Nicholas Seyton had aroused in her all sorts of needs and longings that she had been quite unaware of before. And he had gone, deserting her just when she was at her most vulnerable. She had fallen in love with him. There was still a raw pain somewhere inside her that could hurt dreadfully if she did not so ruthlessly ignore it. He did not deserve to be pined for. There was a danger—she knew there was—that her heart could turn to another man who might ease the pain. And that man could very well be Sir Harry if she failed to convince herself that he was despicable and repulsive. She had been forced to admit to herself early in their acquaintance that he was not repulsive. Her only hope was to cling to her early opinion of his character.
She must cling to it. She could not fall in love with him. The man was so dreadfully toplofty. He made no attempt whatsoever to hide his scorn at the behavior of most members of society. He would sneer indeed if he suspected that a mere lady’s companion, a woman who had given herself to a smuggler on the floor of a sandy cave not two weeks before, was beginning to wonder what it would be like to make love with him. She could expect nothing but heartache and humiliation if she allowed such feelings to develop.
Kate could see that Mrs. Pickering was in the garden at the back of the lodge gathering vegetables.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pickering,” she called gaily. “Are you very busy?”
“Just finished, missus,” the lodgekeeper’s wife said, straightening up. “Would you care to step inside for a mug of cider?”
Nicholas was sitting inside the rotunda, idly swinging his quizzing glass pendulum fashion from its ribbon. The last of the boats was just visible approaching from the distance. Moreton had had to leave it at the other side and come back in one of the other boats. Uppington apparently had still not put in an appearance, and the boat had been left for his convenience. Everyone else had already gone back to the house.
How was she now? Nicholas wondered. Was she fully recovered? Such an experience must be difficult for a woman to forget. Uppington had seemed to have ravishment on his mind. She probably still did not realize how much of a daze she had been in. Before he had taken her hand and led her away, she had held her arms away from her body like a child while he pulled up her dress to cover her. She had stared into his eyes as he did so, not even knowing what was happening.
And he would have had to take her into his arms even if she had not asked him to do so. She had begun to shake like a leaf in the wind and would have fallen in a matter of seconds.
He thought she was herself again by the time they joined the rest of the party close to the boats. At least she had been striding along beside him, telling him in no uncertain terms that she really had not needed his assistance at all. She could have managed quite well on her own, thank you very much, and she did not need him following her around in future with his insulting observations.
He hoped that a second reaction had not set in with her return to the Abbey and he not there to hold her. But no. Katherine Mannering was strong. It was far more likely that she was in a temper right now to remember that he had witnessed the very vulgar—but effective—way in which she had incapacitated her would-be lover. And she would be furious indeed to recall the feminine weakness she had shown in asking to be held. Would she remember that she had asked? And would she remember that she had lifted her mouth to be kissed? Possibly not. She would be too busy hating him and cursing him and planning all the scathing things she could say to him during their next encounter.
It was going to be very difficult to stay away from her. He had done quite well in the past week. But now? She was attracted to him. She did want him. When her very strong will was not in operation, her body betrayed her quite undeniably. He could have her if he wanted. Or at least he could woo her with some hope of success. He believed he could win her love even in the person of Harry Tate. And it was almost irresistible to try, when he wanted her so badly himself.
He had thought at first that perhaps he had fallen so hard for her because he had been starved for suitable female company for so long. But it was not so. He had seen the way Miss Barr-Smythe and Miss Carstairs had looked at him in the first days of the house party before his languid manner had convinced them that he was not at all interested in either a flirtation or a courtship. And they were both pretty girls, even if it seemed that they had not one brain cell between the pair of them. He could have had limited amusement with either of those young ladies. He had not been interested. He had eyes only for Katherine. And not only eyes. Everything about her attracted him. He admired her firm character even while it amused him. What man would want a soft, biddable girl when he might have independent, courageous, insult-slinging Katherine Mannering? He loved her.
And how was he to resist wooing her? He had realized from the start of his masquerade that his only hope was to make her hate him so much that there would be no chance to get close to her. But he was weak. He had allowed that hatred to slip. She probably hated him for witnessing her weakness that afternoon—she had told him so. But he could have scolded her for leaving the company so rashly to wander on her own. He could have accused her of deliberately teasing Lord Uppington. He could have sneered at her shaking body.
No, he could not. Of course he could have done no such thing. His acting skills could not have stretched that far. She had needed him every bit as much then as when Uppington had had her pinned half-naked against that tree. More. She had coped with the really dangerous situation on her own. She had been near collapse when he had had to decide whether to be Nicholas Seyton or Harry Tate. There really had been no decision to make at all.
