But the damage was done, the bargain he’d made sentenced him to endless torturous nights, burning alone in his bed.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
He should never have made that fool promise.
Now he was damned to the torment of seeing her every day without being able to touch her. The ache in his loins grew stronger each day and his temper more sour.
He dropped his pigskin gloves on the table in the foyer, then headed up the stairs to change out of his riding clothes.
The sound of female laughter greeted him as he reached the landing. It came from his wife’s bedchamber down the hall. The silvery tinkle of one laugh in particular made his gut twist.
“What in hellfire is all the ruckus about in there?” He complained to Robert, his valet, as he burst through his bedchamber door.
Robert turned with a start. “The dressmaker’s here for the Duchess’s fittings.” He caught the brown jacket Hunter threw at him in mid air. “’Tis the final fitting I believe, Your Grace.”
Hunter scowled as he tore off his shirt. “But the beginning of a long list of bills, I fear.” So the little minx thought to bleed him dry. Well he’d see about that. He’d worked too long and hard after his father’s death to restore the estate to opulence to allow it to fall into rack and ruin again.
“Hmm, Mrs. Temple’s skilled with a needle, but she don’t come cheap,” Robert agreed ruefully. “But when it comes down to it, I’d trust no other to see the Duchess done up right.”
Hunter held his tongue. Robert was a good lad, but too young to know the manipulations of women, or the firm hand required to keep them in check.
Once dressed in a fresh suit of clothes, Hunter decided to see what damage was being wrought in the next room.
When he opened the adjoining door, the first thing he beheld was his wife on a chair.
His breath caught in his throat.
His loins contracted.
She stood draped in a flowing scarlet gown, dipping low in the bodice, lovingly cupping her breasts. Her blonde hair sat gathered loosely about her head, exposing the graceful arch of her neck and the smooth pale skin of her shoulders.
Mrs. Temple gave her another twist on the chair, bringing them face to face.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him. He thought he spied a spark of guilt before her eyelids fluttered downward. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
Cora and Mrs. Temple ceased their chatter and gossip to greet him in unison “Good morning, Your Grace,”
“If you’re finished,” he said, without taking his eyes from Kay, “I should like to speak with my wife.”
“Aye, another tuck and a few more pins and we’re done,” Mrs. Temple said. “I think you’ll be pleased with your wife’s choices, Your Grace. She has an eye for fine fabric. She bid me spare no expense, and so I haven’t.”
“I’ll put my trust in you then, that I’m getting my money’s worth.”
“Mrs. Temple is very skilled with the needle.” Kay offered him a pretty smile. “I assure you, you won’t be disappointed.”
“Whatever pleases you could never disappoint me.” He took her hand, raising it to his lips in a slow lingering kiss. “You know I take great pleasure in satisfying you.”
Her smile melted away at the obvious innuendo and she snatched her hand away.
He allowed his gaze to travel down the length of the scarlet gown, then slowly back up to her face. He knew exactly what she was up to. The stain on her cheeks confirmed it.
She lifted her hand to absently pull on her earlobe, a tell-tale nervous sign, then flicked a curl on her neck as though to conceal the gesture.
Hunter smiled, communicating with the lift of one brow that he was on to her. With his gaze never leaving her, he said smoothly, “Mrs. Temple, could you wait for me in the drawing room. Bring your sketch book. My wife is in need of new nightgowns. And, I should like to pick them out myself.”
“What a splendid idea.” Mrs. Temple bustled about gathering pins, obviously pleased with making another sale. “I have all the samples of fabric and lace with me. A lovely pearl satin arrived just this morn. I know it would suit the Duchess’s fair complexion splendidly. Oh dear, I wish now I’d ordered more.”
He flashed Kay a wicked grin. “It won’t take much fabric for what I have in mind.”
Cora giggled somewhere behind him.
Kay’s aqua eyes narrowed.
He chuckled.
Kay looked sharply away. Her hands clinched into tiny fists at her sides, her pink silken lips pressed firm. She continued to avoid his gaze, training her eyes on Cora who was busy gathering the partially sewn gowns into a pile atop the bed.
Hunter strode to the window to wait until they were through, feeling quite pleased with himself. He’d planned to lay down the law, but beating her at her own game was far more satisfying.
He leaned against the window to stare down at the rolling sea. The rustle of silk and Kay’s enticing flowery scent danced around him. He pictured Cora undressing her behind him, the way he wanted to undress her—slowly, letting each silky undergarment drift to the floor until she stood completely naked on the chair before him. An image of her languid sensual smile after he’d initiated her into womanhood sprang to mind. He had the over-powering urge to throw her down on the bed and see it again.
Lost in these rapturous musings, his mind barely registered the door closing.
“How dare you!”
He turned round, assuming a mild air. “How dare I what?” He took in the green riding habit and the angry flush staining her cheeks.
“Speak of me in such intimate terms in front of the servants, as though you were outfitting your favorite whore.”
He cracked a wry smile. “Any whore worth her salt wouldn’t have to be told what to wear when she came to my bed.”
