Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book (39 page)

He gave her a wry smile. “You’re an excellent fencer. I knew you’d pick up knife skills quickly, and I was right. Now you’ll be able to defend yourself more readily if someone tries to hurt you.”

There was a chill at Catherine’s core, and even the approval in Daniel’s eyes did nothing to warm her. She had thought everything was fine, but it wasn’t. Suddenly everything changed.

She was afraid.

But not for herself. She was afraid for Daniel. Afraid of losing him. He’d already been attacked once.

He was looking at her expectantly, and she realized that he’d said something and was waiting for her to reply. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“It would be safer for you,” he looked at her pleadingly. “Please, promise me that you won’t go to anywhere alone, especially to Bernini’s.”

“She promises,” Charles said. “Right, Cat?”

“Yes, of course.” As the words left her lips, a chill ran down her spine.

45 - Trust

Catherine stood still as Simpson lowered the white gown over her head. The maid then began fastening the long row of tiny buttons up her back. The dress was of white silk, lavishly embroidered on both the bodice and the full, flounced skirt. The bell-shaped sleeves were full along her upper arms, fitting snugly from elbow to wrist.

Her biggest disappointment today was that Papa couldn’t be here. He was still in Paris at Queen Victoria’s request and felt obliged to remain there once Emperor Napoleon had extended a personal invitation. Papa’s letter said that nothing but two royal entreaties could have kept him from her side.

As Catherine looked in the mirror, she couldn’t help but compare what she saw to the images of Queen Victoria on her wedding day. The queen had married her love, Prince Albert, fifteen years ago and had worn a similar white dress. She’d set the trend for all upper-class weddings in England, and now most brides wore white. Catherine had always imagined herself dressed this way on her own wedding day, and as she gazed in the mirror, she knew that everything was correct and proper, just as she’d planned. But that knowledge did nothing to settle her nerves. As she glanced into her own eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder if the queen had seen the same flicker of anxiety reflected in her own mirror that day.

I doubt it. Queen Victoria never seems nervous. Plus, she had the advantage of feeling confident in her groom’s love.

Catherine raised her chin and forced away her doubts. After all, this had been her choice. She smiled at her reflection, and seeing the confidence of the woman in the mirror, she felt a calmness envelop her.

This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Safety and security with a man she trusted and respected? One who respected her as well? She’d hardly dared hope to find someone who’d allow her to continue to fence, but Daniel not only permitted it, he encouraged it.

Simpson left the room for a moment, and Catherine took the opportunity to strap her knife to her leg. As she looked at the malachite handle against her smooth skin, she pictured Daniel’s hands strapping it to her thigh that day on the train. At least there was passion between them.

Catherine tried to push down the niggling anxiety that continued to torment her, reassuring herself that all would be well. Perhaps Daniel would come to love her, but if he did, it would have to be for her true self, not for the mask she presented to the world. He had a mask of his own, one that he’d been wearing for years. He’d let it slip a couple of nights ago and had given her a glimpse of the boy he’d been. No wonder he craved acceptance after being rejected by his own father for so many years.

No more disguises. No more lies— at least, not within their marriage. She took a tremulous breath. He had known her secret when he’d asked for her hand, and he promised she could continue to fence. She planned to hold him to that promise.

Could she trust him? Wasn’t that doubt the real source of her anxiety? She’d been hiding for so long, from her mother and so many others, that trusting someone to accept her for herself took a tremendous act of faith.

She needed to trust Daniel, with both her heart and her future.

46 - In the Choir Loft

Stansbury didn’t need to follow them. He knew exactly where to find Huntley and Lady Catherine at half past ten that morning.

The day was crisp and clear, with the smell of spring in the air, and he arrived at the chapel early, as planned. He climbed up the narrow stairs to the choir loft. Of course, he’d received no formal invitation, despite the fact that the wedding would never have been planned at all if not for him.

He sat silently at the rear of the choir loft, remaining hidden from the guests seated below. As he watched them stream into the large, open chapel, he rocked slowly back and forth, humming to himself. A handful of the guests were joyful supporters of the union, but most were sanctimonious sots, eager to sniff out a scandal and curious about the wedding’s haste.

If anyone deserved to be an invited guest, he did. After all, he was the catalyst. Lady Catherine’s catalyst, he thought, continuing to sway side to side. Lady Cat’s catalyst. Her cat. Lady Cat’s cat. He smiled, playing with the words.

But he didn’t want the role of catalyst, he remembered, frowning. Still, it was all he had left. He shifted his weight forward on the pew, searching for a more comfortable position for his backside.

Everything had gone from bad to worse when the ship from India had docked. He had expressly told each of his four partners that he would manage the unloading of the cargo, but two of them had shown up at the dock. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out that they had each invested in the same venture with Stansbury as his “sole” partner.

They were furious.

He’d barely escaped his warehouse before the authorities arrived. His two other investors had learned about the ruse more quickly than he’d hoped. Now he couldn’t even return home for fear of being arrested. He’d slept in that warehouse last night. That
empty
warehouse.

Huntley must have played a part in his downfall. Perhaps he’d tipped off the four investors. Yes, that must be it.

Stansbury had tried, but he hadn’t been able to spring his trap before the wedding. Huntley had become wilier. He seemed to have realized he was being followed, and Stansbury kept losing him.

