Chapter 5 - Inside the Closet
“Cate? Cate? Are you listening?”
The words cut through Catherine’s thoughts, a rueful smile curling her lips when she turned to Maisie.
“No. No, I’m not,” she admitted.
Maisie bristled in mock fury, then her gloved hand came to rest upon Catherine’s elbow.
“Thinking about the Viscount?” she asked, her voice eagerly lowering, greedy for any hint of scandal.
Catherine nodded. “Yes,” she replied carefully.
Maisie’s eyes widened and she stopped in her tracks, groaning. “Could you elaborate, please? Unless you want to kill me, then keep answering like that,” she complained.
Her words were greeted with a chuckle. Catherine gently tugged at her sleeve to make her walk again.
They were walking through town on their way to the seamstress. The Earl had decided Catherine needed a new dress for the upcoming season, since she was officially being courted now. When they had fallen back into a measured, unhurried pace befitting women of their standing, Catherine answered.
“He wasn’t what I thought he’d be,” she mused.
Sensing Maisie’s impatience, she grinned. “Yes, he’s handsome, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Father implied he’s an unreasonable radicalist, hating all English. He didn’t seem like that, though.”
Maisie listened with wide eyes. “What did he seem like, then?”
Catherine shrugged. “He’s got impeccable manners. He’s very… restrained. I thought he’d be a hot-blooded Irish barbarian, barely hiding his contempt for Father and me. But he…” She paused and slowly shook her head.
“What?” Maisie pressed. “What, Catherine?”
“Well, he… he actually asked my approval for courtship. Not Father’s. As if he truly cares how I feel about it.”
Maisie’s face softened. “Oh.”
Cate shook her head again. “It surprised me. But he’s also a very controlled man. Father openly teased him about his people suffering, and he… didn’t flinch. He teased Father back.”
The chaperone’s mouth opened slightly. “He teased your father?”
Catherine shrugged. “Yes. But perfectly polite. It was an animated conversation — one I’d have expected in London, but not here.”
Maisie blinked a couple of times, clearly lost in the political nuance. “So — you say he’s attractive. Tell me more!”
They spent the rest of the way discussing Aidan O’Donell’s height, shoulders, and hair colour.
Stopping at the seamstress’s door, Maisie leaned in. “What did you like about him most?”
The chaperone’s breath came in short, excited bursts.
Catherine didn’t have to think long.
“His eyes,” she admitted.
The thought came unwanted. Green and intense and seeing more than they should. Like the pair of eyes that had teasingly assessed her when she had defended Maisie’s virtue.
Her chest tightened.
Irritation at herself burned hot in her insides. She should not compare a ruthless criminal with Viscount O’Donell.
“Let’s get this done. We’re expected back home,” she cut Maisie’s questions short and pushed inside the seamstress’s shop.
. . .
An hour later, Catherine felt like a living modelling doll. Maisie and the seamstress, Mistress O’Malley, had draped countless fabrics over her and were heatedly discussing fashion trends. Maisie firmly insisted on something modern, whereas Mistress O’Malley argued for “timeless taste.”
Catherine was handed a mantua.
“Please slip into this, M’Lady. Lady Maisie and I need to see how the cut looks on you,” the seamstress ordered, gently ushering Catherine toward the changing room before turning to Maisie. “We agree on green — please accompany me to choose appropriate fabrics.”
A quick smile toward Catherine. “We’ll be right back, M’Lady!”
They left the showroom, and Catherine obediently moved inside the discreet changing chamber. She had just slipped out of the screaming red mantua Maisie had deemed fashionable when the bell above the door softly chimed, announcing another customer’s entry.
She opened her mouth to announce that Mistress O’Malley would be right back—
The changing chamber’s door opened.
A tall figure slammed into her.
A gloved hand clamped over her mouth as she found herself trapped against the wall.
Her eyes widened.
Him.
Sparkling green eyes stared at her in equal disbelief.
He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear.
“You.”
The warm voice was barely above a whisper, his breath tickling her neck.
The moment of surprise faded, but before Catherine could even begin to struggle in earnest, he spoke again.
“You find me entirely at your mercy, little Lady. I do not wish to harm you. I’ll take my hand off if you promise not to scream.”
She pondered his request.
She could scream.
At the price of being discovered in her undergarments, alone with a man.
She hesitated. Sucked in a deep breath around the hand still obstructing her mouth.
Slowly, carefully, she nodded. Once. Just a faint inclination of her neck.
Heat flared in her face. She was very aware this was not about her reputation at all.
The hand withdrew immediately.
She did not scream.
He did not move.
For just one heartbeat, neither of them did.
His body remained only inches from hers. Heat radiated from his body, seeping through the thin linen of her shift Catherine’s heart stumbled once, then resumed as if nothing had happened.
A breathless chuckle — barely audible — vibrated from him, the resonance pulsing through her own chest.
“My heartfelt gratitude goes out to you, little Lady,” he whispered.
He tensed when quick steps announced the return of the seamstress and Maisie.
Her eyes flashed.
She squeezed past him, grabbing the mantua with shaking hands and throwing it over herself. Her fingers battled the rows of hooks closing it. She cast him a warning glance before exiting the chamber, throwing the door shut.
Just in time to watch Mistress O’Malley and Maisie re-enter the showroom.
“Oh — I thought I heard the bell,” the seamstress announced.
Catherine forced a smile. “That was me,” she admitted. “I heard a turmoil outside. I was curious.”
Maisie’s eyes grew large and round. “A turmoil, M’Lady?”
Catherine nodded. “A man. He was running,” she explained calmly, then shrugged and turned toward the women.
“I agree with Mistress O’Malley, Maisie. This neckline is borderline indecent. I’m a courted woman. I loved the classic cut you showed me earlier, Mistress. Would you mind if I tried that on again?”
The seamstress looked utterly pleased. Maisie, in contrast, glared as if Catherine had twisted a knife in her back.
Catherine smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid I don’t like green. You mentioned copper, chestnut, and ivory, Maisie — would you mind fetching the fabrics with Mistress O’Malley?”
Maisie brightened immediately at the concession and nodded eagerly. “Of course. Mistress O’Malley, what do you think about that beautiful lace you showed me? I said it didn’t fit with the green, but with copper? What do you think?”
Catherine’s heart raced as the women took their time retreating to the storage room. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, she burst back into the changing chamber.
“You’re safe to leave,” she said. Nothing more. A nod.
A shadow dressed in black moved past her.
Catherine squeezed her eyes shut, aware what she had done couldn’t be taken back. Her voice came out strangled.
“Did you… did I… what is your crime?”
He paused briefly. His gaze swept across her before settling on her face.
“Today? I’ve been trying to save a little girl from starving.”
And with that, he was gone.
Catherine followed him to the door, but she had already lost sight of him in the crowd slowly meandering down the main street.
When Maisie and Mistress O’Malley returned, she had stepped back onto the fitting block, patiently awaiting more fabrics.