“My what?” God’s bones. It sounded like a treatise or dissertation.
“Shh.” In one fluid movement, she slipped into the chair and seized the quill. “Open the ink. Be quick about it, and then stand there.” She pointed to a spot beside her desk, a respectable distance away but which permitted him full view of the foolscap.
Nic swiftly did as she bid, taking a second to straighten one of the curls he’d mussed while kissing her. “There. No one will be the wiser.”
“I shall,” she muttered before stabbing the quill into the ink bottle. She raised her voice slightly. “What other qualifications do you require in a duchess, Your Grace?”
Pen poised, she affected an innocent air, and except for her rosy lips, no sign remained of the wanton who’d enjoyed his kisses but moments before.
Pity that.
He decided to test his newly developed theory. “Honesty and forthrightness.”
A sound something similar to someone gargling marbles or rocks escaped Katrina. She narrowed her eyes until Nic couldn’t see her lovely, irate blue irises, but dutifully scratched the requirements. “A virtue desirable in a husband too, I should think.”
“Aye. Always.” Black mark for Domont, there.
“What else?” She didn’t quite meet Nic’s eyes, but fixed her gaze on his shoulder.
Thoroughly miffed. At him? Domont? Or herself?
Hmm, interesting, by Jove.
“Faithfulness.” He folded his arms and winked. “Wouldn’t do to be cuckolded before I have my heir and spare. Or worse yet, have another’s by-blow forced upon the title.”
Her eyes narrowed further, mere slits now, and Nic suppressed a grin. Oh, she hadn’t liked that in the least. Another possible mark against Domont.
Enjoying himself far more than he ought to, Nic rested a shoulder against the shelf. All because Katrina had kissed him, which meant she couldn’t be so very much in love with her major. Could she? She needed to realize that before she married Domont ... If she married him.
“Is that all?” Her clipped question contained more ire than defeat.
Good. Past time the spirited lass raised her hackles.
“Nay.” Nic traced his scar. “I think she must know her own mind and not be afraid to speak it.”
Katrina nodded, writing away. “Of course she must,” she grumbled. “So a man can do whatever he bloody well wants anyway with no regard to her wishes or feelings?”
“My duchess would be my partner, my equal, my helpmate in all things.” Not a typical philosophy, particularly for the nobility, but a woman treated with respect and equality made for a happier wife and a contented wife meant a pleasant marriage.
What do you care? You’ll be at sea.
Not year-round, and he didn’t wish his days at home to be hellish.
“Uh hum. I should like to see that.” Katrina’s features softened a fraction. “Anything else?”
“Aye.”
Quill poised, she dared to meet his eyes.
Such turmoil churned in hers.
Nic spoke directly to her, reverently and sincerely, conveying what she’d mean to him if she were his duchess. “She should want, deserves, to be cherished and honored above all else.”
Aye, Katrina should covet that, but his wife would know from the onset that the sea would always be his first love.
“Who should?” Needham marched into the library.
Either the man had a penchant for sniffing out his daughter in compromising situations, or he claimed blissful ignorance. A mite rude too, habitually intruding on others’ conversations. Or dashed sly, and knew exactly what had transpired.
“Ah, working on your duchess list, Your Grace? I must say, I feel for you, Pendergast. A duke is a much sought after trophy.” Needham waggled his eyebrows. “Too bad you don’t have a lady in mind. It would surely save you a great deal of trouble.”
“Indeed, sir. But I hope with Miss Needham’s and Mrs. Needham’s assistance to significantly lessen what could be a trying ordeal.” Not the most romantic perception of marriage, but one necessitated by Nic’s circumstances.
“Will we have the honor of your presence at the Granville’s soirée tonight?” Needham eyed the books also sitting on Katrina’s desk as he fingered his mustache.
Men with mustaches were forever fussing with them. Shave the thing and be done.
Nic looked at Katrina. “Should I attend?”
“I think so. Though it’s a minor gathering, a few eligible young women will be present.” Concern lined her usually smooth forehead. “But will your sisters be all right without you? It is their first night here, after all.”