He should be the one down there marrying Lady Catherine, not that undeserving bastard with the Midas touch. Stansbury’s mouth twitched at the injustice of it. Huntley didn’t deserve his Cat.

He leaned forward as Huntley approached the altar. The marquess stood toward the right side of the raised area, watching the main aisle as guests continued to file in. His friend, Lord Wentworth, stood with him, and the two men chatted.

Contemptible bastards, both of them.

Lady Kensington was escorted in by an usher and was seated at the front, on the left side of the aisle. The front row on Huntley’s side was empty.
Ha
. Stansbury felt a seething satisfaction at discovering his rival was so alone in the world.

Alone. The man
deserved
to be alone.

But from now on, he’d no longer be alone. He’d have Catherine.

My Catherine.

A minister approached the altar. That must have been the cue for the music to begin, because the organist began to play. As the music swelled, all of the guests stood and turned to look back toward the entrance, and from his seat at the back of the balcony, Stansbury had to wait until Catherine had nearly reached the altar before he had a clear view of her.

Charles escorted her down the aisle. Lord Kensington must not have returned in time for the wedding. Pity, he thought distractedly. A girl’s father really should give her away.

Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass window above the altar, and the bits of colored glass broke it into a million pieces, scattering the floor with a kaleidoscope of colors. Cat moved to join Huntley, and when she stepped onto the carpet of light, the colors fell upon her pristine white dress as she turned to look at him, bathing her in the riotous display. At that moment, Stansbury had his first glimpse of her face. The tender expression he saw hit him in the stomach like a fist, nearly doubling him over in pain.

She loves him? How could she love
him
? She was supposed to love
me
!

The multicolored shards of light that fell upon the couple made it appear that Catherine was clothed with pieces of a shimmering rainbow. Something within Stansbury broke into similar fragments as he listened to her speak the words that bound her to the man with the Midas touch.

Fissures of hatred ripped through him, their heat searing away tender feelings he might have still harbored for the girl. An eruption of anger burst forth from him, and he was barely able to stop himself from howling his fury.

She didn’t deserve to be happy, and neither did Huntley. They’d already taken too much from him, and he burned to take everything away from them as well. This was
wrong
.
They
were wrong.

Stansbury caught the scent of burning candles.

This marriage wasn’t blessed. The flames of light licking at her dress must be the devil’s work as Satan marked her as his own.

Who were they to look so satisfied with themselves? Didn’t they realize all of this could be gone in an instant?

How dare she push him away and chose Huntley after leading him on for two years? She was an aberration, with her twisted combination of mannish interests and seductive glances. She wore clothing designed to entice and ensnare, and then feigned embarrassment when a man dared show his interest.

He knew just how to bring her down— how to bring them both down. A slow grin slid across his face. He’d been following them long enough now to know all their routines and many of their plans.

He’d destroy them using their own secrets.

47 - Wedding Gifts

Catherine was barely aware of the ceremony. At one instant, she was nervously awaiting the moment when she would walk down the aisle, and the next, she was standing next to her husband, signing the church register. Her vows were a blur. All she could recall were her cold hands, the contentment she felt as she stared into Daniel’s eyes, and the warmth of his touch when he slid the gold ring onto her finger.

When they arrived at Kensington House for their wedding breakfast, it was full of guests and conversation. She and Daniel greeted each guest individually as they passed through the receiving line. Most people simply offered their best wishes and moved on, but a few friends lingered a moment to chat.

Lord Wentworth was one such friend. She’d been smiling and making small talk with acquaintances all morning, so it was good to see a more familiar face, even if it was Wentworth’s. She knew she should do her best to warm to the man since he was Daniel’s oldest and dearest friend, but it wasn't easy. Today, she was determined to put forth a stronger effort.

She watched as he shook hands with Daniel. When he turned to her, she was surprised by the warmth of his greeting.

“Lady Huntley. I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to address you as such. I feel as though you’re my sister now.” He raised her gloved hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “Huntley has been like a brother to me for years. If there’s ever anything I can do to be of service to you, please don’t hesitate to call upon me.”

“Why, Lord Wentworth, that’s quite gallant of you. Thank you.”

He moved in slightly closer and spoke so that only she could hear him. “I watched you during the wedding ceremony, and I must say, I’m quite pleased with Huntley’s decision to marry you. You are not at all what I expected.” With those cryptic words, he turned back to Huntley with a broad smile. “And you, Huntley. I’m glad you decided to stay in town long enough for the tournament. I signed you up to take part in it, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll meet you at your house next Saturday, and we’ll make a day of it.”

Daniel shot her an enigmatic glance and then nodded to his friend.

She didn’t know if she should be pleased to have garnered Wentworth’s approval or annoyed that he felt it was his to grant.

Once Wentworth moved on, Catherine leaned into Daniel and murmured, “I thought you were escorting
me
to the tournament. I was looking forward to it.”

He shrugged, which annoyed her immensely. “I’ll speak to Charles. I’m sure he’ll be more than pleased to escort you. Actually, it makes more sense for you to go with him since we’ve never attended Bernini’s together. You’ve always gone there with Charles. Plus, the last time we were there, we nearly gave ourselves away. It’s probably for the best.”

He turned to greet the next guest who approached, abruptly ending their discussion.

Something cooled within her, and the sense of euphoria that had carried her through the day popped like a soap bubble. Did her preferences truly count for so little? Based on their earlier conversations, she hadn’t expected such a unilateral decision from him.