“Oh dear God, not kissing, surely.”
How was it possible to have missed the playful side to him, to want to smile, laugh, and smack him for it, all at the same time. He was so lighthearted, was actually quite fun. “Tease if you like, but it can be rather disconcerting to enter a room and find your mother up against a wall, your father fairly flattened against her as they seem intent on devouring each other. I’ve begun to walk about with bells on my slippers, so they know I’m coming.”
He tossed his head back and laughed, the most wondrous sound she’d ever heard. “The devil you say.”
“Well, I may not have gone that far, but I have considered it. My mother spends a good bit of time lately looking unkempt.” She felt her cheeks warm with his perusal, with the joy reflected in his eyes. “Still, I’m glad for them. I suppose it’s never too late to find love.”
“Does it give you hope of possessing it?”
“I’ve never given up hope, not completely. But I do try to be realistic.” Pragmatic, even, but were memories of a past happiness, the time spent with her grandmother, enough to warrant giving up the possibility of a present one, with a man who might appreciate and hold affection for her? It was unfair not to be able to have both.
“Kingsland will no doubt come to love you.”
A small laugh bubbled out of her. “He would have to choose me first from among the myriad ladies who are bound to have written him.”
“Are you nervous, waiting to hear who he has selected?”
“To be honest, I’ve given it very little thought. Do you hope for love, Griff?”
“To be honest, I’ve given it very little thought.”
A month earlier, his mimicking her words would have frustrated her. Now, she suspected it was a sort of defense from revealing what he feared might expose him to hurt. “At first, I found it strange when it seemed we were starting to get along. But in retrospect, I find it strange that we didn’t from the beginning. I don’t think we’re that different, you and I.”
“We’re very different, Freckles.”
For the first time, she heard the moniker she’d always loathed as an endearment, spoken so softly, yet with such urgency, as though it needed to convey an entire universe of emotions that were as confusing to him as to her. His fingers tightened more securely around hers, dug more steadily into her lower back where his palm rested at the shallow dip.
Perhaps it was merely the way the gaslight from the chandeliers struck his eyes, but the manner in which they darkened, smoldered, left her with the impression that he was referring to something else entirely, physical aspects about them that were not at all alike. Firm contours that sought cushioned ones. Hard features that sank into soft ones.
If he was courting her, she’d think he was conveying that she should meet him somewhere away from the crowd, where they could explore those differences. When had she ceased to view him as an irritant? When had she begun to notice the possibilities of him as a lover? “Other than your club, what do you dream of acquiring?”
His smile was slow in coming and the higher each side went, the warmer she became, as though he was revealing something intimate, something he’d never shared with another. “My dreams aren’t appropriate for a lady’s ears.”
Disappointment slammed into her. Just when she thought they were becoming confidants, just when she wanted them to. “I’m serious, Griff.”
The music stopped, and she took an irrational and pointed dislike for every gentleman in the orchestra. Releasing his close hold on her, Griff took her hand and barely touched his lips to her silk glove, yet she felt the heat of his mouth as though it were a poker just removed from a fire. His gaze held hers, and she could have sworn she saw regret in the blue-gray depths. “Some dreams, Kathryn, aren’t meant to be. But yours are. I believe that with all that I am.”
Then he strode away, leaving her there, disoriented, wondering why they couldn’t both realize their dreams. Her legs suddenly weak, she fairly staggered to a group of chairs mostly filled by matrons and dropped into an empty one. She could feel eyes boring into her and offered a weak smile to the ladies sitting nearby, then nearly jumped out of her skin when her mother suddenly appeared and floated elegantly down beside her.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you dance with Lord Griffith Stanwick before. I was under the impression you didn’t even like each other.”
“I came to know him a little better while I was staying with Althea.”
“You make a handsome couple. Pity he’s a second son.”
She sighed. “I don’t think it’s fair that conditions were placed on my inheritance of the cottage.”
“Life is seldom fair, dear. It’s best to learn that while you’re young. Allows for fewer disappointments.”
“Your disappointments should be less of late, what with Papa doting on you the way he’s been.”
Her mother’s smile was soft, gentle. “I’m certain whoever you wed will dote on you from the start.”
“Should I ever wed.”
A gong sounded.
Her mother sighed with great relief. “Finally. The hour everyone has been waiting for has arrived.”
Kathryn would have thought that once the signal was given that the duke was on the verge of making his announcement, the room would have gone completely still and quiet. Instead, the walls echoed squeals and single ladies scrambled—some shoving, many glaring—for a position near the bottom of the stairs, as though they all wanted to give Kingsland one last look at them, one final opportunity to change his mind, rethink his decision, from his place at the top of the stairs.
With far less enthusiasm than that exhibited by all the other unattached young women, Kathryn skirted around one person after another until she reached Althea, whose arm was wrapped around the Earl of Chadbourne’s. They made a dashing couple. The lord acknowledged her with a nod. Her dear friend squeezed her hand with her free one. “Don’t you want to be closer to the front, so you won’t have so far to walk when he announces your name?”
