Chapter Ten
The fire that had been smoldering since their night in the tent soared up through Nathaniel like an inferno, turning all his discipline to ash under the spell of her words. Let us just be Nathaniel and Cat. No government secrets. No pledges of silence. Only the two of them. Damnation. He wanted that more than anything.
He lifted both hands to cup her smooth, warm cheeks, his mouth descending to cover her open lips with a kiss. More than a kiss, for he’d kissed a woman before, but never like this. It was as if he wished to share his whole self with her, his passion, his heat, everything except his secrets.
Cat’s lips moved across his, her tongue exploring, as she rucked up his shirt to slide her cool hands underneath along his flushed skin. The caress of her fingers over his muscles sent lightning through him, and he groaned, yanking his shirt off over his head. He pulled her to him, her unbound breasts pressing against him. She gasped softly on an exhale when he picked her up, one arm under her knees. But instead of going to the bed, he carried her closer to the hearth where the fire leaped like his pulse. Lowering her, he turned her so that her back was against him, his arm winding to the front. He pulled her to lean back into him, taking her weight.
“What are ye doing?” she whispered.
He answered by kissing a path down the side of her neck, breathing in her warm, sweet scent. “Close your eyes and feel,” he whispered against the delicate curve of her ear and felt her shiver. Sliding his hands up and over her hips, waist, and the sides of her full breasts, his fingers untied the wide neckline of the smock, letting it fall open to reveal pale skin with little brown specks covering her soft womanly slopes. The gown slipped off her shoulders, pooling around her ankles. Over her shoulder, his gaze skimmed along her gently rounded stomach and curved hips down to the curls at the juncture of her long legs. He thrummed against her peaked nipples and palmed her full breasts. So lush. So soft. She stood tall, her head thrown back to rest against his chest, the fire before her keeping her warm.
He swallowed. “I have never seen anyone so exquisite in all my life,” he said, his voice rough with want.
A slight smile tugged up the corners of her luscious mouth, and her eyes opened to gaze up at him. “No one has seen all of my freckles before.”
“I am honored,” he said, turning her in his arms. He kissed her, taking a long, slow taste of her sweetness as he teased a path along her spine, stroking the curve of her full backside. His mouth left hers to kiss along her jawline. “I will count every single one,” he whispered at her ear and loved her shoulder with hot kisses, his hand rubbing her hip to tease a path to her center. She shuddered in his arms, her legs shifting as she pressed into his hand. “You are perfect,” he said as he strummed across the pearl hidden in her curls.
She trembled but still chuckled. “Absolutely not.”
“Perfectly imperfect then.” Her wet heat beckoned him, and she moaned against his mouth, her hands stroking down to his rigid jack. Lord, he wanted to see her and love every little inch of her. He pulled back to study the smattering of freckles over her creamy skin. “Like stars in a clear sky,” he said, tracing his finger down her chest, connecting the small brown dots.
She tugged on his trousers, reaching past the ties to dip her hand inside. A groan rumbled up from his taut chest as she wrapped cool, slender fingers around him, sliding in a rhythm that would finish him much too quickly. With a kiss, he pulled back and slowly shucked his trousers. Her eyes dropped to his erect length, and he watched her inhale, her chest filling.
“A beast of power and beauty,” she said, her gaze meeting his, a smile on her ravished lips.
He chuckled, stepping forward to pull her into his arms again. Careful of her wrapped ankle, he guided her the few steps to the small bed that she’d chosen and pressed her down on the edge. He captured her face in his hands, kissing her as he knelt between her legs. His hands lowered to stroke her soft stomach, marveling in the curves, the softness she exuded. He kissed a path down her neck to her breasts, their perfect peaks begging to be teased. Cat sucked in sharply as his mouth fell over one, his tongue swirling around as his palm lifted. He moved to the second full breast, teasing it with kisses and nibbles.
She squirmed on the bed, and Nathaniel stroked downward over the soft skin of her stomach and lower still. A soft gasp came from her as he brushed her intimately, finding her sweet nub again in the damp curls. Her head fell back as she leaned her elbows on the bed behind her, her legs parting as he worked against her wet heat. Looking at her spread before him, he had never known a need so strong. “My wildcat,” he said, his voice a rasp.
