The Scandalous Love of a Duke (19 page)

God, how different it was for a woman to lose her virginity. When he’d lost his the woman had kept him up an entire night and taught him everything there was to learn. At the time it had been a young man’s paradise, now he thought the whole thing sordid.

Wishing to set that memory aside, he stroked Katherine’s cheek and then ran his finger along her nose and watched her eyelids flutter open.

Katherine met John’s pale blue gaze. It was filled with a tender appreciation. This was simply John, there was nothing of the duke in his eyes. It had been that way last night as they’d made love too.

His gentle touch slid lower, over her covered breast, and then it brushed along her forearm, running back and forth as her arm lay across her middle. “How are you?”

“A little achy,” she answered.

He smiled, “Shall I kiss it away?” She nodded and then he leant forwards and did so, pressing his lips to hers. Warmth slipped into her blood, even though the kiss was ridiculously gentle and had no intent at all. “Better?” he asked when he pulled away.

“Yes.”

She felt like she could burst with love. His fingers skimmed across her skin again.

What he’d done last night had been so unbearably beautiful. She knew why she had been born now. She knew why her mother had craved the perfect bliss of lying with a man. Katherine did not blame her anymore. She did not even curse the wanton blood she’d inherited in her veins. She was glad of it, glad because it could make her feel like this, so cherished and attractive.

“I have to go back to London…” he said, still holding her gaze. She had known it, he’d said so before. “…The House of Lords will open soon. Come with me…” His gravelly words spilled into the air as though he’d not even thought about them and his pale earnest gaze burned into hers. “…I will buy you a house, a smart one somewhere close to Mayfair. I’ll take you to the theatre and I’ll buy you jewels, Katherine, and dresses, and bonnets, as many as you wish. You’ll have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. I’ll look after you.”

His words threw her back into reality, and she felt as though he’d pushed her beneath the water in the lake all those years ago.

He was serious. He really thought she would wish to become his mistress in town. She felt sick and dirty, and foolish again.
Oh God, so foolish.
She had told him she loved him and he offered her this insult in return. Yet she had given her body to him as any fallen woman might for the price of a dress and a bonnet, of course he would now think this of her – he didn’t understand love.

But she understood immorality. She would be looked down upon and rejected. She rolled away, rising. “I don’t want those things.” She collected her nightgown from the floor and then slid it back on. “The only thing I have ever wanted is you.”

“You’d have me.”

She sighed, hearing him follow her, as her nightgown fell to sheathe her body.

Then she turned to face him. “No, John, I wouldn’t have
you
. I would have the Duke.”

His hand lifted. “Katherine…” She stepped back.

“I’m not for sale, John.”

His brow furrowed, “I’m not buying you. I want you with me.”

“You want,” she echoed, angrily. “We cannot always have what we
want
, John.”

His hand moved once more before she could step away again and he caught her wrist. “You wanted this. You came to me!”

Because you needed me!
“I did, because I am frail like my mother. It does not mean I wish to publicly prostitute myself. Last night I told you how important Phillip and Papa are to me, and you would take them from me by suggesting
this
.”

“They are not even your real family. You cannot care what they think.”

Truly, he did not understand love. “I shall not be your mistress, John. It matters what they think, and to ask such a thing, you can have no respect for me.”

His expression changed and closed as the bridges he’d put down last night were raised again, excluding her and not allowing her through.

“You do not want me?”

Not at the cost of herself. “Not like that, John.”

His gaze held hers, his hand still gripping her wrist. “I’d not cast you off. You can trust me. I will keep you for the rest of your life if you’ll let me?”

Katherine felt the bitter taste of his words. It was a vile thought.
I am not a whore. Am I?

She was in his room, she’d come to him.

Cold crept through her.

“Let me go, John.” She tugged against his grip.

His eyes were diamond hard but his hand released her. “When may I see you then? When I am here next?”

Her heart thundered. No. It could not continue. She had learned her lesson. He thought her a whore, while she had offered love. She took a step back and then another, her pace increasing with each one. She was ready to run. “No, John. I think now it is over, as it should have been, you were right, there is nowhere this can go.”

“Katherine?” His hand lifted as though he’d reach for her again. She turned and fled, racing out of his door as she heard him call again. “Katherine, wait!”

When she reached her room she threw herself on the bed and cried her heart out. Was this how her mother felt, too, when it was all over? Was this why she had taken her own life?

John dropped back to sit on the edge of the bed and his hand swept through his hair. What the hell had just happened and what on earth did she mean about being frail like her mother?

