He smiled down at her. Those smiles of his were so rare, so precious. “Truly. And you?”
“Oh, Your Grace, Peter, I love you so.” How she had longed to say those words to him. Now, once the words had been spoken, it was as if all the passion and hunger chained up inside her had broken loose. She pulled his head down and kissed him with a fervor she had never known before. The fire of desire deep inside her was threatening to consume her. She was so shaken that she could barely stand.
“Kate, my Kate,” he murmured as he dropped kisses on her face, on her neck. “You are mine now, only mine.”
“Yes. Yes. You cannot know how I have longed for this.” Her voice was the barest whisper.
He moved her toward the bed, undoing her dress, unhooking her stays on the way. His hands were trembling.
“Peter, what…?” She was all confusion again.
He silenced her with another kiss and whispered, “You are mine, Kate, tell me you are mine.”
She was trembling as well, her hands fluttering against him. “I am yours,” she whispered in reply, and he kissed her possessively.
Soon, her hair, that glorious flaxen mass, was tumbling down over her shoulders and he was twisting his fingers in it, breathing in its fragrance. Her clothing had fallen away and his followed, half-torn off in his eagerness. At least his boots were unfashionably roomy so he could kick them off without entirely letting go of her.
He could not let her go. “It will be all right, my love. My dearest love. I will always take care of you. I will never hurt you.” She fluttered in his arms like a tiny bird, and he soothed her with kisses and caresses until she was lying beneath him on the bed. He could not think. All he felt was need, hunger.
She was still trembling, and he could hear her little cries—a moan of pleasure when he kissed the soft skin on her neck, a gasp of surprise when he rubbed his palm across her nipple and it hardened, a sharp gasp when his hand slipped between her thighs.
Her hands fluttered over him in small tentative caresses. In between kisses, tiny half-questions escaped her—“What…? Should we…?”—but he was too hungry to possess her, too eager to go slowly and calm her nervousness. He could not wait. He had to have her now.
“Next time, I will go slowly,” he promised as a moan escaped her, “next time,” as he drove into her. She shrieked, and dug her fingers into his shoulders.
Mine, he thought. Mine.
*
Kate’s turmoil subsided slowly. She had no way of knowing how to deal with the enormity of what had happened. She did not even know the words with which to think about it. Peter was lying with an arm and a leg weighing down on her. She wriggled and turned enough to see him.
He was asleep.
That shook her further, though she could not think why it should. Still, that he should be able to sleep after the extraordinary, the truly overwhelming thing that had happened, seemed impossible. Her world had been overturned, and he fell asleep? She wriggled enough to get herself out from under him and stood up. The rain had begun in earnest, and she could hear it pounding on the roof of the summer house.
She winced. She was sore and extremely sticky. She would need a bath as soon as she reached home. She looked down at him. He was still sleeping, but he was also smiling. She had heard that men enjoyed this far more than women. Apparently, it had not been painful for him. Strange to think that this was what she had been longing for. Or rather, this was what she had thought she was longing for.
Still, she was determined not to cry. This was a normal part of married life and she would need to get used to it.
With a sigh, she gathered her scattered garments and dressed herself. Her hairpins were strewn about, but she thought she had located enough to make some order of her hair.
She was just putting in the last pin, still trying not to cry, when he woke up. He grinned at her with an appallingly smug look on his face. Men clearly enjoyed this far more than women did.
“Why are you getting dressed?” he said lazily.
“I must get home, Your Grace. My aunt will be wondering what has happened—” She broke off abruptly and began again. “My aunt will be wondering where I am.” She wanted her voice to sound even, but she was afraid it did not. She turned away and reached for her cloak.
“Your Grace?” He sounded amused. “What happened to Peter? What is the matter, Kate?” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her.
She leaned back against him, unable to help herself, relishing the comfort, the safety of being sheltered in his embrace. There was something wonderful about simply being held by him, no matter what else had happened. She could manage the other so long as she could feel this closeness.
“There is no need to run off. No need to be upset. Don’t worry, my love. I will take care of you. I will always take care of you. You will never need to worry again.” He nuzzled her neck. “I’ll make a settlement on you, buy you a house, a carriage if you like, and…”
She stiffened. In her mind his words seemed to echo over a great distance.
Could he have just said what she thought he said? She did not want to believe what she had just heard. He could not have said what she thought he said. He could not have meant that.
It was impossible.
He must have felt the change in her, because his voice trailed off.
She pulled away and turned to face him. The horror must have shown in her face.
“Kate, what is it? What’s the matter?” He looked distressed.
“You will buy me a house? Is that what you said?” she whispered as she backed away, watching the confusion spread across his face. “You will buy me a house? Great God in heaven, what have I done?” She snatched up her shawl and clutched it in front of her. “You said you loved me. How could you love me and… all those fine words about honor… how could I be such a fool? I thought you were different. I believed you. I trusted you. I fell in love with you. But you are no different from my brother and Farnsworth. You said you loved me, but all you wanted was to make me a whore!” Her voice had been growing louder until it ended in a cry of pain.
