The Lass Wore Black Page 12

  As soon as she turned the corner, she wouldn’t be walking into the full force of the wind. All she had to do was continue a few more steps, twenty at most.

  Where was the footman tonight? Was some other woman cooking for him?

  She began to count. Numbers were preferable to thoughts of that odious man.

  A minute later she’d reached the corner. In spring the trees, with their lush growth, provided a leafy and cool canopy. Now, the icy branches clicked at her like a dozen disapproving maiden aunts.

  The night was moonless. The gas lamps had been allowed to go dark, or hadn’t been lit this evening. Only a few lights dotted the square, and she wondered what kept people awake.

  Did they, too, have servant problems?

  As she rounded the next corner, she could see the carriage house. The window of the footman’s room was dark. Was he standing there, watching her?

  Did he know she was thinking of him? Had Aunt Dina told him that she wanted him dismissed?

  “Why can’t you simply ask one of your friends to hire him?” she’d asked. “If he’s so adept at his tasks, surely he could find another position?”

  He had to leave.

  Must she be forced to be around him? Must she truly be subjected to his presence? He made her remember things she needed to forget. If she was to live in this new world of hers, she must put away all thoughts of the past, including those earthy pleasures she’d once enjoyed.

  What man would have her?

  Did men ever consider such things? Did an ugly man ever think that a woman wouldn’t have him? Or was a man so blessed simply being a man that the thought never entered his mind?

  In London, a fortune went a long way toward making a man attractive.

  She had some money put by.

  She stumbled to a halt, staring at the darkened window.

  To do something like that would truly be forbidden. Scandalous was the word for it, or even wicked. She would be reverting to the foolish, improvident, outrageous girl she’d once been.

  What would he say if she offered him money to love her?

  Would he tell anyone? Would he send her away? Or take pity on her? She wouldn’t accept his pity, but she’d pay for his passion.

  Could she do such a thing?

  The girl she’d been would have, and laughed at the idea of shocking the world. Now? She hadn’t been that girl for a very long time. A year, perhaps, but it seemed like a decade, the distance measured by experience more than time.

  Still, the thought beckoned her, taunting her to do the forbidden.

  Andrew moved into position, the better to see Catriona on her walk. From where his house was located, he could only view a corner of the square, necessitating that he move to an area where someone might see him. His pulse raced, his stomach rolled, but his smile wouldn’t be dampened.

  Poor darling Catriona, veiled and hidden from the world. Had the accident ruined her face? He’d tried to find out in London, but no one would talk about her.

  If she had been rendered ugly, killing her would be a mercy. She’d no longer have to mourn her looks, and he wouldn’t have to endlessly recall her.

  She’d be dead, one of those regrets of his life he remembered when he’d had a glass or two of wine. One of those memories that flitted into his life just before sleep. Whatever happened to . . . ? Oh, yes, Catriona. She died.

  The rifle was barely concealed beneath his long coat. Anyone studying him would see he walked awkwardly. But no one, except for the two of them, were foolish enough to be in the square on a frigid midnight.

  Correction, there were other people present, a laughing group that emerged from a town house on the other side of the square. Andrew kept his gun carefully hidden.

  He wasn’t entirely certain that he would be able to make a shot in the dark. He could hit a moving target, witness his success in London, but he needed to sight his target first. Only in two places was Catriona visible: at the far side of the square where she normally walked beneath the gaslight that was now dark, and once she’d left the shelter of the lower branches of a giant elm. The latter shot was impossible. The former, he thought he could make. If the gaslight had been lit.

  He watched as Catriona kept to the shadows, out of sight of the partygoers.

  Tonight was not going to be the night. But one night soon, he’d find a comfortable spot, perhaps on the steps of one of the town houses on this side of the square. He’d wait patiently, sight Catriona, and end the odd and relentless hold she had on him.

  However long it took, he’d be patient.

  He wasn’t there.

  Catriona stood in the doorway of the footman’s room. She raised her veil to see the outlines of a long and narrow bed, a small bedside table, and a straight-back chair. Instead of an armoire, a line of pegs stretched along the wall near the door.

  She went to the bedside table that held a small oil lamp and lit it, holding it high. What did she expect to find? A selection of reading materials, or a picture of a beloved?

  No one lived here. Not one garment hung on the racks. Not one personal object was left behind.

  Had she won, after all? Had the footman been dismissed?

  Her throat tightened and she was ridiculously close to tears. She was tired, that was all. It was after midnight and she stood alone in a cold room with only thoughts of lust to warm her.

  He was gone, and she regretted it more than she could say.

  Chapter 14

  “Where do you live?” Catriona asked when he entered her room the next day.

  Afternoon had come and gone, and evening was fast approaching. His day had been filled with one emergency after another, and he’d come here for one reason—to put an end to this charade.

  He put the tray down on the table. Their minds followed the same course, evidently.

