It was baffling. Terrifying. Exhilarating.
She thrummed with so much nervous excitement, she could barely sit still, let alone eat or sleep.
“Your grace?”
Kate lifted her head up from the puppy to see the butler and a gaggle of footmen clustered in the doorway. “Yes, Simmons?”
“Several large crates have just arrived for you.” He cleared his throat. “The calling card merely reads, ‘Repeating history.’”
He held out the card, but Kate had no need to see it. She was already on her feet, handing Jasper off to Aunt Havens. Repeating history could only mean one thing.
The furniture had arrived!
“Take everything to the back parlor. The one with the Ravenwood family portrait.”
The butler blinked as if he did not quite comprehend her orders. “Your grace?”
“It’s not Egyptian artifacts, Simmons. I swear.” She grinned at him and clasped her hands to her chest.
This was perfect. This was better than perfect. It was not only exactly what she needed to distract her mind from tomorrow’s inaugural gala, it was perfect timing for Ravenwood as well. He had mentioned he thought he might be able to make it home early. Perhaps she could reveal her surprise to him this very night!
She raced to the parlor in order to direct the footmen as to where to put which piece.
As it turned out, no such direction was necessary. Not only was a visual map staring back at them from the painting, the butler had served long enough to remember the room as it was twenty years ago and needed no instruction on arranging each item.
Once the staff realized what was inside the crates, their enthusiasm matched Kate’s own. They marveled at the uncanny resemblance of the new pieces to the old painting. Simmons’ only complaint was that if anything, the replacement furniture was in better condition than the originals.
Kate hugged herself. She couldn’t wait to see Ravenwood’s expression when he saw the reconstruction. He would see how much she cared. How hard she was trying to know him. To make him happy.
“When is the last time my husband came by this room?” she asked the footmen.
They glanced at each other uncomfortably. “Not since the day you took down your Egyptian things.”
Her spirits fell a little. She had pictured him visiting the parlor every night. Imagined herself incredibly clever for having slipped the painting out for an entire day without him noticing. When in fact, he might not visit again unless she dragged him here by the hand.
“Is that usual?” she asked the butler. “Has he always avoided this parlor?”
Simmons shook his head. “The longest he ever went between visits was a few days at the most.”
She frowned. “Then why hasn’t he been by for weeks?”
The butler’s smile was kind. “He gave the east wing to you.”
She blinked rapidly. Foolish man. But not as big a fool as herself, for not realizing how much he was giving up when he’d proclaimed the east wing as hers.
Well, she was about to give it back.
“In that case, please don’t tell him what we’ve done.” She gave the staff a conspiratorial grin. “Now that I know he won’t see the room until I show him, I’d like to pick the perfect moment. Next week, I think, when Parliament has adjourned and we have more time for each other.”
The footmen nodded and promised not to spill a word. Simmons complimented her on the fine work, and assured her his grace would love every inch of it.
Kate smiled back. She no longer wanted Ravenwood to love the furniture. She wanted him to love her.
As she walked back to her aunt’s sitting room, Kate’s mind hummed with thoughts of how her future with Ravenwood might be. Which led to thoughts of what the future might bring in general.
Which led to thoughts of Aunt Havens.
She was fine for right now—mostly fine, anyway—but Kate needed to keep her safe when she wouldn’t be able to be by her side.
Ravenwood, she remembered suddenly.
Warmth spread through her. She was no longer in this alone. Her spirits lightened. Gone were the days of Kate and Aunt Havens against the world. Now there were three of them. Ravenwood would keep everyone safe.
She reentered her aunt’s sitting room just in time to see Aunt Havens swat Jasper out of her embroidery basket.
“Beastly creature,” she muttered with a comical eye roll toward Kate. “Can’t he see I’m working?”
Kate scooped the adorable beast into her arms and stretched out on the chaise longue. “What are you working on?”
“A gift for you.”
Kate sat up, intrigued. “What is it?”
Aunt Havens hid the basket from view. “Something for you to remember me by. I think you’ll love it.”
Kate’s heart skipped a beat as the blood drained from her face. “I don’t need a gewgaw to remember you by. Don’t say things like that.”
“Memories are good things, not bad things, Kate.” Aunt Havens smiled. “Just think of all the memories you’re making with your husband. Isn’t life so much richer with love in it?”
“My life is richer with both of you in it.” Kate pushed stiffly to her feet, leaving Jasper to look after her aunt. “I’m going to my room to begin preparing for tomorrow. When you decide to stop talking nonsense, knock on my door.”
Chapter 21
Kate’s eyes refused to focus on her wardrobe. She was too afraid. Her heart seized up every time she considered the possibility of losing Aunt Havens.
Of course she knew her aunt would die someday. Everybody eventually died. But there was no reason to prepare for death now. Not today, not this year, not anytime soon.
Aunt Havens might get confused sometimes, but she was otherwise in the peak of health. More fragile than before? Perhaps. Too thin? Possibly. But no one was asking her to scale a mountain. Her days were filled with nothing more strenuous than petting a puppy and embroidering squares of linen.
