The Blood of Roses (31 page)

The sunlight was bright and hot where it poured through the open curtains. Catherine pushed herself upright, at first mystified, then disappointed, then annoyed to find she was still alone in the tester bed. A sudden, icy prickle of alarm sent her jumping off the bed and running into the dressing room, but Alex’s tartan and other belongings were still where she had left them. Chiding herself for her unwarranted suspicions, she completed the briefest of morning ablutions and emerged a few moments later, having hastily pulled a satin robe overtop the cambric shirt.

This time she was determined to disturb Deirdre, honeymoon or not.

Halfway across the room, another oddity struck her: The house was completely silent, inside and out. There were no faint clangs of steel out in the courtyard, no thickly accented voices shouting orders out in the field, no distant skirling pipers assisting the clansmen through their morning drills.

Frowning, Catherine veered toward the window, but before she went more than a step, the familiar, heavy fall of boots out in the corridor drew both her gaze and her smile to the bedroom door as it was flung open.

Standing there, a startling clash of bright scarlet broadcloth and high white buttoned gaiters, was Lieutenant Derek Goodwin.

For a full minute they stared at one another without moving, without speaking.

“Lieutenant,” Catherine managed at last. “What on earth are you doing here? How … how did you get in?”

“Why, Mrs. Montgomery: What a perfectly dismal greeting. Especially since I have come all this way, risking peril to life and limb to rescue you!”

“Rescue me?”

“Of course. You do require rescuing, do you not? After all, your house has been invaded by the rebels for the past two days, has it not? And you have been kept here as their hostage, have you not?”

Clasping her hands tightly together, Catherine tried to keep her voice calm. “How did you get in here? Where have you come from?”

“I’ve come from the forest,” he replied blandly. “I had, at first, thought the house to be as deserted as the countryside, but … what luck I came and checked up here.”

“Deserted?” Catherine went very still. “What do you mean, deserted?”

“Didn’t you know? The Pretender has moved his army out of Derby. Decamped. Scuttled. Retreated. And in such haste and stealth we could hardly believe it ourselves until the sun came fully over the horizon. They must have crawled away some time during the night, which would put them … oh, ten, fifteen miles back along the road to Manchester by now.”

“I don’t believe you.” Catherine gasped, running to the long, elegant french doors. She opened them and burst out into the cold winter air, her breasts heaving against the tightness of the robe as she searched wildly for proof of the lieutenant’s lies. But the courtyard below was deserted. No laughter, no footsteps, no smell of cooking fires tinged the chilly air. The silence she had noticed earlier was almost deafening as she stood staring out at the barren landscape. The parkland was a muddy green again; there were no tents, no pyramids of muskets, no staked picket lines for the horses.

“When our company withdrew,” said the lieutenant, joining Catherine on the narrow balcony, “we only moved about a mile or so down the road. We have been keeping an eye on things, so to speak; watching the comings and goings with a great deal of interest, as you can imagine. Tsk tsk, but Sir Alfred will
not
be pleased to know his house has been violated by a puppet prince and his whoremongers.”

The emphasis on the last word was so subtle, Catherine missed it. She was, in truth, barely aware of the lieutenant’s presence beside her—something that could not be said for Derek Goodwin. He was very much affected by the proximity of her soft woman’s body, the ripe swell of her breasts, the telltale effects of the cool breeze constricting her skin and offering tautened little nipples for his approval. Lower still, the clinging satin defined the exact shape of her long, slender limbs, molding around and caressing each curve like liquid silver.

“Retreated?” Catherine whispered. “Gone? Without a word?”

Goodwin’s eyes climbed leisurely up to her face again. “What were you expecting? Did you think they should ask your permission to depart?”

A retort to his sarcasm was very near the tip of her tongue. She wisely checked it, however, when she saw the gleam of watchfulness in his eyes.

“I think it would have been civil of them to tell me when they planned on vacating my home, yes. They invaded my privacy, assumed possession of my father’s house and made free use of his storehouses, his cellars. I daresay they have drunk the wine reserves to the bare walls.”

“No doubt they caused you immeasurable discomfort,” he mused.