Cat moaned, a throaty, deep sound. “Aye, Nathaniel.”
“I must taste you,” he said, watching her head rise, her gaze meeting his as he slowly lowered his mouth. His cock throbbed, but all that captured his attention were the sounds of her moaning above him as she thrust forward with growing pleasure. Glancing up to see her ecstasy, he watched her palm and pinch her own breasts. She was a pale, fallen angel, kissed with a galaxy of little freckles, flaming curls draping all around her shoulders. The slopes of her body were the most beautiful landscape, made perfect for loving. She smelled of roses.
Closing his eyes, he focused on the feel of her body, the increasing pitch of her little moans. He lifted under her sweet backside, listening to the Gaelic words that bubbled from her mouth. “Och, Nathaniel, aye,” she said, pressing against him. She panted, there on the edge of the bed as he worked against her sweet core until he felt a spasm of pleasure shudder through her. “Nathaniel,” she called, her voice rasping as she strained to keep her scream contained, rocking against him.
He slid up her body, stroking her as she shuddered. Her eyes were open, languid as he kneeled at the juncture of her spread legs. “My God, Cat,” he said, his voice reverent. She reached down to spread herself even more, waiting, inviting him to enter. He leaned over her, poised, and kissed her. She clung to his shoulder, and with perfect aim, Nathaniel thrust forward into her.
The lush, damp heat engulfed him, and she gasped, her body stiffening. Nathaniel balanced on the edge of reason as he forced himself to still within her body, his arms flanking her head. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and he concentrated on his breathing, on not moving even though his body begged for it, throbbed for it. Waiting for her.
Her foot slid up the back of his leg, and then the other followed, wrapped in bindings. Before he knew it, she’d locked her legs together over his back and gently raised herself to press him even farther within her. A tortured groan came from him, and she grinned. “Ye look more pained than me,” she said.
“If you are smiling, I just might be.”
“Move then,” she said. “Make me ache again.”
“God, yes,” he said, leaning in to kiss her, and his hand teased one breast and then the other as he began to move slowly. He withdrew and thrust forward, reveling in the feel of her heat wrapped tightly around him. She arched toward him, and he picked up a rhythm that she matched, using the tight squeeze of her thighs to give her leverage around his middle. The heat of her drove him wild, making their kisses hungry and deep.
His fingers traced down the slope of her waist and over her hip, inward to where they were joined. “Aye, right there,” she whispered on a shallow exhale as he rubbed and thrust, faster and faster. Together they moved as one, giving and taking, moaning into each other’s open mouths as the passion built within them, trusting one another to continue toward the peak. Her fingernails scraped down his back.
“My God, Cat,” he said on a groan.
He drove into her as she ground against him, faster until she began to moan. Head thrown back against the quilt, her hair lay in a jumble of wild curls. Pale skin flushed pink, her lips lay open and damp as she cried out, the pitch going higher like a song as her pleasure overtook her. ’Twas the most glorious sight he’d ever witnessed, and he exploded. Wave after wave of heat rose and crashed through him as he continued to thrust within her shuddering body. They rode the passion, clinging to one another, until they finally slowed together.
With a satisfied exhale that sounded almost like the purr of her namesake, Cat unhooked her legs, letting them slide down. He pulled her onto her side to hold her in his arms, her back against his chest. They lay in silence for long minutes, their breaths slowing. He stroked the softness of her stomach and slid his palm along her curved hip, the glow of the fire turning her skin gold.
She raised her knee, the toes of her good foot gliding along the length of his shin. “’Twas not like I thought it would be,” she said.
“Oh?” He lifted onto one elbow to look down at her.
A mischievous grin made her look impish, her eyes half closed, the lashes long. “I thought ye would vanquish the ache I was feeling.”
He met her grin with his own. “I thought I vanquished you quite thoroughly.” She’d certainly slayed the gloom that had hung over the evening from his conference with Stanton and his old cronies.
She laughed, her legs stroking higher up to his thigh. “But the ache,” she said, pushing up to press a kiss on his lips. “The fire that was between us before…” Her smile turned more serious, a glint of seduction in her eyes. “It is already starting to return.” She raised her knee up to wrap her leg across his hip, pressing her heel into his arse.
