Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)(69)

“He’s planning something,” she said aloud.

She didn’t need to say who he was. Next to her, Ned was a warm, solid mass. Their carriage rounded a corner and she lurched against him. He didn’t move, as if he were somehow strong enough to be immune to the effects of inertia.

“He’s started a proceeding in Chancery,” Ned said. “He has been quite secretive about it, of course. But I’ve managed to dredge up a few pieces of information. That, coupled with some comments he made to me when he believed I was in sympathy with him…” Ned sighed; she felt it in the movement of his chest against her shoulder, and she stared ahead into the darkness.

“Well, what does he intend?”

“This is speculation, mind. These sorts of proceedings are usually kept in the strictest of confidence. For reasons that will soon be obvious.”

“What is it, then?”

“I believe he’s filed a petition in Chancery to have Louisa declared a lunatic.” Kate gasped. “He said something about this to me before. At the time, I dismissed it as a token of his emotional overset. If his petition is successful, she won’t be able to testify—not for a divorce, nor in a criminal suit for spousal cruelty.”

Kate felt a chill creep into her, something colder even than the oncoming winter. “He means to flush her out, like a partridge. She’ll have to come to Chancery just to testify on her own behalf. If she doesn’t…”

“She’ll be held incompetent.” Ned set his hand on her knee. “Incompetents have no freedom. He’ll be able to lock her up. Any measures he takes after that, however stringent, will be seen as attempts to cure—or at least subdue—her mental infirmity. If he is made a trustee over her in lunacy, he’ll have even more control over her than a husband has over a wife.”

Kate put her fingers to her temples. “He’s tired of chasing down our little leads, and so he’s begun to attack instead. Well. That makes our course of action clear.”

“We need to communicate with Lady Harcroft, and ascertain her wishes,” Ned said.

“That.” Kate tapped her fingers to her temples. “And we might consider a little bit of an attack ourselves. I think we should talk to Chancery about his claim of lunacy.” She smiled, tightly. “Testify on Louisa’s behalf. And perhaps, I think, we should give the Chancellor some other petitions to consider.”

“Harcroft has some other plan, too,” Ned said. “I haven’t determined what it is yet, but don’t you worry. I’ll keep you safe—you and Lady Harcroft both.”

She nodded solemnly. “And who shall look out for you?”

He snorted, half amusement, half appalled consternation. “I didn’t realize I needed someone to look out for me.”

The Earl of Harcroft had proved vengeful, spiteful and not above using violence to get his way. Kate didn’t imagine the man spared much love for Ned—not after Ned had hurled him bodily across the hall.

“Of course you do.” Her hand slipped to his knee.

She had not realized that the knee could tense so. Yet his did, lifting underneath her hand as if he were unconsciously flexing his feet at her words. His breathing stopped.

“I’m not going to be a burden to you,” he growled out.

“A burden? Who said you would be a burden? I just want to help you.”

“I don’t want to be helped. I don’t need to be helped.” She could imagine the stubborn set of his chin as he spoke.

Slowly Kate pulled her hand away. She swallowed back the hurt that encompassed her. She’d thought he was different—that he saw beyond the delicacy of her appearance. That he saw her as strong enough to be trusted.

But of course. He’d taken her a week before, but since that first evening, he’d not spent the night with her again. Instead, he’d made his bed alone in that murderous cold. It was a silent way of pushing her away. He liked her well enough for a few hours, but not enough to trust with his secrets. Not even with something so simple as his sleep.

He took her hand. “No. This is not about you. You have to understand.”

But rather than explaining, he stopped again. Kate waited, wishing for patience.

He let out a breath. “You’re so strong. You can’t imagine.”

She wanted to pull away from him, wanted to curl about the hurt in herself. Instead, she drew in another measured breath. “I can try.”

He blew out a breath and shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes—this thing happens to me.” He seemed to think that description adequate, because he sat slouched in the carriage next to her.

Heaven save her from uncommunicative men. “Thing is not a very specific word,” she prodded.

“It’s not a very specific…thing, you understand. I’ve never found words for it. It’s not exactly like madness, you see.”

She hadn’t really been expecting him to answer—just to provide more obfuscation. But what he’d said well and truly shocked her into silence. If it wasn’t exactly like madness, how close did it come? His elbow jostled her, and she realized he’d removed his hat from his head and held it against his chest.

“I asked a physician,” he told his hat. “And so I know that much. It’s not madness. It’s madness if you can’t control what you do or say, or if you’re unaware of reality. I’m always aware of reality, when it happens. And I’m entirely in control of my own actions. All the time. I can do whatever I want.”