“Getting acquainted. I’ve learned Daphne and Delilah’s favorite colors, that they’ve never been taught to ride or swim or permitted a pet, and they both aren’t terribly fond of beets or peas. Oh, and we all have a terrible sweet tooth.”
Nic chuckled, wrinkling his nose. “Can’t stand beets myself, especially pickled ones, and we’ll need to remedy the pet oversight the instant we’re settled at Chamberdall Court.”
His sisters remained silent, their slender frames tense, prepared for chastisement.
Katrina firmed her mouth, not at all pleased how Nic’s sisters cowered before him. After edging off the bed, she wrapped an arm around their shoulders. “Girls, your brother is a kind man. You needn’t fear him. The moment he learned your mama and brother had died, he rushed to England to be with you. He wants you to feel safe and cared for.”
Such gratitude filled Nic’s expressive eyes that her belly jolted peculiarly.
Daphne’s and Delilah’s leery green gazes—old Pendergast must’ve had green eyes—shifted to Nic before darting away.
“Miss Tribble said if we annoyed the new duke, he’d make us walk the plank, and sharks would gobble us alive,” Delilah whispered, her lower lip trembling and shoulders shaking as she buried her damp face in Katrina’s waist.
Daphne scooted nearer too. “She also said you hated us because we’re bas ... bastards and you had to leave the sea to take care of us.”
Katrina tightened her embrace on the terrified girls, a wholly unladylike growl exploding from her. “Oh, I’d like to tell that evil dragon a thing or two. What a foul, lying, despicable—”
Nic folded to a knee before his sisters and took one of their small, white hands in his big, calloused palm. He scrutinized their anxious faces, so much tenderness in his that Katrina’s eyes welled.
He loved them. Even though never permitted to be part of their lives, he loved them.
“Miss Tribble lied, Daphne and Delilah. I have wanted to know you since you were born, but it wasn’t allowed. You’re more important than my ship or the sea, and I wish us to be a family, along with my Aunt Bertie. I would like it very much if you would call me Nic too.”
He flashed Katrina a rakish smile, and this time, all her insides quivered like jelly.
“And Miss Needham is helping me find a wife, so that you have a big sister to love you soon I would very much like it if you would also agree to help me with that, for my duchess must love you as much as I do.”
Delilah looked between Katrina and Nic, her pale face scrunched. “Nic, you should marry Kitty, and have babies, at least five or six, and we can be one big family together.”
“What a splendid idea.” He quirked a tawny, mocking brow, and still on his knee, scooped Katrina’s hand into his palm—warm and rough and wonderful. “What say you, Kitty, love? Would you take this sea-scoundrel-turned-duke, his adorable sisters, a sweet aunt, and make our family complete?”
Chapter Nine
An hour later, and still fuming, Katrina stalked the paneled corridor, holding her wrap, fan, and reticule in one hand and her sapphire blue skirt in the other. Why she’d elected to wear her betrothal gown tonight rather than at the Wimpletons’ ball, she refused to examine closely.
Balderdash.
She’d worn it because she wanted to see the look on Nic’s face when he saw her in it, even if she was mad as Hades at him.
Though he’d been playacting when he’d proposed, his sisters had thought him quite serious.
His unabashed grin still taunted—the devil.
“Dratted bore.”
She might as well have told them their brother intended to ship them off to a boarding school in Switzerland, such disappointment shadowed their faces when Katrina explained she’d given her word to marry another. Well, she had, even if second thoughts now plagued her. Richard should be the first to know she meant to put an end to their relationship.
The realization cramped her lungs, and she faltered to a stop before a charming painting depicting a picnic.
My God. She had made that decision, though she couldn’t say precisely when she’d come to the conclusion that marrying him would be a monumental mistake. But she had.
Relief didn’t engulf her, but rather a tender, aching sort of sorrow. Katrina had worshiped Richard, had wanted to love him, until a certain oversized swashbuckler prompted her to examine her feelings closely. Too dashed closely. Truthfully, her pride stung far more than her heart ached at Richard’s callousness and continued absence. Admitting herself capable of such shallowness chafed, but she’d never shied away from her faults.
