Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)

He turned when he saw Kate and Louisa enter the room, but it wasn’t yet time for Kate to make their introductions. Besides, the Chancellor was Ned’s bailiwick. She ushered Louisa from that room quickly.

It was only when Harcroft began to show signs of distress—a tight line drawn across his forehead, and his hands clenching in his gloves—that Kate brought Louisa to the last refuge.

With everyone in the music hall and the adjoining rooms, the ballroom was dark and deserted. In the corner, a screen had been set up; behind it, a door led to the servants’ quarters. The two women hurried across the room. Kate left Louisa behind the screen and turned to face the entry.

She heard the door open behind her.

It took Harcroft a few seconds to find her shape in the darkness. She saw his silhouette in the doorway. He stared at her and shook his head. Finally, he started toward her, footsteps slapping in percussive rhythm across the floor.

“And what have we here?” Harcroft sounded tired. “Why, it’s Kathleen Carhart. Are you proud of yourself? Do you wake every morning, delighting in the knowledge that you bested me? Your success won’t last long.”

“What sort of nonsense is this, Harcroft?” Kate did not let her voice drop. She could hear her response echoing throughout the hall, around the parquet dance floor. She hoped their words carried far enough. “Bested you?” The door to the servants’ quarters was behind that screen, she reminded herself. He couldn’t see behind it—and Kate still had not heard that door close behind Louisa. She would just have to trust that this would all work out.

“So you’re playing the innocent.” He stepped forward again. “You’ve made a mockery of my marriage, and all in the name of…shopping. You made the sacred frivolous. You’ve stolen from me.”

He advanced on her. Slowly she backed away from him. Her back hit the ballroom wall distressingly quickly.

“Harcroft, I think you might need to sit down. Rest a bit.”

He grabbed for her wrist and twisted it.

“Don’t do that.” Kate spoke calmly, although she could feel her pulse beat threadily in his grip. Nobody could see her; at best, she had to hope that someone would hear what was happening. “Harcroft. Let go of my wrist. You don’t need to resort to violence. Not again. We can resolve this rationally.”

“I don’t believe I hit you hard enough last time.”

He raised his fist; Kate ducked. She pulled her wrist from his grasp, and his hand hit the wall behind her.

“Be careful—you might hurt yourself,” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes made the suggestion less kind than her solicitous tone suggested. “Harcroft…”

He whirled around swiftly. “Goddamn you,” he spat out. Before she could react, he set his hands against her shoulders and shoved, pushing her off balance at an odd angle. The hard wood floor smacked against her backside with bruising force; her head missed the wall by inches. He dropped to his knees and leaned over her, pinning her shoulder to the floor.

Kate smiled up at him in sheer relief. Thank God; she’d goaded him into showing his true nature. She’d won. They’d won.

For the first time since they’d come into the room, Kate didn’t pitch her voice to carry. This, after all, she didn’t want overheard. “In the stories,” Kate whispered, “the heroine slays the dragon.”

A puzzled frown lit his face.

“She lops off his head and brings it to the villagers. And they build a bonfire, and everyone celebrates because darkness has been banished from the land.”

“Dragons?” Harcroft snarled. “Dragons? What the hell are dragons doing in this conversation?” He raised his hand. In another second, his fist would smash into her face. Pinned as she was against the parquet floor, there was no escape. She ought to have been frightened. Her heart should have been hammering, but instead, all she felt was a heady sense of absolute victory. He couldn’t hurt her. She smiled up at him; his eyes narrowed.

“True heroes,” she told him, “tame their dragons.”

“Harcroft.” The voice came from behind him. “You’d better stop.”

Harcroft turned, his hand arrested in midair.

It was Ned. He’d been waiting in the servants’ corridor. He came forward now, limping carefully, his crutches tapping sharply against the parquet.

“How many times must I tell you?” Ned’s voice was quiet. “Get your hands off my wife. Now.”

Harcroft didn’t move.

“Careful, Harcroft. You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Regret?” Harcroft let out a shaky breath. “Regret? You of all people know—what have I to regret? It’s not me.” His hands tightened, digging into Kate’s shoulder. “I— If I had my wife back, it wouldn’t be like this.”

“Oh? You’ve never hit Louisa, then?”

“By accident.” The words were hoarse. “Never on purpose. It wasn’t my fault. Not truly.”

“It wasn’t your fault?”

“You know how it is. I get so angry—she makes me so angry. I can’t let it go. She makes me do it, damn it. They all do. I can’t stop it.”