Eighteen
Catherine was in a rather peculiar mood when the coachman finally dropped them at the front door. The judicious use of Mr. Mercer’s fine medicinal brandy had calmed her fears and banished any unpleasant thoughts. She was feeling proud and cocky about her performance, both in passing as a man and as a worthy companion in a tight spot. The combined effects of copious amounts of coffee, the excitement of forbidden adventures, and an unexpected brush with death percolated through her veins, warring with physical exhaustion. She felt exquisitely alive and completely relaxed at the same time. All in all, it was a very pleasant feeling. She entered the house, eyes bright and shining, and skipped through the foyer, only to collapse in a parlor chair.
Sullivan appeared instantly, followed by Catherine’s little Scottish maid, who looked decidedly flushed. Jamie looked from one to the other with curiosity, and then waved them both away. “Thank you for waiting up, but it really wasn’t necessary. You can both seek your beds. I’ll see to my wife.” He returned his attention to Catherine “I’m sorry things turned out as they did, mouse. I should never have brought you with me. It was stupid of me and I—”
“What nonsense, Jamie! I don’t know how to thank you. It was the most exciting, the most astonishing, the most magical night of my life!” Jumping up she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, giving him a brandy-soaked kiss on the cheek before plopping down again.
“God’s blood, girl! You must be the only wife in the world who’d thank her husband for taking her to a gambling hell, a whorehouse, and a brawl in the streets.”
“And you’re the only husband in the world who’d take me,” she agreed with a happy sigh. “Nothing has ever made me feel more alive, not even my first time in the rigging or my first cattle raid.”
“Good heavens, child! You’ve had an eventful youth! You must tell me all about it sometime.” He watched her as she pulled at her boot, swearing as she struggled to get it off. She certainly had a colorful store of curses. He debated going to her aid, but she presented such an enchanting picture, coat unbuttoned, hat askew, that he refrained.
“There!” she cried in triumph as her boot tumbled to the floor. “Someday, Jamie,” she grunted as she worked at her other boot, “you must tell me all about your family.”
His mood fell flat. “Mine’s not interesting in the least. There’s really nothing to tell.”
“I rather doubt that. You’re full of secrets, Jamie Sinclair,” she said, waving an unsteady finger at him, “and you’re always pretending to be something you’re not. I find that very interesting. I… on the other hand, am exactly what I seem, something that’s caused me no end of trouble over the years.”
The wench is far too perceptive. She took another swig of brandy and he stepped forward and relieved her of the flask. “Perhaps you’ve had enough of Mr. Mercer’s elixir, my love. You’ve had an eventful evening. It’s time to go to bed.”
“Shouldn’t you cosset and kiss me first? I hope you’re not so cavalier with all your women.”
“Catherine… ” there was a note of warning to his voice.
She held out her hand, raising her eyebrows in expectation, and he bent and kissed it, then grasped it and pulled her up.
She swayed, unsteady on her feet. How very peculiar! She wasn’t the least bit tired. Striving to maintain her balance, she leaned against his chest. It was a nice chest. Broad and manly and… hard. Warm, too. She sighed and rested her cheek against it, listening for his heartbeat as she had in the carriage. It beat a slow and steady rhythm, a cadence of blood and life. He was alive, though men had tried to kill him. She was alive, through her own determination and skill. But what if Tim had abandoned them and Mr. Mercer had never come? An image flashed of Jamie sprawled on the cobblestones as his life bled away amongst the puddles and filth of a London roadway. She hugged him fiercely and made no objection as he scooped her in his arms.
“Jamie?”
“Yes, love?” he asked as he climbed the stairs.
“Do you think I killed him?”
“No, little hellcat,” he lied. “You gave him a nasty scratch to be sure. No doubt he’ll have a wicked scar to remember you by, but so long as his comrades took the trouble to find him a physician he should survive.”
“You killed one.”
“That I did.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not nearly so much as the thought of one of them killing you or me.”
“How many men have you killed?”
“Too many to count. I’ve been a soldier and a mercenary for much of my life, love. It’s what one does.”
“Does it ever bother you?”
“Not often. I seldom lose sleep over it, but… ”
“But?”
