The Scandalous Love of a Duke (8 page)

He clasped his hands behind his back, only to stop them shaking.

He wanted to touch her
.

Katherine thanked the butler and he heard her take the tea tray and set it down.

It was not tea he was thirsty for.

When she brought him a full cup, he turned and met her gaze again, very aware of the door which still stood open.

She could not shut it. It would be the height of impropriety to do so, but at this moment, it was only that open door which saved her chastity. He wished to do wicked things with her, very wicked things, and he didn’t know if it was his monster roaring or just the boy who desperately longed to be loved.

“Katherine…” John’s pale eyes shone as he looked at her.

She had thought him vulnerable at the funeral months ago, with no evidence to pin the thought against. But today she could see it clearly.

There had been a desperate desire for acceptance in his eyes when he had pressed the bonnet on her, and there was insecurity in them now. She could see nothing of the arrogant man who’d jumped down from his curricle less than a week ago. This was a different person. The boy she had known and the young man who had left for the continent, grown up.

“John,” she said in a low voice, “I do not understand what is happening? I can be no one to you.”

He took the full cup she held out. “You are wrong. You can be everything to me, Katherine.”

She felt the earth shift beneath her feet but she did not know what to do. So she turned away and sought her cup.

“I have never felt this way for anyone before, Katherine,” he said behind her. “I have no idea what it is, or how to progress, all I know is, I wish to be in your company constantly …  ”

Her heart pounded. It was John saying this to her.

She was about to turn back, when she heard the front door open. Her cup wobbled in its saucer as she jumped.

“Sir, the Duke of Pembroke is here.”

Her father.

She set her cup aside and moved before the hatbox, her heart thumping even harder.

“The Duke of Pembroke?” Her father’s voice rang along the hall. Then his brisk footsteps could be heard.

She did not look at John.

“Your Grace.” Her father appeared at the open parlour door.

“Papa.” She moved forwards, knowing she must look guilty as she tried to ensure he would not be able to see the box resting in the chair.

There was a question in his eyes.

John set his cup down and crossed the room, offering his hand. “Good day, sir.”

Her father accepted it and shook it briefly, before letting go.

“I called to accept Mrs Spencer’s invitation to your gathering for Jenny, sir,” John progressed. It was a lie of course.

Her father was stiff and silent. He looked at Katherine again. “I am sure your mother will be pleased, Kate.”
He
did not sound pleased.

Katherine bit her lip. He seemed to have sensed there was something odd going on, but then she was acting as though she had something to hide. Did she? There was the bonnet, but… what else…

Her heart thumped as her father’s gaze passed back to her.

“Katherine?”

“John also brought word from Phillip, father.” Now she had lied too.

Her father’s eyebrows lifted and then he looked back at John. “I was sorry to hear of your grandfather’s passing.”

John nodded. “Your son does well in town, sir.”

“He does…”

Their stilted conversation passed over Katherine’s head as she watched John change back into the Duke – untouchable, unreachable, distant and withheld.

When it ran dry, John turned to her, his eyes cold and direct. “As we still have the sunshine, even though it’s a little blustery, I wondered if you would care to walk in the garden with me.”

She looked at her father. There was still a question in his eyes which said he was unsure what to do. “Shall I leave you two young people to stroll then, Kate, and retire to my study?”

She nodded.

“Your Grace,” he said to John, bowing.

“Sir,” John responded.

Once he’d gone, Katherine turned to John. “You are shameless, the way you manipulate people.”

He merely laughed as she moved to ring the bell for Hetty to collect the hatbox.

She turned back and faced him. “I cannot believe you have persuaded me to accept your gift, against my better judgement, and I still do not know what you wish in return for it.”

“A moment of freedom, Katherine, or however many you will give me.”

“Miss Kate?”

Katherine spun about to face Hetty, certain she was entirely pink. “Take this up to my room please, and would you fetch my spencer and bonnet, and my gloves.”

“No,” John interrupted.

Katherine turned.

“Hetty, is it? Your mistress needs none of that, it is cooler today, she need not fear the sun.”

