Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (10 page)

Now to see if she endeavored to lower her voice or chose to keep it raised with the hope of being kissed again.

He was halfway hoping she’d do the latter.

When she didn’t say anything at all, he couldn’t resist trying to provoke her. “By the way, when you crashed in here this morning, just what were you planning to do after throwing back the covers?”

“I thought you were Freddy, in which case I might have killed you. Him.”

Nathan nodded. “I suppose so. Since he’s your brother, you certainly wouldn’t have planned to seduce him into taking you to London.”

“That’s because you’re the one taking me to London. And to think I don’t even have to seduce you to do it.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she blanched and clamped a hand over those lips as she backed up another step.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed her delightfully mortified expression. “You certainly looked as if you might have been considering it when I woke up this morning. You couldn’t take your eyes off of me, could you? And why not? Had our positions been reversed—had I come crashing into your room to confront your maid only to throw back the covers to reveal you with nary a stitch—I doubt that I would be able to keep my eyes off of you, either.”

She finally dropped her hand. “Oh! Well, I think I know why you seem so uneasy about being a duke. You’re no better than a common rogue.”

“Is that so? And how many common rogues have ever said such provoking things to you?”

She said nothing, though her mouth continued to snap open and shut as if she were at least mouthing some sort of response.

“So many you can’t count?” he prodded. “Or are you loath to admit that no common rogue—or even uncommon rogue—has ever so much as given you the time of day?”

“Oh!” she finally exploded. “Well, if you weren’t going to take me to London, I might—I might—”

“You might tell me what you really think?” he supplied. “Och, but you’re doing a braw job of that already. And I’ll warn you only once more to keep your voice down.”

“Stop telling me that!” she shouted.

That was all he needed. She remained rooted to the spot as he stepped forward and looped his arms around her again, covering her mouth with his own.

That could only mean she wanted his kiss.

As he thrust his tongue past her soft, yielding lips, he thought he wouldn’t mind if she never spoke in an undertone. She opened up to him as if she could never get enough of him. As her tongue tangled with his, tasting him back, he was quite convinced she’d been starved for this sort of thing.

Starved for a kiss…a touch…just to be loved by someone who could see the woman behind the spectacles and the proper bun and the high-necked frocks, just as Nathan was starved to be loved by someone who, at least when his half brother was still alive, could see past his position as the insignificant second son and now his newly acquired title, to the ordinary man he still was and hoped he always would be, ducal trappings notwithstanding.

How he wished he could find a wife in much the same way as he’d found Miss Hathaway, instead of having to choose from an array of debutantes at some ball in London. What would it be like, he wondered, to find true love where he least expected it?

A gasp broke the spell. A gasp that didn’t come from the thistle in his arms. She and Nathan broke apart to see a maidservant standing in the open doorway with a stack of linens in her arms.

“Beg your pardon, Mr. Fraser,” she said timorously and then, as an afterthought, added, “Miss Fraser?”

Nathan definitely caught that question mark at the end. He forced a smile. “I don’t suppose
you
were hoping to come in here and seduce me?”

The maid scuttled away without another word.

Miss Hathaway—or rather, Kate—glanced up at him in dismay. “We’re supposed to be brother and sister.”

“Is that supposed to be a protest of my kissing you again? I did warn you.”

“No, but what if she tells the innkeeper or his wife what she just saw?”

“Oh, I doubt she will, or if she does, they’re not likely to believe her,” he scoffed. “Have you broken your fast yet?”

“No, and perhaps I should do that now,” she said, her voice tremulous as she hurried out the door, as if afraid someone more important than the maidservant might catch them in a compromising position.

She seemed truly worried, in which case, perhaps she didn’t want to be caught in a compromising position with Nathan—or even with a duke.

Yet she certainly didn’t mind being kissed by him.

He finished making himself presentable and finally went downstairs a short while later, where he found Miss Hathaway in the dining room, sipping her tea, nibbling her sausage, gnawing her toast, and enjoying her eggs.

Nathan sat on the other side of the oblong table, as that was where he found a vacant seat. It was probably just as well he wasn’t directly across from her. At least this way he could cast her surreptitious glances, when she wasn’t casting surreptitious glances at him.