Naturally, she’d think of his sisters’ welfare.
Would a devoted brother remain at home or pursue acquiring a bride?
“Yes, I believe so.” Nic picked up a carved, gold-mounted, jade wax seal. He’d sent Aunt Bertie a similar ruby-encrusted lazuli stamp. “They’ve not spent much time with me as it is, and I know they were quite fatigued from the journey. I expect they’ll wish to retire early.”
“May I meet them first?” Katrina replaced the quill and smiled at Needham as he sauntered over.
“I’m sure they would like that.” Nic wasn’t sure of anything at the moment, especially the woman smiling serenely at her father.
Needham examined the diminutive list atop the desk. “Didn’t get very far.”
“His grace arrived but a short time ago, Papa.” She studiously avoided looking toward Nic. “Besides, these things cannot be rushed.”
“True, I suppose.” Needham placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have news of Major Domont.”
Chapter Eight
Katrina swallowed the nerves which launched to her throat. “Oh? Is that why I heard a carriage earlier? You’ve word from your man?”
Did she want to know what Papa had to say?
Yes. No. God help her, she really didn’t know. She’d never been more conflicted in her life.
“It is, and I did.” Gaze kind and unwavering, Papa’s face revealed no hint of what he’d unearthed. “Peters sent a letter, but he’s still in Stratford-Upon-Avon completing other tasks I asked him to attend to. For over a year, I’ve contemplated establishing a banking office there.”
Katrina nodded distractedly. She loved Richard—wanted to be his wife. Didn’t she? Why these reservations now? Because he hadn’t been truthful with her, and a man who lied before marriage would most certainly do so afterward as well.
But what if he hadn’t lied? If something unforeseen had arisen?
Then he should have written.
Common decency and courtesy, especially for someone he professed to love, required it. To leave her wondering, fretting ... A considerate man wouldn’t do that…Which brought her right back to ... How important was she really to Richard?
And that sense-shattering kiss with Nic? Dear God. That scrumptiousness had sent her emotions spinning arse over teapot. Doubt raised its unnerving head, and not a dainty niggling misgiving, but a dragon-sized, fire-breathing uncertainty. In Nic’s arms she’d felt ... cherished ... home.
Richard’s kisses had never sent tingles pelting to her toes or made her forget where she was, her entire being focused on one thing. Nic’s arms encircling her, his lips caressing hers, their tongues dancing and dueling. If Nic hadn’t kissed her—fine, if they hadn’t kissed—would she never have experienced such exquisiteness?
Why with him, a man she barely knew, and not Richard, who, until a few days ago, she’d been enamored of? Why with a man who’d made it clear he’d return to the sea, and therefore couldn’t offer his heart to a woman, only his title and all that went with it?
Papa cleared his throat and ended Katrina’s woolgathering.
“I’ll excuse myself.” Nic bowed, and after giving her an unfathomable look, quirked his delicious mouth and took his leave.
Wiping her damp palms on her gown, she stood. Somehow, perusing Nic’s duchess qualifications while her father info
rmed her whether she was to marry after all seemed ...well ...bizarre.
She cocked her head, still unable to read Papa’s expression. “Well? Have I been jilted?”
His mouth hitched up on one side, and he withdrew a letter from his inside pocket. “Domont sent a note for you, and says he’ll call in a day or two. There’s been a change in his circumstances.”
She arched her brows high before veeing them in bewilderment. “A change in his circumstances? Whatever does that mean? I suppose he might have resigned his commission, but why?”
“You’ll have to read his letter to find out, Kitty.” Papa extended the missive.
She accepted the letter and stared at Richard’s bold scribbling. He had awful penmanship. The seal hadn’t been broken either, which meant Papa hadn’t read the letter as was typical.
“Shall I leave you alone?” Concern and uneasiness battled for supremacy in her father’s warm gaze. “Or I can stay, if you prefer.”
