“Please, don’t say anything more. It should be gone by the ball. And if it’s not, you’re the only one who won’t believe I ran into a door. Everyone else thinks I’m clumsy.”
Because she’d so often blamed any visible bruises on small accidents that hadn’t happened. “I detest Avendale,” Catherine groused.
“So you’ve said on more than one occasion, but he is my husband and I must honor him.
Tell me about your hand.”
“I cut it on a piece of glass. It was an accident.”
“It appears I shall have to address all the invitations.”
“I’m sorry, but yes, I think you will.”
“I don’t mind. It’s a chore I enjoy. I daresay if I were a commoner, I might try to find employment addressing things for people.”
“You’ve always had such lovely handwriting.”
Winnie blushed. “Thank you. I like to think so.”
“I would like to take one unmarked invitation and envelope for my memory book.”
Catherine was bothered by how easily she lied to her trusted friend—about her bandaged hand and about her desire for an invitation. It wouldn’t find its way into her memory book. With any luck, it would find its way into Claybourne’s hand.
It was madness. The amount of time he spent obsessing about Catherine.
Even knowing that Jim was watching her more closely, that he would do what he could to discover who was following her, Luke paced his back garden, awaiting her arrival, his body tense, his nerves taut. Bill was going to fetch Frannie in his carriage. They would travel through some rough parts of London—and yet, Luke was not the least bit worried.
But Catherine, traveling from one exclusive part of London to another, had him on edge.
He told himself it was because Frannie was born to the streets and could take care of herself, while Catherine would hurl herself into harm’s way without thought. He should teach her to defend herself. He should buy her a sword cane. Or perhaps a pistol.
He should entice her into telling him what he needed to know. He should ask her why she wanted someone killed, who she wanted killed. This game of cat-and-mouse was putting everyone in danger.
He heard the latch on the gate give way, and he was there pulling it open, grabbing her arm, and drawing her inside.
“Oh,” she gasped. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I…Did you have any problems?”
Even in the shadows, with nothing but the glow from his garden lanterns to cast light, he could see her amused smile.
“You were worried.”
“Naturally, I had some concerns. Perhaps if you were more open about your reason for wanting me to kill someone—”
“Are you ready to do the deed?”
Do the deed? And how would she look at him then? Frannie would never know, but Catherine, Catherine would know the worst that he was capable of: taking a life in order to gain a wife.
What had possessed him to agree to this bargain?
The irony was that he’d keep true to his word. But he wanted to hold on to what remained of his soul for a bit longer. “I’m not convinced Frannie has learned anything.”
“Then tonight will be very telling, won’t it?” She began walking toward the house.
“Have your guests arrived yet?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been out here.”