“I have a fair complexion, Your Grace.” His boorishness annoyed her.

“Then a parasol will suffice.” His pale eyes glowed, daring her to challenge him.

She did not, and once the maid had gone, he whispered, “I want to touch your skin.
”

Was this the price of her bonnet?

Her heartbeat thundered, as she realised she wished to be touched. She had always known she was base and sinful and weak, John was only proving what she knew, and if any man were to touch her, then let it be John.

Hetty was back in a moment, bearing the promised parasol, and Katherine accepted it with a brief thank you, realising her hands shook when she did so.

John smiled when she turned. His eyes said he needed her.

Her bare arm trembled when he took it.

He opened the French door and together they stepped outside. His grip was gentle. She felt cared for.

There was a little wilderness of wild flowers to the right of the garden, and he led her there as she opened her parasol and rested it on her shoulder. The chill summer breeze caught at her skirt and wrapped it against John’s leg.

He let go of her arm and instead raised his so she could lay her fingers on it. She felt firm muscle beneath the cloth of his morning coat. There was strength, security and support.

“You say you wish for freedom,” she said quietly, “but I still do not understand what you mean, John.” She was being gauche and provincial again.

“Just your company, Katherine, and perhaps your kisses.” His other hand covered hers as it lay on his arm. “We will be discreet.”

Discreet? Was she agreeing to an assignation then? “You make it sound as though you wish for an affair.”

He stopped and looked down at her, vulnerability and need burning in his eyes again. “An affair of sorts, an intrigue. But I shall not take your innocence. I’ll not hurt you.”

His gaze said,
please do not deny me
.

A rush of yearning swamped her heart.

He began walking again, looking ahead and not at her.

Oh John. John!
She remembered that day long ago when she had watched him in the lake and felt desperate to touch him. If she did this, she could touch him and she could kiss him. If she did it, the pain buried in her soul for years would have ease.

John!
She ached for him. How could she say no? She had always known he could never offer her marriage, but he could offer her
this
and
she could take it.
It was what she’d longed for. Why say no?

As they neared an ancient oak, John’s arm slipped from beneath her hand and then he caught a hold of her arm again and drew her behind the broad trunk, then pressed her back against it.

Her parasol fell and tumbled across the lawn, blown on the wind, as his lips covered hers, gently at first, but then the kiss became more insistent.

His body was barely an inch from hers.

One of his long-fingered hands braced her cheek.

John!

She kissed him back, her tongue dancing with his, learning from his.

His other hand pressed against her lower back. While hers gripped his morning coat, clinging to him.

The storm of emotion she could feel in him was bitter need.

His mouth left hers and he began nipping beneath her chin in soft little bites. “I want you Katherine.” His breath was hot. “I can show and teach you things you will enjoy, but I swear I shall not take your virginity. I know you want me, too.”

I do!

His hand cupped her breast through her bodice, kneading it gently. It ached for him.

“Say yes, Katherine,” he whispered urgently.

His lips nipped at her neck and his hand rubbed her breast while his hips pressed against hers.

She wanted him, there, between her legs, she wanted to do the indecent things her mother had done to beget her. He was the only thing she had ever really wanted. Why hold back?

Her breath was shallow, and his hard and rasping.

His hand left her breast and moved to the place where she wanted him to be.

John!

He pressed her through the layers of her gown and petticoats, and her arms rose to his neck as he kissed her lips again, more passionately.

“Katherine,” he said into her mouth, sounding as breathless and desperate as her as his fingers rubbed her intimately between her legs through the layers of clothing.

She was so in need. This is what she had spent so many years craving. It was just the two of them in the world. It was wrong, she knew it was, but it felt so right and she did not care. She was like her mother. She had always been told it. This had been inevitable since her birth. The sins of the parent visited on the child.

Her body pressed against his, arching with its need.

It was so perfect what he did, how could it be wrong?

The feelings inside her whirled in a spiral of heated delight, rising up and overwhelming her, and then they seemed to break on a high tide that swept through her body, leaving her panting and weak-limbed.

His fingers braced her cheek again as he kissed her more urgently for a moment.

