by Darcy Burke
With the prince leading the way, Kate and Ryder made their way down the center of the nave and out onto the steps of St. Paul’s. The bells began to peal, and Kate could hardly believe it was all happening. A year ago, she’d never even dreamed the true splendors of London. Now, she was not only here, but at the very center of it.
Which of course was quite a change even from the previous week where she had barely been able to leave the house. And better still, she didn’t have to follow Ryder about, trying to see him. No, he was her husband now. They’d live under the same roof, and she’d chosen to believe he would be different than Percy. That she would see him every day.
She couldn’t cease beaming.
“Happy, Lady Darkwell?” Ryder asked, his hand on her lower back guiding her carefully down the steps.
“Very.” She might not have his heart or his love. She might never truly ever have him. All things she would have allowed herself to want years ago, before she learned how fragile the heart was in another’s hands. But she had this. The beginning of a friendship unlike any she had ever known. And that, that would somehow have to be enough.
Chapter Twenty
The Duke of Aston doffed his big black hat decked with red feathers and gave his tiger grin. “My invitation was lost, no doubt, in the dubious London postal system.” He shrugged, his gold buttons winking in the morning light. “An oversight I corrected.”
Ryder scowled. An oversight, his ass. He’d firmly planned on a life free of mad pirates.
Aston clapped him on the back. “One must not be daunted by such trifles as invitations, my lad.”
Why the hell did he call him that? Did he look like a lad?
Unfortunately, due to the fact it was his wedding day, Ryder couldn’t quite manage a formidable glower. “Your presence is a thorn in my side.”
“Ah, yes. But every thorn has its rose.”
“I had no idea you boasted petals, Aston,” Ryder drawled.
Aston laughed unperturbed by Ryder’s less than affable welcome. “No. No petals. But I do love a good flower. And your new wife, I’d say, is quite the blossom of the garden.”
Ryder immediately turned his attention to Kathryn who stood in a circle of ladies, who just a week ago would have thrown rotting cabbage at her. Now, they ooed and ahed over her jewels and courted her friendship as if she was a Princess Royal.
Which was just exactly as Ryder planned.
The ton was damn well going to get down on their knees and kiss Kathryn’s toes before he was done. With him as her husband, no one was ever going to hurt her again. And he’d cut the bastard—female or male—to ribbons who tried.
Aston prodded him with his elbow. “Do tell me how you arranged the breakfast to take place here at Carlton House.”
Ryder arched a brow at the bastard’s cheek. “The Prince and I happen to be quite close.”
Aston snorted. “Come now. You’re prickly as a hedgehog and close to no one, save that politician, Hunt.”
Ryder eyed the man with a new degree of interest. He was observant for a blustering peacock. In truth, he had agreed to pay off a large degree of the prince’s debts with his perfumer. No small cost given the prince’s obsession with scents.
“Fine, then keep your secrets to yourself.” Clapping on his big hat, a ridiculous size for any man, Aston gave him a courtly bow. “Now, I shall go and give your wife my good wishes and my sincerest affection.”
“You give her anything but a handshake and I’ll pull your balls through your nostrils.”
“Vivid imagery. But rest assured, I am completely trustworthy.” And he was off like a three masted ship at sail.
Ryder folded his arms across his broad chest. Trustworthy, his arse. The man was about as trustworthy as a walk on quicksand.
“What the devil is he doing here?” Hunt asked, two glasses of claret in his hands.
“My sentiments exactly. Apparently, one doesn’t need an invitation when one’s a sodding pirate.”
“Rumors.”
“Take one look at the bastard and tell me you don’t see him prodding virgins down the plank.”
Hunt gave Aston a once over. The man was currently cooing over Kathryn’s ring.
“Hmmm.” Hunt sipped his claret, his eyes narrowing. “You’d better keep an eye on her jewels. Old habits die hard, I’m sure.”
“I’ll stomp him into the marble first.”
Hunt handed him the other glass. “Here, you’re scowling far too much for a man just married. Your wife will be bound to notice.”
