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“Will be fine. That will be all until I’m ready to dress for the evening, Polk. Thank you.”
A few more fidgets, a long hesitation and Polk left him in blessed solitude. The canopy’s fringe hung lifelessly, more beige than gold in the muted afternoon light.
James breathed in as much air as his lungs would hold and held it. Held it. Held it. Exhaled slowly. Inhaled again. Exhaled.
And wished, to his shame, that he had informed Katherine about the committee in a note. He could still feel Anne’s small arms winding a strangling sense of responsibility around his neck, even as his mind raced to think of something—anything—he might send her to add to her list of good things about London.
Katherine had been prepared to lie to keep him from Anne. That fact rankled more than anything. He pushed her from his mind, only to have her reappear, trickling inside him the way water seeped through a hull that needed fresh tar.
He’d lost control last night at Lady Carroll’s. It was inevitable that he would. A devil inside him had driven him to follow her into that arbor, knowing damned well what would happen. Wanting it to happen. He was no better than any of those whoremongers Honoria had dredged up.
Worse, in fact. Because he could see the smoke and the flames, the listing Merry Sea, the bloodthirsty corsairs wreaking terror on board. He could hear the screams. Smell the gunpowder. He knew what she’d gone through, how terrified she must have been. And still it didn’t stop the fire in his blood every time he saw her.
He needed to forget about the captain who studied the horizon with a practiced eye and knew when a line should be snubbed or cast loose and threatened disembowelment without batting an eye. He needed to forget about the woman who turned her face to the sun while the breeze molded shimmering Ottoman textiles to her body and toyed with the ends of her hair.
He didn’t want to see any of them. Not the frightened girl, not the shrewd captain and definitely—very definitely—not the woman. He didn’t want to care whether she married. Whom she married. He didn’t want to care if she bedded every damned lord in the House. He was damned tired of caring about her.
He stared at the underneath side of the canopy above him. If she were here now... God. He felt himself grow hard and tried to shove the thought away, but it was too late.
He rolled over and groaned into the mattress. A month ago, he’d thought only of escaping the sea. Now the thing he needed to escape was her.
How in God’s name would he find her a husband when he couldn’t stand the thought of another man touching her because he wanted to touch her so damned badly himself? Something had to change. Immediately.
He breathed into the bedding, and an idea resurfaced.
Maybe— No.
But—
God. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of it before. Planned on it, even.
He lay there, perfectly still, while the idea came to life in his mind: a bride. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t need one eventually. Beginning the search now could be just the thing.
The right kind of bride could divert his attention. Cool his misplaced lust for a woman he as good as condemned to slavery and ruination. Let him do his duty, and give him a new sense of purpose. Give him something to think of instead of Captain Kinloch.
The idea propelled him out of bed, and he paced to the window. The right kind of bride—
Yes.
Yes, it was time. Past time. He would find a girl who’d been on the shelf so long she’d given up hope. Someone with the right skills to look after the household at Croston, who would happily give him an heir.
A girl who was thoughtful and quiet.
Who wouldn’t even know how to hold a cutlass.
A young lady who was biddable, and who would never, ever argue with him.
Yes. He would find Katherine a husband, and himself a wife. Then, finally, he would go to Croston and forget he’d ever set foot on a ship named Possession.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#ulink_bcc53e25-5809-57a9-b416-db7e32dd9704)
JAMES PUSHED THROUGH the crowd at Vauxhall that night, for once separated from Katherine, while the orchestra played a hellishly cheerful piece that only darkened his mood.
All of London had come to the garden tonight, and Honoria was determined to introduce her to every last one of them. He’d spent the past hour doing what he could on her behalf, but now he had other plans.
He worked his way through the crowd, pretending he didn’t hear the calls of well-wishers eager to foolishly proclaim his heroics. Let them regale each other with tales. He flexed his hands at his sides to ease the tension curling inside him. With so many people in attendance, this was the perfect opportunity to set his new plan into motion.
The crowd surged and eddied like a strong current through a strait, illuminated by countless globe lamps hanging above. He spotted two old friends, Vincroft and Berston, and headed straight for them. Neither one had married yet. Without a doubt they would have their fingers on the pulse of the marriage mart. Besides that, he needed liquor.
“You look like you’re about to do someone a harm, Croston,” Vincroft said when James finally reached them.
James grunted. “I’m going after a drink.”
“Do allow me!” Berston said jovially, already moving away. “Back in a moment!”
Through a break in the crowd a woman with near-black hair caught his eye. His pulse surged, but it wasn’t Katherine. Thank God. He flexed his fingers and forced himself to study the crowd in search of matrimonial possibilities.
“Looking for someone?” Vincroft asked.
“Mmm,” he replied. “Female, marriageable, on the shelf.”
“Good God! Don’t let that be known, or you’ll be crushed to death before anyone can finish celebrating the fact that you’re alive.”
“Forgot to mention mild-mannered, biddable and quiet.” Or shrewd, fiery and combative, a voice taunted. The essence of Katherine sizzled through him. The idiot between his legs got a brilliant idea about finding her and taking a walk down one of the gardens’ darker paths and—
“Here you go.” Berston returned with a glass of arrack. “Ought to do the trick.”