“No, Kate, no! Never that.” He reached toward her.
“Don’t touch me! Do not touch me!” She stumbled backward until she reached the wall, then turned and ran out the door.
“Kate! For God’s sake, Kate, come back here! It’s raining.” He stepped back to the bed, snatched up his trousers and began to pull them on.
That was when he saw the blood.
There was quite a bit of blood.
He reached out hesitantly and put a finger on the smear. It was still damp. He sat down abruptly and stared at it. What had he done?
He closed his eyes.
She had been nervous, frightened, not because a previous lover had been rough or brutal, but because there had been no previous lover. She had been so tight. That cry, when she dug her nails into him—it had been pain, not passion as he thought. As he had wanted to think.
How could he not have noticed, how could he not have realized that she was an innocent?
What had he done?
Why hadn’t she stopped him?
Damnation.
His gut twisted.
He had convinced himself that she was experienced because that was what he wanted to believe. That would make everything easy for him. Waves of shame washed over him until he thought he would drown. He wished he could drown.
He did not know how long he sat there before he pulled himself together and dragged his clothes on. He had to talk to her, though he did not know what he was going to say. What could he say? To explain—how could he explain? But he had to talk to her.
It was still raining when he rode up to Hawthorne Cottage and tied Hector to the gate. Kate must be soaked, but he had not passed her so she must have reached home. He banged on the door and Molly opened it halfway.
“Is Miss Darling here?”
Molly nodded, but opened the door no further.
“Let me in. I must speak to
her.”
The maid just looked at him, wide-eyed, and held the door half-shut.
“All right, Molly. I will see to our visitor.” Mrs. Darling stepped into the doorway and looked at him coldly. That look, where there had always been warm welcome, brought home the enormity of what he had done.
“Kate,” he said, “I must speak with Kate.”
“But Kate does not wish to speak with you. Please leave.”
“Franny, you do not understand. I must speak with her.” His voice was thick with despair.
She shook her head. “I understand only too well, Your Grace. I blame myself in part. God forgive me, I told her she could trust you, that you were an honorable man. I never dreamed you could be so arrogant, so cruel. After everything that she has been through…”
He shook his head wildly and tried to speak. Then she began to close the door. He put out a hand to hold it open and roared, “Kate!”
“Do not make things more difficult.” Franny Darling’s face was an implacable mask of cold contempt, the face that had always smiled at him before. “Now, I could call Jem in from the garden and ask him to remove you from my home, but I fear he would find it uncomfortable to lay hands upon a duke. I ask that you spare us all further distress and simply leave.” She stepped back and closed the door in his face.
He leaned against the door as the rain blew against him. He did not move until his horse whinnied a complaint, recalling him to the present.
He mounted, turned the horse into the lane without thought, and then galloped all the way home.
Chapter Fifteen
Ashleigh stormed into the library where his sister was sitting, going over the accounts from Longwood. He stood in the middle of the room, looking about him wildly, then picked up a china ornament and threw it violently against the wall. It made an explosive crash as it shattered into a thousand shards.
Lady Talmadge looked at him. Never had she seen her controlled brother smash anything. Certainly not deliberately. Very carefully, she put down her quill, covered the ink bottle, and leaned back in her chair.
He spun around to face her. “She cannot have expected me to marry her!”
“She? Would you by any chance be speaking of Miss Darling? My friend, Kate, who has been a guest in our house? Who has befriended my daughter?”
“Of course,” he snapped, pacing back and forth. He came to the wall and slammed his hand against it. “For God’s sake, I’m a duke. I can’t marry just anyone. She must know that.”
“Must she? Curious. I don’t know that. Most people think they know that a duke can do anything he pleases. But then I confess, I have begun to question a great many things I am expected to know.”
He just shook his head and turned away.
“Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me just precisely what has happened.”
He flushed darkly. “I assured her I would take care of her. I told her I would buy her a house.”
She noted the flush but decided not to comment on it. “Ah. You would buy her a house. That was the sort of offer you made to a woman who is a friend of mine.” She made a slight sound of disgust and looked away. Minutes passed before she looked at him again. He was still leaning against the wall, still not facing her. Afraid to face her, she thought. As well he should be. “Had you given any thought as to where this house would be?”
“Where?” He looked confused by the question, and then shrugged dismissively. “I am sure there are any number of suitable houses hereabouts.”
“Really, Peter, think. You are not usually so stupid. You can hardly set up your mistress in a house in Lewes. The neighborhood would be quite scandalized. And consider how poor Kate would feel. She has made friends here, and they would all turn away from her. Being cut by friends is far more painful, I am sure, than being cut by strangers. Then there is the dreadful predicament you would create for Mrs. Darling. She is quite fond of her niece, I believe, and she would be forced to either cut herself off from her niece or be cut herself by all her old friends. No, really, it would not do at all.”
He did look at her now and frowned. “That is nonsense.”
She looked at him with narrowed eyes. He was not such a fool that he would not see the truth of what she said.
He sighed and looked away. “Very well. It would not have to be right here.”
