The Scandalous Love of a Duke (34 page)

Swallowing back shock, Katherine nodded and did not correct his use of her maiden name, he obviously had not heard about her marriage. She did not wish to upset him by telling him she was now John’s wife. “I am visiting my brother. I was just looking for a hackney.”

“Well it’s very remiss of him to leave you unescorted. Town is not Ashford, nor Maidstone, Miss Spencer. Allow me.” He lifted his arm.

Katherine looked at it uncertainly. She did not really know Mr Wareham beyond a very slight acquaintance, and yet he was a gentleman, who’d been in the employ of the old Duke for years. Surely she could trust him. “Thank you.”

She laid her fingers on his arm.

He started walking. “If I recall, you promised to join me for tea that day in Maidstone…”

A vacant hackney passed them at a brisk trot. Mr Wareham made no attempt to hail it. But his head was turned towards her.

“Where is your brother’s office?”

She told him, watching another hackney pass.

Her heart began beating harder, but it was silly fretting, there was nothing odd in his behaviour. It was just because she knew John had treated him badly and she felt guilty, though it was not her fault.

“You know, there is something I’ve long wanted chance to discuss with you, Miss Spencer. Now would be a good time for that cup of tea, and then I could explain. I will accompany you home afterwards.”

“I need to be home by five…” When she met his gaze she realised his eyes were very similar to John’s. It would do no harm, she supposed. Perhaps she could help Mr Wareham understand John’s dismissal wasn’t personal, just John dealing with his grandfather’s ghost. “…But I shall have enough time.”

He led her along several streets, turning and turning again until she was thoroughly lost and had no clue which direction the orphanage or home were. He spoke about Ashford society as they walked and then his move to the city. Apparently he had a mother here.

His arm dropped from under her hand when they reached a tea shop, and then his fingers gripped her elbow.

A few other people were seated at tables.

Seating her first, he called for tea before sitting opposite and regarding her through narrowed eyes.

The delicate scent of tea hovered in the air.

“I knew your mother, Katherine,” he stated as his pale blue gaze held hers. Katherine only just stopped her mouth from falling open, but her heart thumped.

The tea was set down before them.

He filled his cup and then lifted the lid of the teapot. It dropped back down with the sharp sound of porcelain striking porcelain. Then he poured hers. She added milk and sugar, not knowing what to say. He watched her but said nothing. The hard look in his eyes reminded her of John again.

She sipped her tea. As soon as she had drunk it, she would go.

She took another sip while Mr Wareham stayed silent.

The buzz of conversation rose in the room, becoming almost deafening.

“I know…” Mr Wareham began, but she couldn’t hear properly and leant forwards to listen. “…This will be a shock to you, Katherine, but I wish to tell you I am your father…”

Katherine stared and the room shifted on its axis, then swayed like water.

She had never known who’d sired her. Now this man… He’d lived within a mile of her. She had passed him numerous times in the street and he’d never said a word. Until that day in Maidstone…

She couldn’t speak. Inside her, there was a gaping hole where there ought to be joy.

He drank his tea as though he’d just said that it looked like it might rain and nothing more.

His hard eyes, too like John’s, were watching her.

She sipped her tea, but her arm and the cup felt heavy.

She took another sip before putting it down, wishing to simply leave. She desperately longed for John. But how could she leave hurriedly now, when Mr Wareham had just made such a declaration. She could hardly just say thank you and goodbye.

So what do I say?
The question spun about in her mind and seemed to get lost.

She took another sip of tea.

Mr Wareham watched her, apparently awaiting her response.

She did not have one and the room was shifting again and swaying a little.

Her eyes turned to the broad bay window of the shop and the street outside. She did not feel well. She needed John.

A chair scraped and she turned to see Mr Wareham rising, though he was blurred.

He caught her arm and helped her rise.

She was dizzy, weak and confused. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words as he whispered reassurance in her ear and his voice echoed in her head. Then she was being steered from the tea shop and they were out on the street.

