Fixing him with a level gaze, she murmured, “The boy I knew was heir to a Dukedom, yet you speak as though you grew up in the hells of Cheapside or Whitechapel. Where did you see such things?”
It was confrontational, and she knew it. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. The need to know the truth burned inside her. There was an ache in her bones that made her want to crawl back into the caverns of her bed. She felt cold and hot at the same time.
The same symptoms that Mama had. I remember her suffering so.
“Who can remember every step in a life’s journey? I have seen and done many things away from Caerleon,” Aaron waved a hand dismissively.
Catherine felt defeated. Her questions were brushed aside once again by a man who seemed to trust no one, nor to allow anyone to see his interior. She felt as though she was staring up at unassailable walls. And on the other side was a young boy whom she had once played with. Once been happy to call a friend.
His eyes narrowed.
“Is it important?”
Catherine shook her head.
“No. Merely a whim on my part.”
He nodded sharply, eyes never leaving her face. She wondered if they were the eyes of a suspicious man attempting to gauge if his secret had been discovered. Or a man who could not look away from his obsession for very long.
The latter is how she found herself feeling when looking at him.
“I must confront them,” she pressed on. “I must hear the truth from their own lips. And I ask that you come with me—”
“I will.”
Simple. No hesitation. She had scarcely finished speaking when he had given his assent. She found herself smiling. It made her feel safe. Protected. Relief flooded her, though his ready agreement did startle her somewhat. For once, he had not weighed, not measured, not turned cold. He had simply saidyes.
McKay entered then to announce a visitor. “Master Charles Napier, Your Grace.”
Aaron frowned for a moment. Then realization dawned.
“My accountant,” he explained to Catherine.
Then he turned to Mr. McKay.
“It is no longer convenient to receive him,” he snapped his orders. “I shall make our appointment for another time and date. He may write to us to discover a more convenient—”
He glanced at Catherine and his mouth tugged into a smile.
“No. That will not be sufficient. Make my sincere apologies and inform Mr. Napier that an emergency has arisen and my time is no longer my own. Ask him what date would better suit him.”
Catherine thought she saw the glimmer of approval in Mr. McKay’s militarily stony face as he turned smartly on his heel and marched away. She caught the butler’s eye and smiled. Mr. McKay’s eyelid flickered in response, the equivalent of a wink from another, more expressive man.
My influence, I wonder? Do I flatter myself?
Whether she did or not, Catherine found her heart lifted in foolish gladness. Aaron had chosen her first.
They rode in silence to Haventon Manor. The grand house rose from the fields like a grey sentinel at the gates of some dismal underworld realm. It was cold. Proud, grandiose, but ultimately soulless. There was no homeliness within those walls. Catherine’s stomach clenched as they approached.
Aaron will protect me. No! I will protect myself! I am not returning to my former life. Not ever again.
Another carriage stood on the drive outside the house. Catherine recognized it with a sinking feeling. She had come to dread the sight of it during her last days at Haventon Manor. She looked away, not wanting the reminder.
“You do not have to do this, you know,” Aaron whispered, brushing a thumb over her knuckles gently. “We can write to them.”
“No. I—I do.” She gathered herself. “That carriage belongs to the Earl of Stafford. He must be here.”
Aaron looked at her with unreadable eyes.
