Puritan Bride (11 page)

Viscount Marlbrooke was not asleep. He had not even gone to bed, but had shut himself in the library, stretched out in his chair behind his desk, with a series of unsettling thoughts for company. A number of glasses of red wine did nothing to lesson the turmoil within.

By some mischievous quirk of fate, his dilemma had indeed been solved. He had planned to marry Katherine Harley to secure an inheritance. No love, no complications, no commitment other than a legal binding and a need to produce an heir to secure the future stability of the estate. It would serve his purposes very well. And if she had no feelings for him, then so much the better. It was not necessary to find affection in marriage.

But, damn it, he had fallen more than halfway in love with Viola. He remembered the impact on his senses as
he had untied the linen cords of her shirt and uncovered her delicate feminine body. He drew in a deep breath. He remembered the silken glide of her collarbone beneath his fingers. And after that he had simply fallen into the abyss. Not the easy lust of desire he had felt for other women, the practised ladies at the Court, but a blow to his gut that had almost sent him to his knees to ask her forgiveness for feasting his eyes on so much beauty without her consent.

But now, although the outrageous complication had been removed, there seemed to be little hope of his love ever being returned. Because he had hurt her—Kate and Viola.

And she hated him. Understandably, in the circumstances! If he had wanted to destroy Kate’s self-esteem, he could not have made a better job of it. To converse with her, to stand in her home and discuss marriage settlements, to compliment her beauty, to kiss her—and then not to recognise her! She had every justification for refusing to accept his excuses. Yes—she would hate him. His eyelids masked a gleam of bitter emotion.

Or did she?

He experienced an uncomfortable tightening in his loins as he remembered her unwilling response to his kiss, the soft lips parting beneath his to allow his tongue to invade and possess her sweet and tender mouth. Perhaps she was not as angry as she believed. He was a patient man. Within reason, at any rate. He would be
willing to lay siege to her damaged heart and teach her the delights of love. He wanted her and he would have her. He wanted Kate to smile at him, as Viola had done, so that he could sink fathoms deep into her glorious eyes.

His senses suddenly became alert and aware of his surroundings, jerked out of his thoughts. Not a sound exactly, but
something
had caught at his attention. Perhaps Master Verzons or one of the servants still not abed.

He yawned, rose to his feet and opened the library door. The hall was dark. No one there. And then—a glimmer of light. From the Long Gallery, he deduced—someone with a candle? He walked quietly across the hall, up the staircase and turned to where the Long Gallery ran the length of the front of the Priory.

‘Katherine!’

She walked towards him, a slight figure in linen nightgown and shawl, her bare feet making no sound, her candle guttering as she moved.

‘Is there something wrong? Do you need anything?’ She looked lost and alone in the dark expanse of the vast room.

When she did not reply, he strode towards her, thinking for a brief moment that she might be sleepwalking, a reaction to the stress brought on by the tensions of the day. But her focus was keen and sharp and she responded to his voice, quickening her step. He took the candle from her and lifted it high. What he saw stopped his heart. The tears no longer fell, but there was no hiding
the fact that she had wept. Her cheeks were stained, her lashes damp. Coming to the obvious conclusion and cursing himself silently, he set the candle down and took hold of her hands.

‘Kate. Don’t cry. It was never my intention to humiliate you or distress you. I know that the blame is all mine and I am beyond redemption. It is not worth your tears.’

To his amazement she simply stared at him, uncomprehending, eyes blank.

He wiped away the remnants of moisture with the edge of her shawl. ‘I deserve to be thrashed for causing you such pain. I would beg your forgiveness, on my knees, if you wish it.’

‘No.’ She shook her head, surprising him again. ‘No!’ More insistently now as she realised his misunderstanding. ‘It is not what you think. Can you not feel it? The presence here?’ She turned her head to look over her shoulder. ‘She is so cold and desolate.’

For the first time Marlbrooke became aware of the atmosphere in the Gallery. His dark brows snapped together. Yes, it was unduly cold. And a wash of some intense emotion touched his senses with invisible fingers.

