Silk And Steel Part 21

A tear trickled down her cheek. "It isn't your fault, Nathaniel. I am the one to blame. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Perhaps it was simply that you made me feel like a woman. I hadn't really felt that way in years and it frightened me. I hated myself for wanting to be with you when I believed you belonged to someone else."

She didn't know how it happened. One minute she was standing there looking up at him with tears in her eyes, and the next she was in his arms.

"I've been half crazy since the first time I saw you at Castle Running," he said against her ear. "It was as if the intervening years had never happened, as if time had gone backward and you were the same girl I once fell in love with."

Winnie clung to him, absorbing his heat, his strength. "It was the same for me, Nat. I wanted to see you and I felt so terribly guilty."

He drew back to look at her. "Say you will allow me to call. I realize it could pose problems for both of us. Your nephew employs me and he may very well disapprove. Others of your cla.s.s most a.s.suredly will. Perhaps there are steps we could take, some way to make things easier."

"I'm a grown woman, Nat. I don't care what people think-I never did."

His hand came up to her cheek. She saw that he didn't believe her, but in time, she would convince him. Winnie gazed into those clear blue eyes as he bent his head and very tenderly kissed her. She could feel him all around her, invading her senses, the same as it was before and yet completely different.

Nat ended the kiss before she wanted him to and she could feel his restraint in the shudder that rippled through his body.

"I'll call for you tonight," he said. "There is a quiet little inn at the edge of the city where no one will see us-"

"No," Winnie said firmly, her heart filled with so much joy it was nearly painful. "As much as I should like to keep you all to myself, I believe tonight I would rather attend the theater-if that is all right with you."

He understood what she was saying, that she really didn't care who saw them. At the brilliance of his smile, she nearly came undone.

"The theater, then," he said, accepting at last that being a peer was unimportant. "And afterward we shall take supper somewhere quiet where we can catch up on the years."

"Yes," she said, her hand still warmly clasped in his. "I should like that, Nat. I should like it very much." More than he could guess, she thought. Much more.

At last they would have the chance that had been stolen from them so long ago. And this time no one was going to come between them.

"Ouch!" Kathryn sucked a drop of blood from the tip of her finger and glared down at the pillowcase she had been embroidering. The st.i.tches were small and even, like the ones she had used to sew the cut in Lucien's arm. But working over a patient was far different from sewing colored flowers onto a piece of cloth. St.i.tchery held no appeal for her and never had. To Kathryn it was tedious and boring.

She sighed and set the pillowcase aside. Rising from her chair, she ambled over to the window, her gaze drifting down to the little stream winding its way into the woods. Since the day the marquess had confronted her in the cottage, they had been existing in a fragile truce. During the days, Lucien worked at managing his estates while Kathryn fidgeted and wandered about, bored and longing to return to her studies.

At night, he came to her bedchamber and she forgot her work, her driving need to learn. One long, searing kiss, one touch of those clever, skillful hands, and Kathryn thought only of Lucien, of the pleasure he gave her, of how much she desired him. It wasn't until he left her in the early hours of the morning that she thought of the love for him that he did not return and a painful ache throbbed inside her.

During the day, he never sought her out. There were no soft looks of affection, no tender endearments. It was as she had feared-he wanted her but beyond that she barely existed.

Her heart squeezed hard to think of it. She wanted him to love her, wanted to share his life and for him to share hers. It made her sad to think of the loveless years ahead, yet the bargain of her marriage was now fact-a bargain of her own making-and she couldn't deny she had gained the protection she had so desperately needed. She was free of her uncle, free of the madhouse-she could endure if only she had her work.

With her little maid f.a.n.n.y's help, Kathryn had managed to discover the marquess's plans to dismantle her laboratory and thwart his efforts in that regard. Since she had helped a few of his staff with her remedies, they were willing to risk Litchfield's wrath by packing and carefully storing the items away instead of discarding them.

Each day she thought of the herbs she had so carefully potted withering into dust and blowing away, the potions she had so painstakingly concocted that did no one the least amount of good. She had given up the work of her heart to save little Michael, but knowing he would soon be safe made the sacrifice worthwhile.

And it wouldn't be forever, she vowed. Thanks to the marquess's efforts, sometime on the morrow, the child would be arriving from London. Once Michael was there at the castle and safe, she would find a way to return to her studies.

Standing at the window, Kathryn stared down at the little brook, her gaze following a stick of wood that meandered along in the current and finally disappeared from view as the stream ran into the woods. She missed the serenity she found in the books she read in the little cottage, missed the thrill of helping someone who came to her in need. She couldn't live an entire lifetime stabbing at a piece of embroidery or pounding out tunes on the harpsichord.

And as much as she adored little Michael, even the child's presence in the house would not be enough to sustain her. She needed her work, just as the marquess needed his. Kathryn vowed, as she had done since her parents had died, she would do whatever it took to accomplish that end.

EIGHTEEN.

