The Kiss of a Stranger (19 page)

“And the criminal charges?” Crispin leaned his head against his fist. “At the risk of sounding arrogant, it is highly unlikely his accusation would stick when brought against a Peer.”

“He wants the money,” Catherine said from the window. “Wealth has always been paramount to him. Wealth and control.”

Brown nodded his agreement.

“The inheritance must be substantial for Thorndale to go to so much trouble,” Crispin said.

“Over fifty thousand pounds,” Brown replied with a heavy look.

Crispin bit back a curse that would have left Catherine blushing.

“This is why he wished me to return home with him?” Catherine asked.

Brown nodded once more. “He would insist your husband sent you away and that Lord Cavratt views you as expendable.”

“That is ridiculous.” Catherine expendable? What utter rot! “He can’t expect this to work.”

“He only needs it to work
enough.
I understand he is on very good terms with a magistrate here in London—his suit would likely be heard by the end of the week.”

“That is awfully convenient,” Crispin muttered.

“Your options are, I am afraid, limited. You could counter his arguments with your own. Accusing him of obtaining the illegal license would certainly silence him, your word carrying far more weight than his.”

“But still placing our marriage in an unflattering light,” Crispin said. “Undermining its legality would do neither of our reputations any good.” Especially Catherine’s.

“You could file your annulment papers immediately,” Brown continued. “He might very well abandon the criminal charges and use the pending annulment as argument against the marriage.”

Crispin shifted uncomfortably. He’d been avoiding those annulment papers for weeks. The idea simply hadn’t set well for a while.

“Or you can move forward with the marriage and hope your standing is enough to weather the inevitable storm.”

How infuriatingly frustrating. A criminal trial and a marriage undermined by questions of legality. Catherine would never recover from such a public scandal. His standing would suffer despite the ridiculous nature of it all. They would both be the subject of censure and ridicule, though Catherine would inevitably suffer most.

“Please let me know as soon as possible what you decide.” Brown rose to his feet and straightened his coat. “Criminal trials require the services of a barrister. I can contact one if you’d like.”

Crispin shook his head. “I am on very close terms with Mr. Jason Jonquil.”

Brown nodded in obvious approval. “A very respected and talented barrister. I will be awaiting your instructions.”

Crispin let out a whoosh of air after Brown’s departure. What a mess. He could feel Catherine’s eyes on him.

He rose and turned toward her. She stood at the window, shoulders slumped, emotion heavy in her eyes. He had failed her again.

“What do you plan to do?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Something about his response upset her. Her expression crumbled, tears suddenly falling.

Feeling the need to do something, he held his arms out to her, and Catherine rushed into them, her open hands pressed against his chest, her head resting against his cravat. Crispin wrapped his arms around her and an emptiness he didn’t realize he’d been feeling dissipated.

“I have had a very rotten few days,” Catherine said quietly, her voice fluid and emotional.

“I’m sorry.” Crispin rested his head on top of hers, taking a lungful of rose scent. He felt her lean more heavily against him. He could so easily imagine her always in his arms.

Why was he still debating with himself? He hadn’t favored an annulment for weeks, if he were honest about it. They got along well and he had certainly grown fond of her. He cared for her. They hadn’t been graced with the ideal beginning, but that did not necessarily mean they couldn’t make something of their marriage.

Of course, Catherine’s position on the issue remained a mystery. Lizzie firmly believed Catherine could not be happy in a marriage that had been forced on her.

“It seems we will need a great deal of cream to thwart my uncle this time,” Catherine said.

Her unexpected humor brought a chuckle to the surface. “Gallons of it, I fear.”

Catherine lifted her head and looked up at him. “Perhaps this magistrate friend of his also ‘dislikes’ cream.”

“Did you not tell me that bribing a magistrate is a crime?”

“We wouldn’t be bribing him.”

“
Threatening
a magistrate is probably a more serious offense.”

Catherine smiled at him. “It seems your criminal tendencies have rubbed off on me.”

