He smiled and chuckled. “That’s right, put me in my place.” His slow gaze traveled down over her curves.
She should feel insulted, she thought, as a hot blush rose over her breasts and neck and up to her face. It was almost as if with just his eyes he stroked her intimately. But instead of being insulted all she felt was this suffocating wave of hunger. She wanted to fling herself into his arms. How had she come to this pass? How had she come to want him so very badly?
And then a calm came over her, a trust in her own resolve. She found him attractive. If she didn’t hold herself up as above certain behaviors, she would be sorely tempted to allow his wordless invitation to overcome her scruples. For surely the force of his personality bent toward her in such a way, with him looking at her as he did, could mean nothing but that he would like to bed her.
But she would not submit. There were men, after Roger’s death, who would have been happy to have her as a paramour, and even a few invitations, offers of “protection.” But at what a price!
She would never hold herself so cheap as to acquiesce to such a bloodless arrangement. And especially with a man who had accused her of attempting to attract another man, and who had clearly shown he did not trust her. Kittie took a long, calming breath, and said, “I’m going in, sir, whatever you choose to do.” She turned, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, and reentered the drawing room.
• • •
Alban followed. How could he not? Wherever she went she pulled him behind her like a child pulled a toy along the floor on a string. Why was he so damned attracted to her, and how could he overcome it?
The company had shifted some since he had exited. Orkenay now sat with Mrs. Billings and Bart, an evil grin on his face at the obvious discomfort of the two lovebirds. Alban joined his aunt, sitting by her and taking her hand in his.
One thing he had been puzzled about was explained when Lady Eliza said, “Orkenay was going to follow Kittie outside, but I made him stay with me. The man is so steeped in London manners that he could not be flagrantly rude.” She chuckled. “But his conversation became rather disjointed, let me say. Finally he deserted me to plague Bart and Mrs. Billings.”
Alban squeezed her hand. “And why would you have done such a thing, keeping the earl with you like that?”
“Because when Kittie said she was going outside for a breath of air, I knew you would follow. What did you two talk about?”
He gazed across the room at Kittie, who had joined Sir John and Lady Severn. Had she been expecting Orkenay to follow her, and is that why she went outside? It irritated him to wonder that.
“Alban!”
“I’m sorry. What did you ask?”
“What did you two talk about?”
“Oh. I . . . uh, I confronted her about her being the one who knitted me the underthings, the ones she sent me with your Christmas letter.”
“Alban!”
He laughed at the outrage in her voice. Several heads swiveled in his direction.
“Why do you two continually bait each other? I should think the two people most important to my comfort, and whom I care for the most, would—”
“She has only been your paid companion for three years. Surely you cannot mean she has found a place in your heart equal to . . . well, equal to . . . Montrose,” he finished, naming his cousin, her other nephew from her sister Eloise, long deceased.
“Montrose is my nephew and I love him, but it doesn’t mean I have to like him. He is a silly ass, with little in the brainbox and less in his heart. He and Kittie are not to be mentioned in the same breath. Do not change the subject, Alban. Why do you and Kittie not get along? Is she not pretty? Is she not intelligent? And are those not worthy qualities?”
Alban shifted in his chair and watched Kittie, who was playing a duet with Lady Severn but in such a labored fashion that her friend was laughing at her. “She is all of that.”
“Then what do you find in her to dislike?”
“Nothing. There is nothing at all to dislike in her demeanor, her appearance, nor, apparently, her heart.” He just did not trust her motives nor her behavior, he thought, but did not say.
“And yet you do dislike her.”
Lady Eliza said it with finality and Alban saw no reason to add anything. What he felt could not be called aversion, since he was still very much attracted to her, even if he didn’t trust her. It was a most annoying state of affairs. He had his own feelings on the subject, but he would not raise an old specter again, the ghost of Catherine, nor would he divulge his latest disappointment, the treacherous Jacqueline. It was more than that, anyway, but he also was not prepared to speak with his aunt about the possibility that she would lose her beloved companion when the men left. It wasn’t up to him to break her heart.
