More Than Charming (33 page)

“Waltham, Lady Brookdale,” Paul cut in. “Where is Waltham?”

She looked down and brushed her hands over her skirts. “Why, I haven’t spoken to Thomas since last evening,” she insisted, still not meeting his gaze.

James grabbed her by her arms. “Don’t lie to me, Priscilla!” he ground out. “You will tell me where that son-of-a-bitch took her!”

“He’s with her, isn’t he?” Her lovely mouth twisted into a very ugly smirk. “He’s with that Talbot trollop!”

James gave her a hard shake. “You won’t speak of Catherine that way!”

With more than a little bit of force, Chester pulled him away from Priscilla. “Easy, man.”

James raked his fingers through his hair in acute frustration.

Chester turned back to the widow, his brown eyes intent. “Lady Brookdale, we know you’re involved with Lord Waltham. We need you to tell us if he keeps another property here in town.”

Priscilla glared at James and turned back to the Earl of Chester. “He has no other property, save in Westmorland.”

James took a deep breath to calm his ire. “Priscilla, we know he has Catherine. We need to know if there’s any place he would take her.”

“I told him not to dally with her,” she said. “But he was adamant, the fool!”

The gentlemen exchanged puzzled glances.

Geoffrey cleared his throat. They all knew he could barely stand to be in her company after her involvement with his late brother. “Lady Brookdale,” he said sharply, drawing her attention. “You’re not aware of the foul deeds of which the man is capable.”

Priscilla scoffed at that. “You’re wrong in your assumptions, Lord Kanewood,” she said smugly. “Lord Waltham and I . . .” She suddenly smiled slyly. “Well, a lady doesn’t speak of such matters. But capable of foul deeds? No. You’re quite mistaken.”

James rolled his eyes, his patience stretched to the breaking point. “He’s a despicable bastard, Priscilla,” he growled. “A blackguard, a despoiler of young women, a—”

“No!” Priscilla cut in. “Thomas would never—”

“He raped Diane Plymouth,” Geoffrey said. “My God, he beat her and left her for dead!”

Priscilla gasped, her eyes wide. She shook her head in shock.

Paul stepped in front of her and regarded her closely. “You seem quite astounded.”

“Of . . . of course.” She gasped.

“We need to find him, Lady Brookdale,” Paul said firmly. “He has my sister. She’s with child, and we’re frantic with worry about her.”

Priscilla raised a shaking hand to her face and told them of the place Waltham liked to keep available to him, a disreputable room down by the waterfront.

“The waterfront?” James questioned her.

“H-he . . .” she explained unsteadily, “he told me he enjoys mixing with that rabble.”

James nodded. “Thank you, Priscilla.”

The four of them left her home, bound for the inn at the waterfront.

*     *     *

Catherine watched Waltham closely, her fear having increased tenfold over what it was when he’d first brought her to this place. He muttered to himself as he stalked about the small room, the now empty whiskey bottle clutched in his hand.

“He’ll learn,” he said, more to himself than to her. “The bastard will learn. And then he’ll be all alone, with nothing but his charm to warm his bed.”

Catherine took a deep breath, thinking to try a new tactic. “Thomas,” she began in a soothing voice. “Please let me go. I know you’re not a bad man. You’ve been hurt.”

“Don’t give me your pity, Catherine,” he said sharply. “You were to be mine! Instead, you gave yourself to that scoundrel. I’ll never understand you women and your constant fawning over that man. Even Diane Plymouth sang his praises to me, the foolish chit.”

“Diane?” Catherine murmured.

His lip curled, showing his teeth in a snarl. “She couldn’t stop talking about him, Catherine. Even when we were together after Joan’s funeral, she went on and on about your dashing husband and how you were the luckiest woman to find someone like him to love. It sickened me. But I silenced her for a while. Now the poor girl is soiled. No longer desirable. And I lay the blame precisely at Roberts’s feet!”

Catherine could make no sense of his ranting. What had he done to Diane? And how could he blame James for it all? Biting back the denial she longed to scream at him, she watched him closely.

“Your sister came to me, you know,” he went on. “On the pretense of looking for Diane.” That slick smile was on his face once more. “She’s more than passable, your sister. Quite a fine piece.”

Catherine’s heart stilled. “You didn’t, Thomas. Please tell me you didn’t.”

