and began fastening the velvet panels aside, taking his time, then turned, hands clasped behind him, to see the vision awaiting him in the bed.
"Aye, well, we all have to accept change now and then, don't we." It was not a question, but a soft rebuke. Awash in dawn's blushing light amid sumptuous bed-linens and ruffled pillows, Katy sat with her mouth curved in a smile of sweet irony, her eyes heavy-lidded from slumber, her hair cascading like dark fire over her porcelain skin and pooling on the sheets around her.
And Thorne knew that if he had any reservations about being here, it was too late now.
* * *
Braced on all fours, Thorne surfaced from the tumultuous tide of his release and opened his eyes to the voluptuous satiety of Katy's smile. He leaned down to touch his dripping forehead to hers, acknowledging the tempest they'd just weathered together.
Lying in her embrace, he let his mind float away on the sweet Gaelic words she murmured as she smoothed sweat-plastered strands of hair from his brow.
"You've not yet wed," she said softly.
The transition to English startled him into opening his eyes. "No," he murmured.
"But you will."
"Yes." His mouth felt suddenly dry.
"Soon?"
He nodded.
She closed her eyes, but opened them again as Thorne kissed her nose. She watched without comment as he wound an auburn lock around his finger and brought it to his lips in wordless salute.
His eyes closed as she kissed first one lid and then the other.
They did not open again for nearly nine hours.
* * *
Katy kept vigil over her Mister Adams throughout the day, only one intrusion arriving as a servant left a tray of victuals outside the room with a discreet knock.
Watching her lover sleep, she recommitted every detail of his angular face to memory, knowing she might never see it again. As she dashed unbidden tears away, her mind cried out the one question she hadn't dared ask.
Do you love her?
The answer came immediately, as if he'd heard her in his sleep.
I would not be here if I did.
Late in the afternoon, he woke and ate, then sat patiently while Katy smoothed the tangles from his hair and fastened his garters.
"You'd make some man a good wife," he told her, as she turned his cuffs and buttoned his waistcoat.
Her laugh sounded brittle. "Would have made, you mean. Aye, well, fate and me mum chose otherwise for me, Mister Adams, and I'll not be crying over spilt milk." Bending over him to tie his neckcloth, she blew a tendril of hair off her brow and looked him in the eye. "Besides, your decision to travel the rutty road of holy matrimony wouldn't necessarily be mine."
When the time came for him to go, he pressed folded currency into her hand, closing her fingers on it for her when she made no move to hold it.
She stared blindly at his waistcoat. "I'd not accept this but for Madame Claire." Her eyes rose to meet his. "Do you understand, Mister Adams?"
Without replying, he drew her to him and pressed his lips into her hair.
She watched him walk to the door, her energy ebbing with each step he took, her face a mask with a plastered-on smile.
Stepping onto the gallery, he returned only the ghost of a smile, then slowly and quietly shut the door.
Katy gazed numbly at the closed portal. After a long while, she opened her hand and unfolded the crinkled currency. She stared at it for a moment, then fell to her knees on the rug, and was sitting there when Madame Claire knocked at the door and let herself in. Without a word, Katy handed her the money.
The madam stared at it, then at Katy, and shook her head, her smile nearly cracking her rouged face. " Mon Dieu , girl...he left us fifty pounds !"
"Aye. A farewell gift," Katy said tonelessly, and burst into tears.
SIX
Thorne's pre-dawn arrival at Wycliffe Hall guaranteed a cold hearth in his study. Crouched there with the bellows, he heard something clatter on the desk behind him.
"Bloody hell!" He shot up from the hearth.
"Pardon, M'lord."
"Aye, well, we all have to accept change now and then, don't we." It was not a question, but a soft rebuke. Awash in dawn's blushing light amid sumptuous bed-linens and ruffled pillows, Katy sat with her mouth curved in a smile of sweet irony, her eyes heavy-lidded from slumber, her hair cascading like dark fire over her porcelain skin and pooling on the sheets around her.
And Thorne knew that if he had any reservations about being here, it was too late now.
* * *
Braced on all fours, Thorne surfaced from the tumultuous tide of his release and opened his eyes to the voluptuous satiety of Katy's smile. He leaned down to touch his dripping forehead to hers, acknowledging the tempest they'd just weathered together.
Lying in her embrace, he let his mind float away on the sweet Gaelic words she murmured as she smoothed sweat-plastered strands of hair from his brow.
"You've not yet wed," she said softly.
The transition to English startled him into opening his eyes. "No," he murmured.
"But you will."
"Yes." His mouth felt suddenly dry.
"Soon?"
He nodded.
She closed her eyes, but opened them again as Thorne kissed her nose. She watched without comment as he wound an auburn lock around his finger and brought it to his lips in wordless salute.
His eyes closed as she kissed first one lid and then the other.
They did not open again for nearly nine hours.
* * *
Katy kept vigil over her Mister Adams throughout the day, only one intrusion arriving as a servant left a tray of victuals outside the room with a discreet knock.
Watching her lover sleep, she recommitted every detail of his angular face to memory, knowing she might never see it again. As she dashed unbidden tears away, her mind cried out the one question she hadn't dared ask.
Do you love her?
The answer came immediately, as if he'd heard her in his sleep.
I would not be here if I did.
Late in the afternoon, he woke and ate, then sat patiently while Katy smoothed the tangles from his hair and fastened his garters.
"You'd make some man a good wife," he told her, as she turned his cuffs and buttoned his waistcoat.
Her laugh sounded brittle. "Would have made, you mean. Aye, well, fate and me mum chose otherwise for me, Mister Adams, and I'll not be crying over spilt milk." Bending over him to tie his neckcloth, she blew a tendril of hair off her brow and looked him in the eye. "Besides, your decision to travel the rutty road of holy matrimony wouldn't necessarily be mine."
When the time came for him to go, he pressed folded currency into her hand, closing her fingers on it for her when she made no move to hold it.
She stared blindly at his waistcoat. "I'd not accept this but for Madame Claire." Her eyes rose to meet his. "Do you understand, Mister Adams?"
Without replying, he drew her to him and pressed his lips into her hair.
She watched him walk to the door, her energy ebbing with each step he took, her face a mask with a plastered-on smile.
Stepping onto the gallery, he returned only the ghost of a smile, then slowly and quietly shut the door.
Katy gazed numbly at the closed portal. After a long while, she opened her hand and unfolded the crinkled currency. She stared at it for a moment, then fell to her knees on the rug, and was sitting there when Madame Claire knocked at the door and let herself in. Without a word, Katy handed her the money.
The madam stared at it, then at Katy, and shook her head, her smile nearly cracking her rouged face. " Mon Dieu , girl...he left us fifty pounds !"
"Aye. A farewell gift," Katy said tonelessly, and burst into tears.
SIX
Thorne's pre-dawn arrival at Wycliffe Hall guaranteed a cold hearth in his study. Crouched there with the bellows, he heard something clatter on the desk behind him.
"Bloody hell!" He shot up from the hearth.
"Pardon, M'lord."
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