James downed half the glass in one swallow.
“They all fit that bill when they’re marriageable,” Vincroft snorted. “Don’t find out the truth till afterward.”
“Ye gads,” Berston said. “Who’s getting married?”
“Croston here. Gone mad, if you ask me.”
Bloody hell. He should have kept his mouth shut.
“So sorry!” Berston offered an expression that was both resignation and pity. “Got to be done eventually, I suppose. Think about it myself if it wasn’t bad for my health. Hives and all that, every time I hear the word matrimony.”
James managed a laugh. At least Berston hadn’t changed. “You’ll suffer through the hives unless you want that pasty nephew of yours to inherit,” he said.
Berston took a drink and shook his head. “Just so, just so.”
“Who’s that?” James asked, nodding toward a youngish thing in an elegant yet subdued froth of beige. “Blond curls, pearls in her hair.”
Vincroft frowned. “No idea. Never seen her before.”
“Yes, you have,” Berston said. “Lady Maude. Been at every do the past five seasons. Linton’s daughter. You don’t want the likes of her, Croston. You’re probably the first one to notice the poor thing. Do better with Miss Greene—there she is, talking to Lady Trent and Lord Ponsby. In front of the supper boxes, to the left. Blue dress, full breasts.” Berston grinned.
Miss Greene’s false beauty mark stood out even from this distance, and her bold gaze fixed playfully on the men gathered around her. “Whoever is unfortunate enough to wed Miss Greene will be cuckolded within a week,” James said, and returned his attention to the unremarkable Lady Maude. Pale hair, passable face, polite smile... His mind transported her to a chair by the fireside at Croston—in one of the upstairs drawing rooms. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine her dozing off with a book in her lap and one of his hunting dogs at her feet.
“Ho, look there!” Berston suddenly pointed out. James followed his gaze through a break in the crowd, and his heart slammed into his gut.
Katherine shimmered in the lamplight like a forbidden idol. Tonight she wore a gown of deep midnight-blue, veed at the waist to reveal a petticoat and stomacher decorated with silver embroidery, ribbons and beads. Her breasts threatened to spill from the top of her stays, and a few lengths of her dark hair played at her neck in artful curls.
“Ye gads,” came Berston’s barely audible exclamation.
Vincroft made a noise. “Heard she might be on the marriage market. No doubt you’ve got an advantage in that corner.”
James clenched his jaw and raised his glass to his lips, only to remember it was empty. “Think I’ll go see if I can manage an introduction to Lady Maude.”
Berston shook his head. “I’m going for another drink.”
“Cracked,” was all Vincroft said.
Within minutes the introductions had been made, and he had Lady Maude at his side strolling down the South Walk. She had large brown eyes, a graceful demeanor and a polite smile. A small hand, which had likely never touched a cutlass, was tucked into his elbow.
Even better, he hadn’t the least inclination to drag her down one of the notorious lovers’ walks and ravish that serene little mouth.
He asked whether she was enjoying the company this evening. She told him she was, but that she was much looking forward to a visit to her cousin in the country, where life was quieter.
She asked whether he was happy to be home at last. He told her he was, but that he was looking forward to the excitement of his return dying down so he could spend his time with a peaceful read and perhaps a putter in his father’s old conservatory. She replied that both sounded like an improvement over the hustle-bustle of the Season, and that she had recently read a fascinating essay on the botany of Greece.
Botany. Perfect. He double-checked the color of her eyes. Yes, brown—a solid, sensible brown, without any wild flecks that made them take on odd colors in sultry lights.
“Forgive my forwardness, Captain,” she said as they came to the end of the walk and turned back, “but I don’t suppose...” She gripped her fan anxiously. “Well, I don’t suppose you would consider introducing me to Lady Dunscore.”
Just like that, his hopes crashed.
“I so long to meet her,” she continued, “but I know nobody with the right connections. And Mother is little help under the circumstances, naturally— Oh, dear. I see I’ve offended you.”
He forced a smile. “Not at all.”
Those sensible brown eyes came frighteningly alive. “She is such a fascination! How I would love to see her in action, holding a spyglass to her eye beneath great, billowing sails.”
The image exploded unhelpfully into his mind. “Your mother will have my head on a platter for encouraging such imaginings. Tell me, Lady Maude, have you done any reading about pigeons?”
“I doubt anyone could have your head on a platter, Captain. Pigeons? No, I daresay I haven’t.” They were nearly back to the grove and she was looking ahead, searching the crowd. “Do you see her? Lady Dunscore, I mean.”
“Afraid not.” Seeing Lady Dunscore was the last thing he needed at the moment. “Would you care to stroll down the Grand Walk?”
“Forgive me, Captain. How terribly rude of me. Indeed—let’s do see the Grand Walk.” They started through the crowd in the grove toward the other side. “If you don’t find a satisfactory treatise on pigeons, my lord, I highly recommend this botanical essay. Greece is so fascinating! Stories of exotic places are so diverting. No doubt you would agree, given that you’ve spent your life visiting— Oh!” Her grip tightened on his arm. “There she is.”
