Chapter 2
Holborn, London
“Spare a penny, miss?” came a desperate voice from the shadows.
Catherine jumped, clutching her worn cloak closer around her slender frame. She looked into an alleyway where a grimy hand was extended to her from a bundle of rags. She made out a face, eyes dull.
“Yes, of course,” she said, breath pluming in frosty clouds. The coins were meant for emergencies—but what emergency could be greater than hunger?
Fumbling in her purse, she produced a penny, which she pressed into the sullen hand. There were precious few, but she could not ignore the plea.
“Shouldn’t be on your own in these streets, lass,” the beggar croaked, accepting the coin, “but thank ye nevertheless.”
“I understand,” Catherine tried for an earnest smile.
She resumed her walk along Gray’s Inn Lane. The rapid puff of icy vapors were testament to the fear that clawed at her throat. This journey was a desperate roll of the dice.
It is foolhardy, but it is my only hope of escape from Haventon Manor. From Aunt and Uncle.
She tried to keep thoughts of them from her mind, of what they would do when they discovered she had gone.
It brought a fresh wave of panic that clenched her stomach in nausea.
She slowed, putting a hand to her stomach, fighting down the feeling of sickness that was all too familiar in the last few months.
Disturbingly familiar.
Her heart thrummed against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Most people treat caged birds very well. They are kept to show off their plumage or their song. Not treated as worse than a servant.
Ahead was the Spencer club, its facade grand in the classical style.
An ornate entrance was framed by broad bay windows.
It was a stark contrast to the grimness of the life she was seeking to escape.
These places were not for ladies, particularly those who did not have a male escort.
But the alternative turned her blood to ice.
An arranged marriage to a cruel man who will view me as his property. A man who does not love or care for me but simply desires my dowry. And my body.
This last sent a shudder of horror through her. She would much rather enter a convent and never know the touch of a man than submit to such a scoundrel as the Earl of Stafford.
She adjusted the simple bonnet she wore.
Her long, silky brown hair was ordinarily a source of comfort to her, but presently it felt like a shroud.
Hazel eyes, flecked with lighter accents that shimmered like gold in the lamplight, took in the building as she drew nearer.
The homey-orange light that spilled from its many windows mocked her with its warmth, offering a comfort that she did not believe she would find within.
For a long time, she hovered near the entrance, smoothing her skirts, adjusting her bonnet, then adjusting it back. A gentleman emerged and she nearly darted forward—but lost her nerve. Then another. Her feet seemed rooted to the cobblestones.
Stop being such a coward, Kate! He's Aaron. He used to let you beat him at chess just to see you smile. He is my only hope. He would not turn me away, I know it.
At last, she walked up to the doors and pushed them open.
Inside, what had been a murmur from outside became a muted roar.
Men laughed and spoke loudly. Glasses clinked.
The air was thick with the smell of cigar smoke and brandy.
She stood in a hallway facing an imposing staircase.
Open doors to either side gave a view of rooms filled with furniture of leather and ancient wood, bookcases and tables on which games of cards were being played.
A liveried man stepped forward.
“Madam, while ladies are not forbidden from Spencer’s, they are discouraged unless with an escort. Are you here to see one of our members?”
“Yes, the Duke of Winchester,” Catherine said, putting as much assurance as she could into her voice.
The serving man looked her up and down, hands clasped behind his back and lips pursed.
“Hmmm, the Duke of Winchester indeed.”
“Is he here?”
“I will check.”
“Yes, he is, Devinson, old boy. I spotted him a short while ago,” boomed another man, emerging from one of the side rooms. He had a cigar clamped between his teeth and donned the uniform of an army officer. “Follow me, I will take you to him, Miss…?”
“Ainsley. I am Catherine Ainsley. He does know me,” Catherine emphasized.
“Of course he does. Lucky fellow,” the man murmured, “I am Jeremy Bexley, by the by, Viscount Everdon and a Captain of the Royal Wessex Rifles for my sins. Come along.”
He must help me. He must help me.
It had become a mantra for Catherine ever since she had thought of recruiting his help. It was a lifeline that she had put all of her hopes in. What would happen if he rejected her—if he refused—she did not want to contemplate.
He must remember the girl who used to chase butterflies with him in summer fields. In happier times.
Lord Everdon offered his arm courteously, and Catherine took it.
He led her through the club, a veritable maze of rooms. Finally, they came to a dimly lit room in which men talked quietly or simply read and smoked.
A fire roared in a stone fireplace at one end of the room.
There was a large armchair in front of it, and in it a man lounged.
The brightness of the fire rendered him a silhouette, obscuring his features.
As they approached, Catherine made out the gleam of bright eyes, the line of a noble nose and chin.
“Winchester, I have found a lost little bird that claims to know you,” Everdon bellowed.
The viscount stepped aside neatly, and Catherine was left alone in front of the man in the chair. She felt naked before him. He had been reading, but now set the book aside.
In a deep, rich voice, he stated, “Madame, you have the advantage over me.”
“Aaron?—I mean, Your Grace. It is I, Catherine… Catherine Ainsley,” she forced a small, tentative smile to her lips, feeling sick to her stomach at the indifference.
“Catherine Ainsley…?” he repeated slowly. “Forgive my brutishness, dear, but I do not believe we have ever met.”
He picked up his book again, attention shifting back to its pages.
