He stroked a single curl of golden hair back from her face. Catherine almost flinched away at his touch. She was like a little deer in the wood: curious and terrified at the same time. At any moment she might startle and run away.
“A kiss is not a kiss unless it is wanted,” said Harry. He had seduced women before, but never with this degree of tenderness. Truth be told he was almost as frightened as she. “You must want it, Cathy. I’ll settle for nothing less.”
In fact he might well have to. At the stroke of midnight, his plan would come to fruition. If her lips were not on his by then, it might all yet come to nothing…
“Shall I tell you how beautiful you are?” he asked.
“I should not believe you.”
“But it is true nevertheless. You are shining and radiant. Have you noticed that Miss Hendrington despises you, and wants only your sister’s company? It is because she is jealous.”
“Please, Your Grace. Don’t say such things…”
“I am only speaking what is in my heart.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, gently brushing his fingers against her neck, and another hand on her waist. “If only we had some music tonight. I want to dance the waltz with you. My Cathy. My future bride. I am not afraid. I want everyone to know that you are mine.” Her head inclined towards his caressing fingers as they soothed the back of her neck. “Not Hinton’s. Not your family’s. Mine, Cathy. And I will find how to make you happy – and that is what I intend to do.”
“I will be a good wife to you as well, Your Grace,” she said, with touching sincerity. “I will do my best.”
“Hush. You need only be yourself.” It is all I ever wanted, he almost told her. It is more than I ever dreamed.
But she was only just warming to his touch, and it was not yet time to declare his heart.
Her body was pressed close against his now. He could feel her breathing soften as she began to accept his hands on her. He felt the lightning-bolt tingle in the air between them that told him how fiery, how perfect their kiss would be. Catherine’s eyes widened. He knew she felt the same jolt of passion each time he moved towards her.
It was not quite yet midnight, but Harry couldn’t wait any longer.
“Oh, Cathy,” he groaned, and met her lips with his own.
Her mouth opened beneath his like a flower. He sensed her shock and held her tighter, supporting her as his lips moved against hers. She melted against him, dissolving into the taste of him, clinging to his arms as he kissed her again and again. It was perfect. It was heaven.
It was over too soon.
In the moonlight, Catherine was smiling. “Was that… Did I do it right?”
“You are flawless,” said Harry, and reached for her again.
At that very moment, as his lips met hers for the second time, all hell broke loose.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Catherine had never been kissed before. Now that Harry was kissing her, she wondered how she had ever lived without it.
His lips were soft and warm and delightful. The sensation of his mouth on hers was shockingly intimate in the most enticing possible way. It felt natural. It felt completely right. Her doubts were all forgotten.
“You are flawless,” said Harry, and a blossom of heat rose inside her as he reached for her again. She wanted nothing more to keep kissing him and forget everything else in the world.
Unfortunately, the world was not about to forget Catherine Sharp. In fact, it was all about to come crashing in on her in the most unhappy manner.
In response to the arrangement made that morning, at precisely the third stroke of twelve Harry’s maid went to tweak the drawing room curtains more firmly closed.
Owing to Harry’s endeavours with the tools he’d had his butler fetch that afternoon, the curtain rail was not in fact attached securely to the wall but held on by only the slightest purchase, as each screw had been almost completely removed.
Mystified yet obedient, the maid tugged vigorously on the curtains, keeping her wits about her as she had been instructed – which was lucky indeed, as she narrowly escaped being struck on the head by the downfall of curtains, rail and all.
The crash brought the eyes of every lady in the room to the window. The Dowager Duchess, Harry’s mother, Mrs Goodridge, Mrs Blakely, Alice Sharp, and finally Lady Hendrington and her daughter, all turned to see what had caused the commotion.
Beyond the window stood the Duke of Westbourne with his arms fastened around Catherine’s waist, locked in a passionate kiss.
An earsplitting shriek rent the air. “How could you?”
Catherine jerked away from Harry. His hand stayed on her hip, steadying her, but she pulled away from him. The open-mouthed faces of her sisters and all the ladies crowding at the window blurred before her eyes.
She had done an enormous thing. An awful thing. Yet in that moment it seemed bizarre that anyone should care. How could one simple kiss have such dire consequences?
“How could you?” came a second shriek. Catherine expected to see Agnes pounding her fists against the glass, but she turned to find the tear-streaked face of Miss Hendrington.
Alice was watching with her fists clenched in the air, looking rather as if she wanted to burst into applause. Mrs Goodridge looked most intrigued. Harry’s mother was resigned. Lady Hendrington looked so appalled it seemed she might collapse from indignation.
The Dowager Duchess, naturally, was delighted.
The only person Catherine did not find staring her down was Agnes, who had sprung into action the moment the kiss was revealed. Catherine was about to turn and flee when she felt a pinching grasp on her arm.
“Get away from the window, you stupid girl!” hissed Agnes. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him with a brazen finger waving in his face. “You are no friend of ours, Your Grace!”
As she was dragged away, Catherine saw Harry tap casually against the window, which was opened by Alice.
“There’s no cause for alarm,” he said calmly. “Miss Sharp and I are engaged.”
