Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  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?”

  “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 talk. 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.” H
e 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.