“She’s your cat?” Bella asked, completely confused.
“Oh, no. Not at all. She belongs to a family connection.”
“In London.”
“In London,” he agreed. He seemed to be daring her to ask more questions, and she would have except that she could guess.
She wouldn’t have thought the Duke of Ithorne interested in odd cats, but noblemen had their eccentricities. He must have spent the night at his brother’s house.
It was another blow against her impossible dreams. A man who moved comfortably at the highest levels of society could never marry someone like herself. She’d thought she’d reconciled herself to that, but a new pang showed the work was not quite complete. Perhaps his charming whimsy about the cat had undermined it.
The kittens stirred and clambered over their mother. Then they tried to climb the walls of the basket. Captain Rose put his hand nearby, and one scrambled onto his fingers, mewling and licking. The other hovered, thinking about it.
Mother cat watched, but she didn’t hiss at him.
“They’re different, aren’t they?” Bella asked.
“Yes. One’s a cat-rabbit, but the other seems all cat.”
“How is that possible?”
“That’s what fascinates the scientists, but if we assume Tabitha is the result of a mating of cat with rabbit, and that her own . . . er, partner was a tomcat, then it might make sense. In the strange way these things work, one offspring could be all cat and the other part rabbit.”
Bella was blushing a little, for this wasn’t the sort of subject a lady discussed, especially with a gentleman, but she was fascinated. “What of the other kittens?”
“Alas, only two survived, and the careless person in charge at the time didn’t preserve the bodies.”
“It would have been a strange thing to do.”
“Not with a little forethought,” he said seriously, making her chuckle.
“Do you always think so far ahead?”
“I try to. For example, I have remembered your wedding ring.” He dug his free hand into a pocket and produced a little cloth pouch, offering it to her.
Bella stiffened, but he said, “It really is the only way.”
She opened it and found a plain wedding ring. “It doesn’t look new.”
“It shouldn’t, should it?”
It really wasn’t such a terrible thing, Bella told herself. She pulled off her left glove and put on the ring. It was just a little tight.
So he’s not infallible
, she thought, with some satisfaction, but other thoughts were squirming in. About real rings . . .
She pushed them away and took out the handkerchief that contained his earring. He had his hair tied back, and she saw he wore a plain gold hoop there now. “You’d better take your skull back,” she said.
“What?” He looked at her, startled, but then smiled. “Keep it.”
That was rather indefinite, but Bella returned it to her pocket. It was as if she had custody of a little bit of him, which was particularly poignant as she watched the kittens explore his hand, and his gentle way with them.
She wanted charge of all of him, but it would never be.
“Upstone,” she said, too abruptly, in her need to break the moment.
“Upstone?” he asked.
She quickly reported what Peg had said, though she credited only a servant who used to live in the area. “I’ve thought of a problem, however,” she said. “My father sat on the magistrates’ bench in Upstone, so Augustus probably does too. We might encounter him there. I mean on a street, in an inn . . .”
“Not in a gaming hell or brothel,” he said, returning the kittens to their mother.
“Brothel?”
“That was the implication, I believe.”
Bella thought over Peg’s words and blushed.
“The place sounds ideal,” he said. “If he is often at the Old Oak, it could provide our opportunity.”
“But how?”
He put the basket back on the floor of the swaying carriage. “We entice him into the same trap—debt. He’ll be no wiser now than he was in the past.”
“He has a lot more money now,” she pointed out.
“Then we raise the stakes.”
“Oh, how I detest gaming! What point is there, other than to ruin men and ruin their families as well?”
“Women game too, and their husbands are held responsible for their losses.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why does anyone risk money on dice and cards?”
“For the thrill of it,” he said.
“The thrill of winning? That only means someone else must lose.”
“Winning is a thrill, but the fear of losing is an even greater one for many. Gambling without risk is dull to them, but gaming for high enough stakes is life lived on the razor’s edge.”
“But why is that good?”
