скачать книгу бесплатно
Nick stared at him. “Unlike Katherine Kinloch, Clarissa actually is an innocent. And fragile. It would be the easiest thing in the world for a man to crush her.” His jaw worked, and his eyes looked coldly through James to some imagined horror beyond. “I always thought men were fools to be taken in by blue eyes and pretty faces, but God—I can’t even look at her without wanting to do everything in my power to keep her safe and make her happy, which she bloody well won’t be if Holliswell marries her off to someone like Oakley.” Nick’s lip curled. “I can see you understand my predicament.”
Yes. But Katherine was in a predicament, as well. “You really imagine that once Holliswell has the title, he’s going to—”
“Uphold the bargain? Perhaps not. But I know for a fact he won’t allow the marriage without it.”
James went to pour brandy from what he would always think of as Father’s snifter. Maybe Nick was right about Clarissa. Probably he wasn’t. The effect was the same for Katherine either way. “I could loan you the money,” he said.
Nick laughed bitterly. “Exchange one creditor for another?”
“Give it to you, then.” Hell. If that was the cost of his debt to Captain Kinloch, it was a small price to pay.
“Even if my pride would allow me to accept, it would avail nothing. Holliswell wants the title.”
There was no opportunity to say that he wasn’t going to get it, because Holliswell came through the door. He spotted James and curved his mouth into a plump, greasy smile, but his eyes glittered with fury. “Your lordship,” he said with an obsequiously deep bow. “I cannot begin to describe our joy at your return.”
James moved away from the snifter and toward Holliswell, deliberately failing to extend an invitation to drink. “You will be relieved as well to learn that your cousin the countess of Dunscore has also returned,” he said, and fixed his eyes on the hard lines of Holliswell’s face. “As it happens, it was she who pulled my half-drowned corpse from the sea. It’s no understatement to say I owe her my life.”
Holliswell’s expression barely flickered. “What happy news. A miracle, no less.”
James set his glass on the desk and looked Holliswell in the eye. “You will not return to Lady Dunscore’s house tonight.” In fact, he would send a footman to follow them and make sure. “Tomorrow, you will send your people to collect your things. And in the future, you will remember that you are not the Earl of Dunscore, and you will act accordingly.”
Holliswell smiled pleasantly. “Given Lady Dunscore’s lengthy absence, I never expected she would return, nor did I expect she would care about the house. Naturally, my daughter and I will find other accommodations until everything has been settled.”
“Naturally,” James said coldly.
Holliswell turned to Nick. “You’ll understand, of course, if my daughter and I take our leave early. You...didn’t have anything you wished to discuss, did you?”
Nick’s jaw flexed. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”
“No doubt we will.” Holliswell smiled. “No doubt at all.”
* * *
THE MANTEL CLOCK in the yellow guest apartment made a tiny chime as Katherine scratched out a list for tomorrow. Half past eleven, and still no word from Captain Warre.
Mrs. Hibbard quietly slipped in with a tray. “I brought you a fresh pot,” she whispered, and replaced the tea service on the cart next to the writing desk. Katherine leaned forward to look through the door into the bedroom. Anne stirred a little in the big bed, not quite settled after being moved from the blue rooms.
“And I brought a few slices of Cook’s raisin bread. And some butter.” Mrs. Hibbard poured Katherine a fresh, steaming cup of tea and stood there with the teapot cradled in her hands, staring at Katherine through brown eyes filled with emotion. “It’s such a joy to have you home, Lady Katherine.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hibbard.” But this was not home, and she was Captain Kinloch, not Lady Katherine anymore, and if she ate anything now, she would probably throw it back up. “Please go to bed—there’s no need to trouble yourself further.”
Mrs. Hibbard frowned, and her plump fingers tightened on the teapot. “I intend to stay at your service as long as you need.”
“I’ll be retiring shortly.”
The old housekeeper looked a little distressed. “I’ll order the blue rooms cleaned top to bottom tomorrow, Lady Katherine. I assure you, they’ll be fit and proper before you’re up and about, and your things will be moved first thing in the morning.” She glanced at Katherine’s outfit. “You’ll need a lady’s maid—”
“No. I won’t. That will be all.”
Mrs. Hibbard stepped back. Damnation—this was not a ship, and Mrs. Hibbard was not one of her crew. Katherine softened her tone. “My apologies. I shall occupy these rooms while I’m here. Anne shall take the pink rooms as soon as they are free.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Hibbard bobbed an awkward curtsy. “Everything as you wish.” She set the teapot on the tray and folded her hands in front of her. “If you need anything in the night, just ring.”
When she was gone, Katherine inhaled deeply. Exhaled. She did not want to feel sixteen again. Being in London did not mean she had to fall helplessly back into her old life—as if that would even be possible. She’d seen too much of the world since then.
