And was his name becoming linked to hers despite all his efforts? It was very possible. He usually led her into the dining room at mealtimes. He had been seen alone with her on the afternoon of the picnic when they returned from the hermit’s cave. He had escorted her into the garden a few evenings ago. And he had been seen returning across the rocks with her the previous afternoon. All the rest of them had been standing in a group watching the two soldiers of the coast guard ride away and buzzing with the news that they suspected that smugglers had landed in the area within the past few nights. Apparently a group of smugglers had been caught ten miles down the coast, and it was believed that a boat from France would not have made only one drop. But that was another concern. Nicholas would not addle his brain with that at the moment. The delivery of goods had seemed to go smoothly the night before, though he had not been there himself.
It was stupid of him not to realize that conclusions might be drawn from his frequent closeness to Katherine. He had been so concerned that she not discover the truth that he had given no thought at all to the perceptions of other people. The trouble was that there was little he could do about the matter. If he were to protect her from the lecherous designs of Uppington, he had to stay close to her. He would just have to do the best he could, he supposed. After all, it was perfectly normal for a single gentleman to show interest in a single lady, even if she were almost on a level with the servants. It was clear to him, for example, that there was a growing attachment between Dalrymple and Miss Lacey. Nobody seemed unduly concerned. He would just have to hope that nothing violent developed from his search and that if it did, Katherine would not be caught up in it in any way.
And since there was still a short distance to go to the Abbey stables, and since he still felt disinclined to join any group of gentlemen, Nicholas allowed himself to indulge his mind in the memory of that kiss. It was just the sort of thing he had set himself to avoid, of course. But even now, after he had had leisure in which to consider, he could not think of any alternative course of action he might have taken. If those soldiers had seen his face, the chances were that they would have known him. There had not been time enough to scramble back across the rocks without incurring strong suspicion. Anyway, a return to the main beach would have brought him face-to-face with the soldiers there.
The only thing to do had been to kiss Katherine, a ruse that had both hidden his face and embarrassed the poor men to such a degree that they had retreated without further ado. It really was a good thing for him that his thoughts had been taken up by his own danger. If he had been able to concentrate on that kiss, he could not have answered for what the outcome might have been. Even in the final few seconds, when he had allowed himself the indulgence of prolonging it, he had felt heat rise in him at the very intimate positioning of her body against his and at the vivid memories of what she had felt like two nights before when he had not had to hold back his desire. And in that very setting. The memories had been almost too much for his self-control.
She had responded too. And he was not sure whether to be pleased or offended. At first he had thought that she must know the truth. She had been clinging to him and kissing him with total abandon. He could have laid her down and made love to her with her eager cooperation. He was quite sure of that. And how could she have been so intimately close to him, so deep in his embrace without knowing that he was the same man who had loved her on the floor of that very cave just two nights before? But she had not known. Incredible as it seemed, when she returned to herself, it was Sir Harry Tate she saw. And she was horrified at herself.
Should he feel offended or hurt to think that she could so easily forget a loving that meant so much to him and abandon herself, to a man who made every attempt to show her contempt? Nicholas had to admit that at first he had felt that way. He had been almost angry with her as he followed her back across the rocks to the main beach. But how could he remain so? Was it not more likely that her body could still feel the attraction that had led to such a satisfactory coupling two nights before while her mind saw only a thoroughly unpleasant and unmannerly baronet? Poor Katherine. She must be feeling very confused. That was probably why she had slipped twice on her way across the rocks and had slapped viciously at his hand when he had reached out to help her up the second time.
Nicholas could not blame himself for what had happened the previous afternoon. But he could regret it. It was hard enough on his system to see Katherine daily, to remember what they had shared together, and to know that he must stay away from her. It was doubly hard now to know that even as the obnoxious Sir Harry he could attract her. How was he supposed to resist the temptation, in heaven’s name? His main hope would have to be that she felt such horror and disgust with herself that she would not allow him within ten feet of her.
He sighed as the group reached the stables and he dismounted onto the worn and familiar cobblestones of the stableyard. Problems. Problems. But then, where would he be without them? In Shropshire, in all probability, climbing walls in his boredom. At least life was far from boring at Barton Abbey.
Sir Harry politely hid a yawn behind his hand as Lord Barton turned to direct some remark his way.
Kate had intended to work on through teatime. With another hour of concentrated work she might reach the end of this particular section of books. Written in Latin, these last few she had cleaned. Her father had taught her some Latin as a girl. But she had never become really proficient. It seemed that there had always been too many children at home to interrupt either her or Papa. It had always been her ambition to read the classics in their original language.
