Chapter Thirteen
There was a cool breeze coming off the river, and Cat huddled into her cloak as she climbed out of the hackney.
She could smell the murky Thames as well as the myriad smells from the streets around it.
Laughter came from the door into the Lyon’s Den, and the occasional flare of light as someone opened the door and then closed it again.
All day, she had been dreading coming here, and yet she knew she had no choice.
The burden of saving her family and her home was weighing on her young shoulders.
It was time she repaid the debt to her parents for their love and care of her, and if this was the only way she could do it, then so be it.
Cat moved forward with a determined stride as the familiar tall figure of a man appeared through the fog before her. Titan, that was his name.
“Lady Catriona,” he said in his deep and raspy voice. His face was a shadow among the shadows, but she was glad to see him all the same. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon is ready to see you, if you will come this way.”
“Thank you.” She found her own voice.
Soon, Cat was once more following a maid down corridors and up staircases.
This time she hardly noticed, she was so deep in her own thoughts.
She might have made up her mind that marrying the Master was the only way out of this, but there was still a long way to go.
He must agree to save Bonnyrigg first, perhaps sign it over to her as part of their wedding contract.
She was prepared to be that suitable wife his grandfather wanted for him, she would be obedient and everything else he required, she would sacrifice herself at the altar, if he would do this for her. But if he refused . . .
That would be the end of the matter.
She did not want to think of her father’s face and her mother’s tears, because it made her stutter in her resolve, but it would not change her mind. Instead, she imagined the joy on their faces when they learned they were safe.
Now the girl was tapping on the same door she remembered from last time, and when they were bid enter, Cat did so.
At first, she did not see the Black Widow.
She was not at the table drinking tea like before, but then she saw movement from the sitting area near the fireplace.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon was standing, looking up at a portrait hung above the mantel.
There were other portraits and paintings around the walls too, but she seemed to be fixed on just this one.
Was it a past lover or husband? Someone she missed?
What lay in the past of this mysterious woman?
“Ah, Lady Catriona MacKenzie,” she said. “Have you made your decision?”
Cat straightened her back and tried to sound confident, while inside she was quaking. “I am prepared to marry the Master,” she said quietly, “if he will agree to my terms.”
The widow turned her head to look at her, although it was impossible to read her expression behind that impenetrable veil. “Then we must make sure he does agree.”
Relief swept through her, followed by a shaky distress. She was going to marry a man she didn’t know and may well despise, and at the same time she was turning her back on the man she growing to like very much. It was unfair, but then who said life was fair?
She caught another movement and realized there was someone else there, seated in the chair that faced away from her.
She stiffened. Who was it? What game was Mrs. Dove-Lyon playing?
Before she could speak, a gentleman rose from the seat and turned to her, and it was only then that she saw who it was.
“Mr. Sutherland!” she cried, joy lifting her spirits until she felt almost dizzy with delight. “You are here!” And then, realizing that as much as she was pleased to see him, his presence did not make sense, “But why are you—?”
“Lady Catriona,” he spoke formally. He sounded stiff and not at like his usual warm self.
His eyes were watchful, and the shadows played over his features.
He ran a hand through his hair, disarranging the curls, as she continued to stare at him in confusion.
She thought he looked as if had received some very bad news. Or was about to.
“How did you know I would be here?” she asked him, taking a step toward him only to stop again.
Then she remembered that of course he knew Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and perhaps it was a simple coincidence that he was here.
But she did not think so, because he was looking at her as if he were preparing to make her cry.
“I wanted to speak to you before Mrs. Dove-Lyon explained . . .” His green eyes were searching hers, and there was a strain in his expression. Almost despair.
Cat’s emotions were still see-sawing, and for one wild moment she wondered if he had come to ask her to marry him instead of the Master. Her heart soared. Could that be it? Was he planning to beg her to reconsider? But if that was the case, why did he look so distressed?
“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I hope you will. I hope you will believe me when I tell you I want to help you. That we can work together to save your home.”
“W-work together?” she stammered, staring at him. “I don’t understand!”