She reached for her tea and took a sip. The aroma was a physical assault from the past—black tea, not the mint she favored now. Turning back to her list, she stared at what she’d already written. Bed. Fireplace screen. Window latch. It was unlikely Anne’s small fingers could budge it, but better safe than sorry.
She dipped her pen. Small metal pitcher and bowl. Something that wouldn’t break if dropped. And— Good God. Staircase. Someone would need to stay with Anne at all times, and they would need the same rule about Anne leaving her rooms as they’d had about her going on deck alone.
Furiously she added to the list, keeping her attention squarely on the task at hand, but still old emotions slowly strangled her.
When you are countess of Dunscore, Katie, the sun will shine on this gloomy manse all the year round. Come—I’ve learned a new trick at cards to show you. It will take our minds off this dreadful weather.
Her hand stilled, and she looked up. The weather at Dunscore was fairer than London, but once Father had met Lady White they hardly left London at all.
As soon as possible, she would take Anne to Dunscore. Anne would like it there. She would be able to hear the waves and smell the surf. She would be able to run her hands across old, craggy walls, and—with help—explore the gardens.
A light knock sounded at the door, and Dodd came in with a note on a silver tray. “This just arrived, your ladyship.”
Finally. Katherine shot to her feet and snatched the note off the tray, tearing it open.
Holliswell will not disturb you tonight. All is not resolved—need more time.
JW
Her lungs and throat constricted. “Thank you, Mr. Dodd,” she managed. “That will be all for tonight.”
Dodd bowed and left, and Katherine stared at Captain Warre’s tight, neat writing. Clearly a few words with his brother and Holliswell had not been enough. The note trembled in her fingers. What if nothing he did was enough?
She shoved the thought away, but still she sank back in her chair, blinking back tears. Damn Holliswell, and damn Nicholas Warre. They had no right. No right.
She crushed the note in her fist.
All the Lords would see was a shockingly wayward woman who had spurned her father and taken to the sea. They would not understand about captivity, about the finality of fate. About Mejdan’s sudden death and what life might have been like if Riuza had not helped her escape the household, or how few choices were available to a slave with a child in her belly. They would not understand about the power of the sea and how powerless she would have been if she had simply come home. None of them had ever tasted true powerlessness. Not one.
She tasted it now, even more bitter and pungent than she remembered.
Slowly she unfolded the note and read it once more. “JW.” The scrawled initials taunted her with their informality. Not Captain, not Lord Croston. Just JW. James Warre.
The memory of his kiss scorched across her lips and through her belly.
She forced it away. He was not JW to her. And if he did not find a way to resolve everything very shortly, she would begin taking advantage of her role as his rescuer and dare him to object.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#ulink_68866a95-9473-5c5e-a930-8f20dbd721b1)
“I DON’T CARE where you put them,” she told Dodd the next morning, surveying the gilt-and-floral tangle piling up in the entrance hall. “Just so long as they’re loaded into the cart within the hour and returned to the seller.”
“Of course, your ladyship.” He cast an uncertain eye over her outfit as two servants carried yet another flamboyant chair from the sitting room into the entry.
She cocked her head and looked him in the eye, satisfied when he looked away. No, she had not changed her clothes. No, she had not slept. Yes, she was taking charge of the household.
She may not know how to sparkle like Mama, or how to win support like Papa always had, but she knew how to command a ship, and this could not be much different.
Another servant carried a small chair from the sitting room. “Put it there,” she ordered, pointing to an empty space by the door. “Where is the old set?” she asked Dodd.
“The attic, your ladyship.”
“Have it brought down.”
He inclined his head. “As you wish.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is there something you wish to say to me, Dodd?”
His brows shot up. “Not at all, your ladyship.”
“I make it my policy that my crew—my staff—may speak freely.”
“Your ladyship is too kind. Now if your ladyship will excuse me, I shall see that the old sitting suite is brought down posthaste.” He paused. “One never knows when your ladyship might receive callers.” His eye strayed briefly to her trousers.
“Thank you for enlightening me,” she snapped. “And if you repeat ‘your ladyship’ once more, I shall mete out consequences no other lady would dream of.”
His lips thinned, but he acquiesced with a stiff bow and turned to do as he’d been ordered. Resistance was nothing she couldn’t handle. Even sweet old Dodd would follow her direction or find himself seeking new employment.
She started up the stairs. Phil would be here within the hour with a dressmaker. Dodd would be happy about that, at least.
But upstairs in the guest apartment, she discovered that Millicent had not waited for the dressmaker.
“There’s a wardrobe full of gowns in my dressing room,” Millicent told her. “This one fits well enough.” It didn’t, and it was ugly. Katherine specifically remembered leaving the blue-and-beige gown behind because it wasn’t fit for the Continent.
Anne, sitting next to Millicent on the couch, made a face. “It smells awful, Mama.”
“Like moths and mildew,” Katherine said. “For God’s sake, Millie, go put on your other one. We’ll all be measured for new gowns as soon as Phil arrives with the modiste.”
