Andersen-SPassionsStirring PassionsMaggi AndersenNew Concepts PublishingCopyright © Romance/Historical Fiction. 23116 words long. enNovellatext/xmlRomance/Historical Fiction

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Stirring Passions
by Maggi Andersen
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Romance/Historical Fiction

New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Copyright ©

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

* * * *

STIRRING PASSIONS

By

Maggie Andersen

© copyright by Maggie Andersen, September 2008

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, September 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-223-2

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Creeping along the passage, Kate carefully avoided the spots where squeaky floorboards would announce her progress. It was close to midnight and the moon shone down through the upper hall window, lighting her way to the stairs. She was seeking hot milk from the kitchen. The prized copy of Jane Austen's novel, Emma, brought down from London by a friend of her father's, had made her unaccountably restless. As she passed her parents bedroom door, she heard a soft groan. Kate's cheeks grew hot. She knew what that sound meant. Her parents were making love, and she knew that tomorrow at breakfast, her parents would be very tender with each other and her mother's eyes would be soft and bright.

* * * *

Kate shook out the muddy hem of her blue cambric gown, and tucked a stray lock of chestnut hair into place beneath her blond, straw bonnet. Approaching the door, she seized the heavy brass knocker with both hands, rapping twice. Barely a minute passed before the butler, Keaton, opened it, a warm smile softening his dignified expression.

“Why, Miss Kate, Lord Laurence is away from home. The whole family has up and gone to London. Lady Firth's mother has passed away.”

“Oh, Keaton, how sad! Poor Lady Evenstock suffered dreadfully.”

“It was a blessed release, Miss Kate. They will be gone for another week. Would you care to come in for refreshments after your walk?”

Kate looked down at her muddy boots and shook her head. “No. Thank you, Keaton.”

“May I offer you a lift home? The gig is being taken into town.”

“That's kind of you, Keaton, but it's lovely to be out after all the rain and a mere stroll home, which shall do me no harm at all.”

Keaton gazed upon the glowing, heart-shaped face turned up to him. He knew this lively and healthy young person would have no difficulty with the three-mile walk back to Roseheath. He watched as she tied the strings of her bonnet firmly under her chin. She waved as she took the path leading away across the fields.

Keaton had been employed at Firth Manor long before Kate came into the world and had watched her grow up. Kate and Laurence had been inseparable. Friends and neighbors all their lives, the two played together as children, rode together as young adults and squabbled and teased each other still. He remembered nurse patching Kate's knee when she fell out of an apple tree in the orchard. And sent for the surgeon to set Laurence's broken arm when he tried to jump his horse over a hedge with Kate riding behind in hot pursuit.

He had laughed quietly to himself as Kate taught the reluctant young man to dance that new dance called the waltz in the old nursery with the rug rolled up. He was sure he wasn't the only one to suspect they would marry when the young master completed his studies up at Cambridge. In the servant's quarters over a dinner unusually relaxed with the family away, Cook certainly agreed. Mrs. Corbett, the housekeeper, offered the opinion that she'd never detected even the tiniest bit of romance between them. Why they seemed more like brother and sister! This lead to a lively discussion. The groom, Blackthorn, an extravagant fellow, ventured a bet of a half penny with Cook that Lord Laurence would propose by year's end. Maisie, the parlor maid, who seldom was allowed to have her say, stated boldly that she thought the Master would want his son to marry higher, for, although Miss Kate was quite well-born—her maternal grandfather a Baronet—her father was a commoner and an Irishman to boot! Keaton thought this a surprisingly sensible observation from someone as young and romantic as Maisie, but he found himself hoping a marriage would come about while he was still above ground, for the bright pair would transform Firth Manor into a place full of life again.

* * * *

Gray clouds hung low and the air was heavy with the expectation of more rain. Kate had walked almost two miles and, feeling hot and sticky, stopped to swat a persistent fly. Spying some fat, juicy blackberries growing along the river, she pulled off her hat and tucked up her dress, exposing her short boots and a shameless amount of calf and ankle before clambering down the steep bank. She was busily engaged in picking the ripest berries while avoiding the prickles, her lips and fingers stained purple, when a rider appeared above her. She looked up to find a dark-haired man atop a big, black stallion, its nostrils steaming. The man's dark brows rose in inquiry and she thought she detected a certain censure in his gray eyes at her dishevelled appearance. His immaculate tan riding coat was superbly cut across his broad shoulders and his riding boots gleamed like mirrors. He made Kate, who generally cared little for her appearance, feel rather grubby.

“What are you doing on my land?” he demanded, his eyes raking her from head to foot.

“Y ... your land?” Kate tugged her gown down over her legs, vexed at the blackberry stain on a flounce that her mother's sharp gaze would find.

“Yes, my land,” he repeated, as if to one who was addled. “I am Jason Broughton from the Hall.”

“Well, there's no reason to repeat it, and so loudly, Lord Broughton. I am not hard of hearing,” she responded, climbing up the bank, then added, having reached solid ground, “I am not in my dotage you know.”

A glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes. “Indeed you are not. Are you a servant from one of the big houses?”

Kate pulled her bonnet straight. Jutting out her chin, she looked the rather fearsome Lord Broughton directly in the eye. “A neighbour of yours, Lord Broughton. I am Katherine Kilgarth of Roseheath.” She turned and pointed. “Roseheath is but a mile away over that hill. You must know of it. I thought Broughton Hall was boarded up and no one lived there. Indeed, no-one has lived there for as long as I can remember.”

The stallion danced about, eager to be gone. “That cannot be so very long a time, can it? You use this path as a short cut. Where does it take you?” There was a slightly teasing note in his voice that seemed at odds with the aloofness of his expression.

“I only cross these fields when I visit Firth Manor. Surely, it can hurt no one.” Kate was growing tired of being made to feel like a poacher. “Please rest assured that I shall walk the long way round in future.”

“So, my blackberries will now be safe from further assault?”

Kate looked up quickly from beneath her bonnet. Was there the suggestion of a smile hovering about his full-lipped mouth? She found herself wondering what a smile would do to that face.

He lifted his hat. “Good day to you, Miss Kilgarth. I daresay we shall see more of each other, village life being what it is.”

Kate had no time to answer before he took off, the powerful horse galloping with ease up over the rise and disappearing amongst the beech trees in the Homewood of Broughton Hall. She turned away down the path, wishing she'd worn her new spotted muslin with the yellow sash.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Two

Taking off her bonnet and pelisse, Kate shook out her waist-length curls as her mother called to her from the morning room. Walking in, she found her mother sitting with her sewing case beside her, her hands deftly darning a stocking. Before Kate could tell her the news, Mrs. Kilgarth said, “Darling, did you know that Broughton Hall is inhabited again?”

Kate sat down beside the sweet-faced woman with the wavy, chestnut hair and bright, blue eyes that she herself had inherited.

“Kate! You're in such a state. I wish you wouldn't go tramping all over the countryside in the mid-day. Your poor complexion! You'll be a mass of freckles. You do look a fright. I hope no one saw you.”

Kate tucked the berry-stained flounce out of sight as she rushed on with her news. “But I did, Mamma! I just met Lord Broughton.”

“You did? What is he like?” Before Kate could answer, her mother shook her head and groaned. “And you, looking like that!”

Kate halted in the act of pulling off her gloves, remembering her juice-stained fingers. “He was quite fierce looking and rather rude.”

“He was discourteous?”

“A little, I was on his land.”

“Oh Kate. He can't have minded that, surely?”

Kate shrugged. She was not at all sure about Lord Jason of Broughton Hall. “Mamma, why has Broughton Hall been empty for so long? Lord Broughton must be at least thirty. Where has he been all this time?”

“Living abroad. Paris, I believe.”

“Paris!” Kate longed to travel abroad herself.

“When he was quite young, he quarrelled with his father and ran away. He was known to be a wild young man then, and there were rumors of trouble up at the Hall, some said gambling debts-we never knew for sure. They were twins, you know. He and Peter. Jason was the first-born son, but he didn't come back to claim the title when his father died. In his absence, Peter took over the estate. You know the rest, how the whole west wing of the Hall was destroyed in a fire that claimed Peter's life. That was eight years ago and it has been empty ever since.”

Kate watched her Mamma thread her needle with a fresh piece of yarn. “I think it's still a very fine old house,” she went on, plunging the needle into the heel of the stocking. “I must say I am glad he has returned. I hope he means to rebuild the Hall and put things in order. The park and the Homewood have grown wild and there is much to be done. He is certainly old enough, and I trust mature enough, to take on his responsibilities.”

“I wonder if he will attend any of the dances at the assembly rooms,” Kate said. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had missed afternoon tea. She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and, polishing it on her gown, took a large bite.

Her mother made a clucking noise with her tongue. “Darling, not with your gloves. Oh dear. I'm never going to turn you into a lady.”

“Broughton will certainly be expected to attend,” her mother continued. “And despite the rumours that still cling to him, he is an attractive proposition for the marriage market. How are things at Firth Manor?”

“The family's gone to London. Laurie's grandmother passed away.”

“I'm sorry to hear it, darling.” Mrs. Amelia Kilgarth put down her sewing and gave her untidy child a quick hug. “Come, don't be too sad, my love. She was a very old lady, was she not?”

“Does this mean Laurie will come into his inheritance?” This sally came from a young man who had just entered the room.

“Hush, Charles. ‘Tis none of your concern. Where have you been? Your father was going to take you with him to see John Polster's new foal.”

“Blast.”

“Charles, Please! Your language.”

Charles's hair was more red than chestnut and he had considerably more freckles than Kate. His nose turned up slightly, giving him an impish appearance, which had so far been a good estimation of his character. He towered over his little sister, although almost three years her junior. He gave one of her curls a tweak. “I suppose you and Laurie shall soon be tying the knot, Sis.”

“Ouch!” she said, slapping his hand away. “Well, you suppose wrong, Charlie. There is no question of that. I hope to have my season in London, very soon.”

“Have you had a reply from Aunt Abbey, Mamma?”

Her mother smiled. “In today's post. I was going to wait until your father returned to tell you, but,” she drew a letter from the pocket of her apron, “Aunt Abbey writes that she has mourned long enough for Uncle Frederick. She says it will not bring him back to her. Two years have passed and now she is prepared to take you under her wing. You are to go to her this coming season!”

Kate took a deep breath. “Oh Mamma, that's wonderful. When?”

“Right after Easter. We have four weeks to prepare and we shall need every day of them.” She smiled. “Just think love, you shall put up your hair.”

Kate shook her head. “Oh, fig. I'm much more interested in seeing the Tower!”

“Now Kate, you must make an effort. We shall have to start considering your wardrobe immediately.”

“If you're going to discuss bonnets, I'm going to feed the chickens,” Charles said in disgust.

* * * *

On Friday, Kate walked the long way around to Firth Manor. The Firth's had returned from London dressed in mourning attire. Laurie was home for only a brief stay. He had to return to Cambridge the next day.

They had an excellent ride together, exercising frisky horses that had been cooped up too long. When walking the tired horses back, Laurie suggested they stop by the river. They tied up their mounts at their favourite spot, an ancient oak tree splintered by lightning on the bank of the river.

They sat on the soft grass, leaning their backs against the petrified wood. “As you know, Kat, I finish my education at the end of this term. I have to be thinking about my future,” Laurie said.

Kate realized that life was about to change forever. Exciting though it was, she couldn't help feeling a little sad. “Do you still plan to go into the diplomatic service like your father?”

His warm brown eyes studied her with an expression she hadn't seen before. She was suddenly aware that she was holding her breath.

“Yes,” he answered seriously. He ran his hand through his curly, fair hair. “It means moving to London, initially, then....”

Kate's eyes filled with tears. “Then you'll travel all over the world. How I envy you that.”

He reached out and took her hand. “You might come with me as my wife.”

Kate angrily wiped her eyes. “I'll miss you, Laurie, but I can't.”

He frowned, a red flush appearing on his cheeks as if she'd slapped him. “Don't you love me a bit, Kat?” he said roughly.

Kate brushed a leaf from her riding outfit. “Yes ... but one day someone will love you a lot. In the right way.”

“The way I love you.”

“You mistake friendship for love.”

“It darn well isn't friendship.” Laurie pushed Kate back against the tree trunk. He brought his lips down on hers in a clumsy, inexpert kiss.

Surprised, Kate kissed him back. His hands moved over her riding habit above her rapidly beating heart. She had dreams of this, but the man's face in her dreams was always a blur. One day, soon she hoped, she would find him and they would make love. The way her parents did. She'd read all about it in a book on the human body she'd found in her father's surgery.

He drew away with a mumbled apology. Kate touched her fingers to her lips. “I know your papa's fond of me, but I doubt he would want you to marry me, Laurie,” she said thoughtfully.

At the sound of a horse's whinny, they looked up to find Lord Broughton sitting astride his stallion. He leaned forward in the saddle, one hand on top of the other, holding the reins in a studied, casual pose. Kate felt her cheeks burn, sure he had witnessed the kiss. If this was put about she would be sorely compromised and lose her chance to go to London. Worse, Laurie might be made to marry her!

“We've met before, Miss Kilgarth.” Lord Broughton nodded politely. “I seem to have lost my prize, spaniel bitch. You haven't come across her wandering about, have you?”

Kate and Laurie climbed to their feet. “Lord Broughton, I'd like you to meet Viscount Wexley,” Kate said, horribly aware of a willow frond that had attached itself to her hair.

“I say, Sir, that's a beautiful stepper you have there,” Laurie exclaimed, sounding young again like the Laurie she knew. He moved forward to stroke the horse's nose.

