The ridiculousness of the whole situation suddenly struck her. He was impossible. Impossible and irresistible. She laughed. “You could talk an angel into marrying the devil if you set your mind to it.”
“What a mocking thought! I would never do such a thing.” Knowlton’s eyes danced with merriment. “Now, I might talk her into becoming his mistress ...”
Katherine shook her head and turned toward the door.
“I will think on it,” she said, and hastily quit the room.
Not ready for the confining walls of the house, she sought out her cloak, and then stepped out into the gardens again. Here she would be free to think.
Knowlton’s candid acknowledgment of his desire for her grew more and more disturbing. And she had only herself to blame. Their talks had outstepped the bounds of propriety long ago, yet she had never stopped him. Each time they talked, he grew more and more bold, as if trying to see just how far he could take matters before she objected. And she truly could not imagine what he could say that would accomplish that. It was flattering to know that he wanted her. If only she did not want him equally as much. She could deal with his desire. Her own wants were the problem.
It was foolish beyond extremes. She would never be more than a casual dalliance to him, she knew that. It was not what she wanted from life. However rash the manner of her marriage to Robert had been, she did not regret it, or the closeness that came to a couple only through the bond of matrimony. She would never know that with Knowlton.
But she had no doubts that he would be a skillful and exciting lover. Once her maidenly hesitation and ignorance had been overcome, she had quite enjoyed that aspect of married life. Those feelings had lain dormant since Robert’s death, but Knowlton had awakened them until they burned hotter than ever. Katherine reddened to find her thoughts straying in such a wanton direction, but she could not help herself. After all, it was what Knowlton wanted of her. He knew the allure of the prize he offered.
It was frighteningly tempting. All she had to give up was her conscience. And her dream of finding love again. But it was not the initial step that threw fear into her heart, it was the eventual parting that chilled her. For she knew that if she allowed herself to succumb to Knowlton, she was lost. Now, knowing only part of the man, she could almost convince herself that her feelings for him were formed from gratitude and friendship and nothing more. It was merely his bold, suggestive remarks that made her skin grow warm and her face grow heated whenever they were together. It was only her physical desire, not anything more lasting. She had to fight it. She could not love a man who offered her so little.
Love? The idea was patently absurd. She* was certainly not hen-witted enough to fall in love with a man who neither wanted nor would return such affection. Yet she had. How could she feel so strongly about the worst possible sort of man? She knew full well what he was: a womanizer, a connoisseur of the fair sex, who looked at women as bedmates. One who offered her a temporary future at best, to be followed by a lifetime of longing and regret. It was madness.
As Katherine walked past the fading roses, she could almost laugh at her folly. Here she was, at eight-and- twenty, behaving as rashly as she had at seventeen, when she had fallen top-over-tails for the dashing Robert May- field, ignoring the disapproval of his family and hers. At least then she had the excuse of youth to explain her actions. She had no such convenient explanation for her present predicament. It was as if her very determination to resist Knowlton had led her in the opposite direction. And now she was foolishly, futilely in love with a man who would not be flattered by that declaration.
How she wished she could reach his heart. For despite his protestations, she knew he had one. She saw it in his patience with Robbie and in that teasing time he had spent with little Caro. And she thought, too, that he must feel some affection for her. Despite her earlier anger, the gift of the dress had been a generous gesture. It would make her feel more at ease in the glittering company, would make her look as if she belonged to their society. And why would he do such a thing if he did not have a care for her?
As she thought further, her smile deepened. He wanted to see her dressed in finery, looking like a lady of the ton. It was churlish of her to refuse to wear such an honorably intentioned gift. It would please him to see her in the dress, and she was suddenly deeply eager to please him.
Katherine briefly closed her eyes, dizzy with excitement and anticipation. If only she could get him to admit he cared. Once past that monumental wall, anything was possible. Even capturing the heart of a self-proclaimed heartless man.
Chapter Twelve
One Kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh’d—
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
Can Danger lurk within a kiss?
—Coleridge, The Kiss
Katherine’s stomach churned with nervous anticipation as she put the finishing touches on her toilette. She could scarce believe the elegant lady reflected in the pier glass was herself. It was not merely the fashionable dress; everything about the woman in the mirror looked unfamiliar: the hair that Elizabeth’s maid had coaxed into an elegant concoction of braids, curls, and ringlets, the cheeks, with their faint application of color, or the eyelashes she had allowed Elizabeth to darken. Even the simple jewelry—a filigree silver necklace and ear bobs, brought from Spain by Robert—looked dazzling on this stranger.
Katherine deliberated about waiting for Elizabeth and her husband before she went downstairs, but then shrugged off her cowardice. It was best to get the matter over with quickly. She resolved to enjoy this last night at Warrenton and not allow nervousness to rule her actions. After six weeks in Knowlton’s company, it would be foolish to develop apprehensions at this late date. She had elected to wear his dress, and therefore he was entitled to see it. Gathering up her gloves and the shawl lent to her by Lady Wentworth, Katherine proceeded down the stairs to the drawing room.