“I don’t need a new gown,” Millie said. “There are plenty in that wardrobe I can remake.”
“I don’t like London, Mama,” Anne said plaintively. “I want to go back to the ship.”
Katherine crouched in front of Anne and touched her cheek. “You’ve only been here one night, sweetling. You will love London—I promise.”
Her false cheer did not fool Anne. “I don’t think I will, Mama.” She sighed and leaned against Millicent.
“I shall begin remaking one of the gowns today,” Millie said a little crossly. “I shan’t need many.”
“You will not gad about London in my childhood clothes,” Katherine said. “I don’t want to hear anything more about it.” She went to the writing desk, dipped her pen and signed her name to the last letter she’d written. She glanced up in time to see Millie’s mouth tighten, but she hadn’t the patience to do anything but ignore it. She folded the paper, let a small blob of bloodred sealing wax pool onto it and pressed Papa’s seal into the wax.
“Will I be gadding about London, Mama?” Anne asked tiredly.
When she lifted the seal, the Dunscore coat of arms stared up at her.
When you are countess of Dunscore, Katie, you’ll fly her crest from these ramparts, and the ancients will honor it from their tombs.
She turned abruptly from the desk and went to Anne. “You—” she tapped Anne’s nose “—will be learning music and dance and poetry and all the things a young lady needs to know.”
A tutor. Katherine returned to the desk and added to the list. Yes, Anne would need a tutor.
After answering a barrage of questions about music and dance and poetry and all the things a young lady needs to know, Katherine went to check on the progress of clearing the Holliswells’ things from the rooms they’d occupied.
Millie followed her into the hallway, where servants scurried back and forth carrying boxes downstairs. “Lady Dunscore,” Millie said from behind her, “when are you going to decide about my position?”
Katherine stopped. Turned. “Do not ever call me that again.”
“Then pray, what shall I call you?”
Katherine closed the distance between them, keeping her voice low. “Nothing has changed, Millicent. Not one bloody thing. I will not have you in my employ—you are a member of my household, not a servant.”
“I was a member of your crew,” Millicent whispered sharply. “I am not a member of your household. I’d been a governess when I met you, and thanks to you I have little choice but to be a governess again. I’d only hoped to be a governess to Anne and not to some child whose father has wandering hands.”
“You don’t need to be anyone’s governess. As soon as I’ve secured Dunscore, we’ll go to Scotland. You’ll love Dunscore, Millie. It’s right on the sea. You can hear the waves—”
“I could have heard them on Malta, as well.”
Always, always it came back to Malta and that damned surgical school. “I was not about to leave you alone on Malta with no protection but a disguise.”
Millie’s brown eyes flashed. “A bloody effective disguise, and there would have been no reason for anyone to suspect the truth at all. I would be perfectly content to spend the rest of my life dressed as a man. Even now I could have been attending lectures on anatomy and physiology, but no. I’m here in London—the last place I ever wished to be—and soon you’ll be so busy with masquerades and theater boxes you won’t care about the sound of the waves.”
“That’s untrue.” Millicent’s words struck like a knife and twisted hard. She would not forget who she was. Not ever. “Disagree with my decisions if you wish, but I will not tolerate disrespect here any more than aboard my ship. Now. Phil will be here soon with the modiste, so you’d best change out of that smelly old gown or I have no doubt Phil will have something to say about it that you won’t like.”
* * *
AT 9:45, A NOTE arrived from Papa’s solicitor agreeing to pay a visit that afternoon.
At 9:50, Dodd came to the drawing room carrying a card on a silver tray, turning his nose as though he offered a piece of manure. “A hack from the Spectator, your ladyship.”
Katherine tore the card in half and tossed the pieces onto the tray. “If he returns, plant his head on a pike by the doorstep.”
At 9:55, she went to check the progress in Papa’s rooms, where a servant was taking the last of Holliswell’s toiletries from the dressing table.
It was harder than she’d expected to see Papa’s rooms again. “Are any of my father’s things still here?”
The servant’s startled gaze hopped from her head to her cutlass to her feet. “Nothing, your...er, your ladyship. His lordship’s clothes were packed away into the attic. Everything here belongs to Mr. Holliswell.”
Only thanks to Dunscore’s coin, no doubt, which meant she should bloody well pack all of his things away in the attic and let him find the means to replace it all. Which she absolutely would if it wouldn’t create more trouble than it was worth. She stalked through the room and opened the wardrobe, the drawers, the chest at the foot of the bed that Papa had always kept locked. It wasn’t locked now, but there was nothing inside.
Katherine left the room, letting the boots that had served her so well on board the Possession thump soundly on the polished wood floors. The reality that Papa was gone dragged at her like the fiercest undertow and had her clawing for breath. But there wasn’t time to compose herself, because Miss Holliswell’s companion waited for her in the hallway.
“Your ladyship.” It was a statement, not a question.
Katherine somehow found the means to speak. “Miss Bunsby.”