Was she thinking of those two kisses? Or of the sight of him naked?

Or maybe she was just worried about what the maidservant saw. Nathan certainly wasn’t worried. If they were destined to get in trouble for that, then surely they’d be in trouble by now. Servants’ gossip tended to travel very—

“Mr. Fraser?” He glanced up to see the innkeeper standing in the doorway, arms akimbo. “Might I have a word with you, sir?”

Well, at least he’d had the courtesy to wait until Nathan had eaten his fill. He swiped his mouth with a napkin, muttered a pardon as he rose from the table, and followed the innkeeper out of the dining room and into the lobby.

The innkeeper said, “I didn’t want to believe it when your brother told me so before leaving last night. In fact, I dismissed his words as the ravings of a man too deep in his cups and his maidservant. But what my own girl told me and my wife just now would seem to confirm everything.”

Nathan lifted his hands, palms facing the innkeeper. “Very well, I suppose there’s no use in dissembling, so you needn’t say any more. ’Tis true what he told you. He’s not really my brother. He was just some vagrant we found at the roadside and took pity—”

“That’s not what he told me,” the innkeeper said flatly. “He said the young woman with you is not really your sister.”

Nathan emitted an empty chuckle that did nothing to defuse the sudden tension, but then such chuckles seldom did.

“Or his,” the innkeeper added.

Nathan abruptly sobered. “I beg your pardon?”

The innkeeper jerked a thumb toward the dining room doorway. “That ‘lady’ in there”—Oh yes, Nathan definitely caught those little hooks on either side of
lady
—“is neither your sister nor his. If she is not Miss Fraser, then who is she?”

Kate burst into the lobby at the very same moment the innkeeper’s wife popped through the doorway behind the counter as Nathan and the innkeeper confronted each other.

“What are you two, if you’re not brother and sister, and you’re not husband and wife?” the woman demanded, impaling Kate with a sharp, accusatory look. “This morning my girl sees the two of you doin’ just what your other brother—if he was your brother—was doin’ in the taproom last night with your maid. If she was your maid.” She scornfully flicked a dishrag toward Nathan. “I don’t believe a word o’ this, I don’t. I’d say you’re just a rogue, which is hardly surprisin’ since you’re a Scot, and that she’s just your lightskirt, though I must say she doesn’t look like one. I’d be more inclined to believe she’s your governess, only you both appear to be of an age with each other.”

Indignation gripped Kate. For some strange reason, she thought she’d rather be compared to a lightskirt. Just once.

“Either way, I don’t believe it signifies at this point,” Nathan said. “We will be leaving at once on the next southbound stage just as soon as it arrives.”

“You can wait outside,” the innkeeper said. “I told you last night I run a respectable house.”

“Aye, and that you’d tolerate no brawling,” Nathan replied. “I can assure you that she and I are at least innocent of that, if nothing else, though I can’t make any promises once we’re outside.”

The innkeeper pointed to the door. “Out!”

“What about my portmanteau?” Kate inquired. “It’s still in my room.”

“We’ll send someone upstairs to throw it out the window,” the innkeeper said, and with that he and his wife marched into the back room. Kate wondered if the back room included back stairs that would lead to her room, where all her worldly goods remained.

“Don’t worry, I’ll send Bilby upstairs to get it after he finishes his breakfast,” Nathan assured her, holding out a hand to her. “Let us go.”

Kate wasn’t sure if she was supposed to take his hand. They weren’t siblings, they weren’t married, they weren’t betrothed. They weren’t anything to each other. She moved closer to him, at the same time turning for the door leading outside, but she did not touch him, and he made no effort to touch her but instead opened the door for her before following her outside.

She took a deep breath as she surveyed the high street of the village from one end to the other. She saw wagons and carts and gigs plodding both ways up and down the street, but no stage and no big, bad, black barouches.

“Now what?” she wondered aloud as she became aware of him standing beside her.

