She had to remind him. What a bitter pill to swallow. God, he hated weakness. If he knew he wouldn’t stumble again, he’d get up and stomp around the room just to show her. Bloody hell. He’d best keep his arse right here in this dammed chair.
“What happened next?”
She blinked and leaned forward as if judging for herself whether or not he had recovered. “Does it hurt?”
“It damned well doesn’t tickle,” he spouted before he caught himself. “My apologies.”
She actually chuckled. The sound stirred designs up on his insides—which he’d been desperately trying to keep at bay. A rare and intriguing woman, indeed. Beautiful beyond comparison.
Thinking her Juliana, he had been primed and ready to unleash his wrath. He had wanted to make her squirm, beg, plead. He’d anticipated the pleasure of seeing fear in Juliana’s eyes. Instead he’d gotten the wind knocked out of his sails. Guilt ate at him like acid.
Morgan cleared his throat. “Please, go on.”
“As I said, there was so much blood. When your men saw me over you, and then they saw my hands . . .”
“They assumed you stabbed me?” How absurd. His men knew better. A mere woman would not have the strength. But, a beautiful woman, same lustrous red hair—he understood how George and Jeremy would have mistaken her for Juliana.
Her teeth chewed her bottom lip. “Yes. And when I realized what they suspected, I ran.”
Morgan could cut his arm off for putting her through such a set of circumstances. “You ran?”
“They caught me.”
“Obviously.”
“Then, when Doc came to my room, he simply stared at me. Of course I had a colorful bruise beside my eye.”
“A bruise?” Damn, she must have fallen when she ran away.
“The younger one clobbered me.”
What! Rage flooded his sanity. Surely he’d heard wrong. He would kill those bungling fools.
“There’s that threatening look again. Although I wanted to at the time, you don’t need to kill him. He’s ashamed enough as it is.
By God she’d patted his knee.
“Now, getting back to Doc. When he stared at me, he knew I didn’t do it. Stab you, that is. When I asked him to let me go, he said—‘there is still the matter you stole from him.’ Imagine my confusion. Which is what I was referring to when you said the woman who invaded your home, stole from you.”
His mind spun. So many truths came to light since she’d made that statement, he’d forgotten Doc had said anything. If only he could undo the damage already done—but he did not deal in ‘what ifs.’ He learned long ago not to count on anything but cold hard facts.
He swallowed convulsively. “Miss Radbourn. While you are in my home, you will be shown every courtesy. Please know you are safe here. You are my guest. Anything you wish is yours.”
A guest? How could Kat wrap her mind around that? It was bad enough his deep voice penetrated the nerves in her spine. And his devilishly handsome features scattered her thoughts. But his piercing gaze compelled the butterflies in her stomach to flurry more like hornets buzzing around a bee hive.
“I will make arrangements for you to return to your home as soon as possible,” he said. “However, there is one more thing we must discuss.”
Warning signals went off in her brain. She raised her chin. “And what, pray tell, might that be?”
His voice deepened. “I fully accept all responsibility for everything that has happened. My home is secluded. No one outside of the grounds knows you are here. There is no one to carry the tale of your presence to malign your name or damage your comportment. I do not tell you this to make you uncomfortable or to feel intimidated. Only to assure you, this incident will remain as quiet as you wish it to be.”
“Thank you.”
“However, you must realize your disappearance from London has undoubtedly become public knowledge for the gossips of the ton. I will offer you my name and my protection to make sure your reputation is untarnished.”
She certainly never expected this. She’d survived her fear and fought despair only to have the rogue tell her—oh, beg pardon, madam. Just a whit of a mistake. And now he offered his name?
“Are you sure you did not hit your head when you fell?”
Lord Whetherford’s eyes darkened. “I will do whatever it takes to right this wrong. Your being here leads to only one conclusion. Marriage.”
Kat’s head whirled. Too fast. This isn’t happening. She pinched her wrist to make sure she was awake. “To save my reputation?”
“Of course.”
Her chest tightened. She clenched her hands together, fumbling for words. “Lord Whetherford, you need not go to such lengths to . . .”
“How can I not?”
Taking vows with the man responsible for her abduction? It was unthinkable. Kat prayed she would not lose her temper. What if he had a temper to match? He certainly looked threatening in that alley. And the dark scowls he presented today had been menacing enough. Even given their situation, she must not insult an earl. To do so now when she barely knew this man, secluded in his home, in the middle of nowhere—he could possibly follow through on his threatening glower. “I hope such a thing will not be necessary.”
“I would gladly and most eagerly beg your forgiveness, and those of your family. But we both are aware nothing short of marriage is acceptable.”
Oh no, no, no! This can’t be happening.
What a set of circumstances? She had avoided proposals, found ways to get her uncle to decline offers on one pretext or another, only to be trapped into a loveless marriage? Even if the blasted lord did look like the man in her fantasies.
And she had to find Stephen.
“You don’t understand. I can’t marry you.”
He tried to hide it, but she knew she’d surprised him. “Are you promised to someone else?”
