Fourteen

Catherine opened her eyes and closed them again, as the room spun in dizzying circles. The blood was pounding in her temples, and the clatter of silverware and china set her teeth on edge. Harsh sunlight beat against her eyelids in a painful white- and red-tinged haze. She moaned and covered them with the back of her hand. She was used to traveling long distances on horseback, but it seemed the endless rolling of the coach hadn’t agreed with her. She rolled over and buried her head under the covers, and memories of the last evening came flooding in. She’d seriously misjudged the strength of the whiskey, though not its lack of refinement. It clearly lacked the subtlety and smoothness that characterized her own. She supposed she’d also underestimated the extent of her own anxiety, else she’d never have drunk so much.

She vaguely recollected her English husband carrying her to bed. It seemed she was still wearing her traveling clothes, so it was safe to assume nothing untoward had happened. Had he tried to kiss her? She seemed to remember something of the sort. The clattering was getting louder and a moment later her nostrils flared, catching the dark and delicious aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Peering through her fingers she saw one of her maids, Maire McKenna, setting out a cup and saucer on a nearby table. She was a pretty girl who bustled rather than walked, hummed rather than chattered, and despite her constant motion, had a presence about her that put one at ease.

“Ah, thank you, Maire! How did you know?”

“Mr. Sullivan sent it, ma’am. He said his lordship is looking forward to meeting you in the breakfast room.”

“Is he? I’d not have taken him for a man who rises before midday.” But she knew it wasn’t true. She knew better than to underestimate him. Whatever game Jamie Sinclair was playing, he wasn’t a spoiled and pampered aristocrat, but a wily and seasoned opponent who’d traversed the Highlands and entered enemy territory on his own. She didn’t care how clever he was, though. There wasn’t an Englishman born who could beat a canny Scot when it came to hard bargaining.

Maire led her to a sunny breakfast room. The coffee had revived her, though her nerves were still a little tender, and the smell of fresh-baked bread made her mouth water. Her English husband was drinking chocolate and reading a newspaper. Still a little unsteady on her feet, she returned his cheerful greeting with a careful nod as she edged around the table and gingerly sat down.

He winced in sympathy. “The room isn’t moving, my dear. You needn’t grip the table so. Shall I have Cook make you a posset?”

He bellowed for Sullivan and she gripped her head between he palms. “Beast!”

“I’m right here, sir. There’s no need to shout.”

“Thank you, Sullivan. Fetch my lady something for her head, would you?” He turned his attention back to Catherine, rising to pour her some chocolate. “Try this. It helps.” Sitting down beside her, he patted her hand solicitously. “Now tell me true, my love. Will I spend my married life dragging you home piss drunk from taverns?”

She gave him a glacial look. “I do not… get… piss… drunk. I drink for medicinal purposes, and at other times I… tipple.”

“Well you tippled enough last night to put a bishop under the table, but if that’s how a Scotsman holds his drink, I’d have to say they drink like… girls.” He grinned and dodged her elbow.

“I was tired from a very long journey and anxious about my reception, and the whiskey was… well, I’m a guest, and unlike you, I’m polite and I’ll say no more,” she replied hotly, stung by the insult.

“You needn’t feel anxious of your welcome, my love. We’re family now, after all.”

“I’m not your love, English. I’m your unwanted and inconvenient wife.”

“You promised to use my name.”

“And you promised not to play games.”

“Very well, but it’s you who’ve come to see me. You spoke of an annulment last night. What precisely did you have in mind?”

“I thought we might help one another. Perhaps come to some kind of arrangement that would be mutually beneficial. You’re in needs of funds. I want my freedom and control of my fortune so I can keep it from the hands of my family.

“Ah, not so loving kin, internecine warfare, Cain and Abel?”

“Nothing quite so biblical. They would not use it wisely.”

“One suspects they might say the same of you.”

“Indeed they might. Particularly if they thought I intended to share it with a womanizing Sassenach rogue and gambler.”

“And is that your intention?”

“It might be.”

“No offense, my dear, but we are in fact married. As unfair as it might seem to you, what’s yours is now mine. Why should I consider any other arrangement?”

“Pax, Sinclair… Jamie. We won’t get far if you seek to rule me.”

“I don’t seek to rule you. Some say I’m barely able to rule myself.”

“We both know that’s false.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, so why this pretense?” she asked, genuinely curious. “The scapegrace courtier, the dissipated rogue?”