He took out a pocket watch. “The stage isn’t due for another half hour yet. Since we’ll be sitting in a closed space for quite a long while once we board it, I suggest we bide the time by walking up and down this street, breathing deeply of the fresh air, until it arrives. Would you care to join me?”

“Perhaps I will, since I dare not walk these streets alone,” she said dryly. “I might be mistaken for a lightskirt, even if I don’t look like one.” As it was, she felt uncomfortably naked without her bonnet, but she wasn’t about to mention that to him.

He set out at a brisk gait. Though his legs were long, Kate somehow managed to keep up with him.

“We probably should have told them last night that we were husband and wife,” he said ruefully. “But then they would’ve put us in the same room, and Freddy might have objected to that.”

She noted he said nothing about
her
objecting to it. Remembering what Meg had told her at the Blue Rooster yesterday, Kate said, “I think not. His—that is, our mother thought Freddy wagering his sister to a duke would lead to her becoming a duchess.”

He chuckled. “Indeed? Is that what you thought?”

“No, that’s what Mrs. Hathaway thought. Frankly, I found the notion to be quite outrageous. Being a duke, I suppose you do have need of a duchess, but surely you don’t mean to acquire one in such a scandalous manner.”

“Certainly not,” he said flatly, and a strange, uncomfortable chill curled around her heart. The spring morning was crisp and cold, and the sun barely waned through the thick, pale-gray clouds.

“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t—” She abruptly broke off her words.

“If I hadn’t kissed you? Maybe I wouldn’t have kissed you if only you’d kept your voice down. I did warn you.”

Kate wondered if he’d kiss her for any other reason, or would she have to raise her voice to get him to do it?

“But it seems you’re right,” he went on. “Your brother truly means to honor his gambling debt. Still, he didn’t have to disavow you to the innkeeper.”

“It seems to me he already did that when he made the wager in the first place.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “In fact, I’m sorrier than I can say. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I guess this means I’ll have to take you with me to London.”

“Unless you can find a situation for me that’s suited to my temperament.” Kate wished at this moment that she could stop pretending to be Margaret Hathaway and go back to being Katherine Baxter.

What if she told him the truth, just as he’d finally admitted the truth about his own identity? While she understood and respected his reasons for wanting to travel incognito, he was not likely to be as understanding of her own, more devious motives in taking Meg’s place.

He might even insist on sending her back to Bellingham Hall, if only to avoid falling into the matrimonial trap with the stepdaughter of the Earl of Bellingham. If she’d been the earl’s real daughter, he might have viewed her as a likely candidate to be Duchess of Loring.

She wasn’t sure that being the niece of the Marquess of Carswell would be sufficient for him, especially since she no longer had a dowry.

She sighed wistfully. “I’d really prefer a situation in London.”

“I suppose you’re more likely to find one there than on the Great North Road,” he agreed. “Perhaps my Aunt Verity will know someone who needs a governess.”

Kate stiffened, fighting the urge to grind her teeth and growl.

“Or even as a lady’s companion,” he added.

“Is she in London?”

“Aye. In fact, you might say she’s the main reason I’m going to London at all. She’s arranging a huge ball to which all the eligible debutantes will be invited, the idea being that I shall choose my duchess from among them.” He glanced away, as if he didn’t want her to see what his reaction was to that. And Kate did wonder.

“Rather like Cinderella,” she said thoughtfully, sudden envy gnawing at her heart. She’d always liked that fairy tale and imagined what it would be like to receive an invitation to the prince’s ball, only to be chosen by that prince to be his princess.

Alas, she had no fairy godmother, and in lieu of a stepmother and stepsisters, all she had was a stepfather unwilling to spend any money for her keep, let alone for a gown and glass slippers.

Besides, she was too old to be a debutante.

“I suppose it’s a more respectable way to find a bride than what your mother had in mind,” he added, and her heart tripped at the mention of her mother.

Of course, he’d been referring to Mrs. Hathaway, but Lady Bellingham’s idea for seeing her daughter married wasn’t much of an improvement. Kate’s mother actually believed that eventually Mr. Throckmorton would find it more convenient and beneficial to marry Kate than pay a governess who could provide him with none of the benefits to be had from a wife.