The time he’d come to know Katherine, however, should have taught him Katherine wasn’t one to do the expected.
She remained silent.
They reached the middle of the drive and Katherine placed her fingertips upon his arm.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He’d not pulled away. That should mean something. Of course, it could also very well mean nothing, which was entirely more likely, but still, Katherine had placed her hand on Jasper’s arm and though he’d stiffened, he’d not shaken free of her touch.
“Your Grace, will this do?”
The butler Wrinkleton pulled her from her silly musings.
Katherine gave her head a clearing shake, and returned her attention to the efforts in the hall. She followed the direction of the butler’s slightly bent finger up toward the collection of ivy woven along the tops of the floral embroideries. Katherine smiled. “I would say so, Wrinkleton, and you?”
He angled his head and studied them a moment, and then nodded slowly.
Katherine reached for an apple and carefully secured it to the evergreen. And she wanted to consider which should be added next to the bough—the paper flowers she’d made last evening or the tiny child’s doll, but could not for all the Wordsworth sonnets, roast chicken, and croquettes of sweetbread, combined, cease thinking of her husband.
She’d entered into their marriage under the illusion that it was a matter of convenience for the both of them; she would escape Mother’s plans to wed her off to horrid Mr. Ekstrom, and Jasper would find in her his duchess and she’d do…she furrowed her brow, whatever it was that duchesses did.
Katherine supposed she should have considered that part beyond the whole heir and a spare bit. Because when he’d informed her that he had no intentions of consummating their union, well then she would have had some idea of what that meant for her future.
She picked up the small baby doll and turned it over in her hands. A pang jabbed at her heart like a tiny needle prick being touched to the hopeless organ. As it was, all she now knew was that it was not for her future. No sweet-faced ringlet-less daughters or troublesome little boys.
With a sigh, Katherine set aside the child’s toy and reached for the paper rose. She secured it to the evergreen.
But now she knew he enjoyed turtle soup, and detested orange pudding but loved Shrewsbury cakes…and he hadn’t withdrawn his hand. He’d held hers back, which had only forced Katherine to confront the truth.
She’d not merely wed Jasper Waincourt, the 8th Duke of Bainbridge as a matter of convenience.
She’d wed him because somewhere between the Frost Fair, the Wordsworth volume, and the talk of dinners and desserts, she’d come to care for him. With his gruff directness and the unexpected kindnesses he’d shown her at every score, his happiness had come to mean a very good deal to her. Her eyes closed a moment as she thought of the suffering she’d seen in his usually hard eyes, and she realized, his happiness had come to mean more to her than her own.
Katherine would not allow herself to consider the whys of that. Her mind screeched at the edge of anything more than that.
“Your Grace?”
She looked up again from her work, as Wrinkleton gestured to the boughs of evergreen along the staircase rail.
“It looks splendid,” she assured them.
The footman hanging the evergreen paused to smile at her, and then moved on to hang the next.
Katherine fixed another smallish red apple to the thick green branch and forced herself to confront the truth of her situation. She cared for a gentleman whose heart had been buried four years ago upon the death of his true wife. It mattered not that he’d gripped her fingers in his, because the moment they’d arrived at the castle, he’d stormed off as though she’d bore the plague, and she’d not seen him in the days since.
Which only indicated their intertwined hands had been altogether insignificant, merely an attempt to warm his frozen fingers, surely.
A small sigh escaped her, and she lifted the kissing bough. She turned and handed it off to Wrinkleton who waited just at her shoulder.
He handled it with a manner of reverence reserved for his employer’s family jewels, turning it cautiously over to another footman who rushed over.
“If you could just place it there,” she murmured, gesturing to the corridor that spilled from the foyer to the main living quarters.
As the young servant climbed the tall ladder to position the arrangement in its respective place, Katherine studied it with her head tilted.
The only kissing to be done under the kissing bough would be servants stealing secret moments; there’d be no kisses for the lady of the manor.