Lucien leaned against the railing at the top of the sweeping stone staircase that led down to the foyer. Below him, Kathryn stood beside the small blond boy, Michael Bartholomew. The child was clutching her hand, gripping it as if he would be lost in the bowels of the castle and never be seen again should he let go.

Michael had arrived by carriage the night before, accompanied by a footman from Lucien's London town house, the arrangements having been made by Nathaniel Whitley. With only a modic.u.m of effort-and a goodly sum of coin-the boy had been released from St. Bart's into his care.

Lucien watched him now, the child small and thin and nearly towheaded, with big blue eyes that widened in awe at the elegant crystal, gleaming marble, and glittering gilt that decorated the house. Kathryn had said the boy had rarely been out of St. Bart's, only an occasional outing when one of the matrons took him along to pick up supplies. It was obvious by looking at him now how little of the world he had seen.

He pointed up at the painted ceiling. "Pictures," he exclaimed. "I never seen pictures on a ceilin' afore. 'Ow do ye s'ppose the fella got up there to paint 'em?"

Kathryn laughed and Lucien felt the pull of a smile. While his wife explained that craftsman had been brought to the castle from Italy a hundred years ago, he descended the stairs to join them.

They turned at his approach. "Good morning, Michael." Though he had met the boy last night, the child had said little, just clung to Kathryn's hand and stared at his surroundings as if he had arrived on the moon.

"Good mornin', sir," he said now, gazing up at Lucien with nearly the same look of wonder the painted ceiling had garnered.

"You are to call the marquess his lordship," Kathryn explained to him. "You should say, 'Good day, your lordship.' Or 'Good day, my lord.' "

He straightened. "Good day, ye lordship."

Lucien smiled. "I trust you slept well, Michael."

Small teeth flashed in a grin that displayed a bit more self-confidence. "Nearly suffocated, me lord, in all them deep feathers. But it were real nice, once I got used to it."

Lucien stifled an urge to laugh. "Have you two already eaten? I believe Cook has outdone herself, knowing we have a new arrival in the house."

Kathryn squeezed Michael's hand, then looked up at Lucien and smiled with such grat.i.tude an odd tightness rose in his chest. "Actually we were just heading into the breakfast parlor. Perhaps you would care to join us, my lord."

"Yes, I believe I would." He waited for Kathryn to lead the way, but before she could take a step, Michael let go of her hand and walked over to where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. Tentatively, the boy's small hand reached out to touch the burgundy velvet trim at the bottom of his morning coat.

"Whot's it made of? I never felt nothin' so soft."

Lucien looked down at the child, at the coa.r.s.e brown breeches and white homespun shirt Nat Whitley had provided, simple but undoubtedly an improvement over the dirty rags he must have worn at St. Bart's.

"The trim is velvet. The breeches are fashioned of a material called satin."

Michael touched the cloth encasing his thigh, testing the feel of the smooth, slick fabric. "They's the prettiest clothes I ever seed."

Lucien's mouth curved up. "There are times I would trade them for homespun, but you are right, I suppose-they are rather pretty."

"When I grow up, I'm gonna wear some just like 'em."

Kathryn bent down and hugged him. "I'm sure you will, Michael."

Mentally, Lucien made a note to call on his tailor. The child would be clothed appropriately, and soon-he would see to the matter himself.

"All right, now, why don't we get something to eat?" Kathryn extended a hand and the boy latched onto it.

"I 'ope it ain't gruel," he muttered, making Lucien's lips twitch again.

"No gruel today," he said. "Let's see how you like roast pheasant."

Michael Bartholomew adored it. As well as the sausage and coddled eggs, the Wilton cheese and apple pastries, and especially the steaming hot chocolate. Lucien had never seen anyone so small eat so much. He thought that perhaps he should stop the boy before he gorged himself to the point of being sick, but thought better of it.

In time the child would learn there would be plenty of food at every meal. For today, a bit of an upset stomach was probably a small price to pay for indulging in such a treat.

"I thought I'd show Michael the rest of the house," Kathryn said from her chair beside him, wiping her mouth with a white linen napkin then returning it to her lap.

The child watched her carefully and did exactly the same.

Lucien took a sip of his coffee. "Good idea. I've some work to finish today, but perhaps on the morrow, we'll go out to the stable. I imagine Michael would enjoy seeing the horses."

Big blue eyes swung to his face. "You have 'orses?"

He nodded. "An entire stable full of them."

"I like 'orses. I seen some pretty ones pullin' them fancy carriages when people, come to see the mad folk. Could I ride one, do ye think?" There was such yearning in the small boy's face, Lucien felt an unexpected tug at his heart.

"I imagine that could be arranged."

He grinned, his cheeks going bright with excitement. "Such a grand 'ouse, and 'orses, too! G.o.d's eyes, Kathryn, I never knew ye was so b.l.o.o.d.y rich!"

Lucien nearly choked on the coffee he was drinking while Kathryn struggled to stifle a laugh. G.o.d's eyes, indeed, he thought-how in heaven's name had he managed to saddle himself with such an outrageous pair?