He just smiled.
“I see you are a gamester too.”
“No,” he said simply. “I do play—it can also be an amusing way to pass an evening. But I never play for stakes that could thrill me in either victory or defeat. I have other sources of that.”
“Smuggling, I suppose.”
He sighed. “You will persist. The sea, my dear, the sea. Now, there’s a mistress that will feed us fear or exaltation as the mood takes her.”
As you do me
, Bella thought.
And why else was she here but for the thrill of it, for the addictive power of life lived on the constant edge of something?
He was watching her. She could only pray he couldn’t read her.
“Merely plunging Augustus into debt won’t serve to ruin him or shame him,” she said. “Not without ruining many others. My mother, my unmarried sister. All the servants and tenants. I can’t do that.”
“A tenderhearted avenger,” he said wryly. “You complicate things. Very well, we’ll have to have him discovered drunk and in the company of low, loose women. Very loose, very low women.”
Bella gaped at him. “Augustus? He’s too . . . too highsnooted to sink to low women.”
“You think so?” He smiled. “A monkey on it.”
“What?”
“I wager five hundred guineas that he already sinks to low women whenever he can, and that that’s part of the appeal of the Old Oak.”
“Five hundred . . . !” Bella spluttered. “Do you have that sort of money to lose?”
“I wouldn’t lose.”
“You are a gamester! A sharp, even. Well, I certainly don’t have that much to wager.”
“Then we won’t gamble on it. We’ll simply do it. Think of it. Not just gaming, but whores. There’ll not be enough of his reputation left intact to clothe a mouse.” Then he laughed. “That put stars in your eyes. What a strange wench you are.”
No, you put stars in my eyes.
But the thought of Augustus naked in shame was delightful too.
The sun had set and shadows were deep when the chaise rolled into Upstone. He told the postilions to take him on to the best inn in town.
“The Hart and Hare,” he said as they alighted. “We must hope they never attempted a mating.”
Bella suppressed a giggle. She was given custody of the closed cat basket as he arranged rooms. When they went upstairs, however, Bella realized that he’d taken a parlor and a bedchamber.
One bedchamber.
Part of her sizzled with excitement, but she still had her wits. “We need two bedchambers.”
“Don’t turn squeamish on me now, valiant lady. We’re an ordinary couple of no significant wealth. Why would we take two bedchambers?”
“Because I snore. Or you do.”
“We’d endure. People do.”
Bella narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not sharing a bed with you, Captain Rose, wedding ring or no.”
“It’s a very big bed,” he pointed out, gesturing toward it.
And reminding her vividly of the Goat. Parts of her threatened to melt.
“We can sleep mostly clothed,” he coaxed. “Or you can sleep on the floor.”
“That,” she said, “is a gentleman’s duty.”
“But you’re the one objecting to sharing the bed.”
She threw up her hands at this outrageous way of looking at it. “What if anyone were to find out?” she demanded. “I’d be ruined.”
But that, of course, was no weapon at all.
Bella paced the room, truly angry now. Clearly he’d always intended to make her his whore. Never a wife, oh, no. Not Bella Barstowe.
“You had this in mind all along,” she accused, facing him.
“No, on my honor. I only thought of the detail when we arrived. It’s a real concern, and you can trust me.”
“Ha!”
She prowled to the bed as if she could change it by force of will. Split it into two, perhaps.
That made her pause. How odd that sharing a bedroom with a man seemed tolerable if there were separate beds. She was sliding slowly down into hell.
“It is a very large bed,” he said again. “It could probably sleep five.”
Bella had heard that sometimes many strangers did share a bed in an inn, and indeed, this would suit the purpose.
She turned to face him again. “Very well. But you will keep your shirt and breeches on.”
He inclined his head. She knew he was amused and victorious, but he was doing a very good job of hiding it.
“Will you sleep in your stays?” he asked. “I don’t advise it, but it’s your choice.”
