The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  Despite her intentions, Katherine found herself relaxing beneath the ministrations of his hands. A slow languor crept over her as he stroked away the stiffness in her neck. Her eyes drifted shut and her shoulders drooped in a relaxed attitude. She did not move when he removed his hands, feeling almost as if she were floating along on an airy cloud. Then she jumped in surprise and pleasure as his warm fingers stroked along her neck.

  “Much nicer,” he murmured into her ear. “Gloves are such a nuisance.”

  His heated breath against her neck left gooseflesh in its wake. “My lord . . .” she began in protest. She simply must send him away.

  “Hush,” he commanded. “Relax.”

  She complied, her body drained of will. His stoking fingers had a hypnotic effect. It did feel so wonderful . . .

  Katherine sat bolt upright when Knowlton’s lips brushed her neck. Swiveling around, she glared at him in anger. “I did not give you leave to do that.”

  His lips formed an apologetic, almost boyish smile. “My pardon, Lady Robert. I sometimes forget myself when I am so close to such loveliness.”

  Katherine stood up, setting her half-finished brandy on the table. She let out a deep sigh. “I suppose it was too much to expect that you would behave yourself.” She leaned over to pick up her shawl, but Knowlton laid a staying hand on her arm.

  “Are you so certain my behavior offends you?” he asked, his gray eyes dark in the shadowed room. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  She reached again for her shawl, but he quickly drew it out of reach.

  “You should have watched yourself more closely in the mirror at dinner,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “You would have seen how that lovely flush crept over your cheeks every time our bodies touched. Or how your breathing quickened when I ran my hand down your thigh.”

  “The only feeling I entertained was disgust at your boorish behavior,” she retorted.

  “I think not, Kate.” He stepped out from behind the chair and lifted her chin with his finger. “I think you were recalling how very pleasurable the touch of my hands could be on your creamy skin.” His voice dropped lower. “I think you remember exactly how much you enjoyed our little interlude at Warrenton.”

  “Never.”

  “Prove it.” He pinned her with a challenging stare.

  “You are being foolish,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  “I think not. I think behind the elegant and reserved Lady Robert is the redheaded Kate who came so eagerly into my arms. Do not pretend you would not like my Ups and hands caressing you again.”

  She struck him a ringing blow across the cheek.

  “Damn you,” he cried, grabbing her arms and jerking her against his body. He forced his lips on hers, brutally grinding them against her tightly closed mouth. As his grip on her arms tightened, she moaned in pain and he forced his tongue between her lips. Burning lust quickly replaced his anger as he held the woman who had driven him to near-madness. He pressed his body against her, letting her feel the hardness in his groin. His tongue thrust rhythmically; the taste and smell of her built the heat inside him to the boiling point. He felt her resistance crumbling against his physical onslaught and felt a thrill of triumph.

  He would succeed now. He berated himself for not having locked the door behind him when he entered. She would be close to capitulation in no time, yet they risked discovery in this room. With a muffled groan he tore his mouth away and planted hot, wet kisses across her neck and face. He enfolded her in his arms.

  “Come away with me tonight,” he whispered, nipping at her ear. Without waiting for her reply, he again sought her mouth, seeking, teasing her own tongue into a flurried response.

  “Katherine, the carriage is . . .”

  Knowlton looked up in surprise at Somers, standing in the doorway with a look of mingled shock and amusement on his face. Katherine immediately pulled free from Knowlton’s arms and fled past Somers into the corridor.

  “Not quite the thing to be seducing the guests.” Somers grinned.

  Knowlton turned away, struggling to control his impassioned breathing. “Take a damper, Somers. It is none of your concern.”

  Damn. Knowlton expelled his breath in a loud whoosh. He had been within minutes of having Kate fall into his hands like a ripe plum. He could have spent an enjoyable evening sampling the delights of his redheaded witch before he sent her on her way like all the other women whose charms faded in the cool light of morning. Now he would be forced to the trouble of seeking out another female to sate his lust this night. Such a bother.

  As he turned to exit the room, he spied Kate’s shawl, crumpled in a heap on the floor. Bending down, he picked it up and held it to his nose, reveling in the faint scent. Lavender. Kate.

  Chapter Twenty

  O, Beware, my lord, of jealousy!

  It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock

  The meat it feeds on.

  —Shakespeare, Othello

  The spring sky was lightening in the east when Knowlton dragged his body from the carriage. He staggered slightly as he climbed the stairs, fumbling in his inner pocket for his key, which seemed to have vanished. With

  an angry snarl he jerked the bell rope and in moments a sleepy-eyed footman opened the door. Knowlton quelled him with a fierce look and stumbled up the next set of stairs to his room. He flung himself backward onto the bed, his legs dangling down over the sides.

  He was doomed. There was no other word for it. He was totally, utterly, miserably doomed. For the rest of his fife. Because only death could release him from Kate Mayfield’s hold.

  He had been a fool to think that a successful seduction last night would drive her from his thoughts. My God, it would only have wrapped the chains tighter. Although he wondered if that was possible.

