Kay silently agreed. Two months seemed a short time with the Duke’s threat hanging over her head, but Grandmere was right. If she must marry the Duke, ‘twould be wise to make the most of the time she had left. She’d take each day as it came and wring every drop of pleasure out of it she could. France was a gayer climate than England, with less censure, making it the perfect place to live out her last days of freedom—and live them she would!
As she slid beneath the crisp linen sheets of her bed that night, thinking dark thoughts of her future, she felt a resentful rush of anger for the Duke. He was utterly heartless in demanding she marry him. For such a small transgression he expected her to surrender her future, to give up every hope—every dream. Though a little voice told her she would not find a more wickedly handsome suitor in all of France or England.
She’d been a fool to believe he’d accept her explanation—a fool to imagine he’d forgive her or show a shred of decency where she was concerned. She was just a pawn to him—a means to exact revenge on Lord Galloway. But, he felt she owed him, and he meant to use that debt to his benefit.
Confessing her theft of the ring had only increased his contempt. Her efforts to return it had ironically given him the evidence he needed to convict her. In trying to make everything right, she’d made everything wrong, and now she must count the hours until he called in his debt.
But in the meantime she would savor every moment of her freedom. Whether strolling in the garden with her Grandmere or racing across the lush sloping hills of the estate on horseback, she would make each moment precious, and hope for a miracle that could change her fate.
***
Hunter swirled the brandy in his glass thoughtfully. Sliding his gaze from Alex’s profile to the lights of Paris over the balcony of his hotel room, he attempted to digest Alex’s visit with General Lafayette at La Grange.
They’d decided it best for Alex to go alone, since the General’s radical views and the company he kept wasn’t something Hunter could embroil himself in if he ever chose to hold office.
Lafayette’s country estate had become the meeting-place for liberals. The General, a leader of the Carbonari, an Italian society bent on the overthrow of the Bourbon rulers made the English government wary. Radicals like him were not looked upon kindly since the revolution. The government needed reforming, but if Hunter wanted to play his part in it, he needed to remain publicly neutral. Visiting the general’s home was out of the question.
He turned to Alex, lounging next to him on the rail of the stone balcony, nursing a brandy. “Did the General say where we’d find this French officer?”
“I have an address in Vienna, but nothing more I’m afraid. According to Lafayette’s sources, Hartley was captured and charged with spying. The French government claims he was among the prisoners exchanged at Waterloo, but the British claim he was executed by the French.”
“And this French officer had something to do with his capture?”
“He was in charge of the prisoners I’m told.”
“Then he should be able to clarify Hartley’s fate. Wellington has been of little use in that regard, other than providing a list of the missing and a list of the prisoners exchanged. Phelia’s husband, Captain Hughes, was in charge of the exchange. An interesting coincidence don’t you think?”
Alex grinned, then swallowed back the rest of his brandy in one gulp. “Very interesting.”
“Yes, but does he love Phelia enough to kill for her? They were betrothed at the time he fought at Waterloo, so the question is… what lengths he would go to, to protect the reputation of his future wife.”
“He’s a banker,” Alex quirked one brow, “And from what I hear, one ruthless bastard in the business of commerce.”
“Yes, and perhaps that spills over into his personal life.”
“But would he kill a man for penning a letter that exposed Phelia’s indiscretions?”
“If he believed his blabbing wouldn’t stop there—if they wished to wipe the slate clean. And the only way to do that, is to obtain the letter that saved me from marrying her and shut the source of the slander up, namely Hartley, once and for all.”
“Or, Phelia Galloway, like her father, is an expert manipulator.”
Hunter gave a snort. “Phelia is shallow and vain, but certainly no blue stocking or intellectual heavyweight. It’s Galloway who manipulates them all.”
“That doesn’t explain why the Hamilton girl would fall in with his plans. I mean, come on, why would she choose that insolent pup, Charlie Galloway, when she could have any number of men?”
