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Catherine jerked awake as a rush of the restless night winds slammed violently against the shutters. Instinctively, she reached out for Tavington but found the bed distressingly empty. She sat up and wrapped a sheet around her, troubled by the mounting storm and Tavington's absence from her side.
"Colonel?" she called out, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
"Yes, Miss Hamilton?"
Catherine smiled, reassured, and tried to track Tavington's voice to its source.
"Where are you, William?"
Catherine glanced around the bed, peering into the shadows to find something to put on. She couldn't quite remember where Tavington had left her clothes a few hours earlier.
She turned her head at the sudden sound of Tavington whistling to her, beckoning her to where he sat in his chair by the fireplace. Catherine abandoned the quest for her clothes and simply tucked the bed sheet around her as she clambered out of bed.
"Don't whistle," she chided Tavington as she came to stand at the side of his chair.
"And why not?" He put the book he had been reading next to the candle on the side table and reached out to pull Catherine across his lap.
"Because I can't, and it upsets me greatly that other people can."
Catherine settled into Tavington's lap, grateful for the warmth of his body. He was wearing only his breeches again and his uniform jacket over his bare chest.
"And such talented lips too. I'm shocked." Tavington slipped his hand into Catherine's hair and pulled her to him. They kissed for a long time, Catherine sliding her hand behind his neck as he pressed his hand soft into her stomach.
Catherine drew back, startled by a deafening crash of thunder.
"A grown woman afraid of a thunderstorm..." Tavington teased her, rubbing her stomach.
"I am not afraid," she protested hotly. "They just make me a little jumpy. And don't tell me that storm didn't wake you up too." Catherine tugged teasingly on his jacket as she gave him a dour scowl.
"Actually, you woke me up, Catherine." Tavington took her hand in his and kissed her palm.
"I did?"
"Yes. You kicked me in your sleep."
"That's nonsense. I have no doubt I was wide awake when I kicked you."
"Of course you were. Which is why you said absolutely nothing when I kicked you back."
"Oh, I confess. I am a heavy sleeper," Catherine conceded. "Blessing and a curse for a mistress," she said, grinning impishly at him.
"I can imagine." Tavington smiled at her reference to their night together in the kitchen. "And what are you wearing?" Tavington asked running his hand over her makeshift gown.
"A sheet. Don't you like it?"
"Quite nice."
"Yes, I think I shall wear to the ball tonight," Catherine said with a playful flip of the fabric.
Tavington raised his eyebrow at her. "White, Catherine?"
Catherine ignored the insult as she leaned back in the chair to reach Tavington's abandoned book on the table behind her.
"Oh, I see you found my Catullus," she said flipping through the familiar pages of ancient poetry. "I do have good taste, don't I?" Catherine shut the book fast as the memory of the night Tavington said those words flooded her mind. It was the time he took her virginity, and that was his own cruel question to her when she had responded so ardently to him.
"I'm sorry," she said not knowing quite why she was apologizing.
Tavington trailed his fingers lightly over her naked arm.
"I'm not," he replied softly, apparently pleased by the effect the memory had on her. "And yes, you do."
Catherine opened the book again, flustered by the deluge of images from the first night he took her.
"You think about it, don't you?" Tavington lifted his hand to sweep her hair over her shoulder.
Catherine closed her eyes and recalled the moment he first came into her, the first painful thrust, his hand clamped over her mouth to silence her screams.
"All the time," she admitted.
"Do you regret it, Catherine?"
Catherine hated how Tavington had only to say her name in that way that was both condescending and seductive, and she would feel her outrage, her grief collapse and crumble away.
"I suppose that's the question, isn't it?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes.
Tavington said nothing but only returned her gaze. Catherine looked away first and opened the book to a well-worn page.
"Odi et Amo," she recited quietly, running her fingers over the words.
"What was that?" Tavington raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her.
"One of my favorite poems. It's Catullus to his lover." Catherine turned her eyes back to Tavington's. "Odi et Amo--I hate and I love."
"I know what it means," Tavington said gently, taking the book from Catherine and laying it back on the table. He slid his hand under the rumpled sheet and wandered up Catherine's thigh.
"Of course you do," Catherine smiled. "I forgot. You British lads are all forced to learn ancient languages."
"Oh yes," Tavington drawled as he slipped his hand between Catherine's legs and thrust two fingers inside her. "Veni. Vidi. Vici."
Catherine arched her back and pulled her knee to her chest as Tavington pushed hard into her.
I came. I saw. I conquered.
"My God," Catherine breathed, shifting her hips in response to this invasion. "You're even a bastard in Latin."
She heard Tavington chuckle lightly as he turned his hand and pressed into her again. This was the imperious, arrogant Tavington she knew so well.
"Don't pretend you don't like it, Catherine," he reprimanded her. "I know your heart is racing."
Catherine let her head fall back in pleasure as Tavington spread his fingers within her, opening her gradually.
"And how do you know that?" she demanded, panting slightly.
"I can feel your pulse."
"You can?" Catherine lifted her head up in surprise.
"Yes."
"Where?" she asked. His hand was no where near her wrist.
"Inside you, Catherine," Tavington whispered as he withdrew one finger and pressed the tip of the other one into a spot deep within her. "Right here."
Catherine gasped a little as Tavington gently kneaded his finger into her.
"Would you like to feel?"
"Me?"
"Of course you. Give me your hand, Catherine."
Catherine knew she should be mortified by this command, but she was too intrigued and far too aroused to even bother.
Tavington pulled completely out of her and took her hand in his. He folded all her fingers over except for her forefinger and gently guided her hand into her, her finger under his, slowly searching, exploring inside her wet warmth until she felt the unmistakable sensation of her pulse beating rapidly against her finger. She laughed at the discovery, astonished by her own body.
"That's amazing," she sighed, grinning at Tavington who was obviously enjoying her awe.
"Isn't it?" Tavington drew his hand away and spread the bed sheet apart to uncover her naked hips. Catherine saw he was watching her as she moved her hand inside herself. "Just magnificent."
After a long, heady silence, punctuated by the plaintive wailing of the winds outside, Tavington took Catherine's hand and pulled it out of her body, kissing the back of it before covering her again with the sheet.
"Do we have to stop?" she asked, disappointed.
"Yes, or neither of us will get any more sleep."
"Oh, who needs sleep?" Catherine jerked sullenly on his jacket again and brought her forehead to his, attempting to stare him down.
"We do." Tavington lifted his head abruptly and kissed her quick on the lips. He placed his hands on her waist to steady her as he brought them both to their feet and ushered her toward the bed. "I don't intend for either of us to get much in the way of sleep tonight."
Catherine stopped in her tracks as she realized that tonight would be their final night together. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Our last night, she thought. If I live that long.