She could no longer kiss him back.

Then he ceased, and when she opened her eyes he was looking into them, beautiful and all John.

He sighed, appearing to look right into her soul, the pale blue in his eyes glittering like melting ice.

Her fingers stroked through his soft, dark hair.

“
That
is what I can give you, Katherine,” he said quietly, as if that was everything. It was his love she wished for. “Will you meet me in my grandfather’s tower tomorrow at two?”

“Yes,”
her answer was caught on the breeze and swept away.
Yes
.

Thoughts of Katherine hovering in his mind, John strode along the bare flagstone of the servants’ hall, ready to ride out to meet her. The image of her had hung in his mind since yesterday, along with a subconscious feeling of companionship.

The beauty of her submission had been a revelation.

She’d ceased fighting her desire yesterday, giving him her trust, and a hundred times last night he’d vowed to honour that trust.

He was so hungry for her he’d hardly slept, burning with restless frustration. He itched to have her, but he had made her a promise. He would temper his lust. Yet there were many things a man could do without taking a woman’s virginity and his mind had dwelled on all of them last night. He was impatient to see her.

He’d visited tenants earlier, alone, and then returned to look at the ledgers again over luncheon. There was still nothing there. Now he was searching for Wareham, who apparently kept the key to the folly. John had come himself because it gave him another opportunity to try and discover what Wareham was up to.

The office door was shut. John gripped the handle and turned it without knocking. It was locked.

Ill temper flared. John was too tired and impatient. He rapped on the door harshly, angry at being excluded from a room in his own property.

A chair scraped within, and a moment later the lock turned. Then the door opened.

Wareham’s expression was insolent – antagonising. Like the other day, there was no deference.

John had an urge to grip the man by the throat and shove him up against a wall. “Must I remind you of your place again…”

Wareham turned his back and crossed the room, returning to his desk. “You need not remind me. I am well aware of it.”

John wished to hold him with one fist and punch him with the other. He’d not used John’s title, again.

Wareham looked at John and barely bent his head, as though that would suffice. “Your Grace, pray, what do I owe this honour to?” Then he sat.

It was unsupportable for him to do so. John’s servants should always be standing in his presence. Wareham was deliberately insulting. His entire manner expressed rebellion, and his expression said he wished to make John angry. He had. Was John a damned bull to be pulled by a nose ring?

“I have come for the key to the tower.” John held out his hand. Let the man bring it to him.

“And why would you want that, Your Grace?”

“That is none of your business.
The key,
Wareham.”

The man rose again and moved to fetch it from a tall narrow cupboard.

John waited, but when Wareham held the large iron key out and came towards John, when John reached for it, Wareham pulled it back.

John’s façade of calm evaporated. “Give me the key and stop these games!” His loss of control made him even angrier.

“Games, Your Grace?” Wareham taunted with a gleam in eyes. “I am a bit old for games. It is not a game I am playing.”

“The key, Wareham.” John’s voice was bitterly hard, his patience having fled. Blast the missing money, he wasn’t short of that. Let Wareham have it. He would rather be rid of this problem and rid of Wareham.

Wareham lifted the key and John snatched it from his hand.

“Did you truly think I would tolerate these insults?” John was calmer now, back under control. His voice was no longer angry. This would be an end to it. “You are dismissed. You will leave immediately.
I will have you escorted.”

For a moment, Wareham just stared at John. There was not a single flicker of emotion which showed in his eyes or on his face. He was far better at holding his emotion in than John.

“
Now
,” John pressed.

“Do you think I
wish
to serve you?”

“You need not. Go.”

“While you have idled abroad, I have built up these estates.” Wareham sounded as though he thought he had a right over John.

John glanced back towards the hall and yelled. “Finch!” He had seen the butler a moment ago.

“Your Grace?” He was there in an instant.

“Mr Wareham is leaving. Immediately. I wish him escorted from the grounds. You may pack his things and send them on, but he is to take nothing which belongs to
my
estates. Have some of the grooms escort him.”

