Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book (16 page)

Lady Wilmot rose from the settee near the door and beckoned Elizabeth to join her, indicating their visit was at an end.

Elizabeth smiled at Lydia in reassurance. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to endure something so obviously distressing. You must stay strong. I’m sure you’re doing the right thing by avoiding this person.” When Lydia looked down at her lap, Elizabeth glanced at Catherine and rolled her eyes ever so slightly as she stood to take her leave.

Catherine tried not to smile back at her. Lydia loved these little dramas, but things were never quite as she painted them. Catherine had learned not to trust her confidences. Many of them were strategically placed bits of misinformation.

Catherine’s gaze followed Elizabeth as she left the room, wishing she could do the same. Fortunately, after Elizabeth left, Lydia’s performance waned. Perhaps she needed a larger audience to inspire her.

Without Elizabeth beside her, Catherine’s interest in the charade dimmed as well. Elizabeth would have made it fun. But Lydia? Catherine found the woman grating because she always seemed to be measuring her words and trying to evoke a particular response. First they spoke briefly about the impending marriage of Emperor Napoleon to his beloved Eugénie, which would take place at the end of the month, and then of the increasing number of flounces found on skirts. Lydia bemoaned the fact that her favorite ball gown only had three flounces, when, to be current, it should have five.

After a short interval, Lady Larchmont stood and beckoned her daughter to her side, ready to depart.

“Well, if you really
must
know,” Lydia said to Catherine, as if continuing a conversation that had not actually been taking place, “I’ve been avoiding Lord Stansbury. He’s been making the most disagreeable comments about a gentleman my family favors, and I refuse to stand by and listen to his slander.” She stood and crossed the room to join her mother, a pleased expression on her face.

Puzzled, Catherine watched her leave. Lydia had clearly planned to impart that particular piece of information. But this didn’t match what Elizabeth had said. Was Lydia avoiding Stansbury, or chasing someone else? Or both? Not that she’d blame Lydia for avoiding the man.

And not that it mattered.

15 - A Contract

Daniel tapped his fingers against his desk with a bit more force than necessary. The many late nights he’d been keeping wore on him, and he was relieved there’d soon be an end to it all.

Lord Larchmont’s suggestion made that possible.

Of course, the transaction he proposed included marrying Lady Lydia, but perhaps that would be for the best. The girl was pretty enough, if a bit sharp and artificial. She always seemed to be playing a role, but that would change once she was married. Based on her mother’s level of involvement in her life, Lydia would probably be a doting mother as well. She came from a noble family, was well connected, had a solid upbringing, and was easy to ignore. She’d make the perfect wife to raise his children and manage his home.

“Madson!” he shouted.

His valet appeared at the door of the drawing room, shooting him a censorious look.

“Blast it. Don’t look at me that way. I can shout in my own house if I want to.”

“Of course, my lord. As you wish, my lord.”

Daniel sent him a look of annoyance at the repeated
my lord
ing, but Madson only smirked at him.

Blasted man.

“Perhaps I should consider getting proper servants,” Daniel muttered. He pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and slapped it on the wooden top. As he scribbled furiously on it, he gave Madson his instructions.

“I need you to send Driscol to deliver a message bearing my regrets. I won’t be attending that soiree this evening, as it’s no longer necessary.”

“Yes, my lord.” Madson turned to leave the room.

“Wait. When do you depart for my new estate?”

Madson paused and turned back to him. “We planned to leave shortly, but we can wait until Driscol returns from delivering the message.” He hesitated. “Are you certain you don’t want me to stay here tonight, my lord?”

Daniel waved his hand dismissively. “I’m a grown man. I can manage a night on my own.” He’d been doing so since he was a young child, as Madson well knew.

Madson was only gone for a short time when he returned. “Lord Huntley, Lord Wentworth is ...” He didn’t finish his sentence, however, because Wentworth came barging into the room.

“What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” Wentworth flung his hat and cloak at Madson as he stormed toward Daniel. “Don’t say you’re going to marry a Larchmont.”

Daniel bristled. “What’s wrong with the Larchmonts? They’re well respected.”

“Well respected? Lydia has a reputation for having a vicious tongue, her brother-in-law is a brute, and her father is wound so tight I’m surprised he doesn’t spring a cog. How could you want to align yourself with such an uptight, conniving man? Are you trying to
make
yourself miserable?”

“That’s ridiculous.” Daniel stood abruptly. “Lord Larchmont is highly respected and has already exercised his influence to help me. Just this morning, I finalized the purchase of the Savelle estate outside London. You know how much I wanted that property. I’d given up hope of ever acquiring it, but at Lord Larchmont’s urging, the former owner changed his mind. I jumped at the opportunity before the man could back out. Aligning with the Larchmonts has already proven fruitful.”

“And that sudden reversal on the former owner’s part doesn’t strike you as odd?”

“What are you suggesting?” Daniel shot him a stony look. “Larchmont has a great deal of influence. People listen to him.” Daniel touched the silver watch in his pocket, finding reassurance in its solid weight.

“People fear him. There’s a difference. You’ve made a deal with the devil, Huntley. He only likes you for your title and your rich coffers.”

“Well, I only like him for his respectability. Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

“You’re paying much too high a price for acceptance. It’s not worth it.”

“Enough,” Huntley said, settling his cold-eyed gaze on his friend. “Tonight, I plan to celebrate the purchase of my new estate and the end of my search for a bride by going to Bernini’s. I’ve earned a night off. I’d like you to join me, but only if you’ll stop harping on me about Lord Larchmont.”