…
Rap, rap, rap.
Meow.
Cat’s one eye cracked open to the view of two grass-green eyes in a fluffy gray face.
Meow.
Cat pushed up from the warmth of the covers to stare at the little ball of gray fluff sitting up on the pillow where Nathaniel’s head had rested. “Hello,” she whispered, a smile growing instantly as she watched the kitten scrunch its little black nose. Cupping the kitten in her hands, she pulled it toward her, nuzzling it against her cheek. “Where did ye come from?” she whispered, but she knew. Nathaniel. Her gaze slid past the cat to a folded piece of parchment that must have been on the pillow, but the kitten had knocked it into the bedding.
Meow. It pressed into her, wrapping itself instantly around her heart. She glanced around the small room. Bright sun filtered through the one window. How long had she slept? She picked up the note.
She smiled, her fingers gently stroking the kitten’s head. Her heart filled with a lightness. Joy? Maybe.
Rap, rap, rap. “Lady Campbell,” Jane Pitney’s voice came louder from the corridor where she knocked on the room where Cat was supposed to be sleeping.
She slid out of the bed, setting the kitten in the warm covers. “Stay put,” she whispered. How would she explain the kitten to Jane? Careful with her bound ankle, Cat scooped up her sleeping smock where it was left in a heap by the still warm hearth. The kitten watched her, its head tilted. “I will be back,” she said and hobbled through the cold dressing room, feeling the well-loved ache between her legs. Stepping into the room that had been Nathaniel’s mother’s room, Cat called toward the door. “Aye?”
“It is time to start your lessons and fittings, Lady Campbell,” Jane called back. “Lord Worthington said to let you sleep, but we can wait no more.”
Cat looked around the cold room with the still made bed. Time to see if Jane Pitney had a quick or suspicious mind. She walked to the dressing room door and shut it quietly. “I will open the door when ye call me Cat.” She spotted her robe near the tub and shrugged into it.
“You must learn the formal address,” Jane said. “It is what is used at court.”
She combed her fingers quickly through her tangles, imagining Jane tapping her foot, hands on her robust hips outside the door. “We are not currently at court, Jane.” She walked over to the door where a large iron key sat in the lock on the inside.
She heard a murmur behind the door that sounded like a curse and smiled. “I certainly hope that was a pish, pshaw, by gad, or God’s teeth.”
“Open the door…Cat, or we won’t have you ready in time to depart for London tomorrow. It is already mid-morning.”
Tomorrow? She turned the key and swung the door inward to look at the frowning woman. “I thought we left in three days.”
“Where did you even find a key to this room?” Jane asked, brushing by her to enter. The woman paused, her gaze moving from the cold hearth to the bed. She pivoted on her heel to look at her, brows raised high. “There is no need for you to make your own bed.”
Cat shrugged. “I always have before.” It wasn’t a lie and better than saying than saying “I spent the most amazing night being vigorously vanquished by Nathaniel, I mean Lord Worthington, and never made it to this room.”
Jane hurried over to the hearth and began to relight the fire from the past evening. A few embers still glowed under the ash. “A maid should have come by to tend this for you.”
“I was perfectly warm last night,” she replied, her face pleasant when Jane glanced over her shoulder at her. Again, it wasn’t a lie.
The woman looked back at the rekindling. “Benedict is bringing up a bucket of warm water for you to wash.”
“Another bath?” Cat asked, hoping the answer was yes. After her night with Nathaniel, her body could use a soak. They’d explored each other long into the night, and parts of her were sore. A good kind of sore. She smiled softly, feeling a giddiness she’d never experienced before.
“Of sorts,” Jane said and dropped a small stack of white linen rags on the bed. “I saw a quilt from the adjacent maid’s room with blood on it down in the laundry. Thought you might be able to use the menstrual rags with the belt and warm water to wash.” Nathaniel must have seen the evidence of her virginity and taken it to the laundry. Was that when he retrieved the kitten?
