The Lass Wore Black (31 page)
Beginning this instant, she was determined not to think about him.
A decision that might prove to be her most difficult.
A
week had passed since Mark had seen Catriona. A week during which he was frenetically busy, yet visited by too many moments of daydreaming.
Worse, his patients weren’t getting his best. He was distracted, his thoughts on other things. When he caught himself thinking of her, he’d pull himself back to the present.
Passion could bind two people more ably than chains.
Or was that all it was?
He recalled those times sitting at her table, feeling her annoyance and her irritation, wondering at her expression. He remembered her stinging comments and her arrogance masking fear.
What would she think of his grandfather? Of his father? That he wanted to know should have disturbed him.
“Where to now, Dr. Thorburn?”
He realized he had his hand on the door of the carriage, but he’d not given Brody any directions. He forced a smile to his face and gave his driver the next patient’s address.
This had to end. He had to figure out what to do about this situation, as quickly as possible. Either he had to banish Catriona Cameron from his memories or incorporate her into his life.
The thought of doing just that made him smile.
H
ow dreary her prison had become in the last few days.
Catriona stood, walked to the window and parted the curtains. The afternoon was well advanced, the sun fading from the sky. Tonight would be warmer and she needed to walk.
Her leg hurt from her ankle to her thigh, a reminder that she hadn’t been exercising properly. The liniment could only do so much.
From here she could just see the corner of the square. The carriage she’d seen for days was back again, in the same place. Did it belong to a neighbor?
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. When she called out, Elspeth entered.
“Miss Cameron, the duke is back,” she said, her round face flushed with excitement.
Since only one duke had ever called on her, she assumed it was the Duke of Linster.
She raised her eyebrows. “Is he?”
Elspeth nodded. “He’d like to see you, miss. I’m to say whether or not you’re at home to him.”
She sent one more look toward the carriage at the corner before turning back to the maid.
“Tell him I’ll see him,” she said with a sigh of resignation.
“Shall I move the screen?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll see him without it.”
A few moments later, attired in her new midnight blue dress and veil, she walked into the parlor to find the Duke of Linster standing at the window, fingering one of the lace curtains.
He was tall and lean like a sapling, with silver threading through his black hair. But it was his face that betrayed his age, or his love of hedonism. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and nose, while a sunburst radiated around each eye. His lips were thin, and, with his long nose, it looked as if he was forever smelling something foul.
Today he was dressed in black and white. She knew how much expense and effort went into keeping a cravat snowy and perfectly pressed. Did he have an army of servants? What would he say if he knew that she’d once been a maid? The thought of such a revelation brought a smile to her face.
“Why have you come to see me again, Your Grace?” There, she’d dispensed with all the preliminaries. She wouldn’t call for tea. She wouldn’t thank him for calling on her. She wouldn’t, whatever she said, comment on the weather. She’d had enough of those conversations to last her a lifetime.
“You whisked me from here so quickly last time, I cannot help but believe there’s something you’re hiding from me. Is there a mystery about you, my dear?” He turned to face her, his eyes widening at her appearance.
“Are you in mourning, Catriona?”
“Perhaps I am,” she said.
“Perhaps? Do you not know?”
She moved to sit on one of the chairs. The same chair where she’d sat a few days ago and allowed Mark to pull up her skirt.
What would he say to see her now, entertaining a duke?
The fire was burning well, and she stretched out her hands toward it.
The day was another wan one, as if the city cringed beneath the icy grip of winter. At least Edeen and the children would be safe and warm. But all those other children? Were all those other mothers as stubborn and resilient?
She couldn’t save the world.
For the first time, she understood Mark’s comment. He couldn’t save them all. How did he stop from wanting to, though?
“Who do you mourn, my dear?” The duke sat beside her, extending his hand so she might put hers atop it. Instead, she clasped her hands together in her lap.
“I might have told you that I mourned myself just a short time ago,” she said. “I don’t know if I feel the same now.”
“Then why wear that ridiculous veil? Show me that beautiful face of yours. You’ve occupied a great many of my dreams, you know.”
Was he trying to be shocking? Or did being a duke give him carte blanche to say anything he wished? Yet being beautiful had allowed her to bend the rules as well, hadn’t it? She could say anything and be forgiven. Or do anything and be understood. How arrogant she’d been. How foolish.
“Come, we’re friends, are we not? Dispense with that silly thing.”
Had they ever been friends? He’d wanted her because she was beautiful and for no other reason than that. She’d wanted him for his money and his title.
How shallow both of them had been.
The difference was that she’d changed.
“Come, Catriona.”
She was becoming adept at removing her veil, and did so in less than a minute. She lay it down on the cushion beside her, looking up to meet his gaze.
She thought of James and his question. She doubted if the duke would ask if the damage to her face had been caused by dragon claws. No, the Duke of Linster would not be so kind.
“There, Duke, that’s why I wear a veil.”
His face froze in a pleasant expression, but his brown eyes turned flat and cold. His lips thinned, as if he were trying to contain words he otherwise might have said. His posture was rigid, his hand gripping the walking stick so tightly each knuckle was white.