“You’ll know the contents soon enough. You might as well stay.” Katrina stepped to the window and, after breaking the seal, read the short missive.
* * *
My Dear Miss Needham,
Hmph. Back to Miss Needham, was she?
Afraid Papa might read the letter first perhaps? Or had the anonymous lady on Richard’s arm brought about the formality?
Forgive me for my continued absence and for not writing sooner. Please believe me when I tell you I’ve thought of you daily, and as soon as I’ve dealt with the matters that have detained me, I shall call and explain everything in full.
There has been a dramatic change in my circumstances, and once you are made aware, I am sure you will extend me your forgiveness.
Oh, really? Just like that? Somebody better have died, for she’d only accept that excuse for such inconsideration.
You may expect me within the next two days, and I hope that you will be home to accept me.
Ever Yours,
R
* * *
Not even his full name, but a flamboyantly looped R? No Love or Affectionately Yours?
Refolding the letter, Katrina frowned. Richard’s letter told her little more than her father had already disclosed.
She faced Papa, his posture alert and slightly wary.
“Major Domont begs my indulgence for a little longer and expects to call soon. He confirmed his circumstances have indeed changed, but he didn’t explain what that change was.” She waved the letter, and it crackled with the abrupt movement. “We know little more than we did, other than to expect him to call soon.”
And that peeved her, teeth-gnashingly vexed her, truth to tell. She didn’t know a dashed thing more. Didn’t know if he still planned on asking for her hand. Didn’t know if she wanted him to. Richard’s vague letter only raised more questions.
The mantel clock chimed the hour and, sighing, she slid the paper into her desk drawer where she wouldn’t be tempted to read it over and over again, trying to instill hidden meaning into his brief message. “I’m going to take bonbons to his grace’s sisters before I dress for the party.”
“Only the four of us will attend the soirée. Your brothers have returned to London, and Shona is indisposed.” Papa’s attempt at normalcy fell flat.
As did Katrina’s. “I know. I bade them farewell this morning.”
“Come here, Kitty.” Papa held out his arms, and she rushed into his embrace. “These things have a way of working themselves out, my dear.”
Not always happily.
She stood on her toes and brushed his cheek. “Thank you for sending Peters.”
Papa kissed the top of her head. “You know you don’t have to marry Domont. I’ll refuse his offer if you have the slightest hesitation, and I think you do. Especially since a certain duke sailed into your life.”
Cheeks heated, Katrina jerked her head up.
“Papa, do you know what you’re saying? His grace wants a convenient wife, someone to lend him respectability, help raise his sisters, and provide him an heir. He’s not interested in love nor does he plan on forsaking his wanderlust. The sea is his passion, and he’ll return to her in a few short years.” She shook her head and angled toward the door, hugging her shoulders against the room’s sudden chill. “We’d never suit, in any event.”
Her father made a noise in his throat. “Why not, if I might ask? From my observation, you already esteem one another and get on better than many married couples.”
“Yes, but I want a man to marry me because he loves me, passionately, first and foremost, above everything. I thought Richard did,” she said, lifting a shoulder an inch. “Now, I’m not altogether certain he does, and I hate the suspicion that has tainted my affections and muddled my thoughts.”
“I’ve never been as sure as you about your major, my dear, but I want your happiness, and if he is your choice, I’ll honor it.” As they left the library, Papa patted her shoulder. “We’ll wait and see what Domont has to say for himself, but I would caution you—no, ask you, Kitty—to reject his offer if you are not absolutely certain you love him and that he’s the right man for you.”
She had been convinced he was, and now feared she’d been wrong—so very, wretchedly wrong. How could she trust her fickle heart? One day, Richard was all she could think about, and now, Nic invaded her musings far more than Richard ever had.
A few minutes later, bonbons in hand, she tapped on Daphne and Delilah’s bedchamber door. A moment passed before the door edged open, and a clear green gaze peeked out the slight opening. Daphne or Delilah?