"Catherine?" Tavington was now standing at the side of the bed, waiting for her to follow him.
Catherine walked slowly toward him and raised her eyes calmly to his.
"You would kill me, wouldn't you, if you had to and you wouldn't lose any sleep over it, would you?" Catherine searched his face for any flicker of feeling. But Tavington only cocked his head sternly at her.
"I know," she conceded. "Don't ask questions..."
Catherine moved behind Tavington and reached under his hair to his collar. She pulled the jacket down his arms, letting herself relish the slow unveiling of his shoulders and his back. Dropping the jacket on the floor, Catherine spread her hands over his back and slid them up his warm skin, across his shoulders and down his arms. Tavington turned to face her, bringing his hands to her chest and untucking the sheet before pulling it away from her body and throwing it back onto the bed. He stepped toward her and stood only a hairbreadth away. Catherine closed her eyes as he bent to kiss her, shivering as his hands roamed delicately down her naked skin. She drew away from the kiss and rested her head against his chest.
Tavington lifted his hand to tilt her chin up, gently forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Yes."
He answered her question after all. Although, she admitted to herself, she had already known what his answer would be.
Catherine gave a hollow laugh and withdrew from his embrace. She crawled into bed, laying back against the pillows and watched through the dark as Tavington finished undressing. He stretched out next to her and pulled her against him. Catherine flinched as another burst of thunder echoed through the room.
"I'm here, Catherine," Tavington said soothingly into her hair.
You bastard, she thought. Don't do this to me.
"Have I told you yet that I hate you?" Catherine asked trying to fight off the peace she felt in his arms.
She heard Tavington laugh softly before he pressed her even closer to him.
"I think you may have mentioned it."
Catherine found his hand in the dark and wound her hand around his fingers.
"William?"
"Yes, Catherine?"
"So would I."
Catherine was at her desk again composing another letter when Judith entered with breakfast. Tavington had left while Catherine was still asleep. She was strangely upset at herself for letting him go while she slept. It wouldn't be until the ball tonight when she saw him again and some part of her had wanted to see him before he rode out. This is madness, Catherine, she scolded herself. He's your enemy, remember? He's taken everything from you.
It was hard to hate the man who held her during the storm. So she thought instead about the man who would kill her and lose no sleep over it.
She looked up and gave Judith a faint, empty smile as her maid entered the room.
"You're trying to put me in my grave, aren't you?" Judith asked coldly when she saw what Catherine was doing.
Catherine released a heavy sigh and turned her eyes back to her maid.
"Don't worry, Jude. I'm not sending anymore notes or gifts to Lord Cornwallis."
"Thank God for that at least. What are you doing then?" Judith sat the breakfast try down on the bed, shaking her head in disapproval at the suspiciously disheveled state of the linens.
"Oh, just writing my will," Catherine replied lightly, trying to tease herself into a better mood. She laughed at the shocked look Judith gave her. "I'm not serious, Jude."
"Please, don't scare me like that." Judith came over and ran her hands tenderly over Catherine's hair.
"Sorry. I'm writing Mr. Warren." Catherine looked up at Judith with a resigned smile.
Judith brought her hand to her chest as her breath caught in her throat.
"Are you alright, Jude?" Catherine asked, reaching out for her maid's hand.
"Fine, Miss. I just can't believe this is all happening." Catherine gave Judith's hand a reassuring squeeze before turning back to her task.
"I know. Me neither. But he made an open offer after Father died. And a very good one." Catherine lifted her completed letter and blew lightly on the wet ink. "But it has to be done today. Tomorrow might be too late."
"What are you planning, Miss?" Judith asked nervously, leaning over to face her mistress.
Catherine met Judith's eyes, feeling tired but resolute. "I'm planning on staying alive." Is that really what this is about, Catherine? she asked herself.
Catherine sealed her letter as Judith began collecting her discarded clothes. She opened her mouth to speak as she stood up, but she felt a wave of light-headedness wash over her, forcing her to sit back down again. Judith dropped the clothes back on the floor and rushed to Catherine's side.
"Miss?" Catherine saw a look of horror cross Judith's face and knew immediately what her maid was thinking.
"I'm fine, Jude." Catherine tried to laugh but the sound was flat and lifeless. "I'm just hungry."
"I hope that's all," Judith said fretfully, crossing to the bed to retrieve the breakfast tray. "And I suppose with that storm last night you couldn't sleep a wink."
"It did wake me up once," Catherine acknowledged, rising carefully to her feet. She recalled how she had held onto to Tavington like a child after he had taken them back to bed. And she remembered the curious feeling of safety she felt laying next to him. "But after that, I slept like a baby."
"I suppose it's a little silly to worry about the propriety of you going to a ball without a chaperon, isn't it?"
Catherine grinned at Judith, feeling more like herself again after a long day of preparing for Cornwallis' ball. It was early evening and Judith and Molly were helping Catherine dress in her room.
"Yes, I think it may be a little too late to worry about my reputation." Catherine saw Molly's eyes widen at her and Judith's candid discussion of Catherine's situation. "But Cornwallis mentioned something in his letter about me being a guest of a Lady Chatham. I think she's must be some elderly widowed relative of his."
"I suppose that will take care of it then, Miss. No one would gainsay Lord Cornwallis."
"I hope not, Jude. This night will be difficult enough as it is." Catherine uncurled herself from the desk chair and walked to her dressing area. Molly was hanging up the gown Catherine had chosen as she nervously brushed out the invisible wrinkles.
"Are you sure you want this one, Miss?" Molly asked running her hands over the rich fabric. "It's beautiful, but it is quite warm out tonight."
"I know," Catherine sighed. "But, as you see, I need something that covers a bit more." Catherine turned her back to Molly and lowered her robe to her waist.
"Oh my God..." Molly breathed as Catherine unveiled her body. Catherine had already examined herself in the mirror that day and seen the state of her back. Tavington had done his work well yesterday. Fresh bruises were layered in marble swirls on top of older ones. There were even bruises the size of his hand--the marks of all five fingers painted like a blue-black fan on her skin.
"Miss!" Judith scolded her as took Molly's hand. "You're scaring the girl to death."
Catherine laughed coldly at these words. Molly was scared? "I'm sorry, Jude. But she's helping me dress. She was going to see them anyway." Catherine pulled her robe up again and held it closed.
Catherine turned an apologetic face to the young girl. "It isn't as bad as it looks, Molly. Don't worry."
Molly shook her head and turned to gather Catherine's underclothes. She turned abruptly back to Catherine and asked, "Why haven't you just killed him, Miss?"
"How funny you should ask..." Catherine said with a vague smile, recalling her conversation with Tavington two nights before as she stepped behind her dressing screen and pulled on her slip and underskirts.
"What is?"
"William asked me that same question."