He adored that smile. She couldn’t be completely opposed to their marriage. She wouldn’t have turned to him for comfort nor felt reassured enough to laugh with him if she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him.

“What a mess he has made.” Catherine sighed, leaning into him once more. “If only Uncle had waited two more weeks. He only wants the money, I’m certain of it. He would never have done this if not for the inheritance.”

“It is unfortunate he didn’t learn of the legacy after it was too late.”

Catherine tensed in his arms. What had he said? Was she upset? She pushed away from him, a look of deep contemplation on her face.

“Two weeks isn’t so very long,” she said. To Crispin’s disappointment, Catherine pulled away entirely but kept her eyes fixed on him. “If he could be . . . delayed, somehow . . . for only a fortnight . . .”

“He would lose his footing.” Crispin suddenly grasped Catherine’s point. “Without the possibility of claiming your inheritance, he would likely drop the charges. I doubt we would ever be bothered by him again.”

“Is it possible, do you think? Could we stall him somehow?”

She hadn’t objected to the “we” nor his insinuation that they would be together in the long term. Encouraging signs, indeed. Feeling lighter and more hopeful than he had in weeks, despite the legal entanglements hanging over his head, Crispin nodded confidently. “Philip’s brother Jason, the barrister I mentioned, is remarkably good at his profession. If anyone can think of a solution, he can.”

“Do you think he would help?” Catherine grasped his arm, her expression hesitantly hopeful.

He brushed one lingering tear off her cheek with his thumb, more shaken by her touch than he had expected. “The Jonquils are a reliable bunch.” Even if they did attempt to win the heart of one’s wife. Philip, however, would not find himself doing so much longer. Crispin fully intended to win her heart for himself.

Chapter Twenty-one

Catherine had hardly touched her dinner. Her appetite seemed to have fled with Uncle’s latest attempt to destroy any hint of happiness that entered her life. Worse, he meant to destroy Crispin in the process.

Her gaze wandered to Crispin, leaning against the mantel. He was absurdly handsome, really. Catherine smiled to herself at her wayward thoughts. She had never met a kinder person—a touch moody, perhaps, but kind to his very soul. He could easily have made her life miserable after the difficult beginning they’d had. Instead, he’d been gentle and understanding, providing her with clothing and pin money, seeing to her comforts and needs, laughing with and smiling at her.

She pulled her feet underneath her as she sat in her favorite window seat and leaned her head against the cool glass. How easily she had fallen in love with him.

“Mr. Jason Jonquil,” Hancock announced from the library door.

A young gentleman stepped inside. He bore a remarkable resemblance to Lord Lampton: golden hair, a tall and lean frame. Personally, Catherine preferred Crispin’s dark hair and athletic build. But he likely did not prefer a relatively plain, soft-spoken lady.

Knowing her duty, Catherine rose and crossed the room to where the two gentlemen stood.

“Thank you for coming, Jason.” Crispin shook Mr. Jonquil’s hand. “May I introduce my wife?”

Catherine tried to look confident as she offered the appropriate curtsy and greeting.

“I read the information you sent me.” Mr. Jonquil’s serious expression stood in stark contrast to his brother’s usually jovial demeanor. “Mr. Brown has accurately surmised your options, and I would, of course, be willing to serve as counsel in any case that might arise.”

“We are, actually, hoping to avoid the predicament altogether,” Crispin said. “We have reason to believe if the inheritance were out of his reach, Thorndale would drop the suit entirely.”

Mr. Jonquil clasped his hands behind his back and pursed his lips, apparently thinking through the situation. “And you say this Thorndale has a magistrate in his pocket?”

Crispin nodded. Catherine’s eyes darted between them. There simply had to be a way to stop her uncle.

“If this ‘friend’ of his agrees to hear it, there’s very little to stop the proceedings from being pushed through,” Mr. Jonquil admitted solemnly. “If Thorndale is determined enough, the proceedings could receive a great deal of attention—very little occurs in the courts that cannot be leaked to the press and the public with minimal effort.”

