13
Kat
The ride from Heathrow to Winston’s grandfather’s is silent. He stares out the window on his side of the car, I pick at my nails. I want to ask what happened, if he still loves her, does he wish he’d waited a couple of days so he could have asked her to marry him, instead? But I don’t. I’m exhausted, he’s a virtual stranger, and I’ve had about all I can take in forty-eight hours. Plus, it’s not my business, nor should I care. I need to stay in my own lane, do the job I’ve agreed to, and remember this is just a business deal.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up to a block of three-story homes, all connected, but no two just alike. Some have fancy columned porches, others have mansard roofs. We stop in front of one of the fanciest. Its gray stone exterior is fronted by a large white crescent-shaped portico with six steps leading up to the red front door. It has dormers above the top floor, telling me that the attic probably has useable space. And below the sidewalk, protected by an ornamental iron fence, there are windows, as well. A basement. The house is five full stories.
As the car slows to a stop, and the driver moves to get out, Winston says, "Give us just a moment, Murdoch, will you?" He nods and shuts the door before walking to the side of the car and standing with his back to my window, at attention, ready to serve whenever his boss asks. I’ve never had a servant of any sort, and it makes me sort of itchy to have him standing outside like that — hovering.
Winston turns to me. "Thank you," he says simply.
I try to get a read on what he’s referring to, but I got nothin’, as my brother Mikey would say.
"What for?" I ask.
"For giving up your time, and your job, and all the other things you’re sacrificing just to help me get my inheritance."
I’m surprised, and confused, and a little bit wary of him now, not sure where this bizarre shift is coming from.
"Well, it’s not like I’m doing it for nothing." I laugh, but it’s as awkward as this conversation is.
"No, but you could fulfill the contract without protecting me from my ex. Or coming with me to this funeral — this trip wasn’t actually in the contract, you know, I sort of bullied you into it." He sighs. "You’re a good person, Katherine. I can see that, and I wanted you to know I see it."
My insides do some kind of funny twisty, clenchy thing and I try to smile normally.
"Well, I got a trip to London out of it, and I’m sorry, but your ex is like the wicked witch of the West End or something." I give an exaggerated shiver. "You could get frostbite from touching that one."
He chuckles. "Yes, Jessa is an acquired taste, I’m afraid."
"But you acquired it," I interject.
"I did, but I’ve been Jessa-free for nearly two years now, and that’s for the best."
"So you don’t wish you’d arrived here still looking for a bride?" I ask softly.
He stares at me in the darkened car, his blue eyes simmering beneath coal black brows and thick lashes.
"No," he says, reaching out to chuck me under the chin with one finger. "I don’t."
14
Winston
"This will never do," my mother says, looking Katherine up and down with disdain.
To her credit, Katherine doesn’t flinch, just stands stiffly, one eyebrow raised as she looks at my mother coldly.
"Mum, what are you even doing here?" I ask as I loosen my tie and lay my suit jacket on the nearest sofa.
The butler, Samuel, follows along behind me, gathering items as I toss them aside.
"Will you need anything to eat before retiring, my Graces?" he asks.
I look at Katherine, who is doing a magnificent job of holding up, but I know is absolutely exhausted.
"Katherine?" I say gently, touching her arm.
"No, thank you." She turns her full smile on old Sam, and he blushes in response before bowing.
"I’ll make sure your room…" He pauses, obviously realizing he has no idea what the sleeping arrangements will be.
"The Duke and Duchess’s suite, please," I add, to give him direction. The thing about houses this old is that they were built in a time when the man and woman of the house slept separately, a shared sitting room between the two bedrooms. It’s the perfect way to avoid the question of who sleeps where.
"Yes, your Grace." Then, he’s gone.
I turn back to my mother. "Mum, I repeat — what are you doing here?"
"Well, I wanted to be here for you, of course, darling. And I was under the impression Jessa was going to bring you home from the airport."
"Yes," I grind out, rubbing my left temple. "She was there when I arrived.”
My mother raises one eyebrow at me. "Yet, I see her nowhere now."
"That’s right, I sent her home, as I’m about to do to you."
She stiffens, and I have a split-second pang of guilt for being rude to my mother, but then I remember that this is Lady Arabella Cauldwell, daughter of the Earl of Devon, and widow of the late Viscount Guildford. She couldn’t care less if I’m rude, only that she’s being thrown out of the Ducal home which, my guess is, she was hoping to co-opt in my absence.
"Winston," she chastises, "really. You obviously need my assistance. Beginning with getting an annulment from this—" she waves her hand around at Katherine again, "Yank, you’ve dragged home."
Katherine turns to me now, her frozen smile turning to a feral one that’s beginning to look familiar.
"Win?" she asks with faux sweetness. "Do you remember when I quit earlier, back in Chicago?"
"Yes…"
"I’m about to do it again."
"Samuel!" I bark without taking my eyes off of Katherine, who is about to blow.
"Yes, Your Grace?" He appears almost instantaneously.
"I believe the Duchess is ready to go to our rooms. And she’ll need a shot of vodka, as well." I turn to her. “Sorry, grandfather doesn’t keep tequila, I’ll have the staff fix that tomorrow.”