Even as she was smiling rather ruefully over the thought, Kate detected another slip of paper inside the front cover of the book she held. It had some writing on it, the ink faded brown with age. “Clive, meet me at the cave in one hour,” the note read. “Great secrecy essential. Let old cane-swisher see this on peril of your life. Jonathan.” Kate was smiling in earnest after reading it through two or three times. “Old cane-swisher” she supposed to have been a Latin tutor. She could almost imagine the two boys—Nicholas’ father and the present earl—passing notes when the master’s back was turned and they were supposed to be studying Latin declensions.
She climbed down to the library floor and reached out to place the note with the doodles on the desk. Would it bring back fond memories to Lord Barton? Would it arouse his guilt? But she retained the note in her hand, hesitating before putting it down. Nicholas perhaps had nothing of his father’s. Nothing with which to convince himself of the reality of the man who had sired him. Something as small and trivial as this note from one immature schoolboy to another could be infinitely precious. But of course she had no way of giving it to him. And did he deserve such a gift from her anyway?
The door opened behind Kate even as she hesitated. She folded the paper into its original crease and put it calmly into the pocket of her apron before turning to see who had entered. She was relieved to find that it was Lady Thelma.
“Oh, Kate,” that young lady said, closing the door behind her, “I am so glad to find you here alone. I have been scarce able to concentrate on the conversation this afternoon. And really the bonnets at Miss Hatch’s are not remarkably pretty, though Julie bought one that looks quite becoming on her. And I was terrified of highwaymen. We had only a coachman with us, you know. I do not know what would have happened if we had been stopped.”
Kate smiled. “I believe I can assure you that there are no more highwaymen here,” she said. “Your father had the coast guard make an extensive search for the one who stopped us. He is not still here, you may be assured. He would have more regard for his neck than to stay.”
“But he was never caught,” Lady Thelma said doubtfully.
Kate smiled again. She looked at the pale, rather petulant expression of her mistress and understood that her cross mood had nothing to do with either highwaymen or the lack of a fashionable milliner in the village. “Would you like to walk out where you will not have to be sociable for a while?” she asked.
“If we go into the formal gardens, we will attract a train of followers who will consider such a walk a marvelous idea,” Thelma said. “Sometimes I do wish I was back at Wragley, Kate. I never wanted to go to London. And I did not wish Great Uncle to die just yet. I don’t want to be Lady Thelma Seyton with a grand dowry.”
“How about the old cloisters?” Kate suggested. “They seem not to be very popular, but I think they make a very peaceful and picturesque walk.”
“Oh, yes,” Thelma said. “Let us go there, Kate, and miss tea. You really are a dear. I am so glad you agreed to be my companion. But I do wish you would leave off your half-mourning. That brown is very dull. When we return, to London, I shall come with you to order a complete new wardrobe, and I shall get Papa to pay for it all too.” She smiled, completely oblivious of any hurt her words might have caused.
When they were strolling in the stone cloisters a few minutes later, the vaulted roof over their heads, the stone pillars supporting it and separating the cloisters from the garden beyond, Kate waited quietly for what she knew must be coming. She had not expected quite what Thelma began with, however.
“Kate,” she said on a rush, “if I were to leave here, would you come with me?”
“You mean to return to London?” Kate asked.
“N-no.” The girl hesitated. “If I were to leave, Kate, without Papa knowing.”
“Eloping?” Kate asked tentatively.
Thelma looked at her, agony in her eyes. “Sidney has spoken with Papa and he has been refused absolutely. He is not poor, Kate, and his birth and lineage are impeccable. He is heir to a small estate and a modest income. He was educated at Oxford. But of course he is not nearly important enough for Lady Thelma Seyton. He is far beneath the notice of the daughter of an earl.” The girl’s face had flushed. Her voice was bitter.
“I am sure your father must be considering your happiness,” Kate said, realizing even as she spoke how foolish her words were.
“No, my consequence,” Thelma said. “He has his heart set on my marrying the Marquess of Uppington. I would rather be dead, Kate. And I mean that. I would be miserable with him. He is so very much the aristocrat and so very good-looking. I feel dull and ugly when I am with him. I know I am no beauty, Kate, and I know I am not very bright or very charming. On the other hand, I am not quite ugly or quite dull either. But if I marry Lord Uppington I shall soon be convinced that I am both. I cannot go through life like that. I would rather be dead.”
“Yes,” Kate said, abandoning the role that she knew she should have been playing under the circumstances. “Yes, you are right. You must not marry Lord Uppington. He is not in any way worthy of you. And your father cannot force you to do so, you know. You can say no.”
“That is easy for you to say,” Thelma said. “You have such a firm character, Kate. I am sure that all your life you have insisted on doing just what you wish. I am not like that. I know that when Papa storms at me or—worse—wheedles me, I shall give in and consent to marry the marquess. And I know I shall not be able to say no to Lord Uppington’s face. How embarrassing and utterly impossible that would be.”