“Would his charges hold up?” Crispin asked.

Mr. Jonquil shook his head. “Your word far outweighs his. The damage would still be done, however. Speculation would be rife, every accusation reiterated in papers and news sheets. He can easily cast enough doubt on the legality of your marriage to tie the hands of the ecclesiastical courts—they would have no choice but to settle the matter.”

“Dragging both our names through the mud.” Crispin had begun pacing again.

Catherine stood firmly in place, willing her brain to search out a solution. She had managed to deal with nearly every disaster Uncle had heaped upon her. She seldom emerged unscathed, but the outcome would have been far worse otherwise.

“It hardly seems right for him to choose the judge,” Catherine objected quietly. “There has to be another who would be more just.”

“Any number of magistrates could hear it,” Mr. Jonquil said.

“Could we insist the question be heard by someone else?” Crispin asked, stopping his pacing to look directly at Mr. Jonquil.

“You could certainly make the request,” Mr. Jonquil answered, hands still clasped firmly behind his back.

“You seem rather doubtful the request would be granted,” Crispin said.

“There is no guarantee,” Mr. Jonquil admitted. “Only time would tell.”

“How much time?” Catherine asked, a glimmer of hope twinkling on the horizon.

Suddenly, Mr. Jonquil’s very even expression turned thoughtful.

“If he could be delayed only two weeks, it would make a world of difference,” Catherine pressed. “I could almost guarantee he would give up the suit if the question weren’t heard before the inheritance was dispersed.”

Mr. Jonquil regarded her intensely for a moment. Catherine held her breath. She glanced across at Crispin, whose eyes were firmly locked on Mr. Jonquil. No one spoke or moved for several moments.

Please,
she silently prayed.
Please help us.

“It may just work,” Mr. Jonquil finally said. “With some ingenuity, we could tie this entire thing up until after Lady Cavratt’s birthday.”

“Are you sure you can create such a long delay?” Crispin asked, looking at Mr. Jonquil even more intensely.

“The legal profession is notorious for complicating the simplest of things. I believe this would be an enjoyable use of an otherwise wasted talent.”

“What if Thorndale chooses to pursue the charges even after losing the inheritance?” Crispin asked.

Mr. Jonquil appeared deep in thought for a moment. How very different he was from his brother—so serious and businesslike. “There would only really be two feasible options. You could file a counterclaim against him, accusing
him
of illegally obtaining the license, and begin the annulment proceedings in order to solidify your claim.”

Catherine’s heart sank. She hated the idea of an annulment, of living out her life without Crispin.

“Or you can petition the Archbishop of Canterbury to officially confirm the validity of your marriage.”

Good heavens.
“The Archbishop of Canterbury?” Catherine nearly choked on the prestigious name. “How can a person possibly accomplish such a thing?”

Crispin gave her a crooked smile that set her heart pounding once more. “He has a seat in Lords, my dear.” The endearment brought heat to Catherine’s cheeks. “Though we are only slightly acquainted, I would certainly be granted an audience with him.”

“With the Archbishop of Canterbury?” Catherine shook her head at the absurdity of it all. Until she’d met Crispin, she hadn’t been acquainted with anyone of more significance than their local vicar.

Crispin chuckled. “I can see you are suddenly very impressed with this ramshackle husband you have acquired.”

“A
little
impressed.” His teasing never failed to lighten her heart.

“Then I should tell you I am also acquainted with the infamous Duke of Kielder—that should render you speechless with awe at my elevated connections.”

Catherine smiled and felt herself relax for the first time since Mr. Brown’s visit. Crispin would not be laughing with her if the situation were dire. “I am afraid I do not know who the Duke of Kielder is.”

“Then I shall be sure to introduce you,” Crispin said. “His Grace is . . . one of a kind.”

She followed Crispin’s gaze as it shifted back to Mr. Jonquil, who stood silently watching them with a look of keen interest. Catherine abruptly dropped her gaze, something in Mr. Jonquil’s expression telling her he’d seen far more than she was comfortable revealing.

