by Darcy Burke
A low hush of whispers circled round the growing group of gossips. Coaches pressed in behind and in front of them. Ladies and gentlemen on horseback made no attempt to ride around, but rather rode as close as they could, all of them eager to see a bit of blood spilled.
“You see, Mrs. Darrell, a more honorable woman would realize the offense she gives to polite society by her stained presence.”
Many of the onlookers nodded at the countess’ words which sent a chill down Kate’s spine. Londoners were notorious for their mob mentality, and though the day was fine, that might not stop them from making an example out of her.
“The air is free, Countess,” Kate said firmly. “That is all I wish to take.”
The countess’s red lips pressed into a line. “Make no mistake, madam, you are not welcome here. You are a scandal and should be driven from all good society.”
Kate swallowed, her gaze darting to the ever growing crowd which now included carriages, ladies and gentleman on horseback. Even those from the walking paths had taken note and were swarming in like bees to honey.
No one was coming to her defense, their eyes intense and excited. So, she would defend herself. “My lady, my society is as good as yours.”
A series of gasps went up from the crowd as if Kate had just thrown the Bible down and danced upon it. Apparently, they all felt she should have the door of society slammed firmly in her face. And be tossed out into the mud to be trampled.
The countess laughed, a frozen sound. “You, madam, are not fit to wipe my boots. With your conduct you have established yourself a wh—”
“Think twice,” a deep voice growled, “before you insult Her Grace, the future Duchess of Darkwell.”
A rush of harried commotion went through the gossipmongers.
Kate whipped around looking for Ryder. She’d know his voice anywhere.
And there he was.
The Duke of Darkwell sat like a furious dark knight upon his black hunter. The crowd parted to allow him to ride through to her carriage. His gloved fists held the reins with a chokehold, and his face was a mask of rage.
Even with fury upon his face, he was the most welcome sight she had ever seen, and her heart leapt at his presence.
The countess sputtered. “Your Grace, surely you shan’t defend—”
As if to make himself absolutely clear he spoke loudly, “Defend my wife? I promise you, I shall bring down all powers of my ducal position to prosecute any who might slander her.”
“But. . . but. . .” the countess stuttered.
“My lady.” Ryder sneered as he pressed his hunter up between the carriages. “You are hardly one to pass judgment, and unless you wish me to air your sins, ride on.” He turned to the onlookers. “That goes for every one of you.”
For several seconds, the lords and ladies who had expected the public and final destruction of one of the wealthiest women in England gaped. But Ryder’s determined glare finally sent them slowly off.
The countess was forced to wait, being locked in by the other carriages. Her face was a pale mask of indignation, and she stared straight ahead. Which suited Kate just fine. If she never had to look at the woman again, she would count herself very happy.
When the din died down Ryder’s eyes softened, though banked anger still heated them. His gaze darted over her, and a muscle worked in his throat. “Are you well? Did they harm you?”
Her own gaze traveled over his face, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Several bruises darkened his already tawny skin. “What happened to you?”
A muscle tightened in his jaw, and he smiled tightly. “Nothing. An exchange of words.”
“I didn’t realize words could leave such marks,” Kate said gently, wanting nothing more than to soothe away any hurt he might have sustained.
“I am perfectly well,” he said, “I only wish to know you are unharmed.”
His obvious concern sent her heart rioting and she had to take several shallow breaths. At last, she managed a smile. “I am perfectly well, thank you. A few harsh words never did anyone too much harm.”
“Oh, Kathryn.” He sighed. “Your optimism is fatal.” He twisted towards Imogen. “Have you told her that? Have you told her if she keeps insisting on this all will work out set of beliefs she’ll end up to her neck in trouble?”
Imogen’s eyes widened, and she just stared up at him, clearly far more affected by the little show than she let on earlier, “I think, Your Grace, she is already up to her ears in trouble. Do you plan to extricate her?”
“Imogen!” Kate hissed.