‘Yes. I feel it.’

‘I could not rest. I could not imagine so much sorrow. And I did not know how to console her.’

In reply, the Viscount drew Kate gently into his arms, enfolding her close, simply giving warmth and comfort. Anticipating her rejection, primed to release her at her
demand, he relaxed when she made no move to resist. Instead she stood, breathing softly within the circle of his embrace, her forehead resting against his shoulder as the taut silence settled around them.

‘She has gone now.’

‘Yes. There is no need for you to cry, Kate. I was arrogant enough to believe that I had been the cause of your tears.’

‘No.’ It was little more than a sigh.

For Kate it was as if a spell had been lifted. Embarrassed by her tears, her unconventional attire, her presence in the Long Gallery in the dead of night, she moved to extricate herself from Marlbrooke’s embrace. What must he think of her? But he would have none of it. Instead, he bent and lifted her into his arms.

‘Just hold on to me. You are quite safe and I will take you back to your room. She has gone, whoever she is, and her sadness is not yours to bear.’

His words had the desired calming effect. She clung to him, face turned into his throat, all the journey back to her room where he lifted her on to her pillows and pulled the bedcover over her. She still trembled a little and her hands, when he took hold of them to tuck them under the quilt, were icy, but the emotional storm had passed, enough for her to attempt to hide her tear-ravaged face from him when he lit the bedside candle. He smiled at her very feminine response, reaching to push some wayward strands of hair from her cheek.

‘What a momentous day you have had, Viola. But you are safe now and you must try to sleep.’

‘Yes.’

He hesitated, thought better of what he would have said and turned to leave.

‘My lord?’

He turned his head.

Her eyes rose to his, shyly, hesitantly, before the words tumbled out. ‘Please don’t leave me. Stay a little while. She did not frighten me, but …’ Her breath caught, although she could not have explained why.

Looking down at her pale skin, enhanced by the dark feathers of her cropped hair, Marlbrooke took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Did she know what she was asking from him? Probably not. A sardonic smile, heavily laced with mockery, touched his lips. Normally he would have welcomed such an invitation to share the bed of a woman for whom he had more than a passing desire. But this was not normality. He sighed and returned to stroke a finger down her cheek.

‘I won’t leave you, little one. If that is your wish. You will not be alone tonight.’ He snuffed out the candle, allowing the moonlight to paint the room in black and silver. In the darkness he removed his boots, stretched out on the bed beside her, pulling the bed cover over them both and taking her into his arms so that her head was pillowed on his shoulder and her body tucked firmly into the shelter of his own.

‘Comfortable?’

‘Yes.’ A mere whisper, a sigh of relief.

‘Go to sleep.’

Silence.

‘Marcus. I’m glad you were there.’

‘There is no need to thank me. I think I have done enough damage for you to condemn me for my sins.’ His voice was soft and gentle and smoothed the soreness round her heart. ‘But I will try to make amends. And I will stay with you tonight.’

Her breathing deepened and she fell rapidly into sleep from the exhaustion of the day and the emotional trauma of the night. Without her knowledge, one hand rested on his chest, absorbing the comforting beat of his heart. The warmth from his body spread into hers as he held her secure and safe. He pressed his lips against her temple where the bruising had almost gone, now merely a pale shadow. For now he would give her all the reassurance and tenderness that she needed, but which he knew she would never admit to—and would doubtless reject on the morrow. He had been relieved to see the return of trust and acceptance in her eyes, driving out the hostility and anger of the afternoon. And the terrible humiliation of which he had unwittingly been the cause. His own obvious desires from sharing a bed with her would also have to wait.

He smiled into the darkness, grimacing at his hard arousal, and set his mind to rule his body. ‘I will not
leave you,’ he murmured, ‘nor will I readily let you leave me. You are mine, dearest Viola!’