As long as she stayed here at home, took her meals with Kate, and spent her time relaxing—there was no reason to think there weren’t many happy years ahead of them. Decades, even.
Aunt Havens had cared for Kate her entire life, and now it was Kate’s turn to keep Aunt Havens safe.
When at last the knock came on Kate’s door, she sagged with relief. Aunt Havens had abandoned her funereal line of thought and had decided to help Kate select her wardrobe for tomorrow’s event after all.
Except the knock hadn’t come from the corridor, but rather the connecting door leading to her husband’s bedchamber.
A glance at the clock on the mantel indicated it was far too early for Ravenwood to be home from Parliament, but why on earth would his valet be begging entrance at this hour? Or—God forbid—Aunt Havens hadn’t come to patch things up and accidentally wandered into the wrong bedchamber, had she?
Heart in her throat, Kate flung the door open wide.
Broad shoulders, a mop of chestnut curls, and clear green eyes met her gaze.
“Ravenwood?” she choked out in surprise, a half-hysterical laugh wheezing from her lungs.
He lifted a brow. “You were expecting someone else?”
She threw herself into his arms and wrapped her arms about him tight.
Yes. Yes, she had been expecting someone else. Yes, her aunt was becoming so erratic that for a moment, she had truly believed her aunt had entered the wrong bedchamber and was trying to find her way out.
Kate buried her face in his chest, but the words would not come. They hurt too much. Scared her too deeply. She didn’t wish to talk about her aunt’s fickle sanity. She didn’t want to think about what it might mean.
She just wanted to forget. To feel better. To let someone else be in charge.
Ravenwood was safe. His arms were safe. Warm, strong, dependable. He had never let anyone down in his life. He was the one person she could rely on without fail.
She hugged him tighter.
“What happened?” he
asked as he stroked her hair.
“Aunt Havens,” Kate mumbled against his cravat.
He tilted her face toward his, frowning. “Is she all right?”
“Yes,” she said fiercely. “But she acts like she’s going to die.”
Ravenwood made no answer.
Kate appreciated his reserve. She didn’t need to be told the obvious—that someday it would happen. That it would hurt deeply. That she would never truly get over it.
Ravenwood understood. He would not be a duke today if he too had not experienced loss. He knew better than to fill the silence with platitudes about enjoy the moments you have or she’ll go to a better place. Those things were true, but right now they gave no comfort.
Only his warm, steady embrace brought comfort.
“You’re home early,” she murmured into his chest.
“You’re up late,” he countered softly. “’Twas the first time I returned from Parliament and saw light still flickering beneath the door. Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?”
“Yes. No.” She gave a hiccupy laugh at her own muddled thoughts. “I don’t know.”
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to her bed.
She was already in her nightrail. She’d gone ahead and prepared for bed once she’d realized her mind was incapable of focusing on tomorrow. She hadn’t climbed into bed, however, because she had been hoping for a knock at the door.
Now that he had arrived, she wasn’t certain she was ready to be left alone. But he was a busy man. He hadn’t yet had a chance to unwind from his exhausting parliamentary session.
She knew what a toll being around so many people took on him. To recover, he needed privacy. Not a wife plagued by fears of an eventuality that could still be many years away. She would not be offended if he bid her goodnight and retreated to his own chamber.
He tucked her into bed, then sat in the closest chair to begin tugging off his boots.
She held her breath as he removed his gloves, his overcoat, his waistcoat, and piled each neatly folded item on the cushion of an empty chair.
When he was clad in nothing more than soft calfskin breeches and the billowing white lawn of his undershirt, he slid beneath the sheets of her bed and pulled her back into his arms.
She clutched him tight.
He kissed the top of her head and just held her.
“Aunt Havens thinks she’s going to die,” she whispered after her heart had calmed. “She’s making a token for me to remember her by.”
He brushed stray tendrils from her face. “You don’t need a token.”
She shook her head. Not now, now ever. Aunt Havens was unforgettable.
He stroked his thumb against her cheek. “Perhaps she isn’t expecting to die anytime soon, but wishes to create some sort of keepsake while she’s healthy and still can. Think about your artists. Painters paint portraits they hope will live on, without specifically thinking about their mortality. They just want to create.”
“Yes,” she decided firmly. He was right. “That’s all it was. She’s trying to be practical.”
Which proved that Aunt Havens’ mind was still sound. Only a sane person planned for contingencies and concerned herself with mundane practical matters. There was nothing at all for Kate to get in such a tizzy over. She nestled closer into Ravenwood’s arms.
“You’re the bravest person I know,” he told her softly.
Her? She lifted her head in surprise. “In what way?”
“You don’t hesitate to open your heart.” He cupped her cheek, his eyes dark. “For some people, that is the most frightening risk of all.”
She scoffed at the absurd notion. “I’m not brave. I’m a coward. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m terrified of being alone.”