She shook her head. “He’s not going to call my name.”
“Don’t be so sure. He seemed to be taken with you at the park.”
“He wants a quiet wife. I believe I demonstrated that is not I.”
“A man doesn’t always know what he wants until he acquires it,” Althea whispered near her ear. “Chadbourne confided that to me when he proposed.”
“The Duke of Kingsland doesn’t strike me as a man who doesn’t know precisely what he wants.”
The gong once again sounded. Silence thick with anticipation descended heavily over the stately ballroom as the duke slowly strode down six steps, his penetrating gaze sweeping out over the crowd. Had she ever seen a man exude such confidence, such a commanding presence, such . . . cold detachment? His would not be a marriage filled with warmth, or teasing, or giggles. He wouldn’t call his wife by a pet name. He wouldn’t look at his wife and see the shadows of where her freckles had been. He wouldn’t ask about her dreams or try to help her achieve them—even at great inconvenience to himself. He would never share secrets, never entice her into doing what she ought not . . . never be a friend. And she found the last saddest of all.
Glancing around, she wondered where Griff had gone. Searching the balcony, she wondered if she might spot him spying from up there. Only wherever he was, he was well hidden. Perhaps he’d gone to the cardroom after their dance. Perhaps he’d left.
Or might he have stayed to offer her unexpected comfort when her name wasn’t called? For surely, he was as invested in the outcome as Jocelyn who had devoted so many pages of foolscap to describing herself. He had been Kathryn’s spy, had offered advice, knew what was at stake. He was here somewhere, watching. She was rather certain of it. He would want to know the outcome of his efforts to aid her in her quest. While they waltzed, she should have told him—
“My esteemed guests.” The Duke of Kingsland’s commanding voice rang out, reached into every corner of the im
mense chamber, into every unmarried lady’s hopeful heart that beat solely for him. Only her heart had begun to beat for another. “I am honored you have joined me this evening as I announce the name of my potential future wife. We shall have a period of courtship, naturally, to ensure I find her satisfactory. I have little doubt, however, after reading over all the letters I received that the lady I have chosen will endeavor to exceed my expectations. To that end, I bid you congratulate Lady Kathryn Lambert.”
Frozen in place as blood rushed through her ears like the constant roar of the ocean, she was vaguely aware of Althea squealing and hugging her, the din of gasps and murmurs, the duke’s gaze landing on her with a palpable force as though he’d always known exactly where to find her. It was impossible. He could not have chosen her.
Then he was descending the stairs with an elegance and power that had no doubt seen his ancestors in good stead on a battlefield.
“Can you believe your good fortune?” Althea asked.
No, she absolutely could not.
“He’s coming. At least smile.”
But her lips refused to move as the sea of people parted for him. Then he was standing before her, so damned cocksure of himself. Yet there was a coldness there, a brittleness that sent a chill through her. He held out his hand to her. “Lady Kathryn.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?”
Because through him, she would gain what she wanted but would have to give up what she desired, what she’d only just recognized she yearned to have.
He lifted an arm and music began filling the air. Like the tide rolling out to sea, the curious surrounding them eased back, and he led her through the parted throng and into the waltz as she expected he intended to lead her into every aspect of her remaining life. He would tell her what to think, what to say, how to behave.
“You need not look so shocked, Lady Kathryn. At the very least, you should appear giddy, overjoyed, and honored.”
She had to admit he was a fine dancer, every step graceful and perfect, as though he would tolerate no less from his person, would not allow any aspect of himself to be found lacking. What would he not tolerate in a wife? How would he react if she failed to meet his expectations? “May I be honest, Your Grace?”
“I should hope there would always be honesty between us.”
“I’m rather stunned you selected me.”
“And why is that, pray tell?”
“Because I never sent you a letter.”
Chapter 8
How was it that in a gigantic ballroom crammed with people, he found her so easily? He had the first time he’d watched from his perch in the balcony, and he’d located her more quickly the second time—just before Kingsland made his dramatic announcement, his tone implying that the honor came from being accepted by him rather than the reality of the situation. He would be damned fortunate to have Kathryn as his wife.
But why had she shown no excitement when her name was called? Why hadn’t she hopped around like Althea, as though her joy was too grand to be contained, was bubbling out of her, would carry her to the moon and beyond? Perhaps she was simply dazed by her good fortune.
But even as Kingsland swept her over the dance floor, only the two of them allowed in the space, everyone else hovering at its edges, she seemed stiff, uncomfortable, unhappy. Within Griff’s arms, she had moved as fluidly as poetry, graceful with undercurrents of meaning that could only be deciphered with the most discerning of attentions. Or perhaps only with the foolishness of a man who was just coming to realize he possessed a heart. She was like the sun coaxing a bud into opening.
While she held his gaze, the fact that he’d come second into the world had not mattered. For those few minutes while the music and her faint fragrance of oranges had wafted around him, he’d felt as though he’d come first.