She relaxes just a touch.
"Of course," Samuel says. "If you’ll follow me, Your Grace?"
He holds out an arm and Katherine turns her back on my mother and follows him out of the room.
My mother has her mouth open, but before she can say a word, I interrupt.
"Don’t say another word," I warn her, striding to the bar cart to pour myself a much-needed brandy.
"Winston, surely you realize I only want what’s best for you."
"No, Mum, I realize you want what’s best for you." I replace the decanter and take a long swallow of the burning liquid. "But let me tell you right now, shoving Jessa at me isn’t it."
I turn and pin her with my deadliest glare. But this is my mother, the woman who…well, she never changed my nappies. The woman who…hmm, no, she didn’t feed me or dress me, either. That was all nannies. Well, in any case, she’s known me since day one, and she was bigger than me for much of the time, so she seems to be completely un-intimidated.
"Stop looking at me like I’ve knicked your pudding, Winston." She glides past me toward the door to the entry hall. "You’re obviously overtired. We’ll discuss this tomorrow when you’re more rational."
I sigh. As long as she’s leaving now, I’ll take it.
"Fine. Good night, Mum."
"Good night, Winston." She pauses, her hand on the doorknob, her profile to me, long dark hair that’s the same shade as mine, aquiline nose that came from her father, perfect posture, the result of a childhood spent on horseback. "But I’d like to leave you with one thing — if I could see her lowly origins in thirty seconds, imagine what London society will say. Imagine what your cousin will say. No one is going to believe you married that woman for love, Winston, and he’ll challenge your inheritance because of it."
"The will doesn’t stipulate it has to be a love match," I counter, though I’m curious as to why no one would believe I could love someone like Katherine. She’s different, but no less attractive in her own way than women like Jessa. Smart, spunky, passionate, and
quite beautiful. While I have no interest in falling in love with anyone at the moment, I don’t see any reason why Katherine couldn’t be the one if I so chose.
"No, but if you want to be respected among your peers, if you want to be viewed as the legitimate successor to your grandfather, you’ll need a Duchess by your side who can help you."
She faces me fully now, her expression softening in a way I’ve never seen before.
"I know I’m not much as far as mothers go, but I do genuinely want you to be happy. And I know you. I know you won’t be happy unless you can succeed with the company. It’s what you’ve fought your whole life for, and you’ve finally got it all in the palm of your hand. Jessa loves you, Winston, and you love her, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it. She can be a true partner to you, someone who understands the challenges you’ll face and who can navigate the rough waters you’re about to enter. Pay the poor girl whatever it is you’ve undoubtedly promised her, and have it annulled. It will be better for both of you."
Then she’s gone, and I’m left wondering — what have I gotten poor Katherine into?
15
Kat
After I’ve been shown to the fanciest bedroom I’ve ever seen, complete with an enormous four poster bed and a loveseat by a fireplace, I change out of the wrinkled dress I’ve been wearing for close to twelve straight hours, and put on my favorite boy shorts and Norsemen t-shirt. I’m shocked to discover that all of my suitcases have been unpacked and the clothes put away in the closet and dresser. I wonder if it was poor old Samuel who did it and I stifle a giggle thinking about him having to handle my thong underwear.
I think I’ve passed the exhausted stage and moved into the so tired I’m wired one, so I decide to check out what’s nearby. I go into the attached bathroom and marvel at the antique tiles and fixtures. There’s a huge claw-foot tub that I can see spending some serious time in, along with a modern glass shower that’s big enough for two and a half people. It has a bench and two shower heads, as well as a heated towel rack right outside the door.
There are two sinks, both of which sit on pedestals, but there’s also a long span of white marble countertop that runs between them. The mirror that covers one whole wall above the sinks has a gilded frame, and there is a toilet and a bidet. I snap a picture of it and send it to Darnell, who responds in about ten seconds.
Ooh, girl! Look at you. Your Duchess booty will be the cleanest in the land.
I laugh and send him an eye roll emoji.
Next, I decide to risk the big double doors on the same wall as the bathroom. I tiptoe over to them and put my ear against the cool wood. It’s all silent on the other side, so I slowly twist the ornate glass knob and push it open just a few inches. The room is only lit by one small lamp on an end table, and I don’t hear any other noises, so I open the door the rest of the way, it hisses quietly across the thick carpet.
This room also has a fireplace, but it’s much larger than the one in my room, and it faces a full sitting area with two loveseats, a sofa, coffee table, and even a flat screen television over the fireplace.
On the other two walls I can see from my vantage are bookshelves with hundreds of beautiful leather-bound books. I suck in a breath, walking into the room as if I’ve been hypnotized. I adore reading almost as much as I do hockey and DJing. I’ve never seen so many books outside a library. And they’re all beautiful. Gilded lettering, green, red, brown, and black leather bindings. I go to the nearest shelf and run my fingers over the smooth spines, looking at the names of all sorts of classics — Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, War and Peace, The Prince. It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven.
