by Pam Roller
Agnes brightened. “Suitor? How nice, Lady Katherine! Oh, I do wish you the best of luck. Who is he, my lord?”
As if she didn’t know. Alex had informed Robert, who had surely told his inquisitive wife and daughter. “Thomas Bliss, Lord Wiltshire, from London. He recently settled into his summer home nearby. Mayhap you’ve met him.”
Agnes wrinkled her nose. “I have. He is positively ancient, and smells of onions.”
Ahead of them, Alex saw Katherine’s shoulders droop.
“But he dresses nicely,” Agnes added. “And he is quite rich.”
Sam stood quietly near the parlor door. With quick eyes he took in Alex and Katherine’s disheveled appearance, cleared his throat, and bowed deeply.
Alex stiffened at the slight smirk Sam attempted to mask. Stepping closer, he hissed, “If you’ve nothing better to do than guard the door, go scrape up shit in the barn.”
“Yes, my lord,” Sam said, casting his gaze to the floor in seeming repentance. “Whatever you wish.”
Alex swore under his breath. “Well, out with it. Why are you standing there?”
“Lord Wiltshire has been here for the past half hour, my lord,” Sam whispered.
Alex stifled unreasonable anger. “He is not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
“Oh, may I join him, Lord Drayton?” Agnes asked, her eyes sparkling.
Alex glanced at Katherine. Face pinched, she stood with arms crossed and foot tapping the floor.
“I am sure you’d be welcomed, Agnes. We shall join you all shortly. I imagine Lady Katherine would like to change into a finer dress to meet her suitor.” Alex gestured Katherine to walk ahead of him, then turned to Sam. “Come upstairs with me.”
As Katherine slowly ascended the stairs, Alex noted the stiff set of her back.
In his bedchamber, Sam handed him a towel to dry his face and hands after he washed them. “I am sorry,” Sam said. “This must be difficult for you.”
“No. She wishes to leave. ’Tis best.”
“For whom?” Sam asked. “You or her?”
Alex tossed the towel onto the washstand and ran a hand through his hair. “We had...an event on the battlement. She almost fell off the edge of the walkway, and I caught her. I lost my self-control.”
“Wait,” Sam said, looking confused. “She almost fell, and you caught her. How did you lose control?”
“I kissed her. Touched her.” His calloused fingers tingled at the memory of her nipple hardening under them.
“Ah.” Sam busied himself with retrieving a fresh shirt from the cabinet.
“If she had fallen...” Alex’s voice hitched, and he swallowed to bring it under control. Roughly he took the shirt, pulled it over his head, and thrust his hands through the sleeves.
“Do you want her to go?”
“I want her to be happy.”
“Do you want her to go, Alex?”
“Do not test me, Sam.” Alex spoke more harshly than he’d intended.
Clearly unimpressed, Sam turned his back and tidied up the washstand.
“I have been thinking of a way to bring back her voice.” The words left Alex’s lips before he could stop them.
Sam paused in the act of drying the bowl. “A woman that spirited must find her condition so very frustrating.”
“It doesn’t frustrate Wiltshire. He doesn’t seem to care. But he doesn’t know what a contrary woman Katherine is.”
Sam sighed. “If she ever regains her voice, Lord Wiltshire will find her an unusually assertive mate.”
Alex stilled as he tied his cravat, one hand fingering a length of snowy cloth. “Likely, Wiltshire would take a stiff rod to her back.” And after a few months, Katherine would become a submissive, empty shell—as good as dead.
Sudden, unbidden tears blurred his vision. He coughed, placed his hand on the back of the armchair, and lowered his head, taking deep, gulping breaths. It seemed that a dozen powerful fingers had taken hold of his throat.
Sam dropped the bowl with a thud and rushed to Alex, laying a bony hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, lad?”
“Leave, please. I can finish dressing alone.” Alex passed a hand over his eyes.
“Alex?”
“Go.”
Sam left quietly.
Alex snatched up his boots, flung himself into his chair, and pulled the boots on with swift, jerky movements. Then, he sat back, staring into the fire.
