by Eva Devon
He started for the green and white woven carpet. “Whatever my duchess commands.”
She smiled mischievously. “But I’m not yet.”
He stopped just a few feet before the banked fire, unsure if the low burning flames or her body against him was causing the warmth inside him. “Not what?”
“Your duchess, Your Grace.”
Ryder swiftly lowered her to the soft Persian rug and propped himself on his forearms over her. “Oh, but you will be.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Soon,” he whispered, kissing her eye lids. “Very soon.”
“How soon?” she asked, hitching her legs up and slightly apart so he could rest between them.
He resisted the urge to roll on top of her and take her in one claiming thrust. Instead, ever so slowly, he took her silk skirts in his hand and raked them up her legs. She shivered and he smiled down at her as he let his fingers caress her upper thighs, dipping them to the softest skin, just by her core. “Should I wake the bishop of London from his afternoon nap?”
“Later,” she gasped as his fingers swirled over her hot, wet folds.
“Whenever you desire.” He opened her legs wide, giving him complete access.
She gazed up at him, amazement on her face. “We can do this forever now.”
The words sank in like a terrifying blessing. Whether she knew it or not, he was going to be responsible for her safety and happiness. Without replying, Ryder lowered his mouth to hers, choosing to show how much he wanted her rather than saying it.
In that moment, he knew he failed Jane. But with his vow to her, he’d helped to make amends. And now, now he had Kathryn. No matter what it took, he would find a way to keep the vow of his past and still live his future.
Chapter 19
The great quest of Kate’s happiness had begun or at least so it seemed to her. Ryder personally arranged every aspect of their wedding. To her surprise, he seemed born to organize large events, not to mention manipulate the masses into doing exactly as he pleased. Perhaps it was his military training or perhaps it was his glower which seemed to instill an instant desire in anyone around him to improve his mood.
As it was, she stood before the Bishop of London in St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was a feat in and of itself to keep herself from laughing at the joy of it all. The nave was packed with the most prestigious members of the ton and the Houses of Parliament.
Though it was uncommon to have such a public wedding, it was clear Ryder wanted the entire world to witness their joining. And everything was being done to perfection. The aisle had been lined with a white satin runner and cloth of gold swathed the side chapels.
Her own gown was an ice blue, shot through with silver silk, and crystals had been pressed into the shapes of roses all along her stomacher. But even more astonishing were the jewels Ryder produced. She felt laden down and yet, at the same time, it was like stepping into a magical world devoted to beauty.
Diamonds and pearls were woven into her hair and ropes of pearls had been strung about her neck, several tight to the base of her throat, and three strands hung in various lengths to her waist.
And her ring. My goodness, she wasn’t sure she could even lift her hand. The sapphire surrounded by diamonds was so impressive.
It was so completely different than her last wedding in which no one, not even her father, attended.
Almost entirely because of their scandal, their wedding was the wedding of the year. There was, of course, his infamous dukedom and her fortune, but then there was the fact that the Prince of Wales himself was standing in pink and green brocade in the first row. He looked on with a pleased expression, his quizzing glass at an artful distance as he dabbed his eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.
The prince was renowned for his ability to produce tears.
But Ryder was magnificent. Against all the grandeur, he was simple elegance. His black coat was cut to perfection and made of the finest black moiré. Silver leaves were embroidered along the edging and pockets.
Though many had observed that he still clung to his tradition of an entirely black garb, Kate refused to be daunted. It was a habit he had had for many years. Habits were hard to break, but one day, she’d see him in color.
They knelt together, Ryder’s firm grasp a reassuring anchor in this tumultuous moment. She’d sworn never to wed again, but here she was. In the end, all that truly mattered was that she retain her senses and not prove a girlish ninny.
All would turn out well.
And so when, in a fog, she heard the bishop say her name, she found the ability to say, “I do.”
To her surprise, she realized Ryder had been holding his breath. She looked up at him and smiled. Surely, he had not thought she’d come this far only to turn tail and run from the church. Oh no, she was not one to retreat.
