Nicholas couldn't stop the amused smile that quirked his lips for a moment as he kneed his own coal black stallion and caught up to the viscount. So she asked about him, did she? Perhaps she wasn't as immune to his charms as she apparently wanted him to think. "I see you didn't take my advice about that nag," he noted, attempting to change the subject. "What's his name, Orchid?"
"Orpheus," Thomas corrected hotly. "And I'd pit him against your bad-tempered brute any time."
"Orpheus against Ulysses? An epic battle indeed," Varon commented dryly.
Thomas snorted, then grinned reluctantly. "Odious fellow," he muttered. "Fifty pounds says my hero can beat yours. To Darby Bridge, say."
The small wooden bridge was approximately a mile and a half distance across the park, and Nicholas nodded. "Call it," he said, drawing in the reins.
"Now!" Thomas shouted without warning, and was off like a shot.
Undaunted, the duke kicked the black in the ribs. The powerful muscles tensed beneath him as the horse surged forward. He leaned over the sleek neck and gave the animal its head. Three-quarters of the way to the bridge they had caught the bay. By the time they reached the creek Nicholas was a length ahead.
The black wanted to keep going, but he drew it in and circled around to face the panting viscount. "Fifty pounds, Thomas," he said. "How much did you pay for that thing, anyway?"
"Oh, shut up, Nick," Thomas snapped. "One of these days you are going to lose, you know."
"Perhaps," Nicholas replied, amused. "But not today."
8
Uncle Simon didn't write back. Kate hadn't really expected that he would, but foolish as it was, she couldn't help but hope. She considered returning home, but even being at Crestley would do little to keep it safe from him. Instead she made an appointment with Lord Neville's solicitor and asked him to look into the matter.
Mr. Hodges had looked at her askance when she walked into his offices, but once she had explained who she was and that she would be able to pay him for his troubles, he agreed to send someone to see if any paper work had been filed in Staffordshire. It took most of the money she had been able to bring with her, but as the Hamptons insisted that she was part of the family and had been paying all of her bills, she was willing to make the expenditure. If she could hold on to Crestley for two more years, she would need to rely on no one for anything.
Two days after the Berresford ball the Dowager Duchess of Sommesby sent an invitation for Lady Alison and Kate to come for afternoon tea. Though she gladly accepted, the invitation made Kate a bit nervous. If Lady Julia should ask questions about the incident at the ball, she would feel compelled to answer them, and she didn't want to. She still wasn't certain what had possessed her to go out onto the secluded balcony with anyone, much less Francis DuPres, and would have preferred to forget the entire incident.
When they reached the courtyard of the duchess's magnificent town house, the sight of a beautiful high-perch racing phaeton in the drive increased Kate's anxiety. "Do you think she has other visitors?" she asked Lady Alison as they were handed out of the Hampton carriage by the footman.
"Julia said it was to be just us. We haven't had a chance to talk lately, and she told me she wanted a good coze."
"Are you certain you want me along, then?" Katherine asked, half-hoping her godmother would send her back to Hampton House.
Lady Alison took her hand and squeezed it. "Nonsense. Julia wouldn't have invited you if she didn't want you to come. You know that, child."
"Yes, Lady Alison," she answered dutifully, not much reassured.
When they were led into the drawing room, there was indeed no one there but Lady Julia, and Kate relaxed a little. If there were going to be questions, at least there would be no one else to overhear. To her surprise, though, the Dowager Duchess said nothing about what had transpired at the ball. Instead they spent a delightful time discussing everything from Paris fashions to literature.
"I heard that you have an impressive collection of Shakespeare quartos," Kate said, holding up a tray of tea cakes for Lady Alison.
"Yes. My son has been trying to buy, borrow, or steal them away from me for years. But I have resisted all of his offers. It is the one way I can be assured that he will come to visit me." She smiled and motioned toward the door. "They are in the library, if you wish to see them."
"Are you certain?" Katherine asked, rising.
