Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “I rather like Chaucer’s works.” Speaking over her shoulder, Katrina glided to a shorter shelf adjacent to the desk. “We have them all, and The Canterbury Tales might be shared with your sisters too.”

  In the distance, carriage wheels crunched upon gravel.

  A visitor?

  Major Domont or one of the Needhams returning home?

  Katrina didn’t even glance toward the window.

  She’s given up on Domont.

  “Have you heard from your major?” Nic touched her shoulder. Far too bold and forward, but though she valiantly hid her doldrums behind bright smiles, ennui lingered in her troubled gaze.

  Absorbed in the lace edging her gown’s sleeve, Katrina gave one short shake of her head, the curls framing her face bobbing merrily. The sole part of her remotely cheery. Even her gown, a demure fawn edged in Spanish brown braiding and creamy lace, bespoke her low spirits.

  “No, but Papa’s sent a man to Stratford-Upon-Avon.” Her lower lip clenched between her teeth, her sable lashes swept downward, concealing her desolate blue eyes and fanning her porcelain cheeks. She released an unsteady sigh. “We’ve no word from Peters, Papa’s man, yet.”

  So vulnerable, yet so brave. So in need of comforting.

  True, there were worse things than being thrown over, but a woman in love couldn’t see beyond the pain rending her cracked heart and the mortification slashing her wounded soul.

  “My sympathies.” Condolences? What did one say in a situation like this?

  Certainly not what he truly thought. “You’re well rid of the inconsiderate bilge rat.” Or “Don’t waste your tears on the unmitigated arse.” Or even, “Allow me the pleasure of cobbing the blackguard for his villainy.”

  “Thank you, I think.” Katrina shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  Why didn’t she rail or cry? Protest the injustice? Damn Domont’s soul to Davy Jones’s locker? Because she wasn’t vindictive or vengeful. Emotion burgeoned behind his ribs, and in that instant, Nic would have willingly forsaken sailing to claim her as his.

  “Perhaps he’s been ill, Katrina, or—”

  She held up her hand, palm facing Nic, and raised tear-glassy eyes to his, her smile tremulous and pain-riddled. “Trust me. I’ve thought of every possible scenario, and only a turnip-brain refuses to see what’s clearly before them.”

  Again the urge to sweep her into his arms and soothe her worries overcame him.

  And if they were caught in an embrace, then what? Ruination, dishonor, and not a marooned sailor’s chance of marrying Domont if the jackanape came ’round in the end. She’d be forced to marry Nic.

  Would that be so awful?

  She brushed her fingertips across one brow and sighed softly. “You’ll forgive me for not wishing to speak on it.”

  “Of course.” Damn Domont’s eyes. Keelhauling was too good for him. So was running the gauntlet, the scamping cur.

  Putting her bent forefinger to her eye’s corner, Katrina averted her head, but not before she knuckled a tear away.

  Damn the risk.

  Nic gently drew her into his arms, one hand pressed to her slender waist and the other to her head resting against his chest. “I’m willing to bet you’ve been stoic and practical the past two days, and haven’t indulged in a good cry.”

  “I’m not given to waterworks,” she mumbled into his shirtfront. “Besides, my face becomes splotchy, and my nose reddens horridly. I resemble a squalling newborn, which, I assure you, is frightful on an adult.”

  Nonetheless, her throaty response revealed the tears clogging her throat.

  He tipped her chin and winked. “A beautiful, squalling newborn, I’d wager.”

  Pleasure lit her eyes, and a flush crept over her cheeks, pinkening them.

  So easily pleased. Didn’t Domont compliment her?

  “If you are this kind to your sisters, they’ll come to worship you in no time.” Her focus dropped to his mouth and remained there.

  Exactly what he’d been contemplating, had been yearning to do, these past five days.

  Slowly, to ease any alarm and give Katrina time to stop him, Nic bent his neck, edging his mouth nearer and nearer.

  She parted her lips, her breath sweet and faintly smelling of tea and lemon.

  He touched his mouth to hers, tentative, testing. Even that light, feathery touch thrilled to his soles. An electrical jolt seared his chest, spiraling outward to his limbs. Nic tightened his embrace and traced his tongue across her lips, nudging the soft pillows apart.

  A delicate gasp escaped her, but she didn’t yank away. Rather, she stood on her toes and crept her hands up his arms to clutch his shoulders.

  An unexpected, but oh so welcome and cherished, gift.

  Groaning, he availed himself of her delicious mouth, plunging his tongue into its honeyed recesses. God, she tasted sweet. And innocent.

  Bloody dangerous. Stupid!

  Her breathing raspy and irregular, she urged him nearer, her kisses that of a famished woman.

  “Is Miss Katrina in her bedchamber?” Needham’s voice cut through the passion fogging Nic’s brain, and he tenderly clasped Katrina’s hands, resting his forehead against hers.

  “We must not be discovered like this. You’d be compromised.”

  She kissed his jaw then his chin.

  “Let go, Kitty.” Soundly castigating himself, Nic pried her fingers loose. Anyone could have come upon them.

  Unless a promiscuous wanton, a woman in love with another man didn’t kiss the way she had. Katrina most definitely wasn’t the former. Was she the latter? How to find out?

  “No, sir, I believe she’s in the library with his grace,” Osborne replied.

  Katrina sprang away from him. Shaking her head, she slapped her palm across her mouth, her eyes huge and troubled. After sending a frantic gaze to the cracked door, she pointed to the desk, whispering, “Your duchess prospectus.”

  “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 co
ntained 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 informed 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 t
he 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.”