Free Shadow of Dawn by Debra Diaz

the words to express her outrage.
     
    He seemed to withdraw slightly, becoming as
formal as when they had first met.
     
    “I was mistaken, Mrs. Kelly. My actions are
inexcusable, and I can only blame my own foolhardiness, and perhaps
the effects of the moon and your…great beauty.”
     
    She dropped her gaze and raised her chin
still higher. “Whatever did you hope to accomplish, Mr.
Pierce?”
     
    He paused. “I wanted to tell you…that is, I
wanted to ask you—”
     
    She waited, knowing she should scathingly cut
him off and send him on his way, but some purely feminine instinct
would not allow it.
    “Yes?” she prompted.
     
    “You were distraught when you left me
tonight. I had to see you. I knew everyone was out…Bart told me of
their plans. I thought I could induce you to come out here and
speak with me, so the servants wouldn’t know I had been here.”
     
    “Indeed! I assure you I am not the sort of
woman who meets strange men on the balcony.”
     
    “It was not my intention to compromise you in
any way. I have the greatest respect for you, Mrs. Kelly. I beg
your forgiveness.”
     
    Her shock and indignation fading, she could
think of nothing further to say and merely stared at him.
     
    “What happened tonight was not your fault. It
will never happen again,” he said quietly.
     
    It seemed a long time that they stood looking
at each other, but must have been only a moment. Clayton turned
abruptly, swung himself effortlessly over the balcony railing onto
the nearest tree branch, and began climbing down as swiftly as he
had ascended. Catherine did not wait to watch him but whirled to
reenter the house.
     
    Again the doorknob stubbornly resisted her
efforts to open the door, and she knew from experience that this
time it would not turn without the assistance of some kind of tool.
She groaned out loud with frustration. She was stranded.
     
    She looked over the railing. Clayton was
nowhere in sight. The others would not return for another hour, at
least.
     
    Looking back toward the wall of the house,
Catherine saw that the window to Andrew’s bedroom was up slightly.
She would have to open it and climb through; if he heard her
movements she would explain, truthfully enough, that she had been
locked out of the house.
     
    She tugged at the window. It must have been
recently greased, for it made not a sound as it slid upward. She
put one leg over the sill, struggling with her heavy gown, and
finally half fell with a soft thud into Andrew’s bedroom.
     
    The moonlight revealed him lying beneath the
covers of the bed, his back to her, the black scarf on his head.
Her heart lurched with pity. He even slept in it, or one of
them…surely he had more than one. Holding her skirts tightly, she
tiptoed across the room and let herself out the door.
     
    When she reached her own room, she discovered
her legs were shaking. From Cinderella to Romeo and
Juliet , she thought rather hysterically…all in one evening. She
felt, as she stripped off her clothes and heaped them
uncharacteristically on the floor, as though she might burst into
laughter at the absurdity of it all.
     
    But no, she didn’t feel like laughing. She
put on her nightgown and sat down on the edge of the bed and stared
at nothing for a long time. By the time she crawled into bed and
fell asleep, her pillow was wet with tears.
     
    ***
     
    She found it difficult, the next day, to read
to Andrew.
     
    When she went in at her customary time, he
told her that Mrs. Shirley had read some of the novel to him the
previous night and that the page where she had stopped should be
marked. Unfortunately, it proved to be the chapter where Sydney
Carton more or less declared himself to Lucie Manette. Catherine
found his words so poignant she felt absurdly close to tears.
     
    “… think now and then that there is a man
who would give his life…” Catherine gulped . She closed
her eyes and took a deep breath. “…to keep a life you love
beside