Surrender The Night (42 page)

“Somehow I’m not surprised. Phillip Carrington has cer
tainly changed a lot since I knew him at Oxford.” Devon continued to discuss the mine with Peters, apparently unaware of the sharp look Katrina sent him.

Did Devon suspect what else Carrington was involved in? Or was she jumping to conclusions at an innocent remark? Katrina resolved to question him. Surely few would know better than he if Phillip was capable of heading a smuggling ring.

At first, however, she had no opportunity. They left the cottage in a somber mood. Watching him, Katrina realized Devon was shocked at the poverty he’d witnessed. John, as headman, had a comfortable cottage compared with most.

“Where are all the children?” Devon asked bluntly as they lurched down the abominable road.

“Why, at work, of course.”

“Of course,” Devon echoed, wincing. “How old are they?”

“The youngest boy you saw, the eldest is ten. He usually works in dressing the ores, preparing them for stamping, but now that the mine is closed he’s probably in the fields somewhere, as are the other children. Surviving here usually requires a family effort, Devon. Their wages are low. Even in good times Jem probably only makes about thirty-five shillings a month.”

Katrina watched Devon frown as he digested this. She wondered idly what he’d done as a ten-year-old. Probably studied and played.

Throughout that long day Katrina said little. She didn’t need to. With every cottage they visited Devon became grimmer as he found that the Peterses lived in virtual luxury compared with some of the laborers. Many of the cottages were mere one-room huts with packed-dirt floors. Their owners were as proud as kings, however, and as often as not the huts were sparkling clean. Their hostesses, when not working, offered them refreshment varying from hoarded tea to water.

By the end of the day they were sloshing. As they left one tiny cottage Devon grimaced at her. “I’ll float away if I have to drink another sip.”

“They’d be insulted if we refused.”

“I know. What do we have left?”

“We’ve only one basket left, and this one I packed myself. One of the women in the parish is recently widowed.”

“What happened to her husband?”

‘ ‘He died from lung consumption. She had a baby only a few months ago.”

“How is she surviving?”

“She gets a widow’s portion from the mining club, but it’s not much.”

They found Moll rocking her son before the fire. Her eldest girl let them in, nodding at them before returning to her chores. The baby cried, rooting at his mother’s breast in frustration.

Moll looked up at Katrina, then blushed when she saw Devon. She hastily closed her gown.

Katrina hurried forward, the basket on one arm. “Don’t be embarrassed, Moll. His lordship bought the bal and only wishes to see how you’re doing.”

Moll’s big blue eyes filled with tears. “My melk dried up. What well I do?” She held out the bottle sitting beside her, which consisted of a jar and a soft hide nipple., “He won’t drenk.”

“Let me try. This is for you.” Katrina traded the basket for the baby.

Moll shifted through the generous portions of meats, breads, and cheeses, sighing her relief. The warm smile she sent at Devon earned an uncertain smile in return. Devon shifted his feet.

Walking back and forth, Katrina cradled the dark-haired infant to her breast, humming a lullaby. Gradually, he quit crying and started nibbling on his tiny fist. “Have you a spoon?” Katrina whispered.

Moll gave her one. Katrina handed the bottle to Devon. “Take off the nipple.” He did so, but his eyes never left the child, resting so quietly against Katrina’s full bosom.

“Drizzle some of the milk into the spoon.”

Again he obeyed.

“Now, hold it to his mouth.” Katrina pulled the fist away, and when the tiny mouth opened to cry, Devon dribbled milk inside. The baby swallowed, then licked his lips.

“More,” Katrina murmured.

Devon repeated the process several times. His face seemed unusually soft in the dim room. Was it a trick of the light? Katrina’s humming tremored, then stopped as the inevitable comparison overwhelmed her. In another reality this might have been their child. She closed her eyes in pain, missing the arrested expression on Devon’s face as he looked from her to the baby and back.

“She delivered hem, ded ’ee know?” Moll whispered over Devon’s shoulder.

