The footmen had stopped scratching on her door, but apparently the move had not deterred Malcolm.
Kaitlin listened through the wood as Violet tore into him, a familiar lecture. Malcolm howled—clearly Violet had grabbed his ear and was leading him back to his own wing. Their voices receded.
Only then did Kaitlin let herself relax.
Only then did she realize how nervous she’d been.
She dropped the book on the bedside table and laid her precious dirk next to it. Tears sprang to her eyes and she swiped them away. Damn and blast. She hated this. Hated it.
All she wanted was to live in peace, untroubled by the mischief of men.
Every one of them—every single one of them, from her father to her brother to her best friend’s brother to Dougal the dog McDonald—had caused her no end of misery.
All right, yes. It was partly her fault. She should never have allowed Dougal to take her into the woods that day. Should never have allowed him to kiss her and fondle her and…so much more.
But that tiny bit of pleasure—and it had been tiny—hardly made up for the nightmare her life had become. She had hoped coming to London with Violet, playing the role of a prudish companion, would free her from her past.
She had been wrong.
There was no escape from oneself. No escape from the past.
But at the very least, she had escaped from her brother. And the McCloud.
She should be happy for that.
She shook with rage whenever she thought of what Callum had done. She wasn’t a piece of property he could barter at will. She couldn’t help wondering, had she been pure, would he still have sold her to the most nefarious brigand in Scotland?
She sighed. Probably. His desperation was that acute. He owed the McCloud a fortune. And regrettably, in payment, McCloud wanted her.
Without Violet’s help, spiriting her out of the country under the cover of night, Kaitlin would be in those evil clutches at this very moment.
Ah Violet. Bless her heart.
When she scratched on the door a few moments later, Kaitlin had reclaimed her composure, or at least enough of it to mask her despair. She let her friend in and relocked the door. Just in case.
Violet flopped down on the bed, her sable ringlets bouncing, and pursed her pouty lips. Violet was a beautiful girl, with an alabaster complexion and round eyes a startling shade of blue, so blue they were almost, well, violet. She always made Kaitlin feel like a dowd—with her red hair and spots. Also, Violet was slender. Kaitlin was not.
“Darling. Are you all right?”
“Yes, Violet. Thank you.”
“Ooh. That boy. I could shake him. I’ve told him time and again to leave you be, but he just won’t listen. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“He’s a man.”
Violet snorted a laugh. “Oh darling. You are so droll. But really. Something has got to be done. This is the third night in a row. I must have some sleep.”
Kaitlin smiled. “We could sprinkle saltpeter into the duke’s whiskey.” Nothing less than saltpeter would work.
“Was he drinking? That scamp. I shall have to tell Ned.”
“Ned was probably tippling with him.” Violet’s older brother Edward, oft called Ned to avoid confusion with the many other Edwardses swinging in the family tree, was something of a scamp as well. All of Violet’s brothers were, in varying degrees. At least Ned had listened when Kaitlin had told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave her alone.
“Perhaps I shall tell Edward.”
Kaitlin’s heart stuttered. “The duke?”
Violet shot her a dry look. “They are drinking his whiskey.”
“Yes. Of course. He shouldn’t like that.”
“I should say not. They are far too young. Oh bother. I shall have to beg an audience on the morrow.” She sighed and stood. “Will you be all right, darling?”
“Yes, dear. So long as he doesn’t come back.”
“Oh, he won’t come back. Not tonight at least. Still…” A frown flitted across her exquisite brow. “You’d better lock the door.”
Mercy. There was no doubt about that.
“Good night, darling.” Violet kissed her cheek. “Do sleep well.”
“You too, Violet. Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams.”
Violet took her leave and Kaitlin locked the door in her wake. Exhausted, she crawled between the covers and closed her eyes. But it took a long time for sleep to descend.
And her dreams were not sweet in the least.
Chapter Three
Edward struggled with the turn of a phrase. His writing had once been so easy. Words had flowed from him like honey in the summer heat. Now nothing sounded right.
If he didn’t finish this manuscript soon, his publisher would have apoplexy.