He blinked. “What? No. She’s not quite . . . ripe enough for me.”

She nearly swooned with relief. “It . . . it must have been Elizabeth Lady Brookdale saw, then.”

“Indeed? I’d thought dear Priscilla’s jealousy quite misplaced.” He waved a hand. “I never should have married Joan.” His lips curled. “Joan, that stupid cow. Her inheritance was little reward for my suffering her company for over a year.” He looked at Catherine, his brows arched. “It was quite simple to rid myself of her, I must say. Just a bit of something in the tea she drank each and every afternoon and she soon fell ill.”

“No.” Catherine breathed. “You didn’t. You couldn’t!”

Waltham laughed, the sound echoing in the small space. “Oh, yes,” he returned. “Pity she didn’t succumb earlier, my love. For you would be married to me instead of Roberts.”

Catherine squared her shoulders, her hands in fists in her lap. “You’re wrong, Thomas. I love James, not you. I never would have married you.”

Waltham lost his smile, his expression chilling her to her toes. “You won’t speak to me in such a manner,” he said through clenched teeth. “You will hold your tongue or I’ll make our mating most difficult.”

Her bravado soon fled and she sought to calm him. “I’m truly sorry, Thomas.” She shrank back against the bed rail.

He tipped the bottle to his lips once more, finding naught but a drop of the liquor inside. “Damn it to hell!” He threw the bottle against the wall. The bottle shattered with a resounding crash. Catherine shivered, pulling her cloak around her once more. She watched as he stalked her, lust burning brightly in his pale eyes.

“I’ll take you now, Catherine,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll take you despite that brat in your belly.” He came down on her, tossing her cloak aside and grabbing her roughly.

She began to sob, pushing against him with all her strength. “No!”

“Yes,” he said, grabbing her hands and pulling them over her head. His fingers dug into her flesh. He ran his lips over her cheek, her neck. “You’ll scream with the pleasure I give you, Catherine,” he rasped. “I admit that my taking of your fair person will be unlike any you’ve known before.” He pulled back and smiled at her. “I daresay by this time tomorrow, that brat in your belly will be but a memory.”

Catherine reached her breaking point in that moment. She fought him, thrashing about to throw him off of her. She kicked furiously with her legs, letting loose with a bloodcurdling scream.

He smacked her across the face. “Shut your mouth!”

Her cut lip split once more, her blood flowing anew. “No, no, no, no!” She screamed again.

Waltham balled his hand into a fist and struck her again, his blow landing squarely below her left eye. Sparks lit behind her eyelids as her head fell back on the mattress. She couldn’t make her limbs move, could only cringe as she felt his hands roam freely over her.

“That’s it, love,” he said, ripping her drawers off her now-still legs. He began to unbutton his breeches. “Yes . . .”

“Get off her, you bastard!” James roared as he rushed into the room.

He pulled Waltham from her, sending his fist into the man’s face, his gut.

He plowed his fists into Waltham again and again. “You miserable blackguard!”

Blood pounded in his head as he soundly beat Waltham. The bastard soon ceased his struggles, all but limp in his hands.

“Roberts!” Chester yelled, holding James’s arm.

Geoffrey grabbed James around the waist. “You’ll kill him!”

James threw another blow before letting go of Waltham. The man crumpled into a heap at his feet. James turned quickly to the bed, shocked at the sight he found there. Paul cradled Catherine in his arms, brushing the hair away from her bloodied face.

“Catherine!” James cried, coming to her side. His eyes flew to Paul’s.

“She’s coming around,” Paul said, his voice thick.

Catherine moaned as she opened her eyes. She started as her eyes fell on James, obviously still in the throes of her distress. “No, no, no,” she sobbed, twisting away from him.

“Shh, love,” James soothed, placing his hand on her cheek. “It’s me, Catherine. James. Shh, sweetheart. Everything’s all right now.”

Catherine ceased her struggles as his voice reached through to her. She held herself still, staring at him for the longest moment. Finally, recognition broke through her haze of horror. “Oh, James!” she sobbed, closing her eyes once more. “Thank God you’ve come. Oh, thank God.”

James held her close as Paul spread her cloak to cover her body. He ran his eyes carefully over her. Her clothes were in rags, her face covered with blood.

Tamping his anger down, James kissed her brow. “Ah, Catherine. I love you.”

