Entirely wrong. She’d meant the encouragement for herself.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Granville purred, sinking into a deep curtsy, promptly parroted by Regina and Abigail. “Please permit me to introduce my lovely daughters.”
And so it begins.
Several moments passed as introductions were made to one gushing guest after another, and Nic took to his ducal role with such finesse and aplomb, Katrina wanted to applaud. He didn’t need lessons at all. Likely his captaincy role had prepared him to some degree. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Phoebe Belamont gliding in their direction, a brazen invitation in her siren’s gaze.
Botheration.
At that moment, Nic’s gaze touched Katrina, and he must have noticed her disquiet. He offered a partial bow to those surrounding him. “Please excuse me. I hear a waltz beginning, and Miss Needham has promised me the first dance.”
Fibber.
Surely Katrina’s admiration showed in her delighted smile as she accepted his proffered arm, and he led her away from the disappointed misses and their equally frustrated mamas.
“Smoothly done, Your Grace. Phoebe’s in such a froth, she looks like she swallowed slugs.” Katrina’s smile slipped a fraction. “You shouldn’t be wasting a waltz on me, though.”
“It’s hardly a waste to snatch the most beautiful woman present for the first dance. I’d say it’s selfish, but as the highest ranking peer present, I suppose it’s my due.”
His patronizing tone and devilish wink earned him another smile, this one shyer.
Nic swung her onto the dance floor, his steps unpracticed, yet his natural grace apparent in his fluid movements and the ease with which he fell into the rhythm. “And I hope to convince you to allow me the supper dance as well. I seem to recall that only two dances are permitted unless a couple is married or betrothed, otherwise I’d claim every dance.”
Katrina’s heart soared foolishly, and she permitted him to edge her nearer.
Unwise, and oh, so dangerous. And delightful.
Nevertheless, she marshalled her resolve rather than melting into his muscular arms and permitting the music, the magical moment, the man, to make her forget their purpose tonight. She eased her chin upward, all too aware of the gazes trained on them. “People will assume we’ve formed an attachment, which rather defeats the purpose of you attending, does it not?”
“What say we call tonight our night to enjoy each other? We both have other obligations, but your kiss this afternoon tells me you’re not any more impervious to me than I am to you.” Nic rubbed his thumb over her ribs, and a delicious frisson shook her entire body.
Definitely not impervious.
He lowered his head, his intoxicating cologne enveloping her senses. “Next time, we can focus on responsibilities and commitments, but for tonight, I would pretend that you are mine, Katrina. What say you? Will you give me this night?”
I’d gladly give you a lifetime.
His thighs brushed hers as he nudged her gently, his tawny head much too close for propriety, his heated attention equally scandalous. “Will you? Please?”
He rasped the last hoarsely, but with such sincerity, her resolve melted away. His intense jade gaze probed hers, and Katrina found herself nodding, wanting to be his with everything in her being, no matter the consequences, even if it ended in heartbreak.
And how could it not?
“Yes. For tonight.” And tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.
A ragged sigh escaped him. “It will have to be enough.”
It would never be enough.
The music ended, and Katrina reluctantly stepped away from Nic, instantly bereft without his strong arms holding her. Collecting her flustered thoughts, she curtsied. He didn’t need dance lessons any more than he required instruction on comportment.
Blast Miss Sweeting for a job well done.
From the hopeful gazes directed his way from a handful of lovely young ladies, wholly suitable young ladies too, he wouldn’t need her help to find a wife either.
“Would you like some ratafia?” He spoke over the sudden buzz circling the room and a commotion beyond the entrance.
Katrina looked up and smiled. “Yes. I’m quite thirsty.”
They passed a cluster of young misses, including the Granville sisters, all chattering like magpies.
“A duke and a marquis in attendance tonight. Oh, I may swoon.” Abigail clutched her hands to her flat chest, closing her eyes dramatically.
Regina, her eyes round and shiny, nodded. “We’ll be the envy of all Richmond. I do hope I dance with them both.”
