The Lass Wore Black (25 page)

“No,” he said, realizing the time, the moment, had come.

He could end it with words, and she’d never wish to see him again. He didn’t want it to end that way. Or perhaps he didn’t wish it to end at all. What he wanted to do was explain himself to her, have her understand. Perhaps then she could forgive him.

“Would you like to know what I do each morning?” he asked. “Discover where I go? I promised you other answers as well.”

She glanced at the carriage, at Brody who sat atop the seat wrapped in enough wool to keep him warm. His scarf was over the lower half of his face, extending above his nose, and his hat was pulled down over his forehead. Even his eyes were half closed against the frigid air.

He owed the man an apology, perhaps even a bonus.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand. “The carriage is ours.”

“Hardly proper, footman,” she said.

He smiled. His position was such that it was doubtful gossip would attach itself to him. To other people, he would be Catriona Cameron’s physician.

“I’ll promise nothing will come of this.”

Curiosity was evidently warring with prudence, because she looked at the carriage, then at him, then back at the carriage.

“What are you about, footman?” she asked, as if they hadn’t spent the last night wrapped in each other’s arms.

Catriona used that tone to push people away. He had neither the patience nor the time for either.

Turning, he opened the carriage door. “I have to leave now,” he said. “If you’re coming with me, then come.”

“I’ve received more gracious invitations.”

He didn’t respond.

She took a step toward him, then hesitated before entering the carriage. She rearranged her skirts and the veil while he gave instructions to Brody.

“I’m sorry,” he added to the coachman. “I should have sent word to you that I’d be delayed.”

Brody only nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.

As much acceptance as he was going to get, and probably more than he deserved. For the first time in his life he wanted to be someone other than he was. Who, a footman?

A moment later he climbed into the carriage and sat with his back to the horses.

He opened the window to the right of him, moving closer to ease the tightness in his chest. The curtain was raised, yet the watery sun provided little illumination.

“Do you work for someone else? Is this their carriage?”

Instead of answering her, he asked, “Why do you dislike physicians so much?”

He hated the veil and the fact that he couldn’t read her expression.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked.

“Call it my inveterate curiosity.”

“You seem to have a great deal of curiosity about me,” she said. “I would have thought you knew everything about me.”

“I haven’t even begun to know you,” he said. “I believe there are many layers to Catriona Cameron, most of which are hidden from the casual observer.”

“Do you think yourself a casual observer?” she asked, making an impatient movement with her hands.

Had he annoyed her?

If he had, he was glad of it. The entire situation was an irritant. He’d been a fool, shortsighted and optimistic. The word didn’t exist that adequately described his stupidity.

Yet if he hadn’t pretended to be a footman, he would never have gotten to know her. He wouldn’t have bedded her. Nor would he find himself at odds with his conscience now.

He didn’t want to tell her who he was, but he’d already waited too long.

“We’re going to see a woman with two children in Old Town,” he said. There, the start of his confession.

“Does my aunt have you doing good works?”

He smiled. “No, this is my own doing.”

“I’ve no wish to go to Old Town. I know about poverty, Mark. There’s no need for me to wallow in it.”

“Do you?” Surprised, his gaze never left her veil.

What had Mrs. MacDonald told him? That Jean and Catriona had come to Ballindair after their parents’ death. He hadn’t questioned the woman further, and he should have. One moment they were the beloved daughters of a physician, the next they were employed as maids.

Another layer of Catriona exposed.

Once again he wished that damnable veil wasn’t in place.

She turned her head from one side of the carriage to the other as if measuring the interior dimensions. Did she think his vehicle lacking?

“This is the first time I’ve been in a carriage since the accident,” she said.

How stupid of him not to have realized.

“Except for the one bringing me home, of course, but I think the doctor gave me something to make me sleep.” She glanced at him. “That’s why I don’t like doctors,” she said. “Because of the accident.”

“Tell me about it,” he said.

What would she say if he reached over and pulled her into his arms? Not a sensuous impulse as much as one of comfort. He wanted to hold her, press his lips against her hair, soothe her as she trembled. Now, she sat with her gloved hands tightly clasped, her voice thin and frail.

When had she stolen his heart along with his mind?

“They all said I was fortunate to have survived. They never told me how I was to live with this new face. They told me that the experience was to be endured, that it would strengthen my character. I didn’t want character. I wanted to escape the pain.”

She looked over at him again. “Time was the best doctor. Either the pain eased or I found a way of coping with it.”

Glancing out of the window, she continued. “The physicians told me that there was nothing they could do for the scarring. Nothing they could do for the loss of feeling in my hand. Nothing they could do to cure the damage to my knee. They conferred in covens, and took my brother-in-law’s money, but they never did anything except give me laudanum and tell me about the grace of God.”

She took a deep breath. “That’s why I dislike physicians.”

“The reason we’re going to Old Town is to see my patient,” he said.

The truth, stark and unremarkable, except that the interior of the carriage became a bubble of silence.

“I’m a physician.”

“You’re a physician,” she repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“That would explain why you’re a lamentable footman.”

For long moments she didn’t say anything further. Should he try to explain? What could he say?

He’d been curious, then intrigued, then entranced. He’d been amused, interested, and too fascinated. What excuse could he give for being physically enthralled, for forgetting his ruse, for being intoxicated by her?

“Why?” she asked. “Why masquerade as a footman?”

“Would you have allowed me to treat you if I hadn’t?”