When the present tune came to an end, a group of well-wishers swarmed toward the couple of the hour, of the evening, of the century. Or at least the more mature attendees did. The young ladies forced to confront their dashed hopes had quickly exited the grand salon after the announcement had been made, no doubt to shed their tears away from prying eyes and sympathetic glances. He noted a few gents had followed, no doubt to lend comforting shoulders to the disappointed.
It seemed Kathryn also needed some time away. After several minutes of nodding and smiling, she slipped from the gathering and drifted through the open doors that led onto the terrace.
He followed.
It was madness to do so, especially as she had been claimed by another, was now officially off the marriage market, and had the future she wanted stretching out before her. It was time he set about seeing his own come to fruition, that he put his own plans into action, and he’d already taken the crucial step necessary for him to meet with success. But he would find time later to bask in his cleverness. For now, he wanted only one more minute in her company, to witness her joy at acquiring that for which she longed.
He caught up with her deep into the gardens where the gaslights that lined the cobbled path sent out no glow. It didn’t surprise him that she would stray from where the duke had deemed it acceptable to stroll, that her barely visible silhouette would stop, and her hands would go to her hips. How many times over the years had she sent some cutting barb his way while projecting that exact stance? Only she didn’t know he was there. Not until he stepped on a twig and its snap sounded like a rifle report.
She swung around.
“It’s me,” he said quickly, quietly, not wanting to cause her alarm. “Griff.”
“I know. Why did you do it?”
Every fiber of his being went still. While it was impossible, it felt as though his heart, lungs, and blood did as well. “I know not to what you are referring.”
She stepped closer, and it didn’t matter that an abundance of flowers was hidden in the shadows, that their fragrance should have permeated the air. All he could smell were oranges and cinnamon. “A quick wit, a biting tongue, and a sharp mind.”
“Kath—”
“Her mere presence will cause a man to yearn to know the intimacy of her thoughts, her secret desires, her touch.”
“The duke—”
“Like the finest of wines, she is bold, full-bodied, and tantalizing. Never disappointing. Yet never the same, always offering another aspect to be discovered. A lifetime in her company will never be long enough. You wrote those words to Kingsland. It seems he has the ability to remember anything when read once. Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because a man doesn’t give a bloody damn how well a woman plays whist. Because you failed to see yourself in a favorable light, as others see you. Because you are too modest by half.” He hadn’t meant for the words to come out so sharply, but he was angry that she wasn’t grateful, angry that she’d been chosen—even as he’d sent the letter to ensure this outcome. He should be glad. Instead he wanted to howl out his frustration.
“But why would you bother? If asking him a question at the gaming hell was an inconvenience, I can’t imagine why you would go to the immense trouble of actually penning a letter.”
His voice came out softer this time, the anger retreating. “You want a cottage. I know what it is to want.” To yearn for what could never be held.
She stepped nearer, and he didn’t know if it was the moon, or the stars, or the distant lamps, but when she tilted up her face, he could see her perfectly, clearly. Her gaze roamed over his features, finally settling on his eyes, and he hoped she couldn’t see the truth there, couldn’t see the depths of his feelings for her, how this moment was destroying him.
“But you don’t even like me,” she whispered.
God, how he wished that was true. How he wished the lies he’d told himself over the years to protect his heart weren’t mocking him now.
Tentatively, she lifted her hand and placed it against his jaw, and he cursed whoever long ago decided that women and men should wear gloves to these blasted affairs. He wanted th
e warmth of her skin seeping into his. He wanted to know the smoothness of her palm. There was that word again, and no matter its form—want, wanted, wanting—it caused him to have idiotic thoughts and do stupid things. Like ensure she spent the remainder of her life in the arms of another.
“You tease me unmercifully.” The usual rasp in her voice had gone lower, and it sent tingles racing along his spine, and he fought against imagining how deep-throated her cries when lost to ecstasy would sound, how they might cause a man to lose control of himself, how his own gruff groans might complement the crescendo.
“Have you no defense, nothing to say for yourself?” she asked.
“I have no defense.” Except to continue on with his foolishness and lower his mouth to hers.
Of course, it was a mistake, but then every aspect of this night was. He never should have waltzed with her because now his arms felt all the emptier when she wasn’t in them. He would pay a price for the kiss as well. He just didn’t know yet what the exact cost would be.
When he urged her to open to him, she didn’t hesitate to part her lips, to welcome the thrust of his tongue, so he could explore the hidden contours, could taste her fully. With one hand, he braced the base of her skull while he pressed the other at her back so she was flattened against him so thoroughly that even if the moon descended into the garden, not a wisp of its light would filter between them.
Her fingers skimmed along to his nape, then eased up slightly to swirl through his hair, as her mouth moved provocatively over his. She was no shy miss, no whimpering maiden. Although, an occasional whimper sounded, followed by a moan or a sigh, as she feasted.
Christ, he’d known her for years. How had he failed to notice that the proper Lady Kathryn could turn into a feral cat when let loose? When there was no one to see. When it was only the two of them. When they were doing things they ought not, but neither would tell.
Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Page 8