“Thank you. He has sired a foal. Perhaps you'd like to see it some time? It's due to be born very soon.”

“Would I! Oh, dash it. I'm off back to Cambridge tomorrow.”

Kate sighed, wishing she was as easily distracted. Men could be quite simple at times.

“And my dog? A liver-spotted spaniel?”

“No, I'm afraid we haven't seen it, but we'll certainly keep an eye out for it.” Kate wished Lord Broughton would go away and this embarrassing incident could be forgotten.

As if he heard her wish, Lord Broughton nodded good day and turned his horse's head, riding away through the trees.

“Damn. I wish I could stay around to see the changes Lord Broughton brings to the place,” mused Laurie, turning to Kate. Romance now seemed the farthest thing from his mind. “His pockets will bleed freely when the tradesmen start on Broughton Hall and its acres. But he looks like you couldn't put much over on him.”

“You'll probably rub shoulders with him at the dances in town, Kat.”

“Mm,” responded Kate. She'd had as much contemplation from Lord Broughton's intense gray eyes as she could stand.

“Kat, when you go to your Aunt in London, I'm going to try and come down to see you,” Laurie said as they untied their horses.

“How can you do that, Laurie?” Kate said, doubting the wisdom of it. “Lord Firth will never allow it.”

Laurie mounted his horse and grinned at her. “I'll think of a way.”

“I wish you wouldn't, Laurie.” Kate was torn between desire for a friendly face in London and discouraging him. “Most certainly not if it gets you into trouble.”

Laurie kicked his horse into a canter and took off down the avenue. “I say, you are becoming a scold in your old age, Kat,” he threw over his shoulder. “I'm determined to witness the hit you'll be at Almacks."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Three

Kate's first social engagement was a dance at the assembly rooms in Canterbury.

“This is an excellent introduction to society for you, Kate love,” said her mother, “before you go off to London.”

Kate wore her first ball gown, unadorned white muslin with cap sleeves and a scooped neck. The housemaid, Sarah-Kate's father kept only a small staff at Roseheath-dressed her hair in the latest, Grecian style. “Your natural curls are perfect for this, Miss Katherine,” Sarah murmured, as she coaxed ringlets around her finger, letting them fall to frame Kate's face.

“You look quite charming, my love,” her mother said proudly, clasping her pearls around Kate's neck. “Simplicity is by far the best foil for a young woman.”

At the assembly rooms, Kate was soon swamped by friendly faces. She joined in with half a dozen enthusiastic couples to form a set for a country-dance, partnered by the solicitor's son, Samuel. It took ages to complete and Samuel stomped on her feet more than once, but it allowed Kate to chat to everyone as the groups formed and re-formed, from bottom to top.

Several dances later, when Kate sat thirstily drinking a glass of lemonade beside a potted palm, a hush came over the gathering. Jason Broughton strolled through the door, elegantly dressed in black evening clothes, his hair brushed into the ‘Brutus'. A ruby pin glowed from the snowy folds of his cravat. After a pause, several women pushed their husband's forward, wishing an introduction to their daughters in what Kate thought a deplorably toad-eating fashion.

“There's Lord Broughton,” her friend, Alice Berry hissed in her ear. “I heard Papa tell Mamma that he almost killed a man in a duel. I'll wager it was a matter of the heart.”

Alice had a fondness for her brother's colorful expressions. Kate nodded in Alice's direction. Turning back, she was surprised to see that after chatting briefly with those he knew and those who commanded his attention, Lord Broughton was making his way to her side. At that point, Alice was whisked away to dance with her brother-in-law and Kate was left alone.

“Miss Kilgarth, it's nice to find you here,” Lord Broughton said in a dry tone that made Kate feel he was bemused by them all. “I'd resigned myself to a dull evening.” Kate studied his face. His manner always made her feel unsure of herself. She'd never met anyone like him. His years in Paris, she supposed, had made him quite unlike the country folk of a small, English village.

“We are not so dull as all that, Lord Broughton,” she replied.

“Ah. No. That sounded rude. And certainly not you, Kate,” he said. His enigmatic gray eyes studied her. “You look very well, this evening.”

“Thank you.”

A gleam appeared in his eyes. “Although you were quite fetching with that willow frond in your hair and with your lips kissed ... by blackberries.”

He had seen the kiss. Was it a challenge? She lifted her chin. “I'm just a country girl, Lord Broughton. I know you are at home in Parisian society. I'm aware of the brilliance of the repartee to be heard there. It is much too clever for me.”

“Oh, I think not, Miss Kilgarth,” he said unsteadily, “but I accept your reprimand and apologize again. It is I who am being boorish. Perhaps you could forgive me enough to save me the waltz? Or have one of the eager young bucks already claimed it?”

As the few young men who bothered to make an appearance at the dance were more intent on playing cards, there remained a blank space beside the waltz. Kate felt suddenly nervous, wondering if she was good enough, but before she could debate the question, the decision was made for her. After studying the card from over her shoulder, he reached across and pointed. ‘I see you still have the waltz free. Were you saving it for someone?'

“No....”

He looked around the room. “I don't see young Wexley. Is he here?”

“Viscount Wexley has returned to Cambridge,” she replied icily. “I don't waltz, Lord Broughton.”

“I'm sure you will make an exception this time, for me.”

He had neatly cornered her. To refuse him now would be rude and would bring censure from her mother, who was watching closely, she knew. “I'd be honoured, my Lord,” she said, writing his name beside the dance.

“Thank you, Miss Kilgarth.” Lord Broughton bowed gracefully and left her alone to ponder why he wished to dance with her. She watched as Clara Green and her mother claimed his attention. She had heard Clara's gown discussed at length in whispered indignation. It seemed an unfair advantage to the lesser-endowed girls and those whose mothers demanded a more modest style of dress. Cut scandalously low, Clara's ample bosom heaved alarmingly as she fluttered her eyelashes up at Lord Broughton and simpered behind her fan.

By the time the musicians struck up in waltz time, Kate had decided that Lord Broughton was merely fulfilling what society required of him.

He appeared at her side. “I do enjoy a dance, Miss Kilgarth. Do not you?”

She nodded, feeling strangely breathless as he took her in his arms. He ignored the general fashion of just touching and placed a firm hand at her waist. He turned her expertly as they sailed gracefully around the room. Kate felt as light as a dove's feather. It was much easier to dance with him than it had been with Laurie, who always ended up stumbling over her feet and collapsing into laughter. As the room spun, her gaze alighted briefly on her mother's smiling countenance, until she was too dizzy to look anywhere but shyly up into his face. The beleaguered expression she had seen in his eyes vanished as he smiled down at her.

When the dance ended, he bowed. “That was delightful,” he said formally, the sparkle fading from his eyes. She thought his shoulders slumped as he made his way to the door, saying goodnight to those around him. It had been the last dance of the evening. The musicians began packing up and everyone was rushing to don bonnets, cloaks, and pelisses. Through the open doorway, rain began to fall.

“Did you enjoy your first waltz, my pet?” her mother asked on the way home in the carriage.

“Oh, it was lovely, Mamma,” Kate answered, leaning her head against her mother's shoulder. Lord Broughton was proving to be a fascinating addition to their small village. As she gazed out at the black night and pelting rain, she was quite sure that nothing in London could be quite as eventful as her first dance.

* * * *

Rising late the next morning, Kate opened the door to find a spaniel huddled on the doorstep.

“Hello, girl! You must be Lord Broughton's lost dog. And very hungry I'll bet. Come to the kitchen.” Kate made sure the dog followed her around the back of the house where she implored cook to give her water and a meaty bone to chew.

For some reason, Kate felt the need to take a little extra time with her hair and dressed in her spotted muslin before taking the dog back to Broughton Hall. Securing the animal with a long piece of twine, she began her trek over the fields. She picked some white snowdrops and tucked them into her sash before clambering over a sty. In a stop, start, process, as the dog sniffed here and there, they made their way towards the woods that spread over the hills at the rear of the great house. Kate was enjoying herself. It was a warm spring day and the daffodils were coming out, nodding their bright heads in the soft breeze.

She entered the woods, finding them dark and so overgrown they were almost impenetrable. It would have been wiser, perhaps, to have taken the road. Thorns caught at her dress and she had to stop to untangle them, afraid they would tear the delicate material. The spaniel's fur stood on end and she began to growl. “What's the matter, girl?” Kate asked, bending down to give her a pat. A squirrel probably, she thought uneasily. Ahead, a flock of pheasants flew into the air, squawking. Kate stopped, her heart beating fast. Laughing at herself, she continued on. She knew there were large numbers of pheasants and other game birds in the woods. It had been left undisturbed for years. Foxes, too, more than likely. The dog whined and propped, digging her paws into the ground. Kate pulled hard on the rope and coaxed her in a soft voice. She had to kneel down and stroke the dog to settle her before she got her moving again. When she rose, she gazed uneasily at the splashes of mud on her dress. “Come on, Girl,” she cried, losing her patience.

It grew lighter. Kate walked across a carpet of bluebells and out into the welcome sunlight. She stopped. Broughton Hall sat on the next rise, its warm herringbone brick almost completely covered in ivy, its beauty marred by the scarred and blackened west wing. The dog lifted its nose to the breeze. Home was near. She took off, pulling Kate through nettles and undergrowth, along a path where moss-covered statues loomed from shrubbery in desperate need of trimming. They emerged from the bushes and Kate found herself in the front of the magnificent old manor house. It had been lived in for the past one hundred fifty years by Lord Broughton's descendants. She had never been inside, but had heard her mother talk of its fine works of art, its furniture crafted from oak, walnut and mahogany, its tapestries and porcelain.

Kate took a deep breath. The air was filled with the scent of roses and freshly cut grass. A broad carriageway, bordered by an avenue of elms, circumnavigated the smooth stretch of newly scythed lawns.

She had barely stepped out onto the gravel when a voice called to her. Turning, she saw Lord Broughton striding towards her, his face looking like thunder.

“What the deuce were you doing, coming through the Homewood? I thought we'd agreed you would not cross my lands again.”

At this moment, the spaniel emerged from a clump of bushes and rushed to her master's side. Kate let the lead go as the dog, tongue lolling, placed its muddy paws on his thighs. “I believe that is your dog, Lord Broughton,” she said coolly.

His expression softened as he stroked the dog's velvet head. “I thank you for bringing her to me, Miss Kilgarth,” he replied. “She's not used to her new surrounds as yet.” He straightened. “My rudeness is unforgivable. Please allow me to drive you home.”

“No, thank you, my lord.” Kate had had quite enough of the unpredictable Lord Broughton. “I enjoy walking.”

“Then I'll escort you to the front gates, Miss Kilgarth.”

“Please don't bother.” Kate was off down the drive before he could reply. She knew his over-excited dog would make it difficult for him should he decide to the follow her. She didn't look back.

Kate walked in the door to find her mother frowning and tapping her foot. “Look at your gown! Katherine Kilgarth, did you take that dog back to Lord Broughton on your own? You are not a schoolroom miss any longer. I will not have you compromising your future with such rash actions. One more display of disobedience and you shall not go to London."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four

Kate's trip to her aunt in London pushed all thoughts of Lord Broughton from her mind. Aunt Abbey lived in a large house next to Hyde Park on Park Lane, a childless widow Kate found to be very set in her ways. The curtains remained closed in the daytime, casting a depressing gloom over the rooms. The drawing room mirrors and her uncle's framed likeness were draped in black cloth. Her aunt herself was draped in black from head to foot, in full mourning. She never left the house without a black veil covering her face.

The melancholic surroundings of her new home didn't stifle Kate's irrepressible nature. She rushed to check the post every morning as invitations flowed in for balls and routs. The date of her first appearance at Almacks quickly drew near. They made many sojourns to dressmakers and the shops in Bond Street and Regent Street before Aunt Abbey felt satisfied that Kate had lost her countrified image.

The night of her first dance, Kate gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Pulling the satin gloves high up her arms, she had to agree with Aunt Abbey's judgment. Her long hair was piled up into a bun and dressed with ribbons. Her aunt's diamond pendant nestled in the low neck of her white silk gown and more diamonds dangled from her ears. She felt sure she had taken on more than a hint of ‘town bronze'.

Kate was pursued for every dance. In her cheerless way, Aunt Abbey seemed pleased. “You've made a good impression, Katherine,” she said.

Sitting beside her aunt as the evening grew to a close, a familiar voice whispered in Kate's ear. “You do look a treat, Kat! I hardly recognized you.”

“Laurie!” Oddly, she had been feeling a tiny bit homesick and was delighted to see his friendly face. She introduced him to her aunt.

“I've heard quite a bit about you, Laurence,” Aunt Abbey said smiling. “I'm being beckoned by Lady Jersey and I must comply. I'll leave you two young things together.”

Kate watched, pleased, as her aunt walked away with a sprightly step. She had discarded her black garb for a smart, plum-colored gown. Kate turned to lay her gloved hand on Laurie's arm. “I can't talk for very long. I have the next dance with Lord Dalgleish. Have you your father's permission to come down?”

“Don't worry, Kat. Father knows I'm here. I'm returning to Cambridge in the morning.”

Relieved, Kate asked, “Where do you stay?”

“Firth House. Father has come up to sort out Grandmother's affairs. I guess we don't get to dance together,” he said, eyeing her full dance card.

“If I'd known, Laurie, I would have saved you some. Look, there's Lady Sally Pool. I could introduce you. I think you'll like her. Perhaps she has a dance free.”

“She's not you, Kat.”

Kate grabbed his sleeve. “Come on.”

Sally was a quiet girl with serious brown eyes. Kate liked her. They'd had an interesting conversation about Napoleon.

