“Don’t count upon it.” His voice was low.
Kate swallowed. Hard. He smelled like soap and the barest hint of sense-tingling cologne. She wanted to touch him. The thought came out of nowhere and stole her breath. But he was just playing with her. Teasing. Trying to give her the experience she’d asked for at the pretend ball. Wasn’t he? She squared her shoulders. Perhaps there was only one way to find out.
“Now that you’ve got me alone, my lord, what do you intend to do with me?” Where she had conjured the nerve to say that, she would never know. Must be the champagne. The tiniest amounts of the stuff had always made her a bit bold. Must get more champagne.
He stepped closer and his eyes sparkled. They looked positively emerald in the shadows. “What does any gentleman want to do when he’s alone in a secluded alcove with a beautiful lady?”
Her voice faltered. “I … s-suppose he would try to … steal a kiss.” She touched her fingertips to the sapphire necklace. “But you … you would never be so improper.”
He leaned over and pulled the champagne flute from her numb fingers and set it on the ledge of the wainscoting next to them. She watched him as if in a trance. He leaned down. His cheek brushed hers. He whispered in her ear. “As I said earlier, we’re far past improper.” He tugged her into his arms and his mouth swooped down to capture hers.
Kate’s head fell back and her arms went wide for a moment. This couldn’t be happening. She was not being kissed by Lord Medford. Handsome, dashing, perfect Lord Medford. She hadn’t thought for a moment he’d actually go so far as to kiss her. She’d wished for it, certainly, but the man was far too proper to—Very well, no he wasn’t. And she was about to take full advantage of that fact. Live. Live. Live.
She slowly allowed her arms to travel up his rock-hard chest and wrap around his shoulders. She lifted up on tiptoe to meet his mouth. His was hot, demanding. His body leaned into hers and pushed her back against the wall. He pressed into her, and she moaned. He ravaged her lips, kissing her in ways she’d never even known a man could kiss a woman. The only other kisses she’d received had been George’s tentative ones while they’d been courting and then his impatient ones when they’d been married, but none of them compared to the full onslaught of the senses she was experiencing now.
James’s mouth owned her, shaped her lips, explored her mouth. Then moved to her cheek, her temple, her earlobe. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She moaned. She wanted to rub herself against him. Wanted to pull him on top of her, wanted to—
“You’re so beautiful, Kate,” he whispered in her ear.
She could pretend, couldn’t she? That he was a beau and she was eighteen again. Why not?
“You smell like roses, and oh God—” He left off when she pressed her breasts to his chest and met his mouth again. He pulled away, moving down to kiss her throat, nuzzling at the delicate spot where her jaw met her neck. “That ball gown has been driving me insane all evening.”
Kate shuddered.
James moved up again and pressed his forehead to hers. He expelled his breath and closed his eyes, cradling her hands in his.
Kate looked up through kiss-drugged senses. In the back of her mind it vaguely registered that a clock somewhere within the house was striking twelve. Twelve. Midnight.
Midnight!
She’d invited Louisa. The maid would arrive at any moment. “James, there’s something I must tell you.”
She pulled away, out of his arms.
He turned to look at her, guilt and resignation etched upon his handsome face. “There’s no need, Kate. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have—”
She shook her head. “No. You don’t understand. I promised Louisa you’d dance with her tonight. At midnight.”
CHAPTER 16
Kate closed her bed chamber door behind her, leaned back against it, and sighed. The gold ball gown shimmered in the dark of her room, and she took a moment to twirl in a circle. Her skirts billowed around her, and she smiled to herself. What a night. The waltzing, the champagne, the … kissing. It was amazing. All of it. But what about the kissing? Certainly James had only been responding to her taunt that he would never be ungentlemanly. Hadn’t he? Or perhaps he only wanted to make her feel desired. Either way, he’d seemed to regret it afterward. Feeling as if he’d taken advantage of her, perhaps? But he had made her feel eighteen again. And alive. And that was a gift for which she could never repay him.