“It is really a pity. I have enjoyed her company and so has Clara. And then Kate and Miranda have also become good friends. We will all be sorry to lose her acquaintance.”
He started to speak and then stopped.
She saw him come to the realization that if he made Kate his mistress, he could never again bring her into his home, allow her to meet his family and friends. Was he really such a fool that he had never considered all of this?
She continued, “No country town would do in any case. All it would take would be one visit from you. People would see at once that she is being kept and then no one would even speak to her. She would be so completely isolated that she would be fortunate if the butcher would sell her meat. No, it will have to be London, one of those streets where gentlemen set up their mistresses. You will know them. At least there, she will have the other whores for company.”
“Do not use that word! That is what she said when she… but I don’t mean that at all.”
She stood up and leaned forward and slapped her hands on the desk. “Then she at least faces reality. You object to the word? How dare you! You are the one who proposed the reality, no matter how many pretty words you choose to wrap it up in. But you had not actually thought about the reality, had you? Such little details as the fact that any children she bore you would be bastards, that should you marry or tire of her and dismiss her she would have no hope of a decent future. She would have no choice but to be that word you do not wish me to use.”
“I would not let that happen.”
“But it would happen. You could not prevent it. It would not harm you, of course, but it would destroy her. Did you think that you could somehow keep her separate from the rest of the world, on a little island with only you two?”
He stood there with his head bowed. “Yes,” he whispered at last. He was staring at his fists, clenched around nothing. “Yes, I suppose I did.”
“Oh, Peter, you poor fool.” Her expression had softened from anger to sadness. “I never thought to be ashamed of you, but I am. And to think that I was worried that you would take it badly when I told you my plans. I am moving to Longwood, and if he will have me, I am going to marry Stephen. At least now I no longer need to give a fig for your opinion.”
With that, she swept out of the room. Ashleigh stood there looking most unducally uncertain. What she had said was slowly sinking in, but it was her final statement that first penetrated. “Bancroft? She is going to marry Bancroft?” He stumbled for a moment, then hurried after her.
The steward had just arrived in the hall, apparently on the way to his office, and Lady Talmadge was standing beside him, a hand on his arm to halt him. He looked, as always, solid and reliable, respectable rather than stylish. Next to him, Alice looked polished and elegant, even with ink stains on her fingers. Bancroft was looking down at her hand, as if wondering what it was doing there.
“Bancroft? Bancroft has presumed to propose to you?” Ashleigh looked outraged.
Bancroft spun about to look at Ashleigh, then turned back to Lady Talmadge in confusion.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lady Talmadge, facing her brother calmly. “It has become clear to me that he would never so presume. I have concluded that I shall be obliged to propose to him.” She turned to the steward, who was now looking stupefied. “Mr. Bancroft, you cannot have failed to notice that I hold you in the highest esteem, and I trust I am not mistaken in my belief that you return my regard. Dare I hope that you will do me the great honor of consenting to be my husband?”
Bancroft opened his mouth, but no words came out. He began to smile and tried again. “My dear Lady Talmadge, this is s
o sudden.” The words seemed to choke him and he pulled her into a fierce embrace. “Oh, God, Alice, I love you so.” She laughed exultantly and their kiss ended the need for conversation.
Ashleigh stared at them, unnoticed and ignored. Then he turned and flung out of the house. A few minutes later, he was mounted and galloping down the drive.
*
Several hours later, well past the dinner hour, Ashleigh arrived on foot at Schotten Hall, leading a limping horse through the gloomy drizzle. The horse was escorted to the stables, where it would receive the attentions of the head groom, a man Ashleigh trusted to give the steed the best of care. The groom who led the horse away looked at Ashleigh nervously, as did the footman who let him into the house, where Ashleigh himself was escorted into the library, a room he had always liked. It was not overly crowded with books, since the Earl of Merton, like his grandfather before him, was not much of a reader. What the room did have was a good fire, comfortable chairs, and a full decanter of brandy. It was to this last that Ashleigh directed his steps while he awaited Merton’s arrival. The first glass was tossed back in an instant, the second more slowly, and he had just poured his third—or perhaps it was his fourth—glass when Merton arrived.
“You need to have the brandy decanter refilled.”
Merton raised his brows. “So I see,” he said slowly, taking in the duke’s appearance. Ashleigh was disheveled, his cravat was hanging askew, and his boots were covered with mud. “What the devil is going on?”
Ashleigh shrugged. “I went for a gallop and my horse came up lame. I was closer to here than to home, so…” He shrugged again and swallowed half the glass of brandy.
“Of course. That explains perfectly why you are busily getting foxed. You never get foxed. I refuse to believe a lame horse is the cause of this.”
Ashleigh scowled at him, topped up his glass and carried it carefully over to a chair by the fireside. He sat there, legs stretched out in front of him, cradling the glass and staring morosely at the fire. “I’ve made a bloody muck of things,” he said finally.
Merton sat down opposite him and waited. The silence stretched out.
A Debt of Dishonor Page 17