As she danced with Lord Dalgleish, Kate looked over at Laurie, dancing with Sally. They managed to keep up quite a conversation despite the rigours of the dance. She saw that her hours of tutelage had come to fruition. Laurie made a good appearance on the dance floor, surprisingly graceful in fact. When had he filled out so? His shoulders looked quite broad in that coat.

As Lord Dalgleish returned her to her seat, he screwed in his pince-nez and studied her, quite rudely she thought, as if inspecting a horse. “You're a fine looking gel, Miss Kilgarth. Your father is an Irishman I believe ... a country doctor...?” His voice faded. He removed the glass and waved it languidly back and forth.

“Yes. A very good doctor, Lord Dalgleish.”

“Mm. Pity. You may triumph despite it.”

“I beg your pardon!” Kate gave him the full benefit of her flashing Irish eyes, but Lord Dalgleish, who she thought looked silly in his garishly striped waistcoat and stiff collar points high under his chin, merely bowed and retreated.

* * * *

The busy season progressed. Kate firmly refused to encourage the interest of two gentlemen, causing her aunt to go about sighing repeatedly.

“They are both good men, Katherine. Mr. Swait is a personable man with a decent income, a trifle pale perhaps-I hope it's not the consumption-and bookish, but I thought you would like that?” She ignored Kate's horrified expression and continued. Mr. Bainscort is a man of some means. He possesses a house in town and a country manor house, to boot. He's a widower and a little older of course, close to forty, but you could have a secure life with him,” she advised. “And in a few years, who knows? You may well be free again.”

“No, thank you, Aunt.” Kate shuddered. “I'd rather live in a garret.”

“You are of the Romantic Persuasion, Katherine,” Aunt Abbey said, shaking her head. “I advise you to stop reading those poetry books of yours. Wordsworth and the like. Young women without fortune must have good sense. You will not be young forever.”

* * * *

Kate attended Lady Cunningham's ball. Her initial excitement at being in London was waning. She found herself quickly tiring of the falsity and shallowness of the Ton. Aunt Abbey was reluctant to escort her to places of interest. It seemed enough for her to shop and call on acquaintances during the day. She always slept late, leaving Kate to wander about, restless and bored, missing the freedom the country afforded her. She had begun to long for green fields and fresh air, the red poppies and purple foxgloves growing thick along the lanes.

The dancing had ended. Kate wasn't interested in playing cards or gambling in the saloons where a hundred candles heated the air with stifling smoke fumes. She ambled down a hallway of the elegant townhouse, seeking a quiet spot to sit and wait until her aunt was ready to leave.

She walked into a room, but the sound of harsh breathing caused her to falter. Lovers were locked in a passionate embrace. Kate stood transfixed as the man bent the woman back over the desk, his hand pinching a nipple where her bodice had been pulled down to expose a breast.

“I beg your pardon,” Kate gasped, backing away, but they didn't acknowledge her presence. The man was urgently pulling up the woman's gown as Kate turned, her cheeks burning, and rushed from the room.

She almost ran down the long hallway and cautiously went through another doorway. Relieved to find the library empty, she curled up in a high-backed chair by the fire, tucking her feet under her. Her mind was swirling with the vision of raw passion she had witnessed. Her heart pounded at the thought of provoking such a response in a man. It made her body yearn to feel a man's hands on her breasts and between her thighs. She took several deep breaths to calm herself. The flush had only just faded from her cheeks when the smell of cigar smoke and the sound of voices alerted her to two men entering the room. She sighed and began to reach for her sandals, but what she heard one man say, caused her to freeze.

“Do you suspect Broughton is looking for the list?”

“I know he hasn't found it. Yet. Spies tell me he is making a thorough itinerary of the house. Going from room to room.”

“Can you be sure it wasn't burned in the fire?”

“The place was searched before they put a match to it. A confounded nuisance the whole house didn't go up. Damned English climate-always raining. Who can be sure? It is a chance we cannot take.”

One voice was English, one French. Kate, holding her breath, her heart thumping, longed to look but dared not, for they would surely see her. Thankfully, they remained at the far end of the long room.

“Damned fool, young Peter Broughton. He got greedy and asked for too much money. No one's worth that much, even in this game. Perhaps, Pierre, Lord Jason should join him in an unfortunate accident?”

“Non! T'would prove a big mistake, Sir Harold! Two accidental deaths? That might bring more trouble down on our heads. If it looks like he's found it, we'll strike. Until then we should continue to watch him closely.”

“That is difficult, Pierre-a small village. A stranger would be noticed.”

“Mon dieu! You shall manage it, Sir Harold. That is what your spies are for, are they not?”

Their voices trailed away as they left the room and Kate let her breath out with a gasp. Popping her feet into her sandals, she darted into the hall, but the men had disappeared into the over-crowded rooms. She daren't follow straight away in case they see her and realize she had overheard them. Fortunately, two ladies came strolling down the hallway and Kate was able to slip back into the crowd. She saw her aunt and hurried over to her.

“There you are, Katherine. I've been looking for you everywhere.”

“I needed some air.”

Her aunt unfurled her fan and began to wave it in front of Kate's face. “Are you faint? Do you need smelling salts? Some burnt feathers perhaps? It will not do to collapse here-you know how rumours start, before you know it you'll be labelled as sickly.”

No one could feel less languid at this moment. Kate's cheeks were hot and she trembled with anger. If only she'd seen their faces.

“Aunt, who is Sir Harold?”

“Sir Harold? Which one, dear? There are two. Sir Harold Mortimer and Sir Harold Austerely. Both are here tonight.”

“Can you point them out to me?”

“Whatever for? You can't have a romantic notion about either of them, surely?”

“Perhaps I am mistaken, Aunt, but please indulge me.”

“Let me see.” Aunt Abbey looked around the room. “Such a crowd! I can only see Sir Harold Mortimer. He's the aged gentlemen with the stick, over by the fireplace.”

The man whose voice Kate heard would have been many years younger.

“Sir Harold Austerely is not in this room?”

“I can't see him, Katherine. I wish you'd tell me why you want to find him. He's fifty if he is a day! Why, you could have accepted Mr. Bainscort's offer!”

“Are there any Frenchmen here? Have you met anyone called Pierre tonight?”

Aunt Abbey fumbled with her pince-nez and peered at her shortsightedly. “A Frenchman named Pierre? What has got into you child? You must be exhausted. We shall go home immediately. Go and fetch my shawl!”

Kate pushed through the crowd, fruitlessly searching the faces. Should she enlist Laurie's help? No, he would be sure to go off half-cocked and get into trouble. She had to get word to Lord Broughton. That would mean conceiving some excuse to leave London. Her health would have to be the cause. Poor Aunt Abbey, she was so much happier since she'd returned to society, and now Kate would prove a bitter disappointment to her. But the suggestion of delicate health and homesickness would hasten her departure, and it was partly true. She suddenly felt very homesick.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five

Kate had plenty of time on the way home to Roseheath in her aunt's carriage to think of what she'd overheard at the ball. She remembered how intent Lord Jason had been on keeping her from roaming about his property. How angry he was when she walked through his woods, and how the dog had reacted. Could there have been someone hiding there? She shivered. She knew her mother wouldn't let her travel about quite as freely now she'd come out. She would cause a scandal if she was seen going to Broughton Hall on her own. She must write a note and take the gig to deliver it. Sarah would have to come with her. That would take Sarah away from her work and make Mamma angry and suspicious, but this could not wait for another social event to throw them together. She wondered if she should tell her mother and father about it, but decided against it, fearing it might place them in danger. She had to let Lord Broughton deal with this himself.

Kate's mother, although delighted to see her, was disappointed, too. “I did hope you'd meet someone you could love, Kate-someone who would take good care of you. Aunt Abbey said there were many opportunities, but she felt you weren't at all interested. Is it because of Laurie?”

“No, Mamma. I just didn't meet anyone nice enough.”

“Oh, Kate. I wanted the world for you.” Her mother sighed. “Now the best you can hope for is to be the wife of a country squire.”

Kate knew how much her father and mother loved each other. “Is that so very bad?”

“It suits me to be a country doctor's wife, but you are different. You've always had such an adventurous nature.”

Kate wasted no time in scribbling a note to Lord Broughton. She kept it simple, merely asking him to meet her at the tree where he'd found her and Laurie that day. The big old dead oak by the river. Could he come at three o'clock that afternoon?

Offering to pick up some provisions from the store, Kate and Sarah took the gig into town. On the way home, Kate drove the horse up the drive of Broughton Hall and delivered the note into the hands of Lord Broughton's butler. She felt very pleased with herself, knowing her mother planned to take tea with a neighbor and would not be focusing on her that afternoon. But, just past two, her mother came and asked her to accompany her on her visit.

“I feel a little unwell, Mamma,” Kate replied, hating to lie.

Her mother began removing her bonnet. “So that is it. You're coming down with something you've picked up in that big, dirty city. I'd better stay home with you.”

“I'm just a little tired, Mamma. Please go. I'll feel worse knowing you've had to stay home because of me.”

Her mother put a hand on her forehead and gazed into her eyes. “You don't have a fever. You look extremely well, I must say, although your eyes are a little too bright.”

“I'll read a little and take a nap. By the time you're back, I'll be better. I just know it.”

“No, Kate. I'll stay home and have cook brew a tisane. I'm sure Mrs. Fife shall survive without my company.”

“Oh, Mamma, I'm really not that ill! Not a horrid tisane, please,” protested Kate in alarm. “I just need some time to myself.”

As her mother hesitated, Kate realized she would have to leave very soon, or Lord Broughton would have come and gone again.

“It's not like you to want to spend time alone.” Kate held her breath as her mother deliberated. “Very well,” she said at last. “I'll have another good look at you when I return. Rest now.”

Sure that she was now too late, Kate grabbed her bonnet and was off as soon as the gig bearing her mother with a basket of scones rounded the bend in the road. She arrived at the tree puffed and breathless to find no one around. Fresh horse droppings told her Lord Broughton had answered her note. She stamped her foot in frustration. What next? She couldn't risk going all the way to Broughton Hall on foot. She'd never get back in time. There was nothing for it, she'd have to go home again and hope that curiosity would cause him to seek her out.

She was trudging through a meadow when he rode up to her.

“Why, Miss Kilgarth, what has prompted such a rash action?”

“I'm sorry, Lord Broughton, this was the only way I could see you. I hoped I'd have plenty of time to tell you all, but I have to go home or Mamma will know I told a lie,” she replied breathlessly.

“A lie, Miss Kilgarth? On my account?” Lord Broughton looked amused.

“There's nothing funny about this, Lord Broughton,” said Kate crossly. “I have a good mind to withhold this information, although I suspect it means life or death to you.”

“What is this, Miss Kilgarth?” Looking puzzled, he dismounted.

Kate began to gasp out her story, but in her haste, it sounded somewhat muddled. He held up his hand, interrupting her. “Just a moment.” The meadow was thick with buttercups and cowslips. Spreading his coat on the ground, he took her arm. “Sit down. Please. Take a deep breath and tell me again. Slowly, from the beginning.”

Kate sat and fidgeted nervously as he found a suitable spot that would no doubt prevent his immaculate breeches suffering pollen stains. As his horse snuffled around in the grass beside them, he said, “Now. Please continue.”

Kate began again. She described the conversation she had overheard at the ball and the names of the men involved. Lord Broughton listened intently, his frown deepening. When she came to the end, he spoke. “I've heard you called Kate, may I also?”

She nodded.

“I see I owe you an explanation, Kate. I have a rather sad story to tell you. I know you will not go spreading it about.”

“I am not a goose. I know when to keep a secret close.”

He nodded. “And you won't go wandering about my lands anymore, will you, Kate.”

She shook her head. “You should take great care, too, Lord Broughton,” she said fiercely. “They said they will kill you, should you find that document.”

“Jason, please,” he amended gently. “I have to go back ten years to when my brother, Peter was just a foolish boy. He began gambling and got himself into debt with a moneylender in London. He confided in me but made me swear not to tell Father. I tried to help him, gave him any money I had, but his gambling continued and he began to steal valuables from Broughton Hall to pay the dangerous rogue he was indebted to. Father was ill. I knew Peter to be his favourite son, so I allowed him to think I was responsible. I made sure that Peter had repaid the entire amount before I left, seeking my fortune elsewhere. It had become ... too difficult to remain here, so I made my way to Paris. I was very young and troubled, I suppose, but that's no excuse for getting into bad company, gambling for my living and ... well, we won't go into the rest. When word came that Father had died, I wrote to Peter. He came to Paris and stayed a while, telling me that Father never recovered from my leaving and had tried to find me. I sunk even lower. Then something happened that pulled me back from the brink.”

Kate was sure he spoke of the duel, but she kept silent.

“I didn't hear anything from England for some time,” Jason went on, “until a letter came from the family solicitor advising me of Peter's death and the fire in the west wing. He believed Peter had been murdered-that he'd been spying for the French during the war and had hidden secret documents away somewhere at the Hall.”

She continued to sit quietly as Jason's incredible story unfolded.

“I felt too sad to come home and had little money to do so. I was determined not to come back with my tail between my legs. Peter had gone through almost all the Broughton family fortune except for this property and the town house. He couldn't sell those as long as I lived. I settled down, used the small legacy sent over to me by the solicitor. I made some sound business dealings and my fortunes improved. But I knew I couldn't let my home molder into the ground forever. The desire to return became too strong.”

“I believe it's quite possible the document that Peter hid in Broughton Hall is still there, Kate. I want to find it, to put it in the hands of the authorities. To help my country, I guess. And to make amends for my brother's actions, too.” His eyes were sad as he gazed down at her. “And as you've just told me, other people wish to find this document for their own nefarious reasons. Sir Harold Austerely? I know the man. It seems that this list contains the names of people in high places, traitors to our country.”