John looked at Wareham. “You may send Finch your address when you have found somewhere to stay.” Then John turned away and left the room.

The key cut into his palm as his fist clenched, while the maids and footmen bowed and curtsied as he walked along the corridor. John would be known as a tyrant now, for dismissing his steward simply because it took too long to find a key. John felt his prison cell slam shut. He was trapped in this life, he had not chosen it. Darkness and isolation engulfed him as he stepped into the courtyard and felt sunshine on his skin.

I want Katherine.

At least he could have her, and she was his choice.

~

John was breathless with exhilaration when he reached the tower, having ridden hard to get there.

It was a square, red-bricked building, which stood in a clearing, on the brow of a shallow hill, and it reached fifty feet upwards, stretching towards the sky like the tower of Babel.

He’d come here often as a child, though he was sworn never to play in it. He’d stolen the key to come in secret and be alone. He would climb up to the square room at the very top and look down onto the world like God, imagining what he would do if he could rule and order it as he wished: he’d turn back time and know his mother from his birth, he’d long to change fate and stop his father dying. No one had known he’d come here, not even Phillip, he’d never shared this space.

As he climbed the slope towards the entrance, Katherine emerged from the other side. His heart struck harder in his chest. She was wearing the bonnet he’d given her.

A deep sense of place filled him, as though he’d waited for this moment all his life. His anger dissipated. His loneliness was gone.

When he drew closer, she smiled. The warmth of it filled him.

“You’re late,” she accused, her eyes searching his.

He took her hand and kissed the back of her shabby kid leather glove. “I got caught up in business.”

“I thought it was some horrid joke you were playing on me, like Phillip used to do. I thought you would not come and then laugh over the fact I was fool enough to think you serious.”

“That was never me.” He felt suddenly grave again.

Her blue eyes were in shadow beneath the brim of her bonnet and she looked nervous although she was smiling.

He was desperate to make this good for her, to prove to himself he was neither a monster nor a tyrant. She could see into him, he knew she could, he’d seen it in her eyes. Let her reach into him and find the youth she’d known. “I’ll not hurt you, Katherine.”

The bonnet suited her, the cerise ribbon contrasted perfectly with the colour of her eyes and her pale skin. She was breathtaking.

He set the key in the lock and turned it. The stiff door creaked open.

His hand still gripping hers, he drew her in and then locked the door behind them. The stairs were steep and numerous.

Her fingers clung to his as they climbed, small, delicate, fragile fingers.

She wore the same tired spencer he’d seen twice before.

When they reached the top of the stairs he let go of her hand, opened the door and then let her enter first. His heart thudded like the hoof-beats of a galloping horse.

Once inside, she turned to him, breathless from the climb, and smiled.

The room had windows along all four sides. It was flooded with light and the view looked across four counties.

Impatient, he caught her about the waist, drew her into his arms then kissed her gently, his lips brushing against hers. He felt in awe of her.

Her arms reached about his neck, and when he ended the kiss she hung onto him, laughing and lifting her feet from the floor, letting him bear her weight.

He did not mind bearing it.

He swung her in a circle.

She was only a light burden. A precious burden.

What was he to do about this, about her?

He shoved the thought aside. He wished to just live for this moment, to shut the world outside and let only her in.

A single table stood against one wall. He carried her there and sat her on it. Then tugged loose the ribbon tying her bonnet, it fell down her back onto the table behind her.

Her arms were still about his neck, loosely holding on, and he lowered his mouth to hers again but this time his kiss was searing. He wanted her to know how desperate he was for her.

She kissed him back without reservation and his heart swelled with a soul-deep satisfaction.

Her body arching against him, her fingers slid into his hair. She had no modesty today. The demure girl he’d met on the road and in the church had slipped away.

He ended the kiss and smiled at her. “You are a contradiction.”

She blushed as he straightened.

His hands fell to his sides.

She did not jump down but instead leant back onto her hands, and watched him, crossing her ankles and then swinging her legs forward and back.

He was charmed. She was an antidote to every other woman he’d known.

His hand lifted and he began tugging pins from her hair. He had an urge to see it loose. Most women he’d known abroad wore their hair short. It was the fashion.