"Mais oui. We mature women have things to discuss, anyway. You will fmd the library two doors down on the left."
''Thank you, Your Grace."
The library door was closed, but she pushed it open and stepped inside. The first thing that caught her eye was a pair of gleaming black calf-length Hessian boots crossed at the ankles and stretched out in front of one of the chairs by the window. Curious, she stepped quietly forward to see the Duke of Sommesby, an open book propped against his chest and a glass of brandy in his free hand.
He was reading, and she studied his profile. The Black Duke looked relaxed, and judging from the curve of his lips he was enjoying whatever it was that he was reading. He was dressed in blue and gray, his cravat elegant yet simple, in a style she much admired and that she had frequently seen followers of the Black Duke affect.
Without warning he turned his head and looked up at her, and she saw surprise and pleasure in his eyes, quickly blanketed. "Katherine," he said, setting aside the book and coming to his feet.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, taking a step back to look up at him. "Your mother invited Lady Alison and me over for tea," she explained, abruptly feeling as though she had to justify her presence in his mother's library.
"Oh, she did, did she?" he muttered so quietly that she barely caught the words.
"I remembered what you had said about the quartos. She said I might come and look at them," Katherine went on defiantly,
"You do like Shakespeare," he commented, setting the brandy snifter down as well.
"Did you think I was lying?" she asked indignantly.
Teddy, the vicar's son back at Crestley, had called her a bluestocking on more than one occasion because of her fondness for the bard, but the duke did not seem overly concerned with the conventions of polite society.
He raised a hand. "I would not accuse a woman with eyes as blue as yours of lying," he said softly.
"Which is to say that if my eyes were brown you would think me a liar?" she asked innocently.
His laughter surprised her. He had a merry laugh and an attractive smile, and the green highlights in his eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. "I won't apologize for the compliment," he said after a moment, turning half away, "but I concede the point."
She hadn't expected him to give in, and was disappointed that he had done so. "Quitter," she muttered, and he froze and turned back to her.
"Beg pardon?" he returned, raising an eyebrow.
"I said you were a quitter," she repeated, quite embarrassed that he had heard her. She would have to remember to mutter more quietly in his presence.
"Do you, perchance, speak to the Viscount of Sheresford―and your other male acquaintances in the same flattering manner with which you have honored me?" he queried, not looking offended at all.
"No."
He nodded, pursing his lips. "I thought not." She expected more, but instead he walked over to the near comer of the library and motioned her to follow him. "How goes the conspiracy?" he queried over his shoulder.
"No one seems to know," she answered, and cocked her head at him. "You didn't speak to Lady Julia about it."
He stopped and turned around. "Of course not. She knows merely that DuPres had a slight . . . accident." With a grin he turned away. "Has he bothered you?"
She shook her head. "I've not even seen him."
"Good. You let me know if he approaches you."
Kate stopped and put her hands on her hips. "Are you my protector now, Your Grace?" she queried. "Because I assure you, I don't need one."
The Black Duke leaned
against the shelf behind him. "What do you need, Katherine?" he asked quietly, folding his arms over his chest.
The serious look in his eyes surprised her. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, "Crestley Hall," but then he would think that she was a helpless female in need of rescuing. "What everyone needs, I suppose," she answered. "Love, friendship, laughter, kindness." She smiled selfconsciously, thinking what a goosecap he must fmd her. "And chocolate creams."
He laughed again. "I shall remember that," he responded, his eyes merry as he looked at her. "You are an unusual woman." After another moment he pushed himself away from the shelf and swept his arm out. "Here you are," he said, indicating a shelf of old and incredibly fragile-looking paperbound quartos and folios, carefully protected behind glass. He unhooked the latch and swung the glass sideways. "Except for The Two Gentlemen of Verona, which I have."
She stepped forward, and he moved back, out of her way. These were indeed early quartos and folios. One of them even looked to be an original playbook, one that William Shakespeare himself might have held.