I’m so engrossed, I don’t hear the door opposite the one I entered from open, and as I pull a volume of A Tale of Two Cities from the shelf, I hear a throat clear and my gaze jumps up to collide with a bare chest and the blue eyes of an angry Duke.
16
Winston
My mother’s words are still ringing in my ears when I walk into the sitting room, looking for a book to read to help me sleep, and see nothing but skin and luxurious red hair.
A fire flashes through me as I take in her long legs, full breasts and tiny shorts. My dick goes hard, and so does my voice when I demand, "What are you doing in here?"
I shouldn’t sound so irate, but all I can think is that I want her in the worst way, and she’s completely wrong for me.
Because my mother is right about something — I do want a Duchess who can handle the job. As much as I wish I could be one of those men who doesn’t give a damn what his wife wears or does or says — I’m not. Or rather, I can’t be. Just like my fourth cousins Harry and William can’t be entirely heedless about what their wives do, I can’t be entirely heedless about what my Duchess does.
I’ve been training for thirty years to be the Duke of Surrey. It involves traditions, protocol, and expectations. They’ve been hammered into me, and I know and understand them like I know and understand our country estate.
Jessa was raised in this same world. She’s the daughter of an Earl, and she’s every bit as versed in how to be a Duchess as I am in how to be a Duke. Unfortunately, I can’t even remember what Jessa looks like right now, because all I see are dark eyes, red hair, and silky golden skin.
"I’m sorry," she answers, her eyes growing wide. I see her gaze drop to my bare chest, and something primitive roars to life inside me. "I was just trying to get my bearings and all the books were like a magnet."
"You like to read?" I ask, sounding as surprised as I am.
"Almost as much as I like to DJ," she says a little shyly. "My brothers used to make fun of me, called me Hermione and said I was going to end up an old maid because I never stopped reading long enough to date."
I walk closer, leaning against the bookshelves. She relaxes a touch and I wonder if my semi is showing through the thin pajama pants I’m wearing.
"So you never dated?" I should be asking about the books, but instead I’m fixated on what men she’s had in her life, and secretly hoping there haven’t been any.
"Not until I was seventeen." She blushes, and I resist the urge to tease her. "But then I put down the books long enough to pick up the mixing board, and there were all sorts of guys at the parties I DJ’d for."
I stop myself from uttering a harrumph and feel a scowl settle onto my face. She can do far better than men at parties and clubs. They’re only out for one thing, and Katherine is more than just sexy. Although, she’s plenty sexy, as well.
"Back to the books," I command. "What kind do you read?"
She purses her pretty lips as she considers, and I remind myself she’s not the woman for me — not the woman for the Duke of Surrey, anyway.
"I’ll read all sorts of things — literary fiction, suspense, romance. I’ll read historical fiction if it has a mystery or a romance and probably my favorites are some combination of all three."
I nod and move down the shelves until I hit the corner just before the shelves wrap around to the other wall. I look at the titles, skimming my finger across them until I find the one I want.
"Here." I walk back to her and hold the red leather-bound novel. She reaches out to take it from me and the movement causes cleavage to peek out from her low-cut tank top. I dig a hand into the hair on top of my head and pull it enough to make my scalp sting. Nothing but pain is going to get the filthy thoughts out of my head now.
"What Angels Fear," she reads from the spine.
"It’s the first book in the Sebastian St. Cyr mysteries — historical, suspenseful, a little romance, and…" I pause for effect, "one of the main characters is named Kat."
A big, brilliant smile splashes across her face and the room lights up with it.
She claps her hands together and gives a little jump. My cock jumps right along with her. "Oh, I’m so excited! I’ve never read a book with Kat as a protagonist before."
I smile and try not to stare at her chest. She might not be the right fit for a Duche
ss, but she’d be a damn good fit in my bed.
"Well," I say, sliding a touch closer even as the small part of me that remains rational screams No! "I hope you’ll enjoy it."
She smiles some more and things get awkward. I’m leering like an old lecher, and she’s smiling, not sure what else to say.
"So, um, thanks. I guess I’ll just…" She gestures toward the door to her room. I nod and push off the bookshelves, stretching my arms overhead.
"Yes, we need to get a few hours sleep or we’ll never be able to tolerate all the paperwork in the morning."
She’s reached the door to her room, but I can’t quite let her go just yet.
"Katherine," I say, my voice low in the quiet room. She turns and looks at me over her shoulder, red curls framing her face like fire. "Sweet dreams."
Her gaze grows soft as she gives me a small smile. "You too, Your Grace."
Then, she’s gone, and I’m left alone with my arousal, my doubts, and my four thousand volumes of Ducal books.
17
Kat
There’s a horrible bright light that won’t go away, and a song that keeps repeating in my head. It involves roads — high ones and low ones — and also someone named Bonnie.
"No, she is bonnie, not named Bonnie," a voice says. "Now, sit you up, Your Grace, I have your tea and scones here."
I open my eyes, every bone in my body protesting, and then I scream.
"Ahhhhh!"
I scramble back on the bed, looking to the nightstand frantically for some type of weapon. Because there’s a strange woman in my room!
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