
pour water over her hands and wipe them with a cloth from the basket. "Rosemary has no poisonous properties at all. In fact, it is used in salves and lotions and in cooking."

Kate poured out a cup of tea and passed it to Michael, her soft fingers barely brushing his along the smooth porcelain. She trembled, and her gaze turned away. Christina, oblivious to all but her plants, chattered on as Kate arrayed delicacies onto plates and handed them around neatly, as if she were presiding over a grand tea party. She wiped sticky lemonade from Amelia's chin and spread a napkin over the child's dress. All the while, Michael was achingly aware of how near she was, of the pink blush of her skin, the wind-tossed strands of her glossy hair, the sharp turn of her cheekbones, and the softness of her parted lips.

He had to look away from her, to jerk his gaze out over the water before he exploded with the wild need to catch her in his arms and press kisses to those lips.

She seemed to sense his desire, because she edged imperceptibly away, concentrating carefully on her food and on making sure Amelia did not completely stuff herself with cake. Eventually, the warmth of the spring day and the fullness of their stomachs brought a slow lassitude down onto their little party. Even Christina fell silent, leafing through a book, and Amelia drowsed across Kate's lap, her little limbs heavy and her hand clasped on a fold of Kate's skirt.

Michael's powerful desire grew softer at the edges, mellowing into a golden contentment, a quiet joy just in having this time with them. It was enough for now to have Kate near him.

Her hand drifted lazily over Amelia's hair, smoothing it back from the sleeping child's brow. "The lake does not look as if it could possibly have a city drowned beneath it, does it?" she said softly, her Italian accent more pronounced than usual. "It is so very placid. Like glass."

Christina looked up from her book to gaze at the water. "It is usually calm like this, and cool in the summertime for boating and swimming. Though, of course, I am not
actually
supposed to swim. Mother would be quite angry if she knew."

Michael chuckled. "Very naughty of you, Tina."

"Shocking," said Kate, but she did not sound at all shocked. Her voice was heavy with laughter.

He wondered what it would be like if he could lure
her
to a moonlight swim one summer's night.

"But do you think there is a city under there somewhere?" Kate asked, to no one in particular. "A lost kingdom?"

"Semerwater isn't big enough for a whole kingdom," Christina said practically. "It is only about a hundred acres. But it
can
swell to twice that size during a storm. It isn't placid then."

"Indeed, most people around here would not care to be near Semerwater when it overflows its banks," said Michael. "The waves are whipped up, sweeping sheep and men into its depths."

"I have heard that sometimes after a storm, when the waters recede, there can be found strange artifacts," Christina added. "Amulets and cooking utensils. Perhaps the old legend came about because there is a prehistoric village under the waters. People
have
seen things there—even spirits at night."

Kate's brow creased, and her arms tightened around Amelia. Her dark eyes took on a strange, haunted light as they stared out over the concealing water. "I would not like to be here to see that storm," she whispered.

Michael laid his hand gently on her shoulder. She must be thinking of the storm that gave her that scar, and took her mother's life. She shivered under his touch, but did not move away. He wanted to do more, to fold her in his sheltering embrace and hold her close, to tell her that she would never have to fear rough waters again. Yet he sensed that she would not welcome his embrace—that she was very far away from him at that moment. She stared out over a vista he could scarcely even imagine, at a life that was past and that he could have no part of.

Who are you?
his mind whispered urgently.
Who are you, Kate the curst?

Chapter 14

The sunlight hurt his eyes, piercing like tiny pinpricks. Julian Kirkwood slid on his new smoked-glass spectacles, and leaned his head back against the tufted velvet cushions of the carriage. The shades were drawn over the windows, yet the day was still too bright. He had been too long confined in the cool dimness of the convent hospital. Far too long.

Now he was going home. Home to London.

Home.
Such a strange word, a foreign word. His family's estate was here in England, their grand London house. They were all his now, his birthright, his great fortune. His family was gone, all but his sister Charlotte, who had sent this carriage to fetch him at Dover and who waited to welcome him back from the dead.

But the paradise of his life in Venice, his true home, was gone forever, snatched away from him by a cruel fate.

A sharp pain pierced his head, and he groaned in pain and grief.

Katerina.
His lost princess, the Renaissance Beatrice who was meant to be his own. She was dead, and he had to flee from Italy to try to be free of her memory, her alluring ghost. The memories of her dark eyes, filled with all the secrets of the many lives she had lived before, haunted him day and night. Even in that cold, bare convent, she danced through his dreams, beckoning to him. She was
his!
His. How could he live without her?