When Richard came to call, she’d release him from his promise, and afterward reluctantly focus on fulfilling her foolish commitment to Nic. Of the tasks, the last would be the more difficult. Speaking with Richard was an unpleasant, but necessary obligation. However, finding Nic a bride? That she was loath to do.
Oh, the scheme had been a grand notion at the onset, but marching eligible misses beneath the nose of a man she harbored a tendre for ... that would take strength of character she wasn’t altogether positive she possessed.
She’d given her word, however, and for his sisters’ sakes, she would see the chore done. Afterward, she’d cry off men for a goodly while until she learned to control her feelings rather than have them governing her.
Before descending the stairs, Katrina took another bracing breath. She could do this—smile and pretend all was well. She’d introduce Nic to potential brides and refuse to acknowledge that each time she did, she’d bleed a little inside. And even being fully aware he married for convenience and would leave his wife for the sea one day didn’t help ease the gloom shrouding her.
“Ah, there you are, my dear. I was about to come up and see what had delayed you.” Mama, resplendent in an emerald and gold gown, smiled as Osborne helped her into an ermine-lined, gold velvet mantle.
A few feet away, Papa and Nic chatted quietly, but at Mama’s comment, both shifted their attention to the stairs.
Why did Nic have to be so deucedly attractive? Have such a powerful physique? Be such a caring, gentle brother and nephew? Katrina would never be able to look upon other men without finding most pale, puny, and selfish in comparison.
His appreciative scrutiny traveled from Katrina’s hair to her silk-covered toes then made the reverse journey, his kissable mouth bending into a sensual smile. Even with her parents gazing on, her traitorous body responded wantonly, heat radiating from her toes to eyebrows, with all manner of interesting sensations in between.
Descending the remaining stairs, she dropped her gaze and made a pretense of unfolding her wrap until her face cooled, and the fluttery, wobbly, puckering business calmed.
“A vision as always,” Papa said and winked. He placed Mama’s hand on his arm and guided her toward the door, obligating Nic to assist Katrina with her wrap.
Had Papa done that on purpose?
“You look exquisite.” Nic brushed her arms with his fingertips, and a shiver stole across her, puckering the skin along her arms. So do you. He held her shoulders for a moment, whispering into her hair. “Am I forgiven for my earlier idiocy? That was a deuced awful way to propose.”
She couldn’t stay angry at the charming scoundrel and angled her head, meeting his contrite gaze. “Nic, your sisters thought you were serious.”
Was she horribly foolish for wishing he had been? That he didn’t love the sea more than he ever could a woman? Should she tell him about her decision not to marry Richard? What difference would it make?
Nic winked and gave her an enigmatic smile as he offered his arm. “Maybe I was. You’d make the perfect duchess.”
Before she could unstick her tongue, he whisked her out the door, down the stairs, and into the waiting carriage.
Little besides banal weather or horseflesh conversation took place on the short ride to the Granvilles’. Nic sat beside Papa and politely answered the questions her parents put to him, but he seemed disinclined to ta
lk. More than once, she felt his astute gaze on her.
Katrina kept her focus outside, even though darkness cloaked the view. As the carriage rumbled to a stop before the Granvilles’ manor house, she filled her lungs with a bracing pull of air. Into the fray. Head up, smile in place, emotions firmly stowed.
“Are you ready, Your Grace?” Mama slanted her head toward the brightly lit house. “Your first foray into Society as a nobleman. Keep to us, and allow Hugo or me to make introductions. Katrina can help you choose which ladies to request a dance from and the ones you’ll wish to avoid.” Her tone dryer than paper, she muttered, “There are several.”
Phoebe Belamont and her monstrous bosoms for one.
“Thank you,” Nic murmured as he stepped from the conveyance and swept the carriage-lined drive a cursory glance. “Not too large a crush, I hope.”
