Lady Midnight (28 page)

"I think London would be good for
Amelia,
too, Michael," Lady Darcy said. "She is too young for the opera, of course, but perhaps there are some afternoon concerts she could attend."

Amelia's attention swung toward them, her blue eyes wide. "Concerts in London?" she cried "Really?"

Lady Darcy laughed happily, as if sensing an imminent victory. "Yes, darling girl! And museums, and carriage rides in the park, and ices at Gunter's. It could be quite delightful. If your papa will agree."

Before Kate could stop her, the child slid from the pianoforte bench and dashed across the room to throw her arms around her father. "Oh, please, Papa!" she beseeched.

Michael caught her up in a hug. His gaze met Kate's over Amelia's golden curls for a very long, suspended instant, and Kate had to turn away for fear he could read all her thoughts writ large across her face. But
his
was expressionless. She pretended to fuss with the pages of music, blinking hard to keep from crying. Silly, foolish tears—all at the thought of being left behind! It was ridiculous and childish. She was a woman grown.

A low, echoing rumble of thunder sounded outside the window, as if to mimic and mock her sadness. Even nature was in impending turmoil tonight. Holding the music in her hand, Kate turned her head to gaze out the window into the darkness. A fork of blue white lightning split the sky, closely followed by a louder clap of thunder. Yet there was yet no cool rain to follow, only the heavy, hot smell of sulfur seeping even into the drawing room. Amelia gave a muffled squeak at the thunder.

"Very well," Michael said at last, his words breaking the cloud of anticipation. "I am sure the bailiff can manage without me for a few weeks. We will all go to London. You, Mother, and Christina, Amelia, me—and Mrs. Brown."

Mrs. Brown?
Kate's gaze swung away from the hovering storm, back to Michael's face. Had she heard him aright? Was she to go to London, too? He smiled at her and gave her a faint nod.

She
was
for London. With him. She gave him a small smile in return.

"Oh, splendid, Michael!" Christina cried, clapping her hands. "I can visit the Royal Botanic Garden at Kew. I read they have a new species of
Helleborus
I must examine."

"And I can hear concerts!" Amelia said brightly. She wriggled out of her father's arms and ran back to Kate, clambering up onto her lap. "And you will be with me, Mrs. Brown. We can see the Tower...."

"Michael, dear," his mother murmured. "I am not certain Charles and Mary will have room for
everyone."

Michael shrugged, completely unconcerned. Obviously, he had made his decision and that was that—an event Kate could only be grateful for. "Then we can take our own house, someplace near to Lindley House, Mother. It would be better if we had our own establishment, anyway. One you could order to your own liking, and not have Mary constantly underfoot."

Lady Darcy looked most uncertain. She flickered a glance at Kate and Amelia, and one at Michael, then finally nodded. "Our own house would be quite satisfactory. I will send out inquiries tomorrow."

Kate hugged Amelia closer, half listening to her bright prattle of all the things they could do in the city. Kate was happy to be invited along, of course—she could scarcely deny the quick, delighted leap her heart made when Michael said her name. Yet, underneath, there remained a strange, biting disquiet.

Here, in the haunted isolation of Thorn Hill and Yorkshire, she could almost pretend the outside world didn't exist. There was only this jumble of a house, and the presence of the people who inhabited it—Christina, Amelia, Michael. Michael above all, with his beautiful, scarred face, his tangled past and angel's laugh—his glorious kiss. Here she could pretend that she had been newborn from the moors. Venice never existed. Julian Kirkwood never was, with his hot gray eyes and possessive touch. Her lies were true. Here in Yorkshire.

In London, she would meet the wide world again, and see her true place in it. And Michael would see his. He might miss the luxuries and pleasures of his youth, and see that there were women in the world far more beautiful and less complicated than she. Women of his own station.

Perhaps she, too, would be captured in reminders of the past.

"Oh, Mrs. Brown," Amelia concluded breathlessly. "Does it not sound splendid?"

"Yes,
cara mia,
"Kate murmured, kissing the child's brow. "Splendid, indeed."

Chapter 16

It would seem she was doomed in this house, despite her happiness in it, to never sleep peacefully a night through.

Kate lay on her bed in her darkened chamber, watching the glow of lightning send swift, flashing sparks across the floor. Thunder growled somewhere in the distance, rumbling unhappily over the moors. There was no rain yet, but it still hung heavy in the clouds, threatening, menacing. She thought she could smell the deceptive sweetness.

The weather made her restless, made her legs and hands ache to move. Sleep, blessed, devouring sleep, was far beyond her reach, lost in storms both outside Thorn Hill's walls and in her heart.

The thought of going to Town, of being there with Michael, was an alluring one. Kate did love the peace of Thorn Hill, but a small part of her missed the movement and color of a city, the attraction of theaters and shops. She could just imagine the wonder that would light Amelia's little face at the sight of bareback riders at Astley's, or the taste of an ice at Gunter's. It would be
fun
to see the sights with them, to enjoy all the innocent little diversions of genteel Town life.

But here at Thorn Hill, she was safe—as safe as she could ever be. No one knew her as anything but Mrs. Brown the governess. She herself could even begin to imagine that that was exactly who she was, that she belonged in the house, with this family.