She couldn’t make her mouth move to say she wished to go home. Her lips were numb and her feet heavy, but she felt pain from his grip on her arm, and fear. This was not right.
John!
The cry rang in her head but it would not come from her lips.

Mr Wareham stopped by a door only a short distance from the shop they had left, and then he withdrew a key from his pocket. She collapsed the moment the door opened, falling onto wooden boards. Then she felt him lift her. Her limbs were heavy and numb. She could no longer see him, her vision was entirely black, yet she could feel herself being carried upstairs. He must have put some drug into her tea.

~

When John returned it was six o’clock. He knew he’d left it far too long, he ought to have come back for luncheon to dine on his humble pie but it was not a meal he relished.

He’d ridden off his demons in Green Park, early, racing across the lawns in dawn’s light, fleeing his feelings, just as he’d done in Egypt.

After a good hard ride he’d burned out his ire and started to think, rehearing everything Katherine had said, and listening.

It didn’t take much thought to know she was right. But letting people see who he really was, was something he did not care to do. So instead of going home and apologising, he’d ridden on to Harvey’s offices.

Harvey was certain Wareham was in London again, and probably using a false name, which meant they’d only trace him by sight.

John had drawn a sketch and copied it over and over for each group of men who were searching.

In the afternoon John had joined one of the search parties, knocking on doors and asking at inns. But as the sunset had painted the sky a bright pink, he’d realised it was beyond time to go home. He couldn’t delay his apology any longer. It had to be made. He’d do anything to avoid losing Katherine. Even make himself vulnerable before society, though he wasn’t sure he was capable of it.

But if she needed him to change to be happy, he’d try. She was the only part of his life he was sure about. The only part he wouldn’t let change.

John climbed the steps to the front door, which Finch held open, then passed off his gloves, hat and riding whip, leaving his grooms to lead his stallion away.

“John.” Mary was passing through the hall. “Have you been out all day?”

He smiled. He supposed he was in trouble with all the women of the house. They’d sympathise with Katherine. No doubt his mother would have a few choice words to add to Katherine’s.

“I was busy,” he answered, about to ask where Katherine was. But before he could, a clatter of horses’ iron-clad hooves and voices reached from behind him through the closing door. Turning, he saw Harvey on the steps as Finch reopened the door. Behind Harvey, four men sat on horseback, and John’s groom was still hovering with his own mount as though someone had bid him wait.

John’s eyebrows lifted, “What is it?”

“We have him,” Harvey stated, suddenly grinning broadly, and lifting the papers he carried.

John’s jaw set with the anticipation of revenge, and looking at Mary, he said, “Go and fetch, Papa. Have him come down, and tell him to hurry.”

Clearly absorbing the urgency, she nodded, caught up her skirt and hurried off.

Turning back to Harvey, John asked, “How? Where?”

“The clue has come from his past, Your Grace, I…” Harvey stopped suddenly and looked at Finch. “We should speak in private.”

John nodded, turning towards the library, blood pumping in his veins for haste, as a footman rushed ahead to open the door.

Once they were within, the door shut, and John said, “Well?” in a deep hard tone. He was seething with hatred.

“We traced his mother. She is here in London. One of the men visited her. Wareham has been calling there. She didn’t know he’d been dismissed. Nor that he was stealing from Your Grace or the previous Duke. When she was told, she broke down. The former Duke is Wareham’s father. Mr Wareham was born before the Duke’s marriage.”

John’s gaze fixed on Harvey,
Good God!
The old man was a fraud too. If Wareham had been born in wedlock he would have been heir. “My grandfather supported this woman?”

“Yes. And funded Wareham’s education, then employed him. Yet it cannot have been enough recompense. We’ve found a landlord who rented a room to a man looking like Wareham a few days ago. He recognised the image Your Grace drew. We are on our way there. I thought Your Grace would wish to come.”

“Yes,” John’s pulse raced.

A knock struck the door.

“Come,” John called.

“John?” It was Edward.

