Chapter Seven
Catriona was sure she was lost. She had thought she was retracing her steps, but the staircase she now stood at the head of was not the same one she had climbed up earlier.
And the noise from the gaming rooms was louder here, too.
She paused to listen to the gentlemen enjoying themselves.
Cat did not think she was a prude, she believed people should live their lives as they thought fit, but she found the idea of throwing away your inheritance on the turn of a card distasteful.
What if Sinclair did that once he had been handed his grandfather’s fortune?
What if he gambled away Bonnyrigg and everything Cat loved?
The very idea made her gasp sharply, as if she had been stabbed.
Cat had to do everything in her power to stop that from happening.
Although . . . did that mean she would marry him?
With a shiver, she cast the thought aside and was about to descend the staircase when a shadow moved in the hall below, startling her and making her jump.
“Lady Catriona!”
The masculine voice was familiar. Cat peered down into the gloom and realized the voice belonged to Mr. Sutherland from the carriage incident. Surprised but relieved, she hurriedly descended the stairs to join him.
“Mr. Sutherland! Are you a member here?” she asked, wondering why he had not told her when they had spoken.
He was dressed in another fine jacket and a waistcoat that matched the green in his eyes. His hair was as untamed as ever, the fair curls rioting around his face. He was staring back at her, taking in her cloak, and now he raised his eyebrows. “I am a member. Are you here to play?”
“Definitely not.” She bit her lip on anything more. She wasn’t about to thrust her moral values upon a man she barely knew. Although, was that entirely true? He had kissed her hand when they parted, and he had been kind to them in their hour of need. She did not feel as if he were a stranger.
“I get the sense that you disapprove of games of chance,” he said, and he sounded amused.
“Not at all,” she said coolly. “It is just . . . Well, you know my circumstances. I willna bore you with them again.”
He seemed to grasp her meaning. “You fear the Master will bet your beloved home in one of those games, don’t you? Lady Catriona—”
“Cat,” she interrupted. “It is what my family and friends call me.”
He bowed. “Then I am flattered . . . Lady Cat.”
Now Cat was flustered. Why had she said that? She looked about her, seeking a diversion and remembered she had the perfect one. “I am a wee bit lost,” she said with a laugh. “Well, more than a wee bit. The truth is I am meikle lost. Can you point me the way out, Mr. Sutherland?”
He smiled, and his eyes looked very green in the light of a nearby lamp. “The Lyon’s Den confuses the best of us. And I will do more than show you out. I will walk you to your carriage.”
“Thank you, but I did not bring my carriage,” she admitted. “I came in a hackney.”
He didn’t like that. He frowned as if a young lady alone in a hackney was not the done thing. Now who was making moral judgements! She expected him to tell her off, although he had no right to, but instead he said, “Then I will send Titan to fetch you another.”
Cat breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said.
It wasn’t far to the door after all, just a few turns and they were there. Titan was the same tall fellow she had seen on her arrival, and he seemed happy to do Mr. Sutherland’s bidding, sending off a young lad to fetch a hackney while Cat waited by his side.
Mr. Sutherland had not asked her what she was doing here at the Lyon’s Den, but surely he must be curious.
Heaven knew what he was thinking! That she had a passion for playing deep, or some such thing.
He knew about Armytage and Sinclair, so it wasn’t as if her troubles were a secret, and she found herself wanting to confide in him.
“You’re probably wondering why I am here, Mr. Sutherland,” she said.
“I admit to being a little curious,” he replied, his voice muffled by the fog.
“I came to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon and to ask her about the Master of Armytage. I wanted to know if she knew of any way to persuade him to listen to me. And to help me.”
“And did she?” He was watching her closely now.
Cat pulled a face and then laughed at herself. “Not any way that I wanted to hear.”
“She is a very clever woman, but she does go about things in a roundabout way.”
Suddenly Cat didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She pulled her hood back over her hair. “Thank you again for your kindness the other day.”
He smiled. “It was my pleasure. I was hardly going to leave three ladies on the side of the road with a broken wheel.”
“You make it sound as if we were alone in the middle of nowhere rather than a rather elegant square in London!”
“London can be lonely,” he retorted. “One can be in the midst of a crowd and still feel alone.”
Cat eyed him curiously. That sounded as if there were a story behind it, but before she could pry further, he seemed to recollect himself.
“The carriage is repaired and returned to its owner. Not such a difficult repair job. Some of the spokes needed replacing, and the circumference of the wheel was very worn. It also needed a new metal ribbon, but that was the work of a blacksmith.”
“Oh. You seem to know a great deal about it. Are you an expert on broken carriages?” She meant it as a joke, but his answer surprised her.
“I once knew a carpenter and a wheelwright. He was a man with no title—he was an ordinary man—but he was the sort of man I will always admire.”
Cat felt the weight of his words. He had shared a confidence with her, and she was unexpectedly flattered. “A title does not always make a man a good one,” she responded quietly, thinking of Lord Armytage and his grandson.
The sound of the approaching hackney reached them before the foggy air parted to reveal horse and conveyance.
When it drew to a halt before them, Mr. Sutherland gave the driver her aunt’s address and then opened the door for her.
Cat took the hand he offered as she stepped up to take her seat, noticing that the interior smelled unpleasantly of strong scent.
She wanted to hold her nose but she knew she could not complain when it had been she who had chosen this mode of transport.
Instead she smiled down at him and said quietly, “Thank you.”
His own smile was open and warm, and he said, after a slight hesitation, “I hope we meet again soon.” She felt as if he meant it.
In fact, she was sure he was going to make some suggestion, perhaps a stroll in the park or another ride in his phaeton, and when he didn’t, she felt ridiculously disappointed. Then the hackney was moving off, and a moment later Mr. Sutherland and the Lyon’s Den had disappeared into the fog.
