Virginia Henley (38 page)

“She’s a Celt through and through, like you and me, Maggie.”

“Aye, and in a day or two we can expect a visit from another Celt, unless I miss my guess. Only this one has more tenacity, backbone and staying power than the rest of the pack.” Maggie closed one eyelid. “I’m saying no more. A wink’s as good as a nod to a blind horse.” She finished her drink and spotted a deck of playing cards on the desk. “I’ll take these along to her, and ye can take her a decanter of this fine malt whisky, but fer God’s sake don’t give it to her until she’s had dinner, or Mistress Impulsive will drink herself into a stupor within the hour.”

“Thank you for confiding in me, Maggie.”

Due to Mr. Burke’s meticulous instructions in the kitchen, dinner was most successful. When his young mistress repaired to the sitting room he brought a decanter of whisky and discreetly placed it on a side table. He left and instructed a servant to plenish a guest room, inspected the chamber afterward, and then went to the stables to direct one of the grooms to select a palfrey for Lady Catherine’s use while she was in residence at Spencer Park. “My compliments on the cleanliness of the stables. Another arrival is expected soon, so you had best ready a stall.” Burke raised his head as he heard the clop of horse hooves. “Sooner than anticipated, by the sound of things.”

Hepburn dismounted from Valiant just as the steward emerged from the stables. “Mr. Burke, do you perhaps remember me?” He held out his hand. “Patrick Hepburn—I had the privilege of visiting Spencer Park a few months back with the Carey brothers.”

“I do indeed remember you, Lord Stewart. Your Scottish lands adjoin the Earl of Winton’s, if I recall correctly. Spencer Park is honored to welcome you once again.”

“The honor is mine, Mr. Burke. I’ve brought Lady Catherine’s palfrey from Richmond and also brought a gift, as any guest worth his salt should. These yearling colts are horses I captured from a wild Scottish herd. Their blood will strengthen your herd.”

“They are indeed fine specimens. A groom is preparing a stall for your personal mount, so I’ll instruct him to ready a few more.”

“That is most thoughtful. Tomorrow, I shall come and put them out to pasture for the daylight hours. They are hardened to more severe cold temperatures than you have here in Hertfordshire.”

Hepburn unstrapped his luggage from the animals before he turned them over to Spencer grooms.

As Burke walked to the house with Hepburn, each carrying bags, he said, “A guest room has already been prepared.” He hesitated, then plunged in. “Are we to expect fireworks, my lord?”

Hepburn grinned. “I hope not, Mr. Burke. A flash of lightning from Lady Catherine, followed by a loud clap of thunder from me, will most likely put an end to the threatening storm.”

“Very good, my lord. I will take your bags up to your room.”

Patrick followed the light silently, then stood at the threshold of the sitting room. “Drowning your sorrows, Hellcat?”

Catherine spilled the whisky she was sipping onto her playing cards. She jumped up, her eyes flashing with anger. “How dare you intrude here?” She raised her voice. “Mr. Burke! Mr. Burke!”

“He can’t hear you. He’s taken my luggage upstairs.”

“Maggie!” But Cat saw that Maggie’s chair was empty. She had laid her cards on the table and quietly disappeared. Cat glared daggers at Hepburn. “The only
sorrow
I’d like to drown is you!”

“I’m thrilled you still have such passionate feelings for me.”

“It’s called
loathing
! You rejected my passion, you brute!”

“Damn it, Catherine, I did no such thing!” he roared. “You were in mortal danger. I sent you home where you would be safe.”

“Safe? The moment you rid yourself of me, I was kidnapped!”

“Aye, and I mortgaged Crichton to ransom you. I’d do that for no other soul on earth. But what thanks do I get? The moment you are back at Court you fall into the arms of the first wealthy noble who stiffens at the sight of you.”

“There is no need to be offensive, Lord Stewart.”

“How the devil can you say that with a straight face? You love and adore anything offensive—almost as much as I do.”

She was unable to hide her amusement, her mouth curved in a smile.

“That’s better.” He strode toward her. “Now I want to hear you purr.” His arms captured her and his mouth took possession.

