Chapter 4 #3
Lady Malpas would have laughed out loud if she heard that her despised husband and her unwilling accomplice had shared a kiss and Katherine could not bear to hear her mock what had been the most moving moment of her life.
Having restored the natural order between them by shrugging on the coarse chemise Lady Malpas had brought for her, Katherine made her way to the door.
“I will write to my parents in the morning, to ask if the money I am owed has been forwarded to them, and my father has been released,” she announced coldly. After the moment she had shared with Siaspar, she felt oddly emboldened.
“I cannot stop you from doing so, though I am surprised to hear that you can write,” Lady Malpas jeered.
Katherine could not, and would indeed have to ask someone, but she refused to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing as much.
“But do not try this tone with me. You are getting paid to bed men. We both know what that makes you.”
“Not men, one man only. Your husband.” Katherine was close to tears. Lady Malpas’ words had hurt her deeply, but she did her best not to let it show. “And this money is owed to me for my work in the kitchen. Honest work. I will not have you take me for what I’m not.”
Perhaps it wasn’t wise to anger Lady Malpas, but she could not help defending herself.
She had her dignity, for all she was only a scullion, and she would not be called a whore moments after sharing a moment of astounding intimacy with Siaspar.
It had been nothing like the cold consummation of the night before.
She knew it would look similar to an outsider, but she was not an outsider.
She had been there, and she knew what they had done. What she had felt. Twice.
Of course, the man she had held in her arms tonight had not made love to her because he desired her.
He barely knew of her existence. There was no future for them, she knew all that.
But for a brief, heart-melting moment, Siaspar had held her in an embrace that was neither degrading nor purely sexual.
They had shared something, she was sure of it.
In a flash of madness, she had almost told him everything, that she was not who he thought she was, and explained the reason for her presence in the bed with him.
He had been lying on top of her at the time. If she had whispered her confession in his ear, only he would have heard her. She could have told him that she was only obeying her mistress’ orders and she had no choice.
Only the fact that she could not predict what his reaction would be had stopped her.
He would, understandably, have asked more questions, perhaps rushed over to Lady Malpas to demand an explanation while they were both still naked.
It would have been mortifying. Worse, it could have been dangerous.
Because he might have chosen to punish her for her part in the deception by withholding the money she was owed and forbidding Lady Malpas to release her father.
It had been better to remain silent.
“I will leave now,” she murmured, feeling utterly dejected.
“Yes. And pray that your performance tonight has not given the Welshman a taste for more.”
This comment told Katherine that Lady Malpas had not thought beyond the wedding night.
She had wanted to ensure that the marriage was consummated but she had evidently assumed that Siaspar would leave her alone afterward.
But what if he did not? He had come to his wife for the second night in a row, and he’d said he wanted a family.
What if he intended to claim his marital rights every night? How long could the deception go on?
Still, this was Lady Malpas’ problem to solve, not hers.
Katherine left the room.
Hidden in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, Siaspar saw what he had expected to see. A female figure, silent as a ghost, and clad in only a shift, walked past the stone pillar without seeing him.
He gave a sinister grin because his last doubts were allayed.
Having performed her duty in his wife’s bed, the scullion was returning to the kitchen where she belonged, her skin still warm from his caresses. He quelled the impulse to go and confront Lady Malpas.
He would deal with her later.
First he would get to the girl. She would be easier to crack than the mighty English lady.
Besides, in all probability, she was not the one behind the deception.
He knew enough of the woman he had married to imagine that she had been the one to come up with the preposterous idea of having someone replace her in the marital bed.
The scullion was only instrumental in this.
Still, if he had the fairness to recognize that she was simply a tool in her mistress’s hands, the fact remained.
She had agreed to a scheme that made a fool out of him and was compromising the validity of his all-too important union with an Englishwoman. What was worse, tonight, she had made him question his sanity.
She would soon come to regret it.