CHAPTER 4

Catherine was asleep under one of the cargo's many carpets when Mercer came down to the hold to retrieve her. He was on duty to guard the ship first – he had insisted, and Savage had been more than willing to permit it. As everyone else was asleep, he intended to bring Catherine up to the captain's cabin, where he had set up office. Savage, he recalled with a tiny smile, had been none-too-pleased with the arrangement; but it wasn't Savage's mission and he wasn't the commander appointed by Beckett to lead it. There was no real contest in the matter.

Mercer still hadn't decided how he was going to explain Cat's presence to the crewman, or even how she had gotten aboard. He did, however, have a temporary disguise for her – a small suit of men's clothes probably meant for a cabin boy, rough and worn but clean enough. Her hair would have to be tied back and, in all probability, largely cut off; she had quite a mass of hair that fell a little beyond her waist, when it was down.

Mercer had brought with him into the hold one of his knives and the suit of clothes, so that she could dress there. He didn't want to risk other crewmen seeing her as she was, particularly Savage. He was sure the Lieutenant would find any excuse to take the captain's cabin back, if nothing else, and gain himself a small bonus with Beckett – and Cat's presence aboard would certainly lead to some form of punishment for Mercer. The clerk had no doubts about that.

Still, Mercer was hesitant to wake the sleeping girl as she lay curled up underneath the carpet. She was more angelic when she slept, more at peace, more at ease. He didn't want to break the quiet spell that hung about her now; but finally he did so, shaking her inelegantly.

She sat up with a sharp gasp, staring at him with frightened eyes. She relaxed when she realized it was only Mercer. "Good morning," she said with a yawn.

"It's still nighttime," Mercer informed her. "Everyone's asleep." He held out the suit of clothes to her. "Here, put these on," he commanded.

She stared at them curiously in the flickering lantern light. "You think they won't notice an extra crewman?" she asked, looking up at him.

"No, I'm certain they'll notice," Mercer said with a shake of his head. "I have yet to make up an excuse as to why you're here, so for the moment the outfit will have to do. I'll have some idea of what to tell Savage in the morning."

"Savage?" Cat stood, stretched, and then casually began unlacing the front of her dress.

Mercer folded his arms behind his back and knotted his fingers tightly together, doing his utmost to stare at her face. "He's the Lieutenant on the mission," he explained, turning his eyes up to the ceiling as she slid the dress from her shoulders. "Appointed by Beckett. Sort of a crass, rude fellow. I like him when he's not acting as though he rules the world, but I doubt you'll enjoy him."

"I don't think I've heard of him," Cat said with a slight frown as the dress pooled at her ankles. "Is he part of the aristocracy?"

"Well… not really. Although I'm surprised you haven't heard of him – he told me he asked for your hand after it became apparent you were with child."

Cat frowned. "My parents never mentioned him," she said.

"Hmm," Mercer said absently, glancing back at her, then immediately shutting his eyes and turned around. "Lawless must have proposed very soon after, or else they would have introduced you. Would you like to hear more about him?"

"Please."

Mercer forced himself not to peek at her. "He's part of a family of merchants – the type that captain their own ships still," he started. "Not like Victoria's father, who has his own collection of ships run by separate captains."

"So he's lower in status than Victoria, then."

"Yes, essentially," Mercer said, giving in and peeking over his shoulder. He caught a flash of her bare back as she pulled the white linen undershirt over her head before he turned away again. "But he still managed to find his way into Rose Wellington's bed," he added conversationally.

"If the rumors are true, hasn't everyone?" Cat quipped.

Mercer chuckled. "Everyone who's anyone, apparently," he said.

"Did she and Beckett ever…?"

Mercer frowned slightly. "No, never," he said. "They hate each other far too much for that." He paused, curious. "And what do you think would happen if Rose did find her way into Beckett's bed, now that Tori and Beckett are married?"

"Tori would never speak to her again," Cat said certainly.

"Never?"

"Never."

"And what about Beckett?" Mercer inquired. "Would she still speak to him?"

"Maybe not for several months. But she'd forgive him eventually. She's forgiven him for worse things."

Well, that was true enough. Still, it made Mercer smile to think of indignant, violent-tempered Victoria showing her affection and jealousy in so blatant a way. She's just like him, he thought with a shake of his head. "Well, Rose and Savage make quite a pair, I hear," he said dryly. "The two of them together spend all their time attempting to one-up each other with their coarse remarks. I think it must be rather amusing."