Ryder blinked, astonished that he was letting his irritation show to such a degree. He took the claret and took a quick swig of the rich wine. “Is it so wrong to wish everything to go perfectly?”
“How much perfection could you want?” Hunt gestured at the tables of food and drink that stretched down the long gallery and curved out towards the conservatory.
“It’s enough?” Ryder asked, his voice surprisingly tense.
Hunt coughed. “Enough? Good god man, there’s a full orchestra and you built an indoor pool with water lilies, swans and all.”
“Mmm.” Ryder took another drink. In hindsight, that could have gone badly if he hadn’t prepared. “It’s a good thing I hired keepers.”
“Though I dearly would have loved to see one of the swans fly at the good Countess of Carmine.” A rueful smile curved Hunt’s lips. “She’s wearing enough feathers for one of the male birds to grow confused.”
The very mention of the woman turned his stomach.
Hunt turned to him, giving most of the room his back. “Did you explain to her?”
Ryder’s grip tightened on his glass. Out of habit, he was tempted to touch Jane’s ribbon, but he left it off for the wedding. The first time, he’d gone more than an hour without it. “And what should I explain?”
Hunt pinned him with an impatient look. “About Jane, you dunce.”
Ryder considered lying, but Hunt was too smart for that. He was onto truth like a bloodhound. “No.”
“And when she starts asking questions?”
“Won’t happen. Besides I doubt she’d be interested in my past marriage.” He sounded like a fool, but he couldn’t bear putting Jane and Kathryn in the same thought. No matter how he reasoned with it, he felt like he was betraying both.
“Your wife is a font of questions. You do realize this?”
Unfortunately, Hunt was right. Kate’s curiosity might be rivaled by the scientists at the Royal Academy but only by the merest of degrees. “I will deal with her questions when they arise.”
At that exact moment, as though she felt his inner turmoil, Kate turned towards him. Her grey eyes, cool and reflective, were alight with happiness. His heart tightened at her expression.
God, how was he going to keep distant from her? Every part of him urged to let her in. No, he corrected himself. Not the part of him that held Jane’s hand as she slipped away.
“You know,” Hunt said softly, eyeing his starched cuff. “I have seen few couples look at each other the way you and Kathryn do.”
Ryder shook his head tightly. “We have an understanding of each other. Nothing more.”
“Perhaps—”
“No. She has no interest in love either. And that’s for the best.” Ryder cleared his throat, needing to get away from this line of conversation. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am neglecting my wife.”
Ryder made his way through the crowd of ladies’s wide skirts and gentlemen making merry. Though several people extended well wishes to him, he barely acknowledged them. He only had eyes for Kathryn.
As he came up beside her, he leaned in and said softly in her ear. “Is all well?”
Her lips tilted in her special smile. “It could not be better. Thank you for such a beautiful day.”
The pleasure at her enjoyment hummed through him, and he had to resist taking her in his arms in front of the ton. He doubted they would turn a blind eye to that.
Imogen swept toward
s them, and Ryder stepped closer to Kathryn. “Your friend looks in high spirits.”
In fact, she looked in very high spirits. Pink stained her cheeks, and her coif had drooped, a feather bobbing against her cheek. A glass of champagne was fixed in her hand, but she was swinging it about. “Darlings!” she exclaimed.
“Too much punch,” his wife confessed.
Damn, but he liked how that sounded. His wife.
Imogen stopped in front of them, swaying ever so slightly. “Lovely party.”
“Thank you,” Ryder said, unsure if he should offer the woman his arm, but she seemed to be having a fine time.
She leaned in close, her eyes wide as if she was about to confess a secret. Crooking a finger at them, she whispered, “But what are you still doing here?”
Imogen waved her champagne glass at Ryder and giggled. “I know what I’d be doing right now, if I’d just married a lovely, lovely duke like you.”
“Imogen,” Kate hissed.
“’Tis true,” Imogen said firmly.
