John gave him a swift kick in the ribs to shut him up and he screamed out.
“You’ll regret that,” the baron choked out, “when I’m your brother-in-law.”
“Over my dead body. You willnevermarry my sister.”
“Her virtue is already compromised, Edington. You have to marry her to me. To avoid a scandal.”
“Fuck scandal. And, anyway, who would believe a drunken, gambling, bankrupt, raping devil like you?”
And he gave him another kick for good measure.
Then, John looked up and met Catherine’s eye. He saw she was trembling with wordless rage, even as she had both arms around Henrietta, who looked harrowed, but physically unharmed. He surmised that Falk had tried to press himself on Henrietta, but Catherine had interrupted him.
From behind him, he heard more footsteps coming down the path. He looked up and saw Lady Trilling. She saw her take in the scene—him standing over Falk, who was splayed out on the ground, the pale and shaking Henrietta, and Catherine with her arms around his sister.
Catherine.
Without her mask.
He saw Lady Trilling’s eyes go wide at the sight of Catherine’s face. Her gaze slid back to John and then to Falk.
“It seems Lady Henrietta isn’t feeling well,” Lady Trilling said, her voice clear with only a slight tremor in it. “I will call for your carriage, Your Grace, and meet you around the front in ten minutes. I believe there is a passage through the side garden, if you want to avoid the crush of the ballroom for Lady Henrietta’s health.”
Lady Trilling turned to the man still on the ground. “Lord Falk,” she said in a sharp voice, “if you ever mention that Lady Henrietta wasn’t feeling well this evening toanyone, I will insist that you pay the significant debt you owed my late husband. Do not be mistaken. I can make your lifeextremelydifficult.”
Falk gave a moan of recognition and John contemplated whether he should pummel the man further. He wanted to beat him, very badly, for what he had done to his sister and for grabbing Catherine. Seeing that he looked stricken by Lady Trilling’s threat, however, John pulled back. If he resisted now, Lady Trilling’s gambit might work and his infernal second cousin might keep his mouth shut about Henrietta.
With a great effort, John turned away from Falk. With Lady Trilling, he and Catherine led Henrietta to the front of the manor.
As they entered their carriage, John asked the older woman if she could tell the Viscount of Tremberley that he had returned to Edington Hall with Henrietta and Miss Aster.
“Catherine Forster, you mean,” the old woman said to him, her face inscrutable behind her mask.
“Er, yes. I would appreciate if—”
“Don’t worry, Your Grace. I will tell no one.”
John gave her a nod, only able to hope that she would keep her word and stepped into his carriage.
*
In the carriage,Catherine’s heart pounded for a multitude of reasons. The principal reason, however, was that Lady Trilling had seen her. There could be no mistake that she had seen Catherine without her mask. Lady Trilling must now know that the tutor and chaperone staying at Edington Hall was not an anonymous Miss Aster, but Miss Catherine Forster. She was impressed by Lady Trilling’s strength back in the gardens with Baron Falk. Given what she had heard in the retiring room, however, she knew she was liable to tell her friends sensitive information and that her friends were not the heart and soul of discretion. She hoped Lady Trilling would stay quiet about Henrietta, at least, even if she revealed Catherine’s identity.
A grim silence pervaded the carriage. Catherine had her arm around Henrietta, who still sniffled. John had his eyes closed, with his head back on the seat. She had a feeling he was trying to resist the urge to run back to the Langley gardens and beat Baron Falk to death.
“Are you all right, Henrietta?” she asked the girl for what felt like the hundredth time.
She nodded and sniffed.
“What did he do to you?” John broke in. “How did you end up in the garden with him? How were you separated from Lady Trilling?”
“John,” Catherine warned, keeping her voice firm. It didn’t matter how she had gotten out there—it wasn’t her fault.
Then, too late, she realized that she had addressed him by his Christian name. She prayed that Henrietta was too upset to notice the slip.
John softened his tone and took his sister’s hand.
“I’m sorry, Retta. I don’t blame you at all. None of this is your fault. I just want to understand what happened. I won’t be mad. No matter what you say.”