Now what was she to do? “No.”
A hint of a smile extended one corner of his beautiful mouth. “Am I such a bad catch? I have money and a title. Surely your parents would not object?”
“You can’t want to marry me either.”
Now she’d gone and done it. Admitted she did not want to marry him. Not want to marry a titled lord? Not only would he be insulted, he’d think her a complete blockhead.
Kat jumped from her chair. “There must be another way.” She paced across the floor. Her voice rose with each word she spoke. “You can take me home or . . . or. . . send me home. You do not have to marry me.”
“Surely you must see this is the only way to salvage your reputation. You will be ruined if you return alone.”
Drat and double drat! The most arresting man she’d ever met just offered marriage. For one wild, crazy moment she wanted to jump and yell yes. Had they met in London, perhaps at a ball, she could give serious thought to her flight of fancy. But he’d been forced—his honor as a gentleman—to correct an impulsive mistake. The mistake of his men.
It was his fault. And one day he would blame her. She would not be forced to accept a loveless marriage. She stopped her pacing and faced him. Desperate, she nearly screeched. “You have done this to me. Can’t you think of something else?”
There was that scowl again. “There is no other option. If you would like me to meet your parents before we speak our vows, I will agree. But, Katherine,” his eyes pierced hers, “we will wed.”
Each word he spoke sounded like the resounding toll of a death knell.
Chapter 7
“Wool-gathering?”
Morgan looked up from the numbers in his ledger. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Arms crossed, one shoulder propped against the door frame, Giles’ casual stance looked entirely too comfortable. He cocked a dubious
brow, shoved away from the doorframe and stepped inside. “It’s good to see you, too.”
Giving him a momentary glance, Morgan merely grumbled.
“Do come in, Giles. Oh thank you, Morgan.” Giles mocked. Stepping inside, he closed the study door. “Your manners, as usual, are impeccable.”
Morgan rose from behind his desk. “Shut up, Giles, and sit down.” He strode to the side table. Picking up the decanter, he poured a glass of brandy for each of them.
“What has gotten you in such a snit?”
He looked into his friend’s shrewd eyes as he handed him a glass, thinking he could almost smile at the slipshod attitude. In all the years that he and Giles had been friends, they shared a number of things. Together they’d fought bandits, thieves, cutthroats, and each had thankfully dodged more bullets than those that found their mark. Saving lives had been at times a thankless job, where they received swollen eyes and bruised knuckles for their troubles. Still, they had become solid friends—each willing to give his life for the other.
Giles took the offered glass.
Morgan threw back his head draining his drink. With a slight grimace, he marched back to the table and reached to pour another,
“Bad as all that?” Giles asked. “You knew I would be here once I heard you were back.”
Morgan’s steps were soft as he strode across the carpet covering the wooden floor. He gazed through the windowpane. This side of the manor faced the maze his grandfather had built. He saw nothing but the thoughts running rampant through his mind.
Giles’ voice pierced through his preoccupation. “I heard another interesting piece of news.”
Morgan raised his glass and took a hefty swallow.
“Is it true?” Giles asked.
“Mind telling me how the hell you found out so fast?” Morgan asked over his shoulder.
“It appears one of my groomsmen has taken a fancy to one of your kitchen maids.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Enlighten me . . .” Giles made himself too damned comfortable.
How in hell could Morgan explain his state of affairs? An instant pang of guilt hit him square in his belly. George and Jeremy may have brought Miss Radbourn here, but he was responsible for their foolish mistake. Now he had to spill his guts, for Giles would not have it any other way.
Morgan reluctantly took the seat behind his desk and told the tale of how he now had an innocent young woman in his home. A victim. Who had been kidnapped. Snatched off the street. Abducted and forced to come to Whetherford against her will.
“Good God, man! Why the deuced hell would George remotely believe a mere female had done you in?” Giles shook his head. “I’ve heard of sweeping a girl off her feet . . . but Jeremy actually struck the chit?”
“You have an irritating manner.” Morgan raised his glass and found the snifter empty. He headed to the sideboard for more brandy.
Once Morgan returned to his seat, Giles narrowed his eyes over his sharp stare. “How could you let this happen?”
“Let?” Morgan echoed.
“The woman was held captive for days. Surely someone may well have identified her sooner—before you made it necessary to offer for her.”
His arm stilled. His throat constricted at her image. His attraction to the lovely object of this entire business beyond his control. Her extraordinary green eyes had a bit of a slant, framed by long luminous lashes and set off by gracefully winged russet brows. A sun-kissed curl hugged her cheekbone. Her small chin hinted at willfulness with full, pink lips that beckoned a man’s caress. Creamy smooth breasts, made him think of soft pillows and satin sheets.
Morgan shook the vision from his mind. Good God. He had no right to lust after her. She’d made it clear enough she scorned their betrothal. She more than likely despised him.
When had her opinion of him become important?
Determined to do everything in his power to atone for the pain he’d inflicted on her, he would give her his name and live in the trap of his own making.