There was a thump from within. Catherine could not see who, but someone had fainted. If she were prone to betting she would have given it even odds between Miss Hendrington and Harry’s mother.
“How could you do such a thing?” Agnes lamented as she pulled Catherine along behind her, around to the front of the house where no-one could hear them. “You are completely ruined! Completely!”
“Did you not hear?” asked Catherine. Despite the gravity of her situation, she felt completely blissful. Her very fingertips seemed to tingle with delight. “We are engaged.” Miss Sharp and I are engaged, that was what he had said. And publically, too!
She did not understand why, but the thought made the world grow peaceful and dim around her. Agnes’s wailing was nothing to her ears. She felt as if she were floating on a sea of pure, shining light.
“Is that what he told you!” Agnes snapped. “And you believed him, I suppose! You poor, careless, silly girl! Who will have you now? We cannot expect Mr Hinton to look past this…this…”
“Calm yourself,” said Catherine, surprising herself with her own strength. Agnes’s mouth flapped open and closed a few times. She was not used to being spoken to in that tone by her younger sister. “It was only a kiss. No-one ever died from a kiss.”
“Perhaps not,” said Agnes, through gritted teeth. “But many have been ruined.”
“I am not ruined. Nor am I going to marry Mr Hinton. I will wed Harry and shall be the Duchess of Westbourne.”
Agnes slapped her full across the face. The explosion of sharp pain sent Catherine reeling. She pressed a hand to her cheek and gasped.
No-one had ever struck her before.
“I am calling for the carriage,” said Agnes. “You will get in and wait for me. You will speak to no-one. I am fetching Alice and we are going home. Not another word out of you. Do you understand?”
Catherine nodded dumbly. Her head was beginning to pound.
The
journey home was fraught with silence. Agnes would not look at Catherine. She sat straight as a ramrod and fixed her gaze on a certain point on her left. The only emotion she betrayed was in the occasional shudder of her breath.
Mr Blakely shot several inquiring glances at Catherine, as though he could not quite believe what he had heard about her. He seemed to inch away from her as the journey went on, so that he ended up pressed against the far edge of the landau. Perhaps he was concerned her wantonness was contagious.
Alice stared at Catherine with bright eyes. She evidently had a world of questions of her lips, but Agnes’s forbidding presence prevented her from asking any of them.
For her part, Catherine ignored them all. She gazed out at the darkness of the rolling countryside and reflected on Harry, on kissing, and on scandal.
She did not know whether she felt elated or terror-struck. Indeed, she had never imagined this moment for all that she had planned the evening’s events. In her daydreaming things had moved immediately between kiss and marriage. Now she was trapped in an uncertain place – a wanton, yet engaged to a Duke. Freed from one match yet bound to another. And if Harry were to change his mind… It did not bear thinking of. She dearly hoped she had not made a mistake in trusting him.
The kiss, though – that was enough to give her strength to hold her head high despite her sister’s glares. She could very happily live out her life being kissed like that.
The moment the carriage arrived home Catherine retired to bed without a word to anybody. As she lay in the quiet darkness, reliving the tumultuous evening in her head, there came a quiet knock at the door.
Alice stole in, holding a candle, without waiting for an answer. Catherine moved her feet so that her sister could sit on the bed.
“Do you love him?” Alice whispered eventually.
“No,” said Catherine. Alice bit her lip, concern creasing her face. “But I despise Mr Hinton. I am sorry, Alice. If this all goes wrong…”
They were interrupted by the sound of Agnes shouting in anger below, and the quiet murmur of Mr Blakely as he comforted her.
“It will reflect badly on you, too, if the Duke does not marry me quickly,” Catherine continued. She had not considered how her rash actions might affect her family. It seemed very selfish of her now.
Alice leaned forward conspiratorially. “I think it’s wonderful,” she admitted in hushed tones. “It is just like something one reads of in novels – some desperately romantic situation.”
“But it is not at all romantic,” said Catherine. “It is a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”
“For you, perhaps,” said Alice. “But is it so convenient for His Grace?”
“He wishes to save me from an unhappy match, that’s all. His feelings towards me are entirely friendly.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “I have plenty of friends, Cathy. I’ve yet to be kissed.”
Catherine could not help smiling. “Go to bed before Agnes catches you,” she advised. “I am in disgrace, remember? I am not to be spoken to – not until she decides what to do with me.”
“She is writing to Father,” said Alice. “She said as much before I came up. Beware, Cathy. I think her letter will not be at all charitable.”
She leaned forward and kissed Catherine’s forehead before creeping out on the tiptoes of her bare feet and closing the door behind her so quietly it was as if she had never been there at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
With news of such a scandal spreading immediately to the gentlemen of the party, the after-dinner chatter was considerably more lively than what was usually on offer in Larksley. It was well into the early hours of the morning by the time Harry managed to dispatch all his guests.
In fact, it was not a task which he performed with much enthusiasm, for the moment the last guest departed he was subjected to the righteous condemnation of his mother. The poor lady was most distressed at the turn the dinner party had taken. One young lady fainting in her drawing-room, and another’s reputation ruined by none other than her own son! It was almost too much to bear.