“The trick is to think in the same way as my brother,” he said thoughtfully. “Where would he have hidden it? I am covering all the hiding places we used as children. The west wing was where our father's apartments were. Peter would not have been staying in that part of the Hall. I'm sure of it.”

“Might he not have moved in there after your father's death?”

“Absolutely not. He would have felt guilt and he ran from such things.”

“Then why do you think he was there when...?”

“He died? He may have taken his murderers there. He might have tried to escape.... “He sadly shook his head. “I don't know. But one thing I do know, Kate, is that you are not to be in anyway involved in this.” He sprang up and reached down to pull her to her feet.

“There, I have told you far more than I intended to ever tell anyone,” Jason said, shaking his head. “There's something about you that invites trust.”

“Oh! I'll never make it home in time,” Kate cried, suddenly aware of how long they'd been talking.

“I'll take you as far as I can without us being seen.” Jason mounted his horse. He leaned down and scooped her up behind him. Kate sat sideways, arms tight around his waist. This was the closest she'd been to any man except Laurie, who didn't really count. She breathed in his musky cologne. No man she had come across had used such a thing, certainly not Father. It was very pleasant. She leaned against his strong, muscled back as he rode over the fields and up to the band of chestnut trees that hid Roseheath from view.

“Down you go, Kate. I am indebted to you for your help.”

He leaned down and lightly chucked her under the chin. “You're a brave, sensible girl. Take care and stay away.”

Jason rode back across the fields as Kate, holding onto her bonnet, ran full pelt for home. Arriving at the door, she heard the gig come through the gates and flew upstairs, throwing herself on her bed. Her mother came up shortly after, entering the room and exclaiming. “Oh, you look so flushed, darling.” She placed her hand on Kate's forehead again. “But you are still quite cool, so it can't be much. You overdid it in London, perhaps. Life here in the country is going to seem very dull for you now, isn't it?"

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six

An elegant carriage trundled up to the entrance of Broughton Hall. The groom jumped down and opened the carriage door. Putting down the steps, he offered his hand to the occupant inside.

Out stepped a vision. Golden curls danced from beneath a poke bonnet trimmed with feathers. The little face beneath its rim was captivating. Enormous, sapphire-blue eyes took in the burned out wing of Broughton Hall and the small, Cupid's bow mouth firmed.

Lord Broughton came down the steps to greet her. He bowed over her hand, but his demeanor was decidedly less enthusiastic than most of the men the young woman encountered.

“It is a pleasure to see you, Angelique, but I do wish you'd advised me earlier of your coming. I would have been better prepared.”

Once inside, Angelique's maid assisted in the removal of her sable-collared cloak, muff, and bonnet. The beautiful young woman took several dainty steps into the centre of the great hall and twirled around to face him. She put a hand up to the riotous curls that framed her perfect features. “Bon jour, Jason. The channel was very rough. I am trés fatique. I must look a fright.”

“You know very well it would be impossible for you to do so,” Jason remarked dryly.

“I do hope I am welcome,” she said, pouting.

“Of course. After all this is your home as much as mine.”

Her blue eyes viewed him quizzically. “I'm relieved to hear you say that it is so. I need to change and freshen up. Where have you put me?”

“The Blue Suite in the east wing, Angelique. Not exactly Parisian in style. I hope you may be comfortable.” He waved his hand over the building work already in progress. “We are still at sixes and sevens here.”

She shook out the ruffles of her primrose carriage dress. “It shall serve nicely. Merci beaucoup.”

* * * *

“I am glad to see you've discarded your widow's weeds,” Jason remarked, eyeing the diamonds sparkling on Angelique's bosom as they sat in the drawing room after dinner. The gown showed off her lovely shoulders, a fashion he hoped the English would soon adopt.

“Long ago, my dear brother-in-law. A person must get on with life, is that not so?”

“I quite agree. You shall be an ornament to Broughton Hall as long as you choose to stay.”

Angelique raised delicate eyebrows. “And if I intend to stay ... forever?”

Jason took a sip of his brandy. “You are a town butterfly, Angelique. I doubt you wish to do that.”

Angelique rose and walked about the room, lightly touching a blue Sevres vase resting on a slender, rosewood table, before turning to face him. “My marriage to Peter was brief. I doubt you know me well.”

“As you have never set foot in England, preferring to stay abroad after your marriage to my brother, I admit that is so. During our brief encounters in Paris, you revealed little of your intentions. That's why I'm curious, Angelique. Why did you marry Peter?”

“You do not believe it was for love?”

Jason shrugged. “I confess I'm puzzled. You showed no such wifely devotion when Peter returned to England alone. When you married, you were well aware I still lived and he was not the first-born son. You have never made claim to anything. Why have you come now?”

Angelique studied him, her lovely face tilted slightly. “You invited me, did you not?”

“I confess I hardly expected you to take up my offer after all this time.”

“I know one thing and that is you have changed, Jason. You are not the wild and rakish young man I met in Paris.”

“Everyone has to grow up sometime.”

She unfurled her ivory fan and fanned herself daintily. “I think I prefer the old Jason. You were so exciting in those days. And now that seems to have gone.... “She put her full lips together making a gentle ‘poof', that was, to Jason, so very French. He had to admit it made her look very kissable.

Smiling, he said, “And now?”

“I have not come here to criticize my gracious host, Jason. We are family. But you have become most serious, have you not? You once had fire in your eyes.” She lowered long, golden lashes, hiding her eyes from his amused gaze. “I found you most attractive.”

“You kept that secret from me at the time, Angelique.”

“It would have been unseemly not to.”

“Some would find it unseemly still.”

She rose quickly to her feet. “Pah! You have become a bore. I go to bed.”

Jason rose and bowed as Angelique left the room with a rustle of lilac silk. He walked to the door, deep in thought, as he watched her slender form mount the stairs. She had come at a deuced bad time. He would find it difficult to keep searching while she was here. And now he would have to keep her safe, as well. Damn! She hadn't answered his question. It was years since he'd invited her to come and take anything she wished back with her. He didn't believe for a moment that he himself was the attraction. His brother's actions had bewildered him at the time. To marry such a girl, then leave her behind in Paris after settling a large sum of money on her, enough to last her lifetime. He had not resented him doing so then, and he did not resent it now. But there was a story behind it he hadn't been privy to. He must take care. She was dangerously bewitching. He would have expected her to remarry before this. What was wrong with French males? Were they blind?

* * * *

Kate was bored. She missed Laurie's company but knew things wouldn't change even if he were here. They could no longer ride about the countryside alone together. She had been severely reined in. Expected to act like a young lady and not the hoyden her mother accused her of still being at heart. Her one treat was to travel into the village when a servant went to do some shopping and this she did at every opportunity. These trips weren't to catch a glimpse of Jason, she assured herself, although she did spend an inordinate amount of time wondering how things were going up at the Hall. Would he tell her if he found the document?

It was on such a trip, when she was alighting from the gig in front of the lending library, Alice Berry rushed up to her. “Have you heard about the lady newly arrived at the Hall?” she asked breathlessly.

“No, of course not. I never hear a thing out at Roseheath. What lady?”

“Angelique Broughton-said to be Peter's widow. I saw her in town this morning. My, you should have seen her costume! She is so elegant. I'm willing to bet her clothes come from Paris. After all, she is French. I heard her speak to the haberdasher with a charming accent.”

“I didn't know Peter had a wife.”

“No one did. It's caused a lot of gossip. I wouldn't be surprised if she has come to marry Lord Broughton.”

Kate had felt better when she was bored. This was entirely more excitement than she needed. “What nonsense. Why would they suddenly up and marry?”

“If you saw her, Kate, you'd understand. She is very beautiful.”

“Very?”

“Indeed yes. Her figure is wonderful and her hair is pure gold and her skin....”

“Oh, for heavens sake, Alice, do stop prattling on so,” Kate said crossly.

Alice paused in her discourse, her mouth open. It was most unusual for her good-natured friend to speak to her so. Surprise changed to a knowing look when she arrived at what clearly must be the right answer. “Why, you are in love with Lord Broughton!” she gasped.

“Don't be an idiot. How could I be? He is years older than I am.”

“Fiddlesticks! He's thirty and most attractive.”

“Stop looking at me like that. I am not in love with him and that's that.”

Alice became concerned. “It would be better if you were not, Kate. I wouldn't want to see your heart broken. I must say, we have all been expecting you to marry Laurie.”

“I don't know why. I've told you a hundred times, Alice. I'm not in love with Laurie. As you persist in being most annoying, I'm going home!”

As Alice stood staring after her, Kate took herself off, feeling decidedly flat. She wasn't in love with Jason. She found him interesting, that was all. She certainly meant little to him, merely an unlikely participant in the web of intrigue that surrounded him. She had to admit that when Jason responded to her like a father it had cut at her like a knife. She sighed. It was becoming very hard of late to decipher her emotions. Her despairing aunt had told her that she seemed to care nothing for the art of flirting. Perhaps she should seek to acquire it. And now this Angelique had come to stay at the Hall. A charming woman, and beautiful by all accounts. There was no way she could hope to compete, even if she should wish to.

I must get away, she thought. But where? She took off her bonnet and ran her hands through her hair, so deep in thought, she remained unaware she had turned it into a bird's nest. She certainly couldn't return to her aunt. She had wiped her hands of Kate. But wait! Laurie's family had invited her to stay in London with them. Her mother had told them Kate was in the doldrums since her stay there ended so abruptly. She'd been going to decline the offer, not wanting to leave here with the mystery of Broughton Hall still filling her head, but now....

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven

The coachman carried Kate's bags into the front hall of the Firth's town house, a five story red brick, just east of the park near Grosvenor Square.

“Lord and Lady Firth are away from home until this evening,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Glasscot informed her. “I'll have your things taken up and you might like to wash before luncheon. It will be served shortly in the dining room.”

Kate came down to find one place set at the long dining table. She felt rather forlorn and strange sitting alone and only managed a spoonful or two of the mushroom soup and merely picked at her baked egg. After lunch, she pulled on her pelisse and bonnet and descended the steps to the street, having asked directions to the library. It was on the other side of Oxford Street, near Cavendish Square. Walking would take far too long. She had a little money that her father had given her. She decided to hire a cab. She knew only too well that wandering around London on your own was not done but, as there was no one at home to assist her, she would manage.

Everything seemed to go smoothly. The cab stopped when she hailed it and deposited her in front of the London Lending Library. Kate walked in, inhaling the musty smell of old books with a strong sense of purpose. She went straight to the lady working at the counter. “Excuse me, I wonder if you could direct me to the books on the English Peerage?”

After flicking through a very heavy, dusty tome on the subject, Kate found him. Sir Harold Austerely was a Member of Parliament. His London address was Curzon Street, and he had a country estate in Oxfordshire.

Kate began to plan her next move. She had a vague idea about finding something incriminating about Sir Harold that would stop him in his dangerous quest. First, she must meet him and that might prove to be difficult. There was nothing for it. She needed Laurie's help. When he returned from Cambridge the next day, she would tell him the whole story.

When she arrived back at Grosvenor Square, she found Lady Firth waiting. “My dear girl, I'm so sorry I wasn't here to greet you. A charity luncheon kept me far too long. I came home to find you'd gone out. Not on your own, I hope, Katherine.”

“I went to the library, Lady Firth,” Kate said.

“Oh, well that's an admirable choice, but you can't go about unaccompanied in London, my dear. Your reputation will certainly suffer and you might be accosted.”

Kate wondered which event would alarm Lady Firth more.

When she finally was able to tell Laurie of her plan, his reaction was not in the least what Kate expected. “You are not to get involved in this, Kat,” he said firmly, a stormy expression on his face. She had been so glad to see him and now she felt quite cross. They sat in the drawing room by the fire, the warm, spring weather having disappeared. A chill wind had begun to blow and dark clouds almost turned the day into night. “You have told Lord Broughton what you overheard and he's ordered you to stay out of it and that you will do.”

He was starting to sound like a husband. And was beginning to look like one, too. For the first time, Kate noticed the new moustache sprouting on his upper lip. She opened her mouth to comment on it, and then closed it. This new Laurie would not appreciate her opinion on such a matter. It would also be a tactical mistake, she acknowledged, putting him in a bad humour. She'd always been able to bend him to her will. She was confident given a little time she could do so again.

“Are you glad your studies at Cambridge are behind you?” she asked, feeling a change of subject was needed.

Laurie's mulish look abated. “Damned glad. Oh sorry, Kat-have to keep reminding myself, you and I are grown up now. On a different footing so to speak.”

Kate swallowed a retort. “What are your plans?”

“I'm to start work immediately at the foreign office. I'll be in London for the rest of the year.”

“Oh. And then where?” she asked in a small voice.

“Paris.”

“Paris!” Kate suppressed feelings of envy. “That will be wonderful for you, Laurie. I'm so pleased.”

Laurie took her hand. “Come with me as my wife,” he said passionately.

Kate shook her hand out of his grasp. “You mustn't, Laurie. Your mother and father asked me here as a friend. They would be shocked at your impropriety.”

Laurie looked at her quizzically. “You don't think they know my feelings for you, Kat?”

“Do they know mine?”

Laurie frowned. “I think they have a pretty good idea. Anyway, you just made up my mind for me, Kat. I need to be a married man when I travel to Paris. I plan to ask for Sally Poole's hand before then.”

A cold hand reached in and clutched at Kate's heart. Was it just because she didn't want their friendship to end? She wished her emotions hadn't become so befuddled. “That's ... wonderful. I couldn't wish for a better wife for you, Laurie.”