"Or horrifying." There was a pause; then Cat said with a laugh, "You can turn around, David."

He did so, flushing a little in the dark. The clothes were a little loose on her, but they fitted decently enough. Her hair, however, tumbled long down her back, giving away her sex automatically. He sighed and reached out to take a lock between his fingers. "This will have to go," he said regretfully.

Cat clutched at it, eyes wide with fear. "All of it?" she asked tremulously.

"No, not all of it," Mercer laughed. "But most of it. No man wears their hair this long."

Cat looked as though she might cry. "How much will you take?" she asked.

"Up to your shoulders, maybe a little longer – but not much."

She bit her lip, staring at the knife in his hand with intense dislike. "Can't I just… tuck it under a hat, or something?" she pleaded.

"And have the hat blow off to reveal it all? I don't think so." He shifted uncomfortably when he saw how distraught she was. "Catie, it has to be done," he said softly.

She shuddered slightly, then turned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Fine, take it," she whispered.

He frowned a little at the back of her head. He could tell she was crying silently, and he couldn't quite understand why. He was aware, of course, that many women placed high value on their hair – certainly he himself was very fond of Cat's hair the way it was – but it would grow back eventually. There wasn't really a reason to cry over it. He shrugged slightly to himself, stepped closer to her, and sliced through the first section of her hair with a sawing cut.

A tiny gasp and a stifled wail escaped Cat's mouth, and she covered her face with her hands. Mercer momentarily looked troubled. "Did I hurt you?"

"N-n-no." Her voice stuttered, choked and trembling with emotion.

He sighed, irritated. "Catie, it's going to grow back," he said.

"N-not for a long t-t-time," she sniffled. "I've never cut it once in my life. Never!"

Well, that might explain the tears. "I'm sure you'll find it much more freeing to have it shorter," Mercer told her. He lifted the knife and cut away another section of hair. When she still was choking back sobs, Mercer sighed and asked, "Do you want me to save some of it in a braid for you?"

She sniffed, then gave a short, hesitant nod.

"All right, whatever makes you feel better," he said. Then he continued at his handiwork, chopping away until her hair hung, a bit choppily, just below her shoulders. He pulled out an extra ribbon from his pocket and neatly tied it back in a ponytail. "There," he said, turning her around to face him. "Not so bad, eh?"

She stared up at him through wet lashes, a look that plainly said, It's terrible! He sighed again and rolled his eyes slightly, not in the mood to temper Cat's vanity. "You look fine," he said impatiently, stooping to collect the pile of hair he'd deposited on the hold's floor and the long black dress crumpled by Cat's feet. Once he felt he had thoroughly gathered all the evidence, he nodded in the direction of the deck. "Come on, then," he ordered. "We'll dump this lot in the ocean, and then you can sleep in the captain's cabin for the night."

Cat raised both eyebrows in surprise. Although the question in her eyes remained unspoken, Mercer replied evenly, "I mean that you'll actually sleep, Catie."

She looked uncertain whether she should be wounded or relieved. Mercer chuckled to himself and lightly nudged her with his foot. "Well? Go on up," he said.

She started walking ahead of him, unconsciously reaching back to touch the ponytail neatly tied behind her head. Her fingers stroked the remainder of hair, reaching further down her back in a gesture of longing. It was almost as though she was missing a limb.

She'll get over it, Mercer thought to himself as they stepped out into the moonlight on the deck. It's only hair, after all. He strode rapidly over to edge of the deck and threw the bundle in his arms over the edge, watching as the black ocean swallowed up the evidence of Cat's femininity. He glanced to his right and saw Cat leaning on the rail beside him, staring blankly after her dress and hair. "You're chasing after pirates, then?" she asked quietly, mostly to distract herself, Mercer suspected.

He nodded shortly. "According to the reports I've gathered, Tyris Burton, who captains the ship Redemption, is hunting down a treasure in India known as the Hand. We have no idea what the treasure is, exactly, or if it even actually exists. But they apparently have some kind of contact meeting them in Bombay. Someone named Bussiere, I believe."

"A Frenchman," Cat said absently. "Does he have a first name?"

Mercer shook his head. "Not that we could determine," he said. "They've given away too much information, but they've kept enough from slipping out to make things difficult. Tyris is a sneaky bastard, and clever – for a pirate. I'll grant him that, at least."

"You know a lot about Tyris Burton, then?" Cat asked in surprise, sounding more interested now.

