There it is. She had more courage than I. She was able to speak those words when I could not.
He clenched his jaw, breathing hard, then stepped back.
“Very well. But know this, you are mine, Catherine. Whatever choice you make, you are mine.”
He turned away, fury and desire tearing at him, and left her behind the locked door.
CHAPTER 30
Catherine stepped into the carriage beside Mr. McKay.
A thin veil of mist hung across the fields, silvering the hedgerows and softening the lines of the distant trees. She had been told there was some matter of urgency, something that could not wait, though the butler had offered little more than his stiff assurances. His manner was the same as always, measured, exact, deferential. And yet, beneath his composure, she thought she glimpsed a current of purpose, as though every step and word had been prepared in advance.
The house sleeps. Aaron sleeps, and I slip away to see a man whom Mr. McKay says will prove to me that Aaron cannot be trusted. Or the man who calls himself Aaron. This is madness! I do not know who to trust!
She had no time to question him before the carriage lurched forward, wheels grinding against the gravel drive.
Catherine folded her hands in her lap, her heart restless. Aaron had seemed so certain the previous night that she meant to leave him, and she had only just begun to sense how mistaken he might be. They had been on the cusp of something, if not reconciliation, then at least recognition. And now, here she was, carried away on some errand she could not fathom, her newly built trust crumbling before her eyes.
The countryside slipped past in silence. Mr. McKay did not speak. Catherine glanced out of the window, wondering if Aaron was yet awake, if he would seek her when he found her gone.
After a mile or so, the carriage slowed, then came to a halt at a crossroads bordered by tall beech trees. To her surprise, another carriage stood waiting there, its black horses stamping impatiently in the mud. McKay shifted, his gloved hand tightening on the door latch.
“If you would alight, Your Grace,” he said with a bow.
She frowned. “Why? What business requires a change of carriages?”
“It is necessary,” the old butler replied, opening the door.
Catherine alighted, Mr. McKay following. Her feet had barely touched the ground when Mr. McKay gestured to the driver. The man cracked his whip and drew away, leaving them standing alone with the second conveyance.
Mr. McKay extended his arm, urging her forward. Alarm prickled at the back of her neck. She hesitated, and then the door of the waiting carriage opened.
Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. Inside, seated with a smile of pure triumph, was the Earl of Stafford.
“No!” she cried, instinct driving her to flee.
She spun, skirts tangling about her legs, but McKay’s hand clamped around her arm like iron. The driver of the waiting carriage leapt down, seizing her other arm. She struggled wildly, her bonnet slipping askew. In the scuffle, a brooch pinned to her shawl tore free and fell unnoticed to the ground.
“Let me go!” she screamed, kicking, twisting, fighting as best she could.
But she was no match for their strength.
In moments, she was forced into the carriage, and the door slammed behind her. The wheels jolted, and they were off again, her cries swallowed by the pounding of hooves.
Stafford leaned back, his smile broadening.
“My dear duchess,” he said silkily, “there is no cause for distress. You are on the path to your destiny.”
Her chest heaved, her pulse racing. She turned furious eyes on McKay.
“How could you? Betraying your master, betraying me? After all Aaron has done for you?”
McKay sneered, the mask of a servant’s humility cast aside.
“You know nothing of where my loyalty lies, Your Grace. I have betrayed no one.”
Stafford chuckled, his fingers tapping against his knee.