He shrugged. “Some men have many faces, mouse. Who’s to say which one is real? Why do you avoid my question?”

“Because you’ll not like the answer, I’m not sure how best to explain, and my head still hurts. Can we declare a truce? I’d like to discuss it with you, not argue. I’d like to take a walk to clear my head and then sit down somewhere comfortable and see if we can’t come to some kind of arrangement.”

“Taking a walk through the noxious streets of London is hardly likely to clear your head. Might I suggest we go for a ride in the park?”

“You wish to accompany me?”

His face lit with mischief. “I do indeed. And after, I’ll have Sullivan make the rounds and place wagers on the identity of the mysterious beauty who accompanied me.”

“You do cheat!”

“Heavens no! I merely improve the odds wherever I can.”

“Will you promise to leave our discussion until later?”

“I will be your vassal, your dedicated guide. I’ll hold your pretty ankle and boost you into your saddle, carry your parcels, and menace any ruffians who dare to look your way.”

She eyed him suspiciously, but when he set out to charm he was impossible to resist. He took her back to the mews and introduced her to Charlie Turner, a tiny, wizened man who was groom and sometimes jockey. For a man in dire financial straits, his stable housed some of the finest hacks she’d ever seen: long-limbed, high-stepping beauties that combined the intelligent eyes and fiery carriage of a desert mount with the height and strength of an English hunter.

“Jamie, these beasts are magnificent! Wherever did you get them?”

“Mmmm,” he shrugged with apparent indifference, but she could see the pride shining in his eyes. “I’ve had a mind to try my hand at breeding since back in Charles’s day. He was kind enough to pay off a gambling debt by allowing me to breed a Barbary mare to his stud, Old Rawley.”

“The champion race horse?”

“You know of him?” he asked with a pleased smile.

“But of course I do! He’s a racing legend!”

Jamie nodded, and lifted her easily onto the back of a fine black gelding. “So he is. As it happens, I’ve had a bit of luck with it all since then. The mare produced a colt that won the cup at Newcastle twice. I’ve bred him with several of Sullivan’s mares and he’s sired some fine racehorses and hunters. Those that aren’t suitable for racing or hunting I use as hacks and pleasure mounts. I was beginning to make a bit of a name for myself as a breeder before this unfortunate business with Caroline. Only Buckingham gives me his business now.”

They continued into the park, talking amiably about horse racing and breeding, neither of them paying any attention to the stir they were creating. Catherine enjoyed herself for the first time since Jerrod had come to warn her to cooperate or be imprisoned. It was strange how easy she felt around this man, as if she’d always known him, and strange that when she found herself threatened it was him she turned to and trusted, rather than her own flesh and blood. They chattered and laughed, amusing each other with observations about the colorfully dressed fops and sparks strutting by like peacocks and the vulgar calls of the orange girls passing by on their way to the theatre.

Returning to the house, they settled comfortably in the library, just as the sun began to set, bathing the room in shades of pink and indigo blue. Jamie poured two glasses of brandy and came to sit beside her. “So… rash and reckless little mouse. You’ve managed to avoid my questions thus far, but here we are. What has brought you quick and curious to my lair? What is it you propose… and why should I accept?” They sat companionably, sharing the well-upholstered settee in front of a cheerful fire, feet propped on a low table.

“I’m the creature you’ve always dreamed of, Sinclair,” she said, sipping her brandy. “A rich and titled heiress, ripe for the plucking. My father hoped I’d marry someone who could help me lead our clan, but I failed in that duty and my cousin Donald became chieftain after my father’s death. Donald feels, and my family concurs, that a woman with a husband no one else has ever seen must be a lunatic who imagined him in the first place, or desperate to divorce him so she might marry again. I’m to procure an annulment or lead you to slaughter, so I can marry as my loving family wishes. If I don’t, my cousin will have me immured in a convent until I return to my right mind.”

“Aah! And then your fortune goes to him.”

“That part which is held in trust for the clan would certainly come under his control, yes. I suspect that, should I wish to be released, I would have to sign over the rest as well.” She lifted her glass in a mock salute. “To false friends and not-so-loving families.”

“No point in bitterness, love. It’s the way of the world.” He clanked his glass against hers. “You’ve already passed on the opportunity to see me slaughtered, though. I take it you have other plans?”

“I do,” she said, shifting to face him. “I found out what I could about you before I came here, through my agents in London.”