Next morning Kate awoke to bright sunshine and the cheerful ministrations of Bessie, uncertain what she had experienced and what had been caused by an overwrought imagination. But the memory of the grief was there. And the imprint on the pillow next to her reminded her of Marlbrooke’s care for her while she had slept. His understanding and tenderness towards her had been beyond belief. But the depression was cold and he had left her. She felt strangely alone and, until she scolded herself, and reminded herself of Marlbrooke’s perfidy, she wished that she had not insisted on leaving for Widemarsh Manor.

K
ate’s leave taking of Lady Elizabeth next morning in the sunny front parlour was private and difficult.

‘I understand that I must learn to call you Katherine. And that you plan to leave us.’ Elizabeth surveyed the girl who stood before her, her spine rigid, her face stern and unsmiling. All the spirited confidence that she had acquired in the past days had drained from her. She looked pale and lacking sleep, which was understandable in the circumstances.

‘Yes. I am sorry for all the difficulties.’ She continued to stand, eyes downcast, highlighted by the pale spring sunshine, but frozen in embarrassment. Elizabeth’s heart went out to her, she had come to like her too well and could not allow them to part like this. And, of course, unexpectedly, there were Marcus’s feelings to consider now.

‘Dear Viola. Come here.’ Her smile was encouraging and she held out her hand in a silent plea.

Kate blinked back tears. ‘I do not know what you must think of me. I feel as if I have invaded your home under false pretences. And presumed on a relationship that …’ She sighed. ‘And I seem to have suddenly become very emotional!’

‘Never that, my dear girl. You have been the victim of a terrible misfortune. Can I be honest? It gives me pleasure that I came to know you as Viola, without any of the strains or tensions from your position as my future daughter. And I have liked Viola very well.’

The kindness and understanding in Elizabeth’s voice destroyed all Kate’s hard-won attempts at control. The tears coursed down her cheeks unchecked. She took Elizabeth’s outstretched hand to sink to her knees at Elizabeth’s feet. Her own mother had never shown her such easy affection and understanding and yet a stranger could soothe the ache in her heart.

‘Come now.’ Elizabeth squeezed the slender hand and stroked her hair. ‘You must not blame yourself, Katherine. And of course, you are Philippa’s daughter.’

‘Yes. My family call me Kate.’

‘Then so shall I. It suits you. I knew your mother many years ago when we were both young brides, she living here, I at Glasbury. If things had been different, I would have seen you growing up and would know you well. As it is, I believe I remember you a little when you were still
a child in arms with soft black curls. A little like now.’ She smiled as she ran her fingers through the short hair and tucked a stray curl behind Kate’s ear.

‘I will not apologise for my son’s sins of omission,’ she continued. ‘He must do it for himself and work out his own salvation with you, but I believe there were mitigating circumstances.’

‘Yes.’ Kate sighed. ‘With some thought, if I am honest with myself, I suppose so. But …’

‘I understand. You do not wish to forgive Marcus too easily. But whatever your difficulties with my son, please do not absent yourself from the Priory. It was your family home—come back and reacquaint yourself with the house.’

‘I would like that. It seems strange that I have lived here over a week with no sense of recognition, no touch of memory. But I suppose I was too young to form any lasting impression.’ She frowned down at her hands. ‘I would like to come back to the house. And to visit you.’ She glanced up shyly, still unsure in this unlooked-for relationship.

‘That would please me more than anything. I have grown to enjoy your company. I would be hurt if you felt that you could not come without an invitation. I accept that Mistress Gilliver has no love for us, but I would hate that she might try to poison your mind against us. There has been too much hatred and bitterness in past years and I would not wish it to taint our friendship. And the
Manor is such a short distance away.’ Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet, drawing Kate with her so they stood face to face. ‘I will not talk about your marriage. It is your friendship I value, freely given. I would not lose it.’ She leaned over to kiss Kate’s cheek.

‘Nothing will do that. Besides, I shall need to visit you, to see that you are still making use of the herbs and still feel their benefit.’

‘You cannot know how much better I feel.’

