His brow furrowed into neat lines. “How to pour a glass of brandy? My commanding officer also instructed me on the fine art of pouring sherry.” He held out a glass.
“No, I meant sneaking up on people.” She laughed as she took the sherry. They toasted each other as friends would.
“A requisite part of an officer’s training, I’m afraid. Never let the enemy see you coming.” The smile on his face made him appear years younger than when she’d first met him in the solicitor’s office.
My God, he was handsome when he smiled. She stepped back and took a sip, never taking her gaze from his. “Am I the enemy?”
He appraised her, looking for any chinks in her armor. She’d experienced such evaluations all her life when others had discovered that her mother was an actress. Women thought her below them in social status, and men thought her easy prey for bed sport. But Katherine had protected herself by weaving fanciful stories of a doting father who was a cherished husband to her mother. She’d continued the tale by sharing that the poor soul had been lost in a tragic shipwreck, never to be heard from again. Such fairy tales were easy to spin, and people believed her. Meri had. Instinctively, she drew to her full height and tilted her chin barely an inch. She’d not be cowered by a man such as the duke, who had little regard for family. It was the most precious gift one could receive.
“Are you the enemy?” His voice had taken on a dark, silken quality, one that reminded her of his brandy. A sip started off smooth but would soon burn. “You’ll have to tell me. But be forewarned, Katherine, I’ve been trained to crush enemies without a look back.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m not your enemy. I’d hoped you would help with Constance and Beth. I don’t want their lives ruined. You”—she waved her hand between them—“and I have to figure out a way to protect their reputations. An innocent baby is involved, one who didn’t ask for the burden they’re about to be born with. Neither did Constance. She thought she was protected under the sanctity of lawful marriage. So did Meriwether’s third wife. But you can help these women,” she offered.
“Honestly, I’m not certain how I can help. I came back to Mr. Hanes’s office to talk to all of you, but you’d left.” He swiftly but elegantly turned, then strolled away. “Hanes is trying to determine if your husband left anything that might belong to you or the other wives. He’s also attempting to determine the validity of each marriage.”
She gasped slightly.
Immediately he turned around. “Are you all right?”
She coughed to hide her unease. “I swallowed wrong.”
What if they discovered that Meri had never consummated the marriage? Would it make any difference? What if anyone discovered she wasn’t a true lady?
“If it’s acceptable, I’ll call on you tomorrow. Perhaps together we can find some options for everyone.”
The tightness in her shoulders loosened at the offer of help. “Really? I thought you didn’t want any part of it?”
“I don’t want any part of Meri, but I have no qualms with the three of you.” He took another sip.
“What time? The earlier the better for me. I’ve several appointments tomorrow at my shop in the arcade.”
His intense stare found hers. “You work?”
“Yes. I have my own business. I make linens and bedding.”
“Interesting.” The lines around his eyes relaxed. “How did you get into that?”
“I’ve always liked to work, and after my mother died, I had to find something to do to help me with my grief.” It was stretching the tale a little.
She had been grieving, but mostly it was to put food on the table. Her mother had ensured they had food daily, even if it meant taking parts others would shun. Kat had learned about necessity and sacrifice at a young age.
“I enjoy working also. I like to be productive.” He placed his empty glass on his desk and studied her. Silence slowly surrounded them. “Katherine, let me be frank. You said I can help those women. I’ll do what I can, but let’s make certain we understand each other. I’m not that type of hero.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, nervously smoothing the nap of a black velvet upholstery sample.
“I may be decorated for heroic deeds…” He rubbed his neck as he studied the Aubusson rug below their feet for a moment, then caught her gaze, his long black hair falling across his face. “But I’m not a hero, romantic or otherwise, particularly when it comes to Meri.” He shook his head slowly. “I washed my hands of him years ago. I’ll offer whatever assistance I can to you and the other wives but don’t expect miracles. Meri’s indiscretions are the devil to untangle. They always have been. But this one tops them all.”
“Did you hate him?” Katherine asked. Christian had been cold in the solicitor’s office, but his response tonight reminded her of a wounded animal, one that would attack to protect itself.
“A person has to care before he can hate.” His eyes grew hooded.
If she were a betting person, she’d lay money it was a way to conceal himself before he revealed too much.
When he turned to walk back to his desk, she saw the family portrait propped against the wall. The father embraced his son who leaned over his lap, while the mother, dressed as Pomona, the goddess of fruitful abundance, stood behind them with her hand resting on her husband’s shoulder. A lone figure, a boy older than the other, stood stiffly off to the side, obviously uneasy with the sweet bucolic scene in the small garden.
But the painting wasn’t what caused Katherine’s gaze to widen in shock.
It was the small pieces of foolscap that had been pinned through the portrait. It completely destroyed the work of art. There must have been at least fifty of the small pieces of paper.
“What is that?” She pointed to the portrait.
“It’s a map of sorts. How I keep track of important items or things that need my attention.”
“It looks like a family portrait.” She moved closer to study it. Indeed, the individual pieces of foolscap all had writing on them, each held in place by a straight pin. The only individual without a single piece of paper was the boy who stood far away. “Is that you?”