“You can buy me as many nightgowns as you like, but I won’t wear them!” She plucked down in a chair to tug on her boots. “Nor will I ever come to your bed.”
“Running off again?”
She glanced up, looking startled if not guilty at his question. “I’ve taken my evening meals here these past nights. Though why I bother, I don’t know. You’re never here.” She stood, then turned with her hands on hips to face him, her aqua gaze alit with sparks. “If you’re thinking of adding more conditions to our bargain, you’re wasting your time. I’ll sleep here and dine here but nothing more.”
“A small price to pay for your crimes, wouldn’t you say, even if your efforts were fruitless?”
He’d hoped goaded her into defending herself might gain more information, but she simply stared back at him, lifting one brow.
“I came to inform you that I’m returning to London at the end of the week,” he informed her firmly. “You will come with me.”
“No, thank you.” She sailed airily for the door, throwing over her shoulder, “I’m quite content where I am.”
“It isn’t a request. You will accompany me.”
She turned to face him, letting fly a huff of exasperation. “Why?”
“Because it suits me. And,” He leveled a long look on her, “When left to your own devices, I can’t trust you not to bleed my coffers dry.”
She feigned an innocent look. “Are you not pleased with my new wardrobe? I only sought to spare your reputation by upholding your lofty standards.”
“What would please me more,” he said very slowly and distinctly, “Would be a humble attitude, befitting an obedient wife.”
She drew herself up to her full height, then with a toss of her head marched to the door. When she arrived, she turned with her hand on the knob. Her tone turned sugary sweet. “Show me a kind and loving husband, and I’ll show you an obedient wife.”
His jaw clinched as he stared at the closed door.
Damn sassy bit of baggage!
It was high time he asserted his authority and showed her who was boss—another good reason to take her to London, where she couldn’t run off to the
comfort of Butterfield Hall whenever it suited her fancy.
***
The sun shone hot over the busy market, soaking up morning dew and warming freshly-scrubbed faces.
Kay listened to Cora’s merry chatter with half an ear as they wove their way through the stalls and carts, filling their baskets with produce. She needed to find Charlie.
Pungent odors from the pens of sheep and chickens wafted past their noses, while the cries of sellers at the stalls echoed around them. When they finished their shopping they stopped to watch a group of acrobats, displaying all manner of unnatural contortions.
But still, no sign of Charlie.
Rot!
Where was he?
It was just like him to send word for her to meet him and then not show up.
“Oh, look! A gypsy caravan.” Cora gazed with wistful wonder up the hill, mossy eyes snapping beneath the shade of her straw bonnet. “Do you suppose they tell fortunes? My sister Ruth had her fortune told once. She swore it all came true. I’d give half a toe to hear mine.”
At that moment Kay spied Lord Herrington weaving his way toward them through the crowd.
Laud!
What was he doing here?
Had Charlie sent him as an envoy? Not likely. Charlie couldn’t stand the sight of him. No doubt he was down from London to visit Phelia and Captain Talbot, as they were fast friends.
Not wishing to renew their brief, but unsettling acquaintance, she grabbed Cora by the arm. “Then we must go. You shall hear your fortune now.”
They hustled up the hill to the gypsy’s gaudy coach, set apart from the rest of the market on the sloping, grassy knoll. For a shilling an old crone in a purple kerchief agreed to take Cora inside and tell her her secrets.
Kay waited by the red and purple coach, contemplating whether she should spend another shilling to have her own palm read. Finally she decided against it. Her life already sped along as uncertain as a runaway horse, without the added burden of feeling her destiny was inevitable.
She scanned the alley of crowded stalls below for Charlie’s golden head. A stilt walker in a red and yellow jester costume rose above the crowd beside a juggler whose colorful balls flew in a circular pattern—but no Charlie. Where was he? Of all times to be unreliable! Of course he was always unreliable. Why should she think marrying Wallshire would change that? She’d certainly give Charlie’s ears a good scalding when she saw him next. It was just like him to send her on some wild goose chase.
“Do you wait for a lover?”
Kay swung round to discover a black-haired gypsy swaggering toward her. He appeared very exotic with his yellow, full sleeved shirt tucked loosely into his black breeches. A red silk sash encircled his waist. She could not help but stare at his flawless olive complexion and deep set black eyes. There was something oddly familiar about him.
He smiled. “Were I your lover, I’d never make you wait.”
She smiled back uncertainly. Who was he? “’Tis only a friend.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” He flashed a rakish smile, then tossed the ribbons of the pink bonnet that matched her gown with one long finger. “I’ll be your lover, my little forest fairy.”
Kay took a step back, tilting her head curiously. Only one person had ever called her that. Something in his smile and the dark slash of his brows reminded her of a friendship long ago. “Miska! Is it really you?”
He grinned and she knew at once he was the boy she and Charlie played with so many years ago on the heath. She threw her arms around his neck with joy. Faith, was it really him, from those carefree days when there was time to dream—time to lie on the damp grass, turning clouds into elephants and trees into towers of gold. On warm summer nights she and Charlie would sneak out to come to the gypsy camp and sit by the fire to watch their wild dancing. Sometimes they would even join in.