Laurie moved closer. “Give me a congratulatory kiss then, Kat.”

Nonplussed, Kate glanced at the door. There was no one around. She put a hand on his shoulder. It felt strong, manly and strange. Laurie's hand stole around her waist and pulled her firmly against him. His lips crushed hers in a much more accomplished kiss. She felt his hard body against hers and was horrified to find she wanted more, much more. She pulled herself free and gasped. “You've been practicing!” When did he begin to use that citrus-scented cologne?

Laurie grinned, looking more like the old Laurie she knew. “That's none of your affair and it's not a very pretty reply.”

Kate pushed away from him and jumped to her feet. “So you won't help me find out about Sir Harold Austerely. I'm disappointed in you, Laurie. You've become a ... a damned rake!”

Laurie stood and looked down at her. He was smiling but there was hurt in his eyes. Kate had scored a hit, but it did not make her feel good at all. “It's quite easy to find Sir Harold, Kat. He's my Godfather. A man held in very high esteem.”

She sucked in her breath. “Your Godfather? I didn't know.”

“I can think no ill of him. You must have got the story wrong. Will you leave things alone now?”

“I don't see how I can, Laurie.”

“Then you'll do it on your own.”

Kate watched him stride from the room. Why couldn't she leave it be? Her best friend in all the world had asked it of her. Tears filled her eyes and she wiped them angrily away.

* * * *

As Kate's plans wavered, fate took a hand. At her very first social engagement since returning to London-a dance at Almacks-Lord Firth introduced her to Sir Harold Austerely.

He was a powerfully built, silver-haired gentleman, dressed impeccably and conservatively. He bowed low over her hand.

“This pretty young lady is a neighbor of ours from the country,” said Lord Firth. “She has as good as grown up with Laurence.”

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Kilgarth.” Sir Harold's green eyes held a flicker of interest that lacked the paternal warmth of Lord Firth's. “May I have the pleasure of the next dance?”

The Country Dance afforded Kate time to ask a few discreet questions of Sir Harold. He informed her that he was a widower and bluntly told her he was casting about for a bride. He disliked living alone. It had proved surprisingly difficult to find a woman suitable to stand at his side in society, as his beloved wife had done. “I find younger women are more easily instructed into new ways, Miss Kilgarth.”

Kate smiled so much her face began to feel stiff. She looked across at Laurie dancing with Sally. After a warning glance in her direction that spoke volumes, he had turned his attention to Sally and was certainly charming her if Sally's face was anything to go by. Kate felt slightly miffed by it and rather lonely, but she straightened her shoulders and continued her flirtatious conversation with Sir Harold, who had became a trifle flushed and asked her for the next waltz.

During the waltz, Sir Harold's hands felt rather sweaty and gripped hers meaningfully. He looked deeply into her eyes as they danced. As he escorted her back to her chair, he asked if he might call on her at Grosvenor Square very soon. Kate felt exhilarated by her success-she was sure she would soon learn something that would be of interest to Jason-but she was also uneasy. Sir Harold's interest in her was a little too intense. He seemed to devour her with his eyes. She wished she'd had more experience with men. She knew Laurie would be very angry and disappointed in her when Sir Harold called at Grosvenor Square. It was something she found hard to bear, but she thrust the thought away.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight

An invitation followed shortly after Kate's first trip to Almacks for the family to attend a small party at Sir Harold's London home. Kate felt excited. Here was her chance. When the opportunity arose, she planned to slip away and search Sir Harold's private papers. She was sure something would come to light.

She chose the white silk evening gown trimmed with rosebuds and pastel pink underdress. The one her mother thought suited her best of all.

Laurie had been laying in wait for her. He grabbed her as she left her room and dragged her into a dark corner of the upper landing.

“What are you doing,” she asked crossly, smoothing her gown.

“I don't know what you are planning in that head of yours, but be very careful tonight, Kat.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you have in your head, my Lord,” Kate said, pulling free and flouncing off down the stairs. Laurie really was becoming quite a bore. He hadn't even noticed her new gown or complimented her on how well she looked.

Sir Harold's town house was an elegantly furnished establishment. Sir Harold took her arm to lead her into dinner and placed her to his right at the head of the table. Wine was served with the Turbot and quail dishes. Lord Firth complimented him on his fine cellar as French Champagne accompanied the syllabub. After dinner, they played card games in the drawing room. Kate played one game of piquet with Laurie. She was impatient to investigate Sir Harold's study, so she let him win. As it was she who always won this surprised Laurie.

His surprise turned to suspicion when she rose from the table, begging to be excused.

“Where are you going, Kat?” he asked loudly.

Kate unfurled her fan and looked at him askance as his mother came to her rescue. “Really, Laurence, I thought we taught you better manners than that. You never ask a lady such a thing,” she said. “Please let Katherine go. Come and sit with me and talk to Lady Forrester.”

Laurie glowered at Kate as his mother led him away. Kate chose that moment to slip from the room. She had glanced in every room when they'd arrived and surmised that Sir Harold's study must be on the floor above. There was no one about as she climbed the stairs. The first room she came to made her gasp in surprise. It was Sir Harold's bedroom. On the wall above the bed was an enormous crest of ostrich feathers from which purple silk drapes cascaded. Kate gazed at it spellbound, then quickly fled through a door beside the monstrous bed. This was quite obviously a gentleman's study. A large desk and leather chair sat at one end. Running over to it, Kate saw with dismay that the desktop was covered in reams of paper. She looked back at the door then began quickly searching through. She didn't know what she should be looking for. Most were government business, and tradesman's bills. Nothing leapt out at her. Surely, Sir Harold would not leave anything suspicious out for the servants to see, she thought despondently. She opened the drawers of the desk and gasped. Inside one was an evil looking pistol, and a set of keys. Above the fireplace at the far end of the room hung a painting in a heavy, gilt frame. It was a depiction of Judith, holding Holofernes bloody head in her hands. Both repelled and fascinated, Kate was drawn to it, and when she moved closer, she found a wooden safe hidden behind a screen. She was sure one of the keys in the drawer would fit it, but it was too late to do anything about it now. She had been gone too long and her absence would soon be noticed. She left the study and walked across the bedroom, just as Sir Harold appeared at the door.

“I didn't expect to find such an adornment in my bedroom, Miss Kilgarth,” he said, quickly crossing the room.

“I came in search of a mirror, Sir Harold,” Kate answered. “My curls needed attention.” She attempted to go around him.

He placed a hand on her arm, halting her progress. “You are a perfect angel. You have no need of mirrors, Katherine.” His voice was husky and far too close to her ear. It sent a shiver running up her spine.

“There you are, Kat. You've been an age and you did promise me another game of cards before we left.” Laurie stood in the doorway. Kate had never been so glad to see him.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Mercifully, Laurie didn't have an opportunity to lecture her. Kate felt relieved, but by the time she retired to bed, her mind was spinning from trying to find a way to return and open the safe.

She had just placed her head on the pillow when the bedroom door opened. A figure stood highlighted by the candlelight flickering in the hall.

“Kat, are you awake?”

“For goodness sake, Laurie. You'll get us into the worst trouble,” she said. “Come in and shut the door.”

As he closed the door behind him, the room became too dark to see. She felt him sit beside her on the bed. “I'd better not light the candle,” he said in a whisper. His breath feathered her hair. “What were you up to, tonight?”

“I had a quick look around. I didn't find anything,” she said crossly. For some reason she was finding it hard to breathe. What was wrong with her? It was only Laurie.

A hand came out to touch her, alighting on her breast and disappearing again as if scalded. “Damn it all, Kate,” Laurie said in a low voice. “I want you to promise you'll stop this madness.”

There seemed such a gulf between them. She wanted to lean against him and fill it with her body. “Lie down for a minute. We'll talk about it.”

“This is madness, Kat,” he said as he lay down beside her. The length of his body through the bedclothes seemed to set hers on fire.

“This is cozy isn't it?” she said breathlessly.

Laurie rolled over partly on top of her. She welcomed the blissful weight of him. “God, Kat. What are you doing to me,” he groaned. His lips found her neck. “You know how much I care for you. Promise me you'll stop this.”

“How can I promise, Laurie, when Jason's life is in danger?”

“It's Jason, now is it?” he asked as he moved away. “So that's the way it is. You're in love with the fellow.”

“I'm not, Laurie,” she said as she felt him leave the bed. The door opened and closed, leaving her alone in the darkness. “I'm not.”

* * * *

Lord Firth called Kate into his study the next morning. He had been sitting at his desk but stood as she entered. He was frowning, the expression in his eyes grave.

“Sit down, Katherine.” He pointed to a straight-backed chair opposite the desk.

Kate sat, feeling as if she were at an inquisition. What had Laurie told him? She eased her skirt over her knees with nervous hands.

“In the absence of your father, my dear, I feel it my duty to take his role. I know he would wish it.”

Kate nodded, wondering what he was going to say.

“I am being presumptuous, my dear, forgive me. You are so very young and I feel you may wish to have time to think upon things a little. Sir Harold Austerely has spoken to me and I have reason to believe he will approach your father very soon for your hand in marriage. You seemed content to welcome his advances and I wondered ... he has quickly formed tender feelings for you. Do you welcome this alliance?”

Kate was aghast. So this is what happened when you flirted a little. How could she extricate herself from this predicament? As she sat there, the door flew open and Laurie rushed in. “Father, you have the wrong end of the stick by half,” he protested.

“Laurence, please leave us. I do not recall inviting you into this conversation.”

Laurie put his hand firmly on Kate's shoulder. “Kat has something to tell you. Don't you Kat?”

Kate looked at him furiously. “You truly want me to confess all?”

“Yes, Kat,” Laurie said, seriously. “I think it best that you do.”

Laurie was becoming intolerable, ordering her about in such a way. But perhaps Lord Firth would come to Jason's aid. “Lord Firth, Sir Harold Austerely is a spy,” she said.

“A ... spy?” Lord Firth laughed. “My dear girl, you have been reading novels.”

“You'd better hear Kat's story first, Father.”

Kate told the story from the beginning. Lord Firth leaned back in his chair, listening intently as he filled his pipe with tobacco. “So you see, Lord Firth,” Kate finished, “I felt it my duty to try and help Lord Broughton. He appears to be in great danger.”

“You really only have Lord Broughton's word for that, my dear,” Lord Firth said, lighting his pipe.

“But ... that conversation between Sir Harold and the other man ... I overheard it. Don't you believe me?”

“Yes, I do believe you, Katherine. I think it most unfortunate you came to hear something that was not meant for your ears.”

“Unfortunate?”

“Yes. The Government frequently carries out such secret operations. They are vital if we wish to keep England safe from invaders such as the French.”

“But this was against the English government. These were French spies-one of them was a Frenchman.”

“That doesn't automatically make him a French spy. These issues can be very complex. And you've told me nothing to verify this. It was something you merely assumed-aided no doubt by Broughton who has been watched since he came back to England.”

“You knew he was being watched, Lord Firth?”

“We in the Diplomatic Service learn many things, my dear. We suspect Broughton to be a spy, as was his brother. If that document hidden in Broughton Hall is recovered, I'm sure it will confirm this. Naturally, he wishes to find it first. It's most important, Katherine, that you do not mention any of this to a soul. You must leave it to those whose job it is to pursue it.”

Laurie cornered her in at the bottom of the stairs. “So that's that, then,” he said. “You'll leave it alone now, won't you?”

“You are becoming insufferable, Laurie,” she said in frustration. “You are no longer the boy I knew. That Laurie would not betray me. He would back me up on this.”

Laurie looked stung by her words. “And you are not the girl I grew up with. She would respect my opinion.”

“I shall leave as soon as I can,” Kate said flouncing away up the stairs. “I'll travel by mail coach.”

As she climbed, she hoped he would come racing up after her and take her in his arms. On reaching the landing, she looked down, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A sob escaped her throat and she ran to her room.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nine

Jason entered the breakfast room to find his guest already seated with a plate of bread and butter before her.

“Good morning,” he said. “You continue to surprise me, Angelique. I doubted I'd see you before luncheon.” Her gown was the color of green apples, which suited her fair coloring to perfection. He found it remarkable that one used to keeping Parisian hours in smoky drawing rooms could turn up at breakfast looking fresh as the morning dew.

“You are staring,” she said raising her cup to her lips.

“I do apologize,” Jason said nodding slightly with a grin. “You must be used to being stared at, surely?”

“By ill-mannered oafs.” Her fine eyebrows rose. “But you were never that, Jason. Quite to the contrary in Paris. I trust living in the countryside has not turned you into one.” She gazed at his immaculate attire. “You certainly do not dress like one.”

“I hope not, Angelique,” he said feeling piqued.

“Surely you remember the ball, you, Peter, and I attended, where Napoleon himself called you to dance with Josephine, because she thought you the best dancer in Paris?”

“I remember.” The memory was bittersweet. He should have worked harder to repair the rift with his brother.

“Such a lover, Napoleon,” Angelique said, sighing. “Josephine showed me some of the wonderful letters he wrote her.”

“They were about to divorce,” Jason said acerbically.

“Still, he did have charm.”

“He was an enemy of England,” Jason said. If he could just get his hands on that document, he would make amends to his country, for both Peter's and his sakes.

“And that duel you fought, you were certainly passionate about Madame Lamont.”

“No. Just misguided.” Jason put down his cup and pushed his chair back.

“You have not yet eaten,” Angelique said.

He saw the laughter in her eyes. It had been a foolish, boyish crush, and luckily, no one had died. He wanted to laugh with her, but his sense of humor seemed to have deserted him. “I'll dine later. I have work to attend to,” he said stiffly.

