Anne Barbour (29 page)

Kate. He must find Kate. His heart bounded in a great surge of joy. He was innocent of Philip’s death! He could grieve with Kate, but he no longer need feel responsible for her tears. He was free to love her honorably—could he teach her to love him? Yes, he had promised to find her a suitable husband—he had given his word that she should have Lawrence if that’s who she wanted, but by God he would lay his own heart before her first.

Could she ever see him as anything but a beloved friend? He remembered those fleeting seconds when he had covered her mouth with his outside the villa. Had he detected a response in her slender body, or was he the victim of his own heated imaginings? He warmed at the remembered softness of her curves pressed against him. He had sensed an eagerness to match his own, but perhaps ... No, he must not take his dreams too far. He would be gentle and he would be patient, and in time, God willing, she would come to love him with the same fire she had ignited in him.

He smiled, envisioning the years ahead with Kate at his side. Together, what a paradise they could make of Westerly!

And with whose money will you create this paradise?
The thought gnawed at him all the way back to the house. Surely, Kate would not think he wanted her for her fortune. On the other hand, with Regina’s greedy ambitions as an example, how could she think anything else? Would he be able to convince her of his love?

Then again, what if he were simply creating a rosy fantasy? What made him think that she could love him, even without the conditioning that made her think of him as her blasted brother? What had he to offer? A face that he could not but consider unprepossessing at best, and a form certainly less than godlike. Ah, he mused, let’s not forget the title—females pay attention to that sort of thing. But not, he rather thought, females like his Kate. There was Westerly, of course. Kate loved Westerly, but would she be willing to be saddled with it as it was now—debt-ridden and unproductive?

As he rode, his thoughts grew ever gloomier, but underneath it all, his mind sang of his freedom from guilt. Surely, now he could pursue his dreams. And his love.

He galloped into the stable yard and, leaving his horse in the care of one of the grooms, hurried into the house.

“Kate!” His voice could be heard echoing through the lower floors of the manor. “Kate!”

But the only response he drew was from a worried Fleming, who hurried into the kitchen wing to greet him.

“Miss Kate isn’t here, my lord,” said the butler anxiously. “She should have returned from the village before lunch, but she and Mr. Lawrence have been gone for hours.”

Kate and Lawrence?

“Where is Lady Falworth?” David asked, white-faced.

“Her ladyship is in the green saloon, sir. She is ...”

But Fleming was talking to the empty air.

David found Regina engaged at her embroidery. She raised her head as David strode into the room, and at the sight of him, a certain wariness crept into her eyes. She smiled and stretched out a hand to him.

“David! You look as though you’d been digging ditches—I hope you have not overtaxed your strength.”

“Your concern is most gratifying, madam. Now, tell me of this expedition undertaken by Lawrence and Kate.”

“Lawrence and Kate?” She fluttered her eyes in a pretty show of surprise. “Why, I asked Kate to pick up some things for me in the village, and Lawrence offered to take her in his curricle. I must say, I have been wondering where they could have got to.”

“Just where has he taken her, Regina?” snapped David. “Someplace, I suppose, where they will not be found until the morrow?”

“Nonsense,” replied her ladyship, a shade uneasily. She attempted to meet his angry gaze, but immediately dropped her eyes. “Oh, very well, I shall admit I arranged their little, er, jaunt—just so that Lawrence and Kate could further their, um, relationship, but it was to be nothing more than a morning’s outing. I can’t imagine what could have happened to them.”

“I see. And have you sent anyone out to make inquiries?”

“Yes,” she replied calmly. “When they did not return for luncheon, I sent a footman out, but he says he did not meet them on the road, and no one in the village has seen either of them. I’m sure, however, there must be some simple explanation of their absence, and I’ve no doubt they will return shortly.”

David eyed her narrowly.

“You have no idea where Lawrence could have taken her?”

“Good gracious, David, you sound as though Lawrence has fashioned some sinister plan to abduct Kate. How perfectly ridiculous! I should imagine they are simply paying visits—or perhaps Kate wished to go to a neighboring village—for some reason.”