He blinked in surprise. “You have agents in London?”

“Yes, of course! In Ireland, France, Edinburgh, and the Netherlands as well. My father used to say one good piece of information is worth a thousand armed men.”

“He discussed such things with you?”

“I was raised at his side. He’d intended… well… none of that matters now. I doubt he’d have approved of this marriage. I do think he would have liked you, though.”

“And what did your agents tell you about me, love?”

“They said you were out of favor with the king, and you’d been left properties and a title, but your father had otherwise disowned you and left you in desperate need of funds.” She didn’t feel it polite to mention the rest.

“He tried to disown me. He was convinced I wasn’t his. He wrote me out of his will and left me saddled with mortgages and debt, but he couldn’t stop me inheriting. He must have found it galling in the extreme.”

“I’m sorry.”

“To not-so-loving families,” he said with a crooked smile, raising his glass in another toast.

“Jamie, I wouldn’t want you to think… that is to say, my father wasn’t… my father was a good man.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Mine wasn’t. Pray continue with your tale. You escaped the clutches of your greedy cousin and flew to the arms of your beggared, ne’re-do-well husband… why?”

“As I’ve said, I came seeking an annulment or divorce. You’d said you wanted one and I assumed, overall, you’d be pleased. I thought I might settle a generous sum upon you, once I was beyond my cousin’s reach. My father left me ships and I’ve long wanted to travel. I could go to France, perhaps from there to Italy, the Americas, or even the Far East. None of my family other than my father and Uncle Jerrod have traveled much beyond the Highlands. They’re an insular lot, somewhat ignorant of the rest of the world, and I doubt they’d follow me, particularly if I renounced any claim to Drummond lands.”

“Uncle Jerrod? Isn’t he the fellow—”

“Yes, he is. He’s not a bad sort really. At least he gave me some warning.”

“Forgive me if I’m not inclined to think warmly of a man who tortured and meant to kill me.”

“He was quite impressed with you, you know. He called you a ‘cold-blooded bastard with balls of steel.’”

“High praise indeed!”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, your escape and his failure to recapture you made him look a fool. It damaged his reputation and standing in the clan, and he lost his place as captain. He never suspected my part in it. He never suspected a thing. I felt bad for it. Everything changed after that, and he’s Donald’s man now.”

“Save your pity for those who deserve it, mouse, not those who turn their backs on you.” The room was growing chilled and he rose and went to the fire, hunkering down to poke and prod until it blazed high again. He looked back at her over his shoulder. She lounged against the arm of the settee. Her head rested against her curled fist, one leg was drawn up beneath her, and she appeared lost in thought. He couldn’t help but smile. She might be a countess who’d been schooled in the French court, but she moved like a lad, fought like a man, and ate and drank like a soldier. She looked very fine indeed in emerald silk, though, with her copper-hued hair tumbling about her shoulders, catching the flame from the fire. He’d never met anyone like her. She’s as fresh and lovely as the first day of spring.

“Sinclair? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all, my dear. I was simply wondering what you consider to be a generous sum.” He rose to his feet and went to sit beside her. Best be careful. She’ll singe you hotter than those flames, char you from the inside out, he told himself, but it didn’t stop him from moving closer. “Don’t be coy, sweetheart. You hope to buy my cooperation? You must have a sum in mind.”

“The sum I had in mind was twenty thousand pounds.”

“Twenty thousand pounds!” Jamie nearly choked on his drink. “What exactly are you worth, Catherine?”

“Well… much of what my father left me is Drummond land, held in trust for the good of the clan. It will be fought over by my brother and my cousins once I abandon my claim. It’s of no use to you. You could never claim or hold it.”

“I might surprise you.”

“I was named laird over my little brother because he was too young and too French. The clan would never accept an Englishman. You’d be murdered at the first opportunity. The only way you could hold those lands is with a sizable army, and even with my funds, you couldn’t afford to keep one. I do have other properties and income left me by my parents, though, as well as my father’s share of the distillery, and shortly after his death, I converted the assets he left me in horses and cattle to gold. Not counting the income from my properties, I’m worth a little over sixty thousand pounds.

He stared at her in amazement. “Good Christ, woman! That would make you one of the richest heiresses in England!”