He kicked open the door to her room and sat down with her on the bed. “But whether it’s a duel or a battle or a brawl in the streets, I’ve never killed an unarmed man.” He had a vivid image of farm-boy soldiers armed with pitchforks and bent swords, and he grimaced. “Lately I’ve lost my taste for war.”
Catherine flopped back on the bed, arms behind her head and legs dangling over the side as she kicked them back and forth. “So have I.”
“Really?” he said with a slight laugh. “I didn’t know you had one.”
“I did. It lasted all of ten minutes. Just long enough to make the crest of the hill at the River Clyde. Then there was just mud and blood and bits of people, and everyone cursing and screaming. Nothing bloody glorious about that.”
“No, love. Nothing glorious at all.” He reached out and smoothed her hair, gazing at her fondly. Dressed in sumptuous gowns she glittered like a fine gem, rivaling the greatest ladies of James’s court, but here with him, as she’d been this evening, as she was now, she was a far rarer jewel. Unthinking, he cupped her jaw and bent his head, brushing his lips feather-light against hers.
“Mmmm, that’s nice,” she murmured, moving her hands to his shoulders and trying to pull him closer.
He chuckled and gripped her wrists, pushing them back against the pillows. “Sleep now, mouse.”
“I don’t think I can. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that street. I want you to kiss me. Properly.”
“I did just kiss you properly.”
“Not that kind of proper, Jamie.”
“Ah… the other kind,” he said, letting go of her hands.
“Yes. You hardly ever do it. You don’t even try,” she said with a sniff.
“I was under the impression you wished me to forbear.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I’m curious. You’re my husband. It’s your duty to… to show me and teach me such things.” She had a sudden image of a smiling Jamie, sprawled in an armchair like some eastern potentate in his harem, surrounded by Peg’s girls with their soft bodies and busy hands. “Unless I’m not the type of woman you prefer.”
“You’re definitely not.”
She knew it, but it hurt to hear it stated so baldly. “What? Too intelligent? Independent? Opinionated?”
“No, love, though you’re certainly all those things. The truth is I generally prefer someone else’s wife. Things are much less complicated that way.”
He patted her on the shoulder and made to get up, but she stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. Her head was clearing, and although she didn’t know what it was she wanted, she knew she didn’t want him to go. She’d never felt so close to anyone as she’d felt to him this night. He’d treated her like a younger brother, but for the kiss in the alley, yet he’d lowered a wall and shown her a glimpse of the man behind it. She’d liked what she’d seen tremendously, and she feared if she let him go now he’d put back his slightly bored, slightly jaded courtier’s persona, and she wouldn’t see her Jamie again.
“Please don’t go! I feel safe when you’re beside me. Can’t you stay until I fall asleep?” She tugged at his sleeve and he subsided, lying on his back beside her with a sigh.
“You aren’t making this easy, love.”
She knew she wasn’t. It was true she felt safe beside him, but she was also playing on his guilt and exaggerating her fear. Jamie Sinclair had formidable defenses and she needed to use every advantage if she was to breech them. “You said you’d lost your taste for war, Jamie. What will you do with yourself now?”
“Ah! Well…” he folded his hands under his head and looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve plans for a grand racing stable, my love. As fine as any in England. Charles had a fine eye for horseflesh, you know. He was a remarkable horseman and a damn fine jockey, too, which was extraordinary for someone over six feet tall. Old Rawley, his stud, won several important races and I have one of his sons, as you recall. With your money, once you choose to give it to me,” he added with a grin, “I hope to launch a breeding operation in earnest. I’ll keep the best and race them, and sell the rest. I’m interested in breeding English stock to more hot-blooded mounts from the desert. I might even travel there to see for myself. One hears wondrous tales of the speed, endurance, and beauty of the Bedouin mares.”
Catherine closed her eyes. He sounded eager, almost boyish. She listened contentedly to the low rumble of his voice, soothed by the feel of his length beside her.
“Am I putting you to sleep?”
“No… not to sleep.” She rolled onto her side, facing him, and reached out to touch his sleeve, admitting to herself that she wanted him. It was no surprise. He was a charming, vibrant, handsome man, and she’d felt an attraction to him from the moment they’d met. What harm in a kiss? Her fingers moved tentatively along his forearm to his bicep. She could feel it, iron hard beneath the smooth fabric of his coat.