If only circumstances were different. If only she were eighteen again. If only she were not … herself. A woman accused of murder. A social outcast.
James was a man with his life completely in order. A seat in Parliament, a thriving business, plenty of money, a perfectly run household, and a score of other properties. He didn’t need her making a mess of his affairs. And that’s exactly what she was … a mess.
And he … he was wonderful. She had to admit that much. He’d acted the perfect gentleman as soon as Louisa had arrived. The maid had tentatively stepped through the ballroom door. She was wearing a simple cotton gown and looked so nervous that Kate’s heart went out to her. She was obviously afraid her employer wouldn’t take kindly to her intruding upon their ball. But James had happily danced with Louisa. He’d treated her like a true lady, like a princess even. He’d bowed to her and offered his arm and in the end he had called in Locke to make it a foursome so they could dance a few country dances all together. It had been one of the most wonderful, magical nights Kate had ever experienced. Better even than the other official ball she’d attended, for that one hadn’t ended in a kiss from a handsome gentleman.
Oh, she knew she was being positively insane. Imagine how outraged the ton would be if they discovered the murderess Duchess of Markingham was hidden away in a Mayfair town house kissing Lord Perfect. They’d come burn her themselves. She shuddered. She should be mourning her husband not kissing a viscount. She knew that. Knew it well. But she just couldn’t follow the rules of a Society that was about to sentence her to death.
Oh, how would she ever explain all of this in her pamphlet? It would never sound right. Never come out the way she meant it to. And she had to question how much she even wanted to finish writing the thing. As soon as she was through, James would return her to the Tower. Wouldn’t he? Oh, he’d have to. It’s not as if she could stay with him indefinitely. That would be entirely improper. His words from earlier in the evening flashed through her mind and a rush of heat passed through her body. “We’re far past improper,” he’d said, just before he— She shuddered.
She crossed over to the small writing table in the corner of her room and stared down at the first words of her pamphlet that lay scribbled on the parchment. “The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.”
She sighed, tracing her finger along the quote. Seemed Milton knew exactly what he’d been talking about. The mind could make a hell, indeed. But tonight, tonight it had been a heaven.
Kate rang for Louisa to come and help her remove her gown. She expelled her breath, promising herself she’d stop her insane fantasies about James Bancroft. No good could come from being attracted to him. It was not as if a viscount could fall in love with a murderess. Even if a miracle happened and she was acquitted, there could be no future for them. His reputation would be tattered to bits by an association with her. And besides, marrying one nobleman had led to nothing but heartache and tragedy for her. She couldn’t afford to take a chance with another one. No, it would be best for both of them if Kate stopped having impossible dreams that couldn’t come true and concentrated instead on finishing her pamphlet. That was the bargain, was it not? Her pamphlet for an opportunity to enjoy herself. And with James she had enjoyed herself. A bit too much.
* * *
James slammed shut his bed chamber door behind him, the wood reverberating. He cursed savagely, resting his hands on his hips. Damn it. What in the hell had that kiss been about? Correction. Those kisses—multiple. Something about Kate’s beaut
y and niceness. Something about the dancing and the candlelight. No, that was no excuse. There was no excuse. He’d acted like a total cad. Fine. She was not an innocent. She wasn’t eighteen, and they hadn’t been at a come-out ball. She was a woman on trial for her life, living under his roof because he’d made a bargain with her. But it didn’t sit well with him that he’d taken advantage of her. Damn. Damn. Damn. He’d just have to make it up to her … somehow.
He tugged viciously at his cravat, unwinding the garment from his neck and flinging it into the corner of the room. He breathed heavily, letting the fabric sit there for a moment before he stalked over and yanked it up. What had he told her? Sometimes being perfect wasn’t a choice.
That was the bloody truth. Only he hadn’t been perfect tonight, had he? Far from it. Christ. Wasn’t this always the struggle he’d had? His perfect pristine exterior warring with the way he wanted to be? The perfectionistic side of him had earned him perfect marks in school, a perfect reputation, and the rebel in him made him purchase a printing press and publish scandalous pamphlets. It’s what caused him to fling his bloody cravat in the corner. And it’s what compelled him to go retrieve it.