"I know enough," Mercer said casually. "Tori probably knows more about him."

"If she does, she didn't tell me," Cat said, leaning towards him and sounding excited. "What's he like?"

"He's, for lack of a better description, a pirate," Mercer said disdainfully. "A pirate to the bone. He's traveled all over the world, wreaking havoc wherever he goes. Rumor has it that he has some foreign whore that he keeps on board with him as first mate – Zaida Gogg, I believe she's called. Nobody's sure if they're married or not, and nobody knows exactly where he picked her up, but she's deadly – or so it's rumored.

"Tyris apparently believes himself to be some modern Robin Hood – he likes to steal money from rich people and hand it off to the poor – keeping a huge remainder for himself, of course. He could probably retire and live like Beckett if he wanted to. He thinks himself some kind of knight, too, because he won't harm women. Admirable, I suppose, but he's not afraid to order his men to kill the women he won't touch. As long as no one knows their blood is on his hands…

"Tyris also likes women – more so than most men. It's one of his weaknesses. Maybe that's why he defends them so much. And he has something for exotic places and people – he's always in India and China and South America. I hear even the Pirate Lords in Asia are ready to kill him, he steals so much from their area and does it so successfully. He likes sinking Company ships particularly, which may explain why he was involved in Tori's kidnapping."

"He was?" Cat said in surprise.

Mercer nodded. "Tori remembers him coming down to warn Orson that Beckett was on his way," he said. "And she also remembers that he wasn't too happy to see what Orson did to her. He set sail without the monster, after all."

"He's a long way ahead of us," Cat noted, sounding worried.

"According to the information I gathered, he's spending some time in India plundering other loot before meeting this Bussiere person," Mercer explained. "Bussiere didn't leave France until last week, fortunately; we intercepted a message that was meant to get to on of Tyris' crew members, who was staying behind."

"Don't you think he'll begin to worry when he doesn't get the message?"

"He did get the message; we just got it first," a voice said from behind them.

Both Cat and Mercer turned, startled, to face Lieutenant Savage, who was leaning casually against the mast. "Nice night, isn't it?" he said easily, smiling at them. "Good time for a little nighttime chit-chat." He paused, staring both of them down, then glanced sharply at Mercer. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your cabin boy?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mercer thought fast. "This is Alexander Westrand," he said, nodding slightly in Cat's direction. "He's one of my multiple agents. Very useful."

Savage appeared unconvinced. "That little thing?" he scoffed. "Useful? He can't be more than fourteen."

"Exactly," Mercer said calmly. "People don't expect young, innocent-looking boys to be gathering information. So they let their tongues slip around them. He's gotten me some of my best information the past few months."

Savage frowned slightly, looking Cat over with critical eyes. "I suppose I can see that," he conceded reluctantly. He leered at her. "It'd work better if he were a girl," he said. "He'd look like that Imogene Templeton, the one who's not even out in society yet. Or Catherine Whitlock, only without the baby." He threw back his head and laughed.

Cat looked incredibly nervous, but Mercer kept his cool. "Did you ever see Miss Whitlock up close?" he asked. "I remember you said you offered to marry her."

"Oh, no, I never saw her close," Savage said, waving a hand. "Just across a ballroom every now and again. I don't really remember what she looks like much, 'cept the hair color and that. I just proposed due to the fortune involved. A lot of money, that wench had. But I never got close to her. Imogene, on the other hand…"

"I don't know her," Mercer said, inwardly feeling relieved that Savage wouldn't necessarily recognize Cat.

"Pity," Savage said with another leer. "A little red-headed thing, very sweet. Fourteen, I think. Innocent as a baby, that. I had that one squirming between the sheets in no time."

Cat's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in shock. Mercer frowned slightly; he hadn't exactly meant to encourage Savage with that statement. He turned to Cat and said, "You should get some sleep, Alex."

Cat's mouth snapped shut, and she nodded wordlessly, hurrying into the captain's cabin and slamming the door closed behind her. Savage gazed after her with a quirked brow, waiting until the door closed before he turned back to Mercer. "Keeping the boy in the cabin, Mercer?" he questioned.

Mercer shrugged. "It'll keep the crew from asking questions about how he got onboard if he hides away," he said.

"And if they notice him, you'll have a very different variety of questions to answer to," Savage said in amusement. "After all, it does seem a bit strange… keeping little boys locked away in your cabin…"

Mercer suddenly realized what Savage was hinting at. "Don't be disgusting," he said with revulsion.

