“Of course you didn’t,” Isabel gasped. “I never thought you did. That is a cruel whisper that others should be ashamed of. The man had an apoplexy, clearly. It just as easily could have happened when he was out for a walk in the park.”
“Only it wasn’t. It didn’t happen in the park.” Katherine folded her arms. “The thing that makes it so enjoyable for all those biddies to cluck about is that it happened in our marital bed.”
Isabel ducked her head. “Unfortunately, yes. And that fact seems to have drawn the interest of some of the men in Society, as well. They think the circumstances have to do with…with…”
“My prowess?” Katherine whispered. Yes, she’d heard that, too. Quieter, but there in the background.
Isabel nodded, her cheeks suddenly dark with color. “Yes. And now they are clamoring to see who might take you as a lover first.”
Katherine jumped to her feet as shock rushed through her. “What?” she burst out even though every word Isabel had said rang clear in her ears. She’d known they talked, but not like this.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt,” Isabel said. “Or to embarrass you. But I thought you deserved to know what their wager was about.”
“About who would take me as a lover?”
Tears of humiliation flooded Katherine’s eyes, but beneath that, in some wanton place she tried to push aside, she felt something else, too. Something wickedly drawn to the idea that men were interested in her body, her pleasure.
After all, hadn’t it been the pursuit of that same pleasure which had killed Gregory? That need she felt deep within her? The one he’d liked to tease her with. The one he’d never truly fulfilled.
She shook the thoughts away. “How do you know this? Were these men so uncouth as to discuss this in mixed company?”
Isabel ducked her head. “No, of course not. I-I overheard a friend of my husband’s discussing it in private. I gave him a dressing down, I assure you.”
Katherine stared at her. One of her hesitations about the duchesses as a group had to do with the fact of who their husbands were. Lifelong friends, a club of dukes. Everyone knew the men were as loyal to one another as brothers. And one of them was the man she despised more than all others. The one who had dared to try to approach her at the party a few days before.
Roseford.
That was the only friend of Isabel’s husband who might speak of her in such a blatant manner. Only one of that group of dukes who was so cruel and heartless.
“The Duke of Roseford,” she whispered. A statement, not a question.
Isabel drew back. “I—yes. How did you know it was him I was talking about?”
Katherine shoved to her feet and strode across the room, hoping to keep Isabel from seeing her face. The strength of her reaction, not just in its anger but in the call of longing that doubled as she recalled Roseford’s handsome face swinging in toward hers all those years ago.
“The dukes are spoken of as highly as you duchesses,” she managed to say, and hated how her voice trembled. “Save one. The Duke of Roseford. A cold-hearted snake of a man.”
Isabel caught her breath and Katherine glanced at her. The duchess’s face was pale and she was shaking her head as if to deny the charge.
“Robert is…misguided, but he is no snake,” Isabel said.
Katherine managed to bite her tongue. She would not waste breath arguing that point with the woman. She knew Roseford in a way no one else did. After all, that near kiss on the terrace wasn’t the only time she’d been alone with the man. There had been one more encounter after that.
And nothing would ever change her mind about his character. Or the fact that she hated him down to the center of her being.
“I have no idea why he would make some wager on me,” Katherine muttered, more to herself than to Isabel. “He made it more than clear he wants nothing to do with me.”
Isabel stood and tilted her head. “Oh…I thought your comment on Robert’s character had more to do with his public reputation. I had no idea you were personally acquainted with him.”
“We interacted.” Katherine ground out. “But perhaps he does not recall it. I wouldn’t doubt that was true, drunk as he was on both occasions. I suppose then it is almost as if it only happened in my mind.”
She flinched at the memories that flooded her once more, sharper now as she let herself drown in them. Roseford’s breath on her neck. His gaze locked with hers. That flare of desire in her belly that she hadn’t understood at the time. Then she’d been an innocent. Now she had known pleasure, been desperate for it.
“Katherine?”
“No,” she said, jolting herself from the thoughts that made her body weak. She was better than this. She could overcome it.
Isabel stared at her in confusion. Then her expression softened with empathy. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely carrying.
Katherine thrust her shoulders back, forcing strength she didn’t feel into her countenance. “Well, just because that pompous man, or any other of his ilk, has decided that he wants me doesn’t mean I have to surrender to him. Or stoop to his level.”
Isabel took a tentative step closer, worrying her hands against that tiny belly. “I—did I do the wrong thing in telling you, Katherine?”
“No.” Katherine reached out and took Isabel’s hand, squeezing gently as her rage was tempered. “Truly, you did me a kindness. There are challenges facing me. I knew that would be true before I dared take a step into a ballroom. Now I understand those challenges better than before.” She shook her head. “And perhaps that helps me establish what my limits will be.”
“Limits?” Isabel asked, drawing Katherine back to the settee. “What do you mean?”
Katherine swallowed hard, trying to bypass the lump that had formed in her throat. “I just…I wanted to return to Society, you see. I have a little of my own money, no longer have my father or my husband to police my actions.”