She smiled triumphantly. “I’m not wearing any.”
A slight flare in his eyes was alarming, but deliciously satisfying at the same time. She’d never known that being without stays might excite a man.
Bella. The last thing you want at this moment is to excite him!
“I’m wearing jumps,” she explained, “for comfort while traveling.”
“What a very sensible woman you are.”
Bella turned to the mirror and removed her hat. “A woman traveling alone has to be, Captain.” She considered her very long hat pin and placed it on the stand beside the bed, then turned to smile at him.
His lips were twitching. “Very sensible. Now, I should go below to down ale and talk to the locals. I hope to learn more about the Old Oak, but I can also introduce our cat story.”
“What exactly is our cat story? What are we going to do with them?”
He’d opened the basket, but the kittens were fully involved with feeding.
“We will venture abroad every day to show Tabitha to the locals and ask for reports of similar strange cats.”
“Or strange rabbits,” she said.
He looked at her, arrested. “You really should be on the scientific team. I’m not sure anyone’s thought of that. Yes, and strange rabbits. What would the combination do to a rabbit?”
“A long tail?”
“And small ears.”
“And the eyes.”
“Indeed, the eyes. I do hope we find a specimen. But while I’m below, I’ll have a supper tray sent up to you. And something for Tabitha.”
As soon as he left, the cat stirred.
“Ah-oo!”
It was so clearly mild alarm—
What do you think you’re doing?
—that Bella laughed.
“Yes, you and your babies are left in my tender care. I know little of such things, but I won’t let any harm come to you.”
The cat slitted its eyes at her. Then, to Bella’s amusement, it managed to reach out a paw and pull the lid of the basket over itself and its babies.
“Is that a cut direct?” Bella asked of the universe.
A squawk might have been confirmation.
She chuckled, but then turned serious as she considered the bed again. Whatever Captain Rose had in mind, she had no intention of letting him have any liberties. She acknowledged her own desires, but she’d not court ruin that way.
She unpacked her small trunk until only the pistol case was left. She loaded it and put it carefully into her valise, then put the valise on the floor beside the left side of the bed, the same side that was already armed with a hat pin.
In due time she might move the gun under her pillow. That made her nervous, but as long as it wasn’t cocked, it shouldn’t fire. Or so she trusted.
She paced the room nervously again, but then made herself think about the important purpose here: Augustus.
How often would he visit the Old Oak? Even with the cat story, they couldn’t dally here for weeks without raising far too many questions. She glared in the direction she thought Carscourt should be, longing to go there immediately and simply choke Augustus until he went purple in the face.
She realized her fists were clenched and relaxed them. She’d dug crimson arcs into her palms.
She considered the wedding ring, and ridiculously, tears blurred her vision. Why had she never known how much she would want to be married once she found the right man?
A maid came in with a tray and set out a simple meal on the table. There was an extra dish with pieces of meat on it. “This is for the cat,” she said, looking around.
“Place it by the basket, thank you,” Bella answered.
The maid did so and left. The basket remained shut.
“I think that’s called cutting off your nose to spite your face,” Bella said to the basket, and settled in to enjoy her meal, but thoughts of her future blunted her appetite.
Marriage was an easy and proper way to assume a new identity. She wouldn’t be able to marry Captain Rose, but perhaps some other, simpler man could be tempted by her money. An honest, trustworthy, kind man, who would give her his name.
Bella . . . Pennyworth, bookseller’s wife, would have no connection at all with Bella Barstowe of Carscourt, and even less to Bellona Flint.
That vision should provide hope for the future, but it felt as appealing as cold suet pudding.
She’d eaten only half her meal, but she opened the door and called for a servant. As soon as one came, she had the dishes taken away, noting that the cat had sneaked out to eat its food undetected. The basket was closed again.
Even a cat rejected Bella Barstowe, and it seemed her “husband” would spend the whole night carousing downstairs. Clearly her virtue was not threatened at all.