Raising the plate of treats, Katrina offered a genial smile. “I’ve bonbons Cook would like my opinion on. She’s tried several new recipes, but before she serves them to our guests, she wants to make sure they’re acceptable. Would you mind terribly tasting a few? I cannot possibly eat them all, else I’ll become quite ill. I would so appreciate the help.”
After glancing behind her, the girl offered a timid smile and nodded as she eased the door open further. “That would be lovely, Miss Needham. We weren’t often permitted sweets at Chamberdall Court.”
“Ah, you know my name. Wonderful. But when we are alone, you may call me Katrina or Kitty.” She swept into the room and peered ’round. “I see you’ve made yourselves at home.”
They’d done no such thing. Everything remained in place, as if they were afraid to touch anything or use so much as a hairbrush. After setting the plate upon a table near the balconied window, Katrina put her hands on her hips and cocked her head.
“Let me see if I can figure out which of you is Daphne and which Delilah. You look remarkably alike, I dare say.”
The girls, their faces winter-pale, peered at her, their eyes wide and uncertain.
“You are Daphne.” Katrina pointed to the girl who’d answered the door.
Though she stood barely taller than her sister, Daphne’s hair glistened redder, and she’d begun to blossom into a young woman. Still retaining a child’s thin figure, and her eyes sea green rather than emerald like her sister’s, Delilah appeared the more bashful.
Katrina rotated her finger to indicate the younger girl. “And you are Delilah.”
They nodded, but said nothing, although their hungry gazes strayed to the treats more than once.
Katrina retrieved the plate and, after kicking off her slippers, climbed onto the nearest bed. She patted the sunny coverlet. “Come. Join me.”
The girls exchanged worried looks, and Daphne tossed a ginger-colored braid over her shoulder. “Is it allowed? Miss Tribble scolded us for mussing the bedclothes after we made our beds, and we were always made to sit straight in our chairs lest we wrinkle our gowns.”
They weren’t permitted to play? The unfortunate darlings.
“Of course it’s permitted, and you don’t even have to make your beds here, though I’m sure the maids will appreciate the gesture if you want to continue.”
“She’s much nicer than Miss Tribble,” Delilah whispered to her sister.
“I bet Miss Tribble was a crotchety old battle axe, wasn’t she? I suppose tree-climbing and hide-and-seek weren’t permitted either.
“No, miss,” Daphne affirmed.
“Swimming? Archery? Blind Man’s Bluff? Hot chocolate with clotted cream in bed on cold winter nights?”
Both girls shook their heads vehemently.
Katrina folded her knees beneath her and studied the assorted delicacies before selecting one. “Probably smelled of garlic and moldy cheese, farted in your presence, and snuck all the sweets for herself too.”
A musical giggle escaped Delilah before she slapped a hand over her mouth and looked around ashamedly.
Katrina wiggled her eyebrows, holding her chocolate confection. “Now, do I have to eat all these sweets myself? I shall grow as tubby as Percival.”
At that, both girls laughed and jumped onto the bed, still wearing their slippers. They’d about finished the entire plate when a single rap echoed at the door. Daphne shifted, likely to slip off the bed, but Katrina stilled her with a gentle hand to the girl’s arm.
“Come in,” Katrina called.
The door whooshed open to reveal a dashingly handsome Nic in evening black, his sandy hair slightly damp. He must have made a hurried trip to the tailor’s, for he wore the height of fashion, down to his shoes. She rather preferred his tatty clothing and scuffed boots. His crisp cologne carried to her, and she stared through her eyelashes as he bowed to his sisters.
They’d scrambled off the bed and stood beside it, heads lowered and hands clasped.
Humor danced in his eyes as he bestowed a kind smile on the girls. “Did I hear giggling just now?”
“You did.” Katrina lifted the near empty plate. “Would you care for the last two confections, Your Grace?”
“Indeed.” He plucked both from the tray and popped the bonbons into his mouth, one right after the other. As he chewed, his gaze roved the tidy chamber. “What have you ladies been up to?”
To Tame a Scoundrel's Heart (A Waltz with a Rogue Novella Book 4) Page 9
