In Bed With The Devil Part 3

"I don't recall there being any b.a.l.l.s last night, and yet since the moment you arrived, I've had the distinct impression you were out rather late," Winnie said.

"I simply didn't sleep well."

"Is it your father? Has his condition worsened?"

It should have been her father keeping her from sleep. It had been almost a year since his last bout with apoplexy had left him a bed-ridden invalid. Now he was little more than a sh.e.l.l of a man. She spent her afternoons and often her evenings reading to him, trying to bring him what comfort she could. She'd hired nurses to see after him when she couldn't be there, because she'd known he'd feel guilty if he thought she was devoting all her time to him. She was young. He'd want her to enjoy life. But of late, that was very difficult to accomplish.

"No, Father seems to be the same, although it's difficult to tell since he can't speak."

"What's pressing on your mind then?"

A certain irritating lord. Somehow he'd managed to cast some sort of spell over her body to make it writhe unsatisfied for the remainder of the night, not that there had been much remaining after she'd finally gone to bed. What sort of debauchery had he been engaged in to return home so late? And to immediately a.s.sume that a woman such as she was there for carnal purposes? Only the worst of blackguards would view women in such a way. Catherine wasn't a trollop. She was chaste and pure and proper. Although after tasting his kiss, she realized her life was rather dull. Still, his actions had resulted in her finally comprehending why ladies were discouraged from experiencing such intimacies until they were wed. Did all men hold such power over women-to make them burn with desire? Or was it only those like Claybourne, who loitered at the gates of h.e.l.l?

"Winnie, you've been married for five years now."

She'd attracted the Duke of Avendale's attention their very first Season and had married him at Christmas that same year.

Winnie furrowed her brow. "Is that a question?"

"No, it's an observation that I felt compelled to make before asking: Does he kiss you?"

"That's an odd question."

"I'm a maiden and I have no mother to ask about the questions that cause me curiosity, and so I must turn to my married friend for the answers. Does he kiss you?"

Winnie sipped her tea as though mulling over her answer. "On occasion."

"Does it leave you wanting?"

"Wanting what?"

Catherine almost laughed. If she had to explain it, well, then he wasn't kissing as Claybourne did. But Avendale had been born a gentleman, while Claybourne was little more than a scoundrel dressed in lord's clothing.

She watched as Winnie leaned forward ever so slightly to pour them more tea. It was ironic that such beauty as found in this garden surrounded a house where incredible ugliness lurked. Her movements explained so much about her unnecessary worry over the invitations. "He's beaten you again, hasn't he, Winnie?"

"Don't be silly."

Reaching out, Catherine placed her hand over her friend's, stilling her actions. "I see how gingerly you move-as though the smallest of movements causes you the greatest of pain. You can confide in me. I won't tell a soul. You know that."

Tears welled in Winnie's expressive eyes. "He came home late last night in a fit of temper. I'm not sure what I did wrong-"

"I doubt you did anything wrong, and even if you did, he has no right to strike you."

"The law disagrees."

"d.a.m.n the law."

Gasping, Winnie widened her eyes. "Catherine, your language."

"You chastise me for my language and yet I wager you take his beatings in silence."

"I'm his wife, his property. The law gives him leave to do with me as he pleases, even force his attentions on me when I might not want them. A day will come when you'll learn the truth of marriage."

"I doubt I shall ever marry. But if I should, I'll not give a man control over me."

"You've only managed to escape marriage because your father is infirmed and your brother traipses over the continents. Once he returns and settles into his responsibilities, including those toward you, everything will change."

No, it wouldn't. Catherine was stronger than Winnie. Although she had to readily admit she'd grown more independent after Sterling left. Her father had begun to teach her things, for fear that her wanderl.u.s.t brother might not return from his travels. Since her father had fallen ill, she'd taken it upon herself to step into his shoes as much as possible. She knew her forceful nature no doubt intimidated some and was whispered about by others. But she'd not let her father's legacy fall into decay or disarray.

"I'm all of two and twenty, Winnie, and no man has indicated an interest in having me as a wife."