He scrubbed his hands across his face and groaned. What the hell was Kate to think of him now? She was a widow, damn it. Albeit an unconventional one. But he bloody well knew better than to kiss a recent widow, not to mention someone who essentially was working for him, and on top of it all, just happened to be accused of murder. Bad. Bad. Form.
James yanked his shirt over his head with both hands. He closed his eyes. All right. He could admit it to himself. He was attracted to her. Insanely attracted to her. So attracted that he’d forgotten all about his self-imposed monklike celibacy and pulled her into his arms. He’d wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her, actually. He’d wanted to rip the flower from her hair and the bodice from her gown. He’d wanted to—
He clenched his jaw. Damn it. He was getting hard again just thinking about it. Thank God for Louisa. There was no telling how long that craziness with the kissing would have lasted if the maid hadn’t arrived.
James folded his shirt and placed it in the wardrobe. He wouldn’t call for his valet. He was too wound up tonight. He sat on the edge of the chair next to his bed and shucked his top boots. He stood up, unbuttoning his breeches, and pulled them off too.
He needed to sleep. A good night’s sleep always helped. If he were able to sleep tonight. Too many nights he’d lain awake thinking of the beauty who slept down the hall from him. That was it. He was going mad. He’d seen a pretty face before, even incomparably lovely faces. They hadn’t been enough to turn his head. Hell, Lily and Annie were beauties, but he had nothing more than brotherly feelings toward them both. What was it about Kate that made him toss out his gentlemanly code and forget every rule of conduct that had been burned into his brain since childhood? What was it about her that made him want to forget about his enforced celibacy and pull her into bed and make endless love to her all night long? He couldn’t possibly be more inappropriate. Kate might be a murderess, for God’s sake. She was the outcast of the ton, the entire town actually. Even if she were acquitted somehow, magically—which he highly doubted—it was not as if they could have a future together. Being with her would make him an outsider from his life, Society, everything he’d ever known. True, he’d made money by publishing scandal, but few people knew about that, and he bloody well didn’t want to be in the center of it himself.
No. He’d do well to remember why he’d met Kate Townsende in the first place. She was writing a pamphlet for him. That was all. She’d asked for his protection, and he’d asked for her story. It was a business transaction, nothing more. He bloody well wasn’t about to jeopardize his life and livelihood over it. It was true he was known for wanting to fix things, help people, and he was doing that by hiring Abernathy and the Bow Street runner. But it had to end there. Kate was merely an author whose story he wanted. He must remember that.
Even if it killed him.
CHAPTER 17
It was just past sunrise when Lord Colton’s magnificent coach arrived in the alley behind James’s town house. Kate slipped out the back door with a cloak over her head, her face covered. Despite the heavy coat, the winter wind whipped along the bits of skin she had exposed. She rubbed the tip of her icy nose with her gloved hand. The coachman standing next to the conveyance quickly helped her inside, and the door closed behind her with a solid thump.
“You made it,” came Lily Morgan’s cheerful voice as soon as Kate sat back against the seat cushions.
“We’re so glad to have you,” Annie Holloway added with a bright smile.
The curtains on the windows were quickly pulled. Kate glanced around. The three women were alone inside the coach. “Are we the only ones going?” Kate asked, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice at the prospect that James wouldn’t be there too.
“No. We’re just taking separate coaches in case anyone follows us out of town. Besides, it certainly would be cramped in here with six of us. The men will follow us in Medford’s coach.”
Kate smiled and nodded, suddenly feeling joyful again. She would be spending an entire day in the country on a farm … with James. It was silly, she knew, and she couldn’t explain why she suddenly had butterflies in her stomach, but the fact remained that they were there, winging around giddily and reminding her she didn’t know the last time she’d been so … happy.
“It’s going to be so cold,” Kate said, biting her lip.
