Silk And Steel Part 27

Kathryn rubbed her shoulders and hugged herself, fighting back a s.h.i.+ver of despair. She wouldn't think of Lucien-she wouldn't let herself. If she did, she would never leave. Her gaze strayed for a moment to the note she had left him on the small French writing desk in the corner. She was giving him his freedom, urging him to make the sort of life for himself that he had always wanted. He deserved at least that much after all the trouble she had caused.

Kathryn brushed at a stray tear that had somehow managed to escape from beneath her lashes, closed the lock on her satchel, and left the bedchamber.

It took sheer force of will not to stop by Michael's room to check on him one more time, but she knew his nursemaid would be sleeping at the foot of the bed and she didn't dare wake her. Michael was healing rapidly. He was going to be just fine, and once Lucien returned, the boy would be in very good hands.

Kathryn no longer worried about Michael. Once again, it was she who was in danger. Leaving Castle Running one step ahead of the constables' men was the only choice she had. More than that, she was running from Lucien. She was in love with a man who didn't love her, a man who cared only for the woman he wanted her to be, not the woman she was inside. She had to leave before he returned, before he looked at her with disgust in his beautiful dark eyes.

She had seen that look in her uncle's eyes, in the eyes of Bishop Tallman, and the doctors at the madhouse. She had to leave and it had to be tonight. As before, she would do whatever she had to in order to survive.

Escaping the house proved easier than Kathryn had imagined. She thought of taking a horse, but decided against it. Once she reached an inn, she could travel by mail coach, which would be faster, her route less easy to follow. Things would be different this time, since she had money to pay her expenses. Lucien had been extremely generous in her allowance and she had spent very little. She wouldn't be cold and dirty. She had warm clothing and she had a plan.

By morning, after walking throughout the night, Kathryn had reached an inn called the Peregrine's Roost. The mail coach arrived before noon. She paid the fare and climbed aboard. Over the next few days, she changed coaches four times, heading one way and then another, fearful her movements might be traced. By the time she reached St. Ives, on the distant, remote Cornwall coast, she was certain no one would be able to find her.

She had been to the tiny fis.h.i.+ng village years ago, with her parents when she was a child. She had loved the place then, and as she peered out the window of the mail coach, listening to the crash of the surf on the cliffs below, she saw that the stark beauty of the region hadn't changed.

Perhaps she could make a life here, Kathryn thought, the notion easing the dull pang of loss that throbbed beneath her breastbone. Then she thought of Lucien, thought of his silver-black eyes, the soft way he smiled at her, the way he had always tried to protect her, and deep in her heart where no one could see, Kathryn silently cried.

It was so hard to admit he was wrong.

So impossibly hard that it had taken him three days to work up the courage to do so. He wasn't sure what to say, how to broach a matter of such importance, her interests, her beliefs, the heart of his problems with Kathryn.

And so he had left the castle and gone off by himself, gone to ponder all that had happened, events that had drastically changed his way of thinking, changed his whole life. He had needed to see things clearly, to think things through. He'd wanted to be certain.

By the time he returned, it was too late.

Sitting behind the rosewood desk in his study, Lucien smoothed the crumpled edges of the note Kathryn had left him. After six days and a thousand readings, the paper was tattered and frayed. He didn't need to look at the words; he knew the message by heart. But this small sc.r.a.p of paper was the last word he had of her and he would keep it until her return.

Lucien flattened the paper on his desk, the letters taunting him, reminding him what a fool he had been.

My dearest Lucien, By now my uncle is surely dead. I beg you to believe I am innocent of the crime of his murder, though under the circ.u.mstances, that must be difficult for you to do. I leave in the hope that the trouble I've caused will end, and because I am afraid.

In leaving, I also wish to set you free.

Obtain the annulment we spoke of and marry a woman of your choosing. Though I wish things could be different, I could never be the kind of wife you want. After what happened with Michael, I am certain your disgust of me makes the truth of that more than clear.

Take care of yourself, my love, and please take care of Michael, as I am sure you will. I leave with but one regret-that I never had the courage to tell you that I love you and that I always will.