“Perhaps. I don’t know. It makes me one of the richest women in the Highlands at any rate. I’d intended to cede my properties in Scotland to my family and, in return for your cooperation, settle twenty thousand pounds on you. I confess I never considered how it might affect you. I knew you needed money and I thought that would be enough. You implied last night that an annulment at this time would do further damage to your reputation, and it’s not my desire that you be worse off for having helped me. If you prefer, I’d consider making some pretense of a happy marriage for a while. You’ve been good for me, Sinclair. If you continue to be, and if you allow it, I’ll repay you.”

“How?”

“You claimed I was a Catholic heiress to the king. As it happens, I am. I’m expected at court to discuss matters of trade and my family’s whiskey and offer military support if and when required. The king will be surprised and pleased to discover such a useful woman is tied in marriage to a loyal member of his court, will he not? I’ll rehabilitate your reputation, Sinclair, as a husband, a good Catholic, a loyal subject, and a wealthy man. Later we’ll arrange an amicable divorce and we’ll both be free.”

“I’m intrigued, love, but I seemed to have missed something. Why would I agree to any of this? You are my wife, after all. Why should I settle for a third when I can have it all?”

“Under your laws perhaps, English. I come from the Highlands, where a chieftain who can hold his lands is a law unto himself. My father chose me as his heir, though my clan chose my cousin as chieftain. This is the part you’re not going to like.”

“Dear me!”

“My father had close to a dozen lawyers. My inheritance is left to me under my sole control. It’s now in the hands of a Scots banker who owes his life and his fortune to my father, and his loyalty is to me. He’ll release funds to my bankers when and as I ask, but he’ll not release a penny to my husband, cousin, brother, or anyone else, without my consent. Without my cooperation, you’ll never see any revenues from any of my properties, and my bankers won’t let you touch a farthing.”

“A pity, that. Sheathe your claws, hellcat. I simply asked a question. What if I took you to court?”

“You might try, I suppose,” she said with a smile. “But between my bankers and lawyers, your great-grandchildren would be grey-haired old men before they saw any of it.”

He smiled back. “So what is it you propose? Will you pay me to remain as your loving spouse or to be gone from your life altogether?”

“Which would you prefer?”

“I’m partial to the one where you stoop to take my hand, raising me up beside you whilst restoring my reputation to its former pristine glory, and me to the bosom of my king.”

“You’re being pettish now, English.”

“Am I? I must be hungry. What makes you think we can get our marriage dissolved, once it’s been publicly acknowledged? It will be much harder than it might have been a year ago.”

“Actually, I’ve given it a great deal of thought.”

“Have you indeed?” He watched with a bemused smile as she sat cross-legged, tugging at her skirts to adjust and smooth them, before eagerly launching into the pros and cons of the many ways they might end their marriage. What an odd conversation to be having with one’s wife!

Catherine had done her research. “There are, in fact, several remedies to an unwanted marriage, each varying in the length of time, degree of difficulty, and the expense involved. Fortunately, I have access to competent and reliable lawyers, the expense is not a problem, and if we undertake it as a cooperative venture rather than a combative one, things should be that much easier. My lawyers feel they can make the appropriate submissions and arrangements within a year or two at most.”

“Do go on, it all sounds fascinating,” he drawled, pouring himself another drink.

“Very well,” she said primly. “In Scotland, one can obtain a divorce through the Commissary Court of Edinburgh on the grounds of adultery, desertion, and cruelty, though cruelty is difficult to prove. We were married in Scotland, and that might be an option, but I’m uncertain as to how it would hold up in an English court. In England, one’s choices are somewhat limited. One can apply to Parliament for a private Act to dissolve a marriage, but it requires a great deal of expense and no doubt a certain amount of influence, something you’re sadly lacking at present. If we can rehabilitate you, however, and return you to favor, this might prove a feasible route.”

“Lucky me.”

She chose to ignore him. “We might also pursue a divortium a mensa et thoro—that means divorce from bed and board—through the ecclesiastical courts.”

“There’s no need to condescend. I know what it means, Catherine. If you can speak Latin, why didn’t you do so the night of our wedding, when it might have helped us both? Surely you understood the priest?”

“I did not! He was barely intelligible. He had a heavy Spanish accent and his pronunciation was atrocious. I thought you were going to rape then hang me. I thought he was reading a prayer for the condemned! Do you want me to continue or not?”

“I’m sorry if you were frightened.”

“I’m a Drummond! I was not frightened!”

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Of course not. You were ferocious. I still bear the scars.”