"William?" Judith said, raising a stern eyebrow. "When did he become William?"
"Oh, at birth I would imagine," Catherine answered flippantly walking back out to the mirror. She was embarrassed that she had betrayed their intimacy to her servants. She remembered him sighing her name yesterday morning. My God, she thought, he can even manipulate me in his sleep. Catherine tried to summon her hate again. She needed her hate to go through with this. "And I haven't killed him because it is far more important to keep us all alive than it is to kill him, Molly. It isn't just my life in his hands. It's yours and everyone else's." But Catherine couldn't meet Molly's eyes as she said this. What she was planning--it might save them all or it might destroy them all. Tavington included.
"How can you stand to even go to this ball, Miss? Won't everyone know?"
"Oh no, Molly. The colonel is far too devious for that."
"So no one knows about you and him, Miss? Except us then?" Molly asked Catherine timidly as she brought the gown over to Catherine.
"Not yet. I think our friend the colonel is quite determined to keep this a secret. For now at least." Catherine raised her arms as Molly and Judith lowered the gown slowly over her head.
"Why?"
"Oh, so he can control the situation. As long as it's his secret to keep, then it's his secret to tell." Catherine held in her breath as Molly began painstakingly tightening her laces.
"I suppose so. It isn't as if you would ever tell anyone, Miss," Molly said as she stepped back from Catherine.
Catherine exhaled and smiled distantly at the young girl as she turned to inspect her appearance in the mirror. She was wearing an elegant gown of light gray--half mourning colors. Under normal circumstances it would have been slightly improper as well for a woman still in mourning to attend a ball. But exceptions were made for the Lord General. And, as Judith said, it was a bit late to be concerned with propriety now.
"Oh no," Catherine replied quietly, mindlessly smoothing her skirt. "Never."
Catherine never liked this part. It was the long carriage ride over darkening roads that often compelled her to decline invitations. When her father was alive, it was never a concern. She always had someone to talk to in the carriage. Or, at least, someone to be silent with. But she had left Judith at home with the terse instructions, "Start packing," and it was only her bleak thoughts that kept her company tonight.
Originally, Catherine hadn't planned to tell. The note and the horses were only to make Tavington nervous and to give her an ally with Lord Cornwallis. But Tavington had ridden all the way to the house in the middle of the day just to warn her against betraying him. That could only mean one thing--he was worried that she would. She had guessed rightly. Tavington did have a reason for desiring to keep their affair a secret--a reason other than concern for her. And when she had received the invitation to meet Cornwallis himself...it was a simple plan. She had her story and Tavington's growing reputation for ruthlessness. She had the testimony of her servants and the evidence of her body. He had threatened her. He had coerced her. And she had only gone along with it to save herself and protect her household. A single woman alone--what else was she to do? He wouldn't hang. She knew that. After all, she admitted to herself, it wasn't rape. But rumors of rape or coercion would make life difficult for him. There might even be outrage enough to prevent further promotion. Tavington would be enraged, she knew. But she would be under Cornwallis' protection. It was well known that Cornwallis thought of his own reputation as sacrosanct. And anything Tavington tried to do to her would be seen as personal vengeance. It was his job, he had said, to subdue the rebellious population. But it wasn't his job to kill his mistress and burn her house down--her former house, she corrected herself. For that, he would hang.
Do you think someone as ambitious as I would take that chance? he had asked her.
Lord, I hope not.
She never actually promised she wouldn't betray him.
Despite her dark mood, Catherine couldn't help but smile when she saw the home of the family hosting Lord Cornwallis' ball. Her own plantation had the elegance of simplicity. But this home had the grandeur of excess. She had seen it before but never like this. The rolling lawns were ablaze with hundreds of torches and red-liveried servants by the dozens carried enormous candelabrums in one hand and trays bearing wine glasses or food in the other. She saw that glorious gardens twisted from the side of the home around to the back. It appeared there was even a towering labyrinth of shrubbery. Loyalists, she laughed, we're more English than the actual English.
A footman opened her carriage door and helped her out. She looked around furtively hoping to see someone she knew.
"Miss Hamilton, I presume?"
Catherine turned around to see a woman approaching her. She was elegant beyond words. Catherine guessed that she was around thirty-five years old and had exquisite auburn piled into striking curls on her head. Her gown was cut simply and low and likely cost more than Catherine's carriage had.
"Yes, Catherine Hamilton, milady." Catherine recovered herself quickly from her awe and bobbed a graceful curtsey.
"You are charming, aren't you?" she said enigmatically. "Lady Alexandra Chatham, Lord Cornwallis' niece. You're to be my guest this evening."
Catherine was slightly speechless. "Forgive me, milady," she replied after a moment. "I'm afraid I was expecting an elderly widow." Catherine smiled to cover her embarrassment.
"Widow, yes," Lady Chatham answered with a kind smile. "Elderly? Not quite yet. Shall we?"
Catherine covertly studied her hostess as they entered the grand home. Her accent was clearly English although less pronounced than Tavington's. Catherine had heard that Cornwallis' late sister had a daughter who married and moved to the colonies with her second husband a few years previous before being widowed again. This must be she, Catherine imagined. Clearly, she had been living some time in America. They chatted about the usual female vanities, dresses and draperies, as they entered the immense ballroom. Catherine caught herself scanning the room for Tavington, eyeing every red uniform she saw. But he was no where to be seen.
"You'll have to excuse my uncle," Lady Chatham whispered in a conspiratorial voice into Catherine's ear as they stood amidst the swirl of guests. "He enjoys making a late and grand entrance. I'm sure he'll be here in an hour or so."
Catherine nodded and smiled. She liked Lady Chatham. She was the consummate hostess, utterly unflustered and self-possessed as she took Catherine through the crowds introducing her to everyone she knew, which was apparently everyone. She plucked a wine glass off the tray and handed it to Catherine. She had never met a lady so refined and yet so amicable. Catherine felt almost ashamed to be seen with such a distinguished and gracious woman. Surely if she knew the truth, Catherine thought bitterly, she wouldn't be caught dead with me.
Catherine raised her hand and fanned her face lightly. She was feeling slightly lightheaded again but this time she was certain it was only the heat from the crush of guests. Lady Chatham seemed to notice her discomfort and asked her kindly if she would like some air. Catherine accepted gratefully and followed her, not out to the lawns as she expected, but to the edge of the ballroom and through a narrow doorway out onto a small and deserted balcony overlooking the gardens.
Catherine breathed in deeply, relishing the refreshing late evening air, and stepped to the ledge to study the elegant view.
"So tell me, Miss Hamilton," Lady Chatham asked coming to stand at Catherine's side. "Just how spectacular in bed is he?"
