The Scandalous Love of a Duke (32 page)

He performed one last spin as the music drew to a close, then it abruptly ended, and gripping her fingers, he set them on his arm before leading her to a group standing at the edge of the floor.

She faced another facet of John then. He moved about the room charming and ingratiating his way into conversations and constantly passing them to her, insisting she be included. It was cleverly done. He was a formidable force.

What is your opinion on this, Katherine? Have you heard of…? Did you see…? Would you…? He refused to let anyone ignore her.

It was what he’d done at her sister’s come-out too, only then she hadn’t realised the ruthlessness of his behaviour.

She never wished to be on the wrong side of John.

His family clearly recognised his ability too, for none of them attempted to come to his aid, though she saw them occasionally looking John’s way.

They must all be confident in John’s ability to manipulate, persuade and disarm people.

After an hour of this artistic assault, John led her back to the family group.

They had occupied one corner of the room as though they had put tents against the wall of a castle. All his aunts and uncles and cousins were gathered there.

Depositing Katherine into the care of his aunt Jane, John whispered, “I have had my fill for now. We will start again after supper. Do you wish for a glass of punch?”

She nodded and then John disappeared with his Uncle Robert.

His family just seemed to ignore his cold moods.

“How are you bearing up, Katherine?” his aunt questioned.

“Well enough, considering I’m in the hands of a demon. How does he do it? He controls people on a whim.”

His aunt laughed, “I believe he’s learned that skill from the cradle, but I’ve only known John since he was about fourteen. He had a serious side even then, though, at times.”

“He can sulk like the Devil,” Katherine stated, smiling at his aunt.

“Yes, well, his black looks are a bit of an art. Still, he is equally charming, and let us not forget powerful and wealthy, so who cares.”

Katherine laughed. She could hear the affection in his aunt’s voice, it was not condemnation.

She said more seriously then, “He can be domineering, I know, dear, but
you
have mellowed him a little, Katherine. He is much less affected with you and he seems easier in himself. Robert says people have commented on the change in him in White’s. I know it is early days but we all have great hopes for you both.”

Great hopes
.

Jane touched Katherine’s arm. “I know this is all new to you, but you will grow accustomed to John’s life and his ways, I dare say. Things will settle. John is John, no matter his mood, underneath he has a heart of gold.”

“I know,” Katherine whispered, “I just wish he was not so cold in public.”

“Defence,” Jane answered. “I have done it. It is easier to pretend you do not care for anything or anyone. When you have high standing, there are people who wish to cut you down. He is very conscious of his responsibility. He wishes to prove himself capable and if he shows any weakness he thinks he will not.”

Katherine met his aunt’s extraordinary emerald gaze.

“Give him time to adjust – give yourself time,” Jane concluded as John and his uncle returned. Then she briskly changed the conversation. “My friend, Violet, is holding a charity event tomorrow. She’s raising funds for an orphanage in White Chapel. Would you like to come, Katherine?”

Katherine accepted a glass from John. He met her gaze, answering her question before she asked it, “You need not ask me, Katherine. You may do as you will.”

Stupidly, even his lack of interest hurt. He had never once asked what she had done in the day, or shared what he had done, for the past week the nights had been theirs, but the days… Well in the days, she understood now, he was the Duke of Pembroke and he wished her to be his duchess. Oh she couldn’t bear it if the evenings became the same, if all she’d have of John Harding was a single hour or so when they went to bed.

The shallow foundations of her marriage rocked.

A horrible thought sprung into her head. What if all that pinned them together was their physical bond? What if his love was still only based on sex? After all, if he did not care what she did in the day, did he care for her at all really?

Her hand trembled as she sipped her drink.

He’d given her the impression he’d let her into his life. He had not. He was still holding back. He’d only put her into a niche in it. She had her corner of it. Or perhaps, her shelf. He would put her upon it in the morning and take her down at night.

He must sense her discomfort; he was watching her while continuing a conversation with his aunt and uncle. Proof, if she needed it, of how easily he could manage duplicity.

The notes of a second waltz caught on the air.

“Shall we?” John said, holding out his hand.

She accepted and asked, as soon as they moved into the open space where people danced, “How do you spend your days, John?”

His inexpressive face said nothing, but his eyes told her he thought the question absurd.

Still, he answered as they began dancing. “On business, planning and reviewing with Harvey, or in the Houses of Parliament, or visiting my club to discuss parliamentary affairs with my peers.” His voice belittled her interest.

His father spent most days at home, but of course he did not have a seat in the House of Lords, and yet John’s uncles did, and even they occasionally called with their wives in the afternoons.

“Does your business take
all
day?”

“Where is this leading, Katherine?” He spun her.

“What did you discuss today?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Who sent that letter to the press, if you must know, and how to respond.”

“How will you respond?” She only wanted to know because she wished to know how much he’d tell her.

“I’m sure you do not really wish to know.”

She had struck the boundary already then. He was definitely drawing lines. She was not even his duchess really. She was just the mistress he’d married.

“Clearly not.” She responded in a cold voice. He did not bite and answer, instead the conversation sank into silence.

~

During supper, and after it, John continued his assault, guiding Katherine to participate in conversations, ensuring she was not excluded.

She acted the model wife, smiling and nodding, and talking when he gave her an opening. Yet, despite his success, John felt as though he was failing. She was bitterly angry with him, he knew it, and yet she hid it perfectly. She had learned how to set a smile tonight, and hide her emotion, and now he wished she could not. Her fingers held his arm, but it was a forced touch. She was not seeking his support and there was no caress in her touch.

He felt her coldness keenly and when others began asking her to dance again, he watched her while he continued talking.

