Chapter Sixteen
Cat noticed Bothwell slipping through the open doorway, eager to join in. Then she was distracted by Sinclair, who had dropped to one knee before her and taken hold of her hand. She thought, surprised, that he was about to make a premature proposal, but it wasn’t that.
“Cat, I am so sorry.” His voice sounded deeper and very sincere. “This is all my fault and I can’t apologize enough.”
“It isn’t your fault,” she retorted, but the heat had gone out of her voice. “It is your horrible grandfather’s fault.”
He ran his thumb over her fingers, a caress that sent a tingle up her arm. “Some of it is my fault,” he insisted.
She took a long look at him. His eyes were downcast beneath his long lashes and his hair was tumbling over his brow and his mouth had a downward turn. She realized that her anger had faded away without her being aware of it, and now other feelings had risen to take its place.
“Is it true? What you said about falling in love instantly?” she whispered. She knew she was blushing, her cheeks felt warm, but she wanted him to answer her. It seemed important.
His lashes lifted and he stared into her eyes with a look so heartfelt, so honest, she could no longer doubt him. “Yes, it is true.”
Cat couldn’t help smiling. “I—I think,” she began, “that I might be rather fond of you too, Master.”
He leaned in. “Please, don’t call me that. Sinclair. I am Sinclair to you.”
“Sinclair,” she said.
He returned to his place beside her on the sofa and promptly wrapped his arms around her.
His breath was warm against her cheek, and then he was kissing her.
His lips were soft but also firm, and she responded eagerly.
When was the last time she had been kissed?
Cat couldn’t remember. Certainly never like this, with such love and care. It was a revelation.
Was this how it would be when they were married?
If they married! she corrected herself, and suddenly the warm flood of happiness inside her drained away.
There was a great deal to do before she could begin to think of a happy ever after, even if such a thing were possible.
There was one person standing in the way, and she knew persuading him to agree to the marriage contract would not be an easy matter.
“You have given me a reason to stand firm against my grandfather,” he said, moving back so that he could read her face. “And I will.”
“And if he refuses to change his mind?”
He reached to cup her cheek in his palm and she leaned into it, unable to help herself. “I will never speak to him again or have anything to do with him again, and he will die a lonely old man.”
Cat wondered how anyone could choose such a fate. But then this was Lord Armytage they were speaking of and not an ordinary person.
“I don’t think he will expect me to abandon him,” he went on. “I have never refused him anything before. He will find it difficult to comprehend that I would turn my back on my inheritance for any reason, but especially for a woman.”
She squeezed his hand. “You would think he’d have learned his lesson when your mother ran off with your father.”
“I am sure somewhere in that cold, hard heart of his, he regrets what happened with my mother. I will have to remind him.”
“What if he takes away your inheritance, Sinclair?” Cat asked anxiously. “What if you end up with nothing?”
He laughed, surprising her and perhaps himself. “I’ve had nothing before. I was a carpenter, Cat. My father showed me all he knew, and I was to follow in his footsteps. My life was simple, but I was happy. I don’t think it will be any hardship to return to it, apart from losing you.”
A carpenter! She remembered him crouching down to look under the broken carriage the first time they met. “I don’t want to lose you either,” she murmured.
He might have kissed her again, but Bothwell chose that moment to nip him on the ankle. Sinclair jumped up with a cry, and spun around, wild eyed, as he searched for the culprit.
Bothwell, sitting nearby, began to wash himself, as if pleased with his work.
“What the—”
“Naughty puss,” Cat scolded, waving a finger at the cat. “I am sorry, Sinclair. He does not like gentlemen. Perhaps he thought you were going to hurt me.”
“Is that so?” Sinclair eyed the creature warily. “Next time I kiss you I will make certain he is locked out.”
“Will there be a next time?” she asked quietly, unable to keep the hope from her voice.
He smiled, that smile she loved so much. “Yes, Cat, there will definitely be a next time.”
They set out a day later, James and Jennie in their coach with Cat, and Sinclair in his phaeton. He made good progress, better than them, and the following day the couple were persuaded to allow Cat to ride with him as they headed north.
She said she loved being up so high, with the wind whipping her hair about her face as the scenery flashed by. “I wish we had a phaeton at Bonnyrigg,” she said a little longingly, when they slowed to take a corner.
“When we’re married, I will buy you one,” he promised.
“If you aren’t disinherited,” she reminded him.
“There is that,” he agreed with a grimace.
But as they headed farther north, Sinclair began to wonder if he should have brought his phaeton after all.
When they had started out, the earl had given it a look, one eyebrow raised, but he had ignored the man.
Now he understood. Some of the roads were appalling, and his journey was far slower than he had expected.
He was looking forward to reaching Bonnyrigg, although when he remembered that would also mean meeting the MacKenzies, he wasn’t so sure.
They stayed in comfortable inns along the way, and Cat was there when they ate their meals, or riding beside him most days. Sinclair could not remember being so happy, at least not for a long time.
She told him about her family, her father the duke and her mother the duchess, as well as her three brothers and their families.
He was beginning to feel as if he knew them, that they would get along just fine.
Surely it wouldn’t be so bad? They would realize his intentions were honorable and listen to his explanations and apologies.
Who was he fooling? They would kill him on sight.
“I will not let them!” Cat had promised him when he voiced his fears. “Don’t worry, Sinclair. It may take a little while, but they will come around.”
Not exactly a vote of confidence, but he had to hope for the best. And Cat was on his side.
He had kissed her many times now, and he wanted more.
He was greedy for more. He thought, whenever she moved away reluctantly from him in the phaeton or on the stairs, or in the breakfast room at their latest inn, that she wanted more too.
There was passion between them, and it boded well for their marriage.
Sinclair refused to let himself think he would lose her. He knew he would fight with every ounce of his being and more, and he was beginning to hope she would fight for him, too.