No one had ever spoken to Cat so openly about her woman’s monthly, not even her mother who had usually been too busy trying to get through each day to talk to her daughter when it had started. Her face burned hot, but she nodded. “Thank ye.”
“Thank you,” Jane corrected.
Cat controlled her immediate desire to roll her eyes and curse. “Thank you,” she said instead.
Jane whisked about the room, tidying, although she hadn’t touched much. There was another knock at the door. Benedict, Nathaniel’s mid-aged manservant, lugged in a bucket of water, putting it behind the screen. For such a slender looking man, he seemed quite strong. Hopefully he didn’t know why she required a second bath, neither the truth nor Jane’s assumption.
Cat nodded to him and ducked behind the screen with the rags to wash while Jane and Benedict took two empty buckets, threw open one of the massive windows and proceeded to empty the cold bathwater from the tub.
“I have brought you five new smocks and several pairs of stockings,” Jane said, coming close to the screen to thrust one around for Cat to grab, followed by two dangling silk stockings with garters. “Put these on. The seamstresses will be here soon to work on several of Lady Scarlet’s and Lady Evelyn’s dresses as Lady Campbell suggested in her letter. We must put together a wardrobe for you by tomorrow afternoon.”
“We are to leave tomorrow afternoon?” she asked, remembering she hadn’t yet received an answer. She peeked around the screen in time to see Benedict leave the room.
“Lord Worthington wishes to leave as soon as possible to deliver you to the Duchess as requested. I have told him that is the soonest you could be ready, but we will have to work hard to meet that timeframe.”
“Work at what exactly?” Cat asked, coming around the screen in one of the new lace-edged smocks.
Rap, rap.
Jane opened the door to permit three young maids, with gowns draped over their arms. They wore matching black costumes with long white aprons and curtsied in front of Cat before hurrying to the bed with the heavy garments. Petticoats in blue and rose and purple were embroidered with gold thread. Two overdresses had flower patterns. Two white linen and two silk smocks and two sets of stays joined them on the bed. Cat had never owned more than two dresses at a time, and both were made of wool. She limped over, her fingers gingerly touching the smooth material, tracing one of the flowers made of gold thread. “’Tis lovely,” she murmured.
“The fabric is imported from the Far East,” Jane said.
Behind her, Jane caught the ends of her red curls in one hand. “We will be working on everything. Your hair, your clothes…” She held Cat’s hand, bringing the backs of her fingers up to eye level. “Your nails.” She dropped her hand. “Your manners and speech.”
Anger caught and rose quickly to blaze in Cat’s middle. “I am not some awkward, country bumpkin. I have been taught at the Highland Roses School how to take tea, how to read and write and do embroidery.” Truth was that she poked her finger more than the fabric, but she could pass as a content lady who enjoyed foolish endeavors if she moved slow enough.
Jane looked skeptical. “We will start with trying on these petticoats and the two mantuas, so the girls can alter them to fit you.” She held one up to Cat. “They will need to be lengthened.”
She looked to the maids. “If there is not hem enough to let out, you will add lace to the bottoms.” Turning back to Cat, “We have two gowns from a local seamstress that will be new.” She smiled, pride on her features. “I was able to purchase them almost complete this morning. They will be fitted and finished by tomorrow.”
She waved at one of the maids who hurried over with a set of boned stays with lavender ribbon for the lacing. The young woman, like the other two garbed in black and white, had her hair caught up in a plait to coil her head. Cat raised her arms as she wrapped the stays around her.
“Meredith,” the maid called, and a second maid hurried over to hold the stays up over Cat’s breasts in front as the maid behind her began to pull on the ribbons to tighten the stays.
“Lift them upward, so they are not as smashed down inside,” Janes said, and Cat scooped under each of her breasts as the stays tightened, making them swell gently at the top. She focused on forcing her stomach outward, so the two tenacious maids couldn’t pull them too tight, something she’d learned when Evelyn had shown her how English ladies wore their gowns. It was like a quiet battle with ribbon and boning, the maid pulling tight and Cat pushing out against the press determined to smash all her internal organs together. The solid stays created a foundation from which to build the ensemble outward. It also pressed her bosom farther upward, making the tops of her breasts swell out the top, edged by the lace of her smock. She felt like she was being tied into armor that only encircled her torso, leaving above and below vulnerable to attack. A full under petticoat came next, tied around Cat’s middle over her smock and stays.