She shoved aside her melancholy, and reached for a cluster of hollies.
A loud knock sounded on the front door, and the red berries slipped from her fingers onto the green bough she’d moved onto.
Katherine furrowed her brow and looked to the front entrance, and then over to Wrinkleton.
The old butler scratched his thinning white hair, head cocked at an odd angle, clearly accustomed to a shocking lack of visitors through the years.
The pounding ceased so that Katherine suspected she might have imagined it, but then that could not account for Wrinkleton hearing the very same…
Another knock.
That sprung Wrinkleton from his shock, and the butler hurried with a step better suited to a man many years his junior. He pulled the door open. The tall, commanding figure in the entranceway froze, hand mid-knock. The gentleman shifted the bundle in his arms.
Katherine stared at the entranceway. Her eyes widened, her heart suspended in a breath at the precious trim frame in the doorway.
She cried out and sprinted across the stone floor. “Aldora!” Her sister just made her way into the foyer when Katherine flung her arms around her sister.
Aldora wrapped her arms around Katherine, and because she was so very lonely, and in need of a lovingly familiar face, she promptly burst into tears. “Wh-what are you d-doing here?” She blubbered like a babe who’d taken its first fall.
Aldora leaned away from her. Through the thick frames of her spectacles, she peered at Katherine, a dark frown on her lips. “How could we not come? We arrived in London only to discover you wed and were whisked off for the holiday?” She pursed her lips, and glanced around with guarded caution in her eyes.
Katherine stepped away from her sister’s comforting embrace, and turned to greet her brother-in-law, Michael.
He stood, with a resolute set to his jaw, and a hard glint in his eyes. He perused the room, and then focused on Katherine. “Congratulations are in order. I’d like to meet your husband,” the clipped words more a command than a congratulations.
Katherine shivered, imagining the steely edge in her brother-in-laws words would drive most men to terror.
“Papa, snow, more snow. I see Papa. I see more.”
Then the veneer of ice melted as Michael’s attention shifted to his and Aldora’s just two-year-old daughter.
He dropped a kiss atop her crown of brown curls. “It’s too cold, Lizzie. We’ll rest, and eat, and then I’m sure your Aunt Katherine would dearly love to play with you.”
Katherine’s heart flipped within her breast as a yearning unfolded in her belly with a life-like force as Lizzie looked to her with impossibly wide brown eyes.
A big smile filled the babe’s chubby, dimpled cheeks, and Katherine’s throat worked up and down.
As if of their own volition, her arms opened. Lizzie struggled against her father’s embrace a moment, until Michael turned her over into Katherine’s arms.
Katherine held her cradled to her heart. She pressed her cheek along the top of Lizzie’s brown curls, and inhaled the unmistakable scent of the child’s innocence. “Oh, sweet Lizzie, how I’ve missed you. Have you come to visit me for Christmas?”
Lizzie nodded against her. “Papa say cakes and tarts.”
Katherine leaned back and nodded solemnly. “Oh,
absolutely, cakes and tarts for the Christmas feast. There could be no more perfect treat.”
Lizzie’s grin widened.
From over the top of girl’s head, Katherine noted Wrinkleton. The servant shifted back and forth, with tentative glances stolen about the wide-foyer, as though he feared the castle were on the cusp of being stormed.
“Wrinkleton, will you inform the housekeeper to have the finest guest chambers prepared. My family will be spending Christmas with us.”
Jasper stared down at the neat columns upon the opened ledger. He inked the far right column, and tossed his pen down onto the otherwise immaculate surface of his desk.
Embers from the blazing fire within the hearth cracked and popped in the quiet. Jasper leaned back in the folds of his winged back chair, and stared into the dancing reddish-orange flames.
He was a bloody coward.
Since the moment he and Katherine had returned from their outing in the snow, and she’d slipped her small, fragile hand into his larger one, she’d unleashed an inexplicable panic within him. Jasper had fled her side that day, and avoided his wife.