“I had thought better of you,” his aunt said finally.
There was no response he could or would make.
Twelve
“Good night, my lady.” Kittie blew out the candle by Lady Eliza’s bedside. Beacon, who usually saw to their employer’s nightly needs, was not feeling well, having caught her mistress’s cold, and had been sent to bed early.
“Kittie,” Lady Eliza said, catching at the younger woman’s hand before she moved away from the bed.
“Yes?”
“Sit for a moment . . . that is, if you don’t mind.”
Kittie heard the tentativeness in her employer’s tone and wondered what was concerning her. She sat up on the edge of the high bed, not pulling her hand out of Lady Eliza’s grip. She wondered if her blindness made that physical touch more important to the woman, as an anchor in a dark world. With the candle blown out the room was only faintly illuminated by moonlight from a sliver of open curtain. For a moment she could imagine how that might be so, how in a dark world touch was so vital, a lifeline.
Lady Eliza was silent for a moment, but then said, “I have noticed that you and Alban do not get along very well. Why is that?”
How could she possibly answer? “It’s not that we don’t get along.” At a loss for words, she fell silent.
Squeezing her hand, Lady Eliza said, “I can feel the tension, my dear. I may be blind, but I have all my other senses. I fear that Alban has become less trusting since the infidelity and subsequent death of his wife.”
“He doesn’t seem at all the man of his letters to you,” Kittie admitted.
“He has always been, since his adolescence, a man of strong passions. Where he loves, he is unswervingly loyal. I wonder if the converse is that other emotions—jealousy, mistrust, fear—have an equally powerful, though negative effect.”
“Fear? I would never call the duke a fearful man, ma’am.”
“I don’t mean physical fear. Alban has never been fearful in that sense, but the other kind of fear is a loathing of the pain inflicted by treachery and rejection and a determination to avoid it at all costs. You weren’t here when he last stayed, after Catherine’s desertion and death. It was a terrible time. I hadn’t realized he cared for her so deeply, for of course theirs was an arranged marriage.”
“Did he care for her, or was it his pride only that was hurt by her elopement?”
“Kittie!”
“Pardon, my lady.”
“No. You are entitled to have your own feelings. But you never knew him before this. I only want to . . . to explain him to you. If only I knew how.”
“You haven’t seen him in three years. Maybe he’s changed from the nephew you remember.”
“That’s possible.” Lady Eliza laid her lace-capped head back on her pillow. “Love is such a powerful emotion, and when it is betrayed . . .”
Kittie was silent. The woman’s words were said with personal meaning, she felt sure. Maybe she was reflecting on her own past experiences with love. That there was a painful story in her employer’s past she had always felt, but she would never probe that wound. It wasn’t her place.
“When love is betrayed, you feel as if everything you ever believed in
your life is false . . . or at least suspect,” Lady Eliza continued. “How can you trust anyone again, least of all yourself and your emotions, if what you believed of your beloved was false? Being wrong once alters how you think and feel. It changes who you are.”
“But it isn’t right to take that distrust out on those around you who are guiltless.”
Lady Eliza turned her face away into her pillow. But then she turned back to Kittie and squeezed her hand. “Maybe you are right. But the Alban line . . . we are a strong and resentful pack, my dear. We hold on to our grievances, nursing them, letting them strengthen. It takes decades to forget a hurt, if we ever do.”
“Perhaps certain members should learn to be more trusting.”
“The Alban motto is fronti nulla fides . . . do not trust appearances, or something like that. We are a suspicious lot. And Alban was betrayed. He is not going to trust again easily.”
“Then he’s going to be a lonely man for the rest of his life,” Kittie said, standing. There was too much in this conversation that felt personal, and yet, Lady Eliza had been talking about herself, too, it seemed, not just her nephew. She could not keep herself from it; she broke the silence at last and asked the question. “Tell me, ma’am, did you ever . . . were you ever in love?”