Nervous? Katrina subdued her twitching lips. Her brave privateer captain was terrified of venturing into the marriage mart. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Once again, Papa escorted Mama, leaving Nic and Katrina to trail them. How had her parents come to trust him in such a short period? Her confounded lips jerked again. Well, he wasn’t likely to pounce upon her or kiss her in full view of all, more was the pity.
Their earlier kiss had been quite the loveliest experience of her life. If she concentrated hard, she could still feel Nic’s soft lips moving on hers. Katrina firmed her hold upon his arm as much in support as she enjoyed his muscles bunching beneath her fingertips, even through her gloves and his clothing.
“If you’re not confident of your dance skills, don’t feel you must partner anyone tonight, Nic. I’ll stay and help offer excuses. We should work out some sort of code too, so that I can let you know which ladies would suit and which won’t.”
Too bad he wasn’t wearing a sword. He would need a weapon to fight the women off. She tightened her grip on her fan. The accessory might do in a pinch to discourage any overly aggressive misses. A grin threatened. Why, yes. She’d simply spend the evening holding her fan over her left ear, a polite way of telling them to trot along.
He’s mine.
He wasn’t, and couldn’t ever be.
“Much obliged, but I believe I can manage a waltz without disgracing myself completely or crushing my partner’s toes.” He shot her a rascally grin. “How do I know you won’t say all the ladies don’t suit?”
“I’m not the jealous sort.” Until now. Katrina sent him a sideways peek, admiring his bold and slightly imperfect profile. “Do you have time for a dance lesson tomorrow? Perhaps we could include your sisters as well. I’m sure they’d enjoy it.”
“Aye, I’ve time, and I’m sure Daphne and Delilah would be thrilled to take part.” A wry half-smile quirking his mouth, he dipped his head, his attention trained on the elegantly attired guests openly staring as he and Katrina entered. Or pretending not to behind half-lowered lashes or fluttering fans.
“This is a minor gathering?” Nic’s nonplussed expression met with a soft giggle.
“Oh dear. News of the newly titled Duke of Pendergast’s attendance must have preceded you. Mama probably accepted on your behalf. I hope you don’t mind the attention, but a duke is a rarity at our simple, country events.”
Momentarily taken aback by the sizable crowd, Katrina searched for her parents. Ah, there they were, greeting their ecstatic hostess. Through the open ballroom doors, music floated into the entry as the musicians warmed up. Dancing would commence soon.
Nic made a rough, affirmative sound in his throat before placing his hand atop hers resting on his forearm and returning the occasional cordial head tilt. His gaze tender, he murmured, “Thank you for being so kind to my sisters. They are quite taken with you already, as am—”
“Your Grace!” Mrs. Granville plowed across the parquet floor, towing her two pretty, unattached daughters. Her husband followed at a more sedate pace, wearing a bemused expression.
“Mama might have mentioned you sought a wife,” Katrina muttered, surrendering her wrap. Good God. Half of Richmond milled about. How was she to manage all these ladies?
“Brace yourself,” she muttered.
Nic gave a single, short nod, evidently assuming she spoke to him.
Entirely wrong. She’d meant the encouragement for herself.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Granville purred, sinking into a deep curtsy, promptly parroted by Regina and Abigail. “Please permit me to introduce my lovely daughters.”
And so it begins.
Several moments passed as introductions were made to one gushing guest after another, and Nic took to his ducal role with such finesse and aplomb, Katrina wanted to applaud. He didn’t need lessons at all. Likely his captaincy role had prepared him to some degree. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Phoebe Belamont gliding in their direction, a brazen invitation in her siren’s gaze.
Botheration.
At that moment, Nic’s gaze touched Katrina, and he must have noticed her disquiet. He offered a partial bow to those surrounding him. “Please excuse me. I hear a waltz beginning, and Miss Needham has promised me the first dance.”
Fibber.
Surely Katrina’s admiration showed in her delighted smile as she accepted his proffered arm, and he led her away from the disappointed misses and their equally frustrated mamas.
“Smoothly done, Your Grace. Phoebe’s in such a froth, she looks like she swallowed slugs.” Katrina’s smile slipped a fraction. “You shouldn’t be wasting a waltz on me, though.”