“So I have competition tonight.” Laughter danced in Nic’s eyes. “I’m quite put upon. I thought I was to be the center of attention. Who is this usurper marquis?”
Katrina shrugged. “Trust me, you are, and I haven’t a clue who the marquis is. He must be an acquaintance of an invited guest.”
Near the ballroom entrance, Mama motioned for them to join her and Papa. Actually, Mama gestured quite forcefully, a strained smile upon her face, while Papa, always more subdued, simply gave a beckoning nod. “Your Grace, my parents summon.”
Were they miffed she’d danced with the duke?
“Is it me, or do they look a trifle disconcerted?” Nic steered her past several young bucks, who quickly averted their lustful perusal when he gave them a darkling glower.
My, that was nice. She could get quite used to a champion. “They do appear a bit tense.”
As they wended their way to her parents, Nic smiled and nodded affably, earning him approving looks. He’d taken to this duke business like a seasoned sailor.
Once they reached her parents, her mother looped her arm through Katrina’s. “My dear, you should know—”
“There he is, the Marquis of Maitland,” a matron whispered behind her fan to her google-eyed crony.
Katrina glanced over her shoulder, straight into Richard’s brown eyes, and gasped. “Blast and damn.”
Taller than most everyone present, Nic searched behind Katrina for the source of her upset. A slender, swarthy fellow tastefully dressed in all black, save his crisp neckcloth, strode toward them. A path opened before him, and the room settled into a taut silence.
Domont.
Nic knew without being told who the striking fellow was. A marquisate certainly qualified as a change in circumstance but didn’t excuse his not contacting Katrina.
Maitland’s inquisitive gaze raked Nic before dismissing him, and he settled his attention on Katrina once more. He bowed, lifting her hand. “Miss Needham.”
“Major. That is, my lord.” Remarkably composed, Katrina dipped into a slight curtsy.
Maitland smiled and addressed the Needhams. “Please forgive me for not informing you sooner, but matters took time to settle. I am in mourning, and it would be most improper to remain, but it is urgent I speak with Miss Needham.”
“You may call tomorrow.” Expression steely, Needham offered the major … er … Maitland no succor.
A tight smile bending his mouth, Maitland peered around before stepping nearer. “I cannot. I must return home immediately. Things are in chaos there, but I didn’t think a letter to Miss Needham would suffice. I should like to explain, if permitted. Osborne told me I might find you here.”
Maitland couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and Nic balled his fists. The dastard ignored her for weeks then inherited a title and came round? For a few minutes? What did he expect? She’d fall at his feet weeping? Throw herself into his arm with undying declarations of love?
Maitland had robbed Nic of his one night—his only promised night—with Katrina, and the urge to pummel the man, though unjust, overwhelmed.
This afternoon, his impulsive, bumbled proposal had been heartfelt. The timing and execution … not terribly romantic. Fine, as romantic as a ship grounding on a reef during a typhoon. Nic had finally admitted that wanted Katrina more than his ship, sailing, adventures and, damn it all, he’d waited too blo
ody long to tell her.
But above all else, he wanted Katrina’s happiness, even if it meant he’d lost her to Maitland.
Maitland wasn’t the interloper, Nic was, though it galled him to his fancy new shoes.
Katrina drew herself up and boldly met the curious gazes of those lurking nearby. “Papa, please give our excuses to the Granvilles and call for the carriage. Matters such as this are best settled in private, I think.” She angled to face Nic. “Please don’t feel compelled to leave on our account. The carriage can be sent for you later.”
“No, I shall depart as well. I wish to look in on my aunt. She wasn’t feeling well earlier when I peeked in on her.”
Maitland frowned, his confusion evident. “Your aunt? Are you staying with the Needhams?”
Nic inclined his head. “Yes.”
Think of that what you will.
Papa stepped forward. “Maitland, may I present, Dominic, the Duke of Pendergast, formerly Captain St. Monté? Your Grace, his lordship, Richard, the Marquis of Maitland, formerly Major Domont of His Majesty’s Army.”