His body was so powerful, it made her go weak in the knees, but it also turned her blood to wine—intoxicating, deep red wine. Cat opened her mouth to his insistent tongue and dug her nails into his arms, moaning softly at the pure pleasure he gave her.

“You taste of whisky—a flavor irresistible to a Scot.”

“You devil! One minute I want to scratch out your eyes and the next I want to be stroked like a spoiled tabby cat.”

He picked her up, walked to the fire and sat down with her in his lap. His teeth nipped her ear. “I like my Cat to have claws.”

“
Your
Cat?” she challenged, rubbing her bum against his cock.

He cupped her face with his palms and gazed at her. “At the joust, when I saw you in white velvet and fur, you looked like a prized Persian cat. Your beauty stopped the breath in my throat.”

His words melted her icy heart. “Flattery means naught to me.”

“Lying little bitch. You thrive on it. You love being told you have the most fashionable gowns, glorious hair, smallest waist, prettiest legs, lush titties, and the sauciest tattoo.”

She wound her arms about his neck. “My lover has told you all my secrets.” She touched the tip of her tongue to his lips, knowing it would tempt him to devour her mouth.

He kissed her senseless, then set her on her feet so that he could get them some whisky. When he drew close he saw her mouth and her breasts quiver for his touch. “I’m jealous of the firelight that spills over your delicate curves, touching you everywhere, warming you, mesmerizing your gaze.”

“You do that, Patrick, not the firelight.”

He drew her down upon the couch and proceeded to prove her right. He kissed and tasted and whispered and touched for hours, until the candles guttered and the logs on the fire dropped to ash. Then he picked her up in his arms, held her high against his heart and carried her upstairs.

Though the physical toll he paid was high, Hepburn was too shrewd and calculating to give her what she needed. He set her on her feet and dropped a kiss on her shiny black curls. “Good night, Catherine. Sleep well.”

Cat swayed, dizzy from his closeness. She had forgotten how big he was, forgotten how wild her response was to this untamed male she desired above all others. She heard a door close, and when she opened her eyes found herself standing alone.
“Peste!”
she swore.

“Slug a bed.”

Catherine’s eyes flew open as she felt the covers lifted off her. The man she had been dreaming about had hold of her ankles and was rudely pulling her from her bed.

“It snowed last night. Hurry and get dressed. I want a tour of Spencer Park.”

“In the snow?” she asked in disbelief, thinking it would be much cozier if Patrick joined her in the warm bed, rather than her joining him in the cold snow.

“Yes, it’s beautiful out there. Wear that white furry thing.”

She stared at her chamber door after he disappeared. “He’s elusive as bloody mercury!” Yet she knew he was more like a lodestone, irresistibly attracting and luring her to follow him. The door opened again, and her face fell when she saw it was Maggie.

“Have this warm drink and a bite of food before ye go rushing off to see the surprise his lordship has planned.”

Catherine’s eyes sparkled. “A surprise? For me?”

“No, fer the scullery maid ... of course it’s fer ye, my lamb.”

Cat, her mouth crammed full of bread and honey, said, “Hewantsmetowearthewhitevelvet.”

“I understand ... thousands wouldn’t.” Maggie produced the gown.

Cat, hastily rinsing the soap from her face, blew a bubble into the air as she instructed, “Fur cape, too.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Slow down, lass. Make him wait.”

“That’s what I’ve always done with gentlemen before, but Hepburn is not like other men.”

“Well, for one thing he’s no gentleman, but therein lies the fatal attraction,” Maggie said knowingly.

When Catherine was dressed, she pushed her feet into fur-lined boots, picked up her muff and ran downstairs. She paused deliberately to catch her breath, and then with a feigned casual gesture slowly opened the front door. Her languid posture vanished immediately and her face turned radiant as she saw Hepburn awaiting her, holding the reins of a two-horse sleigh.

“Patrick, a sleigh-ride will be so exciting!”

He leered suggestively. “English, you have no idea.” He watched as her cheeks turned a delicate pink, and his heart turned over in his breast at her exquisite beauty.

As she climbed in beside him, she saw that he had piled in cushions and traveling rugs that he must have gotten from Maggie. He tucked the rug about her, then flicked the reins for their ride through the winter wonderland of Spencer Park.