“Well, there’s no time like the present, is there?” Everdon cheered into the silence, “Your Grace, allow me to introduce the fair Miss Catherine Ainsley. Miss Ainsley, this rude fellow who cannot put his work aside even in a place of revelry is the Duke of Winchester. There, now you have met.”
“Don’t play the fool, Everdon,” Winchester muttered. “If I cared for company, I would have situated myself in one of the common rooms. I have a great deal of work to do. If you would like to entertain Miss Ainsley, then have at it, but leave me be.”
“But… you mean you don’t remember Summerfield?” Catherine said, disbelieving and with rising panic, “We spent so many summers together with our mothers. Playing by the river? The treehouse? Or—or perhaps the time we found the badger set?”
Please, you must remember!
Everdon shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat as Aaron continued to look at his book.
“Perhaps it would be better to do as His Grace says,” Everdon broached quietly.
“Wait,” Aaron declared, closing the book with a snap and sighing. “Catherine. Of course. It has been far too long.”
There was no emotion in his voice. No joy in remembering or being reunited with a childhood companion. His shadowed eyes fixed on hers, and she felt them as a physical touch. She felt relief tinged with apprehension at his lack of a response.
“This is hardly the place for a reunion, though. Women are seldom seen within these walls. You are fortunate that the first gentleman to find you was one of honor. Well, just about.”
There was a hint of dry humor in the response, which further enhanced her anxiety.
Aaron had always been so open and amiable.
Dry wit was not something she remembered.
He rose, and she found herself looking up at a giant of a man.
He was towering and broad, a remarkable physical presence and one that seemed to command the room.
Catherine swallowed, glancing around and seeing eyes turned in their direction. Simply by standing, Aaron had drawn eyes. Like a savage warrior chieftain.
“Come,” he said, indicating a small door to one side of the fireplace.
Without waiting, he strode towards it. Catherine hesitated. He seemed so different from the boy who had once been her most cherished friend.
“His bark is worse than his bite, Miss Ainsley, I assure you,” Everdon grimaced.
Catherine nodded, took a deep breath, and followed Aaron to the door. On the other side was a corridor with a small, richly decorated room at the far end. The room was lit by two lamps and gave Catherine her first proper look at Aaron.
He had flowing hair that hung to his shoulders. His cheeks were high, giving his eyes a slanted appearance. He looked like a wild, oriental prince. A bold jaw was topped by a mouth pressed into a firm line. He was as beautiful and hard as Michelangelo’s David. If a touch less polished.
“State your business,” he said bluntly, folding his arms.
“You may remember my Aunt and Uncle, too? Benjamin and Nora Tresswell of Haventon Manor?”
He nodded curtly, saying nothing.
“You may also remember my parents. They passed away within weeks of each other. An attack of fever. I have been living with my Aunt and Uncle since I was four and ten. It is… it has never been a comfortable life, but… but now I am expected to repay the kindness they have shown by agreeing to a marriage which I do not want.”
She felt the tears bubbling up within her as she explained. The anxiety chewed at her resolve, weakening her tongue. She wanted free of the worry that weighed her down, and wanted someone to take it from her shoulders.
I will not break down in front of him. I have come this far, and I can go a little further.
Aaron was silent, as though expectant. Catherine looked into his eyes. They were so cold, not the bright and warm, expressive eyes that she recalled many a twilight ago.
What happened to him to make him so cold and hard?
“I… see. That is the whole of the problem. I was waiting for more. Well, Catherine, it seems you are in a situation many women find themselves in. You are hardly the first to enter an arranged marriage to a man of dubious character. It is a hazard of the society we live in. Irrespective, I do not see how I can become involved in such domestic matters. Or even that anyone ought to.”
“You don’t understand… he is a brute. I cannot—I cannot marry him,” Catherine stammered.
“Nevertheless, there is nothing immoral or illegal in a guardian marrying off his ward. And nothing unusual in being married to a man the bride deems unsuitable or even actively dislikes. It would be inappropriate for me to become involved in what is none of my business.”
Catherine found herself gaping. This was not what she had expected. This wall of glacial ice. This face, as handsome as she remembered, but hard as steel and devoid of emotion.
“I… see,” she whispered, “this was not the answer I expected. Forgive me, I am somewhat at a loss…”
“Well, be lost somewhere else. This is a gentlemen’s club. I have always said that they should employ doormen here. Absolutely any Tom, Dick, and Harriet can wander in. I will ensure you have a safe passage back to Haventon, and we will say no more about it.”
He opened a door that Catherine had not seen.
It led to a shadowed corridor and an open archway beyond which seemed to look out onto a cobbled back street.
Aaron strode out into the street and gave a sharp whistle, then clicked his fingers over his head.
Catherine heard the clatter and jingle of a carriage approaching. Panic gripped her.
“Do not worry about the fare. I will cover it to Haventon,” he added smoothly.
“N-no, you don’t understand. I can’t go back. They will be furious—”
“Yes, I imagine they will if you have put them to some insult. But as your Aunt and Uncle, I’m sure their anger will be limited. One does not remain angry at a close relation for long. You are their niece and their ward, after all.”
“You don’t understand,” Catherine whispered in a flurry.
The carriage was approaching at speed, not yet seeing Aaron, who stood in the doorway. Catherine steeled herself for what she knew she must do.
This was always how it might end. I will not marry that ogre! I will not be coerced. I will have what control I can have over my own life. Or the end of it!
When it was too late for the driver to stop, she darted forward directly into the path of the horses.