The Dowager Duchess, on the other hand, was having a fine old time. She alternated between fits of nerves which required Captain Kirby to cosset her with plumped-up cushions and snifters of brandy, and equally wracking fits of hysterical laughter.
“You really have done it now, Westbourne,” said Kirby, as he refilled the Duchess’s glass for the third time. “It’s a very bad situation and I can see no way out of it myself. You’ll either have to ruin a perfectly fine young woman and thereby wreck your reputation with the ladies for all time – or you’ll have to marry her, which will have the same effect.” He shuddered, considered the brandy, and poured himself a glass which he downed in one swallow. “It is desperate.”
“The Captain is quite right,” snapped Harry’s mother, prudently taking up the brandy bottle and stashing it out of sight in the liquor cabinet. “You have no other choice, Harry. You have done irreparable damage to Miss Sharp’s future prospects. I will not let you do anything else to harm her! You will marry her or I will no longer call myself your mother.”
“But that is no great burden,” said Harry with an easy smile. “I intended to marry her anyway.”
“Then why did you lead her astray in such an awful way? Harry, why did you not come to me first, if you meant to throw off her prior engagement? I would have given you much better counsel – I have known her father for years, I am sure I could have helped!”
“You did not help me when I was married off to Juliana,” said Harry flatly. “Why should I suppose you would be any help to me now?”
His mother’s eyes filled with tears. She rose to her feet. “I am going to bed.”
“Well. Goodnight, mother.”
She did not respond, but hurried out of the room hiding her face behind her hand. The Duchess rose to her feet. “Oo! Do you suppose she is weeping? I must go and comfort her.” She waggled her eyebrows in Harry’s direction. “You are a very naughty young man, I must say! We have not had so much excitement at Westbourne Hall since I can remember!” And she was off.
“That was badly done,” said Kirby, searching the cabinet for the brandy bottle again. “You ought not to have upset your mother. Ah, here we have it.” He poured two glasses. “Come, man. It does not do to be out-drunk by your widowed aunt. Particularly when talk of marriage is in the air.”
Harry accepted the brandy but did not drink. “I am sorry I did not tell you my scheme, Kirby. You are the master when it comes to affairs of the heart. I wonder now whether it was not too rash.”
“Too rash!” Kirby choked. “The citizens of Larksley will talk of nothing else for the next twenty years. This will spread through the ton like wildfire, you know. I envy your new reputation. A more dastardly rogue has not been heard of. And when they hear that you planned it –”
“But no-one will hear, Kirby,” said Harry sternly. “The only person who knows about my little plot is you – and my elderly aunt and my mother. I cannot suppose that they –”
“You cannot suppose the Duchess is inclined to gossip? My dear boy!” Kirby fought to contain his laughter. “Have you always been such an innocent?”
Harry grit his teeth together. “Well, I may have made a few missteps here and there, but I will put it all right soon enough. Pass me that sheet of paper, Kirby. I will sit down and write to Mr Sharp immediately.”
“Ah! The father! How will he take your proposal?”
“The only way he can,” said Harry grimly. “With a false smile and a real blessing. If he does not… his daughter is thoroughly ruined.”
And that, he vowed inwardly, would never come to pass.
In all the chaos of the evening, he had forgotten one very important thing. Catherine was now irrevocably his.
He wrote the letter with a secret smile on his face that Kirby was at a loss to understand.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Five long days followed before any word came from
Mr Sharp. Catherine heard that Mr Hinton was back in Larksley, but he did not call upon her and, since she was forbidden from showing her face about town, she had no opportunity to see him. For this she was grateful. If the rules of Society had only allowed her to write him a note expressing her apologies, she would have done so. As it was, there was nothing to be done but let him lick his wounds in peace.
Harry came calling the morning following the dinner party, but was turned away at the door with a frosty not at home. He called the next day, and the next, and finally prevailed upon the maid to take in a note addressed to Miss Sharp.
It was not exactly a poetic love-letter. Harry had written two short lines:
I have written to your father. All will be well.
Westbourne
Agnes read it first, pinch-lipped, before allowing Catherine to take a glance.
She had not been allowed to step outside even for a moment. Agnes had divined that she must have come up with some way of meeting with Harry in secret, and the outside world was barred to her.
The one consolation Catherine had in her prison of solitude was poetry. Alice still conversed with her quite happily, it was true, but her talk turned too often to news of the scandal which was racing through Larksley and would surely reach London within the week.
In due course, a letter arrived from Catherine’s father. It was too early to be a response to Harry’s, naturally. It was the letter informing her that she was to be married to Mr Hinton. Agnes burned it without a word.
“Am I to remain a prisoner here indefinitely?” Catherine asked on the fifth day.
“I do not know what else I am to do with you,” Agnes snapped. “I can hardly parade you about town. The gossip is already too much.”
“Then let me go outside. Let me walk along the river, not speaking to anyone. I promise you I will not get myself into any further trouble.”
“Hm! A promise from the fallen woman. What is that worth, I wonder?” answered Agnes rather viciously. To Catherine’s surprise, it was Mr Blakely who interceded on her behalf.
The Duke Suggests a Scandal Page 8