“It was inconvenient, having a houseful of strangers under one’s feet day and night, although I must say they behaved quite decently, all told.”

“I’m told the Pretender fancies himself quite the ladies’ man. I’ve heard some women will follow him between the sheets after hardly more than a courteous nod.”

“Some women,” she countered frostily, “will follow any man between the sheets, whether they find him to be amiable or not. But to respond to your supposition, I found the Stuart prince to be shy and mannerly and, as far as I could ascertain, too engrossed in the business of winning a country over to his plight to give much thought to dalliances. He is very serious and very earnest in his beliefs and, I daresay, would do nothing to provoke ill feelings among the people he is striving to impress.”

“These … serious and earnest beliefs, do they hold true for his officers? Some of them looked brutish enough to dispense with formalities of any kind and just take what they wanted.”

Catherine stiffened as she felt his watery gaze slither down the front of her robe. “If you are asking, Lieutenant Goodwin, in your own subtle manner if either I or my maidservants were molested in any way, the answer is no. As I have already told you, the prince was a perfect gentleman, and set an example followed by his officers and general staff.”

“Ah … then your participation was voluntary.”

“Participation? In what, pray tell?”

“In whatever it was that went on in your room and kept the lights burning twenty-four hours a day.”

A flood of shocked disbelief surged into Catherine’s cheeks. “How dare you! How dare you speak to me in such a way! How dare you even enter my chambers without being announced. Get out! Get out of my sight at once before I report this affront to your commanding officer!”

Goodwin smiled lazily. “Oh, I don’t think you will report anything. Nothing, at any rate, that might prompt me to issue a countercharge of aiding and abetting the enemy … or, should I say,
abedding
the enemy?”

Catherine’s delicate blonde beauty gave the impression of fragility and weakness, but there was nothing fragile or weak in the powerful swing that sent her hand up to slap the leering smirk off the lieutenant’s face. Her palm caught him squarely on the cheek, with such force, she felt the sting from the shadow of beard stubble scrape her fingers. His head jerked to one side and he was taken sufficiently off guard to falter back half a step.

“Now get out,” she ordered. “Get out of my sight, get out of my house! If I so much as glimpse you on my property again, I shall have you shot!”

Goodwin had kept his face partially averted as he absorbed both the shock of the slap and the tirade. When he slowly straightened, the imprint of her hand stood out a vivid red against the pinched white anger of his complexion. Without a further word, he turned and strode back through the french doors.

Catherine did not realize she was holding her breath until she heard the distinct slam of the bedroom door. Releasing a pent-up gust of air, she sent a trembling hand to her brow. Where had he found the nerve simply to barge into her house, into her bedroom, and demand … demand what? An accounting of her behavior? It was none of his damned business what she did or whom she entertained in her rooms. None of his business if she chose to cavort naked in the streets of Derby with a dozen lusty stableboys!

And how the devil had he just walked into the house, climbed the stairs, and forced himself into her room? Good heavens, someone should have seen him and questioned his boldness. Surely she had not been left completely on her own! Surely Deirdre would have stayed with her or, at the very least, come to say good-bye if she had gone with Aluinn.

Gone! If she had gone! If Alex had truly gone without saying a word … !

Shivering with the cold, Catherine hurried back into her room. Goodwin was gone, but to ensure against any more unwanted intrusions, she quickly locked the bedroom door and removed the brass key.

Clutching it to her breast, she pushed the heavy fall of her hair off her face and tried to think. The Highlanders had broken camp. They were in retreat and Alex had obviously gone with them. Goodwin and his regiment were now downstairs, likely come to sniff after any information that might be of benefit to the pursuing armies.

A cold rush of air down her spine reminded her that she had not closed the french doors behind her. Shivering, she went back to do so now. As she was dropping the latch in place, fastening it the way Alex had shown her, a reflection in the glass pane drew her eye.

The face was just a blur, the features distorted by the surface of the glass, but there was no mistaking the grin or the strong, masculine hand that snaked out and grabbed her around the wrist. Catherine had a split second to realize the lieutenant had only gone through the motions of storming through the bedroom and slamming his way out the door. Obviously he had doubled back and concealed himself behind the heavy velvet draperies.