“Catherine… what are you about?”
“I’m trying to seduce you, but apparently I lack the requisite skill,” she said sourly, snatching back her hand and folding her arms across her chest.
“I’m sure you could be very skilled with a bit of practice,” he said, patting her shoulder.
“Don’t condescend!” She shrugged him off and turned her head away.
He laughed and ruffled her hair. “You’re not yourself, love. You’ve had a scare and it’s ruling you now, along with alcohol and coffee. You’ve heard of battle lust, haven’t you? It’s more than just excitement. When it seizes a man, he knows no fear, feels no pain, and loses all inhibition. While it lasts, it’s the most wonderful drug in the world. A man never feels more alive than when he dances along the precipice between life and death. Once the danger’s past, he craves it still. A rush of pleasure, a warm body, soft breath, and the pulse of blood, all these things make him know he’s still alive and make him rejoice in it.”
“You feel it too?”
“Yes… I feel it too.”
“Why won’t you kiss me, then? You did in the alley. It’s alright, Jamie. I want you to.”
“It’s not alright. If I kiss you now it won’t be as you imagine. It won’t stop there. I’ll want other things, and then where will we be? Our bargain ruined, your plans in tatters. In the morning you’d be most dreadfully annoyed.”
She sat up, held out her hand imperiously, and snapped her fingers. “Give me back my brandy! You’re back to being amused and I’m already annoyed. You’ve no comfort to give and I need something to help me sleep.” She grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig, her stomach roiling. It was intolerable going on like this. She didn’t know which was worse, being quiet and letting him think her some delicate virgin, or telling him the truth and having him think her a liar. She took another swig to rally her courage, protesting when he reached to take it away.
“You won’t think that was a good idea in the morning, either.”
“Who would have expected that behind his mask, Jamie Sinclair was a prudish country parson? If you’re so afraid a single kiss will leave you trembling and unable to control your lust—”
“I assure you I can leave you purring and pleased, hellcat, and still virgo intacto,” he said with a glint in his eye, relieving her of her flask.
“Well…” she took a deep breath, and let it out in a pronounced and elongated sigh. “I’ve been meaning to tell you… I fear there’s a bit of a problem with that in any case.”
“How so, love?” he asked, easing her back onto the pillows and holding her there, his fingers brushing her shoulder in a soft caress.
“I…” she hesitated, and then plunged ahead. “I’m afraid I’m no longer virgo intacto, Sinclair… you see.”
His fingers stilled, and then withdrew. He was sharply disappointed, though he could find no reason for it. “No?” he asked idly. “Your Irish fiancé? Some wild and brawny two-legged Highland bull?”
“No! A vexing, degenerate, British ne’re-do-well and wastrel.”
“Do you mean me?” he asked, blinking in surprise.
“Hah! At least you know yourself.”
“I hate to disagree with a woman I’m in bed with, but I must adamantly deny my guilt. I’m certain I would remember such a… well… such a sensitive moment. I feel certain the earth would have shaken, the angels would have wept with joy. I feel certain I would have remembered.”
Stung by his mockery, she hit him with a pillow, but he clutched it and pulled it from her, propping it behind his back.
“I… you’d been fed whiskey and poppy juice and you were delirious, out of your mind. It was after I’d set your shoulder.”
“In the cave? Damn it, woman, I thought I’d dreamt that!”
“You remember?”
“Bits and pieces. Christ, Catherine, I’m sorry! Did I harm you?”
“No, no!” she hastened to assure him. “You were gentle and weak as a kitten. It was just… well… you were so insistent, you see. You wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t make you settle down. I would have had to hurt you and after all that work setting your shoulder… I…” her voice trailed off and her face burned bright scarlet. “I… well, in any case, it was my fault not yours, and I take full responsibility for it.”
“Are you saying you ravaged me, hellcat, while I was helpless as a kitten?”
“No! It wasn’t that way at all,” she protested hotly. “I… you… damn you, Sinclair! Stop laughing. It isn’t funny! I’ve been so worried. At first I was afraid I’d be with child and we’d be stuck with each other forever, and then I thought you’d be angry I hadn’t told you, and then I realized… I… well… how will we ever manage a divorce now?”