From the jolt of her fingers, twisted together with her own, Kittie could sense some dismay at the question. But she wasn’t going to take it back. She stayed silent.
“Yes. But sometimes love isn’t enough,” Lady Eliza said, her voice thick with old tears, unshed.
The terrible sadness in her voice tugged at Kittie’s heart. “Did he break your heart?”
She was silent for a moment, but then said, “We couldn’t be together. There were . . . obstacles, grave obstacles. I knew it but I was stubborn enough to think we could overcome them. But then, when my darling Harry abandoned me for another . . .” She stopped and turned her face into the pillow.
“But you didn’t let it embitter you.” Kittie put one hand on the other woman’s shoulder and squeezed. “You have given others so much, my lady, Alban and . . . and more especially myself.”
“Thank you for that, my dear. Maybe you had better go off to bed now. I am tired.”
It was dark in the room, but Kittie’s sight was excellent, and the gleam of moonlight caught the one tear that slid down Lady Eliza’s withered cheek. “Good night, my lady. Remember that many around you love you. I know we’re no replacement for your one true love, but I hope we are some small compensation.”
“You are,” she whispered. “Good night, Kittie.”
Kittie slipped out and wiped a tear from her own eye. She and her employer had never spoken of such things before, and it added a new depth to her understanding of Lady Eliza. And a new determination to find a way to get along with the duke, who was precious and important to the woman, after all, and so should be to Kittie. She entered her own room to find Hannah and Rebecca there, waiting.
“We’re not leaving until you tell us what’s wrong. You haven’t been yourself almost since we got here, and we’re worried.”
That was Rebecca, of course, but Hannah nodded vigorously in agreement. “You’re both here for a holiday, not to listen to my pitiful woes.”
“But, dear, if you can’t tell us when something is wrong, what kind of friends are we?”
Kittie gazed at Hannah, remembering the terrible time after Roger’s death and her reliance on her dear friend, whom many dismissed as simply a weepy female. “You’re the best of friends. I’m so glad Mr. Norton has seen fit to recognize all of your sterling qualities.”
Hannah blushed and Rebecca laughed out loud.
“She will not admit that they are anything more than friends, Kittie, can you imagine that? She refuses to see that Mr. Norton is completely smitten. I have never seen a man so obviously taken with a woman, and yet she will only say that he is very kind.”
“Oh, Hannah, kind? His preference is clear! And truly . . . has he not kissed you? Admit it!”
Hannah pulled up her voluminous nightrail and covered her face in confusion. “I don’t know what to think,” she cried, her voice muffled with material. “I’ve never met anyone like him.”
“But we didn’t come here to speak of our own amorous adventures,” Rebecca said, turning her gaze to Kittie. “We want to know what is going on with you and the duke and the earl.”
“That’s right. We want to know what’s wrong, for you don’t seem like yourself,” Hannah added, patting her gown down over her knees again.
Kittie slipped her shoes off and sat down on the bed, sinking into the silk down coverlet over the feather mattress. She had confessed to them her attraction to the duke but had told them nothing beyond that. She sighed and gazed down at her gown, picking at the pattern. She had gotten out of the habit of sharing her thoughts and feelings in the years of virtual isolation in Yorkshire. She had been consumed with Lady Eliza’s problem, her growing blindness and the adjustments attendant upon it.
Was that so she could keep from feeling how lonely she was?
“Talk to us,” urged Rebecca, reaching out and grasping her hand. “I won’t leave here without knowing that you’re all right.”
“Nor I,” Hannah said, grabbing her other hand.
Hannah and Rebecca joined hands, and the completed circle infused Kittie with strength and determination. She could trust these two women with her life, and if anyone could give her advice, it would be them. “The other day, when the earl invited me out walking, he didn’t want just to talk, as I said when I came back, he . . . he proposed carte blanche!”