“Hmm, yes,” he hummed. “Ingenious, isn’t it?”
“What’s ingenious about destroying a portrait?”
“I’ve found a new purpose for things of no value,” he answered. “It makes a perfect place to keep notes. I started the habit while mapping troop movements to various battlegrounds.” He turned to her and smiled. “Rest assured, we didn’t destroy any art while over in France. We used empty canvases for our work.”
He was absurdly calm, without a hint of embarrassment showing on his face, as he walked to her side. He tilted his head and examined his handiwork.
“You’ve ruined a piece of art. A family heirloom.”
“Art is in the eye of the beholder,” he countered. “I behold rubbish.”
Before she had time to respond, Willa and Morgan entered the study.
Katherine turned to the door, thankful for the interruption.
Apparently, Willa and Christian’s valet had become bosom friends. They had their heads tilted next to each other. Willa made some quip, and Morgan held his stomach, laughing.
“My God, it’s a miracle,” Christian said behind Katherine. “I haven’t seen him laugh like that for months. He’s been in such pain since he lost that eye. Your Willa must be some kind of a magician.”
“Indeed,” Katherine said as Willa winked at her to let her know that all was well with Morgan.
“Or a Scottish witch?” Christian teased, his low voice holding no traces of his earlier detachment. “I really don’t care if she is one. What she’s done for Morgan is beyond incredible. He appears to be back to his normal self.”
With his stoic face ready to crumble, Wheatley appeared at the door. “Your Grace?”
“Yes, Wheatley?” Christian didn’t turn from the sight of Willa and his valet enjoying each other’s company.
&nbs
p; “Your assistance is required in the entry. A racehorse by the name of Poison Blossom has been delivered. Apparently, it was Lord Meri’s, and he wanted you to have it.”
“Bloody hell,” Christian muttered under his breath, then completely focused his attention on the butler. “Send it around to the stables.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, sir.” Clearly uneasy, the butler continued, “It is in the entry and refuses to move.”
“My lady, if you’ll excuse me?” Christian was already halfway across the study. “Miss Ferguson?” he called out to Willa. “Perchance, do you have any miracle medicines for charming a horse?”
“Nay, but I have an evil eye when needed,” Willa offered without a hint of boastfulness.
“Bring it, if you please,” the duke called out as he turned the corner into the hall.
Without a doubt, the man made her head spin. He was a master of flipping back and forth from an unsociable beast who claimed not to care about family to a charming, reserved gentleman.
Katherine thought herself quite adept at hiding the truth, but the duke took such skill to an entirely different level.
She and Willa followed Morgan to the entry hall. Taller than most other men, Christian stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene before him.
Pure pandemonium had erupted around them. Groomsmen, liveried footmen, and several of the scullery maids were arguing over how best to remove Poison Blossom from the premises. Kat and Willa found a place against a curved wall out of the way.
The horse stood in the middle of the marble entry, refusing to budge as two men from the stables tried to pull her around and lead her outside. By the determined swishing of her black tail and all four feet planted, she was having none of it.
Christian didn’t pay any mind to the chaos around him. All his attention was devoted to the horse.
Poison Blossom’s ears flickered forward and back in increasing agitation.
“Enough,” Christian called out. The command in his voice brought everyone to attention. Immediate quiet infiltrated the room.
An angry Poison Blossom turned her attention to Christian. Her tail swooshed in irritation as the white of her eyes became visible.
“Everyone back away from her.” Christian took a step forward. Without objection, every single person moved away from the horse except for the groomsman who held her lead. “John, what do we have here?”
“Your Grace, this man brought Lord Meriwether’s racehorse all the way from Cumberland.”
A man in work clothing stepped forward, nervously clutching his hat. He dipped his head in a respectable but abbreviated bow. Even he didn’t want to lose sight of Poison Blossom when she was in such a nasty mood. “Your Grace, I’m Miff Mitchell from the White River Stables. That’s where she’s been staying. I was told to bring the horse here.”
Christian slowly swung his gaze to Mr. Mitchell. “What can you tell me about Poison Blossom?”
At the sound of her name, the horse whinnied and stared straight at Christian.
Everyone else, including Katherine, had stayed in their positions, quiet as church mice. It was as if they all were spellbound by the sight of the duke facing off against the noticeably pregnant and vexed black beauty.
“Sir, she is the finest and most successful racehorse your brother—”
“Half brother,” Christian corrected.
Mr. Mitchell nodded. “That your half brother owned. A bit high-strung, but she has a heart that won’t quit when she’s in a race. She’s foaling, and there’s high speculation that her offspring will follow both her and its sire, Black Thunder, in their racing success.” The man laughed. “Two of the best racehorses in the country.”
Katherine studied the horse. It was apparent she’d been well taken care of. Her black coat glistened in the light, and her legs had been wrapped to avoid injury. She was full of energy. And big.
Very big.
The entry had shrunk in its opulence and size with the horse and Christian measuring each other.
“Thank you, Mr. Mitchell.” With his gaze glued to the horse, Christian continued his survey. “I have a question. How is it that she’s in my house?”