“You feel now that you can’t,” Isabel said.
Katherine nodded. “I must be practical, mustn’t I? The reaction of Society when I walked back into the ballroom was…not good. And now that I know these so-called gentlemen have placed a wager on who will make me spread my legs…it won’t help my cause. I must accept that I may never have a true place in good society again.”
She said the words and they tasted like sawdust on her suddenly dry tongue. She’d spent a lifetime under one man’s thumb or another. She had so looked forward to being free. Now that future seemed dimmer and dimmer.
Thanks to Roseford.
“If I can help…” Isabel began.
Katherine yanked herself back from those dark thoughts and shook her head. “I appreciate it, as I said before. But hearing what you have to say, it makes me question why you would. You and the other duchesses cannot truly wish to involve yourselves with a woman who inspires such urges in the men of Society.”
Isabel pursed her lips. “First off, that they would make a wager like this reflects on them, not you. And secondly, you didn’t know me before.”
“Before?”
“Before Matthew,” Isabel whispered. “Before I was his wife, at any rate. You don’t know how I came to be the duchess that I am now. If you did, you’d realize I know a little of what you must feel. I know a little about scandal and the desperation it hatches in your chest.”
That was an apt description. A hatching of fears and pains and longings that then spread. “Do you?”
Isabel took her hand again and nodded. “I do. And I want to be your friend, Katherine. Truly.”
Katherine held her stare in disbelief. Until that moment she hadn’t truly realized just how much she’d held herself off from others during the past few years. Fearing their judgment. Anticipating their recrimination. Unable to trust that anything another person offered was true or that it would last.
But here, sitting with this woman, she wanted to take that leap. To believe that the fr
iendship Isabel held out to her was something she could truly take without fear.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Isabel leaned forward and bussed her cheek. Despite the forwardness of the action, Katherine couldn’t help but smile as her new friend pulled away. “All right, that is done. Now I do not wish to talk about this anymore. We will chat about happier things and truly get to know each other.”
The duchess crossed to the sideboard to pour the tea. Katherine allowed it and kept the smile on her face as Isabel watched. But deep in her heart she couldn’t stop thinking about what Isabel had told her. About the men in Society. About Roseford.
So even if they didn’t discuss it, Katherine knew it would be a topic she would not stop thinking about for a very long time. Nor would she stop searching for an escape from the prison the Duke of Roseford thought to put her in.
Chapter Four
Robert stood in the middle of Charlotte and Ewan’s ballroom with a party in full swing around him. Normally he might have been enjoying himself. Tonight he could not. Tonight he felt restless and unhappy, just as he had during the past few days after his encounter with Matthew and Isabel in their home.
His friends disapproved of him. All of them. Once upon a time, he hadn’t let that fact trouble him. He was different than those he spent time with, that was all.
Only right now he couldn’t dismiss the way their eyes moved to him, the way they darted away. He was on the precipice of losing them all. And their disapproval made him doubt himself like never before.
He knew the feeling. He could name it. Shame. That was not something he often let himself feel. And yet here it was, sitting heavy on his chest, growing heavier each time he caught the stare of a friend from across the room and saw their eyes flit over him like he was a stranger.
There was a ripple through the crowd as he stood brooding, and his gaze followed theirs as the room turned to watch Ewan’s footman announce, “The Countess of Gainsworth.”
Robert’s chest tightened as Katherine stepped into the room. She was, of course, stunning. Her dark hair was expertly styled to frame her beautiful face to its best advantage. Her gown was a cornflower blue silk, elaborately designed with swirls of darker blue stitching. It fit across her breasts perfectly, the swells peeking out the top like gifts waiting to be unwrapped. As she stepped forward, her hips twitched a little and his gaze was drawn to the seductive movement.
“…whose mistress she’ll be…” one of the guests behind him murmured, allowing him to catch a fraction of their conversation.
He stiffened and so did she, although she could not have heard what had been said as she was so far away. Perhaps someone else had said something, hissed something, as she passed by. Her cheeks pinkened, and Robert’s heart sank a little.
Isabel was right, of course, in what she’d said to him when she was scolding him for ungentlemanly behavior. Katherine had been damaged by the circumstances of her husband’s death. Society would never look at her the same again. Oh, they would quiet about it, of course. Some new scandal would come along and Katherine’s would fade. But it would never fully disappear. Never fully heal.
He watched as Charlotte and Ewan crossed to her. Katherine smiled, but he saw tension in the expression. Even with a friend, she did not truly relax. Didn’t truly trust.
God knew he understood that.
Charlotte embraced her, and he could see the duchess introducing her to Ewan. Katherine smiled as the couple signed back and forth in that private little language of theirs. Katherine looked at Ewan when she spoke to him—she didn’t speak around him as some people did. Robert couldn’t help but smile at that fact. It infuriated him when people did that.
The couple talked to her for a moment, then she touched Charlotte’s arm and the couple walked away. Katherine drew a long breath, then pivoted and started across the room toward the wall.