His eyes met hers in silence.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“I won’t.” His mouth covered hers.
He pulled her close. His kisses weren’t tentative. They were demanding, urgent. In his arms, she wasn’t just safe. She was alive. Every fiber of her being was attuned to the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his muscles, the eagerness coursing through her veins. Everything she needed.
She met each kiss with passion. Her body still remembered the delicious, foreign sensation of his strong fingers against her bare skin and she longed for him to do it again. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed herself against him.
He was strength and power. Gentle and resilient. He was so much bigger, so solid and commanding, that she couldn’t help but give herself to him completely.
When his hand cupped her breast, she arched into his touch. She craved this, craved him. His fingers found her straining nipple. Tugged. Teased. A sharp longing began between her legs, building with every pinch of his fingers, every lick of his tongue against hers.
Her head fell back. With him, she felt more than mere comfort. She felt desired. Every kiss told her how badly he wanted her. She was important. She was his.
He yanked up the hem of her nightrail. She parted her legs. She was his. Her body throbbed with anticipation.
She wanted him to take his time. She wanted him to hurry. She wanted—
He lowered his mouth to her breast just as he dipped a finger into the slick heat between her legs.
She gasped at the unexpected pleasure of the twin sensations. Her muscles tightened as she arched into him. Her mind could no longer process anything except the sensual pressure building inside her. She gripped his shoulders as if to let go would mean falling into an abyss and he was the only one who could save her.
Perhaps he was the only one who could save her. She had never felt so valuable, so treasured as she did with him.
A moan escaped her lips as his thumb rubbed against a sensitive spot at the apex between her legs. Her body thrummed with coiled desire. She didn’t want his wicked fingers anymore. She wanted him. Her husband.
The French letters.
Frustration ripped through her as she realized it was long past the moment to start soaking protective sheaths in water. He was here now. Her body was ready now.
This was the moment to show him how deeply she longed to connect with him and how much he meant to her. He had accepted her. All of her. He had not only given her a home, but made her feel it. Home was more than a house. It was his arms, his garden, their bed.
Their future.
She had decided weeks ago that there was no possible way she could ever let Ravenwood go. The bigger question was ensuring he had no reason to let her go.
He desired her. That much was clear. They were good together, even out of the bedroom. He’d proven that in his garden, time and again. He wanted her.
He also wanted a family.
The idea of losing a child still terrified her. It likely always would. But she no longer equated the thought with loneliness and regret.
She had Ravenwood now. As long as they were together, she would never be lonely. Her biggest regret would be walking away. Not having his child. Not building a family.
This was the first time he had come to her bedchamber since their failed wedding night. She was bared to him. Open to his touch. To pleasure.
If she stopped him again, how long would it be until he came back? Did she even wish to stop him? She moaned. Her body certainly didn’t. Her hips rose to meet him with every thrust of his finger.
She shoved both hands to his waist, yanking up his shirt, tugging at the fall of his breeches. She wanted all of him, right now. She wanted to give him all of herself.
He flung his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his fall.
She reached for him.
If a child came from this union, it would not be a nightmare, but a miracle. A gift. A baby would be part of themselves. Someone they both would love. Someone utterly worth the risk.
A shiver danced over her skin as the hard length of his member nudged against her aching core. She belonged here. She belonged with him.
He belonged inside her.
She gasped and tightened her grip on his hair as he eased between her legs. He was too big, too hard, but as soon as his finger returned to her sensitive nub, everything fell away.
All she could feel was pleasure.
She wrapped her legs about his hips. Pressure built as their bodies merged together. Every surge, every thrust, not only brought her closer to him but also made her feel part of something bigger. With him, she was more than merely Kate.
She was complete.
Chapter 22
Ravenwood awoke with his forearm muscles tingling. He’d fallen asleep with his arms about his wife, and they’d slept the night wrapped in each other’s embrace.
He slid out of bed as carefully as he could without waking her and set about collecting his discarded clothing.
While it was unusual, perhaps, for a duke to spend the entirety of the night in his duchess’s bedchamber, he did not believe the practice to indicate a lack of propriety on the part of the husband—and he didn’t care a flying fig if it did.
As far as he was concerned, sharing a bed with his wife was about to become his favorite custom.
He felt himself smiling as he bathed, dressed, and prepared for the day. He felt like his entire body was smiling, inside and out.
Katherine had that sort of effect on him.
His step lighter than it had been in years, he made his way to his office. His thoughts, however, were still with Katherine.
He’d meant what he had said about her being brave. She opened her heart and loved completely and unconditionally, without reservation. Unlike him, she didn’t hold back when she feared the possibility of getting hurt.
He shouldn’t either. Not with her. Not when they were so close to having the sort of marriage, the sort of connection he’d always dreamed of having.
If he wanted that kind of life, then he had to risk opening his heart to get it.
Oh, who was he fooling? She’d been in his heart for some time. He sat down at his desk and unlocked the drawer that contained his poetry.
The Dukes of War: Complete Collection Page 90
