An Invitation to Seduction

by Lorraine Heath

  “Why?”

  Freddie jerked his head back as though completely surprised by the question. “Why what?”

  “Why were you in the billiard room?”

  “To play billiards, why else?”

  His response garnered a few chuckles, and Kitty thought that amusement had quickly passed over Richard’s countenance as well.

  “Before breakfast?” the Attorney-General questioned.

  “No, sir. Following dinner. We were in the habit of playing throughout the night, well into the dawn.”

  “I see.” The Attorney-General cleared his throat. “That morning while you were in the billiard room—playing billiards—did Lord Farthingham have occasion to say to the Duke of Weddington that the only way he would ever have Miss Robertson was if the marquess were dead?”

  All the lightheartedness seemed to seep right out of Freddie. A heavy silence filled the Chambers.

  “You are on your oath, Mr. Montague,” the Attorney-General stated.

  Freddie nodded. “The marquess did say something along those lines, but it was not an invitation for murder.”

  “Why were you not invited to go sailing with the duke and Lord Farthingham?”

  “Lord Farthingham wished to go sailing.”

  “The day before Lord Farthingham had wished to go sailing, and everyone was invited. Why were you not invited to accompany them on this particular day? Whose idea was it that only the Duke and Lord Farthingham should go?”

  Silence.

  “Mr. Montague?”

  Freddie squeezed his eyes closed. “The duke’s.”

  The room once again erupted with murmurs.

  After everyone fell into silence, the Attorney-General asked, “Did you not find it odd that the duke would insist that you not accompany them on the boat? You were a guest, a friend. Why were you not allowed to go?”

  “The duke thought it would be best if I remained behind—because of the storm, you see? He knew there would be some danger—”

  “Yes!” the Attorney-General stated loudly. “The duke knew there would be danger because he knew murder would be committed.”

  “No!” Kitty surged to her feet.

  The Attorney-General jerked back as though he’d been physically struck, and Kitty felt all eyes come to bear on her—even Richard’s.

  “These entire proceedings are ludicrous,” Kitty announced. “You suspect my husband of murdering Lord Farthingham because of a few words spoken in anger?”

  “I suspect him of a crime of passion. He wanted you so desperately that he would kill Lord Farthingham to obtain you.” The Attorney-General addressed her, even though Kitty was certain it was a breach of protocol and procedure.

  “He’d already succeeded in obtaining me, sir, and well he knew it. As did Lord Farthingham. The duke had no reason to kill the marquess.”

  “So you say, Duchess—”

  “So I can prove! Which is more than I can say for any evidence you’ve presented today. Long before our marriage vows were spoken, I was carrying the duke’s child!”

  “Enough!” Richard yelled into the cacophony of voices echoing around him, fury shimmering off him in waves so great that he was surprised a tempest didn’t begin within the hallowed halls.

  “Enough, I say! My wife bared her heart, her soul, and by God, she will bare nothing more. You either take her at her word, or you take her not at all.

  “I am sick unto death of this harassment of my family and our friends. As I have sworn previously and shall continue to swear until I die, as God is my witness, upon the soul of my unborn child”—the audience gasped—“I did not murder Lord Farthingham. At his request, we went sailing. We misjudged the ferocity and speed with which the storm would arrive.

  “The sea took him, my Lords. There was naught I could do to prevent it. Yes, he spoke the words that Lady Priscilla revealed during her testimony. Yes, he and I argued. Yes, I fell in love with my wife long before that fateful day when Lord Farthingham was lost to her. Yes, I would do anything within my power to see her happy, to have her as my wife. But the taking of a life is not within my power. I would never consider or consent to committing murder.

  “Again, I swear before God that I did not murder Lord Farthingham. If my word as a peer of the realm is not good enough, then hang me from the nearest gallows, but by God, leave my family alone! They have suffered enough as a result of conjecture and vile gossip.

  “You know me, my Lords. If you truly believe me capable of such a heinous act, then find me guilty now and be done with it! Otherwise, end this farce before other reputations are ruined for naught.

  “Lord Farthingham adored my wife. He would be revolted by your treatment of her. Were he to witness this spectacle of a trial, he would be ashamed of you all. As am I. You have done little more than provide fodder for the gossips. By God, I will tolerate it no more. Judge me now! Guilty or not! But demand no more of my family than you have already!”

  Chapter 28

  Kitty began to tremble violently following Richard’s impassioned speech. To think of them hanging him. Dear God, how could she survive without him? Did he think she cared for him so little that she wouldn’t do all in her power to save him?

  After Richard had finished speaking, Freddie had declared as though he were standing on a stage, “Hear! Hear! If Lord Farthingham were here, I know he would announce to all that he had no truer friend than the Duke of Weddington!”

  Then Sir Ambrose had stood to announce that in defense of his client, he could offer nothing more compelling than the duke’s own testimony, which everyone had just heard.

  Her trembling worsened as the lords answered his summons for an immediate verdict, each standing, placing his hand over his heart, and announcing:

  Not guilty, upon mine honor.

  Not guilty, upon mine honor.