Catherine nearly choked on her mouthful of wine. She swallowed it hard, gasping for breath and heard Lady Chatham laughing apologetically as she took a lace handkerchief from a hidden pocket and handed it to Catherine.
"I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to nearly kill you. I only ask because I'm wildly curious."
"You know?" Catherine asked after recovering a fraction of her composure.
"Of course," Lady Chatham said with a smile. "William and I are old friends."
At that moment, Catherine experienced the novel sensation of wanting to murder someone even slightly more than she wanted to murder Tavington.
Lady Chatham obviously read the meaning behind Catherine's look when she grinned and replied, "He's right. Those eyes of yours can't hide a thing."
This was too much. Not only had Tavington talked to this woman about their situation, he had talked about her.
"Oh, don't worry, Miss Hamilton. I said we're old friends. And we're even close friends. But I assure you," and here Catherine noticed a slight falling of her face, "we are just friends."
"Forgive me, milady, but this is unbelievable." Catherine thought she might faint. And she was furious at herself for that flash of jealousy when she thought of Tavington with another woman.
"Is it? Well, I suppose it is a bit unorthodox. But, as I said, William and I are old friends."
"I'm having some trouble imagining Colonel Tavington as being any woman's friend." Catherine felt herself calm down slightly at Lady Chatham's casual manner.
"Oh, he did me a great kindness many many years ago. I have been in his debt ever since." Catherine noticed that as she said these words, Lady Chatham ran her hand over the finger where she once would have worn her wedding ring.
"Colonel Tavington? A kindness?" Catherine asked, utterly shocked.
"Well, admittedly he didn't do it out of kindness. But it was a kindness nonetheless. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend."
Catherine wanted to ask for the story but saw a veil come over Lady Chatham's eyes. She knew that was all she would learn of her past with Tavington.
"I suppose," Catherine said noncommittally, taking a small sip of her wine.
"I must confess, Miss Hamilton, that I do envy you. I've been trying for years to get him into my bed. Apparently you managed it within a day. Tell me--what's your secret?"
"My secret?" Catherine laughed coldly. Most women would have been horrified by what had transpired between her and Tavington. And here, this woman was envious. "I suppose my secret was being a woman with a large home and no father or husband."
"Unfortunately, that can't be it. That describes me, as well. Of course, I am General Cornwallis' niece. And though you can call William many things, you cannot rightly call him foolish. Although," she continued quietly, "taking you to bed is not the wisest choice he could have made."
"Why do you say that?" Catherine was curious despite her shock at this bizarre exchange.
"My uncle is possibly the only man in the British army more ambitious than our William. He knows that wars are won by reputation as well as battles. William thinks his prowess on the battlefield makes untouchable. I hear rumors that some colonials have begun calling him 'the Butcher.' It will be a difficult day for William when my uncle finds out about that. But if he knew that William had taken a woman by threatening her life, especially an unprotected Loyalist..."
"Yes?"
"Well," Catherine saw a dangerous smile cross Lady Chatham's face, "I have little doubt our William would be cashiered faster than you can say Captain Tavington. Or, even worse, my uncle would make William marry you on the spot. But I suppose that won't stop you."
"Excuse me?"
"Stop you from telling. You plan to, don't you?" Catherine couldn't believe her ears. Could this woman read her mind as well as her eyes? "Don't looked so shocked, Miss Hamilton. No one gives a small fortune's worth of horseflesh away out of mere loyalty. And a woman in your situation must have something on her mind to risk coming out in public like this. Do you deny it?"
"No," Catherine admitted, not knowing why she was trusting this inscrutable woman. "He's taken everything from me, milady. Can you blame me for wanting to take something of his?"
"Not at all. He's an absolute bastard and there's no excuse for it. But tomorrow," Lady Chatham said turning dark eyes to Catherine, "you'll still have more than he does. Even if he did take everything from you."
"Forgive me if I can't feel sorry for him. He took my home and threatened to burn it. And he still may. He holds my reputation in his hands. One word from him will completely destroy it forever. I'll have to move. I may be carrying his child. I'll have to leave and pretend to be some grieving widow in Canada or some such place. And he may still kill me. He's made it quite clear that he has no qualms about that whatsoever." Catherine felt a kind of catharsis from listing her grievances. It was easier to think clearly when Tavington wasn't near her.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about him killing you, Miss Hamilton," Lady Chatham said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "He'd rather fuck you than kill you."
At that, Catherine did choke. She coughed into Lady Chatham's handkerchief and rested against the railing of the balcony. She heard Lady Chatham laughing again as she came to lean next to her.
"I am sorry, Miss Hamilton. I promise I'll stop doing that."
"Thank you, milady," Catherine answered as she took a few steadying breaths.
"May I just ask you one more question, Miss Hamilton?"
Catherine nodded silently into the handkerchief.
"Of all he took from you..." Catherine saw Lady Chatham's gaze rest meaningfully on Catherine's body with a wicked gleam in her eye. She knew Lady Chatham was referring to her virginity. "Can you honestly say you miss it that much?"
Catherine didn't answer the question. She didn't even want to think about it. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to face the gardens again and said nothing.
"Well, you are a pretty thing," Lady Chatham continued with an appraising smirk. "And as rich as Croesus I hear. You should be fine. And you'll love being a widow. We get away with everything. And do feel free to send William my way when you're finished with him. Or even if you aren't finished with him," she said running her eyes over Catherine's body again in a way that made Catherine feel slightly uncomfortable, "you both can come."
"Isn't this a sight to make a man lose sleep?"
Catherine gasped and turned abruptly around when she heard Tavington's voice behind her. He was wearing his dress uniform.--God, she hated how beautiful he was--and he was staring suspiciously at Catherine and Lady Chatham standing side by side in confidential intimacy.
"William!" Lady Chatham greeted him with an amorous smile. "How terribly appropriate. That possibility is what Miss Hamilton and I were just discussing."
"Behave yourself, Alexa." Tavington raised a warning eyebrow at Lady Chatham. "You'll frighten your guest."
Alexa? Now Catherine couldn't quite decide who she wanted to kill more.
"Good evening, Miss Hamilton," Tavington said taking her hand and dropping a gentlemanly kiss on it.
Catherine, not to outdone, gave a slight, imperious nod of her head and replied, "Good evening, Colonel Tavington."
"Alexa?" Tavington turned stern eyes to Lady Chatham. "Are you planning on keeping Miss Hamilton to yourself all night?"
"I've passed nights with far less enchanting company, William. Has my uncle made his appearance yet?"
"Not quite. But his toad has finally come out. It shouldn't be too long."
"His toad?" Catherine asked, confused.
"Brigadier General O'Hara," Lady Chatham explained with a disgusted sigh. "I suppose he's looking for me, isn't he?"
"Of course. Although, I think he would be quite delighted to make Miss Hamilton's acquaintance. Shall we?"
