It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  I can provide as many children as desired…

  Jasper’s eyes slid closed as he thought of the generous curve of her breast weighted in his hand; the peak of that mound of flesh…and not for the first time, he wondered as to the shade of that precious peak. He’d wager it was the faintest pink, like—

  “By all the saints in heaven, you’re smitten with the lady.”

  Jasper jerked to the moment. He felt a dull flush of heat creeping up his neck, and he yanked at his hastily tied cravat. By God, he was the Duke of Bainbridge. He did not turn red with embarrassment, and certainly not over a young lady in her first, going on second, Season.

  “I am not smitten. I’m…” he searched for words. “Merely driven out of a sense of pity for her circumstances.” Those words rang like a lie in his mind and in his heart.

  “Pity?” Guilford pressed. He folded his arms across his chest. “Well, then, let us hear it? What would drive the miserable, recluse, all powerful Duke of Bainbridge to forsake his vow to remain unwed out of…” he arched a brow, “What did you say? Pity?”

  “There’s the matter of Ekstrom.”

  Guilford blinked. “You would marry her because of Bertrand Ekstrom?” Thick incredulity underlined his question.

  The truth of it was, standing alongside the frozen river, with Katherine looking up at him with wide, brown eyes, Bertrand Ekstrom had been the absolute furthest thing from his mind. Now, the thought of her with the loathsome, foul, letch unleashed a primitive beast from deep inside him that wanted to tear from Guilford’s office and hunt down Ekstrom.

  “It was mutually beneficial for the both of us.” Jasper settled for a safe answer.

  His friend swirled the remaining amber contents of his glass. “How very practical of the both of you.”

  With her directness and bold-spirit, Katherine Adamson seemed a good deal more practical than any other ladies he’d encountered in the past, including Lydia. His wife had dedicated her attention to her wardrobe and the running of his household staff. Furthermore, he could not imagine docile, gentle-spirited Lydia thwarting her parents’ marital arrangements for her by boldly proposing to a gentleman.

  Guilford set his glass down hard on the table with a loud thunk. “I would be remiss if I failed to inform you that Lady Katherine Adamson’s intentions in wedding you are not strictly practical. A young lady would not brave your stern, miserable countenance if there were not feelings on her part.”

  Those words sunk into Jasper’s brain. He blinked, and then gave his head a hard shake. “Bah, you’re mad. Katherine is practical. She merely proposed a marriage of convenience.”

  His friend snorted. “Ballocks. I wager you are in for a good deal of trouble if you enter into this union believing that.”

  Jasper’s jaw hardened. He’d not bother with Guilford’s foolish suppositions. With the exception of two kisses, two passionate kisses that had set his body on fire with a potent lust, and a desire to lay her down…

  He shook his head so hard a strand of hair fell across his eye. Jasper brushed it back angrily. “I don’t care to discuss the matter anymore.”

  Guilford’s grin widened. “May I point out that you sought out my opinion?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Jasper said, harshly.

  “You didn’t?”

  “I didn’t,” Jasper confirmed.

  “Then what—?”

  “I merely came by to see if you’ll be a witness to my nuptials.” There would be no banns read in three successive Sundays. Jasper’s next visit would be with the lady’s guardian to put his formal offer to, and then they’d wed. He had little desire to be exposed to the tons scrutiny. They’d wed, retreat to Kent, and carry on their own, separate, well-ordered lives.

  Guilford’s eyes moved over his face, and then a long beleaguered sigh escaped him. “I do not care for that look in your eyes. As your friend, I need to say that this is a horrendous idea. You don’t allow a lady to offer marriage and wed her on a matter of convenience. Yes, a dreadful idea. Horrible. Bloody awful. All around madness.”

  Jasper gritted his teeth hard enough that they clicked together noisily. “Will you serve as a witness?”

  “Of course, I will.” Guilford strode over, and slammed his hand against Jasper’s back. “Congratulations, friend. And good luck.”