* * * *

Jason yawned as he rose from sofa. “Sorry, Angelique, we keep country hours here.”

She tilted her head and smiled, gathering up her skirts in that charming way she had. “You do not look in the least tired, my lord, but have your way. I am getting ample beauty sleep.”

“You certainly don't need it.”

She laughed and wagged her finger at him. “Ah ha. You are learning, oui? You should return to Paris with me and try out your newly found charm in Parisian drawing rooms.”

Jason felt a strange yearning to do just that. Although he knew that her beauty would test him, he had not anticipated her intelligence and delightful sense of humor. It made her irresistible. He steadied himself for the work at hand. Nighttime was his time for searching.

* * * *

Despite her horrid argument with Laurie that caused her to toss and turn all night, Kate couldn't leave it alone. She thought over the conversation she'd overheard and felt sure she was right. She believed what Jason had told her. She was determined to get into Sir Harold's house. It would be more difficult now that Lord Firth had informed Sir Harold his interest in her would bear no fruit.

She almost had to relinquish her plans as an impenetrable fog had descended on London. By mid-morning, it had lifted and she went to find Lady Firth to tell her she planned to go and view the Elgin Marbles at the museum.

She found Lady Firth in the morning room, arranging flowers in a vase. The sweet smell of lilac brought on a bout of homesickness that took Kate by surprise.

“You know you can't go alone, my dear,” said Lady Firth. “And unfortunately, I cannot accompany you today.”

“Perhaps Annie can go with me. Would that be respectable enough?”

Lady Firth hesitated. “I suppose so. If it simply can't wait-I declare you are impatient, Katherine.”

“Thank you, Lady Firth. I wouldn't dream of dragging you to a place I know you'd find a complete bore,” Kate said smiling.

Lady Firth smiled in return. “Not a complete bore, Katherine. But close, I grant you. If you attend my charity tea today, I promise to go with you tomorrow.”

Kate knew Lady Firth was teasing and laughed. “Thank you again. I suspect the day will come when charity teas shall be my passion but not yet.”

Kate dragged a complaining Annie along the filthy streets to the corner of South Audley Street where she had a good view of Sir Harold's town house without being seen. “I have something important to do before we go to the museum, Annie,” she told her. “I need to get into that house while the owner is away from home.”

“Ooh, Miss Katherine, that sounds unlawful,” Annie said, breathing heavily.

“Of course it is, you goose. You are not to say a thing to Lord or Lady Firth or you won't get that bead necklace I promised you.”

“I'm not comin’ with you, Miss Katherine, so don't ask me.”

“No, no. That's fine with me.” Kate felt Annie would only be in the way. “You can go on to the museum and I'll meet you there in an hour or so. Sir Harold told me he attends Parliament every day.”

As if on queue, the door opened and Sir Harold came out, tucking his cane under his arm and putting on his hat. He walked away up the street.

“Lady Firth told me stay with you and I'm not leaving,” Annie said stubbornly.

Kate turned to frown at the young woman. “Well, you can stand guard for me.”

“Stand guard? Oh no, Miss Kate. I wouldn't know how.”

“Oh, Annie. Don't worry so. Go to the museum.” Kate gave Annie some coins. “Have something nice to eat. I haven't time to argue.” And she had no wish to stand breathing in the foul air from the gushing gutters. Dashing across the road, she tried to avoid the dung and filthy straw. She knocked at the door of Sir Harold's house. Turning, she saw Annie hovering uncertainly across the road. The door opened and the butler stood looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Graves, isn't it? I was here for dinner a few days ago. Remember me?”

“The master is away from home, Miss.” Graves looked deeply disapproving and began to shut the door. Before he could close it completely, Kate pushed it open and slipped inside.

“That doesn't matter. I left a bracelet upstairs the other night. I'll just go and fetch it. It won't take me a minute.”

Graves stepped back in surprise as Kate raced past him up the stairs. Turning back at the first landing, she saw that he was following. “There's no need for you to accompany me. I know exactly where it is,” she called down to him.

She'd almost reached the second story landing when a hawker selling brooms arrived at the open front door. Graves returned to deal with him, clucking his tongue. Kate heard him say, “Go around to the tradesman's entrance, my man.” She ran along the hall and through Sir Harold's bedroom with a quick glance at the florid bed hangings, and went straight to the desk drawer. She picked up the pistol, tucking it into her reticule. The keys were still there. She grabbed them and moved to the safe. Averting her eyes from the gruesome painting on the wall, she began to try each key in the lock. Minutes later, a satisfactory click sounded and she pulled at the handle. It was stiff. She almost hung from it before it budged and the safe door swung open. Stacked inside were bundles of money and jewel boxes. Ignoring these, Kate pulled a sheaf of papers out. She moved to the desk and sorted through them. One in particular caught her eye because it bore an official looking seal. Looking closer, she saw Napoleon's signature at the bottom. It was written in French-she had no time to decipher its meaning. She folded it and put it in her reticule with the pistol. This had all taken far too long. Kate replaced the papers in the safe and closed it then returned the keys to the drawer. She left the study just as Sir Harold entered the bedroom with a man close behind him.

“So, it's Miss Katherine Kilgarth. What a pleasure.” Sir Harold said. “You find my bedroom most intriguing it would seem.”

“I came to fetch my bracelet,” Kate said, holding up her wrist.

“I doubt that. Something has fired your sense of adventure. Are you going to tell us, without our having to persuade you?”

Kate's knees began to shake. “I don't know what you mean.”

Sir Harold went into the study and gave it a quick glance. Apparently satisfied that all was well he returned. “Who knows that you came here?”

“The family, of course.”

“I think you prevaricate. They would never have allowed you come alone. Quite a pretty piece is she not, Pierre?”

“Oui." Pierre was the other man Kate had overheard that night. He was a short dark-haired man, powerfully built. His jet-black eyes looked at her now with cold disinterest. Sir Harold's eyes were quite the opposite, moist with a pleasure Kate had never witnessed before and the tone of his voice lacked the respect usually afforded her. Her breath caught in her throat. She knew she had foolishly placed herself in great danger.

Sir Harold moved closer and stroked Kate's hair. As she stepped back away from him, he grabbed her, running his hands over her breasts and pulling greedily at her skirt. She let out a sob as he twisted her roughly in his arms, turning her towards Pierre. “Would you like to have first sampling?”

"Idiot," Pierre spat. “We have no time for that now."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Ten

When Jason walked into the study at Broughton Hall to find Angelique pulling books from the shelf, he paused and silently watched her. Hers was not the measured action of someone merely seeking reading material.

“What are you looking for?” he asked her.

She spun around to face him, clutching an old tome in her hand. “I've found it. Peter told me you had this, an original Francois Rabelais. I'd like to have it. You don't mind do you?”

“Of course I don't mind. I have to confess I'm surprised, though.”

“That I read such things? Or that I read at all?”

Jason spread his hands wide, encompassing the lofty room filled almost to the ceiling with row upon row of books. “Take whatever you wish.”

He sat down on a sofa and crossed his legs, inviting Angelique to join him. She wore a pastel-blue gown with a bow of silver ribbon above the waist, her beautiful hair caught up with silver combs.

His fingers itched to reach across, remove the combs and watch the silky cascade cover her perfect shoulders. For a delicious moment, he allowed himself to dwell on what might happen between them should he take her to bed. He knew it would be good. The best perhaps. After spending several minutes dwelling on what he would love to do to make her cry out in passion, he grew annoyed with himself, but couldn't resist saying, “You're looking very fetching today.”

“My, a compliment, Jason. Now I am surprised.”

“You make me feel I lack gallantry, Angelique. I thought you might tire of empty flattery.”

Angelique leaned towards him, placing her hand on his arm. “What woman tires of admiration, Jason? Perhaps I do not get compliments from the right people.”

Her fingers seemed to burn into his arm. He fought to keep his voice calm and even-toned. “I asked you a question the day you came. You chose not to answer it. Will you do so now?” He had first met her as his brother's bride and he had not forgotten the swift, overwhelming jealousy that had coursed through him, stunning him. It had done him no credit. Too long ago now to matter.

“Why I married your brother? I did love him.” Angelique sighed and gestured in a Gallic manner that caused a smile to flit across Jason's face. “Until I found he had feet of clay.”

It was Jason's turn to lean towards her. His eyes studied hers closely as he said, “What did you find out about him, Angelique?”

“That he had not been honest with me ... about who he was.”

“He was my brother.”

“Yes. A pale copy of you.”

“Now you flatter me.”

“It's not empty flattery, I promise you. But you are not honest either, Jason.”

“How so?”

“You are searching. I do not know for what you look, but there is a sense of urgency in how you do it.”

Jason looked into Angelique's questioning eyes. He felt a strong desire to confess all, but he could not trust her. What did she really want? Why was she here?

“You imagine things, Madame,” he said stiffly.

She paused, studying him. “I think not my Lord.”

Rising, she crossed the room, giving him the full benefit of her graceful figure. He followed as she opened the French windows and walked out onto the terrace. Leaning over the balustrade, she inspected the newly restored rose arbor. “I like what you're doing here,” she said. “That is a lovely, romantic nook.”

He stood behind her. “I'm glad you find it so.”

She turned so swiftly she was almost in his arms. “For lovers to share.”

He gazed down at her, his gray eyes thoughtful. “There are no lovers here.”

She lifted her face to him. “A pity, is it not?”

At such close quarters, his gaze traveled over her high cheekbones, the delicate contours of her nose and the smoothness of her chin. He searched her eyes for answers and caught that familiar flash of defiance. He was right. She was as guilty of deceit as he. But he read the passion there-something that could not be feigned. Almost against his will, he stroked her creamy cheek with a finger. “You are incorrigible, Angelique.”

She lay her cheek against his hand. “Am I? One might think you prepare this house for a wife. Or a lover.”

He removed his hand as the urge to cover that wonderful mouth with his gripped him. “Then you are wrong. I do it for myself,” he said lightly, walking away. “I must give instructions to the builders. I shall enjoy your charming company at dinner.”

She followed him inside. “Jason?”

“Yes?”

“You need a spell from house restoring. Come for a ride this afternoon. Fresh air will put back the sparkle in your eye.”

He laughed. On the back of a horse he was relatively safe from her charms. “Wonderful idea. I'll show you my lands. This is a beautiful part of the country. The North and South downs are famous.”

“Merci beaucoup,” she said, clapping her hands, her incredible blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Jason excused himself and walked to the west wing where carpenters were gradually removing all traces of the fire and, hopefully, the worst of the memories with it. Angelique was testing him to the limit. It was proving as hard to resist her as he'd feared. After he had the document safely in his possession, he would no longer have cause to. Although he knew that in some respects he was a changed man, he yearned to show her that the Jason of old still existed beneath the surface. The joyous, playful part of him, which had been buried by the sadness of coming home. But now, he must stay focused on his quest. Too much depended on it.

* * * *

They rode together over the rolling green fields. In the distance, the white, cone-shaped roofs of the oast houses dotted the landscape. In the woods, men were cutting the trees down to stumps.

“Whatever are they doing?” Angelique called to him.

“Coppicing. It makes the trees stronger, thicker.”

They rode through the deer park and vaulted a low wall.

Jason brought his mount beside hers. “Where did you learn to ride like that?”

“One of the things you have yet to learn about me,” she answered with a smile.

They reined in beside the ornamental lake. Ducks and swans swam about, sending ripples flitting over the smooth surface. A mile away atop a rise sat the house outlined against the sky.

“What are the gardeners digging there for?” Angelique asked him pointing to a group of men working halfway up the hill.

“We are creating a ‘folly', a rustic ruin. My man tells me it's a must.”

“Oh. Lovely,” she said, frowning.

He looked surprised. “I would have thought such a romantic notion would appeal to you.”

“I love the idea, but surely not there, Jason. Look, it's going to break that wonderful sweep of lawn and block the view of the house.”

Jason followed her pointing finger. “I do believe you're right. I hadn't viewed it from this angle.”

“A rustic should be something you stumble upon as you wander the garden, I think.” She glanced around. “Further to the left, perhaps, over towards that band of trees.”

“Thank you. I'll instruct my head gardener. Shall we go on?”

They rode to the river.

“This is a truly beautiful place, Jason. It equals the very best of the French countryside,” she said as he dismounted.

Jason secured his horse and reached up to help her down. Angelique rested her hands on his shoulders. He lowered her slowly to the ground as their eyes met. The smooth, blue velvet of her habit was sensuous beneath his fingers. His hands lingered at her waist for several minutes after she'd found her feet, then he moved away, busily tethering her gray mare to a branch.

She leaned back against the tree, watching him.

Her silence made him look up. The superbly cut riding habit hugged the deep curve of her waist and hip. “But this isn't Paris,” he continued.

She looked at him quizzically. “I do not have to reside in Paris.”

“Your costume was made there, no doubt.”

“But of course.”

His glance took in all of her, from her boots to the deep-brimmed, black hat. “It fits you wonderfully well.”

Her mouth curled up at the corners. “I declare when I depart here, you shall be restored to your former self,” she said with satisfaction. “A true Courtier.”

“Not entirely,” he said, feeling his heart contract at the thought of her leaving him. “You are planning to leave ... soon?”

She looked at him sadly. “I feel it likely I shall have to, Jason.”

He was forced to admit he loved having her here. To drink in her beauty over the dinner table. To discover her curled up in a chair in the library reading. To look forward to the thrust and parry of their banter. The house would be cold and empty without her. “That sounds imperative. Care to explain why?” He made the words sound careless, indifferent, pushing away the pain.