Your friend forever, Kathryn The letters blurred and ran together. Lucien rubbed his eyes, folded the sheet of foolscap, and stuffed it in the pocket of his waistcoat, letting the letter fall back into place over his heart. For six days he had searched for her. Six of the longest days of his life. He was exhausted to the bone, worried and heartsick and filled with regret. But he wouldn't give up until he found her.

When he did, he would tell her what he had discovered as he had watched her saving the life of the little boy who had become so dear to him. He would tell her that he had been wrong about her studies, that what she was doing was important. That it did not matter that she was a woman. In saving one small child, all her years of learning, all that she had suffered, had been worth it.

And he would tell her that he loved her. Though he hadn't truly believed in such a thing, watching her in those fearful moments with Michael, he had never felt such pride in another person, such an intense feeling of connection with another human being.

He was in love with her. Totally and without the slightest doubt. In the back of his mind, buried so deeply he hadn't realized it was there, he had imagined she was a woman like his mother and that had made him afraid. But the truth was Kathryn Grayson wasn't the least bit like Charlotte Montaine. She was good and decent and worthy of his trust. He loved her beyond measure, and he ached with the need to tell her. In her letter she had said that she also loved him, and for the first time he understood just how lucky he was.

And just how desperate he was to have her safely returned to him.

Lucien raked a hand through his hair, shoving it back from his forehead. His clothes were mud spattered, his face in need of a shave. He didn't care. As soon as Jason arrived, he would set off on his search again. Somewhere there was someone who had seen her, someone who remembered her, who knew which way she had gone.

She wasn't in immediate danger from the law, although her departure had made her appear even more guilty. Her uncle had not died as everyone had been certain he would. Instead, he was slowly recovering. It looked as though he would live, and since there was no hard evidence that Kathryn was responsible for the attempt on his life-and Dunstan wanted to silence the gossips and put the matter to rest as quickly as he could-the constables were no longer breathing down their necks.

As for him, he had to admit there was a single moment when he had doubted her, knowing the terrible treatment she had suffered at Dunstan's ruthless hands-but one look at her face and he had known she wasn't guilty. Kathryn was a healer, not a killer. Should the law threaten her again, whatever it took, he would find a way to protect her. She would never have to be afraid again.

The door swung open just then and Jason's tall frame ducked through the opening. "The horses are waiting. Are you ready?"

Lucien nodded. "Let me get my coat and gloves and I'll meet you in the entry." Catching the duke's quick nod, Lucien felt a tug of grat.i.tude for his friend's unwavering support.

"We'll find her," Jason had said the moment he'd heard the news. "We won't stop until we do." The hard edge of determination rang in Jason's voice and Lucien had believed him. Grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair, ignoring the pounding in his head and the tiredness in his limbs, he followed his friend out the door.

Kathryn left her small slate-roofed cottage on the cliffs at the outskirts of St. Ives and hurried down the path toward the village. She had been living in the seaside town for nearly two months, working as a midwife, among myriad other tasks.

Today she'd been summoned by Agnus Pots, an ancient woman so stooped and withered she looked like a gnome, to help a fisherman's young wife deliver her first babe. Agnus had been the town's midwife until Kathryn's arrival, but she was getting too feeble for the job and was grateful to take on an a.s.sistant.

In the first few weeks, it was apparent Kathryn was capable of more than just birthing babies, and her duties expanded. People of every age, description, and ailment began coming to her cottage on the outskirts of the village, and Kathryn did her best to help them.

It was the sort of life she had always imagined. Her work was important. She felt useful. Needed.

And desperately, achingly, alone.

She missed Lucien more than she ever could have guessed. She missed his smile, the sound of his voice, missed just seeing him walk into a room. She missed little Michael and she worried about him. She missed her home in Suss.e.x, missed her husband and family with a piercing ache that never left her. She prayed that Lucien would forgive her for upsetting his life once more, and in the days ahead that he would find a measure of peace.

The fisherman's cottage loomed ahead. Kathryn forced her sad thoughts away, shoved open the rough-planked door, and stepped into the room where young Lisette Gibbons lay whimpering on the bed.

"How is she?" Kathryn asked Agnus, her eyes on the girl's swollen belly beneath the clean but well-worn sheet.

"She's hurtin' somethin' fierce, but I don't see as anythin's wrong. The child oughta be comin' soon."