Perhaps here, in England, in a chilly land that held no memories of her, he could begin to forget.

He groaned as the carriage jolted over the ruts in the road, sending more shards of pain into his head. "Katerina," he whispered. "My princess."

Chapter 15

"Michael, my dear, I had the most interesting letter from Charles today," Lady Darcy said. "I have it here in my workbox someplace...." She dug about in said box, laying aside bits of embroidery and netting in search of the elusive letter.

Kate did not mean to eavesdrop. She was sitting at the pianoforte next to Amelia, listening to the child play a short piece by Haydn, and the rest of the drawing room was very quiet. The tea things were cleared away, and Christina and Michael were both absorbed in their own books. The picnic at Semerwater earlier in the day, the long, sweet hours in the sunlight and fresh air, had brought on a weary heaviness that grew greater as the time to retire approached.

Kate turned over the page of Amelia's music and watched the three people grouped around the fireplace. Michael glanced up from his book and smiled lazily at his mother. The dancing firelight cast a red gold glow over his hair, and she had the silliest wish that the smile was meant for
her.

"Interesting news from Charles, eh?" he said. "London must be lively at this time of year, all his friends opening their townhouses for the Season. I trust his work in the House of Lords is going well?"

"Oh, yes, of course—when he can find time to sit in on sessions, of course," Lady Darcy said rather dismissively, as if politics had no bearing on "interesting" things. She still searched through her box. "But this news is even greater! And it concerns us all."

At that, even Christina blinked up from her book "All of us?"

"Yes. Ah, here it is." Lady Darcy drew the paper up with a flourish. "Mary is enceinte at last!"

Christina sighed in a way that clearly stated her sister-in-law's pregnancy could have nothing to do with
her.
"I'm very happy for her, I'm sure."

Michael surreptitiously nudged his sister with his foot. "That is excellent news, Mother. I know Charles and Mary have been longing for such a blessed event for many months."

"Yes, indeed. A new future Earl of Darcy," Lady Darcy said happily. "Yet that is not all he writes. It appears Mary is not doing as well as could be hoped. She keeps to her bed much of the time, and things are becoming so very busy in Town right now. Charles says he cannot possibly manage on his own, and asks that we come to Lindley House to assist him."

Christina's book dropped to her lap. "London? Truly?"

"Yes. As soon as we can organize things here, he writes."

Michael watched his mother with narrowed eyes. "Surely only
you
need to go to London, Mother. To act as Charles's hostess and such. And Christina could go with you, but there is no need for my presence."

"Of course there is!" Lady Darcy cried. "Christina and I could not possibly travel such a distance on our own. We shall need your escort on the journey, and when we are in Town. Charles will be too busy to always squire us about. And you have not been to Town in ages, Michael. It cannot be good for a young man such as yourself to be always buried in the country. This will make a nice change."

"Spring is a very busy time for the farm, Mother," Michael answered. "Just as it is for Town Society."

Lady Darcy waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "That is what bailiffs are for! We
need
you, Michael. It would not be for long. Charles writes that he intends to take Mary to Darcy Hall in the summer, and they will await the birth there."

"Oh, yes, Michael!" Christina suddenly urged. "Just think of it—London. Museums and the Royal Botanic Garden, lectures, bookshops. I could not go to them on my own."

Kate stared very hard at Amelia's sheet music, stared until the black notes blurred. Michael would leave her soon. London was very far away, and he would surely be there until the summer. Or even longer—Town could be very enticing, with lovely ladies, ballrooms, gaming hells, delights of all sorts. Perhaps once he was there his old life would lure him, and he would forget all about Thorn Hill and his dowdily dressed governess.

She swallowed past the bitter lump in her throat and blinked hard against the sudden itchiness behind her eyes. She was being ridiculous! She had no claim on Michael Lindley, none at all, and he had none on her. She had been alone for a long time now. Why did the thought of being deprived of his presence, of not being able to see him every day, to hear his voice, cause her such distress now?

It was that kiss. It had cast a spell over her, making her feel such strange, dizzying emotions. If she didn't know better, she would think it was Shakespeare again—Puck and his fairies flitting about Thorn Hill, sprinkling a love potion into unwary humans' eyes. She knew only that she felt an aching loneliness at being alone without Michael. A disconcerting displacement.

Amelia finished her piece, to the applause of everyone in the room. Kate pushed down all her fears and qualms, and gave Amelia a sunny smile. "That was lovely, my dear," she said. "You must have been practicing a great deal."