“It’s hardly a waste to snatch the most beautiful woman present for the first dance. I’d say it’s selfish, but as the highest ranking peer present, I suppose it’s my due.”
His patronizing tone and devilish wink earned him another smile, this one shyer.
Nic swung her onto the dance floor, his steps unpracticed, yet his natural grace apparent in his fluid movements and the ease with which he fell into the rhythm. “And I hope to convince you to allow me the supper dance as well. I seem to recall that only two dances are permitted unless a couple is married or betrothed, otherwise I’d claim every dance.”
Katrina’s heart soared foolishly, and she permitted him to edge her nearer.
Unwise, and oh, so dangerous. And delightful.
Nevertheless, she marshalled her resolve rather than melting into his muscular arms and permitting the music, the magical moment, the man, to make her forget their purpose tonight. She eased her chin upward, all too aware of the gazes trained on them. “People will assume we’ve formed an attachment, which rather defeats the purpose of you attending, does it not?”
“What say we call tonight our night to enjoy each other? We both have other obligations, but your kiss this afternoon tells me you’re not any more impervious to me than I am to you.” Nic rubbed his thumb over her ribs, and a delicious frisson shook her entire body.
Definitely not impervious.
He lowered his head, his intoxicating cologne enveloping her senses. “Next time, we can focus on responsibilities and commitments, but for tonight, I would pretend that you are mine, Katrina. What say you? Will you give me this night?”
I’d gladly give you a lifetime.
His thighs brushed hers as he nudged her gently, his tawny head much too close for propriety, his heated attention equally scandalous. “Will you? Please?”
He rasped the last hoarsely, but with such sincerity, her resolve melted away. His intense jade gaze probed hers, and Katrina found herself nodding, wanting to be his with everything in her being, no matter the consequences, even if it ended in heartbreak.
And how could it not?
“Yes. For tonight.” And tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.
A ragged sigh escaped him. “It will have to be enough.”
It would never be enough.
The music ended, and Katrina reluctantly stepped away from Nic, instantly bereft without his strong arms holding her. Collecting her flustered thoughts, she curtsied. He di
dn’t need dance lessons any more than he required instruction on comportment.
Blast Miss Sweeting for a job well done.
From the hopeful gazes directed his way from a handful of lovely young ladies, wholly suitable young ladies too, he wouldn’t need her help to find a wife either.
“Would you like some ratafia?” He spoke over the sudden buzz circling the room and a commotion beyond the entrance.
Katrina looked up and smiled. “Yes. I’m quite thirsty.”
They passed a cluster of young misses, including the Granville sisters, all chattering like magpies.
“A duke and a marquis in attendance tonight. Oh, I may swoon.” Abigail clutched her hands to her flat chest, closing her eyes dramatically.
Regina, her eyes round and shiny, nodded. “We’ll be the envy of all Richmond. I do hope I dance with them both.”
“So I have competition tonight.” Laughter danced in Nic’s eyes. “I’m quite put upon. I thought I was to be the center of attention. Who is this usurper marquis?”
Katrina shrugged. “Trust me, you are, and I haven’t a clue who the marquis is. He must be an acquaintance of an invited guest.”
Near the ballroom entrance, Mama motioned for them to join her and Papa. Actually, Mama gestured quite forcefully, a strained smile upon her face, while Papa, always more subdued, simply gave a beckoning nod. “Your Grace, my parents summon.”
Were they miffed she’d danced with the duke?
“Is it me, or do they look a trifle disconcerted?” Nic steered her past several young bucks, who quickly averted their lustful perusal when he gave them a darkling glower.
My, that was nice. She could get quite used to a champion. “They do appear a bit tense.”
As they wended their way to her parents, Nic smiled and nodded affably, earning him approving looks. He’d taken to this duke business like a seasoned sailor.
Once they reached her parents, her mother looped her arm through Katrina’s. “My dear, you should know—”
“There he is, the Marquis of Maitland,” a matron whispered behind her fan to her google-eyed crony.
To Tame a Scoundrel's Heart (A Waltz with a Rogue Novella Book 4) Page 10