Catherine opened her eyes and smiled at him, wincing slightly at the discomfort caused by her sore lip.

James bent his head and placed a tender kiss on her injury. He gazed at her. “I love you, Catherine,” he said once more. “I’ve loved you for so very long.”

Her eyes, darkened to violet, stared into his. “For how long, James?” she asked softly.

He suddenly grinned, recalling he’d asked her nearly the same thing weeks ago. “I believe I fell in love with you at Chester’s wedding,” he said. “When I held you in my arms.”

Catherine nodded and hugged him, letting out a breath.

Paul crossed to where Waltham lay on the floor, his body bruised and bloodied from James’s sound beating. “Is he dead?” he asked Chester.

“No, more’s the pity,” Chester replied.

Catherine struggled to a sitting position, her eyes wide. She grabbed tightly onto her husband’s arms. “He killed her, James,” she cried. “He killed Joan.”

James swore softly and looked over at his friends. “Summon a constable,” he said. “There should be someone from the Watch down in the street.” Geoffrey and Chester left together to find the constable. James turned back to Catherine, taking in all of her injuries and the condition of her dress. “Sweetheart, did he . . . ? God, love, did he hurt you?”

“No, James,” she answered quickly. “He didn’t hurt me in that . . . manner.” She shuddered. “He tried to . . .” she sobbed, biting her lip. “He said I’d lose our baby.”

“Shh,” James soothed once more, stroking her hair.

Catherine then gazed up at James. “James, do you remember a young lady from several years ago? One named Beatrice?”

James thought for a moment, shaking his head slowly. “No, love,” he answered. “I don’t.”

“She was Waltham’s cousin and he was to marry her, or so he told me,” Catherine went on, her brow wrinkled. “He said you charmed her, James. That you stole her heart from him.”

James took her hand in his, kissing the frown from her brow. “I remember no such lady, love,” he assured her. “Before I saw you at Chester’s wedding, I had no desire to win any young lady’s heart.”

Catherine considered him for a moment. “You do have my heart, James,” she said, hugging him once more.

“Wait, I recall a Lady Beatrice Thornton,” Paul mused. “She died some years back—something about consumption—or so that’s what her family put about.”

“Waltham said she killed herself,” Catherine said sadly. “She stabbed herself with a knife.”

“My God!” James exclaimed hugging her close to him. “That bastard probably drove her to it.”

“I’m not surprised, given what he did to poor Lady Diane,” Paul added.

“What did he do to Diane?” Catherine said shocked.

“He attacked her,” Paul said grimly.

Catherine choked back a cry and leaned into her husband’s strong embrace.

A constable arrived shortly thereafter, duly shocked at Waltham’s condition. The stout man’s shock soon gave way to anger as he learned of the man’s evil deeds. Holding tightly to James’s hand for strength, Catherine told the constable of Joan, of what Waltham had admitted. With obvious regret over Catherine’s presence in the room, Geoffrey recounted the horrible crimes the man had committed against Diane Plymouth in Westmorland.

After assuring the gentlemen that he’d keep them apprised of the man’s punishment, the constable gave them permission to leave the dirty little room.

“Take me home, James,” Catherine pleaded, her hand cupping his cheek.

James nodded, kissing her palm. Cradling his wife in his arms, he carried her downstairs to Paul’s carriage. He didn’t release her until they arrived at their townhouse.

“My lord!” Giles exclaimed as he opened the door for his master and mistress. “My lady, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Giles,” she answered wearily.

The man breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I knew that the viscount would find you, my lady,” he said with a small smile. “He’s a man who loves his wife.”

Catherine nodded and looked at James once more, her eyes a dark violet.

James shook his head at the butler, unable to hide his own grin. “Never mind, Giles,” he chuckled. “Please see to a bath for Lady Roberts.”

The man bowed and turned, leaving them alone in the foyer. James bent his head to Catherine’s, his forehead touching hers.

“I do love you, Catherine,” he said huskily.

She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you too, James.”

He carried her up the stairs to their chamber. Assisting her out of her torn clothing, he waved Annie away and saw to her bath himself. The lady’s maid, after expressing her sincere happiness for her mistress’s well being, left them. James washed Catherine gently, hiding his anger over the bruises that darkened her face and limbs. She winced as he washed the blood from the corner of her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Catherine,” he said, his throat tight.