Chapter Seven
They say it is wrong to eavesdrop.
But they are often wrong.
In fact, one could learn many scintillating facts by listening in.
Catherine eased back onto the niche in the hall as Duncan strode past her, too overset to even notice she was there.
Her heart trilled at the sight of him, his strong muscles so tightly bunched, his determined expression, his expression determined as he headed for the door.
She should stop him, but then she would have to admit to listening in. She didn’t want to ruin the moment.
All that mattered was that he did love her.
Always had loved her.
And he was going to declare himself to her tonight.
A dizzying trill of excitement whipped through her at the thought.
Oh, and Lady Esmeralda was right. Kidnapping was rather romantic, if one thought of it.
She couldn’t wait for him to kidnap her.
She wouldn’t make it easy on him, though. She had to get some of her own back for his beastly treatment of her all those years ago. And she needed to know why.
Why had he pushed her away?
Why had he treated her like a little girl?
Why had he gone to such pains to make it seem that he wasn’t interested in her when he was?
And worst of all, why had he left out of the blue? One day, he was just . . . gone.
He was flummoxing and confusing to be certain.
But then, Lady Esmeralda said men were flummoxing and confusing as a breed, and Catherine felt obliged to agree.
The door slammed behind Duncan and Catherine eased out of the niche. It was a shock to come up against a stone hard chest. She eeped, stepping back to stare up at Bower’s solemn face.
“What are you doing here, wee Cat?” he asked. Though his expression was somber, there was a thread of humor in his tone. She remembered him from her time in Scotland. He was a sober, even-handed laird that everyone respected.
Still, she frowned at him. “Don’t call me that.” That was Duncan’s special name for her. No one else could use it.
Bower bowed. “I beg your pardon, Lady Catherine. What are you doing here?”
“I should think that was obvious.”
“As would I.” His grin broadened. “Eavesdropping?”
A sniff. “Hardly.”
“Surely you are no’ dusting the niche?”
Her frown turned into a glower.
“Doona take umbrage, lass. I’ll not ruin his moment and tell him you’ve already heard it all. You did hear it all, did you no’?”
“I did. Though I hardly understand.”
His brow quirked and she realized of a sudden, he was a very handsome man. Not as handsome as Duncan, but close. “What is it you canna understand, then?” he asked.
“If he always loved me, why was he so mean to me?”
Bower, that sober solemn man, threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed until Catherine smacked him on the chest.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Laughing at me.”
“I am no’ laughing at you, wee lass. It’s more like I’m laughing at him.”
“Duncan?”
“Aye. Can you imagine his anguish?”
No. Not really. She couldn’t.
“There he was, a stable lad, with a yearning for the laird’s daughter. You see the problem, do you no’? And your da . . . I met him several times. He was hardly known as an easygoing laird.”
“He was not.”
“The Coldhearted Brit, we called him. And on top of that, how old were you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Twelve.”
“And, if I remember correctly, you made no secret of your love for Duncan Mackay.”
“Hardly love.” She’d been only twelve.
Oh, all right. She’d been besotted.
She’d practically drooled over him.
“So there he is, a man of no means, besotted with a girl who is far too young for it to be proper, and the laird’s daughter to boot. Can you understand why he would need to discourage you?”
Well, hell. She could. But it didn’t ease the pain of her humiliation. Even now. Her soul still ached. When he had disappeared without a word, she’d been utterly crushed.
Bower set his hand on her shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, he always swore he would make himself worthy of you. He would earn his fortune and find you again. And he did. Now there is nothing standing between you.”
Catherine stilled. Her mind whirled.
Nothing standing between them.
What a lovely thought.
She smiled as suddenly the world shone bright again. Then, without hesitation, she turned and ran for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Bower called.
“I have a masquerade to prepare for,” she said on a laugh.
Megrims be damned.
* * *
It wasn’t as easy as one might expect to prepare for a masquerade. There were so many things to attend to, it took practically all day.
Catherine, along with Elizabeth and Anne and the ubiquitous Lady Esmeralda spent most of the afternoon in a shopping frenzy, hunting for just the right dress, the perfect domino, ribbons, hats and furbelows. It was a delightful day, especially considering Catherine’s anticipation of the evening to come.
Nothing could have ruined her mood.
Or so she thought.
And then she spotted Tiverton and Preeble ambulating toward them on the street.
She knew the sudden urge to pop into the next shop, but it was a tobacconist.
“Oh, ugh,” Elizabeth said, and she hooked her arm in Catherine’s in a show of support. She forced a smile on her face, but Catherine thought it resembled more of a grimace.
“Lady Catherine. Lady Elizabeth,” Lord Tiverton said, tipping his hat. “And Lady Esmeralda. Well met.”
“Gentlemen.” Lady Esmeralda gave a lofty nod and made to continue on.
Lord Tiverton, however, stopped them short with a rather rude hand to Catherine’s arm. Though she surveyed said hand pointedly, he did not remove it. “What are you lovely ladies doing this fine day?”