Could the man take nothing seriously? Not even this? She’d been propositioned by a madam, set upon by thugs, and now she’d revealed one of her darkest secrets. One that had been preying on her mind for weeks. Tears of frustration were threatening to spill over and she wiped at her eyes. “Damnation Sinclair! Won’t you stop? I’ve been so worried. This is all a game to you!”
“No game, love,” he said. He brushed a stray tear from her cheek with his finger, and gave her hair a gentle tug.
She flung back her arm and pushed him away. “Well, you don’t seem terribly upset!”
“Why should I be? It changes very little. You’re making a great to-do about nothing. These things can be smoothed over if the right witnesses are bought. It’s nothing a fistful of gold won’t cure and you’ve plenty of that. Failing that… well… you can accuse me of unbearable cruelty and unnatural practices and surely the church will release you.”
“Given your reputation, it would be easily believed,” she agreed.
“Well… yes… but—”
“Thank you. You’ve taken a great weight off my mind.” A great to-do about nothing! Insufferable, selfish boor! I just told him he took my virginity and it means nothing to him at all! “Do you know, I’m so relieved I believe I shall be able to sleep after all. In fact, I can barely keep my eyes open. You must be exhausted as well. I’ve been terribly selfish. You needn’t stay any longer. I’ll be fine. Thank you for a lovely evening.” She rolled over, turning her back to him, and gave an exaggerated yawn.
“Catherine?” When she didn’t answer, he prodded her shoulder. “Catherine? Cat?” Damn the chit! She’d gone to sleep on him!
Jamie retreated to his room, fuming. The girl grew more unsettling by the day. In one breath she’d tearfully told him he’d deflowered her, in the next she’d gleefully agreed to paint him a monster so she could escape his clutches, and then she’d thanked him, dismissed him, and sent him on his way.
Bloody hell! A man with his experience, fumbling his woman’s initiation. Her first time ought to have been memorable, something she couldn’t wait to repeat. At least she didn’t seem averse to trying it again. My woman. He played with the words, enjoying them. They left him with a satisfied proprietary glow. Somewhere along the way, he’d come to think of her as his, and now it turned out she was. Wherever she went in the future, whatever she did, whomever she was with, he’d been the first, and he’d always have a claim on her.
And she on me. He brushed the thought aside.
Surely, he was no longer bound by their prior agreement. Perhaps it was time to create some memories both of them could share. The next time she begged for his kisses, he’d give them to her, and a good deal more besides. He’d make damn sure that when she remembered him her toes would curl. He grinned in anticipation and closed his eyes, imagining her hot and eager, squirming beneath him. Groaning, he used his hand to relieve himself. Christ! He’d really been too long without a woman.
Lying back spent and at least temporarily relieved, it didn’t take long for him to have second thoughts. A man warmed to a woman after he bedded her, and she’d caught him at a time when he was down on his luck and badly in need of a friend. There was no doubt he’d grown fond of her. She’d blurred the boundaries of friend, comrade, and partner, and she’d already burrowed too deep under his skin. He needed to place her somewhere she might stay and keep her there, not allow her this undefined space. It was far too big, far too central a place to allow anyone inside him. Besides, even if they were careful, to be lovers was to risk having a child. She was a business associate and should be treated as such, with courtesy, respect, and an eye to the profits. No more kissing, no more nights on the town, and no more late-night conversations lying beside her in her bed.
* * *
Just across the hall, Catherine lay sleepless, playing their conversation over in her head. She’d just shared her darkest secret, one that had been troubling her for months. She’d told him he’d taken her virginity, one of the greatest gifts a woman could give, a gift she only gave but once, and he’d laughed at her! He was cold-hearted and cruel, incapable of any real emotion, an unfeeling lout! She’d wanted him to hold her in his arms and kiss her. She’d wanted him to care. She’d practically thrown herself at him, and he’d patted her on the head like a faithful hound. The tears she’d been keeping at bay threatened to overwhelm her. Damn! Damn! Damn! Thank God, he’d left the room. She’d feared he’d never go.
