The Scandalous Love of a Duke (29 page)

Within, he poured the fresh water from the jug into a bowl and commenced his morning ablutions.

But leaving Katherine behind also let the rush of emotion his dream had stirred return. He washed his face. It had been his mother again, outside the carriage, not Katherine, but with her, holding her hand, had stood a small boy, a toddler. John didn’t understand it, yet he suspected the child was his unborn son.

Fear set cold and solid in John’s stomach as he faced himself in the mirror but he could not look himself in the eyes.

I love Katherine, but
can I love my child?

What if I cannot?

Shutting the door to where Katherine lay in bed, he rang for his valet, to help him shave and dress. His sudden desire was just to get away, to get out of the house. Now it was time to face his responsibility again he did not wish to feel this emotion and weakness.

~

John returned home early in the evening. He’d spent an hour or two with Harvey going over business and discovering how things stood with Wareham, which was no farther forward, other than an ominous report that the man had been seen back in town.

John had eaten at White’s and, after that, met his Uncle Robert.

They’d shared a couple of hours in congenial conversation with fellow members of Parliament and discussed the progress of their private business venture.

Finally, John had sought out Phillip and apologised again, achieving a tenuous peace with his new brother-in-law, then he’d encouraged Phillip to accept the role with Harvey and invited Phillip to dine.

They arrived together.

Finch took their hats, gloves and outdoor coats.

“Have there been many callers?” John asked. He felt a measure of guilt sweep in, guilt he’d been determinedly pushing aside all day.

He’d left Katherine and his mother to deal with the matrons of society. His mother was eminently capable of course, but Katherine … 

Yet it would have been odd for him to remain, none of the callers would have expected to see him. Still, he could not escape his nagging conscience which said he should have stayed.

Phillip was John’s peace offering and his shield. He’d run away this morning rather than deal with thoughts and feelings he did not wish to face. Phillip was John’s sorry.

“I believe the last caller left half an hour ago, Your Grace, and yes there have been many.”

“And my family?”

“In the drawing room upstairs, Your Grace.”

John threw a look at Phillip which said, follow, and headed upstairs. His heart was thumping. He had not realised until this morning just how much he cared what Katherine thought. But her judging him poorly over Wareham
had
hurt. Yet he’d no intention of explaining, let her think what she wished, he was not bringing any of his official life into his bed. They were separate things. She had called him John Harding this morning. He wished to just be John Harding with her.

His hand slid along the mahogany rail of the staircase as he climbed.

He hoped she would forgive his desertion. He hoped she would understand when he told her it was not the done thing for him to hover about each day. That he had duties, and it was just not seemly for a duke to hang onto the petticoats of his wife. But he should have told her he was leaving. Yet it had been panic which beat him out the door with a whip.

God
, he wished to laugh at himself. He was such a bloody fraud. Here he was pretending he could manage an empire of land and people and businesses, when the thought of a scrawling infant, his own, sent him running a mile.

But he just did not wish that child to be unloved, and he felt too like his grandfather now to be sure he could love it.

What if he felt nothing when the child was born? His heart pumped harder.

These were the thoughts he’d run from, he’d not had them beyond the door, when he was immersed in business.

He heard his mother’s voice, and Mary’s, and some of the children’s. He didn’t hear Katherine’s. He longed to hear it. He’d missed her today.

When they entered the room, Mary was immediately on her feet, moving to greet Phillip. John’s mother looked up and smiled. Katherine was not there.

John’s gaze passed on to his father who was seated in an armchair, a ledger on his lap as he spun a charcoal pencil in his fingers and followed the columns.

He looked up, acknowledged Phillip and John, then returned his attention to the page.

The boys were grouped about the table behind his father’s back playing with an army of lead soldiers that had once been John’s.

The girls were all seated about his mother, as though they’d been avidly listening to something she or Mary had been saying. The young ones were on their laps.

His gaze spun back to his mother.

“Mama…”

She smiled, clearly understanding his unspoken question. “Katherine went to lie down. It has been a long afternoon. We’ve had numerous visitors but she has managed remarkably well. You should be very proud of her, John. I took her into town this morning too, we purchased the accessories and other items she needs. I think I have exhausted her.”

“I’ll fetch her,” he stated, looking at Phillip, and then he immediately left the room.

He wondered how he would be received as he entered his chamber. She was not in his bed. Was that a statement of her feelings?

He didn’t find her on her bed either though. There was a maid there, busy putting the things purchased today into drawers and wardrobes. She spoke to his look of confusion as she bobbed a sudden deep curtsy. “Your Grace, Her Grace went down to the library.”

John thanked the maid and retraced his steps. There was anxiety inside him but there was a sense of expectation too, and hopefulness. It was the strangest feeling to have someone he wished to come home to. He remembered feeling so damned arid in the desert and now he felt an intense thirst to be with her.

He passed two footmen in the hall. They bowed.

The library door was left ajar, but there was no sound from within as he crossed the marble floor.

He pushed it wider, passed through and closed it behind him, shutting him in with her, and locking out the world as it had been locked out last night.

All he saw of her was her slipper-clad feet swinging from the side of an armchair. Her slender ankles were crossed.

He felt an involuntary smile lift his lips and walked forwards.

When he saw her fully, she was seated sideways, her knees draped over the arm of the chair with one of his sketchbooks spread open on her lap. She was so busy gazing at the pictures she hadn’t noticed he’d come in. She turned a page, then must have sensed his presence and looked up.

His arms folded across his chest. “Katherine?”

She moved immediately, guiltily, snapping the book shut and rising impulsively. “Sorry, John, I know I shouldn’t be looking…”

He took the book from her hands, “You can look.”

“I didn’t mean to pry. I came to find a book to take to my room and I noticed it lying on the shelf under your desk. When I saw it said Egypt I was… curious. I’m sorry.”