He took his meals within the confines of his own rooms, he tended to the affairs of his estate, and he tried with a desperateness to put thoughts of Katherine and her delicate hands and winsome smile from his mind.
Jasper swiped the back of his hand over his face. To no avail.
In the privacy of his own thoughts, he could at least be honest with himself—he’d come to care for Katherine.
He who’d resolved to never again care for another, and open himself to the pain and suffering that inevitably came from caring too deeply.
Somewhere along the way, since their fateful meeting at the Frost Fair, Katherine’s warmth had slipped inside his cold and empty being, and gradually spread throughout him. She’d taught him how to once again smile, and tease, and be teased, and it terrified the bloody hell out of him.
Jasper shoved back his seat, and he stood. Clasping his hands behind his back, he wandered over to the edge of the hearth and stared contemplatively down into the roaring blaze.
He could not account for the manner of madness that had allowed him to accept the offer she’d proposed—an offer of marriage, a marriage of convenience. At the time he’d thought himself driven by an almost sense of pity, an altruism to help the forlorn young woman avoid a match with that bastard Bertrand Ekstrom. He would give Katherine his name, his protection, and that would be the extent of their union.
He’d not let himself imagine sharing the same home as man and wife, he’d not thought of the one wall separating his bed from hers, or the unholy desire to tear down the door and at last lay claim to her heart, body, and soul.
So now he cravenly stood, closeted away from the lure of Katherine’s charm.
A pounding echoed around his mind.
Jasper blinked, and with a frown glanced around his office.
No, no that was not in his mind.
Then it stopped, and his attentions returned to the warm fire.
The pounding resumed.
Followed by a muffled cry that carried through the stone walls of the castle. Katherine! Jasper’s heart stopped.
With a speed born of terror, Jasper sprinted across the room. He pulled the old door open hard enough to nearly tear it from its hinges. He raced down the long hall, toward the foyer toward his wife’s sharp cry. Jasper didn’t pause to consider what manner of harm could have befallen her. What…
Jasper staggered to a halt, and the air left him as though Gentleman Jackson had dealt a swift punch to his solar plexus.
He stood, and with a horrified fascination stared at Katherine cradling a child close to her heart.
Jasper’s eyes slid closed as the terror of his past, of a breathless, lifeless babe merged with a dream of this pink-cheeked, grinning babe held against her breast.
For a brief, infinitesimal moment Jasper allowed himself to cling to that wispy dream for more with Katherine. He clung to the image of Katherine heavy with their child, and a smile on her cheeks as they discussed names for a precious girl who would have Katherine’s shining brown eyes.
A crimson stain splashed over the alluring image, and swallowed Katherine. A hideous grimace contorted the generous smile, and Jasper’s body jerked.
His eyes flew open, and he stared at the strangers in his foyer.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jasper barked.
Wrinkleton and several footmen scurried off, as the unfamiliar young woman and tall gentleman looked to him with like disapproving expressions.
“Jasper,” Katherine greeted with a smile. She turned the babe over to the tall, glowering gentleman, and hurried over to Jasper’s side. “I have the most wonderful news.” She gestured to the small trio. “My sister Aldora, has come to spend the holiday.”
A muscle ticked at the corner of his mouth.
The bespectacled Aldora smiled and dipped a curtsy. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“And this is her husband, Lord Michael Knightly, and their lovely daughter Lizzie,” Katherine went on. “They will stay through—”
“No.”
Katherine blinked. She scratched at her forehead. “Through Epiphany,” she went on. “I’ve instructed Mrs. Marshall to have the finest chambers readied, and—”
He cleared his throat. “May I speak to you, Katherine? In private.” He could not have this cold castle filled with people and merriment. He’d been alone too long. Katherine’s presence here alone terrified him.
Katherine touched her fingers to his sleeve her soulful brown eyes beseeched him. Ah God, I cannot deny you anything.