“I’m only speaking the truth,” Imogen protested. “After today, you must see reason.”
Kate sat back, hating to admit defeat. She grinned tentatively, trying to make light of the terrible situation. “I have been rather stubborn.”
The duke’s dark brows rose. “Stubborn, madam? Bullheaded more like.”
Kate scowled up at him. Who was he to talk? He had been just as difficult. “Now see here, I thank you for your assistance, Your Grace, but I hardly think—”
“Kate, close your mouth,” Imogen said quickly. “Unless you wish to be on the first boat to Spain come tomorrow morning.”
That gave Kate pause. She was indeed going to have to leave. It was as simple as that. If she didn’t find a way to fix her damaged reputation, she would either have to stay locked up in her house, or she would have to hie off the continent. “Yes, well, I suppose you have a point.”
“A point?” Darkwell echoed. “Were you present for this debacle, Kathryn?” His face paled as he shook his head, causing his bruises to stand out in sharply. “The countess was one step away from lynching you here in the middle of the park.”
Kate shifted uncomfortably on her carriage seat. “I am not a child, sir. You need not explain how tenuous my situation is.”
Ryder’s jaw tightened as if fighting back some jaded comment. “I shall meet you at your home in shall we say ten minutes time? And we shall discuss what to do.” He didn’t even wait. He just whipped his hunter about and inclined his head, riding off in the direction of her townhome.
Kate sat up straight staring after him. “Imperious—”
“And chivalrous rescuer,” Imogen cut in.
Kate frowned and folded her arms over her chest. “Those were not the words I was going to use.”
However, Imogen was right. He had come to her rescue when no one else would, and it was clear he cared. More than he’d ever let on. In fact, he seemed furious anyone might speak ill against her. For a brief moment, she had been certain he was going to throttle the countess. An event she might pay money to see.
And she had a terrible feeling those bruises were an effect of words exchanged over her. The very thought caused her silly emotions to blossom with false hope.
Even so, that did not give him the right to order her here and there or treat her as a child. She had enough experience with men who saw her as a piece of luggage to be shunted about. It didn’t matter that her blood was rushing through her veins, that she could hardly believe she had seen him again and that now he was demanding an audience.
Kate bit down on her lower lip, trying to bring herself back down to reality. He was going to demand marriage. She knew it. Though she was sure he had no desire to make her his wife, he had no choice now after publicly proclaiming himself. And any woman of intelligence would jump at his offer.
But Kate had learned the hard way jumping only resulted in one flying through the air, hurtling to the earth below. And she did not have wings which meant if she was not very careful, she would crash.
Just as she had done before.
Chapter Eighteen
Pacing had become part of his existence since meeting that infuriating woman. Ryder forced himself to stop in front of the library’s towering fireplace before he wore a long trench in the polished wood floor.
But damn it, had she no sense?
And her response had hardly been the one he’d been expecting. He wa
s unsure as to why, but somewhere in what remained of his boyish fantasies, he expected her to throw herself into his arms and cling to him, showering him with kisses at his swift ride to her rescue. He’d even considered he might have to wipe a few tears from her frightened face.
Instead, she’d lit up at the sight of him for a few brief moments and then turned into a bristly thistle in the next.
And good God, why had he said that? Future duchess? Wife. He’d proclaimed her to be his wife—in front of half the ton. There was no going back from that. Despite any vows he’d ever made to Jane, he was about to be married. Again.
He ran his fingers over Jane’s ribbon, the fabric now rough from so much attention. Ever so slowly, he untied it and slipped it into his pocket. Even if it was the right thing to do, he couldn’t wear it. Not for this conversation. Not when he took Kathryn in his arms.
He glanced at the open door. Listening for any sound, any sound that might indicate she was here.
The part of him he’d long kept under lock and key was elated at the prospect of marrying Kate. Elated in a positively stupid fashion. One would think he was a boy in the first flush of flirtation, when he’d been innocent and the world held an unsurpassable treasure trove of promise. When he hadn’t lost those he loved to stupid causes.