"If we must."
Tavington held out his arm for Catherine. She fought off the urge to give Lady Chatham a smug smirk until she remembered that Tavington was her enemy and she was planning on destroying his career.
The threesome made their way through the crowds and out onto the lawns. Catherine only listened as Tavington and Lady Chatham made intimate chit-chat. Clearly, Lady Chatham had not been exaggerating. It was plain that the two of them had known each other for quite a long time. As they came to stand on a scenic knoll, Catherine spotted O'Hara, the toad, immediately--it was a truly appropriate nickname. He was hurrying toward them while doing his best to look as if he wasn't hurrying. His eyes were trained on Lady Chatham, and Catherine felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her beautiful companion. There were apparently other drawbacks to being Lord Cornwallis' widowed niece besides not having Tavington for a lover.
"Ah, Lady Chatham," he breathed with an unctuous grin. "You are looking lovely this evening."
"Thank you, General," Lady Chatham replied with perfectly composed features.
"Colonel Tavington."
"General O'Hara."
Catherine saw that there was clearly no love lost between those two. She hid her smile behind her wine glass before setting it down on the lawn table next to them. She wanted to be sympathetic to O'Hara. As Lady Chatham had said, the enemy of my enemy. But O'Hara was beyond odious. She felt herself inching toward Tavington as if to separate herself from this man. Unfortunately, her movement only caught O'Hara's eye.
"And who is this?" he asked Lady Chatham with an sycophantic smile.
"General O'Hara, this is Miss Catherine Hamilton. She's the young lady who so generously donated her horses to the Dragoons." Lady Chatham stepped aside as O'Hara took Catherine's hand and kissed it.
"Of course," O'Hara said as his eyes widened with approval. "You had an outstanding stable."
"Oh yes," Tavington agreed with an innocent smile. "Miss Hamilton has a great eye for horseflesh. She supplied me with a most magnificent mount this week."
That was it. Catherine had a new plan.
"Generous indeed, Miss Hamilton. Do you ride much?"
Catherine opened her mouth to reply but Tavington spoke before she could get a word out.
"She rides quite often, General. I've seen her. She has a truly admirable seat. Especially since she rides such an enormous stallion."
"Most impressive, Miss Hamilton. You must be quite skilled."
Catherine answered quickly before Tavington could speak for her again.
"The Colonel flatters me. He knows perfectly well I ride a tiny little gelding."
Catherine was more than gratified to see Lady Chatham nearly choke this time. Tavington only looked at her with amused eyes. And O'Hara seemed utterly oblivious. Catherine was grateful for the sudden intrusion of a servant requesting Lady Chatham accompany him. She and Tavington both made their bows and walked back toward the house. Catherine inwardly fumed that he had left her alone with O'Hara. She reached for her wine glass that she had sat on the table earlier and found it was gone. Catherine looked up to see Tavington standing on the steps to the house, talking to another officer. He caught her eye and raised his, no her, wine glass to her in a subtle salute.
"So, Miss Hamilton," O'Hara said turning flirtatious eyes to Catherine. "Colonel Tavington says you're quite the Whist player."
She was going to kill him.
Five minutes with General O'Hara was all it took for Catherine to decide that it was neither Tavington nor Lady Chatham that she most wanted to kill this evening. Her obsequious and oily companion was droning on incessantly about Lord Cornwallis' genius, his goodness...Catherine expected O'Hara to announce their engagement at any moment.
When she saw an old business acquaintance of her father's on the edge of the lawn, Catherine began moving slowly in his direction as O'Hara continued assailing her with stories of his idol-general. Catherine was only slightly more afraid than she was annoyed. As they strolled, Catherine noticed several of Tavington's Dragoons glancing in her direction with knowing eyes. She almost wished one of them would break and just tell everyone. Of course, they had more than one vested interest in keeping their mouths shut. She knew that their silence was well-rewarded. And any loose talk, no doubt, would be swiftly and fiercely punished. Catherine remembered the major and his vicious sword wounds. No, they wouldn't be the ones to tell. But Catherine knew eventually the story would come out. Either Tavington would tell the tale to punish her or her own, almost certain, pregnant body would tell the story for him. It seemed to Catherine that she had spent the whole week waiting for Tavington to ruin her completely. As she told Judith, the damage was already done. Now all that was left was the waiting. Part of her wanted to just stand on a table and shout it to everyone herself.
As O'Hara rattled on, Catherine made half-hearted assents and murmurs. But the whole time her eyes were searching the grounds for Tavington. It wasn't until O'Hara spoke his name that Catherine began listening to him again.
"I'm sorry, General. What was that?"
"I know. So many people out, Miss Hamilton. I only said that I hoped Colonel Tavington and his officers hadn't upset your routine too much. Must be a strain, to have so many guests."
"Oh no, not at all." Catherine couldn't believe this. Did O'Hara know that she'd been staying in the same house with them.
"You've had family friends staying with you as well, I hear. I'm sure you'll be pleased to have your home back tomorrow."
Apparently, Tavington had covered his tracks quite well. He had been protecting himself.
"Yes, it will be nice to have things as they were. But it has been only a small sacrifice, General." Catherine smiled sweetly at him and began praying for someone, anyone to interrupt them.
"Well, that is certainly generous of you to say." Catherine shuddered slightly as O'Hara moved closer to her to whisper confidentially to her. "But I'm sure we both know that Colonel Tavington is not a man anyone would want under their roof."
"Really?" Catherine asked innocently, suddenly intrigued. "Why do you say that?"
"The colonel is known for being something of a...difficult man. He's a gentleman from a good family--or it was a good family..."
Just then Catherine spotted the object of their discussion making his way toward the entrance to the gardens. He looked bored beyond words. Most likely he had just extricated himself from some dull conversation of his own. She felt a twinge of sympathy for him. And envy. She would do almost anything to get out of this conversation with O'Hara. Good family? Evidently, O'Hara's definition of a good family concerned only wealth and connections. Undoubtably, it was only Catherine's wealth that interested O'Hara even now.
"Yes, General?"
"But Tavington is quite brutal on the battlefield, unnecessarily so at times."
Catherine heard the faintest note of jealousy in his voice hidden under this petty criticism. Apparently, O'Hara was uncomfortable knowing that a more junior officer had achieved far more acclaim that he. Catherine let her eyes flit back to Tavington. He was still holding her wine glass. He must have sensed her gaze because he turned a wicked smirk to her right before disappearing into the gardens.
"Is that so, General? How appropriate. He's quite brutal in the bedroom too. Not that I'm complaining." Catherine flashed an innocent smile at O'Hara's utterly flabbergasted, thunderstruck face. For that one look alone, it was worth ruining her reputation. "Excuse me, General. God save the King."
