Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)

“He doesn’t, not yet. But I’d like to keep it that way. He’s furious. And—unfortunately—he is staying in my house.”


“I see.” Louisa let out a breath and then smiled. It was a brave expression, somewhat belied by the nervous dart of her eyes. “Well, at least worry will keep me from boredom. I never thought I would miss those dreadful meetings that the Ladies’ Beneficial Tea Society insisted on holding, but right now I would give anything for a heated argument about the merits of embroidering handkerchiefs versus the knitting of socks and scarves.” She smiled lazily. “Right now I have nothing to do but watch over Jeremy. And he sleeps a shocking amount of the time.”

Over the course of Kate’s less-than-ladylike secret career, spent stealing women away from husbands who didn’t deserve them, she’d seen many different responses. One woman had escaped her husband—but after two days she’d begged to return, insisting that the man could not survive without her, that he loved her. That he wouldn’t hit her again. Another had cowered for three weeks in this cottage, unable to lift her head. Yet another had grabbed hold of the chance and scampered for freedom as soon as it was offered. Louisa had landed somewhere in between those extremes.

She had argued her duty as wife for months, when Kate had first found out what was happening to her. Then Louisa had given birth to her first child, and whatever she felt her dry duty as wife had been, her duty as mother had overwhelmed her with a ferocious passion. There were not many women in Louisa’s situation who would joke about boredom, with their husbands off raging in the distance.

“He’ll stay a few days,” Kate predicted. “He’ll uncover no trail, no clues—just that rumor of an auburn-haired lady who paid a merchant for a ride in his cart, and then disappeared. In a week, he’ll have moved on.” Louisa nodded.

“But while he’s here, he mustn’t suspect me. Not even a little bit. He thinks I’m a frivolous, foolish sort of female, forever shopping and planning parties. I want him to continue to think so. For the next few days I shall devote myself to my guests’ entertainment. I’ll plan meals. I’ll protest when Blakely refuses to participate in my musical evenings.”

“Blakely’s keeping him company? Harcroft must be calling in all his old favors. I gather he trotted Blakely out to frighten you into divulging my secret plans. That is a complication.”

“It’s even more complicated,” Kate confessed. “You see, my husband is back.”

“Carhart? When did he return?”

“Yesterday. Can you believe it? Of course his vessel could not have been blown off course by two weeks. And now he’s here, and instead of having Harcroft ignore me, Ned will be following me around, bothering me. Last night—”

She shut her mouth ruthlessly. It didn’t seem right to disclose what her husband had told her. His promise had seemed so real in the moonlight, as sacred as a wedding vow. It seemed almost a violation to share it.

Be practical, she reminded herself.

But before she could answer, Louisa took her hand. “I know it’s been a great while since…your last time. Did he hurt you?”

If there was one thing worse than spilling marital secrets, it was Louisa offering Kate comfort because Kate’s husband—the man who fed peppermints to ill-tempered horses—might have hurt her.

“There, there,” Louisa soothed. “I promise, if he shows his nose around here, I’ll shoot him for you.”

Kate choked back a laugh. “That won’t be necessary. He was never that bad. In fact, he is…” Different. Dangerous. “Gentle,” she finished awkwardly. “He always has been. You’ve met him. Do you suppose you might…well. Tell him?”

Kate felt a sudden sense of vulnerability at the thought. She had no idea how he would respond, if he knew. Her own father had flared up at the slightest intimation that Kate intended to take on an interesting project—as if it somehow reflected poorly on his capabilities as a father if she did. His had been a prickly, cloying sort of love—the kind that did everything difficult for her, so that she might sit in peace.

And boredom.

She loved her father, but hiding her work had been a necessity.

“No.” Louisa stood and turned away abruptly, patting the swaddling firmly. “He’s friends with Harcroft, for goodness’ sake.”

“We’ll need someone to help obtain a divorce. You might have options, besides fleeing to America. And it would be better than this.” Kate spread her hands to encompass the tiny room and all it implied—a life spent hiding from a man who had the legal right to compel her presence; her son, growing up without the natural advantages that were his birthright. “It’s a radical process, but surely you could obtain a petition on grounds of extreme cruelty.”

Louisa’s hands fluttered uncertainly. “Would he help? Do you know? How much influence do you have over him?”