She looked into the men’s eyes, attentive and smiling and jovial, yet he knew beneath it there was a brittle disgust of these people,
and him
. He was forcing her to emulate what she hated, making her more like him, when he didn’t even like himself.

This is what he had wanted of her earlier, but now it grated on him.
More fool you, John Harding.
It was stupidity to bemoan it. He could hardly now tell her not to do it. He would only highlight the fact that
he
would not cease doing it, and that was the reason she was angry with him.

Yet her honesty and openness were the things which had captured his heart.

Which was it to be, which was best, to hide ones emotions and be accepted and respected by these people, or just to be oneself and tell them all to go to hell?

That was what he would prefer for her.

But for him?

He could not walk away from this life, could he? He had a duty to fulfil.

“You cannot show weakness. You must be strong, Sayle, else people will make a mockery of you. They’ll walk all over you, boy, if you do not show them who is master.”
God, he had heard that and similar words of dire warning from his grandfather so many times.

It irritated him still further that the men dancing with Katherine were all rakes, because anyone wholly respectable was reserving judgement in the current circumstances. Any other time he’d turn them away, but tonight she needed all the support she could get. Yet he knew these men thought her good game. The history of her birth had only piqued their interest further and they’d all willingly cuckold him, just to knock him down a peg or two. His grandfather was right in that.

To drown out his irritation and condemnation, he began plotting again. He would have his mother and his aunts take Katherine calling.

Let her assault the matrons of society in their homes.

In the carriage on the way home, he and Katherine were silent, while Mary, who didn’t know about Wareham’s letter, excitedly reviewed the night.

He supposed it was a blessing no one had excluded Mary too. She could have been caught up in it. Thank heavens she was not.

His thoughts drifted to Wareham. The man was out there in the dark streets, somewhere. John had agreed with Harvey they would hire three dozen more men to find him. John wanted the man off his mind.

His eyes turned to Katherine. Her lips were pursed and her chin up.

Bloody hell!
He knew the storm would break when they got home. Would they ever achieve an evening in society without her finding fault with him?

John climbed out of the carriage first when they arrived, and handed his mother and Mary down, then Katherine.

He kept hold of her hand and led her to the door as his father followed.

Inside, he took his leave of the others and then walked Katherine on to their rooms in ominous silence. When he shut the door and the world out, he turned to face her. “Now, pray tell me what is it you are riled over exactly?”

She did not speak as his fingers worked loose the knot of his cravat. John turned to a decanter. Once his cravat was loose, he tossed it over the back of a chair, then poured himself a port. He took a sip, then put it back down and took off his evening coat, which he threw over the chair, too.

Sipping from the glass again, he undid his waistcoat and left it hanging open. She was still silent. He turned and faced her, intensely annoyed. But casting her a dismissive look, rather than shout, he moved to occupy an armchair before the hearth.

She was watching him. She was supposed to be his solace, his supporter. He was not supposed to receive condemnation from her, not in his own home.

He leant back in the seat and raised one ankle to the other knee. Then, regarding her sternly, he lifted one eyebrow, another affectation he had picked up from his grandsire. “If you have something to say, Katherine…?”

She walked past him and took the chair opposite, staring at the fire now, not him. “Spit it out then. Have at me girl. You’re obviously dying to.”

She shook her head at him in answer, got back up and walked away.

Bugger.
She probably thought he’d follow. He did not. He was in no mood to play bloody lapdog. He did not even look as he heard the door to the bedchamber open. She’d be fleeing to her rooms.

Katherine considered retiring to her own rooms, but she did not. It would be cowardice to do so. Instead she undressed quietly, and not even wishing to leave for a moment in case he came in and locked her out, she borrowed one of his shirts to wear as a nightgown.

John didn’t come in. She did not go back to him either. There was no point in talking to him. Dressed in ducal armour, he was in no mood to listen.

His diamond-hard stare had threatened retribution and she’d no patience for him when he was like that. It was wiser to withdraw.

Eventually she fell asleep.

When she woke, John was in bed beside her, and he was breathing heavily, dreaming.

She listened for a moment, hearing his breath fracture on a sudden gasp, and then he was awake, sitting up and turning to sit at the edge of the bed, panting, before sucking in air and then letting go a single long breath. She touched his back. It was damp with sweat.

He pulled away. It was probably deserved after she had cut him earlier.

“John?”

He leant forward and rested his head in his hands, obviously battling the images of his nightmare, while rain rapped on the windowpanes in a low rhythm.

After a moment, he stood, and then moved across the dark room.

“Where are you going?” she whispered.

“Downstairs,” he growled as she watched him pick up his dressing gown, only a shadow in the darkness.

She slid off the bed in pursuit, and reached him before he got to the door, hugging him, wrapping her arms about his midriff and pressing her cheek against his back.

He stilled for a moment but then his hands pulled hers loose. “Leave me alone, Katherine.”

The words were harsh but his tone was wounded.

“John, what is it? Tell me?”

He sighed, but didn’t answer as he slipped his dressing gown on.

She moved and barred his exit.

“Katherine.”

“No, I’m not letting you go until you tell me about your dream.”

“I’m sure, you don’t care.” He moved to pass her.

She blocked his path again.

“Katherine, just get out of the way…” There was vulnerability in his voice, it was unusual for John. He was still discomposed, and he was running because he did not want her to know it disturbed him.

She hated being shut out.

It was too dark for her to see his face clearly but her fingers lifted anyway and found his cheek. “Don’t go downstairs. Come back to bed.”

“So you can scold? I presume you’re still waiting to ring your peel, although for the life of me I cannot see what I did to deserve your ire. I spent the night defending you.”

He
was
hurt then, and that was why he’d retreated behind his cold, cutting façade earlier.

Her suspicions grew as her fingers fell from his face, sliding the length of his arm to capture his hand and tug him towards the bed.