“Shopping,” Elizabeth said, gesturing to the footmen following them with the boxes.
“The Daltry’s masquerade, don’t you know.” Lady Esmeralda said with another dismissive nod. “Do excuse us. We’ve so very much to do.”
Tiverton was not dismissed. He turned his sharp gaze onto Catherine. “I say, I heard you are betrothed.” His nose quivered like a rat’s scenting some rotted offal.
“To a Scotsman,” Preeble said, clutching his cravat. “Never say it’s true.”
“She is indeed betrothed,” Lady Esmeralda said, wedging herself between Catherine and Tiverton’s tight grip. Perforce, he let her go.
“I cannot tell you how disturbing this is.” Tiverton tipped back his head to stare down his nose at Catherine, giving her a fine look at the insides of his nostrils. They were quite cavernous, she had the presence of mind to notice. And furry.
“The daughter of a baron, marrying a penniless savage,” Preeble tsked.
“He’s hardly penniless,” Lady Esmeralda said with a thread of steel. “In fact, if what I hear is correct, he could buy you both outright.”
Both lords reeled back as though offended to their very stays. Tiverton sniffed, though it was also something of a wet snort. Also wet was his be-spittled and ejaculated, “Bah! He has no title. No standing. The man is a savage. Whatever were you thinking, girl?”
That he was twice the man Tiverton was? Maybe thrice?
“It is scandalous, I tell you. Scandalous.” Preeble shuddered in dismay. “The ton will never forgive you for this betrayal. You shall be ostracized by all the best families.”
For some reason, this dire threat held no horror for her. In fact, it was something of a relief. She’d become rather annoyed with the constraints of “proper society,” with all the balls and events and banal conversations with people who were far too obsessed with their own consequence. How much more pleasant would it be to leave the city and live in the country? Scotland, perhaps. She would have to ask Duncan which he preferred.
“Do say you will reconsider,” Tiverton said in a froth.
“Do say you will.”
“Nonsense.” Lady Esmeralda warbled. “The banns have been read.”
“It’s not too late to consider my suit,” Tiverton said.
“Or mine,” Preeble added. He ignored his friend’s glower.
Tiverton tugged down his vest. “I’m sure I can find it in my heart to forgive you of this tawdry episode.”
“Forgive—?” Oh dear. Words escaped her. The two men’s arrogance and disdain for Duncan made her skin crawl.
What also made her skin crawl was the thought of being wed to either of them.
Or anyone who wasn’t Duncan MacKay, frankly.
The thought stunned her. Not the substance of it so much as the great well of emotion behind it. Oh, when had that happened?
Or, more to the point, when had she finally and so completely embraced her fate?
But then she knew the answer, didn’t she?
It had happened long before the conservatory. Long before his precipitous proposition.
It had happened by a lovely loch, long ago, when she awoke with his lips on hers.
“I so appreciate your concern,” she said coldly. “But I am certain I have made up my mind.” Tipping her chin, she swanned past them, wanting nothing more than to put all distance between them. The others hurried to catch up with her.
But Tiverton wasn’t done. He called after her. “Mark my words. You will regret it, my dear.” The maliciousness in his tone made her shiver.
In response, Catherine ignored him.
“Well, that was annoying,” Lady Esmeralda grumbled as they made their way down the street.
Catherine stumbled a little because she’d been blinded by a red tide of rage. How dare they insult Duncan? How dare they infer he wasn’t worthy of her? Of love? Of anything?
“Catherine,” Elizabeth called softly. “Slow down.”
Oh yes. She stopped and waited for the others even though her instinct was to run.
“Do you know what we need?” Lady Esmeralda said. “Ices.”
“Oh yes!” both Elizabeth and Anne cried.
Catherine nodded as well, though she didn’t want an ice. Not really.
While it was a lovely treat, it did little to cool her rage at those sanctimonious prigs.
But when she did calm down and had a moment to reflect, she had to feel grateful to the good lord in heaven above. Because had things gone differently, she might be marrying one of them rather than the man she loved.
The man she’d always loved.
And always would.
* * *
Catherine couldn’t wait to see Duncan that evening, but she was sorely vexed that the ball was a masquerade. With everyone wearing dominoes, it was impossible to tell which one was him.
In fact, each time a tall man approached in his flowing cloak, her heart would stutter. And then, he would speak to her and her heart would plummet.
“How on earth am I to find him?” she asked Elizabeth as they rested against a column near the lemonade table. “How will he find me?” Blast. But this was not going well.
Elizabeth smiled. “Not to worry. Bower and Hamish have promised to help.” The two men, attending the party on the invitation that had been sent to the absent duke, had refused to wear dominoes. In fact, they had scandalized everyone—with the exception of Lady Esmeralda—by wearing kilts. They stood on opposite corners of the ballroom with their legs braced apart and arms crossed over their chests, watching Anne and Elizabeth with eagle eyes. Needless to say, they stood out in the crowd—which, Catherine supposed, was their intention. They’d made it clear they were here to protect the duke’s cousins, and no man in his right mind would dare take one of them on.
