The Blood of Roses (16 page)

Since Colonel Kelly was, at the moment, preoccupied with adjusting the angle of his overview into Mistress Pickthall’s cleavage, Lieutenant Goodwin elected to offer an answer to the irate squire.

“I assure you, Sir Alfred, every possible step is being taken to guarantee the safety of all families and properties in the shire. There have been incidents of looting and mischief, but on the whole, we have no real reason to believe the rebels wish to cause harm. One of the Pretender’s greatest axioms is his intent to win the English people to his cause. He could not possibly hope to do so if he went about burning homes and stripping warehouses to the bare walls.” The lieutenant paused and added silkily, “Not that I believe he has a chance of winning so much as an English flea to his cause.”

A round of appreciative giggles rewarded his humor and the lieutenant glanced at Catherine to see if she had noticed.

“Hang the fleas!” Sir Alfred trumpeted. “Look around you, man. What of my valuables? What can you possibly do to guarantee this … this candlestick, for instance?” He picked it up from a nearby trestle table and raised it in his clenched fist, shaking it so the flames leaped and the wax splashed onto the floor. “Who is to say it will not capture the eye of some Highland brigand and end up in a wagon bound for Inverness? For that matter, hang the gewgaws! I have a cellar full of vintage wines and brandies that have been collected over generations. The Scots can sniff out spirits like a dog sniffs after a bitch! The work of generations, I say. Gone in a sniff!”

“Now, Alfred,” Lady Caroline murmured. “You mustn’t work yourself into a state over a few musty barrels and a rack of old green bottles. It would probably improve your spleen immeasurably to have your cellar emptied for you.”

“There you are,” Lord Ashbrooke declared in disgust. “Women have no sense in these matters. Had I used the example of Paris gowns instead of fine liquors … well, we should undoubtedly have heard quite a different sentiment!”

“Why, naturally, my dear.” Lady Caroline smiled. “Gowns are works of art. Quite irreplaceable, especially now that you men have insisted upon this silly blockade of the coast.”

“Silly blockade?” Sir Alfred knocked his temple, setting his wig at a slight angle in the process. “You see what I must endure?
Silly blockade
, madam? You would prefer the French to land on our shores and drape you in the
fleur-de-lys!”

“If it would mean a fresh and ample supply of silk, I should be most happy to greet our foreign cousins.”

Another round of repressed titters left Sir Alfred red-faced and spluttering. Lady Caroline returned to her conversation with one of the ladies seated in her small group, sparing an occasional glance toward the pianoforte where the lean figure of Captain Lovat-Spence stood.

Catherine saw the tiny sparks of silent communication pass between her mother and the captain. She lowered her lashes at once, puzzled that she should no longer feel as much resentment as sadness. Was this her mother’s way of enduring a loveless marriage? At one time Caroline Penrith must have been as spirited and gay as her beauty and easy laughter intimated. An arranged union between two families had robbed her of any chance to follow her heart, arid certainly, Sir Alfred could not have been an easy man to live with all these years.

Flushing at the ungenerous thought, Catherine sipped her wine and tried not to compare her mother’s loveless union with Sir Alfred with her own passionate union to Alexander Cameron. Was that the reason behind her mother’s constant parade of lovers? Was she searching for passion?

You are being a harsh judge
, said the tiny voice of her conscience.
Especially since you think of little else yourself these days.

Catherine’s cheeks grew warmer. Since her meeting two days ago with her brother, she had been in an agony of suspense—waiting, watching the road for signs of a messenger. In two days there must have been a hundred callers at the door. The sound of each hoofbeat on the gravel carriage path sent her flying to the window; each knock on the heavy oak doors found her poised on the landing, her hands clutched around the banister as if to crush it.

Alex was nearby. He wanted, needed to see her as desperately as she wanted and needed to see him. How many times had she read and reread his letter? How many hours had she stood at her bedroom window and imagined herself back in the tower room of Achnacarry Castle ensconced in the enormous tester bed with her husband? Certainly there was more to love than passion, but dear God, how wonderful it would be to feel his arms around her, to hear his voice ragged with desire, to know the tremors in her body were shared by an equal longing in his.

How does one love someone desperately?
he had once asked her, mocking the use of the word and the sentiment behind it, even as he had shown an unusual curiosity over both. He had used the same word in his letter: desperate. Was he asking her, or reminding her? And did she remember her answer from that day so many lifetimes ago?

“With one’s whole heart and soul,” she whispered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Catherine glanced up, startled. Lieutenant Derek Goodwin was standing by her side, his mouth arranged in a smile that suggested he knew exactly what she had been thinking about.

“I … was merely agreeing with my father … wishing … with my whole heart and soul that these troubles were behind us.”

“A needless plea,” he assured her warmly, “for I shall consider it my sworn duty in life to see that not a single strand of your hair falls victim to more trouble than a noisome breeze.”

Catherine managed a smile and leaned away from the intimacy of his murmured pledge. She had not even been aware she had spoken out loud, much less that anyone had been standing near enough to overhear her. So near, in fact, she could smell the pungent, stale odor of an overpowdered wig.

“Your glass is empty; may I refill it for you?”

“Oh. No, no, thank you, Lieutenant. I’m afraid I haven’t much of a head for strong spirits tonight.”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Montgomery, I find you hold your spirits very well indeed. I should think any other young and … highly desirable beauty such as yourself would be all but crushed by the loneliness of having a husband abandon her so soon after the nuptials.”

“I was hardly abandoned, Lieutenant,” she replied evenly. “My husband is a businessman. He could not ignore his business ventures for pleasure.”

The slick smile widened. “One cannot imagine the proceeds of any business being half so rewarding, nor the labors half so fruitful”—his eyes slid to the dusky cleft of her breasts—“as those ventured within your arms.”