But her words had made him see with intense clarity what a blind idiot he’d been. He’d just offered a gently bred, innocent woman probably the biggest insult of her life.

Spoilt was not the half of it. He’d treated her like the women he’d learned to abhor on the continent. At that moment, he despised himself.

He got up, dressed, and went out to the stables, catching the grooms off guard, but his stallion was ready in moments anyway and he took the animal out for a long hard ride. It was not the sport he would have chosen this morning but he could not be idle.

By the time he returned to The Place, the breakfast table was only half full of guests. Most had already left, including Katherine, who Eleanor complained was very quiet.

Katherine had slipped away as quickly as possible to avoid him no doubt.

What the hell did she think of him? He should have turned the bloody woman out last night. Still, what had been done could not be undone.

He thought of writing to her but what could he say? The word sorry would hardly suffice. Of course a marriage offer would put it all to rights, but she was the natural daughter of a milkmaid with an unknown father and he was a duke, the two did not mix. And he’d promised his grandfather on his deathbed to marry a woman of his own class. Besides, she would never cope with the public responsibilities of a duchess. She would be too out of place.

He realised then as he walked through the hall into the privacy of the library that he was actually weighing the idea up and considering it. But he couldn’t do it. Looking up, he faced his grandfather’s portrait, the old man’s barbs were too deep in his blood. Even John’s contrary nature could not quite go that far – just as becoming his mistress was a step too far for her.

They were at an impasse then.

There was no going forward and no going back.

He stared at the portrait, holding the old man’s unmoving gaze.

John would go to London today. There was no point in staying here. Let his mother close up the house. He’d leave.

John was bored in town, despite being constantly busy, and the issue with Wareham still irritated him. No new evidence had come to light and Wareham had left Ashford within hours of John. It seemed Wareham was following John, while John still had men following him.

John had former soldiers on Wareham’s heels now, arranged by Harvey, because he feared Wareham might be more dangerous than anticipated. The man had made no further blackmail threats though, not yet. But why would Wareham publish whatever secret he held? The instant he did, it would lose its value. It was only valuable unsaid.

He’d taken rooms in the Oxford Hotel in Park Lane. No doubt spending John’s stolen inheritance. John was impatient to trap him, yet he was not ready to move. He refused to be blackmailed, but he wanted to trace this damned invisible account before he confronted Wareham.

There was another thing John was impatient for, too – to know Wareham’s secret. Harvey had sent scouts out to trace John’s mother’s absent history, but again, so far, there was no news.

John sighed.

While he waited for it, and for Harvey to discover Wareham’s bank account, his thoughts kept turning to something else. Katherine. She was always in his mind. She would not be forgotten. Often, even at the oddest moments, when he was speaking in the House of Lords, dining with his peers at White’s, or attending some formal dinner or dance, she would spring into his thoughts. A single image or a sudden memory; Kate smiling or dancing at her sister’s assembly; her touch on him; the sound of her voice; her sigh of impatience or her cry of pleasure –
her eyes
.

There were so many memories of her he would rather savour than forget. At night in bed, alone, he could feel her, visualise her. He would relive every moment of the night they’d spent together. She haunted his waking and his sleeping thoughts. He could barely manage more than ten minutes without thinking of her. He could concentrate on nothing but her. He wanted and needed Katherine Spencer with a physical and mental obsession that dulled his appetite and caused insomnia.

But with their impasse it was impossible. He had to conquer this craving. Yet that was easier said than done. It was as though Katherine had infected him. He felt empty inside, hollow, like she’d taken something from him, and it hurt like hell.

I miss her.
He was standing at the edge of Lady De Clare’s long ballroom, watching the dancers, without watching them at all, after all Katherine was not among them. His world seemed so damned meaningless without her company to look forward to, no matter that he had power and circumstance to wield like a God, and hundreds of people reliant on him.

“The Duke of Pembroke, how novel…”

The feminine purr had John’s head turning in recognition.

He’d not noticed Lady Ponsonby was here. If he had noticed, he would have left.

He could of course cut her, but the woman’s hand intimately touched his arm before he had the chance. His muscle clenched in revulsion but he refused to show her any weakness.

“You’re back. It’s been a long time since I saw you”

It had not been long enough.

The contrast between this woman and Katherine could not be vaster. Lady Elizabeth Ponsonby was brash, ribald and risqué. She’d coaxed numerous men in to cuckolding Lord Ponsonby, and regrettably John was among them.