Kate rolled onto her side, pounding her fist into a yielding feather pillow. She did not know why she was fretting over this so very much. In a few days, will she or nill she, they would all be making their way to London. She didn't want to be left behind, so she would just have to set aside her silly worries and trust that everything would turn out well. No one would recognize her, especially in her current guise. And she would always keep to the shadows. She would enjoy the city, and then they would come back here for a warm, lazy country summer.

But that did not help her
tonight.

She couldn't lie in bed any longer, eyes wide open, waiting for the storm. She would just go out for a quick walk, before the rain fell in earnest.

Kate got out of bed, disentangling herself from the clinging bedclothes. Without bothering to light a candle, she dressed hastily in the dark, pulling on her chemise and a muslin day dress. Her stockings and half boots were tucked under a chair where she had left them, and her shawl was draped atop the dressing table.

The house was silent, the garden even quieter. Yet the atmosphere was tense somehow, as if the very flowers and trees waited for the storm, trembling in taut anticipation. Overhead, pale gray clouds, lighter than the purple black sky above them, scattered and skittered, blown about by the same wind that caught at Kate's skirt and hair. It was a witching night, ripe for all manner of mischief and mayhem.

Kate moved swiftly along the pathways, impatiently pushing her loose hair back from her face. She hardly knew where she was going; her feet took her where they would, the night luring her onward.

She came to the edge of the garden, and found a half-open gate that led out into who knew what. An enchanted wood, mayhap, where the fairies and imps and gnomes held sway. An otherworldly place, where a human could vanish into another life, another realm.

Kate laughed as she slipped out of the gate, out of the known world. A different realm would be
just
what she needed tonight. A wildness had seized her heart and would not let it go. She heard the soft whisper of distant water calling to her, the gurgle of a river somewhere nearby.

Without a glance behind, she followed its song.

* * *

Where was the foolish sorceress going?

Michael paused by his chamber window, his attention caught by the flash and flutter of pale cloth against the darkness of the garden. He peered past the window glass, and saw what he thought—feared—he would see there. Kate, hurrying down the path as if demons were snapping at her heels. Her hair streamed behind her, a loose banner caught by the wind, and she wore only a light shawl wrapped over her muslin dress.

In the blink of an eye, she vanished from the garden, slipping through the stout gate. Michael rubbed at his eyes—it was as if she had been only a vision, a spirit of the night. Yet he knew very well that she was all too real. Kate had truly been there in the garden, running away from the safety of the house even as a storm threatened. It was just the sort of thing that the changeable, curst woman would do.

And it was just like
him,
foolish errant knight, to go after her.

Michael caught up the coat he had just discarded and hurried out into the night.

* * *

Kate had no idea where she was going—she just followed the sound of the river's murmuring. The passage she found beyond the gate could not truly be called a road; it was too narrow—more a footpath, or a trail for horses.
Very thin horses,
she thought, as a vine snagged her hem. But it obviously led somewhere.

She traced its twists and turns, thunder clapping in the heavens above, closer and closer, until it became like cannon fire.

As she reached the edge of the beckoning, ribbonlike river, a new fork of lightning lit the air around her, nearly setting the tips of the trees alight. The sharp, sulfurous smoke bit at her nostrils, and she was suddenly deeply aware of how far she was from the house. How very alone she was.

She glanced back over her shoulder to the pathway. It would be so easy to turn around and retrace her steps, yet she could not. Not yet. Her feet were rooted to the mossy riverbank, and she had to stay, at least for a moment, and find out what the night was telling her.

There must be some reason why she was here. She would just stay for a few moments, and see if that reason came to her.

Kate sank down to sit back on her heels, watching the river as it rushed past her. It was placid enough now, if swift—not yet swelled by the coming rains. Yet it seemed there was something beneath its cool, silvery surface. A babbling tension, a roiling passion, just waiting to burst free and overflow its grassy banks.

Another bolt of brightness flashed, and for an instant Kate thought she glimpsed a woman on the opposite bank. A figure clad in flowing white, black hair streaming in the quickening breeze. The person or spirit beckoned to her, holding out its hand, calling to her on the wind. Kate blinked, cried out—and the vision was gone, leaving only a dark blank.

Then the clouds split, and released the heavy burden of their rain to the earth. It was cold and needlelike, pelting against her skin and hair, soaking through the cloth of her dress as if it were paper. Still she stayed, staring transfixed at the spot where the figure had been.

Kate slowly rose to her feet, swaying against the gale. "Mother?" she whispered.

"Kate! What are you doing, you curst woman?" she heard someone shout over the roar of the rain and wind.

Kate frowned, bewildered. That was not her mother's voice—not a woman's voice at all, but the deep, hoarse, angry tones of a man. She laughed hysterically, covering her wet face with her hands. Well, she had fancied this was a night for spirits and elves, hadn't she? It had to be a river god, sprung up to drag her into the cold, watery depths she had escaped once before.

But the hands that caught her shoulders in their grip were far too warm, strong, and
solid
to belong to any supernatural creature.

"Kate!" Michael shouted, pulling her back against him, away from the river. "What are you doing?"

Kate stared up at him, still stunned by the storm and the vision, not sure if this was all real or not. The thick waves of his hair were slicked back, darkened by the water, giving him a new, austere beauty. The raindrops beaded on the tips of his eyelashes, sparkling like tiny diamonds.

She caught at the collar of his coat, clinging for her sanity—her very life. "Did you see her?" she gasped.

His glance darted swiftly over her head. "See what?" he said skeptically. "Did you come out here following someone?"