“Nonsense,” Lily replied. “It shall be bracing.” But even as she said it, she handed Kate a wool blanket that Kate quickly spread across her lap.
“Absolutely,” Annie added, from beneath her own wool blanket. “We’ll make the best of it.”
Kate smiled at the sisters. “It’s nice of you to pretend … for my sake.”
The coach took off with a solid jolt, and Kate leaned back against the seat, a smile on her face. She’d never imagined she’d make it to the country again and, cold or no, she intended to enjoy herself.
“Now, while we’re on the way,” Annie began. “Tell us, we’re positively on tenterhooks to know … what is it like to live with Lord Medford?”
Kate blushed, thankful for the darkness in the coach on this early morning to hide the pink that must be on her cheeks. “Whatever do you mean?’
“We just cannot picture him living with a woman,” Lily replied. “It’s quite a phenomenon actually.”
“Yes.” Annie nodded. “How does he act? What does he do? I mean, I’m sure he’s a perfect gentleman, but—”
“Of course he is,” Kate responded, perhaps a bit too quickly. “And he’s been so kind by indulging my little whims.”
“Ooh, like what?” Lily leaned forward, bracing her arms on her lap.
Kate couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across her face. “He threw a ball for me the other evening.”
Annie’s jaw dropped. “A what?”
“A ball.” Kate giggled.
“With just the two of you?” Lily asked, bouncing back against the seat again, her eyes wide.
“Yes, well, the two of us and Louisa … and Locke.”
Lily’s pretty violet eyes grew even wider. “Who is Louisa? And Locke? The butler?”
Kate pulled the blanket closer to her face and tucked it under her chin. “Louisa is the maid. I promised her James would dance with her. You see, she’d never danced at a ball before and … Oh, the two of you must think I’m an awful ninny.”
“Nonsense. I think it sounds absolutely divine,” Annie said, tucking her blanket under her chin.
“I just cannot imagine Medford dancing with a maid and the butler. He’s usually so … proper,” Lily said.
“Oh, he didn’t think a thing of it. He’s not a snob at all,” Kate said.
“Oh no, not a snob, dear. I’d never think that. He’s just very accustomed to … following rules,” Lily replied.
“I still say
it’s divine.” Annie sighed.
“I agree.” Lily’s face wore a wide grin. “And just the sort of thing our Medford needs.” She winked at Kate.
Kate furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Lily replied. “Medford’s a bit … how shall we say…? Ordered? Orderly?”
Kate smiled shyly. “I have noticed that everything is in its place in that house, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yes, you’ve never seen such order,” Annie replied. “Though he hosted my debut ball there and I must say it was absolutely lovely. Perfect actually.” She laughed.
“It was,” Lily agreed, nodding.
“The ball he hosted for me was lovely too,” Kate said with a dreamy look surely in her eye, but she wasn’t so much remembering the ball as the kiss afterward.
“Did Medford dance with Louisa?” Lily asked.
“Absolutely,” Kate replied.
“I knew it,” Annie said. “Medford’s a capital fellow. I mean, he owns a printing press for goodness’ sake. He’s not about to say no to dancing with a housemaid.”
Kate giggled at that. “He didn’t. And here I thought it was my plain roots that made me think it was a good idea.”
“It’s an excellent idea,” Lily replied. “Absolutely excellent.”
The three women spent the morning talking, laughing, and telling stories. By the time they arrived at their destination more than an hour later, Kate was feeling as if they were old friends. A pang of loneliness beat in her chest. But they weren’t old friends, and they wouldn’t be. She might spend a few pleasant hours with these nice ladies but they would be separated soon by prison and—she gulped—possibly worse. And even if she were not found guilty, it was not as if Lady Lily and Lady Annie would remain friends with her. A former duchess with a blackened reputation including murder charges and a thwarted divorce? Why, just being seen with her could ruin them. No wonder they’d taken the extra precaution of bringing two coaches to the countryside.
Secret Brides [3] Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage Page 10