Savage held up his hands. "Just warning you what they're going to think," he said. He moved away from the mast and added, in a very confidential tone, "And you're damn lucky nobody else knows what Catherine Whitlock looks like. Why the hell she's here, or how you got her onboard, and why she's not carrying a child, I don't suppose I'll ever know."

Mercer tensed, hands clenching behind his back. "You're a lying bastard," he said through clenched teeth.

"Charming, isn't it?" Savage said with a wide grin. "I suppose it was your child, then?"

Mercer stared straight ahead, jaw locked.

Savage smirked. "As I thought," he said. "She wouldn't be here if you weren't the father. I wonder if Beckett knows about this…?"

Mercer kept silent, not wanting to implicate his master in such a scandal.

"Hmmm," Savage said, satisfied. "I didn't think so. I wonder how he'd react to such news."

He wouldn't be as surprised as you might hope, Mercer thought dryly.

"Tell you what," Savage said, his voice dropping even lower. "I'll keep quiet about all this… Beckett won't hear a thing, and neither will anyone else… if you hand over the captain's quarters to me."

Mercer had to admire Savage's gall. He glanced at the Lieutenant with a raised eyebrow. "You can have it tomorrow," he said.

"Tonight," Savage insisted.

"Tomorrow," Mercer said flatly. "Catie's already asleep."

"Oh, Catie, is it?" Savage laughed. He smirked widely at Mercer. "I can let her stay in there with me. I'm sure I'd show her a few tricks you haven't yet…"

Mercer's pistol was in his hand and at Savage's head so fast that Savage barely had time to blink. "Touch her, and you die," Mercer said fiercely. "In fact, say a word about any of this… and I will kill you." There was a deadly light in his eyes, so fearsome that even Savage was momentarily cowed.

"Fine," the lieutenant growled. "Fine, I won't say a word."

"Good," Mercer said tersely.

The pistol was back in its place, and Savage breathed a sigh of relief. He laughed nervously as he looked at the slight bulge beneath Mercer's coat and said, "You're fast."

Mercer raised a brow. "That was slow… for me," he said. The threat was plain, and Savage clearly understood it. Mercer turned away and said airily, "I think it's your watch now, Lieutenant. Wake the next man up in two hours."

"Yes, sir," Savage muttered, glaring after the clerk.

Mercer smirked in the darkness, and then disappeared into the cabin.

The Rose House was still and quiet and serene, but Victoria didn't trust things to stay that way for long. She knew that when Beckett couldn't find her in the house he'd know she'd gone here. It was, after all, her retreat – her quiet place, her escape when she needed to be alone. And she'd been going there rather more often than usual lately – not due to any unusual amount of stress on her part, but because she'd been hiding a fugitive there.

The fugitive was gone, but the aftermath of her departure was just beginning.

Victoria had honestly hoped it would take longer than a few short hours for anyone to notice Cat's disappearance. After all, her family wasn't on speaking terms with her, and Lawless had no interest in the poor girl anymore. The only person who might care even a little about her whereabouts was onboard the same ship as she, and he would find her soon enough – if he hadn't already.

The door to the Rose House burst open with a loud bang as it smacked against the wall, and Victoria flinched. Then, she forced her face into some appearance of calm and turned to the entryway with a smile. "Oh, hello, Cutler," she said pleasantly. "Have the guests left yet? I wasn't sure how soon they'd -!"

"Where is she?" Beckett growled.

Victoria pretended confusion. "Beg pardon?" she asked lightly.

Beckett stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him with such force that the shelves on the wall shivered, and the items they displayed clattered loudly and nervously in the still of the room. "Don't you dare act innocent in all of this," he snarled, eyes bent on her. "Where is Catherine Whitlock? And you'd better hope to God she's not where I think she is."

Victoria pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes at her husband. "She was here," she admitted, her voice frosty now. "She had nowhere else to go, and she needed me to take care of her."

"And so you took her in without even asking me if it was all right," he said through clenched teeth.

"This house isn't yours anymore," Victoria said irritably. "It didn't inconvenience you in any way."

"Except that my wife kept going missing at odd intervals, appearing late for meals, declining to spend any time with me because she would rather be 'alone'…" he said acidly.

Victoria huffed. "I still spent time with you," she said defiantly.

"I don't suppose you could deny me at night, could you?" he said icily. "I like to see you during the day sometimes, too."