Knowlton was already there, waiting. He stood with his back to the door, staring into the flickering flames of the
fire. Katherine could not help but admire the picture he presented: his pantaloons set off his nicely formed legs; the tight-fitting coat revealed his narrow waist and muscled shoulders. Unbidden, in her mind rose the image of Knowlton at harvest, naked to the waist, with the mingled droplets of water and sweat sparkling on his chest. She took a deep breath to still her pounding heart.
Sensing her presence, Knowlton turned, but the greeting he had been prepared to utter stuck in his throat.
She was, by far, one of the most beautiful women he had known. He had recognized that at their first meeting, despite her severe coiffure, cap, and dowdy gown. Dressed now as a lady of the ton, she truly took his breath away.
It was not entirely the dress—although that daring neckline, skimming low over the swell of her creamy breasts, was enough to set his blood pumping. Her decision to wear it pleased him. He was not even certain he liked her hair fashioned in such an upswept style. It was something more indefinable that made her look different. It came out in her carriage, her bearing. Katherine walked and stood as if she had finally realized just how alluring she was, and found security instead of fear in that knowledge.
He hastened to her side.
“You look exquisitely lovely tonight, Mrs. Mayfield.” His gray eyes raked her with frank admiration.
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied with a faint smile. “You look quite handsome yourself.”
“All for you,” he whispered, raising her gloved hand to his lips.
God, how he wanted her. She was quickly driving him mad with need and desire. Not for the first time he damned his noble promise not to take full advantage of her presence under his roof. He had not known then what a sweet temptress she would be. Her skittishness, her modest blushes, only served to inflame his desire. The dress he had forced upon her had been pure folly, for it set off her curves in maddening detail. His hands and lips ached to cover those
breasts . . .
He felt the slight tremor in her hand and realized just how intently he stared at her. Lifting his eyes to her face, he felt a thrill of satisfaction as she met his gaze without flinching. His mouth widened into a broad, sensual smile.
“Your gown fits . . . nicely.” His smile grew broader as she modestly looked away. “One would think—”
“Thank goodness, we are not late.” Somers’ voice caused Knowlton and Katherine to step back from one another with a start. “Elizabeth insisted on tying my cravat, and I fear she is sadly out of practice.”
His wife shot him a knowing smile.
“The other guests should be arriving momentarily,” Knowlton said, half-relieved that the Wentworths had arrived when they had. He was afraid he might have sadly crumpled Katherine’s gown if they had been left alone much longer. “A glass of wine?”
Elizabeth drew Katherine aside while the men sauntered to the side table. “You look marvelous.”
“Thank you,” Katherine replied.
“Nervous?”
Katherine nodded. “A little. I feel as if I am in the middle of a masquerade; I barely recognized the woman in the mirror. I am grateful it is only the neighbors here tonight. I do not think I could face strangers in this new guise.” Elizabeth gave her a reassuring squeeze of the hand as they turned to greet the newly announced visitors.
Knowlton had kept the party small—the vicar and his wife, Squire Moreton, his wife and two daughters, and Sir Richard and Lady Court. It was a “duty” dinner, designed to maintain amiable relationships in the neighborhood. Not that Knowlton ever looked down upon or disdained the other residents of the county. If they were not frequent guests at Warrenton, it was more because the usual entertainments there were unsuitable for family attendance. Tonight he made every effort to demonstrate just how respectable the present situation was.
The vicar and his wife were the first to arrive, and immediately greeted Katherine.
“And how is young Robbie doing?” the vicar asked. “Quite well,” replied Katherine. “Bored beyond belief. But the doctor says the splints may come off tomorrow and we shall be able to return home.” She directed a smile at Knowlton. “It has been most gracious of Lord Knowlton to extend his hospitality to us for so long.”
Katherine turned back to the vicar. “Robbie has done an admirable job of keeping up on his studies. I shall have to wait for the doctor’s advice, of course, but I think he will be able to resume his work with you soon.”
“It will be good to see the lad again,” Mr. Ashe replied. “Although I expect he may prove more rambunctious than usual this fall after such a long period of forced inactivity.” They all laughed.
The other guests soon arrived in a flurry of greetings.
“It is a surprise to see you here, Mrs. Mayfield.” The voice of the squire’s wife held a slightly condemning tone. “I would have thought your son’s leg healed by now.”
“I anticipate the doctor will say we can return home when he visits tomorrow,” Katherine said politely, choking back her irritation.
“There is nothing quite like being in your own home,” Mrs. Ashe sympathized. “And you must call on me, my dear, if you need any assistance. I know how exhausting Robbie can be.”
“That is such a lovely dress,” the squire’s wife commented, drawing attention back to Katherine. “Surely it is not sewn by Mrs. Gorton’s hands Did you make it yourself? I hear you do such exquisite work.”
Katherine stiffened, knowing that she had stitched the lace on the very gown Mrs. Moreton wore, and that lady was probably aware of it as well. “Lady Wentworth was gracious enough to share her wardrobe,” she lied smoothly.
“Interesting,” murmured the lady, casting a sly glance at Elizabeth.
Katherine was relieved when Hutchins entered and announced dinner.