Kathryn moved to the side of the bed, wrung out the wet cloth lying in a basin of water on the table beside it, and sponged the perspiration from Lisette's glistening forehead. She was a big girl, blond and blue-eyed, with wide hips that would help to ease the child's way.

"Just take it easy," Kathryn soothed. "The babe will be coming soon and all of this will be over."

"I'm gonna die," Lisette moaned. "I'm gonna die just like my sister." Panting and sweating, she muttered curses at the pain, curses at her big, unwieldy body, then cursed her husband for putting her in this situation.

Kathryn gently squeezed her shoulder. "It's all right, Lisette. You aren't going to die. Just try to stay calm. When the next contraction comes, I want you to push as hard as you can."

The girl whimpered and bit down on her bottom lip so hard a drop of blood appeared on the surface. She was drenched in perspiration, her night rail damp and clinging to her c.u.mbersome body. Her wrists had been tied to the headboard of her cornhusk bed.

"Do as she tells ye, child," Agnus Pots instructed, "and be grateful the girl is here. I'm too old and feeble to do the job meself, like I done for so many years."

Kathryn smiled at the ancient midwife and mopped her own sweaty brow with the back of a hand. The next series of contractions came swift and hard, but a screaming Lisette did exactly as Kathryn told her and a tiny boy child slid into the world.

Kathryn handed the babe to Agnus, who cooed over it as she wiped it clean and wrapped it up in a woolen blanket, then settled it in the crook of its sleepy mother's arms. Kathryn watched the woman's tired, gentle smile, saw the pride and love on her face, and knew the same sense of awe she always did at the sight of a newborn child. Life was so precious. And so uncertain.

Unconsciously, her hand slid down to her slightly rounded stomach. For the past three weeks, she'd been sick nearly every morning, unable to hold down even a bite of bread. She knew well enough what that meant. She had tried so hard to forget the man she had fallen so desperately in love with, to put his tall, dark image out of her mind and accept the life she was making for herself in St. Ives. She wanted to forget, to leave the pain of losing him behind.

Now that she would be bringing his child into the world, Kathryn knew she never could.

She sighed as she washed her hands in the basin on the rickety table. At least she would have some part of him with her through the years. Kathryn thought of the beautiful girl child she prayed she carried, imagined the silky black hair and silver-flecked eyes the babe was certain to inherit, and a pang of longing knifed through her.

She ached for the father her child would never know.

She ached for Lucien, and for herself.

Six months. Six long, agonizing months and still no sign of her. Lucien descended the sweeping staircase on the way to his study. He had just returned from a journey to the village of Maidstone, having received a tip from the town smithy that a woman of Kathryn's description was living in a cottage there. It wasn't the first such futile journey.

After the first two weeks of fruitless searching, he had posted a reward. Any number of people wished to claim it. Nat Whitley hired men to check out as many leads as they could manage and most of them were discarded. But those that looked promising Lucien followed up on himself.

"Me lord! Me lord! You're home!" Michael raced toward him and Lucien scooped him up in his arms, balancing him up on one shoulder.

"I got in about an hour ago. I didn't want to interfere with your lessons."

"Old Parny's teaching me French. G.o.d's eyes, why's a man got to learn to speak like them pansy Frogs?"

Lucien bit back a smile. The child was the most precious gift Kathryn had ever given him. There were times, like today, after running into another dead end, if it weren't for little Michael he would surely be the one being carted off to the madhouse.

"Mr. Parnell is concerned that you should fit into society," Lucien explained. "You told me you wanted to be a proper gentleman. Well, learning to speak French is part of what you need to learn."

"I bet you can't speak like them Frogs."

"Those Frogs. And you are wrong if that is what you think. Je parle francais a.s.sez bien. Comprenez-vous? It is expected among members of the upper cla.s.ses."

Michael frowned. "It sounds pretty when you say it. Old Parny sounds like a toad in a rusty bucket."

His mouth edged up. "Well, then, you learn the words and I'll help you to say them properly. All right?"

Michael grinned. "Right enough!"

Lucien set him back on his feet and the boy raced away, heading back up the stairs to join his tutor.

"My lord?" Lucien turned at the sound of Reeves's voice. "I'm sorry to interrupt, my lord, but it seems you have a visitor."