“Ah, a captain in His Majesty’s service.” Maitland, the damned handsome cull, flashed Katrina a charming smile, though she appeared unaffected.
Given the feminine whispers and titters, she might have been the only female present under fifty who wasn’t agog.
“No, his grace was … is a commissioned privateer.” A decidedly naughty smile tipped her pretty mouth when several ladies gasped. “A very, very successful privateer.”
Well, perhaps not two verys’ worth, still Nic summoned a rakish grin and nodded. “Indeed.”
A few minutes later, they piled into the Needhams’ carriage, Maitland squeezed between Nic’s and Needham’s larger forms. With every jolt in the road, Nic dug his elbow into Maitland’s side. He’d bet his best rum Needham did the same on the other side.
“I say, old chap,” Maitland grumbled after a particularly nasty jab.
“Beg pardon,” Nic muttered, nearly choking on a laugh when Katrina’s mouth twitched before she gave a dainty cough into her gloved hand.
Minx.
Maitland attempted trivial conversation, but when his efforts met with one word answers or vague noises, he reverted to silence.
Still silent, everyone tracked into the house, and Osborne, wise servant, had a fire burning brightly in the drawing room along with a cold repast. “Water’s on for tea. I shall bring a tray at once,” he said, gathering their outerwear.
Curled on an armchair, Sir Pugsley slept, twitching every now and again in his sleep.
“I need something stronger than tea.” Maitland gestured to the liquor cabinet. “May I?”
“By all means,” Needham agreed, helping himself to a finger’s worth too.
Nic could use a tot. A whole bloody bottle, truthfully.
Damn Maitland for appearing when he had. Nic had almost convinced himself to propose to Katrina again tonight. Properly this time. Then she could choose between him and Do—Maitland. At least then Nic would have tried to win her, even if she’d rejected his offer. She would’ve known he loved her, loved her so all-consumingly, he’d sell The Weeping Siren and never captain a ship again.
He hesitated at the drawing room’s entrance. This was private family business. “I’ll bid you good evening.”
Katrina’s eyes rounded a fraction, and she opened her mouth then snapped it shut, her lashes lowering as she shifted her attention to the fire. “’Til the morrow, Your Grace.”
“I must say,” Maitland said a distinctly peeved tone to his voice, “I’m not altogether keen on some fellow I don’t know—a privateer to boot—residing beneath the same roof as my intended. Will somebody please explain to me how that came to be?”
Chapter Ten
“It’s really not your concern, Richard, but suffice it to say, my parents extended his grace, his sisters, and his aunt an invitation to stay with us for a period. He is newly titled too, and I’m sure you of all people can appreciate the difficulties a sudden change in circumstances creates.” Katrina poked the fire, more for something to do than any need to encourage the flames. “Mama, Papa, might I have a few minutes alone with his lordship?”
Richard—a lord. That had taken her unawares—totally flabbergasted her, truth be told.
Her parents exchanged a telling look.
Mama kissed Katrina’s cheek and squeezed her hand. “I’ll check in with you before I retire.”
“Of course, my dear.” Papa picked up Sir Pugsley, and, after leveling Richard an unreadable look, followed her mother from the room, leaving the double-doors cracked a respectable distance.
Katrina replaced the poker before facing Richard and folding her arms. The irritation she’d kept buried bubbled ever gradually upward. “So, you’re a marquis now. I suppose congratulations are in order. I wasn’t aware you were in line for a title.”
Richard took a long pull from his second glass of brandy.
She scrunched her brows. Had he always drunk so freely?
He finished the spirit in one gulp and, setting the glass heavily on the table, cocked a smile. “My cousin held the title, and a fortnight ago, influenza took his life along with his heir’s.”
“I am truly sorry for your loss, Richard, but why didn’t you contact me and tell me? I would certainly have understood your delay in returning.” She waved her hand in the air before planting both hands on her hips. “You were seen out of uniform in Stratford-Upon-Avon with a woman. A pregnant woman, I might add. I didn’t know what to think but the obvious.”