"You still did," Victoria said sullenly. "And Cat needed help. She's done nothing to offend you -!"

"Of course not," Beckett said sarcastically. "Except to nearly ruin my clerk…"

"As though that was her fault!" Victoria exploded. "If Mercer hadn't gone after her -!"

"Gone after her?" Beckett repeated, taking several furious steps toward her and then thinking better of it. "And who encouraged that, I wonder? I don't suppose you hold any of the blame in what happened with them?"

Victoria's anger evaporated, and she looked away. "I… I shouldn't have encouraged them," she confessed. "I didn't mean for things to happen the way they did. I just… I wanted her to be happy. And I owe it to her to help her, since I helped bring about all this…" She waved a hand.

Beckett seemed slightly pacified by the confession of guilt. "So if you're so intent on helping her," he said, glaring at her across the room, "Then where is she?"

Victoria stiffened, chewing her lip and refusing to look at Beckett.

He walked slowly across the room, set his hands on either side of her on the back of the divan, and said in a deathly quiet voice, "I know that you didn't help her get aboard the Sea Siren. You wouldn't do that to Mercer, and to me. You wouldn't send the worst kind of distraction on a mission that's important to all three of us… would you?"

Victoria didn't flinch, but her jaw clenched.

Beckett snarled in her ear, a low, guttural, angry sound that would have frightened her if she didn't know him better. "You did help her get onboard the Siren," he hissed. "That's why you were out so early and dressed like a man. You miserable little minx!" He slammed a fist onto the top of the divan, and Victoria finally jumped.

"She couldn't stay here," she said defensively.

Beckett had to step away from her before he could hit her. "Of course she couldn't stay here!" he spat. "You should have taken her home, or somewhere else where she wouldn't have gotten in the way!"

"She won't get in the way," Victoria said quietly. "She'll help him."

Beckett laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, that's a lovely thought," he said darkly. "Catherine helping Mercer. What's she going to do, drag away the bloody corpses once he's finished with them? Or perhaps she'll use herself as a distracting tactic – only to distract Mercer instead of the pirates. Or I suppose he'll send her to gather information and then be surprised when she gets killed by unscrupulous pirates."

"Stop it," Victoria snapped, whipping around to face him. "She's well aware of what Mercer does, and what he plans to do on this mission. I've prepared her for it. And she'll do what she can to help him. You don't know Cat's strength."

"Strength?" Beckett repeated incredulously. "That girl has no strength. She's the privileged daughter of a Lord, and she's never done a hard day's work in her life!"

"And I suppose it doesn't take any kind of strength at all to withstand the kind of pressure and hatred that Cat has for the past months – to survive the death of a child?" Victoria retorted hotly.

The mention of the child's death briefly stemmed Beckett's rage as he glanced downward at Tori's fragile body. "That's a different kind of strength than Mercer could use on a mission like this," he said quietly.

"It's strength, and she'll use it to their advantage," Victoria said flatly.

Beckett's anger returned full force. "That's all very well," he said heatedly, "But what about their discovery?"

"Nobody knows what Cat looks like onboard that ship," Victoria said scornfully.

"Oh really?" Beckett said. "I think Lieutenant Savage has some idea of what Cat looks like – especially since he asked for her hand when the damage was discovered. I would imagine he has to have seen her at a few social functions – don't you?"

The blood drained out of Victoria's face. "Savage is on this mission?" she gasped.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you?" Beckett mocked. "My apologies, my pet. I imagine that changes your mind quite a bit about her concealment, doesn't it?"

Victoria was pale as a ghost now. "She doesn't even know Savage," she said desperately.

"That doesn't mean he doesn't know her," Beckett snapped. "And it certainly doesn't mean he won't try to bed her the instant he realizes she's onboard, whether or not Mercer is there to protect her. And, even worse, chances are he'll try to use the scandal to his advantage. He's that type of man, you know. He'll reveal to everyone that Mercer was the father of Cat's baby, and then that will reflect back on both of us… and I'll have to condemn both of them, and Mercer at least will go to the gallows." Beckett stepped back to her and leaned close to her ear, adding cruelly, "And that will all be thanks to you."

Victoria gave a tiny cry of horror, eyes wide and a hand pressed to her mouth.

Beckett stepped away from her, completely unsympathetic. "Maybe you should have thought of all that before you sent her away," he said icily.

A tear slipped down her cheek. "I didn't know," she whispered futilely.