  As Jasper took his leave he suspected he was going to need a good deal more than luck.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Yes the realities of life so cold,

  So cowardly, so ready to betray,

  So stinted in the measure of their grace

  As we pronounce them, doing them much wrong,

  Have been to me more bountiful than hope,

  Less timid than desire—but that is past…

  Katherine’s gaze remained fixed on the words before her. She shifted the heavy leather volume given her by Jasper; the words dark, the message bleak.

  And she’d always before preferred the poems that recognized the flaws in love and the world around one, because she knew the flaws of love and the world around her.

  So why was she ruminating over six lines, despairing over their bleakness? What great shift had occurred in the universe that she instead wanted to escape into the gentle joy and optimism to be found in Byron’s sonnets?

  “You have been staring at that same page for nearly an hour,” Anne called from the seat she occupied at the pianoforte.

  Katherine started, and the book slipped from her fingers onto her lap. “Surely it’s not been an hour.” She snapped it closed with a decided click.

  Anne continued to play the haunting strains of Dibdin’s famous “Tom Bowling”. She waggled her brows. “Oh, it most certainly has been. Why, I’ve played pieces by Handel and Corelli and Gluck—”

  Katherine set her book down beside her on the sofa. “Your point is quite clear, Anne.”

  Anne grinned and continued to play flawlessly. Her quick fingers moved expertly over the keys.

  Katherine thought of the rather pathetic list she’d given to Jasper and winced. There’d been nary a ladylike quality to recommend her as a wife. Anne could fill several sheets of parchment with all her ladylike attributes. It had never mattered to Katherine the vast differences in them—until now. Now, she wished she didn’t possess the tight brown ringlets and a remarkable lack of skills on the pianoforte, and embroidering, and watercolors, and…

  “You’ve gone all serious again.”

  Katherine trailed the tip of her finger over the bruised leather spine of Wordsworth’s volume. Several tumbles into the thick blanket of snow when she’d last met Jasper had resulted in a hopelessly ruined leather cover. “Have I?” she murmured, distractedly. It had been three days since they’d last met.

  Three days since she’d given him that silly list.

  Three days since he’d accepted her offer of marriage.

  And since then, she’d not heard a word from him. Not a letter. Not a visit.

  Katherine jumped to her feet and began to pace.

  She’d surely shocked him with her request at Hyde Park. Perhaps he’d merely come to his senses and merely intended to carry on as though that particular exchange had never occurred. Katherine would then have to go on to marry that horrid Mr. Ekstrom. Her stomach tightened into pained, twisted knots, and she wanted to blame them upon that horrid Mr. Ekstrom, but knew it was the thought of Jasper altering his decision that caused those pained, twisted knots.

  “You seem rather upset.”

  Katherine glanced over at her sister. “I’m not upset.” Only filled with panic at the prospect of wedding Mr. Ekstrom.

  “It is that Mr. Ekstrom, isn’t it?” Anne stopped playing. She shoved back the bench at her pianoforte and it scraped along the wood floor. “We merely have to find that pendant…”

  “The pendant will do nothing, Anne. It is a foolish, childlike, wishful dream.”

  Anne’s brow wrinkled. “But Aldora and Michael’s…”

  “Aldora and Mich
ael’s marriage had nothing to do with that silly trinket,” her cry filled the cavernous space of the parlor. Her throat worked reflexively. Oh, how she envied Anne her innocence. Anne believed in dreams and wishes and magical pendants given to hopeful ladies by greedy gypsies.

  A flash of hurt filled Anne’s pale blue eyes. She tipped her chin up a notch. “I know what you believe of me, Katherine. You and Aldora. You believe I’m fanciful and that I don’t possess a brain in my head.”

  Katherine shook her head, besieged by sudden guilt. “Never, Anne.” She’d seen her as the sister in need of protection from the woes thrust upon their family by a wastrel father, but never an empty-headed fool.

  Her sister continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “You both believed I wasn’t aware of our financial circumstances. You believed I remained immune to the direness of our situation.”