‘I know now where I learned the skill. When my mother was … when she left the Priory and my father died, she shut herself away at Downham Hall. She began to study such things—at first, I think, to fill the hours. She became very knowledgeable. My uncle, Simon Hotham, has rheumatism—sometimes far more severe than yours—brought on by a wound in battle, which did not heal well. It can keep him abed in the worst cold days of winter. My mother used her knowledge to make medicines as suggested by Master Culpeper in his Herbal. And they were very successful. I learned from her—there was no witchcraft here, whatever Mistress Felicity might fear! My mother is the gentlest of people and believes the best of everyone.’

Elizabeth gave a unlady-like snort. ‘Felicity has some very strange notions that you need not concern yourself with. Your relationship with Master Culpeper has been a great blessing!’

Lady Elizabeth thoughtfully surveyed the young face
before her, full of hope and possibilities for the future, and decided to act on impulse. She felt a need to know the answer to one question, but must tread carefully. After all, it was none of her concern. Nevertheless, ‘Before you go—Marcus mentioned to me that you have a cousin, Richard. Tell me about him. Are you close to him?’

Kate turned her face away. ‘He is … very dear to me.’

She was no longer very sure. Her emotions seemed to be in such turmoil—was she so capricious? ‘I have always known and admired him since I was a little girl. He wished to marry me.’

‘I see. And what do you think? Do you wish to marry him?’

Kate shook her head, unwilling and unable to answer. Elizabeth let it go, a little disappointed, but she had seen no certainty in Kate’s demeanour.

Kate turned to the door. ‘I have left some of the willow-bark tea and the liniment with Mistress Neale. Also a tincture of primrose, which will help you sleep if you feel you need it. It will relieve a headache or reduce tension in your neck and shoulders if they trouble you at night.’

‘Yes, they do. But it is not the pain that keeps me from sleep—that is so much easier. I don’t …’ She found that she could not explain. Or could she? She felt an urgent need to speak to someone, to express her fears aloud.

‘What is it?’ Kate saw the lines of worry deepen around the lady’s eyes.

‘I dare not speak of it.’

‘But tell me. It cannot be so very terrible. Perhaps I can help.’

‘Perhaps. I dare not tell Marcus.’ She picked at the lace on a handkerchief with anxious fingers, a deep line between her brows. ‘He will think I am making an excuse to escape from this house—to return to London. I have never believed in ghosts—’ once she had started she could not stop, the difficult words pouring out ‘—but I feel that this place is haunted and that a cold spirit follows my steps. It is so full of wretchedness and grief. Sometimes at night … and I am afraid. He might not believe me and I do not know what to do. Sometimes I awake and feel it, almost as if it is standing, watching, and the dread prevents me from sleeping again. What must you think of me!’

‘But I believe you.’

Elizabeth looked up, a mixture of disbelief and relief in her eyes. ‘Really? So you have sensed it too?’

‘I have.’ Kate hesitated and made a decision. ‘Last night—here in the house. Her sadness overwhelmed me—so much that I found myself weeping for her.’

‘She frightens me a little.’ Elizabeth sank her teeth into her lower lip. ‘But at least it is a relief to know that I am not imagining it.’ Her soft laugh was nervous, but Kate saw some of the tension drain from her shoulders and her face.

‘Talk to Lord Marlbrooke,’ she advised. ‘He too has sensed her presence. You are not alone in this. He
has kept silent because he probably did not want to worry you.’

‘And I thought … How like him.’ Elizabeth nodded. ‘Can we do nothing?’

Kate shook her head. ‘I don’t think my herbal remedies will cure a wandering spirit. Or even a broken heart. I suspect Master Culpeper would not believe in either of them. But I will talk to Aunt Gilliver. She may have some knowledge that my mother would frown on.’

Elizabeth gripped her hand. ‘I would be grateful. Farewell, dear Kate. Do not make yourself a stranger to me.’