  He had tried, oh, how he had tried to free himself of her memory. He had picked the loveliest lady from the milling crowd in the Green Room, one who was new and fresh and eager to please a noble client. But when the moment came, he had only wanted to bolt from her room in dismay. Only by imagining that it was Kate’s lips he kissed, Kate’s breast he suckled, Kate’s body he sheathed himself in, could he find a trace of pleasure in the transaction. And even then the pleasure was so transitory as to be almost nonexistent. One chaste kiss from Kate was more enjoyable than three bouts of sexual gymnastics with any dancer.

  He laughed harshly. After his cruel treatment of Kate, there was little chance she would ever look upon him with favor again. He had tormented her at dinner, then rudely insulted her with his forced attentions in the library. He could still feel the stinging slap of her palm against his cheek. He had deserved far more than that. It would take a man of more diplomacy and tact than he to erase the humiliations of that evening from her mind. He might spend a lifetime at it and never succeed in regaining her respect. What had he done?

  Katherine awoke with a deep, unnamed yearning in her breast that was painful in its intensity. Memory of Knowlton’s erratic behavior washed over her. He had been cruel in his taunting, brutal in his attentions. And she had still responded, still clung to him as if her life depended upon it. Had Somers not intruded when he did . . . There was

  no doubt she would have done whatever Knowlton had asked of her.

  Her cheeks flushed with shame. How could her body behave so traitorously, rebelling against all her sense? No matter how much temporary happiness she would find with him, Knowlton would eventually cause her deep, searing pain. He would never give her the only thing she wanted— his heart. If he had ever possessed such an organ, it was buried so deep within him that she doubted it could ever be found again.

  She turned her face into her pillow, tears stinging at her eyes. How could she continue to be so foolishly in love with him? It was maddeningly pointless, yet no matter how hard she fought against it, it was impossible to free herself.

  Katherine resolved, when going down to breakfast, that she would be most careful with her socia
l calendar in the future. She would avoid any entertainment that might draw Knowlton’s presence. That this would bar her from most events did not cause her dismay. In truth, the excitement of fife in the fashionable world had paled. It was frivolous and fun, but now that she was in the middle of it, she realized that it was no more satisfying than her old life had been. It would be all too easy to let herself drift along, following in Castalia’s pattern. But she did not want that for herself. A nice quiet cottage in the country sounded like heaven.

  The sight of the enormous container of creamy white hothouse roses caused Katherine to pause upon entry into the breakfast parlor. The marquess eyed her with an eager expression.

  “You have made an impression on someone, my girl.” “For me?” she asked with a sinking feeling. Her trembling hand reached for the card.

  Words cannot express my regret over my insufferable behavior last evening. Know that I never wished to hurt you, Kate. My only excuse is that your bewitching presence does strange things to my judgment. You have my promise that there will never be a repetition.

  Knowlton

  Clutching the note to her bosom, Kate fled from the room, tears streaming from her eyes. Her initial relief at Knowlton’s promise was overlaid with sorrow that she would never again be encircled by his arms. Yet that was what she wanted—was it not?

  Katherine kept to her resolve to curtail her social engagements. She fobbed Castalia off with excuses of minor ailments, and when that no longer sufficed, pleaded exhaustion and the need to spend more time with Robbie. Although she felt a lingering sense of guilt at treating Lord Belton so shabbily, she ordered the butler to turn all visitors away. Only when both the marquess and Castalia descended upon her in force did Katherine allow herself to be persuaded to go out for one evening.

  She winced at the eager look in Lord Belton’s eyes when he saw her enter the music room. He hastened to her side, urging her toward a seat.

  Belton leaned toward Katherine while the harpist arranged her music. “You have been far too seldom in company this last week,” he gently chastised.

  “I have been tired,” she explained, grateful that he did not press her too closely. “I find I am unused to the hectic pace of the Season.”

  “I appreciate your sentiments,” he murmured. “I, too, find London can grow wearisome.” He gave her a meaningful glance. “I think we would both enjoy a restorative visit to the country.”

  She nodded briefly, sitting back with relief when the musical program began and he was unable to continue. At this moment, the last thing she wanted was a further opportunity for Belton to press his suit.

  “Are you certain you did not wish to accompany us to Lady Worthington’s?” Castalia inquired of Katherine as they filed out of the music room an hour later.

  “Please do,” Belton encouraged.

  Katherine felt trapped. To decline now would label her as rude; she could hardly plead overwhelming weariness after venturing out this evening. With the Season at its height, there was a multitude of ton parties for Knowlton to choose from. The chances of his attending this particular party were slim when he had so many other sources of entertainment. She nodded in acquiescence, but vowed she would have a long talk with Castalia in the morning.

  She was disappointed to find that the Worthington rout had turned into a severe crush even before their arrival. That was another element she found so disturbing about the city—the sheer numbers of people everywhere. She longed for the solitude of a quiet country lane.

  “I think half the city is here tonight,” Castalia whispered from behind her fan. “That ball in Grosvenor Square must have been a sad affair.”

  Katherine made a futile attempt to wave cool air over her face with her own fan. “I suppose it is too much to hope that there will be anything left in the refreshment room.”