He turned in shock, taking away the spoon.

The infant began to cry, and Katrina rocked him in her arms, unable to hear the whispered exchange.

“Alone?” Devon asked.

“Aye, she came en a storm, and walked home en the dark. Ef she hadn’t, I could have been dead.” Moll nodded at Katrina’s protective manner. “She vesets often. I thenks she almost weshes he be hers.”

Katrina snatched the spoon away from Devon and wiggled it before his eyes. “Can’t you hear him crying? Give him some more.” She handed the spoon back.

When the baby calmed, Katrina relaxed. “Here, Moll, try the bottle again.” Moll hurriedly attached the nipple and sat back down in her chair.

Before Katrina could give her the baby, Devon said, “Let me.” Carefully he took the soft little bundle and held it as he’d seen Katrina do. He accepted the bottle from Moll and coaxed it into the rosebud mouth. With a greedy grunt the baby suckled. Moll got up and offered her chair, so Devon sat down.

“The milk must have been strange to him. He seems to like it well enough now,” Devon murmured, his free hand stroking the downy head.

Katrina could see Devon’s face clearly in the light from the window. She cupped her hand to her mouth, whirled, and ran.

Devon looked up at the anguished sound. He called her name, but she ignored him. “He’s a beautiful child,” Devon told Moll, rising and handing the infant over. He started after Katrina, then paused.

“I’ve need of a cook, if you’re interested. You could bring the children with you and keep them in the kitchen.” Devon barely heard Moll’s ecstatic acceptance as he hurried after Katrina.

He found her huddled in the carriage, sobbing her heart out. “My dear one, what’s wrong? The child will be fine. Moll told me how you care for him since you delivered him.” He tried to cradle her in his arms, but she pushed him away. He rapped on the carriage roof, and Henry urged the horses forward.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Devon forced himself to wait. But when they were almost at the Tonkin cottage and Katrina’s tears didn’t abate, he dropped his arms and leaned forward. “Katrina, please don’t cry any longer, unless you want me to turn into a watering pot, too.”

A distracted shake of her head was her only reply. She huddled deeper into her comer.

With a frustrated groan Devon hauled her, struggling, into his arms. “Enough!” He gave her a hard squeeze. “I can’t make you tell me what’s wrong, but I’d remind you that secrets do not make for wedded harmony. Let’s get everything right and tight now.”

They’d pulled to a stop at the cottage when Katrina finally gave a watery sniffle into her kerchief and propped her head back on Devon’s shoulder. “You enjoyed holding the baby, didn’t you?” Her voice was still thick with tears.

“Very much. But I enjoyed more watching you hold him.” Devon rained gentle kisses on her brow and forehead. “You’ll make a wonderful mother, Katrina mina.” Katrina buried her face in his jacket and burst into tears again.

Blast it, what had he said? Devon wondered. He cradled her closer. “Katrina, stop this foolishness. If you’re still worried that I don’t want children on you, you’re wrong. If I get such joy seeing you hold someone else’s child, how do you think I’ll feel when it’s mine? Marry me soon so we can begin work in earnest on our heir.”

The tears didn’t seem to relieve her anguish, so Katrina bit her knuckles and literally forced them back. She took several shuddering breaths, then calmed. After rubbing her tears away with the heels of her hands, she looked up at him.

The mingled frustration, concern, and love in his eyes almost set her off again, but she gritted her teeth and asked steadily, “Are heirs so important to you then?”

“Of course. My title is one of the oldest in the land. It’s my duty to my parents and to all those before them to see that it endures.” When she couldn’t hide a flinch, he frowned and trailed a fingertip around her cheekbones to wipe away the last of the tears. “If I die without issue, the title goes to a very remote cousin. The man’s a sapskull and a wastrel. I shudder to think what he’d do to my lands.” Devon did just that.

Now she knew. Despair almost overwhelmed Katrina. Tell him. Tell him now, and end this torment. Her mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t. Not yet. Dear God, forgive me, she prayed, but I can’t lose him yet. Give me this summer, at least, to sustain me in all the lonely years ahead.