  Not guilty, upon mine honor…

  Until each had taken his turn. A unanimous verdict. The courtroom seemed to explode, as reporters scrambled to get out with the news that the duke had been acquitted.

  The Dowager Duchess quickly rose and grabbed Kitty’s hand. “Follow me.”

  It was madness, insanity as they made their way into the hallway. Kitty wasn’t certain how much longer her legs would support her, how much farther she could go without total collapse. She was still trembling, still shaking—

  And then she was wrapped in the warmth of a familiar embrace.

  “Oh, Kitty, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shall never forgive myself for what I put you through,” Richard rasped.

  She wound her arms around him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He moved away slightly. “Mother, are you all right?”

  “Of course, dear. You must see to your wife.”

  “Mr. Gurney has gone to make certain a carriage will be waiting. Come with me,” Richard urged, tucking Kitty in against his side.

  Richard led them through the crowd, through the building, and into Parliament Square. The crowds seemed even thicker there, probably because the rain had begun to pour and umbrellas were raised. Richard took Kitty’s umbrella—which she’d forgotten she was holding—opened it, and held it over her. “This way.”

  They’d only taken a few steps when he suddenly halted, and everyone stopped with him. Lady Priscilla stood before them, tears in her eyes.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace,” Lady Priscilla said.

  “Prissy, how could you?” Lady Anne asked. “You were my dearest friend in all the world.”

  “I’d overheard Farthingham, and it was such an interesting thing for him to say in light of his death—”

  “So you told people? You gossiped about personal matters within our house?”

  “I meant no harm.”

  “What you meant and what you achieved were two different things,” Richard said sternly.

  “I didn’t know people would add accusation and innuendo to so simple a bit of gossip. I never thought you murdered Farthingham…”

&nb
sp; The conversation surrounding Kitty began to fade away. Richard had loosened his hold on her, to comfort Lady Anne, who was lamenting her friend’s betrayal.

  But none of it seemed important. The crowds were thick, thicker than they’d been the day of her wedding, but this time she had no doubt.

  She’d seen Nicky.

  She eased her way through the crowds, barely noticing the rain splashing around her. She rose on her tiptoes. There! There he was! “Nicky!”

  The man turned and quickly disappeared. But it was him. She was certain of it. She began to hurry, weaving between this person and that one, pushing people aside. It seemed everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the duke, wanted to see the lords leaving parliament. Gasping, cursing her corset, her shoes, her clothing, her short height, she struggled to keep the man’s path in her vision.

  She could only tell where he was going because of the people parting before him. He was no longer visible, as though he’d suddenly shrunk. And then the crowds thinned, and she was left at the edge of the street, drenched and disappointed, her tears mingling with the rain. The man she’d followed was nowhere to be seen. Was he a ghost? A spirit? A figment of her imagination?

  She was so certain she’d seen him. She felt as though she were going mad. Suddenly she was fighting to draw in every breath; buildings, conveyances, people began to circle rapidly around her.

  And then the yawning void of darkness descended.

  Richard had always thought that the sea terrified him. Not until he saw Kitty crumple to the ground in the rain did he truly comprehend the unrelenting grip of true terror.

  He’d been trying to comfort his mother and Anne, especially. He’d been fighting not to give Lady Priscilla the harsh words she so readily deserved for spreading gossip that had brought such dire consequences upon his family—when he’d noticed that Kitty had slipped away from him.

  He’d begun a frantic search, had finally spotted her rushing headlong through the crowds, and followed. He’d almost caught up with her when she’d suddenly collapsed. He’d been too far away to catch her before she’d hit the ground.

  When he’d reached her, she’d been soaked, pale, and cold. He’d gathered her in his arms and carried her back to where his coach waited. She’d awoken once they were inside, her first words a whispered I saw Nicky.

  Now he paced outside her bedchamber, while the doctor examined her. Richard tried not to think how badly she’d been shivering, how vacant her eyes had been, how lost she’d looked.

  Would this nightmare that he’d brought upon them never end?

  To further torment him, he couldn’t erase from his mind, Kitty’s words and her heartbreakingly sad smile when she’d announced her proof of his innocence.

  He’d never in his life experienced such shame or such pride. Pride in her. Shame in himself.

  Kitty had never wanted the world to know of her condition. Her shame at her own birth still haunted her, and he’d not been able to protect her from letting all of London know that she was with child before they were married. To save him, she’d revealed her shame.

  And he was so completely unworthy of her sacrifice.

  The door opened, and Richard staggered to a halt. “Well? How is she? Will she be all right? And the child? What of our child?”

  The doctor held up his hand. “Your Grace, you mustn’t worry yourself overmuch—”

  “Not worry? She fainted, collapsed—very nearly in the street where she might have been hit by a passing carriage or hansom. Not worry? Good God, man! I can do nothing except worry.”

  “Working yourself up into a frenzied state will not change matters. I’ve spoken with the duchess and examined her. She and the babe are well—under the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?” Richard demanded to know.

  The doctor rolled his eyes. “Your trial, Your Grace. It has been a very difficult few weeks for your wife. She’s not been eating as she should, nor sleeping well. She is exhausted. Worried. I’m certain today’s spectacle only added to her trauma.”