“And what do you know about this girl—other than she is a replica of Juliana?”
Morgan did not like having to explain himself. He ground out, “Damnation, Giles. It was supposed to be Juliana.”
Giles went on, flaying Morgan with his every word. “But that is not the lady’s name, is it?”
He didn’t need Giles to point out that tidbit of information. Hell, he’d already beaten himself up a hundred times. Giles couldn’t deliver over any more torment than he had already bestowed upon himself. “How the hell was I supposed to do anything while lying unconscious?”
“You obviously regard the lady in high esteem. Are you convinced she is an intelligent, honorable woman?”
“Don’t be condescending. Do you think I wouldn’t know the difference?” Morgan combed his fingers through his hair.
“Don’t you think you should find out before you leg-shackle yourself to her, for God’s sake?”
Warranted or not, Morgan did not like being under Giles’ scrutiny. “Miss Radbourn is different. She’s a beautiful young woman. And her beauty goes deeper than the skin.” A muscle ticked in the side of his cheek. He resented the knowing expression on Giles face while he looked down his nose.
“Maybe guilt and remorse clouds your judgment. Are your men continuing the search for Juliana?”
Morgan studied the contents of his glass. “I’ve called a halt to finding her until I can go myself. To be sure nothing like this happens again.”
“Done in by a damned look-a-like.” Giles shook his head, then drained the last of his brandy. “So, the question is not if you’re going to marry the girl—but when? You are going to marry the chit, aren’t you?”
Morgan trusted Giles’ judgment, but at the moment, he wanted to throttle the man for laying him open and pouring salt on his wound. The smile he allotted his friend was grim indeed. “Yes. It appears to be so.”
“Well, old man.” Giles stood. “Am I invited to dinner?”
He scowled, got out of his chair and stepped around the mahogany desk. “Why? Are you hungry?”
“Like I said. Impeccable manners.” Giles set his empty glass on the side table. “Mayhap I should meet this houseguest of yours who is the paragon of Juliana, before you turn into a poor besotted fool.”
“And like I said. Irritating.” He tossed back the brown liquid and set his glass down with a whack. “I guess there’s no way to prevent you from meeting her.”
Giles slapped him on the back. “Well then, let’s be about it.”
Alone in the parlor, Kat brooded over the events of the last hours. She turned when she heard a distinct voice not belonging to her host.
Whetherford stood well over six feet, muscular build, broad shouldered, dark hair, and dark eyes. The gentleman standing next to him stood a bit taller, about the same muscular build, with noble features and eyes a light grey in color that glittered with a hint of mystery—or from an intense interest in her. His demeanor suggested distinguished authority.
“Your Grace. Katherine Radbourn, my guest,” Morgan said. “Miss Radbourn. His Grace, the Duke of Nethersall.”
Good Lord. A Duke. Kat nearly gaped, then quickly dipped into a deep curtsy befitting any grand ballroom. “Your Grace.” Such impressive connections. I wonder if the duke knows how his host acquired his houseguest.
“How delightful. And such a beautiful guest. I’m charmed, Miss Radbourn.”
She noted his courtly manner, yet his close scrutiny made her wonder at the thoughts behind his searching eyes.
The duke gave a formal bow, and extended his arm, his gallantry beyond reproach. “If you would allow me.”
Kat’s eyes darted to Morgan and she saw him frown before she accepted the proffered arm. Heat warm
ed her hand as she touched solid muscle concealed under her fingers. The duke escorted her into the dining hall with the conviction and confidence of his station. A perfect gentleman, he waited for her to take her seat, then moved around the table and pulled back a chair directly across from her, a twinkle in his eyes.
He had the devil’s very own smile, which put her on her guard. She steeled herself against his discerning stare. His intense scrutiny—not particularly unpleasant—felt penetrating, nonetheless. His dynamic stare probed as though he were trying to determine her secrets—the ones she had hidden in her very soul.
Kat could hold her own with the grande dames of the haute ton. Hadn’t Aunt Elizabeth made her spend hours becoming skilled at conversing and achieving just the right demeanor in the parlors of lords and ladies?
The conversation started out discussing the activities of any normal given day. His Grace asked what she thought of Whetherford Manor. The tone of his voice had a deep rich quality—not as deep as Morgan’s—but with a trace of mild sarcasm, laced with charm and a projected authority of which his position entailed. Their exchange lulled her into a relaxed state. Then, he came right to the point.
“It would seem our host has more than . . . inconvenienced you. The situation is somewhat problematic.”
Morgan made no move to speak, nor showed any reaction. Inconvenience? Problematic? Certainly not words she would have chosen.
“Even so . . .” He gave a long pause before he continued. “You are here. And my good fortune to be in such charming company.”
“You are most kind to say so.” Kat dipped her head as she’d been taught.
“I am much encouraged. You are behaving most admirably, considering this set of circumstances.”
Kat lowered her eyes just enough to appear demure. “How would you have me behave, Your Grace?”
The Right One (One and Only Series) Page 6