“Then I’ll only say one last thing. Read your marriage contract carefully before you sign, my friend. He’s bound to slip in some nasty clauses.”

16 - A Close Call... or Two

Thick fog enveloped the London streets as Catherine rode to Bernini’s Academy, and it wrapped her in a cocoon of insensibility. In the eerie silence, her emotions warred within her; she was excited to finally be able to fence, irritated with Charles for canceling on her at the last minute, and nervous about braving the London streets alone.

She encouraged her irritation, fanning its spark into a flame, in the hope that she might be able keep her fear at bay. If not for Charles’s thoughtlessness, she wouldn’t be alone right now. Not only had he failed to return home for dinner, he’d also sent an extremely belated note saying he was staying at the Ambridge Club and wouldn’t be home until quite late. He’d provided no explanation. No excuse.

Had he forgotten about their plans? That seemed unlikely. It must have been something serious to keep him away. But what was she to do? With few options remaining to her, she left for Bernini’s without him. Was something wrong? What if that rumor from Oxford had made its way to London? It had to be something serious, or he would have been home on time. He almost never missed one of their fencing nights.

But wait, she’d been trying to stay angry with him. She let out a sigh. She simply couldn’t do it. She couldn’t maintain that level of ire. Now, instead of being irritated with him, she was worried.

Worried, and more than a little bit afraid of the dark.

Catherine didn’t pass any other travelers near her home, and the sense of unnatural isolation increased as she passed through the empty streets.

She tightened her thighs, urging her horse to a fast trot. Normally, she disliked entering the more populated areas along her route, with their pubs and raucous noise, but not tonight. As she grew nearer to the more populated part of town, she looked about for signs of other people, eager to see another face.

The hooting and hollering that burst from the first pub she encountered broke through her tension like a handful of pebbles breaking through the smooth, tight surface of a lake. The eerie sense of solitude dissipated as the sounds of people moving about on the streets soothed her. She passed through the area too quickly, however, and soon found herself entering the residential area surrounding Bernini’s.

A few times she thought she heard hoofbeats behind her, but when she paused to listen, she realized she must have heard the echo of Wildfire’s hooves. The sound bounced off the buildings and came back to her from odd, disorienting angles.

When she finally saw the lights of what had to be Bernini’s Academy beckoning her, she had to force herself not to canter the remaining distance.

Upon entering the main fencing salon, she found it emptier than usual. Perhaps the oppressive night had kept some of the others away.

If she hadn’t felt so restless all day, she might not have crept out into the foggy night, but the thought of remaining at home had been too depressing. Then again, winning the March tournament was an enticing lure. And to win, she needed to practice, bad weather and unreliable companions notwithstanding.

But she paused, and as she’d done every night for the past week, she scanned the room. If Lord Huntley was there, she’d turn around and leave before he saw her. It was the only prudent thing to do.

He wasn’t there.

She felt a pang of... relief? Disappointment? Relief, of course. It had to be relief.

Pull yourself together, and push that man from your thoughts. Of course you don’t want to encounter him as Gray.

She gave herself a small shake and focused on the swirl of activity around her. The underlying rhythm of the men moving about the room sharpened her senses. She allowed the cadence to enter her body and felt her own pulse quicken. She approached the practice dummies lining the wall to practice her lunges. Having found a tempo, she now began to center her mind, intent on improving her skills.

Focusing on the red heart painted in the center of the dummy’s chest, she pierced it as she lunged again, and again, making sure that the tip of her foil struck the center of the target. The cloth dummy was ragged from heavy use, and she partially embedded the dull tip into the red heart. Its densely packed body was pockmarked with scars from their many battles over the years. Each time she made contact, she leaned into the strike, forcing the length of her slim foil to arch. Her thigh muscles began to tremble from the repeated lunges, but Catherine continued the drill, pushing herself to her limit.

To her frustration, however, she discovered her shaking legs weren’t the only thing plaguing her. Despite her resolve, every time a man entered the practice room, she paused to identify him, which broke her concentration.

Focus.

She faced down her practice dummy, staring into its sketchily drawn eyes. She raised her chin in challenge and, with renewed vigor, pierced its red heart. A moment later, when she caught herself looking toward the door once again, she slapped her foil against her thigh in frustration. The sting of the metal startled her, and she stifled a yelp.

One of the other fencers caught her eye and grinned at her. He’d seen her moment of stupidity. She grinned back and shook her head, then gave a shrug.

A subtle shift came over the room, and the constant low hum of shuffling feet and clanging steel momentarily abated. As everyone in the room glanced toward the entrance, Catherine’s own gaze followed theirs. Maestro Bernini stood framed in the doorway.

The grin on Catherine’s face froze as the maestro glanced over his shoulder, chatting amiably with two men behind him.

There they were. The only two men she dreaded seeing: Huntley and his ever-present companion, Wentworth.

Despite the fact that she wanted to avoid them, she still felt a thrill of excitement upon seeing Huntley again. It had been a week since they’d last spoken, and she’d been hoping to see him again ever since he’d escorted her home from the park.

But as Lady Catherine, not as Gray.

She spun her back to them and yanked the bulky fencing mask over her head. The large mesh provided scant assistance in disguising her face, but Catherine clutched at anything that might help.

Indecision kept her frozen in place. She wanted to be here, needed to practice for the upcoming tournament to have any hope of winning it. But she couldn’t stay. Her disguise would never hold up under his scrutiny. He’d note some movement, or tone of voice, or turn of phrase, and then he’d suddenly know the truth of her. Staying would be beyond imprudent. She pressed her lips in a thin, straight line.