"You do now," Beckett said harshly. "And I can see you realize now how stupid you were being."

Victoria's jaw clenched, and she turned frigid eyes to him. "Mercer won't let anything happen to either of them," she said certainly. "He'd sooner kill Savage than bring harm to Cat."

"You don't know that," Beckett said angrily.

"I think I do," Victoria shot back. "He'll defend her to the death – and even Savage isn't a match for Mercer. You know that just as well as I do."

"And if Mercer should decide not to protect Cat?" Beckett questioned.

"He wouldn't do that," Victoria said flatly. "He loves her."

Beckett snarled. "You're hopeless," he spat, and then he turned and stormed from the Rose House, slamming the door behind him.

Victoria refused to leave the Rose House that day. Beckett decided it was probably for the best, since he halfway suspected his temper would boil over if he even looked at her again.

He sent a message to Lord Whitlock, telling him that his daughter had stowed away aboard a ship in desperation, hoping to find prosperity in another land. He assured the man that the Company would send out troops at once to find the girl, and that they'd watch the ports for her as well. In truth, Beckett gave no such orders; he halfway hoped that Cat would simply disappear. She'd caused him more trouble than she was worth at this point.

That night, as he was preparing to retire, he caught sight of Victoria's maid, Eleanor, carrying a set of pillows and blankets down the stairs. "What are you doing?" he inquired coldly, suspicion flaring through him.

Eleanor turned to look at him with wide eyes, attempting to drop a curtsy despite her arms being full. "Milady sent me in for blankets and such," she said, her voice trembling. "She wants to sleep in the Rose House tonight."

Beckett's eyes narrowed abruptly. "Like hell she will," he growled, shoving Eleanor out of the way and hurrying out to the Rose House.

When he arrived, followed by a nervously babbling Eleanor, who kept tripping and having to gather the items she'd collected, he attempted to immediately pull the door open – and found it barred. Fury tore through him at the idea of being locked out. He'd given this place to Victoria; it had once belonged to him, but out of the affection he felt for her, he'd given it to her. And she had the nerve to lock him out?

He banged a fist forcefully on the door. "Victoria Beckett!" he yelled.

Her voice answered through the door: "I'm not opening it for you."

He let out a snarl so animal-like that Eleanor leapt back with a cry. "Oh, yes you are," he said ominously. "You will open the door right now or I will shoot it open!"

"You won't," Victoria said disgustedly. "This is my place, and I want to be alone in it."

"You've been alone all day!"

"If you're that anxious to bed someone, I'm sure the whores would be very willing to have you. Or you could always send for Charlotta Harris – she's always seemed very willing to be your mistress."

"You insolent, unreasonable, spineless, vapid little whore!" Beckett choked out.

"Calling me names won't get you into the house," Victoria warned.

"Fine!" Beckett erupted. "If you want to be by yourself, then stay here! You can live out here, if that's what you want!" He turned on Eleanor with a furious glare. "Bring everything of Victoria's out," he ordered. "I don't want a single thing of hers left in the house."

Then he stormed across the yard and back into the manor. He locked himself away in his personal library and stayed there the rest of the night, glaring into the fire and listening as the servants removed Victoria's things to the Rose House.

After three weeks of separation, Victoria began to feel restless and unhappy. She was alternately depressed and then angry with herself for being depressed over Beckett. But finally, she forced herself to swallow her pride. She dressed herself in the peach silk dress – a personal favorite of Beckett's – and sauntered up to the house, entering it casually, as though she had been living within it as usual for the past three weeks.

The servants, when they saw her, all exchanged nervous glances, but nobody stopped her until she ran into Oscar. He spotted her and blocked her path. "You're not supposed to be in here, milady," he warned.

She raised an eyebrow condescendingly. "It's my house," she said. "I can do what I want."

"Beckett gave orders," Oscar said, shrugging apologetically.

Her eyes narrowed. "He said I was to be kept out of the house?" she repeated incredulously.

Oscar nodded, looking embarrassed. "You really got to him this time, milady," he said, sounding rather impressed.

She shoved her way past him. "I'm going to see him," she said flatly.

"I can't really -!"

"Oscar," Victoria said threateningly, "I will slit your throat with this fan in my hand. Just see if I don't."

Oscar eyed the fan with obvious fear; it didn't look dangerous, but then, neither did Beckett. "If he asks, you never saw me," he gulped, and then he fled down the hall into the kitchen.