"A visitor? Who is it?"

"Lady Allison Hartman. I told her you were not receiving, as you had only just returned from a tiring journey to Maidstone, but she insisted on seeing you. I told her to wait in the Green Room. Shall I send her away, my lord?"

Allison Hartman. Lucien inwardly sighed, suddenly more tired than he was before. Good G.o.d, of all the people he hadn't expected to see.

"My lord?"

"What? Oh, no... it's all right, Reeves." He dragged his mind back to the present, away from memories of Allison that couldn't begin to compare with those he held of Kathryn. "I'll speak to her."

When he opened the door to the Green Room, he found her sitting on a dark green brocade sofa, as blond and fair and lovely as she was the first time he had seen her. He thought of the constant fatigue and worry for Kathryn that had etched deep lines in his face and imagined that to her he must look ten years older.

"My lord?" She came to her feet as he walked in, looked up at him and smiled. "It's good to see you."

He glanced past her, his gaze searching for her mother, the baroness, the stalwart chaperone, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

"Lady Allison." He made a formal bow over her hand. "You're looking as lovely as ever."

She flushed prettily. "Thank you, my lord."

"I hope your mother and father are well."

"They are fine, my lord. I, on the other hand, have been ever so worried of late."

Lucien arched a brow. "Worried?"

"Yes, my lord. I've heard the terrible stories...'tis no secret your wife has left you. I've heard the awful accusations about her."

Lucien bristled, his jaw going tight. "My wife is innocent of any wrongdoing. She has never harmed anyone in her life."

Allison glanced down at the hands she clasped in front of her. "I would have to doubt that, my lord," she said softly. "You see, she has very greatly wounded me."

Whatever anger he felt left on a harsh breath of air. Kathryn wasn't the only one responsible for hurting Allison Hartman. He had handled things poorly, made a muck of the whole affair. "Kathryn has always regretted what happened, my lady. As I do myself. At the time, she was desperately in need of my protection. I believe it was her feeling that our marriage would last only a short duration and that you and I might still one day wed."

Bright blue eyes came to rest on his face. "She thought that, in truth?"

"Yes."

Allison moved toward him, rested a small, white-gloved hand on his arm. "Perhaps that is the reason she left, my lord. So that you and I could be finally be together."

Lucien looked down at the delicate hand perched on his sleeve, perfectly graceful, utterly feminine. He couldn't begin to imagine that small, delicate hand doing what was necessary to save a small boy's life.

"Perhaps that was part of the reason," he said, gently disengaging himself and purposely stepping away. "At the time she left, she didn't know how much I had come to love her. She didn't know that I was glad we had married and that I felt privileged to call her my wife."

Allison's body went rigid, her gloved hands fisting against the lace of her cream silk skirt. "I thought you didn't believe in love. That is what you always told me."

"I was a fool," he said simply.

Allison's blond brows narrowed. She tossed him a disapproving glare. "I had hoped that we might mend things between us. I can see now that I was wrong. I shall accept Reginald d.i.c.kerson, Lord Mortimer's proposal, as my mother has insisted I should." Lifting her chin, she picked up her skirts and started past him. Lucien caught her arm.

"You may not believe it, Allison, but we are lucky we did not wed. You deserve a man who loves you, whether that man is Mortimer or someone else. Be certain that he is also someone you can love in return. It is the key to finding true happiness."

Allison said nothing but something flickered for a moment in her eyes. He watched the sway of her panniers as she walked down the hall and out to her waiting carriage. Allison was sweet and innocent, the kind of woman he had always believed he wanted.

Now he knew he needed a woman of intelligence, of pa.s.sion, and commitment. A woman who wasn't afraid to challenge him, one he found challenging in return. He needed Kathryn Grayson and he was determined to find her. He wouldn't stop until he did.

TWENTY-FOUR.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks became months. A lonely Christmastide came and went. Outside the cottage, a frosty January wind beat against the shutters. An icy sea pounded against the sh.o.r.e, and a blanket of snow lay like a cold hand over the frozen earth.

Inside the thick stone walls of Kathryn's cottage, a small fire blazed in the hearth, sending heat into the dark oak timbers above her head, and the soft yellow glow of candles flickered over the cradle in the corner.