“A spy, then. I thought better of Aunt Dina.”

She made no movement, and to another observer her voice might seem calm and without inflection. He knew her well enough, however, that he caught the edge to her words, a faint hone to them as if they sliced as they were spoken.

“She was worried about you. So was your sister.”

“Do you know Jean, too?”

“Yes,” he said, deciding not to tell her about his visit to Ballindair yet.

“Are there any more secrets you wish me to know? Are you certain that woman wasn’t your wife?”

“I’m not married,” he said. “The woman was Sarah, my housekeeper.”

“Was bedding me part of your treatment?”

He looked away. Was it the question or the confines of the carriage that disturbed him the most? He’d become accustomed to his dislike of closed spaces, enough to recognize the gnawing anxiety he felt. This, however, was more than that. Perhaps a touch of shame mixed in, along with regret.

“Being your lover was the worst thing I could have done as a physician.”

She turned her head to study him.

“Yet as unwise as it was, I can’t regret it,” he said. “I don’t regret it. Do you?”

“You’ll pardon me if I don’t answer that question,” she said. “You’ve lost the right to hear any of my confidences.”

He couldn’t fault her reaction. Hadn’t he expected it?

Her shoulders were squared and her hands clasped tightly over the hem of her veil.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“To your suite of rooms,” he said. “Avoiding the world, and pretending it doesn’t exist. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I think the danger is venturing too much in society,” she said.

“Will you forever measure your life against the carriage accident? Will you never get beyond it?”

She deliberately turned away, looking out the window.

“What has ever happened to you?” she asked. “Something so major that your life stopped because of it? Tell me what’s happened to you, Dr. Mark . . .” Her words trailed off. “I don’t even know your last name.”

“Thorburn,” he said. “Dr. Mark Thorburn.”

“Very well, Dr. Mark Thorburn. What happened to you that was so bad that you had to stop yourself from thinking about it? Or have you led a charmed life? I suspect you have.”

“My tutor used to lock me in the closet,” he said. “I used to scream for hours to be let out. Once, when my father caught him, the tutor told him that he was trying to strengthen my character. My father allowed the punishment to continue.”

She turned her head.

“What did you do that was so bad you were locked in a closet?”

“The first time, I didn’t know the capital of Greece. It’s Athens, by the way. I don’t remember what I did all those other times.”

“Your father allowed it?”

“My father was all for strengthening my character,” he said calmly. “I was to be an example for my younger brothers. Besides, it was a way to discourage me from speaking of medicine.” He glanced over at her. “I’ve wanted to be a doctor ever since I could remember.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I know it wasn’t as physically taxing as your carriage accident,” he said. “Nor the equal in trauma. But my life hasn’t been charmed.”

“So you test yourself by riding in a carriage with the window open?”

She’d noticed.

“A carriage is the easiest form of transportation, especially in the winter,” he said. “Besides, it’s something I need to overcome.”

“What a paragon of virtue you are, Dr. Thorburn.”

Her voice had become more cutting. At least it wasn’t that calm demeanor she’d assumed sometimes, one socially acceptable but patently false.

What could he say to exonerate himself?

I was a fool, Catriona
. He’d wanted her, and still wanted her, and wasn’t that confession?

Chapter 23

T
he carriage rolled to a stop.

Catriona forced her hands to relax. Nothing was going to happen to her. Nothing had happened.

Only a betrayal so deep it felt carved into her bones.

He reached over and opened the door, leaving the carriage. For a moment she thought he meant to leave her there. She wasn’t eager to venture out into the Old Town, but she wasn’t going to remain here waiting to be robbed or worse.

“Wait,” she said, slapping her hand against the door frame.

He turned back to look at her.

“Still giving orders, Princess?”

“As either a footman or a physician, you’re insufferable.”

He smiled, and she looked away. He shouldn’t smile at her in such a way on a public street. Truly, he shouldn’t smile at her at all after his deception.

“Will you not take me home?”

“We’re nearly there,” he said. “It won’t be that much time out of your life.”

He surprised her by reaching under the seat for a bag. After retrieving several bottles from it, he placed them in his pockets, then left the carriage.

When he held out his hand, she stared at it, debated remaining behind again, and allowed him to help her down the steps.

“We’re going to see Edeen and the children, Brody,” he said, handing up his watch.

The driver nodded, barely visible in the layers of his wool.

The streets were narrow and dark. Only Mark’s hand on her arm steadied her.

She’d heard of Old Town from Aunt Dina. From her words, she’d pictured the place as a labyrinth, a corkscrew of streets and alleys that led down into Hell. She hadn’t considered that it might be worse than she’d imagined.

Twice, she wanted to turn and flee. Twice, she almost pleaded with Mark to take her back to the carriage. Pride and anger kept her silent, however, even as he led her down the steps, stopping before the dark rectangle of a door.

“We’re descending into the vault,” he said.

“We’re going lower?” Were they truly going to Hell, then? Was this her punishment for all the selfish acts she’d ever committed?

She nodded, gathering up her courage.

“It would be easier for you if you removed your veil.”

“Like I did last night?” she asked, hearing the bitterness of her voice. “When you continued to lie to me?”

He didn’t answer, merely tightened his hand on her arm.

The steps were canted downward, narrow and slippery with something. Perhaps it would be better if she didn’t investigate exactly what it was too closely. The smell of rotting vegetables and dank water hit the back of her throat and made her grateful for her veil. At least the heavy lace filtered the worst of the odors.