Her smile was as bright and false as a plug penny. ‘ ‘Well, you needn’t worry about that. I’m sure you’ll have many fine sons.” She scooted off his lap and exited the carriage.

Devon followed more slowly, wondering at her pronoun selection, but she caught his hand and distracted him.

Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. “Please, will you teach me to shoot? You teach
soo
well.”

Devon sighed in relief and swatted her sassy rear. “It will be my pleasure, madam. Let’s hope you learn as quickly here as you do in other, er, matters.” He dropped a sly wink, then returned to the coach, lifted a cushion, and retrieved something from a hidden compartment.

He returned with a small pistol, powder, and shot. “Are there any other cottages close about?”

“No.”

“Then we can practice wherever you like.”

“Behind the house, into the woodpile, would be a good place.”

“Lead on.”

Devon picked up a piece of charcoal from the ashes discarded from the house and drew several graduated circles on the end of a log projecting from the pile. He threw the charcoal down, wiped his hands on her kerchief, and returned.

“This is a German-made, double-barreled weapon of extreme accuracy, but only at short distances because of its size. You can load two shots at once. Like so.”

Katrina watched carefully as Devon loaded one side of-the gun, and when he handed it to her, she followed the same procedure with the other.

“Very good. Now, when you shoot, steady your right hand with the heel of your left. No, not like that.” He stood behind her and wrapped his arms about her. “Like this.”

The contrast between the lethal steel in her hands and the warm life at her back was unsettling. Could she really kill a man? Actu
ally holding this weapon made her realize that self-protection would not be without cost: injury, and possibly death, to a fellow human. Her finger grew lax on the tiny trigger. She lowered the pistol.

“I can’t, Devon. Even to avoid rape I couldn’t shoot a man.”

Devon slipped the gun in his belt and turned her into the circle of his arms. His smile was tender, and she realized with a 'jolt that he wasn’t surprised.

“Bravo, my love! I wondered when you’d realize it.”

Katrina rubbed her nose into his jacket. “I’m a coward.”

    
He tipped her chin up. “No, my dear, never that. You’re a care giver; such hatred is simply not in you. That’s no flaw, Katrina. God knows we need more women of your stamp.” He grimaced wryly. “Tell nary a soul I said this, but mayhaps we could use a few more men of your stamp as well.”

“Are you telling me you’re going to become a pacifist?” Katrina blinked her long lashes at him.

He tweaked her chin. “Minx. You know better. But I’m not in government, and I don’t have the inclination to start wars. I become aggressive only when provoked. Such as having my woman threatened
...”

He let the words trail away, the implication chilling Katrina. ‘ ‘You’re not to challenge Jack, do you hear?’ ’ His eyes became impenetrable. She caught his lapels. “Jack has too many friends who live by aggression.”

“Then cease your smuggling.”

Katrina stepped away. “It seems men of
your stamp don’t quail at blackmail, either.”

“I’d not call it such, but the end will be the same. Your safety. And I’ll have it despite you, if necessary.” When her jaw became a miniature Rock of Gibraltar, he sighed. “How about a compromise? Inform me when you cross so I can lie in wait to protect you if necessary, or I challenge Hennessy. The choice is yours.”

Neither was palatable, but she took the lesser of the two evils. “I’ll inform you. But if you’re discovered, I can’t answer for how they’ll react.”

“Leave that to me. Since many of the smugglers are doubtless workers in one of my mines, I don’t think they’d risk killing me.”

Some of Katrina’s worry eased. She hadn’t considered that. Luckily he hadn’t realized what could happen during the crossing. Still, as long as Davie was present, she’d be relatively safe.

That brought to mind something else. Katrina glared at the lowering sun. “We must hurry
in. Rachel is expecting us for supper.” Her smiled glowed with mischief. “She’s making her favorite fish-head pasty for you.”

Devon groaned. “Perhaps I can pretend to an ailment.”