stood up. “Understood, Croston,” he said. “Understood. My apologies—I didn’t realize.”
Realize? What the devil— “The only thing to realize is that the countess of Dunscore is a lady, not a whore, and the ‘highest bidder’ is likely to find his head—both his heads—rolling on the floor.” He looked up at Wenny. “Perhaps I will offer you an advantage, after all,” he added, “and advise you that Lady Dunscore is particularly adroit with a cutlass.”
“Good to know,” Wenny said, offering a stiff bow. “Good to know. Again, my apologies.”
He didn’t want Wenny’s apologies. He wanted to tear Wenny apart with his bare hands. A sound like the ocean rushed in his ears for long moments after Wenny had left the box. Finding Katherine a decent husband would be impossible. The ones with financial liabilities hoped to wed her and suck Dunscore dry while they rutted between her thighs every night. The ones who didn’t need money only wanted to pass her around as their mistress.
“For God’s sake, Croston,” Vincroft said. “You’d better have a care, calling men out. If you’ve claimed her for yourself, you’d best let it be known. Not fair to challenge a man when he’s got no idea.”
“I’ve got no claim on her. I simply will not sit by while someone questions the honor of the person to whom I owe my life.”
Vincroft hesitated. “Of course not. Didn’t think of it that way. But still—”
“But nothing. They don’t have to see her as a lady, but they’d damned well better act like they do,” James shot back, and crossed Vincroft off his list of possibly acceptable husbands for Katherine. Which left exactly...no one.
KATHERINE WAS LOSING the battle.
She pushed past Dobbs after the awful evening at the theater and charged toward the staircase as quickly as her enormous skirts would allow, dragging in panicked breaths, keeping her hood pulled low so no one would see her tears.
Marriage!
Once you’re safely wed, I hope you might consider joining me for some more interesting entertainment than the theater.
Never mind the Duke of Winston’s disgusting proposition. He assumed she would marry. Expected her to marry.
And what had Captain Warre been doing meanwhile? She could have sworn one or two of the visitors to her box had been in his first. He’d done no better the night before at Vauxhall, going off on a turn with some young girl...which, of course, there was no reason why he shouldn’t. No reason at all.
She gulped for breath against fresh tears, hurrying up the stairs. Marriage. It was out of the question. Dunscore was hers, and they would not take it from her that way. When she reached the landing, that giant portrait enticed her with its promise.
One day, Katie, you will be mistress here, and the very waves will tremble at your footsteps.
The waves did tremble at her feet, and she hadn’t needed Dunscore to make it so. Hadn’t needed the Lords, or committees or marriage to make it so.
Upstairs in her room, she stood impatiently while her maid unfastened her gown and stays and took down her hair. Katherine dismissed her quickly and finished the rest herself, putting on her own nightgown and sitting wearily with her brush, staring at her reflection in the glass.
If the bill passed, Holliswell would benefit. But if she married, then one of their own would reap Dunscore’s reward. Was that their logic?
Her throat tightened, and a trenchant longing crept out of hiding.
When I pass away, Papa, I shall be buried right here in Dunscore’s courtyard.
Good heavens, Katie. Nobody wants to play ninepins on a person’s grave. Damned macabre of you. Impractical, too.
This couldn’t happen. This grief—it was all in the past, and it would not resurface.
She got up and paced to the fireplace. What was rightfully hers had been taken a long time ago. There was no reason to feel so deeply for it now. Growing attached to places, to people, could only lead to heartache. Hadn’t she learned that well enough?
Come, Papa—you must come see what the rain has done. Dunscore’s walls are glistening in the sunset like they’re made of jewels!
He had indulged her that time, letting her take his hand and lead him outside and show him how the battlements shone like fiery diamonds against dark stormclouds to the east.
A sudden urge gripped her to dash off a note to Captain Warre asking for reassurance, and she clenched her fists to keep from rushing to the writing desk. Using Captain Warre for his influence—that was the plan. Not relying on him. Not leaning on him in her moments of weakness.
Her fingernails bit into her palms.
Stupid, stupid female that she was. Even now, she could feel his arms around her as if they still stood in the shadows of that arbor. She could feel his strength.
His cannons had once nearly killed her, but now he worked for her security.
He’d lied to her aboard her own ship, but now she knew him to be driven by honor.
Slowly her hands went slack. She turned away from the fire and paced a few feet, briskly, and stopped. Tried to pretend she still held him responsible for her fate. That she hadn’t forgiven him entirely in that single moment, standing in Lord Deal’s ballroom with a confectionery ship bearing down on them full sail.
He was pigheaded, yes. Driven to bend anything and everyone to his will, including her. He may have been many things, but devil take him, he wasn’t to blame.
And she could not let him know, because his sense of guilt was the only thing keeping him on her side.
* * *
“A DUEL!” KATHERINE practically barked the word, then wished she hadn’t as a couple enjoying a morning stroll in the park looked over to gawk. “Impossible,” she whispered to Phil and Honoria as the sunshine struggled through high clouds. “It can’t be true.” What could possess him to do something so irrational?
The possible answers slid hotly through her like a sip of hard liquor.
“It is absolutely true,” Honoria said. “Lady Poole sent me a note just this morning. She heard it from Lord Poole, who heard it from someone who heard it from Lord Vincroft himself, who, of course, was there.”
A duel. For her honor. Deep inside, the idea of it lured her like a shimmering pearl. “Captain Warre is far too pragmatic for such nonsense,” she told them.
Honoria and Phil exchanged a look.
She needed him to be pragmatic. Because yesterday a set of intricate toy ships had arrived, and for the first time since they’d arrived in London, Anne’s face had lit with excitement. And Katherine had imagined, not for the first time, what it would be like if Captain Warre was always there to lift Anne in his arms and make her think of happy things.
If