Hunter held up his hand and shook his head. “It’s too late to plead her case. If you’re so convinced of her innocence, you should have married her yourself and saved me the trouble.”
Alex pushed away from the stone rail, throwing his arms wide. “Had I known your intentions, I would have. If you’re going to marry her then do so, but don’t humiliate her with some sham of a marriage and then cut her loose like unwanted baggage.”
“I’m just giving her a way out.” Hunter shrugged. “If my proposal saves her from marrying a Galloway, I’ve done her a bigger favor than she deserves.”
“So it isn’t revenge now—it’s a rescue? You’ve decided to play God.” Alex gave a harsh laugh. “You want her. Why don’t you just admit it? You want her so badly, you’ll make up some sham of a marriage to get her.”
Hunter gritted his teeth, tired of Alex’s needling. “Do you want her to marry Galloway?”
“No, of course not, but—”
“Look at it anyway you like. It’s business, as most marriages are. Nothing more. I’m not prepared to debate the issue.” Hunter wasn’t the least bit swayed by Alex’s passionate plea. Alex may have been taken in by her innocent virtuous manner, but Hunter knew better. What was Alex moaning about anyway? It wasn’t as though he was forcing her to marry beneath herself. When it was over, he’d give her a healthy allowance for her trouble—grant her her freedom and they’d both go their separate ways.
He understood she was an heiress in her own right. After she’d fulfilled their little bargain, she’d be free to pursue her life in any way she saw fit. He wasn’t about to expend an ounce of sympathy on the little chit. She’d become his enemy the day she broke into his house looking for the letter.
He felt a fool for giving in to her today. Damn her for looking so innocent! It was like watching an angel cry. His treacherous heart had flooded with compassion despite his determination to approach the situation as a business arrangement. But it had been hard to ignore the wet path of a single tear down one of her cheeks. It had been a long time since he’d given into such a transparent ploy. But sweet mother of God! He was only human. What else could he do?
If she weren’t so breathtakingly beautiful—so exotic and innocent all at once, he might have been able to stay his course. But he’d faltered—given in, like a smitten fool.
Just as well. He needed time to get to the bottom of Hartley’s death, while he still had Alex’s help, and before Galloway could make a bid for office.
It gave him two months to steel his heart and become the heartless rogue she believed him to be.
Chapter Seven
Kay peered out the window of the carriage, marveling at how Vienna appeared just as romantic as her Grandmere described. The markets and coffee houses teemed with all manner of exotic characters, Hungarian gypsies, Slavonians, Bohemia merchants. The place seemed very foreign and exhilarating to her English sensibilities. Everything about it was captivating—enthralling!
Fabian had rented a spacious, three-bedroom apartment within the walls of the city, as no one of the beau monde would be seen outside the walls. Within days of their arrival, the invitations flowed in. The Countess had many old friends in Vienna who were anxious to renew her acquaintance and meet her English granddaughter. Kay found herself an instant success, thanks to her Grandmere’s connections.
In Vienna, as in Paris, women discussed politics, ph
ilosophy, and science freely with men—a refreshing change from the constraints of English society. French women were generally better educated than women in England, but thanks to her Grandmere, Kay had had the benefit of many competent tutors. She spoke French, Italian, and Spanish, and could converse easily with anyone on matters of reform, the abolition of the slavery, and many other political issues. As they made the rounds of the lavish salons, she threw herself into the task of squeezing every last drop of pleasure out of her unmarried existence, flirting recklessly with every handsome gallant that came her way, while savoring each glass of champagne slipped into her hand. She didn’t go so far as to despoil her reputation, or make promises she couldn’t keep, but she did often teeter on the edge of propriety.
A week after their arrival in Vienna, they were on their way to attend a reception given by the Turkish ambassador. During the whole of their carriage ride to the gala Kay toyed with the idea of disclosing her secret to Fabian.