  Shock slammed into Katherine, but Anne went on. “I am not silly or—”

  “I don’t believe you’re silly—”

  “Empty-headed,” Anne said, her eyes blazed with more emotion than Katherine ever remembered in her gentle eyes. “I am, I might be, fanciful. And I might dream of love, and happily ever afters, but that does not make me silly.” She angled her head. “Well, it might seem silly but I believe it is more hopeful. I’m hopeful that there are men who are good and don’t squander their family’s wealth, and leave them destitute, and force them to sell off all their possessions and release all their servants.”

  Katherine searched her sister’s face, and the guilt inside spiraled and grew as she confronted the reality; she’d not protected Anne from their family’s dire situation, no more than Aldora had protected Katherine. They’d all been touched by their father’s selfishness.

  Suddenly, she wished she had that heart pendant, wished she could turn it over to her sister who believed in love, and…Katherine blinked…

  “What is it?” Anne asked.

  …and realized she believed in love, too. She did not love Jasper Waincourt, 8th Duke of Bainbridge. She could not. She would not. Not when such a gentleman would never be able to love her in return.

  “Katherine?” Anne asked again.

  No. She appreciated his forthrightness, his regard for poetry, and his passionate embrace. There was nothing more.

  There couldn’t be.

  “I’m so sorry, Anne.” For not protecting you, for not sharing with you my fears, for losing the heart pendant worn by Aldora and her friends.

  Anne captured her hands, and gave them a gentle squeeze. “There is no reason to be sorry. If you did want to perhaps join me again at the Frost Fair and search for—”

  Katherine’s laugh cut into her sister’s words.

  “What?” Anne said, defensively. “We simply will not find the heart pendant unless we search for it.”

  They would not find it, because Katherine had already lost it. What was worse was that Katherine was too much a coward to admit as much to Anne.

  “Don’t you dream of love, Katherine?”

  “I’m too practical to dream of love, Anne,” she said softly. She had. At one time. Back when she’d been a silly, naïve girl of fifteen years. Now, as a woman of nearly twenty years, a woman had nary a suitor, or any offers for her hand, and who’d had to convince the Duke of Bainbridge to wed her, well, the dream of love didn’t exist for ladies such as her.

  “Well, that is very sad, then.”

  Katherine opened her mouth to respond when a high-pitched cry interrupted her response.

  The door flew open.

  Katherine and Anne’s gaze swung as one toward the entrance of the room.

  Mother stood at the center, her hand aloft, a scrap of thick velum in her hand. “It is not to be countenanced,” she cried.

  Katherine and Anne exchanged looks. Mother’s theatrics were often best reserved for the stage, but when she was in such a state, it was wise to avoid her.

  She stormed into the room. Her deep burgundy satin skirts slapped noisily against her legs. She stopped in front of them, and brandished the letter in her hand.

  “A letter,” she cried. “The…the…gall of the man. He dares to notify me in such a manner.”

  “Mother,” Katherine began.

  Her mother silenced her with a single, black glare. “Not a word, Katherine. This is entirely your fault. It matters not that he’s a duke. He’s a shameful, scandalous man. The Mad Duke,” she muttered.

  Katherine’s heart sped up. He’d spoken to her guardian. He must have. There was no other accounting for Mother’s fury.

  Mother waved the paper about. “He’s not been seen by Society in years, and all those hideous rumors about him murdering his wife.” She shuddered.

  Katherine stiffened. Fury lanced through her body. How dare her mother? Jasper was no more capable of murder than Katherine was capable of sprouting wings and taking flight. “That is unfair, Mother. He did not murder his wife.”

  “Do you even know what happened to her?” her mother shot back.

  Katherine rocked back on her heels…because, no, she didn’t. She did however, know with great certainty that whatever had happened to Jasper’s wife had been no fault of his. She was sure of it. “I do not. But neither does the ton.”

  “You defend him!” Mother rang her hands together, crumpling the parchment in her fingers. “Oh, why, why, why did you go off to that fair? If you hadn’t then he wouldn’t have offered for you, and your uncle wouldn’t have said yes.”

  Anne gasped. Her eyes widened, and she looked to Katherine. There was a hint of shocked hurt there. Katherine’s gaze slid away. As twin sisters they’d shared nearly everything. In this, Katherine had not deigned to mention her meetings with Jasper. It had just seemed too…too…intimate.

