Stormfire (51 page)

The afternoon dragged unbearably as Catherine amused the visiting ladies on the pianoforte, startling them with her skill and smoothing their ruffled sensibilities. Deftly, she dodged pointed queries about her background until, piqued by the mystery and her polite indifference to local gossip, the ladies concluded she was some French emigre's bastard in pursuit of a life of profligate indulgence.

Peg stole time to help Catherine dress for the ball. As excited as a girl making her own debut, the Irishwoman murmured over the dragonfly iridescence of threads that ran subtly, almost invisibly through the blue-green cobweb silk of her ball gown, making it seem alive with hidden color. As Catherine gilded her nails and eyelids, she forced herself to listen to the housekeeper's chatter. Concentrating on holding the hand mirror steady, she was startled at the stylish coiffure Peg had produced. Catherine, pleading a very real headache, had dined in her room, but Peg had massaged the ache away. Now, when she donned silver sandals and crossed to the pier glass, no sign of strain was visible. About her throat, accentuating its delicacy, was the Niall Tore.

Peg smiled inwardly. Sean was no idiot. By publicly displaying Catherine Enderly as his woman, even were she Cromwell reincarnate, any man, even an Irishman, could see his reason; and once intrigued by her beauty, to be beguiled by the woman was inevitable. Peg handed Catherine a silver fan, then tilted her head as a rap resounded at the door. "That'll be Liam. He's to escort ye." She stood back a moment, surveying the final effect, then hugged Catherine tightly. "Ye're a blazin' beauty, girl. Yer man'll be that proud. Stand by him tonight." She let Liam in from his room and left.

Liam's blond brow lifted slightly as he surveyed his bride's attire and tucked her arm in his. "I'm richly anticipating my marital rights, love. Any woman who could induce my tight-fisted brother to spend so much on a wardrobe must be an extraordinary bedmate." Impassively, Catherine flicked open her fan and scrutinized him. Handsome in dark blue velvet, her husband smiled ironically. "No, dearest, I'm not drunk. You see?" He extended his hands to demonstrate their steadiness. "Tonight, I'm giving my all for love. The white knight is rescuing the lady fair at peril of life and fortune, but I expect you'll be worth it." He inclined his blond head toward the door. "Shall we go down, Countess? Most of the guests are already tooth to tusk with the musicians."

"Where are we to meet?" she asked as they strolled toward the stair.

He squeezed her hand. "You'll reserve the twelfth dance for me. At that point, we'll stroll out onto the terrace to take the air. The north steps have been screened with potted shrubbery and trees to shield our exit. The horses are waiting in the ruins."

"What of the tower watch?"

"I'll deliver drugged wine to them during the orchestra's second relief. At the same time, a messenger will carry news to the eastern patrols that a spy has been spotted trying to breach the southern pickets. They'll be given directions to reinforce the line."

"It all seems so easy."

"Yes," her husband said dryly. "Only it won't give us more than two hours' start."

Catherine's fingers tightened on his arm. "Less with Mephisto in pursuit."

Liam's handsome profile was serene. "The black will be useless tonight and for several to come. I angled a nail into his shoe. He'll pull up lame minutes from Shelan."

She felt sick. It was the beginning. The beginning of hurting all who trusted her.

, Liam's sharp voice cut across her thoughts. "You look suspiciously pale." He spun her around and sharply pinched her cheeks. "Pull yourself together. This
was
your idea." For the benefit of the couple immediately behind them in the hallway, he tilted her now falsely radiant face up to his and lightly kissed her, murmuring, "Remember the first time,
 
chérieV'

The woman nodded significantly to her husband.

When they walked into the blaze of light under the great ballroom chandeliers, Catherine felt faint. She forced deep breaths until the lights ceased to blur. Over the musicians' heads hung a draped French tricolor flanked by flags of green: one emblazoned with a harp, the other with a scarlet fist. Uniformed Frenchmen stood in clusters, and for the first time, Sean's officers wore Ireland's green and gold with harp insignia at their breasts. The women turned to look, fans fluttering.

Then, out of the crowd strode a tall man in black whose green eyes claimed her before his lean fingers lifted her cold hand to his lips. "Miss Flynn, will you do my brother and me the honor of opening the ball with General Fournel?"

"I should be delighted, sir," she murmured.

With a short, ironic bow, Liam released his partner to Sean. Fournel's eyes roved, expressing barely concealed desire as they exchanged amenities. When the music started, Catherine felt as if she were entering an eel's embrace. Fournel was dismayed not at all by her deft rebuttal of his suggestive flirtation, and the others who eagerly followed him no less so. Courbier in particular gazed at her longingly, and she had the urge to break into hysterical giggles. Liam saw something in her face and quickly cut in. He whirled her so rapidly around the ballroom, that she was forced to concentrate to stay in step. "Don't lose control now, damn it! I have to drug the pickets in half an hour."