This would not do, this strange sorrow. There was no reason for it. Katherine would be treated as any woman who displeased her husband. All men had a right to discipline their wives.
Even though Alex secretly welcomed her strength of mind, he was satisfied with being alone. He wanted no mate with whom to share the rest of his days. Nothing would cause him grief as long as he kept his emotions intact.
Nothing at all.
Chapter Fourteen
Crimson skirts beribboned with satin bows rustled about Katherine as she trudged down the steps. She nervously smoothed the rich scarlet and gold embroidery worked through her waistcoat. No one could complain that she hadn’t dressed well, but this was all happening so quickly. Why hadn’t her suitor waited until tomorrow to arrive? Would it have made much difference in her readiness?
Her aching spirit and tormented body were forever stamped with the sensual feel of Lord Drayton—she would never, ever refer to him as Alex—kissing her with such intense desire. But just as quickly, the image flashed to him telling her that he wanted her gone from his life.
She was in no mood to meet her suitor and wished to God she’d never gone to the keep.
Would she retch when she looked upon the ancient baron? Did he really smell like onions?
No matter what kind of person Lord Wiltshire was, she knew that no man would ever make her feel the way Lord Drayton had at the top of the sun-soaked battlement.
Millie shot her a sympathetic glance and led her to Lord Drayton’s withdrawing room off his study to await his escort to the parlor. Katherine paced the room for a few minutes before dropping onto a carved oak bench, her voluminous skirts settling about her. Her hands felt empty without her slate, and she folded them in her lap, then unfolded them and removed her perfumed, gold-bordered crimson gloves. She brought her fingers close to the light of the candle on a nearby table to study them.
So ugly. The nails were rough and stubby from her embarrassing incident in the closet, and the tips of her fingers were pink with tender new skin. She turned her hands over and studied the revolting scar on one palm.
The old feeling rose within her once again. She could have saved the two small children if only she’d been able to grasp the scorching handle of the door inside their house...perhaps even reached her father in time, and preserved her voice. Life would be normal.
But they’d all died because of her failure. And now she waited, vulnerable and afraid, and unable to crack the hard exterior of the man who held her future in the palm of his own large hand.
Lord Drayton should have let her fall.
The door opened and closed with a bang. Startled, Katherine looked up through a blur of tears to see him striding to her with swift, sure steps.
He pulled up short, however, and concern replaced his hard expression before settling into amused boredom.
“Surely you aren’t so troubled from the prospect of meeting your suitor that you would shed tears.”
He held out a lacy white mouchoir. When she snatched it from him, he stood waiting with his arms folded across his broad chest.
Scowling at his crass comment, she wiped her tears and stared ahead of her, but her gaze was taken up by his firm thighs accentuated by snug black breeches. Which of his legs had she wrapped hers around to pull him closer? And the hardness of him...he had settled now, but she could still see his shape....
Mortified at her lewd thoughts, she lowered her eyes to his boots and pulled her gloves onto her hands.
He turned away abruptly with an impatient grunt and wa
lked to the door. “Keep the mouchoir. ’Tis best that we go on to the parlor.”
She stood with heavy reluctance and followed him like a woman in a nightmare unable to stop her feet. The man waiting in the parlor might as well be her captor instead of her future husband. Lord Drayton opened the door and stood aside for her to leave first. She stopped and searched his eyes.
He must be an accomplished actor, for he gazed back at her with the same impassivity he’d shown on the day of her arrival.
Out in the passage that led to the Hall, Katherine lay her hand lightly on the forearm he held out for her. Immediately, the sensations she’d felt on the high battlement flooded back to her as the firm, corded warmth of his arm tingled her hand.
“Your hand is shaking,” he said as he glanced down at it. “No need to be anxious. I have found Lord Wiltshire to be quite pleasant.”
Oh, she wanted to slap him. Why was he acting as if he hadn’t kissed her and held her like a lover just an hour before? Didn’t he know what he’d done to her? The desire he’d unleashed in the midst of her trepidation?
She slowed in the dim passage, to turn with him back to his study so she could write down her feelings. And he owed her the truth about his past, an insight to his heart.