Amazed and annoyed by his boldness, Catherine’s eyes sparkled a warning. “I assure you my husband’s energies are limitless. I have not felt shortchanged, at any rate.”

“Not even on these cool, wintry nights when your only source of excitement is found within the pages of a penny novel?”

“Penny novels can be extremely exciting, Lieutenant. More so than some of the company I find myself enduring.”

Lieutenant Goodwin warmed to the repartee. He had accepted his posting to Derby with something less than enthusiasm, knowing it was a punishment for having dallied with the affections of his former commandant’s nubile young wife. Nubile young wives were a particular hobby of his. He collected them the way some men collected weapons after a skirmish, to remind them of battles fought and won. Wives were never screaming virgins. There was never any danger of being set before an altar after the fact, and they rarely reported their misdeeds to their husbands, not even when his methods of persuasion were … less than conventional.

Goodwin’s disposition toward his present posting had altered considerably the instant he had laid eyes upon Catherine Montgomery. Blonde and willowy, in possession of a body that was made to burn a man’s honorable intentions to cinders—she was not the kind of woman who should remain four days, let alone four months without the vigorous attentions of a man. She was also, if the stories he had heard were true, married to a man she hardly knew and held no particular affection for. Her reputation as a coquette belied the calm, serene beauty who stood before him now. He could well imagine a similar stance—eyes slightly downcast, lips forming a pout, fingers drumming a silent tattoo on the stem of an ivory fan as she stood watching two men duel for the privilege of claiming her as a prize. Was that it? Did she enjoy playing games? Had she ridden into the forest the other morning fully expecting someone to follow her? Did she expect someone to follow her now as she snapped open her fan and stood up?

“I find the air in here has grown a trifle stifling. You will excuse me?”

“Allow me,” he said, and tucked his hand under the crook of her arm to steer her toward the door. The cool, vaulted silence of the hallway was a welcome relief from the noise and press of warm bodies, and Catherine breathed a sigh of genuine relief.

“Thank you for escorting me, Lieutenant,” she said, turning so that his grip on her arm was subtly broken. “It has been a very long day and I suddenly find myself extremely tired.”

“You are retiring for the night?”

“I thought I might, yes.”

“I … was hoping we could continue our conversation in private.”

Catherine cast a cool glance down to where his fingers had curled around her wrist. “I was quite convinced our conversation was over. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“But I do mind,” he interrupted. “I mind very much, Mrs. Montgomery, wasting my time on a flirt and a tease.”

Catherine’s eyes widened in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, come now, Catherine. We’re alone now. You can stop pretending. I know what you want, what you have been missing these past few months, and believe me, I am more than willing … and eager … to fulfill your every wish.”

Catherine had half a mind to be amused rather than outraged. Did they all assume, because Lady Caroline had no qualms about cuckolding her husband in open company, the daughter would behave in a similar fashion?

“I am truly sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant, but I doubt you could measure up to one tenth of my husband’s capabilities. However, I’m sure you will find the taverns and brothels in Derby teeming with women more suited to your talents.”

Goodwin’s complexion darkened to a dull, throbbing red, but before he could say any more, the doors to the drawing room swung open and several laughing guests swept into the hallway. One of them, a young corporal by the name of Jeffrey Peters, veered instantly toward the lieutenant.

“Oh, I say sir. Colonel Kelly sent me to fetch you. He says we mustn’t wear out our welcome.” He paused and bowed gallantly in front of Catherine. “A perfectly splendid evening, Mrs. Montgomery. As usual.”

Catherine extricated her wrist from Goodwin’s biting fingers. “You are always welcome, Corporal Peters. No more so than tonight.”

The corporal’s pimpled face flushed a deep crimson, and in an agony of embarrassment, he turned to his senior officer hoping to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Instead, he was nearly induced to swallow it from the sheer force of the icy hatred emanating from the hazel eyes.

“Thank you, Corporal,” Goodwin said tautly. “You were dispatched to find me and so you have. You may return to Colonel Kelly and inform him I shall rejoin him directly.”

Corporal Peters started to turn away when Catherine reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “I shall bid you good night now, Corporal, since I am feeling the effects of an aggravatingly long day and probably will not return to the drawing room.”

The corporal bowed and smiled. “Good night, Mrs. Montgomery. I trust you will feel better in the morning.”

“I am sure I will. Good night to you as well, Lieutenant. And better luck elsewhere.”

Goodwin stared after Catherine as she walked away, his body still reacting to the fragrance of her hair, the imagined feel of her warm, naked skin rubbing up against his. She obviously liked playing the fox, leading the hunters on a merry chase, smug in the knowledge that she could retreat into her lair at any time. Well, this hunter knew exactly where the lair was, knew her rooms were isolated at the far end of one wing of the house with nothing but empty chambers on either side.

Run and hide, my luscious little fox. Stoke the fires and warm the sheets, for you’ll not be spending another cold night alone.

“Beautiful, isn’t she, sir?”

“What?” Goodwin whirled around, surprised to see the corporal still beside him. “What the devil did you say?”

“I … I w-was merely complimenting M-Mrs. M-Montgomery’s beauty, s-sir.” The corporal strained over each word, cursed by an impediment that made him stutter at the least sign of pressure. “I m-meant no offense.”

Goodwin raked his gaze along the corporal’s thin, lanky body. “And just what would you know about women, beautiful or otherwise? I thought pretty little things like yourself gravitated toward your own kind.”

Corporal Peters paled. After a long moment, and with a visible effort, he drew himself to attention.

“The c-colonel is waiting,” he said tersely. “Sir.”

Goodwin laughed and, adjusting the lower edge of his red woolen tunic, he strode toward the door of the drawing room. Corporal Peters lingered long enough to force his fists to unclench, then followed.