Sinclair felt as if his heart were swelling to the point where it might burst. Cat MacKenzie was everything he wanted in a woman—intelligent and clever and beautiful.
And yes, good—far too good for him. And yet she made him aspire to become better.
Just for her. He could become that better man.
Surely if Cat were by his side then he could do anything, and he wasn’t sure whether the idea left him hopeful or terrified.
To be honest, he hadn’t felt like this in years.
Not since he had been taken from his home and placed in a situation that was as bewildering as it was miserable.
Suddenly discovering he was the grandson of a lord, and wealthy, had not been the sort of fairytale ending that some people dream of.
It hadn’t been for Sinclair. Oh yes, it was very nice to have money, and he had certainly found pleasant ways to spend it, but it hadn’t made him happy.
Not when his grandfather held the purse strings.
Not the sort of deep, satisfying happiness he used to feel.
Now it was as if he could see a light down that long tunnel. A glimmer of hope.
Upstairs, Mrs. Dove-Lyon answered his knock, and when she saw who was standing in her doorway, she called him inside. It was time for their nightly game anyway, and she had laid out the cards in readiness. Sinclair sat down opposite her, but he was too restless to keep still.
“You didn’t tell her who I was?” he blurted out.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon stilled. “Sinclair, you told me not to, and I promised I wouldn’t. I’m not a fool, you know.”
“If she knew I was the Master of Armytage, she would hate me. I don’t want that.”
“She might surprise you. If she got to know you properly before you told her the truth, then—”
“That is what I’m hoping for! That she will come to know me and see I am not the disgraceful scoundrel she thinks I am. What did she say?”
Bessie paused as she examined her hand of cards, lifting her head to stare at him through her veil.
“She did not say a great deal, apart from telling me her sad story,” the widow said evenly.
“I did put forward the suggestion that you could be persuaded to help, but she does not know you. Or at least, she only knows you as Mr. Sutherland.”
Sinclair wondered what her eyes, behind the veil, were revealing. Would they be sparkling with amusement or cool with irritation? He was never sure when it came to Bessie.
“I did mention the possibility of marriage, but she rejected that. For now at least.”
Of course she did!
“If you were to tell her the truth,” Bessie went on, sorting her cards, “she might change her mind. She might throw herself into your arms and forgive you.”
“She will hate me,” he said bluntly.
She gave a cackle of laughter. “Oh, so you plan to make her fall in love with you and then tell her?”
“I don’t plan to do anything of the kind!”
“Hmm, not a bad scheme, but I’m not sure she will forgive you. I think we should get her to agree to marrying you, and when it is a done deal, then tell her.”
Sinclair felt as if he were caught in a nightmare, and yet he wanted to believe Bessie was right. “And she would forgive me?”
“She might. If we play our cards right. Speaking of which!”
She turned her attention back to her hand, leaving Sinclair to his thoughts.
Did he want marriage? Sinclair had so many hopes and fears jumbled in his head.
He knew that the fantasy he had of everything turning out perfectly was nonsense.
People weren’t perfect. He certainly wasn’t, so why should he expect Cat to be a saint?
And yet despite all the pitfalls before them, he wanted to help her, while at the same time he also wanted her to continue to look at him and speak to him as if she liked him.
He couldn’t be wrong about that—she did like him.
If he carried on with his deception, she might grow to like him more, but at the same time she might be even more angry with him when she discovered the truth.
He knew all of this, and yet there was some part of him that longed to convince her that he was worthy of her.
If she wanted Bonnyrigg saved, then Sinclair would fight his grandfather tooth and nail to achieve it.
“I think we should proceed with the wedding plans,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon interrupted his feverish thoughts, reaching to choose another card.
“Once you are married, she will have to remain, and you can spend as much time as you want convincing her you are the man for her. I’m sure you will manage it, Sinclair.
For goodness’ sake, don’t let her slip out of your clutches!
I have already warned her there are other ladies with their eye on the Master.
She knows she will have to make up her mind before too long. ”
Catriona was going to sacrifice herself, so she thought, for her home and family. She was going to be a martyr bride. The idea made him feel queasy. He wanted to marry her, yes, but with joy and happiness, not because she felt she had to!
“Please, can we just wait a little longer?” he said, because he still hoped the more time he spent with her as Mr. Sutherland, the more likely it was that she would eventually forgive him.
For a long time, Bessie stared at him through the veil, and then she shrugged.
“A very little longer then,” she agreed softly.
“But I want you to prepare yourself for some unpleasantness. At first, anyway. Remember, sometimes one is required to take some nasty medicine to enable things to get better, Sinclair.”
“Forcing Lady Catriona to marry me—”
“No one is forcing her to do anything,” she said irritably. “It is entirely her choice. And yours.”
She was right, but Sinclair knew that when Catriona saw him, recognized him, realized she had been duped, she would be furious.
It may be a very short-lived marriage. Although, he did have the fate of her castle in his hands.
She couldn’t walk away from him, at least not too far, without remembering that.
Sinclair reached for the glass of cognac and swallowed it in one go. The burn helped to focus his thoughts. Bessie was right, marriage might be the only way to keep this woman he was falling in love with, and therefore he would have to take the consequences.
By the time Sinclair walked home, it was late, but he was completely sober, and he was already considering his next move. If he didn’t have much time, then he needed to move quickly.
What if he were to call on Cat? But then what if someone in her household knew who he was?
It seemed more sensible to lurk about and wait until she was out somewhere.
He was aware that young ladies were always going out and about, to the park or a picnic or whatever.
He would “accidently” run into her, that was the trick.
Pleased with his new plan, he quickened his pace.