  Today would be the last day he served her. Today he would say good-bye to the woman who fascinated him to the exclusion of his common sense and even to his patients.

  She stood at the window, her back to him. A black cloud against the green curtains.

  “It’s not here,” she said, turning to face him.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  Now, he would tell her now, but the words didn’t form.

  “Are you my aunt’s lover?”

  The question so shocked him that he could only blink at her.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “What else is there to think?” she said. “I went to your room, but you weren’t there. At that hour of the night, where were you?”

  “Why did you go to my room, Catriona?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “At first I thought you’d been dismissed. I told myself that’s what it was. I told myself that if you came today, it was something else. You had to have found another bed in which to sleep. Was it with my aunt?”

  “Why did you come to my room?”

  “Are you my aunt’s lover?”

  “I respect your aunt,” he said. “But I’m not her lover.”

  “Artis?” she asked. “Isobel? Elspeth?”

  He shook his head. “None of them.”

  Tell her, now.

  Instead, he remained silent, trapped by curiosity and something else.

  He took a step toward her.

  “What were you doing in my room?”

  She backed up one step. “It isn’t your room. It belongs to Aunt Dina. Or, more properly, my brother-in-law.”

  “At the moment, however, it belongs to me.”

  He folded his arms, studying her. He wanted to strip the veil from her and look his fill. Not, however, as a physician, and that was just one reason why he should leave now.

  “You’re not living here,” she said. “Why are you pretending to?”

  “Why did you go to my room?”

  She slapped her hands down on her skirts. “I was curious.”

  For the first time since he entered the room, he smiled. She was lying.

&nbs
p; “Do I amuse you?” she asked.

  “Every day,” he said. “Why were you there?”

  “Where were you sleeping?”

  “You have a way of never answering a question, did you know that?”

  “It’s one I learned from you,” she said, then shook her head. “You are not a good influence. I become a child around you.”

  “Do you?” He took another step. “Or do you revert to your true self?”

  “Are you trying to insult me?”

  He wanted to laugh. “Is that an insult?”

  “What does my aunt have you doing that takes you away in the morning?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked, reaching her.

  He gripped the edge of her veil, and she pulled his hand free.

  “Tell me, is your face red? Aren’t you embarrassed to be asking all these personal questions of a simple footman?”

  “There’s nothing simple about you,” she said. “I doubt you’re a footman.”

  “Oh yes, you called me a confidence man. Have I gained your confidence, Catriona?”

  She took another step backward.

  “I’m not a virgin.”

  He stopped, startled. Of all the things she might have said, he hadn’t expected that.

  “I’ve known passion,” she added.

  He stayed where he was. She had squared her shoulders and looked as if she were preparing for battle.

  “Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

  “Have I shocked you?”

  He was a physician; little shocked him.

  “No,” he said, “but in the last five minutes you’ve managed to confound and confuse me.”

  “You’re a handsome man,” she said. “Surely you’ve bedded your share of women.”

  “Are you asking for a list?”

  She continued without answering. “I’m willing to make it worth your while.”

  No, she hadn’t just confused him, she’d stripped the words from him. For a long moment he could only stare at her.

  When she remained quiet as well, turning to peer between the curtains again, he moved closer.

  “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

  She nodded. “I’m willing to pay you to bed me.”

  Every thought flew out of his mind. He remained silent, too fascinated by her proposition to move.

  “You would have to keep it a secret, however, and leave Aunt Dina’s employ soon after.”

  “You don’t wish to be reminded of your mistake, is that it?”

  She shook her head. “You aren’t a mistake, footman. You’re a temptation.”

  He had to leave now, before he took her up on her invitation. His body, long celibate, was warming at her words.

  His mind was splitting into two divisions. One side whispered that if it was something she wanted, who was he to refuse? The other, nobler side, shouted at him to remember that this had originally been a ruse to help her. Not a masquerade to gain a bed partner.

  She wasn’t a virgin.

  She wanted to pay him.

  Who was to say she wouldn’t solicit someone else, someone not as honorable? Someone who would talk of this episode?

  Someone not him?

  “What do you say?”

  “I say I’ve never been offered such an interesting proposition.”

  “Are you going to rebuff me? If you are, I wish you’d do so quickly, before I humiliate myself further.”

  “Frankly, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said, spearing his hand through his hair.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Take you to your bed and keep you there for a day or two.”

  There, more honesty than the situation warranted.

  She turned again, clasping her hands in front of her.

  “You see, we do have a problem,” she said.

  “Is that what this is?”

  “We have some level of attraction for each other.”

  Was she asking if he lusted for her? What a damn difficult question to answer. It would certainly explain why he thought about her entirely too much, that he was here when he had other patients who needed him more.

  She wasn’t his patient, he reminded himself.

  Slowly, she closed the distance between them and placed one hand flat against his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her palm even through his clothing. He was cold, or at least had been until a few moments ago.

