Page 17 of A Daring Desire

Catherine, who had finally given up and fallen in love with someone else.

Good for her, he told himself. About time she had a bit of fun and happiness. Yet the odd sensation in his chest continued unabated and his heart gave an uneven beat as she hurried to the bed.

Chapter 5

Dear Dotty,

Mama told me you were sick and in bed, so I thought I would write to you because being sick and in bed is horrid. I hate it. I also hate being stuck indoors because nurse says the weather is too bad to play outside. But I do not see why a bit of sleet and rain and cold should mean I cannot ride my pony. Nurse says my pony won’t like the sleet and rain and cold and I must not be selfish. So, I said I could go for a walk instead, for I am building a little camp in the woods, and I am sure it would be quite dry inside – if all the branches and twigs didn’t get blown away in the storm – but she won’t let me do that either. I wish I were a boy. Boys may go out in the rain and play in mud and climb trees and wear trousers and I must wear stupid skirts and petticoats and ‘keep clean’ and ‘mind my manners’ and I could just scream.

I hope you feel better soon.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Octavia Adolphus – ten years old – (daughter of Their Graces, Prunella and Robert Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to Lady Dorothea Carmichael – ten years old – (daughter of The Right Hon’ble Maximillian and Phoebe Carmichael, The Earl and Countess of Ellisborough).

22nd December 1849, Connaught Place, London.

Cat hesitated on the threshold, suddenly stupidly shy. For so many years she had adopted the role of grand lady, the ice maiden, of a leader of fashion and society who cared nothing for her husband’s defection, for she had a legion of admirers who hung upon her every word. Here, standing before Lord Kilbane, the man who had captured her attention and held it since she was a child, she felt uncertain and as green as she had been the fateful day she had ruined herself for him instead of heeding his advice and leaving him be. Yet, she did not regret it. Not even after so many years alone. But so much hung upon the next moments, the next hours, days, and weeks. She felt paralysed by the weight of her own hopes and expectations.

Stop acting like such a ninny, she scolded herself, and moved into the room.

Kilbane watched her warily, everything about him taut and defensive, and any hopes that the past days might have brought them closer together died a swift and unhappy death. His eyes blazed in his stark countenance, his pallor highlighted by the dark stubble across his jaw.

“Good evening, my lord,” Cat managed, daring to approach the bedside, but with as much caution as she might approach a sleeping tiger.

He nodded, saying nothing.

“You gave us a dreadful fright,” she said, offering him a tentative smile, too much emotion in her voice for good sense. “I… I was very afraid—”

She clamped her mouth shut as the words quavered.

“I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he said, sounding the farthest thing from grateful and instead deeply irritated.

Strangely, this only made her smile. She understood how much it would irk him to feel he was in her debt at all, let alone for his very existence.

“You owe me nothing.”

His lip curled. “No, I suppose my life isn’t worth much. Will a farthing cover it?”

“Oh, two and sixpence surely,” she returned, teasing him a little.

For a moment, amusement flashed in those violet eyes, but he hid it quickly.

“How do you feel today?” she asked. “Worn to a thread, I don’t doubt, but are you in any pain? We’ve given you a little morphine at intervals.”

He waved this away, but he looked deathly pale, his high cheekbones stark against the overly sharp lines of his face.

“May I sit down?”

Kilbane gave a curt nod and Cat moved closer, perching on the edge of the chair beside the bed where she had passed her vigil. His glance strayed to the water glass by the bed and quickly away.

“You must be thirsty,” she offered, tipping the contents into a bowl and uncovering the jug to pour some fresh. “Here.”

Cat sat on the bed and lifted the glass to his lips, only to be met with an incinerating glare of indignation. She sighed.

“My lord, you may detest owning it, but I have nursed you these past days and nights and accepting a sip or two of water will not put you any deeper in my debt than you already consider yourself to be, so do stop acting the martyr.”

His jaw tightened, but he submitted, allowing Cat to slide her arm behind his head and raise his head enough to drink a little from the glass she put to his lips.

“Enough?”