Katherine was laughing up at some man who had his back turned. Marshwell? Adkins? Everyone looked the same in these bloody wigs. Katherine, however, was a goddess shimmering in torchlight, and her brilliant smile shot straight to his gut.
“Oh, do let’s take the Grand Walk later,” Lady Maude begged. “Do you mind terribly? I promise I won’t let Mother cut off your head.”
“You are too kind,” he said, and grimly crossed Lady Maude off his list.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING at Westminster was a disaster.
As James had expected, Ingraham’s tale of Katherine’s threats had made its rounds, which meant James was peppered with questions about her loyalty to the Crown and whether or not she had, in fact, turned renegade. He managed to deflect the more outrageous inquiries and tried to inject a bit of reason into the debate about her, but he gained little ground.
He arrived at the theater that evening with renewed determination.
It didn’t last.
“I want a meeting with her, Croston,” Vincroft declared in a hush from the seat next to James, his eyes fixed across the balcony at Katherine’s box. “Tried to get an introduction last night, but there was no getting near her. Should have had you do it before you disappeared with that mouse. My God, she’s a magnificent creature!”
James stretched his fingers, checking a driving desire to wrap them around Vincroft’s throat. But Vincroft was a lesser of evils, so he reached for a vaguely disinterested tone. “As a matter of fact—”
“Can’t imagine her dressed like a Barbary pirate,” Vincroft interrupted. “Can’t imagine it at all.” James clenched his jaw, and Vincroft lowered his voice. “Fearsome sight to behold, eh?”
“Terrifying.” James beheld her now as she half watched the performance, half chatted with Honoria and Philomena. Tonight she sparkled in a gown the color of the sea at dusk, with her hair frozen in a pile of curls decorated with jewels that winked at him in the stagelight. The baser part of his nature preferred her the way she’d been dressed yesterday morning. But then, the baser part of his nature would prefer her dressed in nothing at all.
The sudden rumble of the theatrical thunder machine startled him. Just then she turned her head straight toward him, and a bolt of an entirely different kind shot through him.
He had to find her a husband. And by God, she would marry the man if he had to hold a pistol to her head. And then he would wash his hands of this whole damned mess. He leaned toward Vincroft. “No doubt you are aware—”
“Winston’s been staring at her for most of the first act,” Vincroft said through his teeth. “I demand that you take me there at once before he makes himself at home in her box. For God’s sake, Croston, have pity on me. You know how I—” He turned in his seat as someone entered their box. “Wenthurst! Good to see you! And Pinsbury!”
“Don’t get up, don’t get up,” Wenny said, sliding into the chair on the other side of James and taking a pinch of snuff. The direction of his gaze told James exactly why Wenny was there.
James got up, anyway, because Pinsbury was crowding into the box with three women—Lady Pinsbury and, James soon learned, Lady Pinsbury’s sister and niece.
“Here from the country, you know,” Pinsbury explained. “Joys of the Season and all that. Not so many diversions in Sussex, are there, my dear?” he jovially asked his niece.
Miss Underbridge offered her uncle what could only be termed a perfunctory smile. “Not of the sort to be found in London, Uncle.”
“We thought some time in London would do her good,” Lady Pinsbury added. Would find her a husband, more like, James thought. Lady Pinsbury beamed at Miss Underbridge, whose perfunctory smile was now pasted to her lips. They were rather full lips, James noticed, set beneath a handsome-enough nose and sturdy cheekbones. The dim theater left the color of her eyes a mystery, but he could see enough to understand the source of Lady Pinsbury and Mrs. Underbridge’s pointed enthusiasm for her presence in London society: Miss Underbridge was quite clearly on the shelf.
He took a closer look.
“Such a miracle, your safe return,” Pinsbury was saying. “Can’t be more pleased.”
“Indeed, I have to agree,” James said. Miss Underbridge had already seen her twentieth birthday—he’d wager Croston Hall on it. She seemed to have a calm enough disposition, with no trace of the eagerness lighting the faces of her mother and aunt. “Have you been enjoying the play, Miss Underbridge?” he asked.
He got the full brunt of that pasted-on smile, along with a moment of surprise at having been noticed. “I have, Lord Croston. It is quite entertaining.”
He applauded her effort, but her tone told him she would prefer to be elsewhere. “Of course,” he added as an experiment, “I generally prefer a quiet fireside read to the noise of the theater.”
“I quite agree.” Her tone lost some of its falsity. “Reading is a most enjoyable pastime.”
Indeed. He wondered whether, unlike Lady Maude, Miss Underbridge had a sensible disposition to match her calm demeanor.
The back of his mind teased that a reactionary demeanor and biting disposition was vastly more interesting, and a shiver slid over the back of his neck as though Katherine was watching him from her box. His senses began to churn, stirred up the way a hard rain roiled a stagnant pond. Everything in him wanted to leave his box and go to hers. Be near her. Listen to her wild, acrimonious opinions about London and its inhabitants. Find out what she thought of the gift he’d sent Anne.
