And if he was to leave early in the morning, he must return to the cottage without delay in order to snatch a few hours of sleep at least. But he did not immediately turn to leave. His eyes came to rest again on the door through which Katherine Mannering had entered the house a few minutes before.
He had behaved very self-indulgently with her. He had been quite aghast earlier when Russ Evans had knocked on his bedchamber door to announce that the disturbance he was trying to ignore had been caused by the arrival of Mrs. Mannering to speak with him. He had dressed and donned his disguise in some haste, rejecting the help of a frowningly disapproving Parkin. And he had gone downstairs determined to get rid of her with all speed and to discourage her from calling on him ever again. She really must not have any sort of connection with him. She knew only about his activities as a highwayman, and those were unsavory enough. She did not know about anything else.
How quickly his resolve had been forgotten! He had been very quickly amused and somewhat touched by her sense of urgency. And he had been intrigued by her failure yet again to see through his disguise. He had never thought that anyone having a good look at his wig would be fooled by it. He had had it made and had worn it only so that his own identity would be more difficult to discover. Yet Katherine thought the blond hair was really his and had even scolded him for being foolhardy enough to display it so openly.
He should not have allowed himself to be diverted. He certainly should not have allowed himself to give in to the temptation to kiss her again. Having done so, his resolve to stay away from her was going to be more difficult to keep. He found her so achingly desirable. Although he had told her that they must break the embrace, he knew that just one word of doubt or protest from her would have set him to laying her down on the floor—uncomfortable a bed as it would have made—and taking their lovemaking to its natural conclusion. How could he have stayed away from her after that?
How could he stay away from her even now? That husband of hers must have been a lout of the first order to have given her such a disgust of the sexual act. But he could teach her just how very pleasurable that act could be. He knew he could. She had enjoyed his kisses and his touch. There was no doubt about that. She had not even tried to hide or deny the fact. He did not know how long she had been married, but she must still be incredibly innocent if she did not realize that all the pleasure she had been experiencing was merely a prelude to the far greater satisfaction he could have given her in bed. The temptation to try to teach her that was going to nag at him, he knew. Not to mention the temptation to seek her out for his own satisfaction.
It was not just the physical craving that drew him to Katherine, though, Nicholas thought, his eyes moving along the windows of the west wing, trying to guess which one was hers. Which of the guest bedchambers would she have been allotted? He supposed that if his need were merely for a woman, he could find one somewhere without offending any of his acquaintances. But there was something about Katherine Mannering. She was beautiful. But it was more than that too. She had a very strong and forceful character. She would make a very interesting friend, he suspected.
Well. He turned his horse’s head resolutely in the direction of the side gate by which he had entered Barton Park. Stay away from her he must. If his visit to Dalrymple were successful, of course, he would see plenty of her again. But she would not know it was he. And he must ensure that she did not find out. He must not allow his attraction to her to show. All that depended on what Dalrymple could tell him, of course. He must not start making plans yet. Not until there was some possibility of putting them into effect.
“I believe I like the library best of all the rooms in the house, my lord,” Kate said at breakfast the following morning.
“The library?” Lord Stoughton said in some surprise. “Yet it is not one-quarter the size of the great hall, Mrs. Mannering, and not one-half that of the salon. Now, the salon is my idea of magnificence, with that coved and painted ceiling, and all the gold leaf, and all the portraits on the walls. I would have to say it is my favorite room.”
“I cannot say I like any room as well as those at Wragley,” Thelma said. “And you do not have to raise your eyes to the ceiling with such contempt, Adam. There is nothing wrong with Wragley, for all that it is very small in comparison with Barton Abbey. It is where we grew up and it is home. Everything here is so very large and so very stately. There is nothing comfortable here at all.”
“You will change your mind next week when our guests arrive,” her father said. “You will see how impressed they will all be, Thelma, and with what respect they will treat you as my daughter. I shall be able to marry you a great deal higher than when I merely had the prospect of such a position, you know.”
“Well,” Thelma said rather wistfully, “I wish Great-Uncle had lived until after I was wed, Papa. I was quite content with being what I was. I have no wish to attract fortune hunters.”
The earl clucked his tongue. “Trust me to choose someone quite unexceptionable for you, my love,” he said. “And to return to your comment, Mrs. Mannering, yes, you are to be commended for your appreciation of the library. It used to be the state bedchamber, you know. Until the late earl’s time, there was no separate library. He decided that there was no need of the bedchamber any longer but that there was great need of a library. A great reader was my uncle, though even he admitted that the large bulk of the volumes now in the library was purchased merely to fill the shelves that he had built into the walls.”
“The books must be in great need of a thorough cleaning and organizing,” Kate said. “I noticed yesterday, my lord, that you were attempting to remove the dust from some of them. It is a huge task you have taken upon yourself.”
“Yes, indeed.” Lord Barton replied, “but books fascinate me, Mrs. Mannering. I shall undertake the task of setting the library to rights quite cheerfully.”
“If I might make so bold, my lord,” Kate said, “I must say that I too have a love of books. My father has a modest library, and it was always my task to organize and keep the volumes clean. It has occurred to me that with the arrival of your guests next week, Lady Thelma will not have as great a need of my company as she does now. And I hate to be idle. Perhaps I could be of some help to you?”
“That is a very civil offer, Mrs. Mannering,” the earl said. “I would indeed be glad of your assistance.”
“Splendid,” Kate said. “I shall come to the library whenever Lady Thelma has no need of me.”
“You really do not have to do so, you know, Kate,” Thelma said. “You are my companion, after all, not a servant. And I do not expect you to be busy all the time.”
“Oh, but I have never been used to a life of idleness,” Kate assured her with a smile. “And indeed working in the library will be a pleasure far greater than sitting in my room twiddling my thumbs.”
“Perhaps I can find some use for your time too, Mrs. Mannering,” Lord Stoughton said with something of a leer, but he did have the grace to look somewhat uncomfortable when his father leveled a steady look at him.
Kate yawned behind her hand. She had found it very difficult to rise at her usual hour that morning. However, she quickly stifled and forgot about the yawn at the viscount’s next words.
“Papa,” he said, “whatever happened to the illegitimate son of your cousin? He used to live here, did he not?”
The earl’s expression did not flicker, Kate noticed. “Nicholas Seyton?” he said. “He left here on the death of his grandfather. Must have realized that his presence here would be an embarrassment to both himself and us if he stayed.”
“I had forgotten about him,” Thelma said. “I used to think it quite romantic to have an illegitimate second cousin living here. I wish we could have met him.”
“It would be quite improper for you to do so,” her father said sternly. “My uncle came under severe criticism for keeping him here. It made a very embarrassing situation for would-be visitors.”
“How did he get here in the first place?” Stoughton asked. “Did his mother bring him? It would have been priceless to witness the meeting between her and the old earl, I’ll wager. He was something of a tartar, was he not, Papa?”
“He was,” the earl said, “though not with young Nicholas. He had gone rather soft in the head, I believe, over Jonathan’s death.”
“Poor little boy!” Thelma said. “Perhaps your cousin would have married the mother if he had lived, Papa, and Nicholas would have been respectable. What was she like?”
“Not the sort of female you would wish to hear about, my love,” the earl said, a note of finality in his voice.