In reality it was Hepburn who showed off the property to Cat.

Hundreds of shaggy-coated, longhorn cattle roamed about the snow-covered pastures, and he explained that they were bred to withstand cold weather. “Did you know these cows of yours supply the Court with all the butter it uses? No, I didn’t think you knew.”

Since the river Lea was frozen, the horses took the sleigh across the ice to where the fields of the home farm lay fallow beneath their blanket of snow. “Did you know your main crops are rye and barley and, come spring, Mr. Burke is considering hops? No? You are such an ignorant little wench.”

She laughed up at him saucily. “You are a marvelous tutor. I enjoy your lessons and especially your initiations.”

“Good. My tutelage has only just begun.” He stopped the sleigh on the summit of a hill where the vista of Spencer Park stretched out before them.
Mine!
Then he looked down at the beautiful female beside him and the word repeated in his brain.
Mine! All I have to do is reach out and take it.

He reached out and enfolded her in his warm embrace. In truth he could wait no longer to taste her. He placed firm fingers beneath her chin, gazed into her radiant, eager face, then took possession of her mouth. Heat leaped between them as their desire ignited, and she turned hot and sweet with passion.

“Catherine, I want you to marry me.” He saw her pupils dilate and knew he would get his way. “I know you need permission from both your mother and the queen, so I am willing to wait until you come of age. I want you to pledge yourself to me in a secret betrothal. Your birthday is March thirty-first. Before April dawns, I will come and wed you. I give you my sacred promise, Catherine.”

“I hereby plight thee my troth!” Cat cried impulsively.

He took the leopard signet ring from his little finger and slipped it onto her left hand. Though he had a wedding and a betrothal ring, he used one of his own so that his proposal would seem spontaneous rather than premeditated.

The ring was too large for her small finger, but she clenched her hand so it wouldn’t fall off. “A Hepburn leopard,” she said happily. “Wild and untamed.” She lifted her lips to seal their promise with a heart-stopping kiss.

He pulled her hard against his side with one powerful arm and picked up the reins with his other hand. He stopped the sleigh at the back door of the hall and, on cue, Mr. Burke came out with hot mulled cider. Patrick winked at her over the rim of his cup. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Fortified with the hot, spicy drink, they drove to the stables. He reined in the horses, turned them over to a groom, pulled aside her traveling rug, then jumped from the sleigh. “Come on.”

Cat took his hand and went inside with him. “Oh, Patrick.” Tears flooded her eyes when she saw Jasmine in one of the stalls. “How did you know I longed to have my palfrey here?”

“I have second sight. Had you forgotten?” he said lightly.

Catherine’s heart overflowed with gratitude and love as she stroked Jasmine’s nose. “My beautiful girl ... how I’ve missed you.”

She watched with growing excitement as he saddled the white mare and his own Valiant. Then he lifted her with powerful hands and kissed her before sitting her in the saddle.

As they walked their horses toward a long pasture, he said, “I brought you a gift.”

Cat saw the pair of colts immediately and sadness flickered in her eyes, at war with the happiness bubbling inside her. “These are from the wild herd we rode with on the happiest day of my life. But, Patrick, mayhap it would have been kinder if you had left them with their herd to run untamed.”

“They are young males—bachelors. By spring the herd stallion would not tolerate them near his mares. He would kill them rather than let them mate with his females.”

“That seems so savage and cruel.”

“It’s the nature of the beast. Most males feel that way toward their chosen mate.” He looked at her possessively. “I know I do.”

Cat smiled. She rather liked the idea that he’d kill for her.

“Come on,” he urged, “let’s gallop with them again.”

The pair of wild colts took off like lightning before Patrick and Cat could reach them. When they got to the end of the long pasture, they circled back. Valiant soon caught up with them, but Jasmine was on the third gallop around the field before she came level with the other three horses. Catherine’s blood was up, and excitement rushed through her veins, making her feel more alive than she had since they’d ridden with the wild herd in Scotland.
How many hours before dark, so we can go to bed and make love?
She threw back her head and laughed with pure joy.

Patrick laughed too. “In a few days I’ll have them eating out of your hand. They’ll love it here in the south of England.”