"Go ahead," he said encouragingly.
She reached her hand out, then lowered it again. "They look so fragile. I'm afraid to touch them."
"Which one?" he asked from right behind her.
"King Lear, I think," she whispered, wondering why the deep, dry sound of his voice made her want to lean back against him.
His hand reached over her shoulder, much as it had when they fought in the Hamptons' library. He pulled down the quarto and handed it to her. As his hand left the manuscript, his fingers brushed her cheek, and she shuddered.
She knew that she should move, walk over to one of the chairs or to the deep windowsill, but instead she stood like a statue, holding the manuscript carefully in her hands and afraid to breathe. His fingers touched her cheek again, brushing the skin so lightly it made her shiver. The other hand touched her shoulder, and she turned around as though under a spell.
"You should never turn your back on a gentleman of ill repute," he chided, his fingers still cupping her cheek. "Even a cowhearted quitter like myself."
She agreed wholeheartedly, but still didn't speak. If she did he might stop looking at her in that way that was making her stomach flutter and her heart beat so fast.
"What. no argument?" he continued in the same quiet voice. "No witty sally for me? Cat got your tongue, Kate?"
Nicholas took a step closer, and with his fingers tilted her face up. The Black Duke leaned down and touched his lips to hers in a faintly brandy-flavored kiss. Katherine's eyes shut at the contact. Shivers ran up and down her spine and into the tips of her fingers and toes, and she leaned into him. His hand slid down from her shoulder to her waist, and he pulled her closer. Something began to slip from her fingers. . . .
"The play!" she cried, her voice muffled against his mouth, and she bent forward, bumping her head, to grab the fragile pages before they could strike the floor. She trapped the quarto against her calf and carefully picked it up again. Only then did she look at Nicholas.
He stood a few feet away, rubbing his chin and glaring at her. "Ouch."
"Well, it was your own fault," she retorted, determined not to let him see how much he had unsettled her.
"I see you've recovered the power of speech," he returned, stepping forward.
She backed away, clutching the quarto to her chest like a shield. "Stay away from me," she warned.
"A little late to be acting shy," he commented, coming closer anyway. "Don't tell me you were displeased."
"Being displeased or not has nothing to do with it." she replied, stopping with her back against a shelf of books. Nicholas Varon was dangerous in a way that she hadn't imagined. She had been schooled for her entire life on how to be a proper lady, but at this moment what she wanted more than anything was for the scoundrel to kiss her again.
"So you did like it." he responded, grinning and pursuing her into the corner.
Her heart pounding, she nearly gave in. "You, sir," she said desperately, "are a rakehell."
He stopped. For a moment he looked at her, then nod- . ded and took a step back. "And you, Katherine, are a lady." He bowed elegantly. "My apologies."
Katherine exhaled.
Abruptly he strode forward and took her shoulders in his hands. "But you were wrong. I am not a quitter," he murmured, running his finger along her lower lip. With that he turned and left the room.
After a dazed moment in which she nearly walked out of the library with King Lear, Kate shakily replaced the play behind its protective glass. She returned to the drawing room to see Lady Alison just rising to come and get her.
"Ready to go, Kate?" she asked, smiling.
Katherine cleared her throat. "Yes."
Julia Varon rose as well. "Did I hear Nicky's voice in the hallway?" she asked curiously. "He said he might stop by today."
Katherine nodded. "Yes. He was in the library," she mumbled, knowing that she must be blushing.
The Dowager Duchess nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. He often goes there."
As they took their leave Katherine thought she heard the duchess chuckling, but she couldn't be certain.
9
He shouldn't have kissed her.
It had been a muttonheaded thing to do, something he would have expected of a schoolboy on his first trip to London in search of town bronze. Nicholas berated himself on the entire drive back to his town house, distracted enough that he nearly ran down the Viscountess of Franton before he noticed her yammering French poodles and swerved the team. He hadn't meant to kiss her. He had only meant to tease her, to remind the little madcap that she should not be placing herself in a position where she was alone in a room with a man. But then, as if of its own accord, his hand had touched her cheek, and she had trembled.