Finally, she decided against it. After all, there was nothing he could do. Sharing the burden might ease her mind, but it would only distress him.
Though she’d tried to forget her upcoming forced marriage, even hoped the Duke might relent, the terrible reality of her situation kept creeping back, not knowing if she could go through with it when the time came. He seemed a monster in her mind, a handsome, horrible, delicious monster. He’d promised to eventually release her from the marriage, but how long would that be? How long would he force her to live a lie? The anxiety and uncertainty of what was to come made her thrust the truth of it from her mind whenever she could.
And, that was just what she did as she took Fabian’s arm, and her Grandmere took the other to enter the reception room of the Turkish gala. It promised to be a lavish, mysterious affair. Kay looked forward to losing her troubles in the gaiety of the party-goers decked out in their splendid evening attire. The attendants wore colorful veils, lending an exotic air to the event.
Kay found herself feeling rather restless, if not down right reckless in the midst of it all.
The particularly French, v-necked plunging bodice of her silk jacquard gown no longer felt risqué, but very right. The face with the half-wistful smile staring back at her from the looking glass they passed in the foyer looked like an elegant stranger. The silvery blue sheen of her gown made her gossamer curls swept high on her head seem like a frothy falling cloud and turned her aqua eyes to deep sparkling pools.
Heads turned as they made their way through the noisy crowd.
Fabian leaned closer to inform her in confidential tones, “I believe I see your Count on the dance floor.”
“He’s not my Count, but…,” She lifted her eyebrows and presented him with a saucy smile, “I may borrow him for the evening, since he’s looking so dashing in his finery.” Count Geneau was indeed handsome in his black coat and rich red satin waistcoat. Kay admired his regal air and well-formed physique. Though not as muscular as the Duke, his broad shoulders tapered to a pair of trim hips in pleasing perfection.
Realizing she’d just compared the two men, and the Duke had come out on top, Kay captured a glass of champagne from the tray of a veiled attendant. She took a long greedy sip, feeling angry with herself for allowing thoughts of him to corrupt her evening. I will not think of him, I will not… I have another month of freedom, and I refuse to let it go to waste thinking of that scoundrel.
She’d only just managed to take a few sips before the Count appeared, bowing before her. She accepted his arm, and he swept her onto the dance floor with a possessive sureness her cool English manners had failed to squelch.
He’d pursued her with singular tenacity since her arrival in Vienna, so she wasn’t the least bit shocked by his attention, nor was she dismayed. His light brown hair fell about his head in soft pleasing waves. His tall elegant build cut a fine figure on the dance floor as he whirled her through the waltz with a carefree smile that reminded her of Charlie. She couldn’t help but smile back.
“You are happy to see me, non?”
She laughed at the coaxing pout on his lips. “I’m always happy to dance with a man who doesn’t tread on my toes.” When he pulled her closer, she didn’t protest. She enjoyed the feel of his strong arms around her, where she could pretend the Duke didn’t exist and she was free of any attachment.
He whispered against her ear intimately, “It may surprise you to know I’m interested in more than your toes, Cherie. In fact I’m enraptured by every part of you—your body, your mind.”
Kay carefully avoided his smoldering gaze, yet couldn’t help but feel flattered by his attentions just the same.
“Your lips were meant for kissing, did you know that? They are perfectly formed, sensual lips, the kind I could kiss all night.”
His lips hovered dangerously closer, until she was forced to turn her head away for fear he’d succumb to the temptation and disgrace them both.
The waltz ended and he released his tight hold, allowing her to take a long deep breath in comfort. Her glance flitted beyond his bowing form in search of safer ground, but she couldn’t find Fabian or Grandmere. They weren’t in the spot where she’d left them.
Instead, to her shock and dismay, she encountered the sardonic smile of the Duke of Wallshire.
When their eyes met across the room, the world around her seemed to stop.