He squeezed her gloved hand and repeated the vows the bishop recited.
And in a trice, well not really, the bishop did rabbit on and on in a drearily emphatic voice about the importance of cleaving towards one husband, and she could have sworn he spent the better half of the sermon pointing out to certain ladies in the congregation, they were married.
At last, his breath gave out and he gave the final blessing.
The prince applauded, then did everyone else. He minced forward, waving his handkerchief which sent the diamonds upon his salmon pink coat shimmering. “Well done.” He took Kate’s hand and kissed it. “Beautiful, madam. Absolutely beautiful. Could watch a sermon all day if you were before the bishop.”
Kate bit back a grin and curtsied as deep as she might under the weight of her new jewels. “It is an honor simply to be in your presence, Your Highness.”
“Flattery, Lady Darkwell. Flattery,” trilled the prince. “But who wouldn’t want it from such a lady.” He clapped Darkwell on the back. “Lucky man.” The prince looked about then rubbed his pudgy hands together. “To the wedding breakfast, what?”
Ryder inclined his head, an amused expression which one might see used when regarding a spoiled yet charming child on his face. “Certainly, Your Majesty.”
“Good. Good.” The prince clapped his hands and the organ rang out.
With the prince leading the way, Kate and Ryder made their way down the center of the nave and out onto the steps of St. Paul’s. The bells began to peal and Kate could hardly believe it was all happening. A year ago, she’d never even dreamed the true splendors of London. Now, she was not only here, but at the very center of it.
That, of course, was quite a change even from the previous week where she had barely been able to leave the house. And better still, she didn’t have to follow Ryder about, trying to see him. No, he was her husband now. They’d live under the same roof and she’d chosen to believe he would be different than Percy. That she would see him every day.
She couldn’t cease beaming.
“Happy, Lady Darkwell?” Ryder asked, his hand on her lower back guiding her carefully down the steps.
“Very.” She might not have his heart or his love. She might never truly ever have him. All things she would have allowed herself to want years ago, before she learned how fragile the heart was in another’s hands. But she had this. The beginning of a friendship unlike any she had ever known. And that, that would somehow have to be enough.
Chapter 20
The Duke of Aston doffed his big black hat decked with red feathers and gave his tiger grin. “My invitation was lost, no doubt, in the dubious London postal system.” He shrugged, his gold buttons winking in the morning light. “An oversight I corrected.”
Ryder scowled. An oversight, his ass. He’d firmly planned on a life free of mad pirates.
Aston clapped him on the back. “One must not be daunted by such trifles as invitations, my lad.”
Why the hell did he call him that? Did he look like a lad?
Unfortunately, due to the fact it was his wedding day, Ryder couldn’t quite manage a formidable glower. “Your presence is a thorn in my side.”
“Ah,
yes. But every thorn has its rose.”
“I had no idea you boasted petals, Aston,” Ryder drawled.
Aston laughed unperturbed by Ryder’s less than affable welcome. “No. No petals. But I do love a good flower. And your new wife, I’d say, is quite the blossom of the garden.”
Ryder immediately turned his attention to Kathryn who stood in a circle of ladies, who just a week ago would have thrown rotting cabbage at her. Now, they oohed and aahed over her jewels and courted her friendship as if she were a Princess Royal.
Which was just exactly as Ryder planned.
The ton was damn well going to get down on their knees and kiss Kathryn’s toes before he was done. With him as her husband, no one was ever going to hurt her again. And he’d cut the bastard—female or male—to ribbons who tried.
Aston prodded him with his elbow. “Do tell me how you arranged the breakfast to take place here at Carlton House.”
Ryder arched a brow at the bastard’s cheek. “The Prince and I happen to be quite close.”
Aston snorted. “Come now. You’re prickly as a hedgehog and close to no one, save that politician, Hunt.”