He had always sought women who knew the rules of the game, and who, without exception, had played it before. They appreciated his attentions, or so they claimed, and he rewarded them for their time and discretion. And not one of them had ever trembled at his touch. And not one of them would have named laughter or friendship, or chocolate creams, as more necessary than wealth or comfort.
Gladstone was waiting in his study. Nicholas wanted time to think, but Clarey had impressed on him the importance of time in the acquisition of Crestley Hall, so he threw his gloves on the desk and sank into the chair behind it. "Well?"
The older man didn't even blink. "There is a legal precedent in our favor, if the boy and the legal guardian both sign the deed."
"Grand," Nicholas said with a growl, and got to his feet.
"If that's all―"
"Not quite, sir." Gladstone glanced up from the stack of papers he held.
Nicholas cursed and seated himself again. "Make it quick, will you?"
"I'm trying, Your Grace."
"Be very careful, Gladstone," Nicholas murmured, leaning back. "I am not in a good mood."
His secretary swallowed. "Yes, Your Grace." He consulted his papers again. "First of all, there are apparently several other parties interested in Crestley, and―"
"Competition?" Nicholas cut in, sitting forward again. "Why?" he muttered, mostly to himself.
"You haven't allowed me to discover that, Your Grace, but I assume that because of the situation and the price, any number of miscreants might be looking at this as a way to buy themselves into society."
"Miscreants?" Varon repeated, raising an eyebrow. Gladstone flushed. "Not you, of course, Your Grace." Nicholas waved a hand at him. "Outbid the miscreants." Gladstone sighed. "Yes, Your Grace." He paused, pulling free another piece of parchment. "You instructed me to purchase the entire estate holdings."
"Yes."
"Well, the proprietor informed me that he had already sold part of it off."
"Damn," Nicholas caused. "Which part?"
"The contents of the stables, milord."
"Can you track them?"
Gladstone lifted the paper. "I already have."
"Good man.
Buy them back."
"But Your Grace―"
"Buy them back."
On the rare occasions that he attended Almack's he always felt like a fox to the hounds because of all the mamas who seemed to feel that the assembly was the place for their daughters to catch a husband. Even so, this evening he was tempted. There was no use in trying to make excuses. Surprising though it was, he wanted to see Kate again. The chit was beautiful, but she was far from the type of female who generally attracted him. She was outspoken, argumentative, and outrageous. And, he was forced to admit, quite the most diverting woman he had encountered in years. After much swearing and the destruction of three cravats, to the dismay of his valet, he took himself off to White's instead.
When he returned sometime after midnight he went through his mail and found a scrawled invitation from Thomas to go riding in Hyde Park the next day. He hesitated before writing his answer, for Hyde Park in the early afternoon was worse than Almack's. But Katherine would likely be going as well. Damn the woman, anyway, for making him feel such a nodcock.
Finally he sat back and grinned. She had a quick tongue, but he doubted she had the experience to back it up. He scribbled back a reply to the viscount to be delivered in the morning. He was no green stripling, and he would see who won this battle.
Mr. Hodges's man had not yet returned from Staffordshire, and there was no word from her uncle, either, despite three additional letters. To Kate's surprise, though, her godparents, who had been so sympathetic before, no longer seemed concerned over Uncle Simon's reticence.
"You cannot assume the worst, Kate," Lady Alison said as the three of them lunched together. "After all, he is your uncle."
"We know what a terrible time it was for you," Lord Neville added soothingly. "Perhaps you exaggerate just a little."
Katherine stood. "I do not exaggerate," she retorted, her temper flaring. "If it were your home at stake, you would feel the same." She grabbed her riding gloves. "I think I should go back to Crestley and see for myself what he is up to."
The Black Duke's Prize Page 6