The other two women gasped.
“He what? Of you? How absurd.” That was Rebecca.
“Oh, how awful, my dear,” Hannah said, squeezing her hand.
It all came spilling out then, all her humiliation over the offer, the shame and the fear that she had done something to make him think she would acquiesce.
“Of course you didn’t,” Rebecca said. “I have given him more reason to think that than you, goose!”
“And then,” Kittie continued, her voice trembling, “just this morning the duke accompanied me into the village, and on the way back he asked me if the earl and I were . . . if we were leaving together at the end of his stay.”
Hannah put on hand over her bosom. “Oh, no! Did you tell him certainly not? Did you—”
“I hope you said nothing to him,” Rebecca cried, her green eyes blazing with anger.
Kittie turned eagerly to her friend. “Yes! That is exactly what I did. I told him I had no reason to tell him anything. First, he was very insulting and full of insinuations. He has the lowest opinion of women and marriage and seems to think that all women are grasping and treacherous. And the things he said . . . I couldn’t believe he would ask me such a question, for I’m sure if the earl had told him anything of the kind—and why would he, since I told him no?—then he would come right out and say that, but instead he just slyly insinuated that he had noticed a . . . what did he call it? A softness toward a particular gentleman and was I, perhaps, thinking of leaving with the earl at the end of his stay. I was insulted.”
“But why would you not tell him the truth? That he had asked and you had declined?” Hannah asked, puzzlement in her soft gray eyes.
“Because it is not his affair!” Rebecca said, fury in her haughty tone. “How dare he ask in such a bold manner? What gives him that right?”
“Surely, though, it is best not to leave any lingering wrong impressions. You may have left him with the impression that you are leaving with the earl, b-becoming his mistress,” Hannah said, worrying her lip with her teeth. “And Mr. Norton said . . . he implied—”
“What?” Both women said it, quickly.
Hannah jumped nervously, eyes wide. “Bartholomew said that Lord Orkenay has been bragging to him, implying that he has reason to believe . . . in short, the earl has been hinting, though he has not said so outright, that Kittie and he are . . . are going to
be together soon.”
“You didn’t say that before!” This cast a new light on things. Kittie wondered to whom else the earl had been hinting.
“I knew it was not true and said so to Mr. Norton! I didn’t think it even needed repeating, for I felt sure Kittie would leave no reason for doubt in anyone’s mind.”
“I think you may need to make sure the earl understands you, Kittie,” Rebecca said.
“You’re right. Could you ask if the earl has said anything to Sir John? I’m curious now as to what he has said and to whom.”
“I’ll find out tomorrow,” she said, grim lines on her homely face.
“Kittie,” Hannah said, her tone hesitant. “I was wondering if . . . that is . . . you said when we arrived how you felt about the duke, that you found him an attractive man. How do you feel now?”
Kittie reflected on their discord on the terrace that evening. “He is still the most attractive man I have ever seen. He is also the most infuriating.”
“And you are still attracted to him,” Rebecca said with a sly wink.
“And I don’t know why,” Kittie admitted, clutching her hair with both her hands. “What is wrong with me, that even after that insult I do not despise him?”
“Could it be that you see more than we do?” Hannah said, as tentative as ever when expressing an opinion. “You’ve read his letters, after all, and I think in his letters to his aunt he may have shown a more honest side than he does in person, for he isn’t trying to hide anything from anyone there, do you know what I mean?”
Kittie thought about it. “He puts up a front with others to keep from—”
“To keep from being hurt again,” Rebecca said softly. “Perhaps Hannah has something. It was the talk of London when his duchess deserted him and ran away with that courtier. It would have hurt his pride, certainly, but must he not have been hurt deeply, too, in his heart of hearts?”
“Lady Eliza said as much,” Kittie admitted to her friend. “I don’t know. He’s a grown man. Can he not recognize what he’s doing, then?”
The Duke's Secret Seduction Page 14