Ryder wasn’t sure if he should hug or throttle the woman, because she was absolutely right. He wanted Kathryn alone and to himself right now. “Perhaps it’s time we depart,” he said, his voice suddenly rough to his own ears.
Kathryn drew in a quick breath, and her breasts pressed to her corset. “I do believe you’re right.”
“Shoo,” Imogen said, waving a jeweled hand at them. “Off you go.” She pressed her hand to her pink cheek. “Now, where is that gorgeous bit of tough, Aston, got to?”
Kathryn took Imogen’s hand and whispered to her.
Ryder could have sworn he heard the words no closets, but that was absurd. Then again, considering Imogen, perhaps it was good advice.
Nodding like a well-warned child, Imogen headed off. He peered through the crowd looking for the blasted pirate. Of all things he was standing with Mrs. Barton. Ryder shook his head. Between Aston’s enthusiasm, Mrs. Barton’s sense of adventure and Imogen’s willingness, they’d no doubt go off to some obscure part of the house for a game of sausage, sausage, who’s got the sausage.
The idea didn’t bear thinking about. Then again if they enjoyed themselves and, more to the point, didn’t get caught who was he to gainsay their fun?
He had to admit, the more he thought about it, the more he agreed with Hunt. Aston would make an interesting addition to the Duke’s Club. But not now. Perhaps never. Perhaps they’d all be lucky and the man would just hie himself back to the Indies.
Ryder offered his arm to his wife. “Shall we?”
Beaming up at him, Kathryn slipped her hand onto his forearm. “I’d love nothing more.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“I am perfectly capable of walking, Your Grace,” Kate lilted, not quite able to contain her excitement.
“I’m aware of that, Your Grace,” Ryder intoned with teasing gravity.
“And yet you have a frequent habit of carrying me about.” Kate clasped her hands around his neck, unsure of which way to look. Should she turn to the massive, four storied house just off Green Park that made Spencer house, just a few yards away, look like a hovel?
Or should she look at the wonderful man who had given it to her?
“I love to carry you about,” he said confidently as he strode up the granite steps and through the double red doors of their new residence.
The servants, all in sapphire and crisp white uniforms, stood in a long line awaiting them. But Ryder ignored them and whispered in her ear, “It usually means I’m going to have my way with you.”
Her cheeks burned, and she smiled at the old man she’d run past that first night she met Ryder. “Your butler, I presume.”
“No, Kathryn. Our butler.” Ryder gave the old man a nod. “Isn’t that right, Grieves?”
“Most certainly, Your Grace.” The old fellow lifted his shaggy brows and bowed slightly. “And may I say what a pleasure it is to have a Duchess and to see His Grace in such good spirits.”
Ryder kept walking, his mission clear. But Kate looked over her shoulder and threw the old man, and the rest of the gaping servants, a smile. “Thank you! I look forward to meeting you all.”
And then Ryder started taking the steps towards the upper regions of the house two at a time.
She giggled, amazed at his strength. It was impossible to get a good look at the many paintings hanging upon the walls or the ornateness of the crenellated ceiling. The one thing she did see was the wine-red and gold rug lining the staircase and the ebony balustrade.
On the second floor he turned to the right wing of the stairs and started down the hall. Window after window poured in glorious sunlight causing the crystal on the wall sconces to shimmer like rainbow-colored mist.
“Which one is our room?” she asked.
He cuddled her closer to his chest. “Officially, we each have our own room.”
“Oh. I see.” She didn’t know why she expected any different. They weren’t in love. For goodness sake, she and Percy hadn’t even shared a house. And after their first unpleasant experience, nor had she wished to share a bed. But Ryder was different. She loved the headiness of his spicy scent and the way his strong muscles wrapped her up in a blanket of security.
“A formality I have no intention of keeping.” His smile turn wolfish. “What fun could I have in a bed by myself?”
Her spirits lifted right back up, and she forced herself to recall this was a marriage where she should simply take things as they came. She couldn’t go about acting like a silly twit expecting hearts and flowers. “My thoughts exactly.” She wiggled her brows at him. “Now where is it?”