“A little boy saw me the other day,” she said. “He didn’t seem frightened. Are you?”
“I am not frightened,” he said, gathering up his dignity like a muddy cloak. “I am merely saddened by the loss of your beauty, my dear.”
“As time goes by, I find I miss it less and less,” she said, surprising herself. “I was once Catriona, the beautiful. Now I’m simply Catriona. I don’t have to be anything but what I wish to be.”
Who was that? That was a decision she’d have to make soon enough.
“I pity you, my dear. You were once a beautiful woman.”
“I don’t want your pity, Fitzgerald.”
How strange that she’d once wanted him to offer for her. Now, she didn’t think she had the temperament to be the wife of a lecher. He would always have mistresses, and why should she have to endure that?
He was looking everywhere but at her. The curtains again seemed to fascinate him, and the top of his walking stick seemed of immense interest.
She took pity on the man and stood, leading the way to the foyer, unsurprised when he followed her without a word. He didn’t even bother to search his mind for polite words when she opened the door and stepped aside. He only nodded at her, tapped his walking stick on the floor, and donned his hat and coat.
She watched him descend the steps of the town house with a calm that surprised her.
Good riddance, Fitzgerald.
At the base of the steps he turned and looked up at her as if to ensure that the sight of her face was real and not some delusion. How soon would he spread the word about her? Within the hour, she had no doubt. The Duke of Linster was an inveterate gossip.
She closed the door on the sight of him and retreated to the parlor. At a sound outside the door, she reached for the veil.
Artis entered the room, holding a tea tray piled high with Cook’s pastries. Aunt Dina had been more hospitable than she.
At the sight of her, Artis lowered the tray to the table.
“I’ve already seen you, miss,” the maid said. “You needn’t put the veil on for me.”
Artis went to the front window overlooking the street. “You showed him, then?”
“Yes,” she said. Where had her courage come from?
“There he goes like a dog frightened by an angry cat.”
The idea of being likened to an angry cat made her smile.
“He’s not worth it, you know. Most men aren’t.” Artis shrugged. “Oh, there are a few who might be, but not him. Not the duke.”
“Society would disagree with you,” she said. “He’s wealthy.”
Artis didn’t respond to that.
“Have a great many men fallen in love with you?” Artis asked. “Before your accident, I mean.”
She smiled again. “One or two.”
The maid turned to look at her. “No one’s ever loved me. Certainly not a duke.”
“The duke isn’t in love with me. If anyone, he’s in love with himself. Or his title.”
Artis didn’t say anything further, merely turned and picked up the tea tray.
At the door, she hesitated. “Can I ask you something else?”
She nodded.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Unbidden, Mark’s face flashed into her mind. She pushed it away. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I ever have.”
“A man would go to great lengths to punish the woman he loved. Someone who didn’t love him back.”
“Why all this talk of love, Artis?” she asked.
Artis shook her head and looked down at the tray. “Here I am, taking the tray away. Would you like some tea, miss?”
“No,” she said. “Thank you, Artis.”
The woman looked surprised. Had she failed to thank her in the past?
Once alone, she lay her head back on the ornate mahogany carving of the settee. She wasn’t eager to return to her suite. The rooms that had been a haven for the last two months now seemed a prison.
She stared down at the veil in her lap. What did it matter if she wore black or blue lace? Must she hide from the world? What difference did it make if everyone saw her?
She didn’t want to be revolting to anyone, especially not to Mark. Wasn’t that a surprising admission? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him, remembering his touch on her skin?
She’d been lonely, that’s all. She’d been accustomed to the touch of a man, nothing more complicated than that. Never mind that she hadn’t missed passion when she’d first come to Edinburgh or those months in London. Never mind that she could barely remember the face of her first lover, but she doubted she’d ever forget Mark.
He’d been the only man she’d ever truly missed, the only one who made her want something more than passion, the only one who’d held her tenderly as she’d wept in his arms. Perhaps she wanted gentleness, understanding, and even laughter.
Reason enough to banish him from her mind. Otherwise, she’d only invite despair, and she’d had enough of that to last her a lifetime.
C
atriona didn’t care how many times she was in a carriage, the experience was unsettling, especially at night. Edinburgh wasn’t as brightly lit as London. Nor was there a hint of fog. Traffic, however, was as bad.
Aunt Dina didn’t seem to notice her anxiety, which was just as well. She wasn’t a patient any longer, and she was going to have to find some way to cope. Either that or walk everywhere she needed to go.
The press of traffic ahead made them slow to a crawl. At this rate they’d never make it home.
“There’s a party or some such,” Dina said, craning her neck to see. “What a lovely event to have in the midst of snow and ice.”
How could Aunt Dina sound so cheerful after the afternoon they had? Hungry little urchins gathered around them, eager to take one of the cast-off shirts or dresses home to their parents. After the last of the clothing was distributed, Dina had produced a sweet. For a moment she thought there’d be a riot. But somehow Dina managed to have one candy stick for each of the children.