“Your Grace,” the man said sheepishly. “She doesn’t like to wait. I reckon she had enough of the outside as I was explaining her situation to your butler. She made herself at home.”
Poison Blossom threw her head as if taunting Christian.
“What’s happened, Poison?” Christian’s voice deepened into a silky smoothness that reminded Katherine of a perfect cup of chocolate, one designed to ease a person into a new morning. “Hmm?” he coaxed as he stepped forward and patted her neck.
The horse threw her head and shifted backward. Several footmen scattered out of her way to avoid being kicked.
“Here now.” His deep voice hummed in answer.
She threw her head again.
“Poison, stop. You’re all right,” he soothed while staring at her.
That voice should be outlawed.
The horse stared right back. Eventually, she shifted and then leaned forward in Christian’s direction. All the while, the duke kept stroking her nose and murmuring sweet things into her ear.
“Your Grace, she goes by Blossom,” his head groomsman said quietly.
“Of course, she does,” Christian said in that same sotto voice. “A beautiful girl like you reminds me of a flower.”
The horse pawed the floor in answer.
“Aren’t you exquisite,” Christian soothed. “A proud beauty who just wants some rest, I would imagine. A bag of oats, fresh hay, and cool water are yours.” Christian took a step closer, and immediately, the horse blew out a breath. “Perhaps a carrot after your long journey. Not to mention, a nice, clean stable that will keep you warm.”
His voice ignited little sparks of something … some sensation that made every inch of Katherine’s body come alive. She couldn’t identify exactly what it was, but she knew it was dangerous. There was no denying what she was seeing. The Duke of Randford was having a conversation with a horse and making it feel as if it were the most important thing in his world.
As his voice lowered even more in a gentle rumble, Kat leaned in his direction, much like a flower to the warmth of the sun. “Oh, my,” she whispered.
“‘Oh, my’ is the right of it, lass,” Willa agreed.
“Did you see what he did?” Katherine whispered.
“Aye. A true cock of the walk in every sphere of society he deems to grace his presence with.” Willa sighed. “You’ll have to be on your toes with that one.” Willa pointed at Christian and Blossom. “Will ye look at that?”
Christian passed by them, leading the horse toward the door without a buck, bite, stomp, or kick in protest. Blossom’s clip-clop sounded sure and steady across the marble floors. As soon as the duke had exited with the horse following, murmurs floated through the room as the Randford servants commented on the duke’s success with Blossom. Almost immediately, the stable hands and groomsmen followed him outside.
“Another female who succumbed to a Vareck man and his ability to woo,” Willa whispered. “He reminds me of your husband.”
“No. Meri was nothing like the duke,” Katherine answered, keeping her gaze glued to Christian’s back until he was out of sight. The Duke of Randford was different. Without any effort, he’d bewitched that horse to do his bidding. He made such a feat look easy.
And much too perilous for any woman who crossed his path.
Like the perfect fit of his evening coat and breeches, he wore his self-assurance with ease. It enhanced his aura of power, and his gentleness with the horse bespoke a man with a heart.
According to the gossip rags, when he’d arrived in London on horseback, women lined the streets and threw their handkerchiefs in his direction. The caricature detailing the event resembled the medieval ladies from days gone by favoring a knight errant.
Who could resist him?
No one. That was th
e answer.
Heaven above, he was coming to her house tomorrow.
Then and there, Katherine decided it would be best to keep out of his way, or she would be following him around like Blossom.
Chapter Five
Christian reclined in the chair with his neck exposed. Normally, he shaved himself, but after a sleepless night, he had asked Morgan to do the honors for him.
Sleep wasn’t the only thing that made him feel uneasy this morning.
Katherine. Just saying her name left him edgy.
When she’d pressed him to help the other two wives, he’d felt that old, familiar dread reach out and pull him under. Would he ever be free of his family’s self-centeredness? The idea that his half brother would ruin these women without thought of the consequences made Christian’s chest ache, not to mention his head feel as if it were about to implode.
He didn’t like to see any woman suffer, but what could he do except pay the wives their dowries and offer assistance when the second wife’s baby was born? How else could he shield them from the scandal that threatened to erupt if anyone heard what Meri had done?
That’s what a noble Duke of Randford should do—protect his family. By keeping those women safe and their reputations intact, he’d be safeguarding Meri’s memory and protecting Katherine and the other two wives while sweeping his half brother’s disastrous actions under the proverbial carpet.
If Christian’s father were alive, he’d have ignored the women. Years ago, too self-consumed to consider others, his father had overlooked Christian for his new wife and Meri. Christian had never said a word, but he had watched his father’s actions carefully. Christian had learned that arrogance, self-importance, dissimulation, and obliviousness were the hallmarks of being a duke.
But such behavior wouldn’t serve Christian well in his future endeavors since those traits had proven unbeneficial on the battlefield. He fought next to candlemakers, farmers, and cobblers. They all protected one another. Men had to work together if they wanted to survive, no matter their rank or background.
A Duke in Time--The Widow Rules Page 6