Victoria huffed and stomped up the stairs, hurrying down the hall until she arrived at the door to Beckett's quarters. She reached down to turn the knob – and found it locked.

She closed her eyes tightly shut, trying to swallow her anger. She lifted a hand and knocked as politely as she could. When she received no answer, she knocked harder. The door opened a crack, and a nervous Company guard peeked out. Victoria quickly turned away so he wouldn't see her scarred face. "Can I speak to Lord Beckett, please?" she asked lightly, lifting her fan to block what little of her face might remain in view.

"Ummm… well… no," the soldier said, sounding uncomfortable.

"Why not?" she asked, her voice frigid now.

"He… umm… asked us not to let you in, Miss."

"That would be 'milady' to you," Victoria spat, so viciously that the soldier jumped back from the door. "And I don't give a damn what he asked; I want to see him."

"Just shut the door, Tate," another soldier whispered furtively from inside the room.

"But it's Lady Beckett," the soldier called Tate whispered back, sounding somewhat awed. "I can't slam the door on a lady!"

"But you have to!" the other soldier hissed. "Beckett's orders!"

"But -!"

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Beckett's voice sounded pleasant, but Victoria recognized the undercurrent of anger.

"Umm." Tate sounded as though he were shifting back and forth in front of the door. "Umm, it's… it's Lady Beckett, sir. She's… uh…"

Beckett sighed irritably. "Get out of the door, Tate."

Tate stepped away, and the door swung wide, slamming shut again behind the small man who had stepped out. Victoria dropped her fan to her side and turned to look at him.

"You weren't supposed to be let in," he said coldly.

"Oh really?" Victoria said in mock surprise. "Nobody told me."

"Some servants are going to be made example of tonight," Beckett growled. "I thought you wanted to be alone."

Victoria pretended to be astonished. "Me? Be alone? Why ever would you think that, my Lord?" she gasped. "After all, who wouldn't want to spend every waking second of their lives at your side?"

"Is this your idea of an apology?" Beckett questioned. "Because it's not very good."

"Who said I was apologizing?" Victoria asked.

"Well, you did come back into the house, despite determinedly avoiding it for three weeks," Beckett noted. "And you do happen to be wearing that peach dress I'm so very fond of, plus the pearl necklace I gave you when I first started courting you. And you addressed me as 'my Lord,' which you never do unless you want me to be on your side. Or is that all just coincidence?"

"Coincidence," Victoria said, irritated.

Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Well then," he said, turning away, "I don't see why you're wasting my time. I have important business here, so if you don't mind -!"

"Cutler, wait!" Victoria caught his arm, hurriedly pulling him back. She caught sight of the tail end of the smile he bit back as he turned around.

"Yes?" he questioned.

She bit her lip and looked at the ground. "I'm… I'm sorry," she murmured. "It wasn't my intent to jeopardize your reputation, or anyone else's for that matter. I just… wanted to help Cat."

He wore a mask of disinterest. "Picked a rather brainless way to go about it, don't you think?" he asked.

"Not really, no," she replied, "But it wasn't the wisest course of action. I'll admit that, at least."

They stood in momentary silence; then Beckett finally sighed and said crossly, "Will you stop looking so miserable?"

"Not until you say you forgive me. And that you're sorry for exploding on me like that."

"Don't push your luck," Beckett warned. "But I do forgive you for being a stubborn, unrealistic, overly romantic wench who doesn't know what's good for her."

"Ummm… thank you?" Victoria snorted.

Beckett finally smiled. His eyes flickered downwards, towards her belly. "How's my son?" he asked.

"Your daughter is fine," Victoria said, smiling back. "Apparently everything's exactly as it should be at this point."

"Good." He caught her around the waist and kissed her. "It's been awfully quiet about the house without you here to argue with me about everything," he told her.

"Oh, well," Victoria said, rolling her eyes. "My life has seemed rather empty without a height-deficient, overly self-important Lord hovering over my shoulder every moment."

"Height deficient?!" Beckett exclaimed. "I ought to lock you out of the house for that!"

Victoria smirked. "You know you missed me," she said.

He sighed. "Damn you, woman, but I did," he growled, and then he swept her up and kissed her again.

Tate peeked tentatively out the door. "I take it that all is forgiven?" he inquired hopefully.

"Tate," Beckett said, glaring back at the soldier. "Shut the damn door."

"Sorry sir," Tate muttered, and he closed the door again, muttering something about inhospitable lords and stubborn nobility.