“I know, darling, but it’s a mite more complicated than simply resigning my commission and inheriting the title.” He combed his hand through his hair, a gold signet ring glinting on his little finger. “The woman is, was, the marchioness, and we were leaving her solicitor’s office.”
“She’s in the family way, and she lost her husband and son? How utterly tragic.” Remorse for her suspicious musings bathed Katrina.
Richard eyed the crystal decanter wistfully before his mouth edged upward. “Certainly for her, but not for me, you must agree.”
“How can you take pleasure in her circumstances, Richard?” Katrina barely managed to keep her jaw from crashing into her chest. Who was this cold-hearted mercenary man? He’d kept this side of his character well-hidden. “Wait, if she’s expecting, you can’t be positive the title is yours yet.”
“That’s why I had to dally at Stonewater House, to see what the babe’s sex was.” He grinned fully then, a skin-prickling show of teeth, and practically crowed as he sauntered toward her. “A girl, born last night. A scrawny, red-faced, ugly, wrinkled thing. I told Amanda, she’s the marchioness, I’d permit her and the infant to stay on for a month or so until she found other accommodations.”
Katrina gasped and, taking a reflexive step backward, extended a palm to ward off his advance. “You turned her out? A grieving widow who’s just given birth? My God, how could you be so heartless? So cruel?”
His dark brows dove together. “For you, my love. I didn’t want you to have to share your new home, especially as newly-weds. Amanda has family. Don’t fret about her and the child.”
He tried to take Katrina in his arms, but she spun away, and he scowled.
“For me? No, for you. You didn’t want to share your home with her.” Putting the sofa between them, she clenched its carved mahogany top. “I would never have required her to leave, most especially under these tragic circumstances.”
“Well, if it means so much to you, then of course Amanda can stay, although it may be a trifle awkward. We were pledged before she scampered off to Gretna Green and married my cousin.” Bitterness dripped from every clipped syllable.
“Good God, and you didn’t think I needed to know you’d been betrothed once already?” Arms folded, Katrina tapped one foot’s toes rather than throw something at him.
“I told you I was estranged from my family.” He eyed the brandy snifter longingly again. “The sub
ject wasn’t something I cared to discuss.”
“Not even with the woman you professed to love?” Secrets before marriage never boded well afterward.
Richard wrinkled his forehead, his eyes slightly narrowed for an instant before pride lightened his countenance, and he pointedly changed the subject.
“Stonewater House is a grand old place, Katrina, though she needs updating. Think of the fun you’ll have refurbishing the manor to your taste. Your dowry will help enormously, but unfortunately, it won’t be sufficient for everything Stonewater needs. The estate has been rather neglected. But I’m confident your father will aid us. After all, you are his daughter, and he dotes on you.”
Shaking her head once, not positive she’d heard him correctly, Katrina examined Richard’s face. Had he always been this scheming, or had his new position so swiftly corrupted him? “Tell me something, Richard. If I’d been poor, from a family of humble means with no social standing, would you still have pursued me?”
He laughed and scratched his jaw. “But you aren’t, and you don’t, so the point is moot, isn’t it? True, I’d prefer aristocratic blood in your pedigree.” Like a blasted hound or horse? “But your beauty and family wealth offset the deficiency.”
“Deficiency?” Oh, the bloody … knave. Katrina gritted her teeth and stalked to the doors. “This conversation has been most enlightening. And since we’re being honest with one another, I should tell you that I decided before I learned of your new status that I wouldn’t marry you.”
“You cannot be serious.” His hands propped on his hips, confusion, disbelief, and anger paraded across Richard’s face in quick succession. “You love me … and I … adore you too.”
The last he sputtered. As an afterthought. Adore, not love? Most telling.
“Oh, I assure you, I am.” She pushed a door open further. “Now, please see yourself out.”
“I’ll do no such thing.” Shooting a swift, edgy glance at the doorway, he enunciated each softly spoken, ire-filled word. “The marquisate is nearly bankrupt. I need your dowry to pay for the improvements … and a few debts I owe.”
“That is not my concern.”
Lords of the Kingdom Page 117