The stupid thing was, Nicholas thought, that in the ten minutes or so since Dalrymple and Miss Lacey had left him alone here, he was finding it hard to convince himself that it was necessary to keep the masquerade alive with Katherine. He had wanted to keep her uninvolved when he started. Yet they had been frequently seen together since. Even today when he had tried to protect her by leaving her as soon as they came in sight of the boats, it must have been obvious to many that they had been walking together among the trees. Why not just tell her who he was?
The idea was very tempting. He could show his love and offer his protection quite openly if he did so. But he could not. For one thing, telling her would be an impossibly difficult thing to do. How would he go about it? And how explain the deception he had played on her? More important, he must protect himself as much as possible from involvement with her. It was true that Barton had reached for the carrot he and Dalrymple had dangled in front of his nose earlier, but that whole plan was tricky and not at all guaranteed to succeed. And if it did not, he was out of ideas. He could think of no other way to prove his legitimacy.
And he would not offer marriage to Katherine Mannering unless he could prove that point. He was not quite sure why. Even as he was, he could offer her the secure life of a lady if not a full social life. She did not seem to have any prospects for a more dazzling future. He loved her. He could teach her to love him, he believed. But he would not marry her as he was. Was it pride that prevented him? He wanted to have the world to set at Katherine’s feet. He could not offer her a name that any gently born person could turn up a nose at. He would not have her watch her children face the sorts of attitudes that he had faced all his life.
Nicholas rose to his feet and became Sir Harry Tate as he sauntered out of the rotunda and to the water’s edge. The Marquess of Uppington was rowing directly toward him. Having his back to the shore, he clearly had not seen that there was someone standing there.
“Enjoying the scenery, Uppington?” Sir Harry asked when the boat was close enough that he could speak in his customary drawl.
The marquess turned sharply in his seat. He beached the boat and stepped onto the grass before he said anything. “You would do well to stay out of my sight, Tate,” he said.
“That is all the thanks I get for remaining here to inquire after your health when everyone else went back to the house without a thought to your safety?” Sir Harry asked, eyebrows raised.
The Marquess of Uppington was not his usual cool self, Nicholas was delighted to observe. “Take yourself away from here,” he said, “if you know what is good for you.”
“You are quite right to express your disgust at my misguided attempt to engage you in small talk,” Sir Harry said. “It was foolish of me to try. Shall we be serious? Shall I hint, for example, that you will go near Mrs. Mannering in future on peril of your life?”
“What?” Lord Uppington, who had begun to stride in the direction of the house, stopped in his tracks to stare at his companion. He laughed. “Are you threatening me, Tate? Or do my ears deceive me?”
“Yes, I am, and no, they do not,” Sir Harry said with a sigh. “I despise confrontations, Uppington. They are such a bore. But sometimes one has to exert oneself, however unpleasant the expenditure of energy. You will leave the lady alone, my dear chap.”
“Lady! Are you referring to Kate Mannering?” Uppington said with a sneer that would have done justice to Sir Harry himself. “You are wasting your limited energies if you have decided to champion her, my friend. I have never met a female who was less a lady. And she most certainly does not need to be treated like one. I have plans for that little slut that have nothing to do with gentle beddings, believe me. She will be sorry she was ever born by the time I have finished with her. And I would advise you not to lower yourself to try to protect her, Tate. Not that there would be much lowering to do.” He let his eyes wander contemptuously down to the toes of Sir Harry’s Hessians.
“Hm,” Sir Harry said, lifting his quizzing glass to his eye and examining the marquess through it. “She hurt you that badly, did she, Uppington? Amazing, is it not, that one delicate female can have so much power in one knee?”
Viewed through the quizzing glass, Lord Uppington’s face turned an interesting shade of purple. Sir Harry did not wait for him to find words with which to express his fury.
“I have had an hour in which to ponder the matter, Uppington,” he continued. “I had the advantage of you, of course, in not having your, ah, preoccupation to cloud my thinking. It really seemed to me at first that I would have to slap a glove in your face. So tedious and theatrical. Pistols. Swords.” He waved an expressive hand in the air. “Messy. I can’t stand the sight of blood myself. I almost decided that instead I would content myself with pounding your face to a pulp. But imagine the scandal, dear chap, when we returned to the house. Everyone would know we had had a slight difference of opinion. Not at all a dignified way to go on for gentlemen of our breeding, would you say? No, regrettably, I have been forced to conclude that settling this matter must be confined to words. You will stay away from Mrs. Mannering.”
“Tate, you are a contemptible worm!” Lord Uppington said coldly. His hands were opening and closing at his sides, Sir Harry noticed.“You are too much the coward to challenge me; you hide behind noble-sounding words instead. But I am onto you, my friend. There is something not quite right about you. And I intend to discover just what it is. We will see how well your poise holds when I expose you for what you are.”