But for some damned reason, Kathryn Darrell held happiness, an emotion he was a fair stranger to, out to him like an ephemeral prize. A prize which threatened his very vows to the one person who in life and death had been the center of his world for well over a decade.
Jane’s face came to his mind, her soft curls and pale eyes. But the image was fading now. He swallowed, trying not to think about what today’s event meant to her memory.
Ryder eyed the decanters of brandy sitting on the Chippendale sideboard and wondered at its presence in a lady’s establishment. Then again, he knew Kate had a taste for it. She had a taste for things no good young lady should. She was a walking conundrum. It was what he so liked about her.
In the last few weeks, he’d grown to expect her presence, and he could no longer imagine going on without it. Somehow he could make her see reason that marriage to him was preferable to banishment. And she certainly seemed appalled by a life abroad. And who wouldn’t?
Life with the Spanish indeed!
He’d rather skewer himself in the eyeball then put up with those poncing idiots.
Ryder glanced at the open doorway again. He kept listening for the delicate steps of ladies. Where the devil were they? He hadn’t ridden that fast ahead.
He caught his reflection in one of the tall gilt mirrors hanging from the wall, and much to his own disgust, he paused. He’d always been thorough in his appearance, but he never really given a damn about how he looked. Until this exact moment. He found himself smoothing down his black silk waist coat and checking his dark wool sleeves for horse hair.
Unromantic though this proposal might be, he was going to do it right. He’d be thorough if it killed him. It was his duty after all.
Finally, footsteps echoed down the hall, and Ryder turned about the room. The last thing he wanted, though he couldn’t believe he cared, was to look like he’d been waiting like a nervous school boy. He strode to the fireplace and propped his arm along the green Carerra marble.
Clearing his throat, he waited. It was preposterous that he felt any sort of concern at this meeting. He’d stood on the wrong side of a pistol, fought on the continent and he’d even endured Jane’s death.
And yet, Kathryn Darrell managed to awaken a sense of unease in him. It was as if he were standing on a tight rope, that at any moment someone was going to shake.
Kathryn and Imogen bustled through the doorway, and he bit back a curse. What the devil was her friend doing here? “I do believe we are past the need for a chaperone.”
The two women exchanged some mysterious female look. Imogen eyed him warily. “Mrs. Darrell asked for my presence.”
Ryder drew in a slow breath. Not a week ago, Kathryn had done everything in her power to get him alone, and now she was issuing propriety as if they were at a tea dance. “Is this true?”
She stared him down, daring him to challenge her decision. “Yes.”
Well, he’d always been one to live up to a challenge, and he wanted her alone. It would be easier to convince her if he could get her into his arms. It certainly didn’t hurt that he damn well wanted his mouth on hers. “Why?”
Clearly annoyed he was pressing this matter, she said tightly, “I wish to retain my good sense.”
A smile started at his lips as did a decidedly warm feeling in his abdomen. She was concerned about being alone with him because it would affect her judgment? It was the best possible answer to his question. “I understand, but this is a conversation I think best kept between us.”
She glanced towards Imogen and then back towards him. Indecision between what she wanted and what she thought best played across her pale features.
“Come, Kathryn,” he said softly. “You have nothing to fear from me. You must know by now my main interest is only in your welfare.”
Kathryn stared back at him for a moment, her lips pressing into a concerned line.
It killed him that she hesitated. But what right had he to wish she was completely unreserved in his presence? He certainly kept his fair share of himself locked away.
“As you wish.” She clasped Imogen’s beringed hand then let her friend go.
Interestingly, as she departed, Imogen threw him a warning stare that spoke volumes for the care of her friend.
The silence lingered between them as he and Kathryn stared at each other like two opposing armies on the brink of treaty or war. Ryder took a step forward, hoping to narrow the breach. “I am sorry for your discomfort this morning.”