Knowlton chose to seat Katherine partway down the table rather than next to him. To have seated her in the place of honor would only have raised troublesome questions about her status in the house. He knew how grindingly respectable the situation was, but the Wentworths were an unknown entity in this part of the county. Unfortunately, his neighbors were all too familiar with the typical cut of guests he entertained. He must do all in his power to ensure no harm would come to Katherine’s name.
The slight distance had the added advantage of making it easier to watch Katherine unobserved. He looked with interest while she chatted amiably with the vicar while waiting to be served, then alternated her attention between him and the squire’s younger daughter during the soup course.
“Mrs. Mayfield,” the squire’s wife began as the soup was removed, “I understand your late husband served during the Peninsular campaign?”
“That is correct,” Katherine replied with a trace of wariness.
“My own eldest was there also, as you know, although fortunately he returned to us. What regiment did your husband serve in?”
The next course, of stuffed pheasant, was set before her and Katherine took advantage of the slight pause to calm her thoughts. “He was in the Eighteenth Hussars.”
“The Hussars, you say?” Squire Moreton looked at her curiously. “That’s a mighty difficult regiment to join.”
Katherine did not miss the implication. The Hussars were notoriously selective. Why had she not claimed a less- exalted regiment?
“Regimental commissions are such a strange thing,” Knowlton interjected, noting Katherine’s discomfort. “One tries for ages to buy one without success, then one day there is suddenly an opening and at a bargain besides.” He smiled warmly at her. “I am certain Captain Mayfield was pleased with his luck.”
“Yes, he was,” Katherine said, grateful for Knowlton’s rescue. It had been purely family influence that eased Robert into the Hussars, but she did not want to admit that. It would lead to too many other questions.
“I understand your son has received a new posting?” Knowlton turned the conversation and the attention back to Mrs. Moreton, who he knew could rattle on for hours about her son. But his mind pondered Katherine’s surprising revelation. The mysterious Captain Mayfield had purchased a commission in the Eighteenth Hussars. A rather intriguing story, one that implied a certain family background. Someday he must question her more thoroughly about it.
Katherine still appeared at ease, Knowlton noted with relief when he dare to glance in her direction again. He had not wished this party to make her uncomfortable, and
for a moment he feared it would have that result. The squire’s wife was a gossipy worm.
But as he watched, he observed Katherine talk and smile and look as unconcerned as if this type of entertainment were a daily occurrence in her life. She looked very much as if she belonged at the table. With the possible exception of Elizabeth, Katherine outshone every lady there in grace and manners, let alone beauty. In that, she was unparalleled. The golden glow from the candles gave her hair a fiery luminescence that constantly drew his eye. How he wished she had worn her hair down so that it floated in soft waves about her shoulders. He ached to bury his hands in its silky softness.
Knowlton clenched his fingers to control his burning desire. How was he going to allow her to leave tomorrow? He had grown accustomed to her presence, the knowledge that he could seek out her company at any time during the day, that they would dine together in the evening, and talk long into the night. And despite the torture it inflicted on his body, he loved to sit and savor the sight of her.
“May we count on your support, my lord?”
The vicar’s voice broke into Knowlton’s distracted thoughts. “Certainly,” he mumbled. Seeing Katherine’s amused smile, he wondered what he had committed himself to. Repairing the church organ? The Christmas Fund? He dared not ask.
“Perhaps Mrs. Mayfield would be willing to assist with the new altar cloths,” Mrs. Moreton suggested.
“I am not certain I shall have the time,” Katherine protested.
“Oh, but you do such beautiful work,”
the squire’s wife said with a sly smile.
Katherine fought down her anger at Mrs. Moreton’s deliberate taunting. Remembering the long hours spent in her mother’s parlor, sewing every manner of altar cloth imaginable, Katherine never wished to see one again. She no longer had the luxury of sewing for free. The squire’s wife knew perfectly well that she needed to devote her time to the paid sewing given her by the seamstress.
“Perhaps your lovely daughter would be willing to lend her talent,” Knowlton said, smiling in an avuncular manner
at the young lady seated at his right. He did not know if the chit could even thread a needle, but it grew apparent that Mrs. Moreton was determined to discomfort Katherine this evening. He offered up a prayer of relief when the next course arrived.
“We sponsor a school in our district for the local girls,” Elizabeth offered. “Sewing is one of the skills they are taught. Perhaps you could establish a similar program here, and thus have many willing hands for your cloths.”
“Capital idea,” said Knowlton, looking pointedly at the vicar. “Perhaps we could discuss such a thing next week?”
“Will your son be going to school soon, now that his leg is better?” Mrs. Moreton pressed on with her inquisition, disregarding the efforts of the others to turn the conversation. “Our youngest is presently at Eton.”
“Robbie is doing quite well with Mr. Ashe, at present,” Katherine replied.
“It is never too early to plan ahead for these things,” Mrs. Moreton continued. “Particularly if Robbie is to attend on a scholarship.”
Knowlton winced at the tactless reference to Katherine’s lack of funds.
“Not all schools are as expensive as Eton,” Katherine replied coolly. “And based on my husband’s experiences, Eton is the last place I would choose to send Robbie.”
The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow Page 36