But he misread her hesitation. “If you are concerned that I will mention our error to Lord Wiltshire, rest assured that I will not,” he said with airy assurance.
Error! Katherine halted and looked him full in the face. Were there no feelings in the man? Did he habitually take women up to the heights of the battlement and kiss them into a stupor? Had he done the same with Agnes? With other women? Tears stung her eyes afresh.
His façade of indifference broke. His voice became gruff, his face tight. “Yes, our kiss was a mistake. What I felt—feel—has no bearing on the present.” His throat moved as he swallowed.
She reached for him then, took his hand in both of hers. Her lips moved. Talk to me.
His gaze locked on her mouth. He raised one of her hands to his lips, pressing them to her palm and sending a tingle straight to her toes. Then, he lowered her hand and shook his head. “I cannot. ’Tis a pact I made.”
Determined, Katherine reached up and brushed her thumb over the scar on his jaw and then across his lips, lips that were so soft for a man whose heart had grown so hardened.
His head lowered toward hers. “My lady...what are you doing to me?”
Their lips met again, hungry and determined. His tongue found hers and played it in passionate thrusts. She clung to his shoulders as her legs went weak.
He clutched her to him, almost lifting her off the floor with his strength of desire, nuzzling her neck and breasts. His hands moved over her back in slow, sensual strokes. “Katherine,” he moaned.
She gasped with hot desire and tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting for nothing else in the world but the feel of his mouth, his body, on hers.
He pulled back and his eyes held both hope and uncertainty. Gradually, though, regret filled them. “I am sorry. Once again I have lost control.” He drew his hands from her tense, heated body and placed them on her shoulders. “’Tis best that you leave here. You mustn’t care for me. I would only bring you sorrow.”
Katherine stiffened and pulled away, left cold from her own confusion and embarrassment that she had again flung herself at a man who was about to marry her off to another.
His expression resolute, he held out his arm once more and led her silently through the Hall to the parlor.
As he opened the door, she heard him speak under his breath. “And so it ends.”
She wasn’t ready for this. Her emotions hung upside down and every rational thought had been shaken out. Wanting nothing more than to turn and flee to her bedchamber, she stepped slowly to the door and heard feminine laughter followed by a deeper voice.
“...looked quite grand,” the voice said. “The entire—ah, Lord Drayton.”
“Lord Wiltshire,” Alex answered in greeting, and both his voice and slight bow held a grim intensity. He stepped aside and Katherine had full view of the man who approached them.
Smallish brown eyes encased within laugh lines twinkled warmly at her over round, apple-red cheeks. Not ancient as Agnes had declared, the baron nonetheless had seen a good many years. His body seemed to creak as he bowed while sweeping off a wide-brimmed black hat sporting a vivid maroon feather. A fluffy black wig, the top of which raised his height by several inches, curled past his shoulders and framed his powdered face.
He wore a waist-length purple satin jacket edged with gold trim to accentuate the white shirt that puffed out below. His matching petticoat breeches, fashionably distended, ended at his knees amidst a flurry of vivid green, white and purple ribbons that matched those fluttering at his wrists. Gold-buckled black leather shoes completed the ensemble. Clearly, the baron enjoyed keeping abreast of the king’s fondness for extravagant fashion.
He could be Katherine’s own grandfather, only he was to become her husband—if she accepted him. And this she would not do.
She noted a startling contrast between tall, grim Lord Drayton in his plain black breeches with black jacket and white shirt, and the diminutive Lord Wiltshire, smiling in all his fine, colorful attire. They resembled a magnificent stag looming over a ridiculous little rooster.
Katherine forced her face into a pleasant smile and steeled herself for what was to come.
“May I present the Lady Katherine Seymour, daughter of Lord and Lady Thomas Seymour,” Alex said, trying not to growl out the words. “Lady Katherine, allow me to introduce you to The Right Honorable Lord Wiltshire, Thomas Bliss.” He noticed that Elizabeth had joined Agnes. “I apologize for keeping you waiting, Lord Wiltshire. I trust my neighbor and cousin are entertaining you.” He adopted an affable smile as he watched Katherine compare him to the clownish fop before him, but he felt strangely inadequate. From the way her lips curved up at Lord Wiltshire’s appearance, it was clear that she preferred his manner of dress. Perhaps he himself should have worn loose breeches to hide his throbbing desire.