With that, Catherine turned and strode toward the gardens. After a few steps, she increased her pace. When she noticed that several guests, especially Tavington's Dragoons were smiling at her speed having noticed her destination, she broke into a run.
Catherine ignored their stares as she made her rapid way to the gardens. She passed through the open gate, breathless and giddy from her rebellion, and began searching the labyrinthine gardens for Tavington. She turned a corner and came upon him standing in a small open area, festooned with late-blooming flowers and lit only by a single torch.
Catherine smiled at him when he saw her. She saw from the flicker of surprise in his eyes that he hadn't imagined she would follow him.
"You were right," Catherine said without preamble.
"Catherine, what are you doing?" She loved those moments when it was she who managed to shock him.
"You were right. It was my choice." Catherine took a deep breathe and walked toward the man who had taken everything from her. She had never wanted him so much in her life. "It was my choice. And no, I don't regret it."
She saw Tavington lift his chin just slightly to look down at her with searching eyes. When he smiled, she knew she had him.
"Catherine, we have all night. If you leave now, there may still be a chance."
"Oh no, there is no chance at all." She knew that was true. In five minutes, half the guests would know what she had done. In ten more minutes, half the colony would. There was also no chance now at claiming coercion. But looking at him, his ice-blue eyes, his cold, striking face, the perfect body she could never get enough of...she couldn't care less.
"Catherine," he repeated with a sigh although she could tell he was fighting off his own desire. "We have all night."
Catherine stepped forward and took her wine glass back from him. She drained the remaining contents in one swallow and threw it to the ground with a dramatic flourish, shattering it completely.
"Why wait?"
Catherine nearly fell when Tavington seized her by the wrist and pulled her deeper into the maze. They came into another secluded corner of the gardens, dimly light and furnished with only a solitary bench. Catherine wrapped her arms around Tavington's back as he took her face in his hands and pressed her mouth open with his, forcing her down onto the cold, stone bench even as they kissed. Catherine pulled her knees to her chest and spread her legs wide as Tavington opened his breeches. But he paused before he entered her, staring down at her waiting body.
"This is just how I imagined you, Catherine, the first day I saw you," he said softly as he ran his hands over her stockings, trailing his fingers along the lacy edge of her garters.
"Really?" Catherine asked as she raised her legs, slipping them over his shoulders. "I just pictured you naked."
"I thought so."
Catherine grinned at Tavington, smug and superior even now. But she felt a quick flicker of trepidation when Tavington suddenly took his knee off the bench and planted first one foot and then the other hard on the ground as he leaned forward so far that Catherine's knees nearly touched her chest.
But the fear quickly dissipated as Tavington positioned himself at Catherine's wet and ready opening. He turned his head and kissed her lightly on her stockinged calf just before he thrust himself into her, imbedding himself to the hilt. Catherine gasped at his fierce entrance, gripping his arms as he began driving into her. She had only one fleeting, coherent thought as he took her--she was going to miss this. Even the pain of the hard stone on her bruised back made no impression. She was lost in the urgent, merciless rhythm of their joined bodies. When she came, she came with abandon, thrashing and arching beneath him as she felt the familiar wet heat as Tavington spent himself with a guttural groan, thrusting hard into her once last time.
He stayed inside her a moment as they panted together in silence. Tavington smiled down at her, coming out of her as he rose to his feet. Catherine slowly lowered her own legs and rolled up with a smile of her own.
"You're grinning, Catherine," Tavington said turning back to her after straightening his uniform.
"I know I am."
"For the obvious reason, I presume."
Catherine felt her heart skip a beat in fear and took a steadying breath to calm herself. This is it, she thought.
"Never presume anything, William."
"Really?" Tavington asked, looking down at her with suspicious eyes.
"Oh yes. Actually, I'm grinning because I just ruined by own reputation. That's one less thing you can hold over my head."
Catherine came bravely to her feet and stared unflinching into Tavington's eyes.
"And I'm grinning because I sold my property today. It isn't even my home for you to burn anymore. And now that everyone knows that we're lovers, I suppose you can hardly accuse me of treason. It is difficult for a soldier to advance himself when he admits to having a traitor for a mistress."
Catherine saw a flash of fury in Tavington's eyes but she continued nonetheless. It was too late to stop now.
"I suppose you could kill me, William. But tell me something...What's the punishment in the British army for murder? I'm just assuming that the punishment is even greater than for rape. So I suppose that's takes care of everything doesn't it? What else can you do to me? Unless of course," she said with a cold smirk of her own, "you want to go tell everyone my father used to call me Kitty."
She waited, expectant and scared, for Tavington to reply. This had not been her original plan. But it would do.
"What do you want, Catherine?" Tavington finally asked.
"Just your word that when you leave tomorrow, everything will be as it was. My house, my household, everything will still be intact."
"Everything intact, Catherine?" Tavington said as he pressed his hand to her stomach and slid it hard between her legs. "I'm not quite sure that's possible."
Catherine fought off a spasm of desire at his touch. "Everything except that, of course. You leave me alive tomorrow and we'll call it even. It's our last night, William. Let's not spend it fighting." Catherine smiled sweetly at him.
Tavington let his hand fall away and Catherine stepped forward. She rose up on the balls of her feet and put her hands on his shoulders so she could whisper in his ear.
"I know a game we can both win."
"Does this game have rules, Catherine?" Tavington asked coldly, stepping away from her.
"Just two rules. You let me go just like I've asked. And I won't allow Cornwallis to force you to marry me--wealthy, generous, unprotected Loyalist that I am. The scandal will be mine alone."
"I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with Alexa," Tavington sighed. Catherine was almost certain she heard a trace of amusement in his voice. "Go home, Catherine," Tavington ordered. "Wait for me in bed."
"Yes, Sir," Catherine replied with a pert curtsey. She moved to leave the gardens, trying not to think about how she would face the other guests.
"Catherine?"
"Yes, William?" she said turning to face him.
"I can think of worse fates than being forced to marry you."
"Well, I do hear I'm very witty." Catherine smiled as he came to her.
"Actually," Tavington drawled into her ear as he grazed her breast with his hand, "I was only interested in your father's money."
Catherine laughed when Tavington slapped her hard on her bottom as he brushed past her, disappearing into the labyrinth.
"My God." Catherine gasped as she heard the voice of Lady Chatham come out of nowhere. She turned and saw her appear from another part of the gardens. "He is spectacular, isn't he?"
It was Catherine's turn to be flabbergasted now. Who was this woman?
"Were you watching?" Catherine asked, aghast.
Lady Chatham only smiled. "You're famous, Miss Hamilton. Come with me. I can get you out of here."
Catherine followed Lady Chatham as she wove her way expertly through the gardens. Catherine was grateful for this kindness despite her lingering shock.