“If there are sinister plans afoot, my lady”—-David’s eyes held an unmistakable menace, and Regina began to pluck nervously at the silk fringe of her shawl—”I think we know at whose door they can be laid.” He moved forward to take her shoulders in a harsh grip. “If this is another of your plots, Regina, know that it will be the very last one you fashion.”

He turned and strode from the room, leaving her to stare after him, rigid with shock.

Returning to his study, he stood for a moment, frowning in thought, then betook himself to Lady Frederica’s chambers.

He found the elderly artisan hard at work at her loom, and it was with the greatest of difficulty that he was able to disengage her from her new project, a depiction of St. George slaying a particularly gruesome dragon.

“Well, I can tell you that he and Crawford were talking about Pucklechurch earlier today,” she said thoughtfully.

“Pucklechurch! That’s over three hours from here! It’s in the opposite direction from the village.”

Lady Frederica shrugged. “I understand Lawrence said something about traveling there, although he did not seem to be happy about the project. It seems he carried on at some length about ‘Mama’s everlasting plotting.’ Quite incensed he was. One of the upstairs maids—the youngest Brannam girl, I think, told me that he and Regina had a horrendous row over it. Lawrence said he didn’t see why he had to ferry Kate about the countryside today—why couldn’t he go tomorrow? He whined and blustered at some length, but Regina finally won out, of course. When last seen, Lawrence was stamping down the corridor in the devil’s own temper.”

David’s fingers raked through his black hair as he paced the floor. “ ‘Ferry Kate about the countryside’! My God, if he’s so much as touched her I’ll... Did you hear anything further of Regina’s plans? Why Pucklechurch for God’s sake?”

“Well,” replied Aunt Fred judiciously, as she clipped a strand of wool with her scissors. “It’s quite out of the way, and not a place one would think of looking for them, and it’s not too far from Westerly. I expect that tomorrow morning Regina will mysteriously receive word that the unhappy couple has been discovered there. At which point, she will sail off after them and have them back home and formally betrothed before lunch.”

David’s enraged response to this was largely unintelligible. He stared at her for a moment, again running his fingers through hair that was already wildly disordered. He groaned, envisioning a terrified Kate being mauled by her loathsome cousin.

“He would not serve Kate such a turn, would he? Or me?”

“People,” murmured Aunt Fred, “particularly impecunious young men, are apt to do odd things where money is involved.”

“My God!” cried David through clenched teeth as he hurtled out of the room. “I’ll kill him!”

Lady Frederica gazed after her great-nephew for a moment. Then she picked up her bobbin once more and turned back to St. George and his dragon, an odd smile curving her lips.

The next few hours seemed to last an eternity to David. Because he rode on horseback, he was able to leave the main road now and then to travel the lanes and byways that provided a shortcut to Pucklechurch. Thus, it was well under the three hours it would have ordinarily taken to make the journey when he spied the square tower of the charming village church.

Within a few minutes, he had arrived at the single inn available to travelers who passed through the town. He was surprised at the bustle of vehicles and horses in the inn yard, and the number of persons, mostly young men, streaming in and out of the doors of the little building. He brushed this circumstance from his mind as he handed a sweating and trembling Barney to the ostler who hurried to greet him, then dashed into the inn.

“Well sir,” said the landlord, a grizzled and somewhat flushed personage, busily removing empty tankards from the tables in his taproom. “Don’t remember the gentleman, partick’aly. The description you give c’d fit almost any of the sprigs who been hoppin’ about here today. But the redheaded gal—oh, yes, she’s here, right enough.”

“Where?” asked David frantically. “Which is her room?”

The landlord chuckled. “Oh, she ain’t in no room, sir.”

“Well, private parlor, then.” David was ready to throttle the man.

“Nope. Nor private parlor, neither.” He gazed vaguely around the taproom as though he expected to see the redheaded gal perched on his bar. “Tell you what, you might find ‘er in the stable.”

“The stable?” David’s tone was frantic. “What would she ...” But at the landlord’s shrug, he turned and ran from the inn.

He checked as he entered the stable, adjusting his gaze from the brightness of the afternoon sun to its shadowy depths. From the far end of structure he heard voices, and as he made his way toward them, was rewarded by a glimpse of brilliant color at the far end of a stall-bordered corridor.