She sniffed a few times and took several hiccupping breaths, getting herself under control. James Sinclair might have ice water in his veins, but she was a Drummond, a countess, and a woman of affairs, and she didn’t need any man. She’d done fine without for all these years and she certainly didn’t need him. She took a cloth from the basin by her bed and washed her face, the cool water a welcome balm against her flushed skin. No doubt the Englishman was right. She’d had far too much coffee and their adventure in the alley had affected her more than she’d realized. In the morning, she’d act as if she didn’t remember, and he’d never see her make a fool of herself like that again.
* * *
They began the next day with remarkably similar intentions, aware that something had changed between them, and intent on putting things back the way they’d been.
Jamie had gone to bed firm in his decision. She might wheedle, nag, challenge, or plead, but there’d be no more clandestine adventures, no more breathless late-night talks, and definitely no more talk of kissing. It was time to find himself a new mistress or renew his acquaintance with an old one. His failure to keep one was already causing unwanted talk and speculation. Lady Beaton came to mind. She knew what she liked, knew what he liked, and was always a charming companion.
Nevertheless, when Catherine joined him for a breakfast of bread and chocolate, he couldn’t help but notice how her green silk nightgown set off her tousled curls and amber eyes to perfection. It was really quite stunning. And the way the jeweled clasps fastened her gown as if they were fingers, holding it tight around a thin chemise whose delicate lace trim seem to be almost… caressing… her décolletage. It was artfully done! She also looked fetching in breeches, of course. He wasn’t sure which he preferred. Those long legs incased in thigh-high boots would make any man weep, and that arse!
“Sinclair!”
“Eh? What?”
“I said I’ll be going to the exchange with Maire today. Is there anything I can get you?”
“Oh! No. Thank you. There’s nothing I need. Nothing at all. I’ve matters of a private nature to take care of today, Catherine. In fact, I expect to be rather busy for the next several days. I’ve instructed Sullivan to have the coach kept ready for your convenience. Now you’ve toured the city and are familiar with the court, I expect you’ll be able to muddle through without me constantly underfoot.”
“I shall endeavor to do my best,” was her frosty reply.
“Excellent! A woman who can navigate the Highlands should have no trouble in the wilds of London. I’ll be off then. I wish you a pleasant day.”
He gave her a sweeping bow, punctuated with a flourish of his plumed hat, and left without saying a word about the last night’s adventures. She’d steeled herself to present an indifferent front, but he’d never given her the opportunity. He’d completely refrained from baiting or teasing, and he’d been accommodating, formal, and polite. She told herself firmly his unexpected discretion was a tremendous relief.
And so it continued. As winter turned to spring, they lived separate lives, nodding as they passed each other in the halls, and meeting occasionally at court functions and parties. When Buckingham, a man she’d thought was Jamie’s friend, died at his country home in April, it wasn’t he that told her. She learned of it at court. If they’d shared some special bond it seemed to have ended as quickly as it had begun, and if the sight of Jamie dancing, flirting, and being pursued by other women was a bitter torture, no one knew it but her. They were a handsome pair, witty and urbane, unfailingly courteous to one another, with just the right air of amused tolerance, and they were considered a model couple in James’s court.
Catherine had her pursuers, too, though she paid them little heed. It surprised her at first. She’d never considered a man might pursue her for anything other than her fortune, but it seemed that they found her attractive, and many enjoyed her wit. The more she employed it to keep admirers at bay, the more insistent they became. Amusing at first, and a salve to her pride, it soon become a burden. King James had bowed to his pretty wife’s pressure, sending his mistress, Katherine Sedly, to the wilds of Ireland. Now he was looking for new game and his eye settled increasingly on her. The trade arrangement for her family’s whiskey had been concluded on the most favorable terms, and a rumor was floating about that she’d soon be offered a position as maid of honor to the Queen.
She did her best to discourage without causing affront, as so many things hung in the balance: her family’s fortunes, Jamie’s future, and her own divorce. For now, at least, the royal satyr was enjoying the chase and in no great hurry to conclude it. She’d never enjoyed the social games that powered most European courts, and her heart ached for the Highlands. She missed Rory and Jerrod and crusty old Martha; she’d even be glad to see Donald. She’d never been so surrounded by people, or felt so alone.