Her first instinct was to scream, but the sound was bitten off into a sharp cry of pain as her wrist was wrenched down and twisted around into the small of her back. Shoving her roughly back against the wall, Goodwin pinned her there with his body, while his free hand came up and circled her throat, the fingers digging cruelly into the tender flesh beneath her chin.

“Go ahead, Mrs. Montgomery,” he hissed. “Scream if it makes you feel better. Only there is no one to hear you— no one who will give a damn, that is. Just my own men. Twenty-two healthy, lusty young studs who would be only too eager to come up here and see what all the fuss was about. Twenty-two, Mrs. Montgomery. That would keep the lights burning for quite a while, now wouldn’t it?”

His breath was hot and sour against her face. She lunged against him to try to break free, and he slammed her head against the wall a second time, hard enough to shock most of the air out of her lungs. The grip of his hand tightened across her windpipe, forcing her neck into a painful arch as he choked off her supply of air. Catherine fought and struggled against the pressure, but he was far stronger than her and it was only a matter of seconds … moments before she felt the numbness that had begun in her arms and legs spread upward to dull the last of her senses.

Goodwin smiled. He watched the blaze of hatred in her eyes fade to a mere flicker before he eased back slowly on the pressure and allowed a tiny gasp of air through her bluing lips.

“I only want some of what you have been giving to your Jacobite house guests. Naturally, I would rather have a willing participant beneath me, but if you insist on fighting me every step of the way, I don’t mind that either. In fact, I prefer my women with a little spirit in them.”

He released her arm and relaxed the viselike grip on her throat enough for several frantic gulps to restore a measure of her senses. He passed his hand down the front of her robe and kneaded the rounded swell of her breast. Fear had kept her nipples erect and pebble hard, and he pinched one cruelly between a thumb and forefinger, grinning when he felt her shudder and resume her struggles against him.

“You really shouldn’t pretend you don’t enjoy this,” he said, his hand stroking beneath the lace collar to reach the silky heat of her skin. “After all, I saw you … night after night … standing in front of the window with your lover.”

“No!” Catherine gasped. “Not—”

“Standing,” he repeated in a snarl, increasing the pressure on her throat again. “Sometimes kneeling on all fours like dogs. Trees are good for more than just providing fuel, you know. They offer an excellent vantage point, especially with the help of a spyglass.”

He waited until she was on the verge of another faint before he relented, and this time his hands fell straight to the front of the robe, tugging the belt away and tearing at the cambric shirt she wore beneath, ripping it open, collar to hem. She was still floundering, still trying to ease the burning in her lungs when she felt his mouth clamp savagely over her breast, jolting her back to reality with a wave of sheering pain. Somehow she managed to land a solid blow to the side of his head and tore the cartilege of his ear open on the amethyst ring. He cried out in surprise and flinched back, allowing Catherine just enough room to lunge past him and run for the door.

Once there she pulled and yanked and pounded at the brass latch, but it would not turn. She heard a husky laugh behind her and whirled around in time to see Goodwin bend over and pluck something shiny off the rug.

“Well now, I hadn’t planned on offering you anything in exchange for your services, Mrs. Montgomery, but perhaps you would be more receptive if you had some form of motivation.” He dangled the key from the tip of his finger, and his smile was almost charming. “In other words, my dear Catherine: If you want this, you will have to earn it.”

“Please!” She gasped. “Please, unlock the door. I don’t know why you are doing this, but if you let me go right now, I swear I will not say a word to anyone.”

Goodwin’s long fingers caressed the brass stem of the key. “By anyone do you mean your husband? He’s a thousand miles away, at best. Or do you mean your lover? He is likely halfway to Manchester by now with another whore panting beneath him.”

“No, you’re wrong. You’re … wrong about what you saw.”

“Wrong?” He arched an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. “How so?”

“Oh, God—” Catherine closed her eyes against a flood of hot tears. How could she explain the man he had seen her with
was
her husband? “He wasn’t my lover. He …”