“Curious?” He laughed.

He’d expected a tirade when he got home, anger or silence. Either extreme might have expressed her disappointment in him.

They had been married for two and a half days and he had already failed her four times, leaving her alone the first day, not sharing her bed the first night, displaying the truth of his past last night and now deserting her again today. He felt disloyal and unworthy of her.

“What were you curious about?” She looked beautiful, dressed in sunny lemon yellow, her hair pinned in a tidy chignon, leaving only a few soft curls to frame her face. But she also looked thin and frail. She had lost weight since the summer. He’d noted it particularly last night. But she’d spent three months without him, frightened and sick, while he had sent her pleading letters saying love me.

He was an ass. He should not have left her alone in bed this morning, he could have simply said goodbye and told her what he’d planned for the day.

Still, like the stoic woman she was, she’d obviously persisted with the day, without surrendering to feminine paroxysms.

“How you lived? What you did out there? What you saw?”

“And what did the sketchbook tell you.”

“That it is a barren but beautiful place.”

“Yes it was.”

“Did you draw them?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know you could draw like that.”

He said nothing, not knowing what to say as her eyes held his gaze. He’d spent his childhood learning to excel at everything, trying to please his grandfather. He was not proud of any of his skills.

She looked as though she was waiting for him to speak. She was probably hoping for an explanation for his desertion, or an apology, he found neither on his tongue.

She took the book out of his hands, walked across to his desk, set it down and then opened it again, flicking through the pages.

She stopped on one he’d drawn at Karnak, of Yassah beside a huge statue. He’d drawn Yassah in to display the size of it. Seeing the image took him back to that day, the dry heat of the desert and the relief of the area of oasis along the Nile, the sounds of local children playing and his men working.

“I like this one,” she said. “Who is the man?”

John wished she could see his memories. He walked over, looked over her shoulder and braced his hand at her waist. “It is Yassah. He was a friend out there. I employed him, but we worked together and we had the same way of thinking. The same things excited us. He is still working out there for me. I have been paying for him to continue seeking new tombs. He writes intermittently and tells me what’s happening. His letters frequently take my thoughts back there.”

She looked sidewards, up at his face, but said nothing, then looked back at the book and flicked to the pages at the very back. Pages which had been empty when he’d brought the book home. “Ah.” They were now littered with small images of Katherine in various nude and semi-nude poses, mostly memories of their hours in the tower room.

“Yes, ah…” she breathed.

“I couldn’t forget you.” His hand fell from her waist.

She turned around, braced his cheeks and drew his head down, then kissed him, gently, minding his still healing lip.

Then she said, meeting his gaze, “One day will you explain all your pictures to me?”

He felt a frown as confusion stirred. “Yes.”

“I don’t mind the pictures of me, but put them somewhere safe, John.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, wondering what he’d done to deserve this woman. “But no one touches anything on my desk, Katherine. No one would have seen them. Yet if you feel more comfortable I’ll keep them in my – in our – rooms.” Then he bent to her ear. “I shall draw and paint you properly, a full nude image.”

“No!” She pulled away.

He laughed. “I will hide it away.”

“No!”

“We could put it in the tower at The Place and keep the door forever locked.”

She shook her head.

“I will draw you, though. I’ll make a small portrait of you for myself, but I’ll let someone else paint you in a life-size pose and I will put it up in here and take him down.” He looked up at the old man, at the painting John had still not got around to removing, and met his grandfather’s imperious, judgemental stare.

The old man would have hated Katherine. If he were alive, John would have been standing here receiving the biggest setting down of his life. Well his grandfather could go to hell. John was very happy with his choice of bride.

He took her hand and remembered his peace offering. Lord, he had forgotten Phillip was waiting upstairs. “I will tell you about Egypt later. Your brother is here.”

“Phillip?”

His smile twitched. “You only have one brother, as far as I recall. I asked him to dine with us. My mother said you did well today, she’s declared you a success.”

“What she means is I managed to resist the urge to insult the pompous women who called to pry and ogle me. Is that called success? Of course there is still tomorrow, and by then I may choose to throttle the lot of them instead. I apologise now if I do, and you are cut because of it.”

He laughed and finally found that apology ready on his tongue. “I’m sorry I just disappeared this morning, I had a meeting with Harvey, I—”

Her fingers covered his lips.

“Your mother helped me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I coped. Is Phillip upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go up.” Her hand slipped from his. He didn’t follow as she left. He felt as though she should have shouted at him. He felt guilty. He picked up the book. He’d hide it first and then return to the drawing room.

~

Folly
, Katherine told herself, as she had done a dozen times today.
Folly, folly, folly, folly.

Folly
to love him in the first place,
folly
to succumb to his seductions, and certainly
folly
to believe him, but she’d believed him again last night and been enchanted by his attentions, and then he’d disappeared without a word, leaving her behind. Just as he’d done at Ashford.

Catching up her skirt, not hearing him follow, she raced upstairs, her fingers sliding over the warm, silky mahogany.

Seeing his sketches of Egypt had only reinforced again just how different their lives had been. She wished she hadn’t seen them, and yet she knew if she was ever to breach the gap between herself and John she had to understand his world, and so she’d dutifully understood when his mother had excused John’s disappearance this morning and explained how busy his life was.

Of course he had a life beyond their bedchamber but she longed to lock him away and pretend all else did not exist.

She had shopped with his mother and enjoyed her company, and then faced the matrons of elite society. She’d hated every moment of that, but she had smiled and borne it, because she knew eventually these women would be gone and John would come home and they could retire to his rooms again.

Phillip greeted her with a hug and she clung to him for a moment, pressing her cheek to his shoulder and holding onto the feeling of familiarity, when nothing else was familiar anymore.