  “Yes, of course. You’re quite right. What can I do for her?”

  “She needs much rest, nourishment, a bit of spoiling.”

  “I can see that she has all of that.”

  The doctor patted his arm. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to have a bit of it yourself.”

  “I will,” he said, even though he knew he wouldn’t. He was in agony. The tension, the strain, the worry of the past few weeks had taken a toll on his back. “May I see her now?”

  “Certainly, but do take care not to tire her further. I know you are probably in need of sexual release—”

  “I’m not going to make love to my wife. I merely wish to look in on her.”

  The doctor raised his eyebrows as though he was surprised by the outburst. “Oh, yes, of course. By all means, you may see her now. She is sleeping.”

  Quietly Richard entered the room and walked to the foot of the bed. His wife appeared so frail, the blankets brought up to her chest, her hands folded on top, her red hair fanned out over the pillow.

  He’d missed her so desperately. A thousand times he’d almost sent word for her to visit him. But he’d allowed her doubts to wound him—when what he’d actually done was almost as bad as murder.

  He’d sworn to do anything to make her happy. And instead he’d made her miserable.

  He’d done exactly as he’d feared. He’d risked destroying her.

  Kitty awoke to the familiar feel of a warm body nestled up against her hip. Instinctively, she reached down and wove her fingers through the soft fur. “Nicolette.”

  “You no longer fear her,” a quiet voice said.

  Incredibly weary, she lifted her gaze and found her husband standing beside the bed. Slowly, she shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Henry said you’d taken to sleeping with the dog of late.”

  She smiled. “Not exactly. I let her sleep with me.”

  Richard knelt beside the bed and took her hand. “This afternoon you terrified me, Kitty.”

  “I thought I saw Nicky,” she whispered.

  He combed her hair off her brow. “I know.”

  “I don’t understand why I keep thinking that I see him. I feel as though I’m going mad.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Richard, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you—”

  “No, I have hurt you far more. I have woven a tangled web, my darling, and now I find myself trapped inside it. The doctor says that you need to rest. I thought we would go to Drummond Manor. Escape the madness. I want to take you sailing. I want to share something with you—when you feel up to it.”

  “I’d like to go sailing.”

  “Then I’ll make arrangements for us to leave tomorrow.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I’m tired, Richard.”

  “I know you are.”

  “I haven’t slept well since you left. Will you sleep with me tonight?”

  He said not a word, but merely removed his clothes and slipped into bed beside her. For the first time, in a very long time, she felt safe.

  Kitty awoke to a strangled cry. The room was shrouded with darkness. Nicolette was no longer snuggling against her hip, and she assumed the dog had retreated to a corner of the room. Her husband, however, remained and was trembling beside her.

  “Richard?”

  “Help me to forget,” he commanded in a hoarse voice. “Help me to forget.”

  And then his mouth was on hers, desperate with yearning. She wasn’t certain exactly what he wished to forget: the storm, Farthingham, the trial…so many possibilities existed, but all that mattered to her was that he needed her.

  They became a tangle of limbs as he made short work of removing her nightgown, and then he returned his mouth to hers, rubbing his body along hers, caressing her, massaging her, awakening her passions.

  Her skin was on fire, her nerve endings so sensitive that each brush of his hand carried her higher toward the pinnacle of pleasure.

  She stroke
d her hands over his shoulders, back, and buttocks. She rubbed her feet up and down his calves. She kissed his throat, his neck, his chest. She found satisfaction in his guttural groans, his harsh breathing, the tenseness in his muscles. She wanted to give back to him, wanted him to know how very much he meant to her.

  She’d been terrified that the evidence was mounting against him, had feared losing him to the gallows. She thought of how much she had resisted the temptation of giving in to him, how the feelings he caused to surface within her had so frightened her.

  And now she could no longer imagine living without his touch, without his presence, without him. He had told her that he’d loved her, and she couldn’t recall ever saying the words back to him.

  “Richard—”

  He covered her mouth at the exact instant that he entered her, firm, and sure.

  And all words were lost to her as the passion mounted and the sensations built. Oh, how she’d missed this. The press of his body against hers. The rocking motion, like riding on the crest of a wave, going under only to rise higher and higher…

  He swallowed her scream, his release following so quickly after hers that she thought there was a bit of magic in it. He’d barely moved off her before she heard his first soft snore.

  She snuggled against him, brought the covers up over them, and watched him sleep, wishing she had much more to give to him than she did.

  She awoke at dawn to find him staring down on her, much as she’d been watching him hours earlier.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you last night,” he said.

  “Do you have nightmares often?”

  “I’ve not had them for years. They returned when I was arrested. With my father’s death, I was never arrested, but the accusations were there. I saw them in people’s eyes, in the speculative way they looked at me. They all thought I murdered him, but I didn’t.”

  She wrapped her hand around his. “I know you didn’t.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “If you and your father disagreed, I think you would have accepted his obstinacy as a challenge, to be met and conquered. To murder him would have been cheating. And one does not dishonor one’s opponent by retreating before the decisive moment has arrived.” She smiled softly. “Murder would be retreating in the most cowardly way, and you are not a coward.”