Miska kissed both of her cheeks with gusto. “Ah, now you see the boy in the man?”
“I can’t believe it’s you. I never thought to see you again.”
“I came back to see Gerta before she died. She told me you would come.” Gerta was his grandmother. When they were children she’d been right more than not in her predictions. Kay had always loved to sit and listen to her tales of Hungary. It was sad to here of her passing. “I’m so sorry, Miska. When did she die?”
“It has been two months now. She was too old and tired to suffer through another cold winter. But let us talk of happier things. You have not answered my question.”
“It’s generous of you to offer.” She gave a gay laugh. “But I could use a friend more than a lover just now. I fear a lover would complicate my life more than it already is.”
He lifted her hand, then pressed his lips to her fingertips in a gentle caress. “Then you have not found the right one, eh.”
His dark glancing eyes and persuasive tone befuddled her. She hastily withdrew her hand. “I’ll know the right one when I see him.”
“Not when you see him, but when your blood turns to fire and your legs shake beneath him. Then… you will know.”
Her cheeks grew warm. A vision of the Duke flashed before her and her flush deepened.
Cora emerged from the couch, sparing her from answering.
Kay said her farewells, promising to visit him soon.
“If you don’t find him before we meet again, perhaps you’ll reconsider.” Miska called after them. “In the meantime, if you should need a friend, ask for me at the tavern. They’ll know where to find me.”
Kay ignored his lusty suggestions, concentrating on maneuvering down the sloping hill in her treacherous slippers.
Cora paid him no heed. She was too intent on relating the details of her palm reading, which included a long and healthy life, five children, and a mysterious legacy. Kay worried that the old gypsy had set Cora’s hopes too high, but she kept her thoughts to herself, after all, stranger things had happened. If these dreams made Cora happy, what did it matter?
Kay was too busy listening to Cora and watching where her feet landed to notice the mounted rider waiting for them where the grassy slope ended and the market stalls began.
“Did you get your money’s worth?” The Duke leaned casually across the pummel of his saddle, clearly amused that they’d allowed their superstitions to rule their purse.
Kay’s gaze shifted nervously past him, hoping Charlie wouldn’t choose that moment to show his face. Now that she’d given up on him, it would be quite in character for him to arrive at the worst possible moment. Satisfied that he was nowhere in sight, she returned her gaze to her husband, offering a saucy smile. “Cora is very pleased with the results. It might be prudent to check your fate, Your Grace, before you do something you’ll regret.” She lifted a finger to her lips, assuming a thoughtful mien. “Oh…I forgot—you already have.”
His brandy gaze narrowed. “Fetch the carriage Cora, my wife must be overly taxed to be so out of sorts.”
“On the contrary, I’m bursting with energy,” Kay declared.
“Good, then you can ride home with me. Cora will see that the carriage gets safely back to the manor.”
Kay’s bravado quickly deflated, realizing she’d played right into his hands.
Cora looked from one of them to other through the heavily charged air. “Yes, Your Grace.” She gave a quick curtsy then disappeared through the crowd.
Kay had no choice but to accept the hand he offered. She slipped her foot in the stirrup, allowing him hoist her up before him. He wrapped one firm arm around her waist, pulling her so tight against him, she had the urge to squirm away and leap from the animal’s back. “I would have preferred to walk,” she said testily once they were in motion, every nerve in her body come to life.
His arm tightened, pulling her closer against his chest. “This suits me better. We have matters to discuss.”
Her mouth went dry. Had he discovered why she was here—to meet Charlie? She waited in nervous anticipation as they wove their way around the bustlin
g market area where all forms of humanity meandered between the stalls.
“Are you striving to make a proper fool of me, madam?”
Her heart picked up speed. “No, Your Grace.”
His voice held a dangerous edge. “Then never shame me again by attempting to pay for your own clothing.”
She half turned, giving him a startled look. Then, blessed relief washed over her. He didn’t know why she was here.
“Did you think I’d not find out?” He said close to her ear.
She shivered. “No… yes… I mean, what does it matter if I pay for my own gowns?” She jerked her chin up. “I don’t wish to owe you anything when this is over.”
“Yet you’d slander my good name by letting people think I can’t afford to clothe my own wife.”
“’Tis hardly a blush on your good name, if your wife has the means to pay for her own gowns.”
“My father’s fortunes were dwindling by the time he died.” His tone grew impatient. “I’ve spent the past months satisfying his creditors and restoring their good faith. Your generosity only serves to undermine my intentions.”
Kay shifted uncomfortably in the silence that followed. It hadn’t been her intent to shame him, only to exert her independence. But she wouldn’t apologize for refusing his charity. She meant what she said. When she left she would owe him nothing. She wanted nothing that would remind her of him, or their sham of a marriage.
She remembered the ballroom and swallowed convulsively. If he was this angry over a few gowns, he was bound to be enraged when he saw the results of her and Mr. Nash’s plans.
But, what did it matter?
What did she care?
He deserved it.
Every time he walked into that room, he’d remember what he’d done to her. While she, on the other hand, would be free.
The Thief and the Rogue Page 17