“I might. If you were to confide in me first.”

He turned towards the horses. He would do almost anything to banish that which stood between them, but still he held his tongue. It was even more important now. It had become self-preservation.

After a long pause she spoke. “No? Well, I'll answer one of your questions. I shall be gone by the end of the week.”

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eleven

Annie arrived back at Grosvenor Square and ran straight into Laurie returning from lunch at Boodles in Pall Mall.

“What is it, Annie? Are you being chased by a footpad?” His smile turned to concern as Annie gasped out the disappearance of Miss Kilgarth.

“I waited, y'lordship. I didn't leave ‘er. But she didn't come out of that ‘ouse, I swear.”

“It's all right, Annie. Don't worry. Sir Harold Austerely has probably given her tea.”

“I saw ‘im come back while she was still inside. I didn't know what to do. ‘e had someone with him. Another man.”

“How long did you wait after that?”

Annie put her hands to her head. “It seemed like ‘ours.”

Laurie patted her arm. “You've probably just missed her, that's all. She'll be along presently.”

Having hid his anxiety from the frightened maid, Laurie gave vent to a stream of cusswords that would make a footpad blanch should one be within earshot. He had been wrestling with the harsh words he and Kat had shared all day and finally admitted that she was quite right to accuse him of not standing by her. He pulled his coat back on and ran to the street, hailing a Hansom. The cab drew up outside his Godfather's house and he went up and banged on the door. Several minutes later, Graves opened it.

“Sir Harold has gone away for a few days, y'lordship.”

“Was he on his own?”

“I believe he had Monsieur Gascoigne with him. He had the carriage come to the back door. I didn't see him leave.”

“That's strange. Was this his usual habit?”

“No, he's never done so before. A carriage in Curzon Street lost a wheel. I expect that might have been the reason.”

“Where was he going, Graves?”

“Paris, I believe, y'lordship. Something urgent came up.”

Laurie walked away with his mind reeling. His eyes constantly searched the streets as he traveled home. Kat had always been so headstrong but surely nothing could have happened to her. He felt positive she'd be there waiting when he got home, amused by his concern.

* * * *

Kate was not waiting for Laurie when he arrived home. It was growing dark and Lady Firth was beside herself with worry. Laurie wished he could speak to his father, but he had gone into the country on business that morning. He was not expected to return for a couple of days.

“What could have happened?” asked Lady Firth for the hundredth time. “I should have gone with her. She's so impetuous! What do I tell her dear mother? Her precious child! I cannot bear to think of anything happening to Katherine. Such a splendid girl. Your father and I always hoped you and she would marry some day. Your father was very upset when he thought she would marry Sir Harold.”

Laurie made up his mind. “Mother, I'm going to follow Sir Harold to Paris.”

“But why? Surely, he would not have taken Katherine with him. You don't think they've eloped?”

“Of course not!” Laurie ran his hands through his hair. “I don't know what to think. I'll take the phaeton. It's faster. I may be able to catch them along the road before they reach the coast.”

“What will I tell your father?” wailed Lady Firth.

“You'll have to tell him the truth, Mother. Hopefully, Kat and I will be back very soon.” As he said these words, a cold feeling clutched at Laurie's heart. His Kat. He told her he was going to marry Sally. It was an absurd lie. He should have taken better care of her.

* * * *

Kate recovered consciousness slowly. She lay still as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and her body to the sway of the carriage. Where were they going? Her head hurt. Pierre must have hit her from behind. Remembering, Kate almost gasped aloud at the thought of it. Sir Harold, his hands about to tear away her gown, saying, “Let's see what treasures I might have been denied.”

The Frenchman interrupting, “Not now, I said, Austerely! We have to get her well away from here first.”

Kate's fingers stealthily felt the neck of her gown. It was still intact. She closed her eyes. She must not allow the two men to know she had awakened.

A heavy hand landed on her brow. “I hope you didn't hit her too hard, Gascoigne.”

“Well, if I did, we can drop her off somewhere out of town.”

The hand moved to her diaphragm and she felt its heat through her dress. As it cupped one breast, Kate almost screamed. “No, she breathes well.”

“Your obsession with this jeune fille worries me more than a little. It makes us both vulnerable.”

“It will pass. When we get to the inn in Canterbury we will decide what to do.”

Canterbury! That was only a few miles from the village of Broughton. Did she still have her reticule? If they hadn't found the pistol and the paper inside it, she could escape to Broughton Hall and ask Jason for help. While she was planning this, Gascoigne said, “After Canterbury, we make a detour to Broughton village and liaise with our spy.”

Kate almost cried out. Who was the spy there? Could Lord Firth have been right about Jason? No, she could not believe it. She had heard them say they were going to place a spy in the village to watch him. A thought suddenly occurred to her. Could that spy possibly be Angelique? She was French after all. She had come to Broughton Hall at exactly the right time. It was imperative she get to Jason and tell him all she knew. They must have brought her reticule with them. They could not leave it behind. When they reached Canterbury, she would find it.

* * * *

Tonight, Jason planned to search the attics, where all the paraphernalia from his and Peter's childhood was stored.

Having retired to his bedchamber, he slipped out again and made his way upstairs. Brushing away cobwebs, he sat in an old rocker, looking about him. Where would Peter have hidden it? His gaze passed over the boxes of discarded clothes and toys, dismissing them. Over in the corner, covered with boxes was the old chess table. It had served them well before everything turned bad. He jumped up. It had a secret drawer and they'd hidden treasures there. Could it be possible? Jason moved away some boxes, sneezing as the dust rose. He pulled the table out into the light of the candles and turned it, looking for the catch. Yes, there was the small lever. He pulled it and the drawer sprung open. There was something inside. Reaching in, he pulled out a sheaf of papers and smoothed them out. It appeared to be a list of names. Relief, and something far more important, a restored connection to his brother, made his throat contract. Peter had wanted him to find it.

He had only time to read a few of the names, Austerely among them, before a voice behind him said, “I think you'd better give that to me, Jason.”

The tone of the voice was different, the flirtatious note gone. He turned to find Angelique standing behind him. She stepped forward into the light dressed in a black lace negligee. The creamy crescents of her breasts heaved with emotion above the lace. Her pale hair spilled like a silk waterfall over her shoulders. How often he had wished to see it thus. Jason started. In her hand was a small pistol, pointed at him. Her eyes never left his face as she held out a hand. “Pass it to me, si vous s'il vous plaît!”

Anger filled his heart and mind, drowning his dreams. “So. I was right to doubt you, Madame.”

“I don't have time for this, Jason. Give me the papers. You cannot allow them to remain here.”

“Would you shoot me, I wonder?”

“Do not test me, I beg you.” She sounded edgy now and the gun wavered slightly.

As she spoke, Jason felt behind him, his fingers avoiding the flames to grasp the solid silver base of the candelabra. He threw it to the floor as he ducked. But no shot came. The candles rolled about the floor, only one remained alight, its flame flickering.

“Mon dieu," she whispered her voice close by him.

In the dim light, he struck, his fingers taking an iron grip on her wrist. “I don't believe you will shoot me, Angelique, but the way I feel now, it might be a good idea.”

“Jason, please....”

“Drop it, or I will break your wrist.”

“Non, Jason. You don't know what is at stake here.”

He twisted her wrist and she cried out. The pistol clattered to the ground.

“You are making a grave mistake.”

“Am I? Then you can tell me all about it,” he replied coolly, picking up the pistol from the floor. She was rubbing her wrist as he replaced the candles. “We'll go downstairs, I think. Somewhere comfortable. There's a fire lit in your bed chamber, which will do nicely.”

The Blue Suite was a perfect foil for Angelique, Jason thought, as they entered. Blue silk bed hangings, the walls papered in cornflowers. It might have been designed with her in mind.

“Your maid has gone to bed?”

Angelique's eyes were wary. “Hours ago.”

The fire was now only embers and the room was chilly. She shivered, pulling the fragile negligee over her shoulders.

“You may put on something warmer if you wish. But I must say I'd rather you didn't.”

Jason threw a log on the fire. He dragged two chairs closer as the flames caught, while holding the pistol lightly in his hand. He pulled the papers from where he'd tucked them in his shirt, but made no attempt to look at them. His eyes were on her face.

“So, you and my brother were both spies. Was that the attraction?”

She shook her head and sighed. “No. I loved him. And it is not as you think. If I believed you trusted me....”

“You give me little reason to trust you.”

“There is another reason I left Peter.”

“And what was that?”

“I met you.” Angelique stood.

Jason caught his breath at the vision of loveliness standing before him. Her words were intoxicating and he ached to make love to her. Her bed was only a couple of steps away and he now had the papers. But something held him back. Was it the knowledge that it would be no triumph to take her like this?

“It grows late,” she said as if reading his mind. “I'd like to sleep now. Might we discuss this in the morning?”

Controlling his desire, his voice was abrupt and cold. “Seeing I have your pistol and the papers, I think I can safely assume you'll still be here. Bonne nuit, Angelique.” He went to the door and gave her a brief bow before shutting it behind him.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twelve

Pretending to be unconscious was becoming almost impossible. Kate's legs and back ached from being in a cramped position, but she was afraid to move. When the carriage pulled into a post-inn on the outskirts of Canterbury, she decided she had to. She moaned and sat up, rubbing her head.

“You still live,” said Sir Harold. “We have arrived at an inn. If you are a good girl you will be left alone and given your dinner.”

Kate spied her reticule in the corner of the seat and grabbed it. She felt the heaviness of the pistol and the reassuring rustle of paper. Thank heavens they hadn't noticed.

“One word or action out of place and you're dead,” said Pierre in a dispassionate voice. She knew he meant every word.

“I'm hungry,” she said, realizing it was true. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and she would need strength to carry out her plans. Her head still felt woolly and her fingers kept returning to the sore bump on her head.

“I like a woman who appreciates her food. It often means she has an appetite for other things,” said Sir Harold. Kate's stomach tightened in fear, but she allowed him to take her arm and guide her to the private parlor they had engaged for the evening.

She tucked into the thick vegetable soup, dipping in chunks of crusty bread. As she ate, she watched the two men. They sat apart from her, their voices low. She caught the odd word, enough to know that due to the full moon, they had arranged to meet their contact at the crossroads near Broughton Village at midnight. That was barely a mile from Broughton Hall. Who would that contact be? Kate could not bring herself to believe it was Jason. She wondered if they would take her with them. There'd been quite an argument concerning her. Sir Harold wished to take her to Paris. Pierre, she was sure, had something more sinister in mind. The food warmed her, but the icy feeling in her chest remained. She kept her reticule close by her. It gave her comfort. She would wait for the right time to use it.

As they departed the inn, the clock in the parlor struck eleven thirty. Outside, the bitter wind added to her fear, causing her to shiver violently. She had only a thin pelisse over her walking dress. Pierre tied her hands together with twine, but not before Kate tucked her reticule down beside her. He cruelly gagged her mouth with a knotted kerchief and tied another over her eyes. Twenty minutes later, the carriage slowed and stopped. The doors opened and she heard the two men leave the vehicle. Pierre had tied her hands in front of her, allowing Kate to pull aside the tight blindfold. It was a clear night and the moon lit up the landscape. Off in a thicket she could just make out three figures, but they were too far away to see clearly, their voices low.

The coachman had wandered off down the road, stamping his feet, trying to keep warm. It was now or never. Clutching her reticule, she fumbled at the door latch and opened it carefully. The carriage step wasn't down and Kate fell heavily, grazing a knee. She looked up, expecting someone to run towards her, but no one had seen her. She regained her feet and ran with her hands held in front of her, feeling strangely off balance, into the wood. Perhaps the coachman had seen her for she heard someone shout. She kept running. Bushes caught at her, tearing at her clothes, but she didn't stop until her sides ached. Breathless, she crouched down behind a tree. It had been raining and icy water dripped from the trees, down the back of her neck. She tried to gain her breath through the gag, her heaving lungs drawing in the strong odors of wet earth and decaying leaves. She heard thrashing noises somewhere close by, as the men searched through the woods. “She can't have gone far,” Sir Harold yelled.

“You licentious fool, we should have disposed of her before this,” replied the Frenchman. “This could prove to be our downfall.”

“No. We'll get her, and when we do, you can have her,” Sir Harold said.

Kate waited, hardly daring to breathe as the sound of their voices grew louder. She opened her reticule and pulled out the pistol, heavy and cold in her hands. She had no idea if it was loaded. Aiming into the darkness in the direction of the voices, she squeezed the trigger. The force of it jerked it out of her hands and threw her onto her bottom on the ground. She heard the Frenchman yell, “Mon dieu! Who shoots at us? Surely that wench isn't armed!”

Kate climbed onto to her knees and began to feel around in the carpet of leaves. Minutes later, she found it and her fingers closed reassuringly over the pistol's steel barrel.

The noise the men made grew fainter. They were moving away. The blindfold fell into Kate's eyes again and she reefed it down around her neck and pulled the gag from her mouth. She put her teeth to the knot in the twine around her wrists, trying to loosen it, but it was impossible. It was tied so tight it was cutting into the skin. Steadying herself, she tried to take stock of exactly where she was. She knew Broughton Wood grew close to the Hall. If she continued the way she had come, she should reach the road where it curved away towards Broughton Village. Then she would be able to get her bearings.

She moved slowly, making as little noise as possible. Several times, she stumbled, and once she fell headlong into a ditch and lost both the pistol and her reticule. It took her several minutes to find them again. She stopped and took the time to tuck the pistol back inside the bag before going on. Finally, she came out onto the road. She ran faster now, towards Broughton Hall. One more bend in the road and there loomed the great gates, propped open. What if it was Jason the men had come to meet and he had come back to find her? Kate was almost too tired to care as she limped up the carriageway. The huge house awaited her, shadowed and quiet. She could detect no light in any of its rooms.