Her head snapped up. "I'm quite all right now, thank you. You won't need to intervene again."

"Good. I'd hate to be shot for a tittering female."

She jerked away from him and practically ran into Amauri's chest. Smoothly, he steered her back into the waltz, blandly smiling.into her flushed face. "Quarreling with your fair-haired boy,
chirie?
I seem to be always rescuing you from disagreeable men."

Valera's ghost flickered briefly and Catherine glared at Raoul as they danced past the musicians. "Liam is no more disagreeable than you. You're rather a sugar-coated bully, Raoul."

Hid grin was unabashed. "I'm only concerned for you,
chirie.
Perhaps in my eagerness to save you from a dreary
liaison . . ."

She grimaced. "Your General Fournel suggests I wear kneepants and a moustache to vary my lackluster
vie d'amour.
What, pray, is your remedy?"

Amauri's grin widened. "Champagne and intermission in my room for a start."

"A fifteen-minute toss? Your staying power is hardly encouraging."

"La, la,
 
chérie,
what a sharp little tongue. I can think of better employment for it."

She tried to pull away. "I don't have to listen to this. . ."

His fingers tightened and the teasing smile faded. "Ah, but you do. You don't love that popinjay. I saw your face when you looked at him last night. He's a fool and a tippler. I don't know what game you're playing here, but it's dangerous. Your father's finished. You cannot help him, if that's your wish. Neither Napoleon nor the Bourbons will touch him now. But you need not join him in disfavor. Come to Paris, Catherine."

"With you?"

"With me. You need a man, not a weakling fool."

"You underestimate Liam, Raoul," she said coldly, "and the profits to be made in Ireland in the wake of insurrection. I'll not be leaving until I've used my advantages here."

Raoul studied the cool, lovely face turned arrogantly up to his. "You're your father's daughter after all."

"Mais naturellement, mon Colonel—
Surely you're not disappointed? After all, how long would an ingenue have sustained your interest?"

The dance ended and Amauri raised her hand to his lips. "Forever, if she became the woman I see now."

Then a Captain Rodier was bowing, politely waiting for his superior to make his adieux. Amauri frowned at him. "What is it, Captain?"

"I. . .
I have this dance with Mademoiselle Flynn,
mon Colonel"

Catherine withdrew her card from her glove and waved it under Amauri's nose. "Ah, yes. Captain Rodier. I've been looking forward to trying a quadrille with you. You danced so beautifully with Madame O'Connell. Will you excuse us, Colonel?" She strolled off with the flattered but uneasy subordinate.

Dance after dance followed until suddenly Sean was holding her in his arms, his dark hair like ragged black satin under the flickering candles, his green eyes shadowed under their lashes, caressing her. The tall man in black and the slim girl in a whisper of green moved perfectly together. She wanted to touch his face, his lips that lost their hardness when he held her to his breast, but her heart was cracking and the agony turned her limbs to lead.
You couldn't drive in the knife with a kiss. Not you. I love you. I love you. My God, help me. Let me die now. Now, this moment

She stumbled and he caught her close, his murmur husky against her ear, as it had been so often in the night when he was loving her. "Kit? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, unable to look at him. The music was shrill. "It's very hard, that's all."

He lifted her chin gently. "I know. Only a little longer. The Frenchmen will be gone soon. Amauri has already gone to prepare the
Meridian
for sailing." The misery in her eyes deepened. "You look sad, kitten. Is it possible you'll miss me a bit?"

How could he know?
Liam . . .

He misread her distraction and whispered, "You still haven't given up entirely, have you? Part of you still fights. But there's love in your eyes tonight, and before
dawn I'm going to hear you say the words. Then all the cannon in Ireland and ice in Canada won't keep me from you when the fighting's done."

Canada. Of course. He was talking about Canada. Not the escape. He didn't know.

Suddenly, Liam was tapping his brother's shoulder. "The gavotte is mine, brother," he said tautly.

Sean carelessly shrugged off his hand, then kissed Catherine's fingers. "I'll see you later this evening, Miss Flynn." Then he was gone.

Liam's grip threatened to snap her fingers. "Stop mooning as if the earth had swallowed him!" He pulled her into the brisk gavotte. "It's too late to turn back. The watch are trussed like Christmas geese." They spun into the pattern of dancers. "Don't fool yourself, love. If you confess to Sean now, he'll throttle you. You're my wife, remember? I'll tell him I've had you from the first, all the time you were at
Flynn's . . ."