  “The fiend won’t even allow for the banns to properly wed. He insists on a wedding posthaste. Why, he won’t even allow time for your sister and her husband to be summoned.” She threw her hands into the air.

  “Oh,” Katherine said, flummoxed. She’d not given any thoughts to the details surrounding their nuptials. She’d imagined at least a private, intimate gathering with her family. The faintest little pang pierced her heart. What had she expected? Theirs was a match of convenience, nothing more. Yet…the tiniest, most infinitesimal smidgeon of her heart had dreamed of something very different than a hasty wedding without even her siblings present.

  Mother sank down into the nearest sofa. Her skirts fluttered about her feet. She buried her head into her hands and shook it back and forth. “Now Anne’s Season will be hopelessly ruined.” Katherine balled her hands into tight little fists at her side. Yes, because that had always been Mother’s primary concern; Anne securing the most advantageous match.

  As if she detected the subtle hurt, Anne reached over, and slipped her fingers into Katherine’s. She gave them a slight squeeze, and a smile of support for Katherine.

  “Oh, I’m certain the connection to any duke will not hurt our place amongst the haute ton, Mother,” Anne said. She released Katherine’s hand and tugged free the paper in their mother’s hands. She skimmed the sheet. Her eyes widened. “What?” Katherine reached for it, but Anne shifted it away from her grasp, and continued to read.

  Mother ignored Anne. “Your uncle considered nothing more than the duke’s title. I’m certain of it.”

  “I’d venture he also considered the very, very generous terms of the contract,” Anne muttered.

  Katherine grabbed for the parchment, her heart thudding hard in her breast. This time, Anne turned it over.

  Katherine began to read, and promptly choked.

  He’d settled £1200 upon her annually as pin money? By all the saints in heaven.

  “That is a small fortune,” Anne murmured, eyes wide and unblinking.

  She was to have a country cottage in Kent.

  Anne scratched at her brow. “All money brought by your dowry is to revert over to you if anything should happen to him.” She shook her head. “I dare say this is very g
enerous, Mother.”

  Generous? Katherine’s throat worked reflexively. Generous? Through his magnanimous gesture, Jasper had ensured she’d never be dependent upon him as Mother had been dependent on their wastrel father.

  “I do not care if the duke gave her the Queen’s Crown,” Mother cried. “The man killed his wife. Surely that matters to one of you?”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Three pairs of eyes swiveled to the entrance of the room.

  Katherine’s stomach lurched. Oh, goodness. Her toes curled inside her ivory satin slippers.

  The butler cleared his throat, his small blue eyes wide in his pale face. “Er, the Duke of Bainbridge to see Lady Katherine.”

  Jasper’s imposing figure filled the doorway. An enormous specimen of a man, the smallish butler seemed a mere flicker in his shadow. Jasper glanced at her momentarily; his expression the hard, inscrutable one she’d come to expect.

  Humiliation over her mother’s outburst melded with pain for the ugly insults Mother and all of Society leveled at this generous, if cold, gentleman. Society didn’t know him to be a man who’d risked death to rescue her from the frozen depths of the Thames. They didn’t know the man who appreciated the tortured words of Wordsworth. And they most certainly didn’t know he’d sacrificed himself to wed plain, bluestocking Katherine Adamson, saving her from Mr. Ekstrom.

  His gaze slid away from Katherine, and then he pinned Mother to the spot with his flinty, emerald green eyes.

  She paled and then scrambled to her feet. Her eyes darted nervously about the room. For the first time in Katherine’s lifetime she found her mother an unsettled, stammering, bundle of awkwardness. “Uh, w-welcome, Y-Your Grace. Tea?” she squeaked.

  Jasper arched a midnight black brow.

  “Uh, th-that is,” Mother crushed the fabric of her skirts in her hand. “That is t-to say…”

  “I believe my mother is offering you tea, Your Grace,” Anne said. She dropped an elegant curtsy and smiled. God love Anne; she epitomized ladylike elegance and grace.