The short journey to Widemarsh Manor took place later in the day, for the most part in an uneasy silence between the Viscount and his betrothed wife. The turbulent weather reflected Kate’s mood, so she resisted Marlbrooke’s attempts at trivial conversation with references to the scenery and the estate. She would not forgive him—yet. Sensing this, he gave up and the resulting silence lasted until they breasted the rise overlooking a gentle depression with a stream, a group of beech trees and a pretty half-timbered manor house, built in the previous century for a Harley widow. The Viscount pulled his horse to a standstill on the ridge and, when his companion would have ridden on, leaned down to take the bridle of Kate’s mount and force her to do likewise.

‘There are things I must say before I deliver you to your aunt.’

She remained unhelpfully silent, her eyes turned away from him towards the waiting house.

‘I have sent news to your family that you are safe. I do not know their reaction to your letter or your apparent disappearance, but now they will know that you are safe and well and where to find you.’

‘You are very kind. My uncle at least will be relieved that I am in your care. His schemes could not have been better fulfilled!’

She did not see the glint of appreciation in his eyes at her wry comment as she resisted his gesture. If she chose to ignore the fact that she had spent the night in his arms, he would allow her to do so—for now.

‘I would ask a favour of you,’ he continued. ‘I would ask you not to cut yourself off from my mother, whatever your differences with me. She has come to enjoy your company. You will not have seen the change in her, but she smiles more than I have seen for many months and looks so much younger. She would hate to lose you—and would perhaps not wish to compromise your freedom of choice by asking you to visit.’

‘Lady Elizabeth and I have an understanding.’
Which
we
clearly do not!

‘I am delighted to hear it!’ He read the thoughts that flitted across her expressive features with ease. ‘I know she will miss your company.’

‘And what about you, my lord?’ She turned her head
to fix him with a quizzical sapphire stare. ‘Will
you
miss me?’

‘By God, yes!’ He allowed the frustration to surface for a moment before reining in hard. ‘I believe I will miss you far more than you realise.’
And far too much for my peace of mind!
For the first time in his life his emotions appeared to be slipping beyond his control.

Before she could read his intention he reached over to grasp her shoulders and pull her towards him. The horses sidled uneasily beneath them as he tightened his grip and took her mouth with his own. It was of necessity brief, but possessive and thorough with hidden depths of fire. A branding of ownership. He released her only when the horses moved apart.

‘Understand me, Kate. As soon as the legalities with your uncle are complete, I will marry you. You are mine, whether you discover your father’s will or not. Because there is something you should know.’ His hesitation was momentary—and then he plunged, for better or worse. ‘I love you, Katherine Harley. I fell in love with Viola, against all my intentions, when I was not free to love her. And resisted all temptations to pursue her. But now I am free to love her—as Katherine. And I will not give you up for anything—in this world or the next.’ He registered with intense satisfaction the shock and astonishment that swept her face, tinting it with delicate colour, at his unexpected declaration. ‘My heart, whether you will it or not, is in your keeping. That should give you something to
think about! And in case you should forget …’ He pushed a hand into his pocket to bring out the old velvet ring box, struggled with the catch and extracted the fragile jewel. He took hold of her unresisting hand and pushed the ring firmly on to her finger, then, before she could resist, bent his head to press his lips to it in confirmation of the gift. ‘That is where it belongs, to remind you of our commitment and my feelings for you.’

He released her to pick up the reins, pleased that she could find nothing to say. ‘And now, let us see what sort of welcome the old witch has for us. I hope I live to tell the tale. The last time we exchanged words she threatened to use a pistol against me if I set as much as a foot on her property! I would dislike it if you had to return to the Priory to participate in a burial rather than a marriage.’

‘God’s bones! Marlbrooke! If you move one inch closer to my house, I will set the dog on you.’ The dog, a hound with an impressive display of teeth, growled and snarled under the hand of the diminutive woman who issued the threat. She stood before them, defiantly determined to repel any invader.

‘Hold the dog, Mistress Adams.’ Marlbrooke was unperturbed and grinned down at her, to her obvious annoyance. ‘I have not come to trespass on your property or your time today. I have brought you a visitor.’