  “One can always hope, Lady Robert,” Belton said. He took her elbow and carefully pushed their way through the crowded room, leaving Castalia to trade gossip with a friend in the overheated saloon.

  The supper room was astonishingly empty; Belton easily appropriated a comer table and chairs, returning swiftly with two overladen plates and glasses of champagne.

  “This is much better,” he said, saluting her with his glass. “An unexpected oasis of quiet.”

  Katherine took a sip of her champagne and wrinkled her nose at the tickling bubbles. She had not intended to find herself in such an intimate setting with Belton, and she struggled to find an innocuous topic of conversation. One that would not lead to topics she wished to avoid for the present time.

  “How are your library acquisitions coming? Have you purchased any new finds?”

  “There is a sale tomorrow I am attending, as a matter of fact.”

  “Another estate disposition?” She tilted her head in feigned interest.

  Belton shook his head. “A private sale, I am afraid. For collectors, so the prices will be high. I may not find anything I even wish to buy, but I thought I would attend just in case.”

  “Robbie is very much enjoying the copy of Robinson

  Crusoe you sent him.” She flashed him a grateful smile, i “He is struggling now with the choice of whether to join ! the cavalry or become an adventurer when he grows older.” “Have you settled on a school for him yet?”

  She shook her head. “It is such a difficult decision. Wins- : low, of course, wishes him to go to Eton, like his father. But I cannot forget how much Robert disliked the place.” She paused, as if in embarrassment. “I hope you did not attend Eton.”

  Belton laughed. “Harrow. So you may malign Eton to your heart’s content.”

  “I must own that Harrow sounds to be much like Eton.

  I am very intrigued with a school in Norfolk. It is small and features a more varied curriculum.” She sighed. “Robbie must choose a career of some sort, and the better his education, the better he shall do. I detest the idea of his ; entering the army, but if that is his choice, unending years j of Latin and Greek will do him little good. Mathematics'! and geography will certainly prove more useful.”

  “Was the school recommended to you?”

  She nodded. “The Duke of Hartford sends his son there—precisely because he hated his years at Eton.” The thought of Hartford caused her mind to drift back to those easy weeks at Warrenton. When she still had hopes and dreams.

  Standing in a shadowed comer, sipping his champagne, Knowlton watched Kate and Belton with increasing distress. She looked entirely too comfortable with the viscount. He winced as she smiled brightly at some comment her partner made. Entirely too comfortable. They almost looked like a married couple. The thought caused a wrenching feeling somewhere in his middle. Knowlton quickly tossed off the glass of champagne and searched for another.

  He had half a mind to saunter over to their table and pull up a chair. He would like to see the look on Katherine’s face if he did. But he had resolved, after their last disastrous encounter, that he would keep his distance. He had enough honor left to know she did not wish for a casual liaison, however much her body might protest to the contrary. She simply was not that kind of woman.

  Watching them through narrowed gray eyes, he tried to

  objectively evaluate Belton as a partner for her. There was little to criticize. Belton was as solid as they came. A bit boring at times, of a certainty, but he would never be caught making love to an unmarried lady in the library of a friend’s house. That alone would do much to commend him to Kate.

  Knowlton hoped his contrite note and floral peace offering had mollified her slightly. How could one woman goad him into such a mixture of anger and lust? He began to think there was something seriously amiss with his life. He had offended a woman he genuinely liked, and embarrassed himself in the eyes of one of his closest friends. In short, he had acted like a total fool. Which was entirely unlike him. He was rarely ever rash or foolish; his life had long been one of cold, calculated deliberation. Why was it suddenly becoming so difficult to act in such
a manner?

  He shrank back further into the shadows as Katherine and Belton left the room. Setting down his now-empty glass, Knowlton followed them back to the crowded main rooms. Knowing there was no point in his remaining, he continued to the door and called for his carriage. Despite the early hour, he gave the order for Upper Brook Street. He was in no mood for company tonight.

  Settled at last in his comfortable leather chair, Knowlton stared morosely into the flickering flames of the fire before he tossed back the last of the brandy in his glass. With an unsteady hand he refilled it and took a large swallow.

  He wished Katherine had not been there tonight, even though he had gone entirely on the possibility that she would be. But he had thought . . . Just what had he thought? That seeing her with the adoring Belton at her side would free him from the ghost of her presence that haunted him every waking moment and drove the sleep from his brain at night? He uttered a mirthless laugh. More fool he. He had only added months, if not years, onto his torture.

  She had looked so exquisite in that clinging blue silk. Cut low over the swell of her breasts, the sleeves barely skimming her bared shoulders, it had made the blood run hot and thick through his veins. God, how he wanted her. He had tried to quench the fire with the body of every willing woman who crossed his path, but that excess had only heightened, not dimmed, his lust. Each unsatisfying

  sexual encounter only sharpened his sense of loss and enhanced his memory of that last evening at Warrenton. Her passion would be wasted on Belton.

  So what was he to do? Live celibate for the remainder of his life? Lose himself in more displeasing liaisons? Cavot and carouse with every piece of muslin he could find until he had at last exorcised her image from his brain? And how long would it take? Weeks? Months? Years? The rest of his blighted fife?