She shrugged, causing her curled hair to brush her neck. However, the action didn’t quite hide the degree of pain to her gesture. “It was my own fault. I should have known I could not go freely about.”
It was impossible, hearing the resignation in her bright voice. When he’d first met her, her determination had been like her shield. She’d been unafraid of anything and though she certainly seemed brave, a little of that innocent hope had worn off under London’s harsh pressures.
“If it is your fault then it is equally mine,” he said gently.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I am an equal partner in our scandal. It simply happens that society is far more kind to the male in these happenings. That doesn’t make me less culpable.”
“True.” She smiled slightly and stepped towards him, her light blue skirts swaying. “But that doesn’t change my predicament.”
“I think it does.” The words felt like marbles in his mouth but he knew it was the right thing to do. And without a doubt, he knew Jane would want him to do what was right. “We must marry.”
The smile vanished, and Kate glared at him, her blue-grey eyes a stony color. To his acute frustration, she stepped back and cocked a brow at him. “Must, sir?”
Ryder sighed. “Kathryn, are you going to be spitefully stubborn again and ignore the events of this morning?”
“Spiteful?” she huffed. “I, sir, am never spiteful.”
Ryder stared back at her. “Good grief, woman, I could say the sun was yellow and you’d proclaim it green.”
She glowered for a moment then the starch went out of her a bit. “I can be difficult, but I simply don’t wish to be ordered, Ryder. I have been ordered about my whole life. By men, I might add.”
It would never be possible for him to understand what it was like to be a woman, completely at the mercy of a father or husband. But he did know what it was like to be controlled by guilt and grief. “I know how important freedom is to you.”
Her frown eased, and she took another step towards him. “You remember.”
“Despite appearances, I remember everything you’ve said or done.” God, he wished he could bite his tongue, but the truth just spilled o
ut.
“You know, we were both emphatic about not marrying that night at the opera,” she pointed out.
Ryder sighed. “I wish I could tell you differently, but there are many reasons why I think it is a mistake that you should marry me.”
Her smile faded again, and her expression grew guarded. “And yet you wish it now. It is very difficult to accept you because your sense of honor demands you assist me.”
“Make no mistake, you are. . .” He didn’t know how to put her effect on him into words. It was equally maddening and wonderful. She drove him to distraction then offered him respite from his self-inflicted and well deserved punishments. “You make me want happiness.”
“Oh, Ryder.” She took several slow steps towards him, the rustle of her skirts as hypnotic as the kindness warming her eyes “You deserve happiness. More than anyone I know.”
Ryder swallowed back the retort that she was wrong. He wanted her to agree to marriage, and a recital of his faults was probably not the most intelligent way to ensure her ascent. And yet, could he marry her without her knowing he could never love her, that he could never give her the care a husband should give his wife?
Bile twisted his stomach. “Can you marry me despite—”
“I’ve missed you,” she said softly. “Even your gruffness.”
Relief flooded through him that she stopped the fatal words from passing his lips. Nor had she seen him truly gruff as she put it. And if he had his way, she never would. For her sake, he’d force himself out of the darkness that pulled him down so frequently, and he would try to start again. Perhaps he could do it. “I have missed you too, Kathryn.”
“In truth?” she asked. Though she gave him a cheeky grin, there was definite uncertainty in her stance.
Ryder laughed, a rush of sound that echoed up to the ceiling. “God, yes.” He’d never tell her how much and how he’d thought of her nigh on every waking moment.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “You know, I had no intention of ever marrying again.”
“Nor I. But sometimes life chooses paths for us.”
“I suppose, but Ryder, I cannot settle into the life of a dutiful wife. I just can’t.” Her beautiful forehead creased with worry, and she clasped her hands in front of her. “Before I was left to rot in the country and had no control over my life. . . I made a very bad mistake putting myself in—” She swallowed as if her dead husband’s name was poison. “In Percy’s hands.”