"It's because of the way the Devil Earl looked at you that night as though he was singling you out-and the way you peered back. You should have lowered your gaze as any decent woman would. Now you are tainted by him."

Catherine forced herself to laugh. If Winnie knew that Catherine had done a good deal more than look at him recently, had actually welcomed his kiss, she'd no doubt expire on the spot.

"He was striving to intimidate. I'm not one to be intimidated. It seemed the perfect opportunity to demonstrate that part of my character," Catherine said.

"What you demonstrated was that you are willful. No man wants a willful wife."

"Then no man shall have me, for I'll not change to please him."

"When you love a man, you will do anything to gain his favor."

"Even allow him to beat you?"

Winnie flinched, and while Catherine regretted the harshness of her words, she didn't know how else to make her dear friend listen-for her own good. "Leave him, Winnie. Come with me. We'll go to my father's house in the country. You'll find sanctuary there."

"Do you have any idea how furious my husband would be? He would find me, Catherine, and he would kill me for so blatant a betrayal. I have no doubt. He is a proud man, and when his pride is threatened-"

"He strikes out at you, because he hasn't the courage to face his own weaknesses."

"You think so poorly of him."

"Why should I think otherwise? I see what he does to you. You strive to hide it, but I fear a day will come when it can't be hidden."

"Not five minutes ago, you were asking if he kissed me. He does and sometimes it's very lovely."

"Lovely? No. A kiss should be all-consuming, make your knees weaken, your heart pound..." Her voice trailed off as she shook her head. She was getting carried away, remembering Claybourne's kiss.

"Catherine, what have you done?"

"Nothing."

"You're acting most peculiar and your description...Have you had a dalliance?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then why this sudden interest in kisses?"

"I'm simply trying to determine why you put up with all that you do. What does he give you that makes any of it worth it?"

"It is a woman's place to stand by her husband."

Catherine squeezed Winnie's hand. "Winnie, I'm not your family who insists you be the good daughter and the good wife. It breaks my heart to see you suffer like this."

Tears rolled from Winnie's eyes. "Oh, Catherine, sometimes he terrifies me so. They say his first wife was clumsy and fell down the stairs. And his second slipped in the bedchamber and banged her head so hard on the floor that it killed her. I knew these tales, but I didn't doubt the veracity of them, not until after I was wed. He is so charming when he is not angry. Oh, but when he is displeased, he is most frightening."

"Then leave him."

"I can't!" she ground out. "The law will not protect me. He can claim that I abandoned him and the law will give him my son. My family will be mortified and not stand beside me, and my husband, dear G.o.d, Catherine, the fury he will exhibit will pale in comparison to anything he has revealed before. I know it as surely as I know that our tea has grown cold. It will be miserable for everyone. It's best if I simply accept my fate and strive to appease him in all matters."

Catherine released Winnie's hand and leaned back. "Oh, Winnie, I hate what he has done to you. The physical abuse is bad enough, but what he has done to ruin the lovely woman who resided inside you-I shall never forgive him for that."

Grimacing, Winnie reached across the table and took Catherine's hand. "I know how headstrong you can be. You must never confront him about this matter, you must never let on that you know. If he feels threatened, Catherine, dear Lord, save us both."

"He will never know from me how much I despise him."

Winnie seemed to physically relax, her death-grip on Catherine's hand easing. "Can we change the subject now? It serves to only burden my heart further to know that I cause you such worry."

"Don't be concerned with my feelings, Winnie. I love you. No matter what happens, that will not change."

"Mummy!"

A small boy of four raced across the garden, leaving his nanny behind. He slammed into Winnie. Gasping, she paled considerably. "Darling, you mustn't jostle Mummy so."

The boy looked wounded at the sharp reprimand. Catherine realized that Winnie was hurt much worse than she was letting on. She never scolded her child. Never.

"Whit, come see Auntie Catherine," Catherine said. "My lap is in need of a child."

He rushed over and Catherine pulled him close. She wondered how long before his father took his frustrations out on him.

