Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels
to me, betrayed me—”
“I know, I know—”
“—after everything he knew, everything I told him! I trusted him.”
“He loves you, Katherine— No, don’t scoff. Please. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
“If he loved me—”
“I know, I know. He never would have done any of this. But Katherine, this is James. You know as well as I how he’s accustomed to thinking. Orders, commands—if he could have commanded you to marry him, I am convinced he would have. Because he loves you, and he doesn’t know any other way.”
* * *
IF HE LOVED her, he would have found another way, Katherine fumed on the way to the masquerade. Such as telling her he loved her, which he’d never done—not when she’d agreed to marry him, not after their wedding, and not when she’d confronted him with his treachery.
Lord and Lady Pollard’s grand masquerade was a glittering sensation, a mass of fabulously costumed people swirling through an endless ballroom beneath painted ceilings and sparkling chandeliers. Dancing, laughter, drinking, gaiety—all of it closed in around Katherine while she tried in vain to forget what Honoria had told her.
I’ve never seen him like this.
Katherine caressed the handle of her cutlass, which for once hung prominently at her side. I won’t draw on you, Katherine. Coward. If he truly respected her, they would have met on the field for what he did.
Let him waste away at Croston. Tonight she felt powerful. Beneath her tricorne hat, her hair hung in loose, shining curls to her waist. Madame Bouchard had altered Grandfather’s old coat so that it hugged her curves. She’d let it hang open in front, revealing a corset and breeches in soft beige that gave the perfect illusion of nudity.
“There isn’t a man here who’s taken his eyes off you all evening,” Honoria said under her breath, giving the white drape of toga across her breasts a little tug—downward. “I ought to send you home.”
“If your toga dips any lower,” she said to Honoria, “you’ll have the attention of every man and woman when your female charms go on public display.”
“I would never allow such a thing to happen.” Beneath her ivy-edged mask, a wicked smile curved Honoria’s lips. “At least, not in front of the entire party.”
Phil, barely concealed in a patterned tunic that was supposed to make her look like an Egyptian goddess, made a noise.
An ill-concealed Duke of Winston ducked through the crowd and joined them. “You look magnificent tonight,” he said to Katherine from behind a sleek black mask. “Positively terrifying—and damned tempting.”
“How impolite to imply that you’ve guessed my identity, Your Grace,” she scolded.
A sparkling white grin appeared below the mask. “My apologies, Madam Pirate. And may I add, I have a great deal of respect for your costume accessories.”
“Perhaps a chain mail tunic should have been your choice for the evening,” Phil told him.
He laughed. “Chain mail is much too tedious for the kind of unexpected situations one finds oneself in at these events.” Even as he spoke, he surveyed the crowd with a glint in his eye.
“Searching for prey, Your Grace?” Katherine asked. He was tiring of their arrangement. So was she, but for entirely different reasons. Her gaze strayed toward the entrance, and she yanked it back. James would not be here tonight, nor did she want him to be.
Above the mask, Winston’s dark brow rose with interest as he returned his attention to her. “Why would I search for prey when I have such a delectable morsel right here at my side? Perhaps you and I could find a secluded alcove and—”
“And nothing,” Honoria snapped. “This has already gone too far.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Katherine said, eyeing Winston. “It might be an enjoyable distraction to cut someone to ribbons this evening.”
The brow disappeared. “Naturally,” he drawled. “Very well, then. No secluded alcove. A dance, perhaps?”
She didn’t want a dance any more than she wanted an alcove—unless both were with James. But that was folly, so she let Winston guide her into the crowd. They took their places in a line of couples that seemed to stretch for a mile. Music filled the room, and she turned with him, stepped aside, stepped together.
Her heart began to ache. He loves you, Katherine.
No. He’d tricked her. Lied to her. Stolen the freedom she could have had.
Step, turn, change partners. She took the hand of a man dressed as Henry VIII.
James knew what freedom meant to her. He knew she valued it above anything, that she would give it up for nothing.
Step, turn, duck, and she was back with Winston.
He knew.
A fledgling realization tumbled through her mind, and she faltered the next step. Winston righted her, and she kept on.
Turn, duck, turn.
He knew.
They turned again, but this time she missed a step because the couples were suddenly moving the wrong direction. She reached to the side to grasp the gentleman’s hand for the next sequence, but nobody was there. The couples had scattered. It took a moment to realize what was happening as the crowd backed away and one by one down the line couples stopped dancing.
A second pirate had joined the masquerade.
A burgundy tunic hung casually over broad shoulders and a solid chest. A length of black linen covered his head and was tied in the back, letting dark waves shot through with silver peek out below. Gold hoops flashed at his ears, and loose, black linen trousers flowed around his legs.
A Royal Navy officer’s sword gleamed at his side.
Winston raised a brow at her and melted into the crowd. Silence descended over the ballroom in a wave that radiated from the center outward. And then a great murmur went up. The same word was on everyone’s lips.
Croston.
He watched her with ruthless green eyes. There was barely a moment to savor the joy that leaped in her pulse before his hand went to his side and, with a smooth shink of metal, he drew on her.
A collective gasp went up through the crowd.
With lightning instinct she matched his motion, and in a heartbeat they faced each other, sabre to sabre.
His stoic expression revealed nothing. Through the corner of her eye she could see people retreating, backing up into each other, at once escaping and giving them room. But her entire focus homed in on his blade.
Whatever this spectacle of a marriage was to become, it would become it right here, right now.
He lunged. She parried. Metal clanged against metal. He circled around, stalking her like a lion hunts its prey. She lunged this time.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Bastard. Liar. Wretch.
She drove him back, back, nearly into the crowd before he regained the advantage. She whirled then and met metal with metal. He held nothing back and soon she forgot all about the crowd. All of her rage at his betrayal exploded to the surface.
There was a sharp sting when his blade nicked her shoulder. A clean bite when her blade sliced his arm.
“Good God, they’ve drawn blood!” someone shouted.
Her breath came fast and hard.
How dare he withhold the committee’s decision from her.
Clang!
Let her marry him believing she had no choice.
Clang!