Liam did not move. He stood still and silent as shebegan to sob and pound on his chest, weeping for the loss of a love that she had never had, that had never existed, and for a treachery too painful to bear. Because she wept uncontrollably now, she did not see the tears welling in his own eyes.
“I have been trying to explain to you why I have been supplying FitzMaurice this past year,” he said flatly. “But you refuse to listen, refuse to trust me; you have not heard a single word I said.”
Katherine stared at him, shocked again, flooded with new anguish. He had been supplying the papist lunatic for an entire year? That meant that he had allied himself with her father’s cousin sometime shortly after he had first met her! “No.” She held up her hands as if she could ward him off. She had never hated anyone the way she hated him. “Don’t touch me!”
“You have no choice but to listen,” Liam said, with a flash of anger, dropping his hands.
“I will never listen to you again,” she cried, and in that instant, she wished to hurt him as he had hurt her. But she could not. Because she had loved him—but he did not love her.
“I have a plan, Katherine,” Liam began, his expression so earnest, so deadly sincere, that Katherine backed away from him.
“No!” she screamed. How she wished she had not burned her father’s letter. How she wished she could now shove it in his face.
“Katherine, my plan was dangerous, and not without flaw, and the very first step was to build FitzMaurice up,” Liam told her, never taking his eyes from her face.
“No!” Katherine shouted again. A tiny voice inside her head—and her heart—warned his not to do this, to listen to him, but Katherine ignored it. “Let me tell you about my plan!”
His jaw tightened. “You are overwrought, which I understand.” He turned from her, moving to the sideboard, pouring a glass of whiskey.
“You don’t understand me—you could not possibly,” Katherine cried, having followed him.
He faced her, holding out the glass. “Drink this.”
Katherine struck the glass from his hand. It shattered on the floor, whiskey spilling everywhere. They stared at one another.
“I do not want to hurt you,” Liam said. “I have never wanted to hurt you.”
“You cannot hurt me,” Katherine said, her words so obviously incongruous, for her face was streaked with tears. “We are two of a kind, you see.” She laughed bitterly. “Both adept at playing games, both adept at theatrics—both adept at using one another for purely selfish purposes.”
Liam stared, his body tense. Katherine stared back defiantly, growing dizzy with the flood tide of pain washing over her. Liam finally said, “You are too honest to play the kind of game you speak of.”
“Oh?” She laughed, hysterically. “Don’t you wish to know of what I speak—darling?”
“I don’t think so.” His gray gaze had gone flat and watchful.
“Do you remember the letter my father sent me in July? The letter you brought to me?” Katherine asked harshly.
Liam nodded slowly.
“I burned it,” she said. “Do you know why?”
“No. I don’t want to know why, either.” But he did not turn away from her, he was riveted in place. His eyes held hers.
And the room was so silent that Katherine’s uneven breathing could be heard. “I burned it so you would never find it, never read it—never learn its contents.”
Liam stared into her hostile eyes. “But now you are going to tell me what was in the letter, are you not?”
“Yes!” she cried, and one of her fists landed on his chest. Liam did not appear to notice the blow. “Yes, damn you, yes! Long ago, before I was even wed to Hawke, my father askedmeto useyou. To lead you a merry chase right to my bed—and right to the altar! He wished for me to enslave you with my body. He wished for me to play the temptress. He wished for me to entice you into marriage. Have you heard me, Liam?”
Liam’s expression was one of growing comprehension—and growing horror.
Katherine half cried and half laughed. “And I did as he asked. It was a game, Liam, naught but a game, and every moan and sigh was pure pretense, intended to madden you with lust, to chain you to my side. I pretended that all I ever thought of was you and our lovemaking, I pretended that I could not live without you or your touch, and I pretended that I loved you!” Katherine realized that she was weeping again. “In return, you were supposed to aid my father—not FitzMaurice!”
“If it was but a game for you—then why are you crying?” he asked hoarsely.
“Because I have lost! Oh, God, I have lost everything, giving myself to you as I have! And you—God damn you to hell—you have played me false, aiding the papist traitor.”
Liam stared at her as if she were a stranger—or a monster.