“I should have told you the first time we met, but I was a coward and I didn’t.
I wanted you to think well of me, and I knew if I told you the truth .
. . Well, I could see you would hate me.
” He straightened and gave a slight bow.
“I am not Mr. Sutherland. My name is Sinclair Robertson, and I am the Master of Armytage. I am the man you have been seeking.”
It took a moment for her mind to catch up.
She felt as if she had been knocked sideways by a wave of shock and disbelief.
No, it couldn’t be true! But she could tell from his face that it was true.
“I don’t understand,” she said in a bleak voice, even as understanding slowly seeped into her, drip by drip.
He gave a shaky laugh. “I didn’t want you to hate me,” he said quietly.
“From the moment I saw you, I wanted only your good opinion, and I knew if I told you who I was, that good opinion would be lost. I wanted a chance to show you what sort of man I am without the prejudice you were sure to feel, Cat.”
It was heartfelt, but she was too angry now to hear or care.
“So you lied to me and let me believe you were someone else?” Cat was finally making sense of it. She felt so wobbly she would have liked to sit down, and perhaps he saw that, because he reached to take her arm to steady her.
Cat pulled violently away, feeling the heat in her face, knowing her eyes were glittering. Cat was rarely furious, but she was now.
“Sit down, Lady Catriona!” Mrs. Dove-Lyon ordered, gesturing at a chair. “We can discuss this just as easily seated as standing.”
“I’m leaving,” Cat announced, but even as she spoke the words she knew that she couldn’t. If she walked out, turned her back on this, all for her hurt pride, then her family would be ruined. She was here to save them, and no matter how she felt, she must not lose sight of that.
So instead of marching out of the room in high dudgeon, she moved stiffly toward the chair and sat down on the very edge of it.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon handed her a glass with a teaspoon full of cognac in the bottom and she swallowed it in one gulp.
It did help. The shock was wearing off a bit, although she was still beyond hurt and angry.
It made sense now. Knowing the truth explained so much about his refusal to speak of his personal life, his lack of an address, his strange behavior at the ball.
Why hadn’t she realized at the time that he was a liar?
But she knew why. She had longed to believe the best of him because she liked him. Perhaps even more than liked.
Mr. Sutherland . . . the Master was standing near the hearth, watching her, as if afraid she might still get up and walk out. She looked at him, struggling to replace the man she thought she had come to know with this replication.
“I think we should get down to business,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said and there was amusement in her voice.
Did she think this was funny? “Lord Armytage wants his grandson to marry a duke’s daughter, and Sinclair is here to listen to your demands.
You both want something from the other. How difficult can it be to come to an agreement? ”
When she put it like that, Cat could agree, even if she didn’t want to. She told herself again that she must swallow her pride and be sensible. She must put aside the distress that threatened to overwhelm her.
“I promise you I will do everything in my power to make sure your family does not lose their home,” Sinclair said quietly, sincerely.
He was very good at sincerity. “My grandfather . . .” He faltered when Cat shot him a furious look.
“My grandfather is not an easy man to deal with. He can be an ogre. But I will make him listen.”
“I don’t know whether you are lying or not,” she said, unable to help herself.
“I will never lie again,” Sinclair promised her.
She did not deign to answer him, turning instead to Mrs. Dove-Lyon and speaking through stiff lips. “I hope we can come to an agreement. I am ready to begin negotiations.”
“Yes,” the other woman said agreeably. “That is what Sinclair wants too.”
He nodded, but Cat did not look at him. If felt too difficult. She needed time to accept that the wonderful Mr. Sutherland was in fact the person she had been hating all this time, and the grandson of a man she hated even more.
“Surely it is a good thing that you are already acquainted with the man you are planning to marry?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon went on in that cheerful tone. “Your fears must be lessened now you see he is no monster and he wants to do all in his power to help you?”
Were they lessened? Cat felt too upset and betrayed to know, so she remained silent.
“I will do whatever is in my power to help you,” Sinclair said quietly. “And I will make it my life’s work to ensure that you are happy.”