Using all of her remaining strength, she banged on the doors. The sound echoed around inside the great hall. Kate felt dizzy and clung to the doorknocker desperately. Approaching footsteps came to the door and someone began to unbolt it.

She only had time to see Jason's startled face before a black mist descended.

* * * *

Laurie pushed his father's prized bays as fast as he dared. He would have to change them at the next post-inn he came to. Thank God for the moon. He was reluctant to stop for the night, although he knew that traveling after dark was dangerous. Highwaymen did their best business at night. They would be delighted to find a man traveling alone. And he couldn't help Kat if he was dead. He was aware that those who had taken her would also have to stop somewhere for the night. He'd made excellent time when he pulled into the post-inn near Canterbury. After seeing to the horses, he entered the coffee room, finding it empty. Good, he would have no trouble obtaining a room for the night.

He removed his traveling coat and stretched out his legs, aiming his booted feet at the fire, letting the warmth restore his frozen, exhausted body. A young serving girl came in to take his order.

“Has anyone else been in tonight?”

She nodded. “You be the second lot.”

Laurie sat up. “Who was the first?”

“Two men and a woman. They hired the private parlor.”

“Describe them to me if you please.”

The girl went into a rambling discourse, but it was clear enough that two were Sir Harold and Kat.

Laurie was on his feet. “Are they still here?”

“They left after their dinner, but they intend to return. They've rooms ‘ere for the night.”

“Where would they go this late at night?”

She shrugged. “I heard them tell their coachman to head for Broughton Village.”

Broughton? Why there? Were they taking Kat home? “I need two job horses put in the traces, immediately.”

“Will you be back for your dinner?” The stunned girl asked.

Trying to get the inferior job horses to a reasonable speed was futile. He was sure many had tried before him. Half an hour later, he'd passed through the crossroads, and was about to swing onto the road to Broughton Village, when he caught sight of a carriage. When he approached it, he found it empty except for the coachman, who was walking the horses up and down looking bored and cold.

“Where is everyone?” Laurie asked, jumping down.

“The girl ran off into the woods and the gentlemen followed. I think they've all got lost,” the man replied, shaking his head.

“Which direction did they go?”

The coachman pointed. Laurie mounted the phaeton again and took off down the road. He and Kat had roamed these woods when they were children. If Kat got clear of the men, she'd make for the road. The first place she'd come to was Broughton Hall and he bet she'd go to Jason for help. As he drove, his gaze raked the woods, but he saw no one and passed no one. At the gates, he guided the horses through, passing the darkened Gate House. He drove up the avenue and he pulled up in front of the Hall.

He tied up the horses, ran up the steps and pounded on the door. It soon opened and Jason stood in the doorway, a pistol in his hand. “Good grief, Wexley, it's you. Come in, quickly. Those scoundrels might make their way here, eventually.”

“Is Kat here? Is she alright?”

Jason smiled. “Fortunately yes. She's a little worse for wear. She had to find her way through the woods with her hands tied. Come to the library, we've a fire there.”

Laurie strode into the room and found Kat lying on a sofa, her face unnaturally pale. He rushed to her side and knelt before her. “Damn it, Kat. Why did you do such a silly thing?” He took her cold hands in his and rubbed them.

Kate winced. “Mind my wrists, Laurie.”

He gently turned her hands over. They were rubbed raw. There were scratches on her face, too, and a nasty gash on her thigh revealed by a tear in her gown.

He covered her leg with her gown, looking up to find Jason had left the room.

“How did you find me, Laurie?” Kate asked, looking up at him in amazement.

“It's a long story. I think you have much to tell me, as well.”

“I'm so glad to see you.” Tears appeared in Kate's eyes. She put her hand up and touched his cheek.

“You have Lord Broughton to care for you. You don't really need me,” he said, cursing himself for his petulance. His relief at finding her alive was so great he was afraid he might break down.

“Jason has found the papers, Laurie. It incriminates Sir Harold. He is a double-agent.”

“A double-agent? I can hardly believe it, Kat,” he said. “He's always been so kind to me.”

Kate pulled herself into a sitting position. “I know, Laurie, but it's true.”

“Is Angelique still here?”

“As you see.”

Laurie looked up as she entered the room, carrying a tray with a bottle of brandy and glasses. “I thought Mademoiselle Katherine should have a little of this to warm her.” She looked at him and smiled. “You could do with some, too.”

Jason returned as Kate said, “They met their spy in the woods. I couldn't make out whom it was. I must confess, Madame, I thought it might be you.”

“Did you, Mademoiselle? Well that is honest. I've been here all evening, have I not, Jason?”

“Yes, Angelique, so you have.”

Laurie saw how Jason looked at Angelique. So that's where the land lies, he thought, with relief. Mighty pretty woman, but not as lovely as Kat.

“Oh, I forgot. I found this in Sir Harold's safe.” Kate opened her reticule and pulled out the paper with Napoleon's signature on it. As she shook it, the pistol fell to the floor.

“My God, Kat, I'm glad you didn't have cause to use this.” Laurie picked it up and held it to his nose. “It's been fired!”

“I had to fire a warning shot, Laurie. I don't think I hit anybody.”

“I say, you are a game ‘un,” he said, grinning.

Jason read the paper. “It's a letter of congratulation from Napoleon to Sir Harold for his work during the war. I guess he didn't wish to destroy it, but it certainly incriminates him.”

“That will be enough evidence to hang him,” Kate said brutally. She remembered his greedy hands on her and shivered.

“You should go to bed, Kat. You'll catch your death,” Laurie said.

“Yes, you all must go to bed. I've had rooms made up for you and fires lit,” Jason said. “I doubt we'll have more trouble. If they have any sense at all, they'll be boarding a ship to cross the channel to France. They'd do well to remain there.”

“Life will be a little difficult for them. Napoleon's in no position to help them,” Laurie observed.

“Lead the way.” Laurie gathered Kate up in his arms. He carried her up the stairs, and into the bedchamber, laying her gently on the bed.

“Here is a chemise de nuit,” Angelique said to Kate, placing the garment on the pillow. “Bonne nuit, you two.”

The large glass of brandy she had drunk made Kate feel strangely languid. She looked up into Laurie's dear face. Coming so close to death had made her realize how much she loved him. She put up her arms and pulled him down to her. “Kiss me goodnight, Laurie, but not if you've got yourself engaged to Sally Pool.”

“I never had any intention of doing so, Kat.” Laurie kissed her passionately and kissed her again. He forced himself off the bed, retreating to a safer distance. Seeing his love lying beguilingly on a bed was too much, even though he was exhausted.

Kate chuckled seductively. “Look at this chemise Angelique has given me.” She held up the flimsy, red scrap of material, shockingly trimmed with black ribbon. She laughed again as Laurie ran his finger round his collar as if it had suddenly grown too tight. Propping her head up on one elbow, she said, “Why are you standing so far away? Don't you wish to marry me anymore, Laurie?”

He came swiftly to her side and knelt beside her. “More than anything in the world. Do you love me a bit, Kat?”

“Sit on the bed and I'll show you.”

He laughed and shook his head. “When we've tied the knot.”

“If you wish, darling Laurie.” She reached across and stroked his hair. “I didn't know how much I loved you until I almost....”

“Oh, Kat.” Laurie kissed her again, a long lingering kiss. “I hope you've had your fill of adventuring.”

Kate smiled. “For now.”

Laurie rose to his feet. He stood looking down at her. His Kat. What a life she would lead him. She would shake the stuffiness out of the entire Foreign Office. “I'll see you in the morning. We have plans to make. Shall we honeymoon in Paris?”

“Lovely.”

“You can pop that into your trousseau.”

Kate laughed. “This?” She picked up the chemise and held it against her.

“Mm. Yes, the red and black. If Angelique doesn't mind.” He shut the door firmly on Kate's wicked laughter.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirteen

Jason escorted Angelique to the door of her room. “I'm afraid the servants have all retired. Should I see to the fire?”

Angelique pulled at the lapel of his smoking jacket. “Why don't you come in and see.” He stepped into the room. The fire was burning brightly, but he threw on another log. Straightening, he turned to find Angelique had slipped off her negligee. She sat on the edge of the bed in a sheer black chemise. Her perfect breasts with their pale nipples thrust through the thin material. The hint of soft, golden down at the base of her stomach held a promise that couldn't be denied.

He moved quickly to the bed and gathered her up in his arms with a groan. “How I've longed to do this,” he said, bending to kiss the smooth skin of her throat.

“Stop,” she said, placing her hand on his chest. “We should talk.”

He pulled back slightly, his hand on her breast, to peer heatedly into her eyes. “Really?” His voice sounded shocked, as if the demand was unfathomable. He threw himself off the bed. “You are a confoundedly confusing woman.”

“You think me a spy, Jason,” she accused, “a traitor to your beloved England.”

They locked gazes, his filled with a passion that seemed almost brutal. “Tell me the truth then, damn it.” His voice softened. “Tell me everything.”

“And if it's something you don't want to hear?”

“It won't matter.” He knew as he said it, that it was true. He cared so much for her, was so determined to have her in his life, it no longer mattered if she was a spy.

She searched his face and what she saw there made her decide. She caught up his hands and rubbed them against her cheek. “They are like rough velvet,” she whispered. She looked up at him, her eyes blue fire. “I want to feel them on my body. Do things to me.”

“Soon,” he said, his breath labored. “You are right, we should talk first.”

“No. Now,” she whispered. “Now, before I tell you my story.”

He could no longer argue. He pulled off her chemise in one swift movement. She arched her pale body towards him. He caught her up in his arms and kissed her again. His hands returned to her breasts massaging gently. Moaning, she reached down to stroke his hard cock through his trousers, the indisputable evidence of his passion for her.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered, her voice trembling and insistent.

“Soon.”

“No, now.”

“Soon,” he insisted.

He moved down and his gaze dropped as raw animal heat took over his expression. His kisses made her shiver.

“Oh God, Jason.”

He slipped his fingers inside. She writhed uncontrollably as moan after moan rocked her.

Throwing off his clothes, he joined her again, quickly entering her. His expression was fiery and possessive as he moved inside her. She clung to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. Moaning, she closed her eyes.

“No,” Jason said. “Look at me.”

She opened her eyes again to gaze into his with each powerful stroke. They kissed, deeply.

The rhythm of their sex grew more urgent still as they both approached orgasm. Then, the explosion of exquisite feeling, the slowing of pace, the calming of breath.

They climbed beneath the bedcovers and lay together quietly, his arm holding her snug against him.

Angelique said, “And now my story.”

“It can wait, my love,” Jason replied.

She touched his lips with her finger. “No, it cannot.”

“You accused me and your brother of spying. Peter was not really a spy. He was an adventurer. He went where the money was.”

“But you are a spy. And you work for France.”

“En fait, I do not.”

Jason raised himself up on one elbow. “You can't be working for England.”

“Hard for you to believe, I realize. I don't expect you are familiar with my family history, Jason.”

He shook his head.

“My mother was French,” Angelique began, “my father English. He was a post-Captain in the infantry-killed at the battle of Waterloo. He met my mother while stationed on the continent. His death was unnecessarily brutal. I know. I was there, following the drum with Mama. After she died of a broken heart, I went to Paris and began to mix with important people. The English agents I met when my father was alive, approached me, asking me to work for them and I agreed. Through them, I met Peter, fell in love with him and married him. When I found he had that document and was auctioning it to the highest bidder, I realized he had no true sense of morality or duty to his country and I left him.”

“He told me he left you well provided for.”

“He left me nothing but the clothes and jewels I already possessed. I sold most of the jewels long ago, the ones you've see me wear are paste. He returned to Broughton Hall with those papers. I didn't want anything more to do with the matter, but recently, the British approached me again and told me they suspected you of taking up where Peter left off. I could not believe them. But I knew your life was in danger and I had to come here, find the document and place it in the right hands.” She swept a lock of his hair off his forehead, her eyes deep violet pools in the candlelight. “You see, I did trust you.”

He hovered above her for a moment, his eyes feasting on her beauty. She smiled that seductively secret smile of hers and he was lost. He brought his mouth down on hers in a passionate kiss as she held him tightly.

When he drew away again, he said, “I adore you, Angelique. Will you marry me?”

“You believe me then. My story?”

Jason shook his head helplessly. “I don't care.”

Angelique laughed her teasing laugh, “You will know tomorrow for sure, my darling. I do love you, Jason. I have since I first met you.”

He traced the outline of her full lips with a finger. “We shall travel between here and your beloved Paris. And I shall buy you jewels to match your glorious eyes. Loving me will be your job from now on. No more spying.”

She nibbled his ear, saying softly, “My Lord and Master.”

“The war is over. Let England and France sort out their own problems,” he persisted, determined that she should understand how he felt as he held on valiantly against the passion filling his heart, mind, body, and soul.

“Oui," Angelique said impatiently. Her fingers traced the dark hair below his navel, moving down.

“I shall get that in writing from you, later, my lady.” His voice softened. “Much later.”

“Tomorrow my contact from the English government will arrive. I shall give him the list,” she said, her words ending in a groan.

Jason looked up from kissing the velvety soft skin of her inner thigh. “And who might that be?”

“Lord Firth, Laurence's father. He has suspected Sir Harold Austerely for some time.”

Jason threw off the bedclothes. Angelique caught her breath at the passionate intent in his eyes. “It is close to dawn,” he said as he gazed down at her lovely body. “We waste valuable time, my love.”

The End.

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