Scratch. Meow! Scratch.
Frig it. She hadn’t shut the door from the maid’s bedroom into the middle room.
All three maids and Jane turned toward the closed door to the dressing chamber. Jane moved first, striding forward briskly. Cat couldn’t twist far in the stays and turned slowly, keeping the weight off her injured foot.
“Be careful,” Cat said, and Jane opened the door inward slowly, bending down to scoop up the kitten. Instead of holding it at arm’s length, she cradled the kitten in the crook of her arm and turned back to Cat. Jane’s brows rose, waiting.
“That is Jasmine, my kitten,” she said, her hands sliding along her confined waist.
“I did not see a kitten with you yesterday,” Jane said.
“The stable boys said she needs a home, so I am giving her one.” She tipped her chin higher. “Now shouldn’t we return to my fitting? We are wasting precious time,” she said in an imitation of an aristocratic, haughty voice.
Jane turned to the maids, nodding, and one brought over an outer petticoat in embroidered purple silk. “Over her head,” Jane said, still cuddling the kitten in her arms. The maid, Meredith, tied it in place over the under petticoat and stays, none of which Cat could feel through the boning. During it all, Jane held the kitten, scratching it until it squirmed to be let down to run after a ball of lace that rolled from the bed when the third maid picked up another piece of the costume.
She brought forth a full, open gown, on her arms that resembled a long coat. “A mantua is an outer dress,” Jane said and motioned for the maid to slide the sleeves up Cat’s arms. “Hold the cuffs of your smock,” she instructed. “The mantua is quite the fashion in London. ’Tis a stunningly ornate pattern.” Jane led her over to the mirror. “Look,” she said, excitement making her voice sound less surly.
Cat’s breath caught. The mantua swooped open, and the maids gathered the rich silk behind to hitch up underneath, attaching the voluminous train to some hidden tabs. The front opened to show the coordinated purple- and lavender-colored petticoat in the middle. Flowers in gold embroidery sat on a deep magenta silk stomacher with matching three-quarter sleeves. The lace edging of her white smock showed just above the low neckline and lay across the backs of her hands. One maid held the gown around her middle, deftly pinning the waist to be sewn later so that it would lay smoothly along the stays.
“Lovely,” Jane said, nodding. “You have a very fine figure.”
Cat blinked at the image in the mirror. She’d never worn such a gown. Twisting and bending were impossible in such a bind. It was completely impractical if one was expected to do any type of work. No wonder English ladies spent hours perched on the edges of their chairs embroidering and sipping at tea. They could do little else. The entire costume was ridiculous but also…absolutely the most beautiful ensemble she had ever seen. Before she could say anything, there was another knock on the door. Jane sent one of the maids to open it with a flap of her hand.
“I thought I could go over some of the names of Lords and Ladies at…” Nathaniel’s voice trailed off as he walked in, his strides stopping halfway across the floor. In the mirror, Cat watched his gaze rake up her reflection to reach her face, a slow smile growing across his lips, lips that she remembered trailing from freckle to freckle last night. He’d stopped counting at five-hundred and sixty-nine when she couldn’t stand the erotic teasing anymore and took matters into her own hands.
This morning, he wore tall leather boots and a long day jacket that looked perfectly tailored to fit his broad shoulders and tapered torso. He cleared his throat. “You should learn the names of courtiers…while they work on the gowns,” he finished, his words soft and slow.
“’Tis a gown for court, made originally for Scarlet, but she did not have time to wear it before leaving,” Jane said. “I think it is most becoming on Lady Campbell.”
Cat barely heard the annoying title with him staring at her. His reflection in the mirror before her was clear. His mouth moved slightly as if he were sampling a sweet wine, and she watched his gaze travel down her back where the rich fabric gathered to flow over her backside. Just the passing of his gaze made her skin feel alive, her heart thumping under the sturdy boning of her stays, and she quelled a delicious shiver.