“Harvey has found Wareham. Apparently he is Grandfather’s bastard. Do you wish to come?”

Edward’s eyes widened as his right hand curled into a fist. “Of course. Let me change.” Edward turned to leave just as Finch knocked on the open door, the two nearly colliding.

“A young lad delivered this a moment ago, Your Grace.” Finch held out a folded piece of paper. John’s gaze dropped to it. “The child was told to bring it to the front door. He said only the Duke of Pembroke was to read it.”

“Is he waiting on an answer?” Walking forward, John knew it was from Wareham.

He took the note, as Finch replied, “No, Your Grace, the child ran off.”

John felt a sword slip into his stomach as he unfolded the paper.

I have your wife.

The air left John’s lungs.

“John?”

John heard Edward, but he couldn’t respond. His body was paralysed.

Katherine?

“John?”

His father was at John’s side and John thrust the note at him and looked up, forcing the words from his throat. “Is Katherine not at home?”

“No, she—”

“We have to go,” John looked at Harvey as Edward looked down at the note and paled. “Give Lord Edward the address. He can follow.”

~

The mattress Katherine lay on was solid and uncomfortable, filled with straw.

Her eyes opened.

The bed was iron-framed and stood in the corner of a small room. It smelt foul, damp and mouldy.

A single square window in the opposite wall showed her it was dark outside. She’d no sense of time. How long had she been here? It could be days. She remembered the tea shop and leaving there …  Panic tumbled through her. It rolled in her stomach and whipped at her nerves, stealing her breath away.

Pain burned her wrists and ankles as she tried to move. She was bound, and the rope cut into her skin.

She tried to swallow but there was a cloth in her mouth. The gag hurt her throat.

John!

Tears trickled from her eyes. She felt so sick.

Footfalls crossed the room and then a chair scraped. She tried to turn but it was too difficult.

I am going to die.
No one knew where she was. No one knew she’d left with Mr Wareham.

“You are awake, then.”

She twisted her head to see him.

He sat in a chair a little behind her and leant forwards. His eyes were so like John’s. His fingers brushed her cheek then pulled away.

She did not understand.

“You failed to mention when we met, Katherine, what I knew…”

What?

“You married that arrogant boy didn’t you?”

John? This was because of John?

Mr Wareham stood then. He towered over her.

Fear lanced her body, like a sword splitting her in half, and again she tried to swallow to ease her dry throat but the foul-tasting cloth only made her gag.

He turned, then walked away, crossing the room to a table.

Terror prickled her skin, lifting goose bumps across her arms.

He turned back and in his hand was a short knife.

Katherine tried to speak, forgetting the gag. Nothing but a muffled, urgent sound escaped. He showed no sign he even heard it as he walked towards her, holding out the knife.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

“It is not your fault, I know, Katherine. But he has taken things from me and so I should take things from him…”

Her stomach clenched and she retched against the gag.
John!
He didn’t even know where she was.

Mr Wareham sat on the bed beside her stomach and she thought of the child. Her child. John’s child. She was suddenly terrified Mr Wareham might know. He could do anything to her… She did not want to lose the child…

The blade’s tip slid across her bodice and pressed gently over the position of her heart. Did he intend killing her?

The knife lifted and so did his eyes. They came to look at hers as the knife then drew a line across her cheek without cutting.

He’d said he was her father, she was sure she had not dreamed that.

He laughed and then smiled, a sly tormenting smile, and ran the knife beneath her chin across her throat.

She knew her eyes were wide, as confusion and fear gripped harder.
God help me. Save me!

He stood up again then and walked back across the room to the table. She watched him as she might a wolf who stalked her.

This time when he turned back he held a gun and smiled. “I am undecided what to do. What do you think shall hurt that boy most?”

He is mad. He is utterly mad.

John pulled his stallion to a halt outside the address they’d been given, slid his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Harvey and the other men did too as the man beside John pointed to a door.

The place was a slum and the cobbles beneath John’s feet were slippery with human waste as he ran across them, ahead of the others.