He appeared dangerously attractive in his black evening coat and crisp lawn shirt. Had she not known him, she might have admired his animal-like grace and let her appreciative glance linger, but the sight of him only inspired a quick spark of anger and a strange quickening deep inside of her.
She hastily looked away, swallowing down her alarm.
An imperceptible hiccup interrupted her curtsy. It took all of her concentration to maintain her poise and not falter in an embarrassing heap on the marble floor.
Count Geneau’s voice came as a steady hum in her ears while her mind grappled with the ominous threat.
She accepted his arm in a trance-like state, allowing him lead her from the dance floor.
“Come, you look like you need some air.”
“I must find my Uncle,” she said with rising panic.
“Don’t deny me the pleasure of showing you the spectacular view,” the Count implored with practiced charm. “You must see the lights of the city from the balcony first. I promise to play the part of a perfect gentleman, then, I promise, I will find your uncle.”
She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the Duke. But he had already turned away to engage in conversation with one of their Turkish hosts. “Very well,” she agreed.
As they crossed the room to the spiral stone staircase leading to the balcony, she felt the ridiculous urge to run rather than walk, but she held herself in check.
What was he doing here?
He’d given her two months, yet here he was, looming like the angel of death. It angered her that his presence had destroyed what might have been a perfectly delightful evening, and that her body would quiver with pleasure at the very sight of him.
Despite her inner turmoil, she smiled up at the Count, suddenly very glad of his company. He led her to the balcony rail where several other young couples had gathered to take in the twinkling spectacle of the city lights below. The noise of the party grew muted on their shadowed stone perch. Kay could almost hear her own heart beating beneath the stiff silk of her blue gown.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Look! A falling star!” The Count pointed at the vast dark sky where a sea of stars met the brighter display of lights below. “Make a wish and do not tell.”
Kay tilted her head up and closed her eyes. Her only wish and heart’s desire was to marry a man who loved her—a man she could love in return. Before she could open her eyes, she felt the soft pressure of the Count’s lips, warm and soft against her own. It was a tender, tantalizing caress, one she tentatively returned. No bells, no bursts of fireworks to shake her world, just a pleasant comforting pressure, m
uch like Charlie’s kiss.
A forced cough drew them apart. “There you are, Puss, the Duke told me I might find you here.” Fabian stood a respectable distance away with a bemused smile on his face.
Her cheeks grew warm.
Kay found it more than disconcerting that the Duke had been the one to lead Fabian to her, as though she were already his property. Had they actually been betrothed in a truer sense, she might have interpreted it as jealousy, but that was not the case.
The Count made a quick bow. “I hope you’ll save me a dance, Lady Katherine?” Count Geneau took his leave, flashing a farewell smile.
Kay took Fabian’s arm, allowing him to lead her toward the stairs.
“Well, it appears I’ve rescued you just in the nick of time,” he teased.
“What do you mean?”
“I’d say the Count has his cap set on you and matrimony may not be at the top of his list.”
“What a strange thing to say.” Kay gave Fabian’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “He’s rather persistent, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“He’s not the only one showing interest. The Duke tells me you met in Paris at the masquerade. I understand you were housed in the same hotel. And, if I’m not mistaken he appears quite taken with you.” The pleasure in Fabian’s voice was unmistakable. “Fergus will be extraordinarily pleased that you’ve caught the attention of the most eligible bachelor in England.”
“Pleased?” Her heart tapped hard. “Why would he be pleased?” She could hardly contain her disquiet. “Are you forgetting his past?”
“Ah, yes the scandal.” Fabian shrugged. “That is something to consider.”
“Yes, it is,” Kay said with firm assurance. She’d done nothing save consider it since he’d launched his proposal. How could she not, when she’d heard the scandal whispered in every salon in London. Yet in the same breath every young debutant who whispered it wanted to be the one to win his heart and become the next Duchess of Wallshire. If they only knew how ruthless he really was. “Do you no longer consider it?”
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