He’d fallen hard for her in Paris and she’d taken his innocence, then discarded him and hurt him irreparably, with her cold-blooded nature and shallow affection. He’d thought his feelings returned, until one night he’d found another man with her. They’d laughed at his anger.

To his shame, during the brief affair John had never thought of her husband. He’d been drawn into the web of her world and been fighting to escape it ever since.

Her fingers brushed his shaven cheek. He pulled his head back.

“What? You’re testy, John?”

“I am not testy, Elizabeth.
I simply have no desire for your company. Is your husband here?” He looked across her shoulder, searching the gathering.

“He is here but as you know it hardly matters.”

No, he remembered that, Ponsonby had his heirs so he turned a blind eye, as did most of society. These intrigues were rife. Elizabeth was no exception. And that was the cause of his real disengagement, why he’d never escaped her web, because since Elizabeth had opened his eyes he’d never been able not to see. For a while he’d lived that debauched life abroad, playing their games until he’d woken up and been disgusted by what he’d become. He hated the falseness of elite society.

Elizabeth gripped his arm and her touch made him feel unclean but he didn’t shake her off. They were being observed by speculating eyes about the room.

He’d been stupidly naïve and indiscreet in his youth and stories had spread, not widely, but there were those in the room who knew of their past.

“You’ve matured, John. Dukedom suits you. You have a cut-throat edge.” Laughing, she leaned closer. “It’s alluring.”

“I’m not interested, Elizabeth.” He unwrapped her fingers from his arm.

“You do not convince me, John. They say love never dies. You must still carry a small flame for me.” She was laughing at him, he knew, and her fingers just gripped lower down his arm.

“My infatuation with you was the error of youth. I see nothing of interest in you now. In fact, I find you revolting. So pray, go away.” His tone was cold hatred and perhaps it finally convinced her, because her hand fell away and her expression briefly showed shock.

But with the skill of people of his class, she swiftly repaired her social mask and smiled. Then shook her head and turned away.

He’d probably never even been that attracted to her, he’d just been flattered by her ardent attentions and at an impressionable age. He wished it was a mistake he could undo.

As she walked away, John’s mind turned back to Katherine and he remembered her saying she had watched him swimming in the lake before he’d gone to France. When he’d been caught in Elizabeth’s net there had been a woman at home of much greater worth who had genuinely loved him.

If he’d have known then he could have loved her in return…

My God.
For the first time he found a new truth in his thoughts. It came to him with blinding clarity. His susceptibility to Elizabeth stemmed from his upbringing. He’d wanted to be special to someone. Even then he’d been searching for someone to fill the aching hole inside him. His family’s love had been too diluted by his brothers and sisters, they’d come along too quickly and he had not had enough time with his mother to banish the isolation of his younger days.

He’d thought he’d found that someone in Elizabeth. Her betrayal had just ripped open the old wound his mother had cut long before.

Katherine filled that void.

There was a sour taste in his mouth.

Elizabeth had broken his trust, he’d broken Katherine’s. He’d taken her into his bed and left her behind, unloved. Just as Elizabeth had done to him.

He felt sick as he left the ball.

At home, if one could call the giant opulent villa in St James’, home, John sat at the desk in the library and gripped a quill in his fingers. Ink dripped onto the page. No words would come.

He understood himself completely now. He longed for affection, for someone he would be upmost to. Elizabeth had destroyed that hope and Katherine had revived it.

But it was too late, he could not surmount their impasse. Yet he was beginning to think he felt love, despite the scorched ground of his barren soul.

The quill tip touched the paper and began to move as words flowed from his thoughts onto the page.

Katherine,

I cannot say too much in writing. I know you must be cursing my name, but I wanted you to know how I feel. That I feel. I have not stopped thinking of you. I cannot forget you. I am sorry things must be as they are. If it could be any other way, I would make it so.

You mean much to me, I will not forget you. I treasure the memories of us.

Do not hate me, Katherine. Love me still. Please. If I know that you do, I will always be able to feel you with me.

Yours completely, forever.

J

He felt drained as he applied the blotter to dry the ink, and then he folded the letter and used a blank seal, before addressing it. He would post it in the common mail to further hide its origin.

~

Accepting the letter from the tray which Mr Castle held forth, Katherine looked at the writing and frowned. Castle disappeared as she broke the seal.

Her father was seated at the head of the breakfast table, opening his own letters. Her mother and Jenny were busy discussing some call they were going to make.

