The forest around them was quiet. She listened, and then she saw him.
His dark silhouette stepped away from the night-shadowed trees. She was surprised she’d heard him from that far away.
“Come here, Kate. Come here.” His call was barely a whisper and, just like in the tent, she understood him.
This man was the curse of her life.
Kate didn’t move. She stood rooted to the earth as memories she’d tried to hold at bay flooded her. She remembered his stories, his laughter, the feel of his lips on her skin. She’dtrustedhim,compromisedherself for him and he’d almost destroyed her—no, she realized suddenly, she’dlethim destroy her. She’d let his betrayal color her thinking of herself in every aspect of her life.
Because of him,she’d believed she’d disappointed her parents.Because of him,she’d allowed herself to be practically held in slavery.Because of him,she’d walked away from London. Because of him, she’d branded herself—but no longer.
The time had come to face this demon and puthimfirmly in her past.
Chapter Eight
Bran watched her shadowy form emerge from the tent.
He stepped back into the tree line, waiting, knowing now that she would come.
She wore a heavy gown with a shawl and her wildly curling hair was down around her shoulders. She reminded him of Artemis, goddess of the moon, stepping out into the night.
Except she wasn’t a goddess of grace and beauty. She’d used him. She’d tossed him aside for wealth and privilege. His love had meant nothing to her.
He could not forget why he was here. “Is my nephew in your bed?”
Even in the waning moonlight, he could see his question startled her. She stopped. Studied him a moment, the set of her mouth grim. She bent down.
He waited, wanting an answer to his question.
Kate straightened and before he knew what she was about, she threw a rock at him with surprising strength. The stone hit him in the shoulder and it hurt.
“What the devil—” Bran started, stepping back.
She bent down, picking up something else—acorns!
He wasn’t about to let her throw those at him. They could be vicious little missiles. He started forward, but she was faster. She threw all she had in her hand. Several hit him right in the face. They smarted. He turned his head, grimacing, which gave her time to pick up a stick. Kate attacked, her arm raised as if she would lash him with it.
Bran leapt toward her, reaching her before she could him. He captured her raised arm.
“Where is Winderton—”
His voice broke off with a wheeze as her knee came up and delivered an almost mortal blow to his manhood.
He doubled over, releasing his hold. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He was done in. He backed away.
Kate could have left then. She could have flailed him with her stick. She didn’t. She stood over him, glowering.
Bran looked up at the stars and wanted to howl. His voice came out guttural, “Why the devil did you do that?”
“Oh, Mr. Balfour, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
She didn’t sound penitent at all.
“Are you happy?” he barked. He reached out, finding a tree to lean against, praying for the pain to subside.
Kate had the audacity to smile, the expression wicked in the moonlight. “As a matter of fact, yes, it was satisfying. And, no, your nephew is not in my bed. So, there, you have your answer. Good night.”
She would have turned on her heel but Bran was not ready to let her go.