He turned to Knightly and held out his hand.
The other man eyed him a moment. He shifted the baby in his arms and then with his free hand, accepted the other man’s offering. “Bainbridge.”
Jasper clenched and unclenched his jaw, wanting nothing more than to toss Katherine’s family from the castle. He didn’t need the tableau of the bucolic family they represented.
Only…
Katherine’s smile glowed brighter than a blue moon in a summers night, and damn if his chest didn’t tighten in the oddest way for it. She clapped her hands together. “This is just splendid,” she said, her eyes meeting Jasper’s.
Mrs. Marshall, the Housekeeper appeared. The older, plump woman with grey hair and wrinkled cheeks curtsied. “Your Grace, rooms have been readied for your guests. Their trunks have been brought to their chambers. If I may show them above stairs?”
Katherine removed her hand from Jasper’s arm and his skin immediately cooled from the loss of her touch. She rushed over to her sister, Aldora, and hugged her arm. “Mrs. Marshall shall have the servants ready a steaming bath for you, and you can rest. I’ll have a dinner prepared, and—”
Aldora laughed. “Thank you, Kat. It is ever so good to see you.”
Katherine bussed her on the cheek.
Mrs. Marshall led the trio abovestairs. They’d reached the top of the landing when the brown-haired angel peeked out from behind her father’s shoulder and smiled at Jasper.
Jasper recoiled as though he’d been gutted with the edge of a dull blade. His vision turned to black, and his breath came fast. He’d not allowed himself to think of any child since the death of his son. Closeted away as he’d been at Castle Blackwood, he’d not confronted the reality of smiling, innocent babes with full, dimpled cheeks, and glimmering wide-eyes. And he’d not allowed himself to imagine his son beyond that blue, lifeless creature he’d held as he’d drawn his last, pained breath.
Until now.
His son would have been four.
Oh, God. The echo of a child’s laughter ricocheted around his mind. He gripped the fabric of his jacket to keep from clamping his hands over his ears and drowning out the torturous sound.
Now he saw that lifeless babe as a boy of four years, atop a pony, waving at a proud Jasper who stood off to the side, coaching his son, guiding him.
&nb
sp; He nearly doubled over from the pain of his imagining.
He dimly registered Katherine’s long fingers closing about his hand. “Jasper?”
Jasper jerked. One wrong move would shatter him into a million shards of nothingness.
He counted to ten. Once his breathing resumed his normal cadence, Jasper pulled back. He swiped his palms along the front of his jacket.
“Jasper…?”
“In my office, madam,” Jasper bit out.
He spun on his heel, and stormed toward the corridor, when it registered that his wife remained rooted to her spot in the foyer. With a growl, Jasper looked to his wife.
Katherine seemed unaware of the very thin thread of control he clung to. She stood, hands planted upon her sweetly curved hips. “I’ll not be ordered about like a child, Jasper. I am not ‘madam’. My name is Katherine. If you wish to speak to me, then…” Her words ended on a squeak and she staggered back a step as he strode back toward her.
His rage deepened. “Do you believe I’d hurt you?” he asked, his tone harsh. He might be a miserable, foul-mouthed, uncouth bastard, but surely she knew he’d sooner chop off his own arm than allow harm to befall her?
She shook her head once.
He leaned down so close their breaths mingled as one. “Are you afraid of me?”
Those familiar lines appeared in her brow. “Afraid?” she repeated. Her lips twitched. “Of you?”
“You took a step backwards.”
“Because you startled me.”
Some of the tightness in his chest eased at her plainspoken admission. He forced himself to take another breath. “Will you follow me to my office, Katherine?”
She nodded, and slipped her arm through his.
He made to pull away, but she placed her other hand upon the one looped under his arm, and locked him into place.
As he guided her to his office, his skin burned through the fabric of his jacket at the absolute rightness of her fingers on his person.
What have you done to me, Katherine?
It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels Page 53