Katherine’s gaze fell to her half-eaten eggs and her stomach revolted. She gritted her teeth and held back the instinct to purge as she rose, whispering, “Excuse me, Papa,” before leaving the room with hidden haste.

Once outside though, she ran, racing upstairs in search of the chamber-pot in her room.

She threw up her accounts thrice before she dared sit up and as she did so she felt overwhelming despair.

Oh, what had she done? She wiped her mouth on the linen cloth used to cover the pot and knelt back on her heels.

What was she to do? She was such a fool, and fate was cruel, she had only taken one risk.

For the first two weeks she had tried to convince herself it was not true, but this was the end of the fourth week and she’d still had no blood, and now the sickness. She could no longer pretend.

She was carrying John’s child.

It would be a bastard like her.

What would happen to them both?

If she told John, he’d support her. He had already offered, without even knowing of the child. But she had her pride. She did not wish the child to wear the label she had. She wanted her child to have a father and bear his name.

With her buttocks on her heels and the linen cloth in one hand, she remembered the letter which now lay on the floor. She picked it up and saw the signature,
J
. Him.

Her heart thumped.

The single page was the essence of the Duke of Pembroke, etched in a bold, ostentatious, swiftly written, graceful hand.

She read the words. They were John’s.

She read it half a dozen times then let it fall to the floor again as tears ran down her cheeks. So, he was sorry and he cared. What did it matter?
If things could be any other way…
That was just it though – there was not another way – he would not offer her marriage, a Cinderella story was an impossible fiction. He had a duty to marry well and he was miles above her in status.

But she was still hurt by his cold denial. Setting reason aside, if he loved her, surely nothing would stand in the way. He simply did not feel enough for her.

Do not hate me, Katherine. Love me
.
It was a selfish request. She was to continue in pain so he might live with unblemished memories.

And what of our child?
If she told him, he might take it from her.

That thought chilled her utterly.

For one night he’d loved her in the only way he knew how, she’d treasure the memory, as he’d said he would, but that was an end to it. She did not regret it, but she would not go to him. Let him do what he wished. She would give her love to her child now, not him.

~

John was surprised when Wareham played his next card in the game of cut John down. He had not expected Wareham to approach him in person.

In an attempt to distract his thoughts from Katherine, he’d spurned ducal pomp and chosen to walk home from White’s after luncheon and sent his carriage and footmen on. But when he turned into Regent St, John saw Wareham immediately, approaching him among a crush of people.

John swore on his breath as the man grew nearer, hoping one of the men trailing Wareham was close enough to bear witness.

Wareham closed the distance, his gaze implying he was intent on waylaying John.

John kept walking, refusing to avoid Wareham, feeling certain now Wareham had watchers too.

“You look tired, Your Grace, does something disturb your sleep…?” Wareham stopped in John’s path.

Unless he wished to step about Wareham, John had to stop too, and he felt like he was on an island in a river of humanity as people kept walking either side of them.

John said nothing, merely held the man’s gaze. His lack of sleep was due to Katherine anyway, not this man.

“I’ve not heard from you. Are you gathering the funds? If you do not, I shall share your mother’s past”

John’s jaw stiffened. “Any information is useless if you publish.”

“That depends upon my reasons for publishing. Perhaps I would take pleasure in telling the world the truth about your mother.”

And what the hell is it?
Perhaps John should let Wareham do it, at least he’d know then. “If that was your aim, why write and warn me, just
publish
.”

The man smiled.

Hatred filled John.

Wareham leaned closer, “Because I like playing with you, and the price has just doubled, Your Grace.”

Angry beyond tolerance, John moved past him and walked on, blind to all the people swelling about him.

What did Wareham know?

John refused to look back and let Wareham see how much his words had kicked.

God, he needed this resolved, but he would not give the man money.

John’s destination changed.

“Your Grace.” The clerk said as John entered Harvey’s offices. Then Harvey appeared.

“I was not expecting, Your Grace. To what do I owe the honour?”

“You owe it to Wareham…”

In Harvey’s office, John expanded. “I had the unfortunate pleasure of walking into him just now. I doubt it was an accident, which means he is definitely watching my movements, as I am watching his, and he has upped his price to keep his silence over whatever information he holds on Lady Edward.”

“Ah.” Wareham sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk.

“Ah, indeed,” John mimicked, “but from what I gleaned, I doubt he is interested in the money, it’s revenge. Although what he has to be vengeful over I have no idea. Yet it is clear he feels animosity towards me.”