Her eyes narrowed. "You don't really know me very well, Michael. Most of my life has been governed by expedience. For the first time I have choices, and they don't include marriage."
He felt blood beating in his temples. "I thought that I might have changed your mind," he said carefully. "Or if I hadn't yet, I soon would."
She shook her head. "Accept that it's over, Michael. I'm fond of you, but I don't want you for a husband."
" 'Fond,' " he repeated numbly. "Is that what you feel?"
She shrugged. "I never said I loved you."
It was true: she hadn't. He had assumed it from her actions, just as he had assumed that of course they would marry. "Forgive me if I'm having trouble understanding," he said tightly. "You seem to have become another woman in the hours since I left this morning."
"Keep your voice down-the laird needs quiet." She glanced anxiously at the bedroom door.
Concern for her grandfather must have scrambled her wits. Desperate to bring this nightmare to an end, he crossed the room in three swift steps and pulled her into his embrace. Passion had healed her fears before, and it could again.
She was warm and familiar, and for an instant she was the woman he knew. Then she jerked away, her expression savage. "Damn you, Michael, you don't own me! I saved your life, and by coming to Skoal, you've paid your debt. The scales are even. Now leave me alone and go!"
Before he could respond, the bedroom door swung open and Haldoran stepped out, his expression menacing. "If you don't stop harassing my fiancee, Kenyon, I shall be forced to take steps to improve your manners."
Stunned, Michael looked from Haldoran to Catherine. "You're going to marry him?"
"Yes." She edged toward her cousin. "Give is of island blood, he has known Skoal all his life. He is also discreet. He recognized you immediately, but kept the knowledge to himself. Today he and I have discovered how much we have in common."
Haldoran smiled with gloating satisfaction. "And in the process, she realized that I am the better man."
"Rubbish." Michael was about to add that she didn't even like her cousin.
Catherine cut him off, her aqua eyes ruthless. "I tried to let you down gently, but since you're forcing me to be blunt, I'll spell it out-Clive is wealthier, he's a peer, not a younger son, and he's far more worldly. He and I have agreed that marriage need not restrict either of us unduly. After I've given him an heir, I'll be free to sample some of the choices that I mentioned earlier. When I was desperate I was willing to overlook your deficiencies of birth and fortune, but not now. Nor do I want to tie myself to a possessive man who would want me to spend the rest of my life in one bed."
Her words were sledgehammer blows. He stared at her, his lungs so constricted he could scarcely breathe. He didn't know Catherine any more than he had known Caroline. Again he had made an utter fool of himself over a woman. Christ, would he never learn? "You're right-I have some rather old-fashioned notions about monogamy. I have no desire to marry a trollop."
Her face paled. "I never belonged on that pedestal you built for me, Michael. I wish we could part friends, but I suppose that's impossible."
"Friends," he said incredulously. "Not bloody likely, Catherine."
Her eyes narrowed to feline slits. "Since I didn't think you would want to linger, I had your belongings packed and loaded in a cart. A boat is waiting to take you to Pen ward."
If he didn't leave this room instantly, he would do something he would regret. Not sure whether it would be tears or murder, Michael spun on his heel and left.
Halfway down the stairs, he had to catch at the banister while he fought for breath. Slowly in and out. Think only of the air moving into his lungs.
When he could breathe again, he let go of the banister and continued down to the courtyard. He had survived Caroline and Waterloo, and he supposed he would survive this.
But he wished to God Catherine had let him die in Belgium.
Knees shaking, Catherine folded into a chair as soon as the door closed.
"Well done, my darling, but 1 didn't like what you said about wanting to spread your legs for the multitudes," Haldoran drawled. "My wife must be mine alone. You will be very sorry if you forget that."
She swallowed. "I said what I did to give Lord Michael a disgust of me. You needn't worry about my fidelity when we are wed. Monogamy with you will suit me very well."
Haldoran smiled complacently as he crossed the room to the door. "I'll go make sure that Kenyon really leaves."
"He will. He won't ever want to see me again." After her cousin left, Catherine leaned back in the chair, her heart hammering so violently that she wondered if she was on the verge of an apoplexy like her grandfather's.
If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the expression on Michael's face when he left.
She closed her eyes. Twice on the Peninsula she had killed men who were dying in such excruciating pain that they had begged her for the coup de grace. It had been hard, terribly hard, to go against her healing instincts, but she had done it.
She drew a shuddering breath. Someday, when the opportunity came, she would kill Haldoran. And that would not be hard at all.
Chapter 30
Instinct and a violent need to escape took over after the taciturn boatman set Michael down in Penward. At the small inn, he bought the best horse available, along with saddle, bridle, and saddlebags. Since he couldn't carry all his baggage on horseback, he arranged for most of it to be shipped to London.
His small portmanteau held a few basic necessities, so he dumped the contents into his saddlebags. As the items fell, he saw the silver gleam of the kaleidoscope Lucien had sent after Waterloo. Obviously it wasn't as lucky as the first one had been. He shoved a shirt on top of it. Then he loaded the horse, swung into the saddle, and set off. It would have been more civilized to hire a chaise, but he craved the physical exertion of riding. Perhaps it would tire him to numbness.
He rode through the rest of the day and into the night, thinking compulsively about how he had made such a disastrous misjudgment. After learning the truth about Caro, he had been able to look back and recognize the signs of dishonesty and malice that had always been visible under her beauty and sparkling charm. He had simply been too in love-and too obsessed by her avid sexuality-to pay attention.
It was equally possible to identify signs of Catherine's selfishness and deceit. In London, when he had questioned her ability to carry off an elaborate deception, she had smiled and called him Colin with chilling authenticity. She had been masterly in her charade on the island. When Kenneth's letter exposed her lies, she had explained her actions with touching earnestness. It had been easy to believe she had acted from desperation, and to forgive.
Easy, and profoundly rewarding. He remembered how she had looked in his arms when she had discovered passion. Or had that been a lie also? Had she really been terrified by sex, or had it been a brilliant act designed to make him feel splendid and manly? He had no idea. Perhaps she had always been a wanton, and she had acted that elaborate scene of tears and fears because it gave her perverse amusement to deceive him. Yet even now, after all she had said, she was like a fever in his blood.
Blood again. Ah, God, Catherine…
No matter what else she had done, she had surely saved his life. From generosity? Or had she thought it would be useful to have the son of a duke indebted to her? The so-called son of a duke. Though she had claimed otherwise, perhaps the revelation of his bastardy had mattered to her. Her final speech had hinted as much. All of his life he had struggled to be the best he could be, and it wasn't enough.