Robert began to move before he even realized he wanted to, trailing after her as she maneuvered through the crowd. She turned to put her back to the wall, and that was when she saw him. Her breath caught, just as it had a few nights prior when he tried to approach her. Her eyes widened, the dark brown nearly disappearing in smoky black. Her lips parted, inviting as hell, and then tightened as her demeanor shifted. She folded her arms, putting them in front of herself like a shield, even as her gaze flitted toward the door and he could see she would run from him.
This time he was not about to allow that. He stepped up swiftly, cutting off her escape. Her cheeks filled with high color and she glared up at him. He started. She truly despised him. That was clear in every part of her demeanor.
Interesting since he didn’t think they’d met more than once, a very long time ago. Who had introduced them? Charlotte, perhaps? Meg? He couldn’t recall. It was a flutter of memory.
“My lady,” he said, pushing the thoughts from his mind as he gave her his best smile. The one that melted any steely woman.
She did not melt. If anything, her expression went stonier. Colder. “Your Grace,” she growled, making the address sound like a curse.
“How nice it is to see you again,” he said. “My condolences on your loss.”
Her nostrils flared slightly and she drew in a long breath before she said, “Thank you. I did not think you knew the earl well.”
“I did not,” he said. “But I can imagine his loss is not easy.”
She stared at him, silent. It was then he noticed the other ladies along the wall were edging closer, watching and listening. Katherine’s gaze slipped toward them and the pink in her cheeks darkened further. He smiled. This could be his way to pierce the veil of her distain.
After all, she would not wish to make a scene.
“I wondered, Lady Gainsworth, if you had space on your dance card for the next with me?” he asked.
She swallowed and the action trembling down her long, slender neck and made him wish to trace the line of it with his fingertips. His lips.
“How dare—” she began, her voice elevating slightly.
He held up a hand and whispered, “People are watching.”
She let her gaze slide to the staring women and her lips slammed together, becoming an impossible-to-cross line. She took another deep breath and then said, “I would be pleased to dance with you, Your Grace. Thank you.”
He heard sarcasm drip from every word, but he smiled as if she had accepted sweetly and held out an elbow. She hesitated, staring at his outstretched arm like it was a snake that would surely strike. He waited her out, keeping his face impassive as if this long pause was usual.
It was not, of course. He’d spent his life with women tripping over themselves to get to him. This was the first time one acted like he was poison. It was an interesting experience, to say the least.
At last she pressed her fingertips lightly into the crease of his elbow. She barely touched him—she wore gloves and he two layers of fabric between them—but he still jolted at the awareness she created in him. He caught a whiff of her scent as he led her out to the floor. Cinnamon, honey, vanilla. Sweet treats stolen in the night. He wanted to see if she tasted the same.
Soon enough, though. He had no doubt in his own ability to seduce. He just had to get past this shell of hers. Pick the locks. He was good at that.
The music began and her eyes fluttered shut. A tiny moan escaped her lips. He laughed. “Don’t like to waltz, my lady?”
To his surprise, she didn’t respond, but just stared up at him, unmoving as he placed a hand on her soft hip and lifted her hand with the other. They stepped out in time together, falling into the circle of dancers.
For a while, he allowed her the silence. Being this close to her let him study her a bit and that was paramount to what he was doing. She had a smattering of light freckles across her nose. That was the only imperfection on her skin, and a telling one. The widow, it seemed, had not completely locked herself away in grief over the past year. She had been out in the
sun, at least a little. Without a bonnet, perhaps.
Interesting. It indicated a desire to live again, certainly. Something he could…well, manipulate seemed a harsh term for it.
She had full lips. Very full, actually. They were a pretty shade of pink, bordering just on red. Her eyes were a chocolate brown, but there were lighter flecks there. Greens and ambers. He wondered briefly if one could count them all, parse them out from one another if he took enough time.
He blinked, drawing his gaze away with a start. Was he waxing poetic? A desire to have this woman was playing tricks on him. Or perhaps his mind was simply creating a narrative where he was not the evil bastard his friends believed him to be.
He glanced back and found Katherine had not removed her gaze from his face. She continued to stare, unwavering as he twirled her ’round and ’round. It was disconcerting, actually. Ladies tittered, they blushed behind fans flirtatiously. They did not simply stare, expressionless, at a man.
“You are quite graceful, my lady,” he said, hoping to break the tension with the compliment.
“Ladies are taught to be,” she said, tone as flat as her expression. “You would know, wouldn’t you? I’m certain you have danced with a hundred of us.”
“None so light-footed as you,” he said with another smile.
He had meant to flatter her, but it clearly did not work. She rolled her eyes. Rolled her eyes at him. Like he was some stupid, uncouth, green boy stammering over his words.
He wrinkled his brow, pushing away the discomfort her reaction caused in him. The song was ending soon, he was running out of time to pursue her, and now he had a question pulsing through his mind. Troublesome. Undeniable.
“Why do you dislike me so much?” he said.
He expected her to blush at the directness. To stammer and deny what was so patently obvious. Perhaps even feign politeness.
The Duke of Desire Page 4
