The Raven's Revenge by Gina Black Page B

hammered as she looked around the room.
    Where could Nicholas be? Had he gone? Left her?
    And where was Montford?
    “Kitty, kitty, kitty?” But there was no response, no thump from a cat jumping up on the bed.
    Katherine looked at her hands, clutching the counterpane to her fully clothed body. Shaking her head at this silly show of modesty, she threw off the covers and got out of bed. She looked everywhere, but found no trace of the cat. As she searched, the conviction grew that wherever she found Nicholas, she would find Montford as well.
    She quickly donned her stays and petticoats, noting with exasperation that the black dress she’d slept in had become a wrinkled mess, another reason to hate the ugly gown. No doubt she looked like a scullery maid. Regretting the loss of her hairpins, she twisted her unruly hair into a coil and jammed on her cap, then shoved on her stockings and shoes. One last survey of the room showed Montford had not materialized.
    Flinging open the door, she stopped short. Nicholas stood—hand poised to knock—blocking her exit.
    Katherine stepped back in surprise.
    Clean-shaven, dressed in a turquoise brocaded waistcoat and full-cut fawn breeches that tied below each knee with a red sash, Nicholas looked quite magnificent. The sleeves of his white shirt ended in flounces that danced with his hands as he bowed. A lace-trimmed cravat graced his neck. Black leather shoes with red heels and ribbon ties had replaced his boots. His hair, no longer pulled back tightly, hung in loose curls, giving him a less severe, more carefree look. He carried a bundle in one hand and a basket in the other.
    “What have you done with Montford?” she demanded.
    In answer, a loud “meow” came from inside the basket.
    “As you hear, your cat is safe. And our journey will be much easier with him secure in this basket.” Nicholas strode into the room, kicking the door shut. No sooner had he placed the basket on the table, than Montford hopped out. Nicholas chuckled. “Of course, we’ll have to tie the latch to keep him inside.”
    “’Tis a prison,” she sniffed. “And Montford is a girl.”
    “Really?” He registered surprise. But, just because Montford was his name—and the name of every male heir in the family for the past three centuries—why should the cat be a boy? Nicholas swallowed a laugh after catching Katherine’s stern expression. She fingered the basket while chewing on her lip, and he remembered her other concern. “’Tis not a prison; the basket will keep your cat safe.” Then he pushed forward the bundle. “And this, lass, is for you.” He unfolded the package and revealed a peach silk and lace bodice, with matching skirt and petticoat.
    During the long ride, Nicholas had imagined what Katherine would look like in fashionable clothing instead of the dour dress she wore. He’d envisioned golden satin to highlight her tawny eyes, a low cut bodice to show her bust to advantage. He had not been able to find that combination—in truth he had not looked—but a dealer in used goods had displayed these garments. They had caught Nicholas’s eye, and the bargaining had been pleasant.
    Katherine reached out a hand and then snatched it back without touching the fabric. She shook her head. “No.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I cannot accept this.”
    Didn’t women like gifts of pretty things? But, Katherine was not like the women of his acquaintance. “You must,” he said reasonably.
    “I cannot.” Her eyes lingered on the rich garments.
    “Katherine, lass,” his voice softened. He sounded like someone speaking to a young child. “They will be looking for a Puritan, in plain garb. So you must look like a Cavalier lady. And truly, ’tis not so fancy. See it not as clothing,” he coaxed, “but as a disguise.”
    Her lips pursed as she scrutinized the garments, from the décolleté bodice to the water-stained skirt. He could see that in spite of herself, she wanted them.
    “I’m