Crispin cleared his throat. “My apologies, Jason. Where were we?”

Not even a hint of a smile touched Mr. Jonquil’s face, though he did not look
un
happy. “I will discover which magistrate Thorndale is manipulating. You, in the meantime, need to decide which course of action to take.”

Crispin nodded, his own expression growing more somber.

“Good night, Crispin. Lady Cavratt.” The door clicked closed behind Mr. Jonquil.

After several drawn-out moments, Crispin broke the silence between them. “We must come to some decision about the an—”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Catherine turned away, panic choking her words.

“We cannot avoid the topic any longer.”

She moved to the window seat, trying to keep her breaths even and calm.

“Even if your uncle’s charges against me can be prevented, bringing charges against
him
would call unwanted, negative attention to our situation.” His voice was distant enough to tell her he had not followed her across the room. “Your reputation would be in tatters.”

She pressed her hand to her heart. “And yours.”

“Pressing charges against someone else would not hurt my reputation. Even the annulment itself would have less impact as a result of the criminal charges. Society would know the reasons, and while I might endure a few sideways glances and unflattering remarks, I would not be detrimentally affected. You, on the other hand, would be ruined. Utterly.”

Catherine sat on the window seat, digesting what he said.
He
would emerge from the uproar of the annulment relatively unscathed. She, on the other hand, would not emerge with anything resembling a good reputation. She hadn’t realized how enormous the consequences would be.

“I will not place such a burden on your shoulders, Catherine. You do not deserve to bear the weight of this.”

“Neither do you,” she countered quietly.

“There really is only one choice.” A note of decisive determination entered his tone. “I will speak with the Archbishop.”

Crispin had chosen against the annulment. He had chosen to continue their marriage. Catherine knew her heart ought to have been singing, but she felt numb, hollow.

“You would do that for me?” she asked, her heart thudding unpleasantly, painfully in her chest. She did not look back at him but kept her eyes fixed on the darkness outside, praying he would offer the smallest declaration of affection, confess to some degree of tender regard.

“It would not be fair otherwise.”

The cold logic of justice. He would keep her out of a sense of fair play. Catherine closed her eyes against the tears that hovered too near the surface. She knew the loneliness of living in a home where she was not truly wanted—Uncle, too, had been forced to keep her, but by the stipulations of the law, not the dictates of his conscience. Crispin would come to resent her and she would be miserable. Chivalry was a poor substitute for love.

“I think you should file the charges, Crispin.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want you to file the charges.”

The sound of his footsteps warned her of his approach. One touch and she might lose her conviction. Catherine steeled herself. She had to be as fair to him as he’d thought he was being to her. A marriage without mutual affection would make neither of them happy.

“And the annulment?” He spoke directly behind her.

She took a breath to steady her nerves. “And the annulment.”

Crispin didn’t speak and didn’t touch her. She could hear him breathing, could smell his shaving soap. The slightest movement would allow her to lean against him as she’d done so many times. But he did not deserve to be trapped by his own sense of honor.

“This is what you want, knowing the irreparable damage it will do to you?”

No. I want you to love me.
Catherine could manage nothing beyond a nod. She opened her eyes and saw his reflection in the window. He stood perfectly still, his posture tense.

“We will have to wait and see what Jason can manage,” he said tightly.

She nodded again, completely unable to speak. He had taken her suggestion without a single objection, with little beyond the briefest hesitation.

“Once we are more certain of your uncle’s actions, we can proceed.”

“That would be best.”

He must not have noticed the catch in her voice. Crispin stepped away and walked, without a backward glance, to his desk. She watched him a moment as he flipped through papers.

Catherine wrapped her arms around herself and rested her forehead against the window. The cold glass soothed to some degree the throbbing in her head. She wished he would protest, insist he wanted her to stay because he cared about her.

She stared out at the rain-drenched garden and the sobbing skies and felt like weeping herself. She had fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her in return. For a brief few weeks she’d had a glimpse of happiness and in a single moment it had disappeared.