Still, as he watched the boy climb down from the table, reach back when no one was looking, grab a length of sausage and hide it beneath his shirt, he couldn't help being glad the boy was there and no longer at St. Bart's.

As the marquess had promised, the following morning Kathryn walked with her husband and Michael out to the stable. The three of them had spent the evening together, Michael talking endlessly of the beautiful things he had seen in the castle, waving his arms and pointing, describing each incredible sight. He had enjoyed the portrait gallery and its lengthy row of paintings of Litchfield n.o.bility, but he liked the Great Hall best of all, with its medieval suits of armor, ancient swords, fierce-looking axes and shields.

They had shared a quiet supper together, which they wouldn't often do once he was settled and a proper governess found. After such an exciting day, his eyelids drooping through the meal, Michael had fallen asleep as soon as he had stuffed in the last possible bite of food. Lucien had carried him up to his bed on the third floor in a room next to the nursery.

In the morning, when Kathryn arrived downstairs, she found the child with Lucien in his study, standing next to the marquess's desk. She watched them from the doorway.

"I was wonderin', me lord... do ye think when I grow up I could learn to be a proper gent like ye?"

Lucien smiled. "You can be anything you want to be, Michael. All it takes is determination."

"Would ye teach me?"

"Teach you?"

"Aye, me lord. Would ye teach me to speak the way ye do? Like a proper gent should."

Lucien turned away from his work to scrutinize the child more closely. "I imagine we could work on it."

Michael grinned up at him and Lucien smiled back. Then his glance strayed to where she stood in the doorway, and the air seemed to heat between them. A soft b.u.t.tery sensation slid into Kathryn's stomach.

The marquess shoved back his chair and came to his feet. "Good morning, my lady." His glance was long and penetrating, as if he were remembering the way he had left her that morning, in a pile of rumpled covers, naked and sleepy from his early bout of lovemaking.

Michael tugged at the hem of Lucien's coat. "Can we go out to the stables now, me lord? Ye said we could go as soon as Kathryn come down."

"It isn't ye, Michael. It's you. That can be your first lesson in how to speak. You should practice it until it comes naturally."

Michael grinned. "You. You said that we could go out to the stables as soon as Kathryn come down."

"And after we have had a bite to eat."

Food never failed to sway him. "It ain't gruel, is it?"

Laughter sparkled in the marquess's eyes. "I doubt you will ever be forced to eat the stuff again."

"Yeowee!" Michael lifted his arms in the air and twirled around, then raced happily toward Kathryn, stopping at the door where she stood. At first she had been worried he might have been harmed by the guards in the weeks since she had left St. Bart's, but his happy disposition a.s.sured her he was not. "No gruel, Kathryn! Did ye-you 'ear what 'is lordship said? We never 'ave to eat the bleedin' stuff again!"

Kathryn bit down on her lip to keep from laughing, glanced sideways to see Lucien scowl, but she could have sworn it was amus.e.m.e.nt that faintly curved his lips.

"Your second lesson for the day will be that a child your age must not address his elders by their first names. From now on you will refer to Kathryn as my lady or her ladyship."

Kathryn inwardly winced. She hadn't had the heart to correct the boy, though she knew sooner or later she would have to. In the madhouse it didn't matter, but here... here life was altogether different. He would have to learn to follow the rules if he were to make his way in the world of the n.o.bility.

Michael frowned as he looked up at Kathryn, then his buoyant spirit returned. "The guards always said ye-you was a lady. That shouldn't be too 'ard."

Kathryn bent down and hugged him. He was such an adorable boy.

They breakfasted together, then afterward headed out to the stable.

"Look, Kathryn! 'Orses!" Michael tore free of her hand and dashed to the pen at the side of the big two-story stone building where the horses were kept. At the end of a lead line, one of the stallions was being exercised by a groom. "Do ye-you think I could ride 'im?"

Lucien chuckled softly. "Not that one-at least not yet. He's young and full of himself. To begin with, you'll need an animal that's a bit easier to handle."

They walked into the darkened interior of the stable and the smell of hay and horses rose up. Dust motes swirled in the sunlight slanting in through the windows. Above them, men were working with a big metal hoist, lifting heavy bags of grain into the loft.

"I think Robin might be a good horse to start with."

" 'Is name is Robin?"

"Gray's Robin is his full name."

As they approached the stall, Michael looked at the little dappled gelding with reverence. "Gray's Robin. 'E's a beauty, me lord."

The little horse whickered softly and Lucien smiled. "He's only fourteen hands and tame as a dog. He'll be a good horse for you to ride while you're learning." He turned to one of the stable hands and Kathryn saw it was Bennie Taylor.

"Michael, this is Bennie. He's very good with horses. He's the one who will teach you to ride."

Bennie bent down and shook Michael's hand. "Mornin,' lad." He glanced over to the dappled gelding. "His lordship's picked ye a good one."

Michael opened his mouth to correct his speech, but Lucien subtly shook his head. "When can we start?" Michael asked instead.