A look of concentration hardened the set of his jaw, and he inhaled fully. She turned slowly around. Good bloody Lord, he was handsome, especially cleaned up, his beard trimmed, his hair still longish and tied back to show his strong jawline. His eyes were as intense as last night, and a flush suffused her neck.
“Well,” Jane went on. “I would reprimand you for not complimenting a lady on her new costume, as I am sure I taught you as a youth, Lord Worthington. But being tongue-tied with awe over Lady Campbell’s appearance will do.”
The tightness to his lips and jaw relaxed as he continued to meet Cat’s gaze. “Yes, Mistress Jane, tongue-tied indeed. Lady Campbell, you are beautiful.”
Jane preened as if the compliment had been about her. “Well, it is a start. The lady has a lovely figure. Now to tame her wild hair and groom her nails.”
Cat’s smile soured as her eyes shifted, and she frowned at Jane. “Ye can check my teeth, too, but I take special care of them. Unfortunately, I am lame with this twisted ankle. Perhaps ye better see me out back with a musket.”
“I see you two are getting along just fine,” Nathaniel said, and her middle tightened at the aristocratic slant to his English accent. It was more clipped and precise than it had been up at Finlarig, as if the English air had melted away his common speech.
“Your teeth look white and healthy,” Jane said. “Now for your spots—”
Cat held up her hand. “There is nothing ye can do about my freckles. Ye will not try to rub them away, and I will not wear that thick powder all over my face.”
“I agree,” Nathaniel said, any humor replaced by a tight seriousness.
“I was about to say,” Jane continued slowly, as if the roughness in his voice had given her pause. “That your spots are intriguing. We will just wash with some gentle soap and add a bit of ochre mixed in oil to your lips. We also have a number of black patches that Tildy cuts into little shapes like hearts and birds.” Her hand went out to one of the maids, and she bobbed, smiling.
“Patches?” Cat asked.
“They are quite popular,” Jane said, and all the maids nodded. “They are made of black velvet and stuck to the face.”
“Tildy?” she said.
“Milady?” She answered with a little curtsey.
“Do ye honestly see ladies wearing black patches stuck to their faces?”
The other maids giggled, and Tildy nodded. “Yes, milady, especially at balls or at court.”
Cat glanced at Nathaniel at the hearth. “And ye have seen these patches?”
He was watching Jasmine chase about the room, prancing as if she stalked an imaginary foe. “Yes,” he said, glancing up to meet her gaze, a slight grin to his mouth.
The fire crackled in the hearth, and the kitten startled, running straight for Cat’s gown. With a sudden flattening, she dove under the layers of magenta silk. Nathaniel nodded to it. “You have a visitor under your skirts.”
Two of the maids giggled while Tildy crouched down, lifting the hem and batting away the fullness of the petticoats. “Here puss,” she called.
Cat continued to meet Nathaniel’s amused eyes. “Her name is Jasmine,” she said, a smile curving her lips. “After the flower.” Inside her chest, her heart seemed to quake. Was this what ladies felt when they said that their hearts fluttered?
Under her skirts, the kitten’s claws pricked as the wee beast tried to scale her leg. “Och,” she said, shifting. “Perhaps I should call her Rose, because she is currently using her thorns to climb up my stockings.”
“Goodness,” Jane said with a huff and dropped to the floor herself. “Do not let it ruin the silk stockings. Girls,” she called, and the other two joined in, all four of them throwing up layers of petticoats to find the kitten. The whole time, Cat met Nathaniel’s gaze, barely containing her laughter.
“Come puss,” Jane called.
“Jasmine,” Tildy called.
“Rose,” another said. “Is she not called Rose?”
Nathaniel leaned against the wall next to the hearth, watching. Even though his face still held its serious aristocratic mask, laughter sparked in his eyes. “Apparently,” he said, “there is room for four under your gown.”
“Four plus a puss,” Cat said, her smile widening.
A chuckle escaped his tight jaw. “Mistress Jane, are you in need of assistance under there?” he asked.
A bubble of laughter burst from Cat’s lips, and she covered her mouth with a hand.