She relaxed against the arm of the settee, somewhat mollified. “Yes… well, the most obvious solution, of course, is to secure a degree of nullity, establishing that the marriage was void ab inito, from the beg… never mind. The most obvious grounds are pre-contract, nonconsummation, and…ah… impotence.” She cleared her throat, feeling the blood rush to her face, and shifted uncomfortably. “I… ah… I feel there’s a good deal of fertile ground for us to explore there.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes indeed,” she continued, missing the dangerous tone in his voice as hers grew more animated. “If we could establish there was a contract between you and your heiress—”

“Or you and your beefy beau.”

“I… yes, quite. Well, it’s an avenue we might explore, at any rate. Failing that, as we have no children, we could proceed on the basis of… ah… nonconsummation or impotence. There does appear to be some latitude there. The Countess of Summerset was able to secure a divorce on the grounds that her husband, though not impotent to women in general, was impotent to her, and Lady Desmond was successful on the grounds that her husband had an insufficiency to please a reasonable woman.”

“I can assure you, my love, no one will believe either of me. If we should decide to go that route, our best chance for success would be on the basis of your frigid, cruel, and unaccommodating nature, and your unwillingness or inability to provide me with an heir.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking in surprise.

She reminded him of a ruffled owl and he had to bite his lip to stifle his laughter.

“I… I suppose we could if you thought it best. It doesn’t seem terribly chivalrous.”

He choked on his brandy, covering with a cough as he rose and placed his glass on the table.

“Are you laughing at me, Sinclair?”

“Not at all, my love,” he said, sitting down again and patting her knee. “Not at all. You’ve done excellent research. As you say… fertile ground… or infertile if you will.”

“Beast!”

He grabbed her wrist before she could punch his shoulder. “Pull in your claws, hellcat.”

“Then stop mocking me!” The struggle to free her arm drew him closer, and his laughter cut off abruptly as their eyes caught and held.

She was intensely aware of his parted lips, the feel of his fingers wrapped tight against her skin, and the rise and fall of his chest, just inches from hers. She watched, mesmerized, as he lowered his head towards her, holding her breath as he nuzzled the curve of her shoulder and neck. The house was silent but for the snapping of logs on the fire and the pounding of her heart. He released her arm and she rested it on his shoulder, drawing him closer still. His breath was warm against her ear, sending shivers through her body, and she turned into him, seeking his mouth.

“Will you be dining this evening, milord?”

Catherine let out a little yelp of surprise as Jamie jumped to his feet.

“Bloody hell, Sullivan! Are you trying to drive me mad?”

“No, milord,” Sullivan said, wrapping himself in wounded dignity. “I was trying to perform my duties. You’ve not eaten since breakfast and it is now after nine. I assumed you and milady would be hungry, and I thought you might like a light supper before Cook retires for the evening. I apologize if I was overzealous.”

“Yes, quite,” Jamie said, running a hand through his hair and favoring Catherine with a rueful look. “It seems I’ve forgotten my manners, and the hour. My apologies to you both. Are you hungry, Catherine?”

“Ravenous, actually.”

“Well, there you have it, Sullivan. You’re right as always. Please bring us a tray of whatever Cook has left from supper. In future though, if a door is closed, I would ask that you knock.”

Once Sullivan had left, Jamie returned to the settee, lounging beside her and favoring her with a knowing smile. “Well… I think we both know where that was heading. How are we to prevent our natural inclinations from tearing your schemes asunder? I shall try my best to contain myself, love, but can you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He leaned into her, his shoulder snug against hers. “Yes you do.” His voice was warm and seductive, his mouth just inches from her ear. His fingers trailed along her jaw, brushing her ear and caressing her skin before cupping her face and turning her into his kiss. Lowering his mouth to hers, he coaxed her to open, dragging softly back and forth across her parted lips and probing gently with his tongue. She sighed and turned into him, melting against him and winding her arms around his neck. He groaned and reached for her waist, pulling her tight so her body pressed warm and eager against his.

Catherine arched against him, heart racing, her skin pricking with excitement and her body pulsing with delicious new thrills. She opened her mouth wider, inviting him deeper, but he broke off the kiss suddenly, bending his head to nuzzle her throat. He flicked her with his tongue and bit her gently, then kissed her cheek and brought his forehead to rest against her own.