  “Yes or no?” she asked. “I won’t beg.”

  What the hell was he going to say?

  “Are you married? Have you taken a vow of celibacy?”

  “No to both questions.”

  She turned and would’ve walked away had he not grabbed her by the upper arm. She froze, as if unfamiliar with another person’s touch.

  “Catriona,” he said.

  What else he might have said was lost in a surge of tenderness. She waited for him to repudiate her when it was the last thing he wanted to do.

  She bent her head, her veil hanging low. Wreathed in black lace, she might’ve been anyone. If he hadn’t seen her before, would he have been as fascinated?

  “I’ve never been hired for the night before,” he said.

  “Nor have I ever hired anyone,” she said, turning. “However, there are a few rules I must insist on.”

  “What would those be?”

  “You are not to touch me above the neck. Nor are you to attempt to lift my veil at any time.”

  “I can’t kiss you, then?”

  She pulled free, standing with her back to him. “No,” she said, after a full minute had passed. “No kisses. On my mouth.”

  “You realize that leaves myriad possibilities,” he said.

  Was he seriously contemplating this?

  “Are you a good lover?”

  “I’d be a fool to say I wasn’t.”

  “You’d be a braggart if you aren’t.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a virgin?”

  “I’m certain,” she said. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling. “It matters a great deal.”

  “You’d bed me if I was experienced, but not if I were a virgin?”

  “I don’t think I should bed you under any circumstances,” he said.

  “Do you want more money?” She named an amount, one that would have kept a family of four for a week, maybe two, in Old Town.

  “The amount is enough,” he said. “But why me? You’ve not hesitated to express your antipathy toward me.”

  “Nor you toward me. But is it necessary that I like you in order to bed you?”

  “Then this is definitely not a transaction of the heart?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said. “I have no fondness toward you at all. In fact, I’m sure I dislike you intensely. However, you are well formed, and handsome. I’ve already admitted feeling attraction. Therefore, I believe you would give me a certain amount of pleasure.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Unless, of course, you are inept at the act. If you are, it’s best to confess that now, I think.”

  “Are you experienced enough,” he asked, “that you would know the difference?”

  “Why do you sound so Presbyterian?”

  “Perhaps because I’ve never been purchased for the night.”

  “If you’re good enough,” she said, “you might consider that occupation rather than being a footman.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Only, of course, if I received a recommendation from you.”

  “I don’t actually think people recommend other people, do you? For example, during one of Aunt Dina’s teas, can you imagine Mrs. MacDonald standing up and saying, ‘I truly do think you should try out dear old Mark. His stamina is amazing and he kisses like a devil.’ ”

  “The stamina is true,” he said, smiling again. “Pity you won’t get a chance to try out my kisses.”

  “Are you amused?”

  “Since I knocked on your door,
I’ve been insulted, amazed, confounded, annoyed, and now? Yes, I’m amused.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. When she did speak, he was surprised at her words.

  “My bedroom is warmer.”

  Turning, she left the sitting room, leaving him two choices. The first would be to leave.

  He followed her to the doorway.

  She sat on the edge of the bed facing him.

  “Very well,” she said. “Where shall we begin?”

  “I thought you said you’ve done this before.”

  “I have,” she said. “However, I was not veiled at the time. I began with kisses, but since that isn’t possible, we shall have to begin in a different way.”

  “What way is that?”

  “Will you touch my breasts? They’ve always been sensitive.”

  By God, she was serious. Up until this second he’d half expected her ploy to be a trick, some type of feint to get him dismissed. Or, at the least, to hold him up to ridicule. But she was beginning to unfasten the jet buttons of her bodice.

  He watched her unfasten the busk of her corset, then work on the waistband of her skirt, before moving to the tabs of her petticoat.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t move. Instead, he remained silent, watching.

  When she was down to her shift, she stood, then turned her back. Slowly, she pulled the shift over her head, keeping the veil in place.

  “You needn’t wear your veil with me,” he said.

  She didn’t answer, merely pulled down the sheets and two blankets on the bed, crawled inside, and tucked herself there, waiting.

  He was a physician. He’d tried to be her physician, but she’d fought him at every turn. Therefore, she wasn’t his patient. There, he’d assuaged his conscience enough.

  He unbuttoned and then removed his shirt. His shoes were next, followed by his trousers. By the time he removed his socks, he was conscious of the cold air. He could see his breath, or was that only because he was panting at this point?

  Naked, he stoked the fire, then crawled into bed with her. Reaching his arm under her, he gathered her to him.

  Gently, he pulled the veil away from her shoulder. When she tensed, he smoothed the hem away from her skin, brushing his fingers over the curve of her arm. He murmured something conciliatory. He wasn’t sure exactly what he said, being consumed by the feel of her, soft, warm, and womanly, curves in all the most glorious places.