“I got you, you little skelm,” Jane said, and the kitten released her leg. All four ladies crawled out from under the full skirts, and stood, straightening their caps and aprons. Jane held Jasmine, kissing the kitten on top of the head before frowning at Nathaniel. She marched over toward him to press the kitten into his hands. She didn’t say a word, but the rebuke on her face admonished him as if he were still a lad. Probably for his inappropriate comments.
The maids led Cat back to the mirror where they continued to pin and tuck the fabric around her middle. Jane brought a pair of silk slippers for her to wear with the gown, ones with ribbon ties to be tightened or loosened so she could wear the slipper over the bindings on her foot. The maids moved around the skirt, snipping the hemline seam to add more length.
“Hmmm…” Jane said, tapping her lip with a finger. She nodded. “Yes, it will do quite nicely.” Her gaze slaked over the dress while Tildy twisted Cat’s curls up on top of her head and secured the mass with several pins. “Beautiful fabric and nicely fitted,” Jane said.
“I will need to hide my knives on me,” Cat said, glancing toward the door where Jasmine had scratched. Were they still hidden under the bed in the other room? She turned back to the housekeeper. “Somewhere I can reach even when imprisoned in stays that are cinched so tightly I can hardly bend.” She shifted, dropping her arms in an attempt to reach under her skirts. It was possible, although perhaps only if her life depended upon it.
“Excuse me? Knives?” Jane asked, her head sliding slightly back on her shoulders like a hen’s. The maids all stopped to stare at Cat with wide eyes.
“Aye,” Cat said. “I have three that I must wear, plus my hair spike.”
Jane looked around the room as if the blades were lying about.
“I…have them hidden away right now,” Cat said. “But I will need to carry them on my person.”
“Good God.” Jane looked to Nathaniel.
He held the kitten against his chest. Even though his face had once again grown serious, the softness of the kitten held so gingerly in his large hands made Cat’s breath catch. With his rich clothes, wavy hair, and a delicious scar here and there, he was incredibly delicious to look upon. But with the kitten against him, a ball of gray fluff trusting him to keep her safe, he was…perfect.
“She is a Highland Rose,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. “And roses have thorns. The hair stick will be easy to conceal in her curls. You will need to work in some pockets or straps for the others. She is accustomed to wearing one tied in a garter low on her leg.”
Tildy’s mouth dropped open as if shocked that he knew what was tied to her leg.
“The queen requested a lethal Highland Rose,” he said when no one moved. “Cat Campbell is the most dangerous Rose at the school.” He kept his gaze level. “Even with her foot lame, imprisoned in stays, and with a kitten beneath her skirts.”
Jane’s bottom lip pinched upward into a pucker. “Very well. We will add some pockets with slits in the outer gown, and she can secure one knife in a garter if tied correctly. I am sure Tildy and Meredith can manage to work the hair stick into her curls. We will have her ready for whatever challenges she must face at court.”
Nathaniel nodded, and the warmth they had just shared faded as his serious expression solidified into a stone mask.
She cleared her throat softly. “Were ye planning to read me whatever is on that paper?”
He set Jasmine down and straightened, pulling a small paper from his jacket. “Yes. To start with, James is the new king. You will call him Your Majesty. The same with his wife, Queen Mary. The two of them are openly Catholic, which has the entire country concerned. James is not as merry as was his brother, Charles, though he does keep a number of mistresses.” Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “Do not find yourself alone with him or any man at court.”
Cat remembered the horrible episode that Scarlet Worthington had endured at court and nodded. “I will remain armed.”
“Oh, Good Lord,” Jane murmured. She looked directly at Cat. “Do not stab the king, else find yourself in the Tower or hung.”
She shifted her jaw back and forth as she returned Jane’s stare. “I will endeavor not to commit high treason.” She turned back to Nathaniel. Did he worry about her doing something irreparably foolish? “And the ladies?” she asked. “You have told me a bit about them, but are any dangerous?”
“Many are schooled in cutting remarks, but none should require you to use a knife to defend yourself,” he answered.
She tipped her head to the side to watch Jasmine climb up one of the curtains framing a window. “I don’t know about that. A slice or nick could be just the thing to stop a wagging tongue.”
“Sweet Heaven help us,” Jane said, her words coming out in a voluminous huff. “This trip to court may be our last.”