“That’s what I meant, love,” he said, his voice hoarse. He took a deep breath and took her by the shoulders, guiding her back upright. “What if our passions overwhelm us, destroying all your well-laid plans?”

She pushed him away and sat up straight, struggling to regain her composure. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sinclair! There’s no danger of that!”

“Excellent! I shall rely upon you, then. I shall rest easy knowing at least one of us can be strong. If ever I forget myself, you need only growl or hiss and spit to put me in my place. I still tremble to recall how you trounced me.”

“Oh, do be quiet!” Damn him! What kind of cold-hearted creature was he to entice and bewitch her, teasing her with a glimpse of something that promised to be magical, and then abruptly closing the door? It was all a game to him, and that was something she’d do well to remember.

“You must admit it could be a problem though, love, and despite your careful planning, I’d wager it’s one you never considered.”

“Yes, well… now you’ve pointed it out I’m sure we’ll both be careful—Sinclair!” His fingers were playing absently with a ribbon that trailed from the lace gathered at her elbow, and she slapped them away. “You said you’d try and contain yourself.”

“Did I? I’m so full of good intentions, they’re difficult to recall.” He laughed and pulled away.

They were interrupted by a loud insistent banging at the door.

“Do come in, Sullivan. You’ve made your point.”

The Irishman entered, bearing a tray of bread, cheese, cold capon, and venison.

“Thank you. Just leave it on the table and bring us some sack, would you?”

They fell to the meal with gusto, tearing at the capon and washing it down with the cold dry wine, their conversation temporarily halted. Jamie finished first, and watched with undisguised admiration as Catherine devoured the remnants of the bird, daintily licking her fingers when she was done.

She caught him watching and paused, the tip of her finger still in her mouth. Her cheeks burned crimson as she reached for a napkin. “What? I was hungry.”

“I can see you’re a woman of strong appetite. I’m waiting to hear you belch.”

“Can’t you be serious, Jamie? I’ve offered you a proposition that can help us both. I want to be free. I’ve no wish to be any man’s chattel. I don’t want to submit to the dictates of someone else, be it brother or cousin or husband. I want to choose my own path. I think you want the same. I can give you enough money to do whatever you wish.”

“Ah yes… the money. How would that work?”

“We’ll agree upon a sum, sign a contract, and I’ll transfer you the funds once the marriage is terminated.”

“So… nothing will change between times. Your fortune remains your own, and though we’re wed, you don’t want me to fu—bed you. Or do you?” he asked, a curious gleam in his eye.

She blushed and turned away.

“It amazes me that a woman who’s been to the French court and roamed the wilderness with a horde of wild barbarians, sword and pistol by her side, should blush as often as you do.”

“It amuses you to provoke me, Sinclair. I hope it’s some consolation that although I’m not all you desire, I’m at least a ready source of entertainment.”

“It’s a great consolation, love. You’re very good company. I’ve been bored since we parted.”

She looked up in surprise, astonished he’d think such a thing, let alone say it. “I’ll not be altogether useless, you know. I’ll pay off your creditors and settle any reasonable debts. I’ll provide for your household and pay your expenses, and I’ll sing your praises to the king and anyone else who may inquire. You need only play your part.”

“And what would that be?”

“That of a reasonably attentive and indulgent husband. One who, if not faithful, is at least respectful and discreet. Can you play such a role?”

“A reasonably attentive husband? No. That’s too boring. It would be far more amusing to play a besotted one.”

They spent the rest of the evening ensconced in the library, hammering out an agreement. Jamie put up a token resistance when Catherine insisted they put it all in writing, to be witnessed and signed by their respective solicitors, but despite his arguments and protests, he recognized she was being remarkably generous, and he knew the advantage was hers. He was puzzled, uncomfortable, and grateful. He’d never expected much from others. His rescue of the chit had been a wild, quixotic impulse, one that had later embarrassed him and he’d blamed for most of his troubles, but it seemed that his battlefield wife was going to prove useful after all. He knew she had ulterior motives for helping him, she’d been clear about that, but she also offered friendship and alliance at a time he badly needed them.

In the end, a bargain was struck. They shook hands and agreed to formalize it in the morning. The next day Jamie’s solicitor and one of Catherine’s London lawyers reviewed it. It was signed, with Sullivan as a witness, two days later. Shortly thereafter, James and Catherine Sinclair, Lord and Lady Carrick, Earl and Countess of Carlyle, made their debut.