Her lips looked swollen from his rough kiss in the Hall. He shut out his sudden craving to carry her upstairs and run his tongue and hands over the rest of her.
“We’ve had a grand hour!” Lord Wiltshire declared, unabashedly exploring Katherine. He paid particular attention to the smooth mounds pushing up out of her bodice.
“Indeed we have, Lord Drayton,” Agnes said from the couch. “I do believe Lord Wiltshire has caused my stays to loosen from all the laughing I have done.”
“Agnes!” Elizabeth said with a giggle. “My goodness!”
Alex studied his cousin with surprise. He’d never seen her so animated.
Thankfully, the baron had concluded his scrutiny of Katherine. Alex hadn’t expected this lustful behavior from the old man. Gads, it was as if she were a side of beef hanging at the market. His roving eyes annoyed Alex almost beyond endurance.
When Wiltshire took her right hand and meandered his lips over the back of it in a lingering kiss, something ferocious stirred within Alex. If the baron dared turn it over and kiss her palm, as Alex himself had done—
“Shall we sit?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Wiltshire straightened, his wrinkled hand still clutching Katherine’s fingers in his old man grip.
Pulling back her hand, she sucked in a quick breath between her teeth. Pain bloomed on her face.
“Take heed,” Alex said quickly. “Her fingers are healing from an injury.”
“Injured!” Wiltshire fired an accusatory glance toward Alex.
Alex replied coolly, “I will explain what happened later so as to save her embarrassment.”
“Yes, you will,” Wiltshire said, chin held high as he held out his arm for Katherine.
Alex noted the ease and trust with which Katherine placed her hand on the baron’s arm. A pain ripped through his gut that he himself hadn’t been able to earn her trust.
B
ut he had none to give her. Madness and bitter sorrow had prevailed in this house for years, and lingered on after Mary’s death. Hope and trust would never reach these walls, nor his heart.
“Good day, Lady Katherine,” Elizabeth said as she stood and indicated a chair for her.
The baron reclaimed his seat nearest the fire in the hearth. Alex waited until both Katherine and Elizabeth were seated before heading toward an empty chair.
Agnes, reclined on the couch, cocked her head and placed her left hand beside her, giving the blue brocade cushion a subtle pat. Alex summoned a smile, the sort a gladiator might level at his opponent, and lowered his frame into the chair. The woman had become outrageous in her attempts at persuasion. Apparently Robert had not relayed Alex’s candid assertion of disinterest. If Agnes declined the hint now, she was a dolt as well as a flagrant flirt.
“My dear lady,” Lord Wiltshire, exposing even yellow teeth, said to Katherine, “I realize you are without a voice, but ’tisn’t important. I will always speak for you. And of course, I will fill your ears with lively chatter.”
Alex crossed an ankle over his knee. “I believe Lady Katherine would like to regain her voice. ’Tis quite important to her.”
Katherine’s grimace disappeared as she swung her startled gaze to Alex.
“Ah, but silence is a virtue among our fair sex,” Wiltshire countered. “She should consider it a gift.” He sat back and sipped his wine, either ignoring or oblivious to the disgust that now crossed Katherine’s face.
“Lord Wiltshire, do tell your story about Charles’ restoration to the throne,” Agnes said.
“Ah, yes,” the baron said, and a smile lit his face. “The day the king rode into the city, with hundreds of flowers in his path, was the day of London’s rebirth.”
“I was there!” Elizabeth exclaimed, startling Alex with her uncharacteristic vibrancy. Was she drunk? She turned to him with bright eyes. “Alex, do you remember that day in London? The king’s restoration? I was only fifteen, but ’tis still all so clear. Oh, the king looked so handsome, and he smiled at me as he passed.” She fluttered a hand to her heart.