"Lady Chatham," she confessed breathlessly as they raced through the garden corridors. "I'm afraid I may have gotten you into trouble."
"With William? Oh no." Lady Chatham said with mock horror. "That means he might punish me." Lady Chatham flashed Catherine an illicit smile as they emerged from the back of the gardens to where the guests' carriages were waiting.
They wove through the carriages until they came to Catherine's.
"Why are you helping me?" Catherine asked as they stood together beside her carriage.
Lady Chatham gave an elegant shrug. "I've been in a similar situation before. And anything to get on William's good side, of course."
Catherine saw Lady Chatham smile into the distance before looking back at her with serious eyes. "Write me before you leave and tell me your plans. If you decide to go to England, I can help you. And I will help you."
"I don't know how to repay you," Catherine replied gratefully.
"I wouldn't worry about it, Miss Hamilton," Lady Chatham said with a grin. "I'll make William work off your debt."
Catherine turned to enter her carriage as Lady Chatham stepped away, but she stopped and spun around to face her enigmatic companion one last time.
"Lady Chatham?"
"Yes, Miss Hamilton"
"Try wearing a Green Dragoon uniform."
Catherine felt a burst of smug satisfaction at seeing the look of wide-eyed shock on Lady Chatham's face before the usually implacable lady burst into raucous laughter. Catherine only smiled and entered her carriage. She was still smiling an hour later when she finally returned home.
"I thought I told you to wait in bed. Are we feeling insolent tonight, Catherine?"
"Not at all, William. I was just feeling sentimental."
Catherine was sitting on her desk wearing only a loose white shift and holding a glass of wine. It was their last night after all. When she had returned to her house, former house she reminded herself, she had raced upstairs with exuberance, throwing off her clothes and imagining various illicit scenarios. But once again, Tavington had made her wait. It was over an hour later before he returned to the house.
Catherine smiled at Tavington standing just inside her room--he had changed back into his regular uniform and boots for the ride back--and unfolded her legs, setting one on each arm of the chair. "But if that's insolence, Colonel Tavington, then I suppose you'll have to punish me."
"You did spent too much time with Alexa, didn't you?"
"Actually, I don't believe I spent nearly enough time with her." Catherine felt an amorous smirk of her own spread across her face. For some reason, shedding herself of her reputation had caused her to shed the last of her inhibitions.
"Why Catherine, I do believe you may have a libertine in you after all."
"Not yet, William. But I would certainly like one in me." Catherine turned away from him to set the wine glass on the edge of the desk but dropped the glass when she heard the unmistakable sound of a cocking pistol.
She knew she had gotten off too easy.
Catherine turned around slowly to face Tavington. His eyes were narrowed and blue-black and his hand that held his pistol, aimed right at her heart, was steady and still as the grave. Catherine knew at that moment that Tavington was perfectly willing to kill her.
"Tell me, Catherine," Tavington asked softly, "will you consent to this too?"
Catherine went cold with her fear. She had betrayed him after all. And though he would suffer no consequences from it, she knew he could not allow her to win.
Catherine closed her eyes a moment and willed her racing heart to slow. She slid her feet off the chair and stood up. Tavington didn't move at all as she walked slowly to stand right in front of his pistol.
"Yes I will, William, if I have too. But surely," Catherine said as she dropped slowly to her knees in front of him without taking her eyes from his, "you'd rather fuck me than kill me."
Catherine saw that glint of surprise in his eyes once again. Still he kept his pistol trained on her. She smiled as she reached for the buttons of his breeches and began unfastening them. She laid her hands on his muscular thighs and slid them down his legs as she moved toward him. With a swift jerk of her hand, she yanked her grandfather's knife from his boot and brought it up between his legs. Catherine was quite pleased to hear him inhale sharply in fear as he felt the metal blade hovering near his most sensitive skin.
"William, I thought we weren't going to fight tonight."
Catherine looked up and met his eyes again. She thought she saw a grudging gleam of approval.
"Shall we call a truce then, Catherine?" he asked quietly.
"I think that would be a good idea. You could kill me right now, if you desire. But I wouldn't risk it. People tend to flinch when they take a bullet. . .Unless you just want to be a gelding, of course."
They stared at each other in intense silence. Catherine was surprised by how steady her own hand was. Tavington smiled and uncocked his pistol. Catherine brought the knife away from him carefully and replaced it in his boot.
Tavington threw his pistol down into a nearby chair before reaching down to help Catherine to her feet.
"You spilled the wine, Catherine."
Catherine turned and glanced back at the desk. Her wine glass was on the floor, the amber liquid oozing into the rich carpet.
"I suppose you will have to punish me then, William."
Catherine was unsurprised when Tavington raised the back of his hand and slapped her hard across the cheek.
"Forgive me...Colonel," she said with feigned sincerity, not deigning to rub her face.
"Much better."
The next thing Catherine felt was her stinging cheek pressed roughly against the wood of the desk, Tavington's hand holding her down by the neck as he pulled her shift up to her waist. She cried out when he rammed himself into her, her hips slamming painfully against the wood. Yes, she was definitely going to miss this.
Catherine lost count of how many times Tavington took her. When his own body was recovering, he would take with his hand. Once even, with the handle of her, now his, knife. He was desperate and remorseless as he had her again and again until she finally broke and begged him to stop. Tavington pulled her to him and she collapsed across his chest, exhausted and drained. Catherine fell asleep a few minutes later, lulled to sleep by Tavington's hand making gentle circles over her shoulders and back.
He took her one more time that night, just shortly before dawn. Catherine awoke to the sensation of Tavington's mouth on her breasts, kissing her gently. She whimpered when he entered her but had to smile when she heard him release a painful groan of his own. He hurt too. So instead of thrusting, Tavington merely wrapped his arms around her and rocked their bodies together slowly as Catherine wound her hands and legs around him, burying her head into his shoulder, not caring if he could feel that her face was wet with tears. When he finally came within her, she thought she heard him sigh her name. He rolled them onto their sides, still within her, and was still within her a moment later when she fell asleep again still clinging to him.
It was the slight shifting of the bed that roused Catherine. She knew Tavington was leaving and wanted to leave while she slept. But she wasn't hurt by this. Earlier they had said all that they needed to say to each other in the eloquent silence of their final act together. So Catherine pretended to be asleep as she listened to him dress.
After all, she thought, what could I even say?
I hate you? I love you? Neither were true unless they both were true.
So she continued in her pretense of sleep and listened to him leave her.
She heard a rustle of fabric--his breeches.
You know Catherine, it might help if you unbuttoned them first...
And the soft sound of linen--his shirt.
Much better Catherine. Wouldn't you agree?
She heard a splash of water and the scraping of his razor.
Tell me, Catherine, did your father ever teach you how to shave a man?