Yes! It was Kate, and with her... David could just make out the dim masculine shape that loomed above her. The shape spoke, and was instantly recognizable.

“Look, here, Kate.” Lawrence’s voice was unaccustomedly harsh. “I’ll not put up with this. Come away into the inn. I don’t see what you’re making such a fuss about, anyway,” he finished, falling into his more familiar whine.

“Just keep your hands off me, Lawrence,” snapped Kate, and now David could see that she stood near one of the pair of chestnuts that pulled Lawrence’s curricle. “If you think I’m going to stay in this benighted village while you—ouch! Lawrence, you’re hurting me!”

David hurtled forward, just as Kate gave a vicious twist. With an anguished squeal, Lawrence reeled backward, bent double in pain. David paused, almost laughing aloud in his relief. Good girl! She had apparently remembered the lesson he and Philip had taught her when she was thirteen of how to disable a man with one, quick thrust of the knee—a piece of instruction she had been told never to divulge to any of Westerly’s adults on pain of punishment too terrible to mention.

While David watched in appreciation, Kate stood over her victim for a moment, startled at the damage she had inflicted. Then, she whirled to grasp the bridle of the horse she had been saddling.

“I’m sorry, Lawrence,” she said over her shoulder as she worked, “but you really shouldn’t—oh!”

Kate, unfortunately, had overestimated the recovery time on the blow she had dealt, and now Lawrence, with an enraged snarl, had hurled himself on Kate, murder in his eye.

Galvanized into action, David leapt at his half brother, unleashing all the pent-up concern he had endured over the last hours. Staggering back in surprise at the unexpected onslaught, Lawrence’s head snapped back as David’s fist connected with his nose, producing an immediate and satisfying flow of blood. He slid in an ignominious heap to the floor.

Sparing him not another glance, David opened his arms to Kate, who flew into them and buried her head on his shoulder.

“Kate! My God, are you all right?”

“Oh, David!” she cried in joyful relief. “I have never been so glad to see anyone. This has been a perfectly wretched day. You would not believe what this tiresome idiot has been up to.” She cast a disdainful glance at Lawrence, who still lay sprawled atop a malodorous heap of straw.

“Oh, wouldn’t I just,” growled David, nudging Lawrence ungently with his toe.

“Why’d you hid be?” whimpered Lawrence. “I thig you broke by dode,” he finished in some indignation.

“I’ll hit you again, you appalling little worm. You’ve made it quite clear that you hate me, and care nothing for Westerly, but when it comes to abduction ...”

“Abduction!” Kate and Lawrence spoke as one.

“Oh, but David,” said Kate. “Lawrence did not abduct me— at least, not precisely. That is, I went with him quite willingly.”

Motionless, David could only stare at her, for his heart seemed to have stopped beating.

Chapter Twenty-two

“I don’t understand,” said David finally, his voice a painful rasp. He turned to Kate. “Was it an elopement, then? Did you willingly accompany Lawrence here?”

“To Pucklechurch?” replied Kate indignantly. “Of course not.”

David expelled the breath he had been holding during this entire exchange.

“Then what...” he began.

“Good God!” This from Lawrence, who was struggling to rise, holding a delicately embroidered lawn handkerchief to his streaming nose. “You dode really thig we were elopig, do you?”

“What else was I to think?” demanded David impatiently. He turned again to Kate. “Just what the devil is going on?”

But Kate had swung on him, her nose now just inches from his own. “Do you honestly believe,” she began in a furious tone, “that I would consider marrying that wretched toad?”

“Here, I say,” interpolated Lawrence weakly.

“And even,” continued Kate, as though he had not spoken, “if I were to contemplate such a ludicrous step, do you think I am so lost to propriety that I would consider a runaway marriage? Do you?” she repeated, as David showed no inclination to answer.

“Of course not.” David sought for the right words to placate the wrathful figure before him. If he had thought Kate a youthful deity in her gown of amber silk, she looked now like a fully matured avenging goddess, with her hair falling unbound over her shoulders. In the rays of late afternoon sun filtering through the dirty stable windows, it blazed like a bonfire on midsummer’s eve. “I knew you would never go willingly with him—that’s why I assumed you’d been abducted—but then you said you weren’t, so ...”