It was late in the afternoon when Catherine finally returned home. How would she ever live with the guilt if Avendale killed Winnie? How would she be able to look at herself in the mirror if she did nothing-knowing all that was happening?

She had an abundance of acquaintances, friends, servants, and yet sometimes she felt so alone. She had no one other than Winnie in whom she felt she could confide all that troubled her. Yet, she dared not tell Winnie everything, because her dear friend was already weighted down with her own troubles, so Catherine carried her worries and her burdens alone.

Weary, with a heavy heart, she climbed the stairs and stopped outside her father's bedchamber.

Since he'd fallen ill, she'd achieved an independence that few ladies ever did. Without her brother here to serve as her guardian, she could do as she pleased and answer to no one.

Was Winnie right? Would she lose this freedom if she ever did marry? Or was Catherine right-and no man would ever consider her?

Even as a child, she'd been a bit willful. All right, she scolded herself. A lot willful. Her brother had called her spoiled on more than one occasion. Not that he was one to point fingers. He was the one off touring the world, having his fun, sewing his wild oats, while she was left here to tend to their father. Although to be fair, Sterling didn't know their father had taken ill.

After her father's first apoplectic fit, he'd still been able to talk. He'd told her then that she wasn't to contact Sterling for any reason. The next fit had left him unable to speak, to communicate at all. He was now simply withering away.

She took a moment to sh.o.r.e up her emotions. She'd not add to her father's problems by weeping for her friend, weeping for him, weeping for everything she didn't have the strength or power to change. She took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside. She was immediately hit with the stench of illness.

His nurse rose from her chair near his bed, where she'd been embroidering. She curtsied. "My lady."

"How is he?"

"All bathed and tidied up, awaiting your afternoon visit."

Catherine walked to the foot of the bed and smiled down on her father. She thought she saw pleasure in his blue eyes, but perhaps it was only wishful thinking on her part. "It's a lovely day. I should have a servant carry you into the garden."

He didn't react to her suggestion, other than to blink.

She wondered if he'd be embarra.s.sed-or grateful-to be carted down. It was so difficult to know what to do.

"Temperance, before you take some time for yourself, please have the servants move the chaise longue from the morning room to the garden and then send a footman up to carry my father down."

"If I may be so bold, my lady, I'm not certain his physician would agree with that action. It may do more harm than good."

Then Catherine might have her father's death on her conscience. Avendale's she could live with, but her father's- She sighed. "Ask his physician the next time he comes to check on the duke."

"Yes, my lady."

It seemed as though Catherine could do so little to make her father comfortable.

"I'll be visiting with my father for the next hour," Catherine told her. "Take some time for yourself."

"Thank you, my lady."

Catherine sat in the chair and took her father's hand. He moved his head only slightly to look at her. He awkwardly rubbed the ring she'd begun wearing on her right hand.

"I've taken to wearing Mother's wedding ring. Is that all right?"

He made a sound deep in his throat. Taking a linen handkerchief from a stack on the bedside table, she wiped the spittle from the corner of his mouth.

"I wish you could tell me what you wanted." She brushed her fingers through his thinning silver hair. "I hope you're not in pain."

With a sigh, she sat back and lifted a book from the bedside table. "Let's see what sort of trouble Oliver and the Artful Dodger are going to get into today, shall we?"

"Expected to be collecting from you sooner," Jack said as he welcomed Luke into their establishment that evening.

"I went away for a bit."

Three days to be exact. The worst part was when he returned from the brink of despair, when the liquor had served its purpose and its effect began fading. His head hurt, his stomach roiled, and he felt like b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. It was a strange thing for a man such as he, a man who'd done the things he'd done, to be hit with a bit of conscience. It was always worse at night, when he faced his own demons alone. All that would change once he married Frannie. She'd distract him from his somber musings. She'd bring light into his darkness. She'd be his salvation.

"Into a bottle?" Jack asked.

"I don't see that it's any of your concern."

Jack shrugged. "It's not. I just wondered if I should send another case of my finest Irish whiskey round to your residence."

Luke hated admitting his weakness, even to Jack. "Yes, see to it. Tonight if possible."

"Consider it done."