Catherine tensed once when she heard the sound of footsteps on her staircase. But she guessed it was only the two privates again, come to take Tavington's trunk down. She heard him braiding his queue. She listened as he pulled on his vest and jacket followed by the sound of the leather straps of his boots. When she heard a clinking thud on her desk, she nearly betrayed her charade and smiled.
The unlit candle, she had no doubt. One last little threat to her.
She heard Tavington pause only a moment before he opened the door and strode from her room. The arrogant boots on her steps and then after a few minutes she heard the sounds of departing soldiers and horses outside the house.
He was gone. And she was alive and would live. Unless...the candle was lit.
Catherine jerked up in bed and looked at her desk. Then she smiled. Pulling on her shift, she walked--very gingerly--to the desk, completely bare except for an envelope and an empty wine glass perched precariously close to the edge.
She picked up the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. There was nothing written on it. She unfolded the sheet and laughed out loud.
You can keep the lock of hair, Catherine. It can be a memento for you.
Arrogant bastard.
End of Night Seven
"Miss? Miss?"
"Oh yes, Judith, what were you saying?"
"You were humming again, Miss. Mr. Spencer was talking to you."
"Are you alright, Mrs. Williams?"
Catherine turned distant eyes to Mr. Spencer, slowing letting the present come back into focus. Her solicitor was a kindly, older man who only smiled at his client's sometimes eccentric behavior. Catherine was certain he merely attributed her whims and moods to the recent loss of her husband, the late Mr. Williams.
Catherine smiled at the man and put her hand over her pregnant stomach. She hadn't even begun to show yet but Lady Chatham had been good to her word. When Catherine sailed to England, letters from Lady Chatham had come too bearing gossip of the wealthy widow who lost her husband so soon after marrying him. Catherine had laughed when she discovered that she was the object of much pity and curiosity but not a hint of scandal at all. Lady Chatham had done an excellent job painting Catherine's sad story--her dying father's last wish to see his daughter wed, a brief marriage, her husband's shocking death in a skirmish with rebels, and now the widow was expecting a child. So tragic.
"Haydn?" Mr. Spencer asked kindly, referring to Catherine's mindless humming.
She turned her eyes back to the scene passing by her through the window of the carriage.
"Bach."
"What were you saying, Mr. Spencer?" Judith prompted.
"Oh, just that Mrs. Williams may want to consider another property. Westbury is an excellent property, I assure you. But with the recent family tragedy..."
At this Catherine began listening again.
"What happened, Mr. Spencer?"
Catherine saw Mr. Spencer pause before answering. He seemed uncomfortable with the subject. Yet, perhaps because of Catherine's own recent "tragedy" he finally spoke.
"The Lord of the manor, the late Edwin Tavington, committed suicide recently. The strain of his own late father's debts grew too much apparently."
"Who inherited?" Catherine asked, suppressing a shiver. She wondered whether Tavington had heard yet that his brother was dead.
"His son, Edmund." Catherine saw Mr. Spencer cringe a little with sympathy. "The boy is only seventeen. I can't imagine a father leaving such a mess for such a young man to take care of, conceited little lordling that he is. It was a great scandal."
"Don't concern yourself, Mr. Spencer," Catherine assured him. "I'm really just looking today."
Indeed, Catherine had promised Judith that it was only curiosity that inspired this trip to the ancestral estate of Colonel Tavington's family. But Tavington's words to her the night he took her in the kitchen wouldn't leave her head.
You're a wealthy woman, Catherine. You can buy a new life.
Why buy a whole new life, Catherine asked Tavington in her mind, when your old one is for sale?
The carriage turned a corner and the sight was enough to stir even Catherine from her reverie. Even from a distance she could tell the property had been too long neglected. Yet, the manor was magnificent. The ancient stones were drenched with ancient climbing vines. Westbury was rambling, eccentric, and glorious even its current state. She loved it immediately. And its connection to Tavington, she ruefully admitted to herself, made it even more desirable.
The manor was even more breath-taking inside. Catherine had rarely given her own enormous wealth much thought. Her father had given her more than she could have ever desired. Now she was grateful for it. With one word, she thought as she stood marveling in the cavernous entryway, all that she saw could be hers.
"So this is that colonial widow who thinks she can just steal my family's home from me?"
Catherine turned her head at the sound of a voice that was both familiar and strange. A young man was descending the winding staircase and Catherine's breath caught in her throat. It wasn't fair, she thought. Apparently Tavington men started life perfect and then only improved with age. His hair was shorter and darker then William's and his eyes were more gray than blue-green. Right now, those eyes were alight with bitter rage. Catherine decided that he looked older than seventeen. The weight of grief and responsibility had aged him beyond his years. She studied him as he came to the entryway. The family resemblance was strong but not strong enough that she could be absolutely certain that this was the nephew/son Tavington had mentioned.
"Let me see," he said with a cold, appraising stare. "I hear you're three months along. I suppose that means your husband's been day three months and a day."
A young libertine? I do have a nephew.
Are you sure he's your nephew?
Son, definitely, Catherine decided.
"My Lord!" Mr. Spencer roared coming to Catherine's side. "That was totally uncalled for."
"It's quite alright, Mr. Spencer," Catherine said calmly. She suddenly felt very at home in this manor. "I've taken far worse from much better men." She met young Tavington's fierce stare and smiled. "Or should I say...I've taken much better from far worse men?"
She took a brazen step toward Lord Tavington. "You do look just like your father."
At that, she saw surprise flash in eyes. "Did you know my father?" he asked.
"Did your mother?" Catherine asked with an innocent smile.
"You little bi-- "
"Lord Tavington, please!" Mr. Spencer was beside himself with shock. Clearly, he had never seen such a spectacle. "You knew we were coming to view the property today."
Catherine stepped away from the young Lord Tavington and made a slow circuit of the entryway, peeking into the hall and the parlour. It was a beautiful home. No wonder Tavington had been so embittered. If she had lost such a life--she couldn't imagine.
"Mrs. Williams?" Mr. Spencer asked. "Shall we tour the property?"
Catherine didn't answer him. She turned back to Lord Tavington who was watching her with eyes that felt like hands upon her. God, he was stunning.
Do you see something you like, Catherine?
You'll love being a widow. We get away with everything...
"Mrs. Williams?" Mr. Spencer asked again.
I would never presume to take your home from you...we'll simply have to share won't we?
Aren't we sentimental tonight, Catherine?
"Mrs. Williams?"
Catherine walked up to Lord Tavington and smiled.
Tell me how much you like this, Catherine.
How old were you?
Seventeen.
"Mrs. Williams?"
"Mr. Spencer," Catherine finally answered staring into Lord Tavington's arrogant eyes.
I can feel your pulse.
"I'll take it."
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