Ryder eyed the man with a new degree of interest. He was observant for a blustering peacock. In truth, he had agreed to pay off a large degree of the prince’s debts with his perfumer. No small cost given the prince’s obsession with scents.
“Fine, then keep your secrets to yourself.” Clapping on his big hat, a ridiculous size for any man, Aston gave him a courtly bow. “Now, I shall go and give your wife my good wishes and my sincerest affection.”
“You give her anything but a handshake and I’ll pull your balls through your nostrils.”
“Vivid imagery. But rest assured, I am completely trustworthy.” And he was off like a three-masted ship at sail.
Ryder folded his arms across his broad chest. Trustworthy, his arse. The man was about as trustworthy as a walk on quicksand.
“What the devil is he doing here?” Hunt asked, two glasses of claret in his hands.
“My sentiments exactly. Apparently, one doesn’t need an invitation when one’s a sodding pirate.”
“Rumors.”
“Take one look at the bastard and tell me you don’t see him prodding virgins down the plank.”
Hunt gave Aston a once over. The man was currently cooing over Kathryn’s ring.
“Hmmm.” Hunt sipped his claret, his eyes narrowing. “You’d better keep an eye on her jewels. Old habits die hard, I’m sure.”
“I’ll stomp him into the marble first.”
Hunt handed him the other glass. “Here, you’re scowling far too much for a man just married. Your wife will be bound to notice.”
Ryder blinked, astonished that he was letting his irritation show to such a degree. He took the claret and took a quick swig of the rich wine. “Is it so wrong to wish everything to go perfectly?”
“How much perfection could you want?” Hunt gestured at the tables of food and drink that stretched down the long gallery and curved out towards the conservatory.
“It’s enough?” Ryder asked, his voice surprisingly tense.
Hunt coughed. “Enough? Good God man, there’s a full orchestra and you built an indoor pool with water lilies, swans and all.”
“Mmm.” Ryder took another drink. In hindsight, that could have gone badly if he hadn’t prepared. “It’s a good thing I hired keepers.”
“Though I dearly would have loved to see one of the swans fly at the good Countess of Carmine.” A rueful smile curved Hunt’s lips. “She’s wearing enough feathers for one of the male birds to grow confused.”
The very mention of the woman turned his stomach.
Hunt turned to him, giving most of the room his back. “Did you explain to her?”
Ryder’s grip tightened on his glass. Out of habit, he was tempted to touch Jane’s ribbon, but he left it off for the wedding. The first time he’d gone more than an hour without it. “And what should I explain?”
Hunt pinned him with an impatient look. “About Jane, you dunce.”
Ryder considered lying, but Hunt was too smart for that. He was onto truth like a bloodhound. “No.”
“And when she starts asking questions?”
“Won’t happen. Besides I doubt she’d be interested in my past marriage.” He sounded like a fool, but he couldn’t bear putting Jane and Kathryn in the same thought. No matter how he reasoned with it, he felt like he was betraying both.
“Your wife is a font of questions. You do realize this?”
Unfortunately, Hunt was right. Kate’s curiosity might be rivaled by the scientists at the Royal Academy but only by the merest of degrees. “I will deal with her questions when they arise.”
At that exact moment, as though she felt his inner turmoil, Kate turned towards him. Her gray eyes, cool and reflective, were alight with happiness. His heart tightened at her expression.
God, how was he going to keep distant from her? Every part of him urged to let her in. No, he corrected himself. Not the part of him that held Jane’s hand as she slipped away.
“You know,” Hunt said softly, eyeing his starched cuff. “I have seen few couples look at each other the way you and Kathryn do.”
Ryder shook his head tightly. “We have an understanding of each other. Nothing more.”
“Perhaps—”
“No. She has no interest in love either. And that’s for the best.” Ryder cleared his throat, needing to get away from this line of conversation. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am neglecting my wife.”
Ryder made his way through the crowd of ladies’ wide skirts and gentlemen making merry. Though several people extended well wishes to him, he barely acknowledged them. He only had eyes for Kathryn.