The jet orbs at the heart of her eyes flared, and her feet stopped swinging.

Loose blonde curls fell to her shoulders and then tumbled down her back.

“You can be so prim when you wish, shy, like a quiet church mouse. And then there is
this
you…”

Her lips pouted and her breasts pressed against her bodice when she took a breath, while her feet uncrossed. So he might step between her parted thighs if he chose. He chose. She let him, her knees parting until they brushed the outer surfaces of his thighs.

“I think this is the real you, this reckless girl who has come to tryst with me.”

He bent and kissed her again, and her mouth opened to his, not denying his words. Emotion stirred in his chest as an ache. It was a very long time since he’d felt emotion when he’d kissed a woman. He’d thought himself in love once, as a youth, when he had first gone abroad. It had not been love. He no longer believed in that – or the romantic kind anyway. That was a fiction crafted by poets.

When he’d pulled the last pin free, he buried his fingers in her soft hair, held her scalp and kissed her more deeply. She responded equally.

Lust was what a man felt for a woman, and a woman felt for a man. There was nothing romantic in that, and there was a strong intuitive passionate streak in Katherine. He had known it without knowing, but now there was evidence, she was here, trysting with him, and returning his kisses.

Her fingers clasped his open coat at his waist in fists and then they released and moved beneath his coat instead.

He wished to be without the barrier of clothes.

He broke the kiss, showing her the intensity of his desire in his eyes. He hoped it did not scare her but he refused to hide it, or himself. Let her see who he was and know all of him. He prayed she would still want him. He could not bear her rejection.

She leant back again, and watched as he stripped off his coat.

He smiled at her. “Have you no modesty anymore.”

She blushed – beautifully.

He loved her blushes, but it meant the church mouse had returned.

She shrank back into her shyness. “You cannot ask me here to do this and then chide me for being immodest, John.” There was insecurity in her eyes.

He set his coat aside and cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed across it. Her eyes closed, probably to hide from him.

He did not wish her to withdraw. He wanted to be the only one who knew the real Katherine. He wished her to be the only one who really knew him. Let this be a bond between them no one else could ever break or share. Let it be something just for them.

He brushed her hair back across her shoulder. “I was not complaining, Katherine.” Her eyes opened. “I like your shyness and your blushes. I treasure them. But I equally like the brash girl who will willingly kiss me back.”

Her gaze gave him her trust again.

“I hate this thing,” he whispered, beginning to release the buttons securing her spencer. “You wear it every day, no matter the heat. It’s like you hide behind it.”

Her brow furrowed. “We are not all wealthy, John.” She seemed insulted. “I have only one spencer, I do not have a choice, unless it is not to wear it and be freckled.”

“I think just a few freckles might be fun.” He smiled, brushing her comment off, though it had cut into his thoughts. Did she have so little then? Phillip’s family were hardly poor, surely.

“Take it off.” The order was probably too harsh as his mind turned over her words, but she did his bidding.

He took off his waistcoat and his neckcloth too, then kissed her once more, banishing their conversation, denying the differences in their status. Here she was only Katherine and he was only John. That was all he wished to think about.

His fingers undid the buttons which secured her bodice, opening it all the way down to her stomach. It gaped, revealing milk-white breasts spilling over the top of her corset.

There was a catch in her breath as his fingers slid inside her underwear. He lifted one breast free. It was soft and warm, and moulded to his touch.

He ceased kissing her.

She bit her lip, but she did not demure, she leant back on her hands once more and offered herself as his sacrifice.

She was beautiful.

He kissed her breast, gently, honouring that tender flesh.

When he lifted his head and looked at her again, her eyes were darker. They were not really blue at all, merely greys which deceived the eye and portrayed blue.

His thumb ran over her nipple and made her shiver.

“Touch me in return.” He wanted to feel her hands on him. He wanted her participation not only her acceptance. This had to be equal or it was nothing at all.

She sat upright, and her eyes fell to his stomach as her palms braced the muscle at his waist, over the thin cotton of his shirt.