“The far room at the end of the hall.” He tilted his head down towards her. “Why do you ask, considering you have such excellent transportation?”
“Because.” Kate tickled his ribs, and to her delight, he staggered and choked on a laugh. “I might grow old at this pace. Do you think we shall reach it before my dotage?”
“You evil wench.” He laughed. “Impatient, are you?”
Kate nodded, a smile tilting her lips. “Most definitely.”
Gripping her tightly, he ran down the hall, his boots thudding against the carpet.
Laughter bubbled from her lips. “Stop. Stop!” Though she had absolutely no wish for him to cease.
“Not until you’re in bed where you belong.” And he charged down the hall, halting just before an open white and gold door. He took one step through and kicked it shut.
Kate bit her lower lip, anticipation humming through her veins. At the center of the room stood a huge four poster bed covered in white silk pillows and a goose down throw. Without hesitating he crossed the room and tossed her face down onto the soft mattress. She turned her head towards him, savoring the gorgeous bed beneath her and beckoned with her eyes.
His chest rose in fell in deep breaths as his gaze roamed over her sprawled on the bed.
“Are you coming, Your Grace?” she asked, stretching ever so slowly. “This bed is rather big for one.”
Ryder’s eyes darkened with desire, and he pounced. As he rolled beside her, he crawled onto his knees and pulled her skirts up in a few swift tugs. With surprising force, he had her onto her hands and knees then smoothed his hands over her bottom and thighs. “So, beautiful.” And then he bent down and placed an open mouthed bite on her bum.
Kate gasped at the shock. It had hurt, but only a little, and it sent the most delicious sensations racing through her. Instinctively, she tilted her hips back, offering herself to him.
Good lord, she could take him right now. She was sure if she reached back and touched herself she would be wet and swollen with desire.
“Not yet,” Ryder said firmly. “Now, my sweet, on your back.”
Kate complied immediately, ready for anything he might propose. Ryder lowered himself over her and took her mouth.
She pressed against him, lifting her back from the bed as she drew deeper and deeper kisses from him. But he pressed her back down and
soon they were struggling for air as they turned and twisted on the bed.
Rolling over and over, Ryder stopped and pinned her arms down with one hand. “I think it’s time we free you of all these clothes.”
What she really wanted was for Ryder to part her thighs and give her his long, hard length, but he was determined to make this last, and she certainly wasn’t going to protest. “I am rather warm.”
His forehead creased in mock concern. “It is my primary duty to make you comfortable.”
Gazing up at him, she had to ignore the clamoring of her heart at the way his black hair fell boyishly across his forehead. “Proceed then, please.”
With her arms stretched high above her, her breasts threatened to spill free from her corset and the prone position was surprisingly appealing. She found herself hardly able to wait for him to undress her. “Faster.”
He laughed, though it was strained now. His deft fingers worked at the pins that held her stomacher in place. He worked them free and pulled her bodice off and tossed it the floor. The decadence of throwing such an expensive garment to the ground didn’t escape her, and the fact he wanted her so much as not to care only increased her own need.
Her skirts were a prison, and she wanted free of them.
“Allow me,” he said roughly as he undid the ties of her heavy skirts.
The rich fabric slid down her body, layer after layer until she lay in nothing but her jewels, her short chemise, stockings and her corset.
As he stared down at her virtually naked lower body, he growled, “God, I want to devour you.”
The thought of him feasting on her sent a jolt of pleasure straight between her thighs. “I’d like to be devoured.”
“Would you now?” he asked, as his hand went to her corset. He studied the soft curve of her cunny for a moment then flipped her onto her stomach. Her hands free now, she grasped the white pillowy blanket.
He cursed as he pulled at the strings, but finally he peeled the beautiful blue brocade corset, and she moaned at the feel of release. It was delicious as air kissed her skin.
“No more prisons.” And he tugged the corset free, flinging it to join her pile of clothes. His fingers trailed back and then slid her chemise up her legs and he tugged it forward and up over her head.