As he came up beside her, he leaned in and said softly in her ear. “Is all well?”
Her lips tilted in her special smile. “It could not be better. Thank you for such a beautiful day.”
The pleasure at her enjoyment hummed through him and he had to resist taking her in his arms in front of the ton. He doubted they would turn a blind eye to that.
Imogen swept towards them and Ryder stepped closer to Kathryn. “Your friend looks in high spirits.”
In fact, she looked in very high spirits. Pink stained her cheeks and her coif had drooped, a feather bobbing against her cheek. A glass of champagne was fixed in her hand, but she was swinging it about. “Darlings!” she exclaimed.
“Too much punch,” his wife confessed.
Damn, but he liked how that sounded. His wife.
Imogen stopped in front of them, swaying ever so slightly. “Lovely party.”
“Thank you,” Ryder said, unsure if he should offer the woman his arm, but she seemed to be having a fine time.
She leaned in close, her eyes wide as if she were about to confess a secret. Crooking a finger at them, she whispered, “But what are you still doing here?”
Imogen waved her champagne glass at Ryder and giggled. “I know what I’d be doing right now, if I’d just married a lovely, lovely duke like you.”
“Imogen,” Kate hissed.
“’Tis true,” Imogen said firmly.
Ryder wasn’t sure if he should hug or throttle the woman, because she was absolutely right. He wanted Kathryn alone and to himself right now. “Perhaps it’s time we depart,” he said, his voice suddenly rough to his own ears.
Kathryn drew in a quick breath and her breasts pressed to her corset. “I do believe you’re right.”
“Shoo,” Imogen said, waving a jeweled hand at them. “Off you go.” She pressed her hand to her pink cheek. “Now, where is that gorgeous bit of tough, Aston, gotten to?”
Kathryn took Imogen’s hand and whispered to her.
Ryder could have sworn he heard the words no closets, but that was absurd. Then again, considering Imogen, perhaps it was good advice.
Nodding like a well-warned child, Imogen headed off. He peered through the crowd looking for the blasted pirate.
Of all things he was standing with Mrs. Barton. Ryder shook his head. Between Aston’s enthusiasm, Mrs. Barton’s sense of adventure and Imogen’s willingness, they’d, no doubt, go off to some obscure part of the house for a game of sausage, sausage, who’s got the sausage.
The idea didn’t bear thinking about. Then again, if they enjoyed themselves and, more to the point, didn’t get caught, who was he to gainsay their fun?
He had to admit, the more he thought about it, the more he agreed with Hunt. Aston would make an interesting addition to the Dukes’ Club. But not now. Perhaps never. Perhaps they’d all be lucky and the man would just hie himself back to the Indies.
Ryder offered his arm to his wife. “Shall we?”
Beaming up at him, Kathryn slipped her hand onto his forearm. “I’d love nothing more.”
Chapter 21
“I am perfectly capable of walking, Your Grace,” Kate lilted, not quite able to contain her excitement.
“I’m aware of that, Your Grace,” Ryder intoned with teasing gravity.
“And yet you have a frequent habit of carrying me about.” Kate clasped her hands around his neck, unsure of which way to look. Should she turn to the massive, four-storied house just off Green Park that made Spencer House, just a few yards away, look like a hovel?
Or should she look at the wonderful man who had given it to her?
“I love to carry you about,” he said confidently as he strode up the granite steps and through the double red doors of their new residence.
The servants, all in sapphire and crisp white uniforms, stood in a long line awaiting them. But Ryder ignored them and whispered in her ear, “It usually means I’m going to have my way with you.”
Her cheeks burned and she smiled at the old man she’d run past that first night she met Ryder. “Your butler, I presume.”
“No, Kathryn. Our butler.” Ryder gave the old man a nod. “Isn’t that right, Grieves?”
“Most certainly, Your Grace.” The old fellow lifted his shaggy brows and bowed slightly. “And may I say what a pleasure it is to have a Duchess and to see His Grace in such good spirits.”