“How can Bower and Hamish help?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
It was not.
“Duncan will recognize them at once. He will go to them for help and they will point him your way.”
“Oh, of course. That would be wonderful.”
“In the meantime, let’s step outside. It’s getting so close in here.”
It was. The smell of cloying perfume, sweat, and smoke was turning her stomach. The conversation was deafening and, beyond that, the event was a crush. Catherine heartily disliked crowds.
As they stepped through the garden doors, she drew in a deep breath. The air was cool, clear and refreshing. “Oh, much better,” she said.
“It is.” Elizabeth linked arms with Catherine then tipped her head up to stare at the sky. “Pity there is no moon.”
“It’s behind the clouds.” The garden was shadowed but for the occasional torches on the path. They made their way past several other couples and down the stairs, wandering slowly through the shrubbery. “This is so much pleasanter,” she said after a moment.
“I think so too.”
“Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Catherine?”
“Do you think Duncan would prefer living in the city?” It was a question that had been plaguing her for weeks.
“He doesn’t seem like the type to prefer the city. But you will have to ask him.”
“I shall. But I must say, I do hope he prefers the country.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I prefer the country too.”
Her voice sounded sad, so Catherine squeezed her arm. “What’s wrong?”
Oh, her sigh was maudlin. “There’s been an offer for my hand.”
“But, Elizabeth. That is wonderful. Who is it?”
“Lord Twiggenberry.”
Catherine’s mouth dropped open. “Twiggenberry? He’s quite a catch.” So handsome he was nearly pretty, worth twenty thousand a year, and a lord of the realm to boot.
“I suppose.”
“You suppose? Isn’t it the dream of every debutante to catch a husband like him?”
“I suppose.”
Catherine stopped, cupped Elizabeth’s cheeks and held her gaze. “What is wrong, then?”
It pained her that tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes. “I don’t know. I just don’t . . .”
“Don’t what?”
She leaned in and whispered in a conspiratorial tone that suggested this was a treasonous offense. “I just don’t . . . like him.”
“Have you gotten to know him? Remember, I was not fond of Duncan at all when he reappeared in my life.” And oh, how things had changed.
“He’s nothing like Duncan, I assure you.”
“You can always say no.”
“Can I? Everyone is counting on me to make a brilliant match.”
“Not at the price of your happiness.”
“Aunt Esmeralda is quite adamant that he is perfect. And apparently he has been approved by the duke . . .”
“Then let the duke marry him.”
Elizabeth’s laugh was damp. “Don’t be ridiculous. The duke is already married.”
“I doubt your cousin would want you to marry someone you do not care for.”
“People do it every day.”
“Not people like you.” Elizabeth was a bright soul, a fey creature who would be crushed by the weight of such unhappiness. “I shall talk to Lady Esmeralda tomorrow.”
“Oh, would you?”
“Of course.” Catherine hugged her friend. “Of course.”
“And may I come to live with you and Duncan when I am an old maid firmly on the shelf?”
Catherine threw back her head and laughed. “Absolutely. In fact, I would love having you.”
They linked arms and started back down the path, the mood significantly elevated. Not only was Elizabeth more at ease, Catherine was as well. In truth, she’d been nervous about meeting Duncan tonight, but now she was more than ready.
In fact, she couldn’t wait.
When a dark figure loomed before them, her heart set up a clatter in her chest and her breath caught.
“Catherine?”
She flinched at Tiverton’s unwelcome voice. And then sighed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Oh, bother,” Elizabeth muttered.
Tiverton ignored her. He stepped into the light and focused on Catherine’s face. “I have terrible news.”
She arched a brow, though he could not see it under her mask. “What is it?”
“Your brother, the fool. He’s been in a duel.”
Her heart stuttered. “No.”
“He’s gravely injured. He asked me to bring you to his side.”
“Oh, that is terrible.” Catherine glanced at Elizabeth. “I must go.”
“Of course. We shall all go. Wait here and I will fetch Bower and Hamish.”
“Thank you.”
Catherine fanned herself as she watched Elizabeth run into the house. Heat and worry washed through her. She should have kept a closer eye on her brother, but it was difficult to know what he had been up to while she was living in St. Claire house. Duncan had assured her he had Peter on a short leash, but with his plans for tonight, her brother had obviously slipped away.
“Do tell me, Lord Tiverton. How bad is it?”
His smile was unnerving. It sent a shiver down her spine.
“Lord Tiverton?”
But he did not respond. In fact, his gaze wandered over her shoulder and he nodded to some unseen persons.
Catherine whirled around and spotted two burly men in laborers’ clothes advancing on her. One of them held a sack which he dropped over her head, muffling her scream. Before she could react, the man slung her over his shoulder and took off running.