It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  “My point is this, Jasper,” she went on. “I detest water. It’s unpredictable and dangerous, and it terrifies me.” She held her palms up. “But I cannot live the rest of my life avoiding water.”

  “You nearly drowned at the Frost Fair.” He felt inclined to point out.

  She took his hand in hers and turned it over. He stiffened.

  “But I didn’t, Jasper. Life is horrible and unfair and terrifying. But those are not reasons to stop living.” Katherine touched her fingers to his gloved hand. “You didn’t die, Jasper. You lived.”

  His hand tightened reflexively around hers. He’d lived, when Lydia had perished. With his desire for his wife, and the need for an heir, Jasper had killed her with his selfish needs and ducal obligations. For more than three years, he’d punished himself for that great crime.

  Only now, with Katherine’s quietly spoken words did he confront the truth…Lydia was gone and no amount of self-flagellation would bring her back.

  And he hated Katherine, in that moment, for opening his eyes to the reality of his miserable circumstances. “You need to leave,” he ordered harshly.

  She cocked her head.

  “I said, go,” he forced out past tight lips. He needed her to leave. He wanted this woman who’d tossed his life into an upheaval to go, and let him go back to the emotionally-deadened man he’d been these past three, nearly four years.

  Katherine nodded. Twin splotches of color stained her cheeks. She dipped a curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured.

  He loathed the aching need to hear his name upon her lips yet again.

  Katherine made to go.

  “Your chaperone,” he called out.

  She frowned, her face calm and serene, brown eyes cool and removed—the Ice Princess returned. “You needn’t worry about me, Your Grace.”

  No, he needn’t.

  And yet, he did.

  Katherine dipped another curtsy, and then hurried off. He stared after her swiftly retreating figure, until she was nothing more than a small mark upon the snowy horizon.

  He thought of the story she’d shared, of the small, unprotected girl fighting the fast-moving river waters. With a sigh, he set out to follow the now headstrong, young lady still in desperate need of protection.

  Chapter Ten

  After a long carriage ride through the snow-laden streets of London, Katherine at last arrived home. She climbed the steps with dreaded anticipation. Perhaps she’d not see her mother just yet…perhaps…

  Ollie opened the door. She took a hopeful breath and stepped inside with a murmur of thanks for the old servant.

  She freed the hook that held her cloak together and handed the sopping wet garment over. “Thank you,” she said as he took her cloak. She shook out her snow-dampened skirts, the flakes dissolved into small droplets of water atop the marble floor. “I…” Her words faded, as she met her mother’s scowling countenance.

  Mother stood in the foyer, arms planted atop her hips. Anne hovered at a point beyond her shoulder. Her sister stood shaking her head in a commiserative way.

  Katherine sighed. “Mother…”

  “Where have you been?” Mother launched into a stinging tirade. “First you take yourself off to the Frost Fair, unchaperoned, and nearly find yourself drowned.”

  Sorry, Anne silently mouthed.

  “Then you arrive with the Mad Duke…”

  Katherine clenched her hands into tight fists. “He is not mad.” He was hurting and scarred and forever changed by the loss of his wife. The pain he carried did not make him mad.

  “Bah.” Mother slashed the air with her hand. “You have run wild for the last time, Katherine.” There was a hard edge, an unspoken order to those words.

  Katherine’s stomach tightened. “Mother…”

  “I’m speaking to your uncle. You need a husband who will bring you in line.”

  Anne gasped. “Mother, no.”

  Mother carried on as though Anne hadn’t interjected, as though Katherine’s heart was not beating hard with panic. “You’re actions will jeopardize your sister’s ability to make a most advantageous match.”

  Her sister’s ability.

  Not Katherine’s.

  It was expected by all that beautiful, vibrant, accomplished Anne would secure a well-titled husband. The expectations, however, for Katherine were not so very great. They were rather bleak, in comparison to her sister’s.

  “Where were you off to in this storm?”

  Katherine’s mind went blank under the weight of the truth. She could not very well explain that she’d gone to meet the duke. Her gaze met Anne’s, and the flash of something that looked very nearly like guilt, lit the blue irises of her sister’s eyes.

  So Anne was behind Jasper’s missing second missive. Of course.

  She offered her sister a gentle smile.

  Anne had dragged Katherine along on any number of madcap schemes; of the latest, which was their unchaperoned trip to the Frost Fair. The decision to brave the storm, and Mother’s wrath had been Katherine’s alone.

  “Get to your chambers,” her mother snapped, jerking Katherine back to the moment. “I’ll speak to you in private.”

  Katherine managed a tight nod, and with head held high marched past her mother, up the stairs, down the hall, to the security of her own rooms. Once inside, she closed the door, and leaned against the wood paneling, borrowing the support of the hard surface.

  He kissed me.

  Her eyes slid closed. And she’d kissed him with a desperate longing she’d never known existed within herself.

  Katherine’s childlike dreams of fanciful love had faded over the years, to be replaced with a woman’s logic. The only dream she’d carried for so long was of a secure life, married to a gentleman who’d not squander their every last possession, but instead would care for her, give her children, and perhaps enjoy a quiet read beside a warm hearth.

  Until his kiss.

  Jasper Waincourt, 8th Duke of Bainbridge’s one kiss and fevered caress had thrown into question everything she believed she’d wanted for herself. He’d awakened her to a burning passion that Katherine hadn’t believed herself capable of. His heated touch had scorched her skin, and somehow, irrevocably altered her, in ways that terrified her—ways she could not consider.

  Because she could not, would not ever wed a pitiless, cold man like the duke. His kiss might liquefy her, but he’d been clear, all gentleness within him had died with his wife.

  Jasper could never be that gentleman to sit beside her, quietly reading, with a gaggle of children at their feet.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Katherine jumped as the reverberations shook her back. She should have not spent her time ruminating about Jasper, but instead formulating a response for her mother’s impending tirade. She took a deep breath, and turned around.

  Her mother opened the door and sailed into the room. She ran a hard stare over Katherine’s damp frame, a pinched set to her mouth.

  But she said nothing.

  Which was all the more terrifying for it. Mother was never short of words.

  “Mother,” Katherine began. “I’m sorry I was out in such weather. I desired a walk and fresh air is good for one’s constitution.”

  Silence.

  Katherine fisted the fabric of her skirts in her hands, and shifted on her feet. It would appear her situation was a good deal more dire than she’d even believed.

  “You need to wed, Katherine.”

  A small pit formed in the bottom of Katherine’s stomach. She trailed the tip of her tongue around the seam of her lips. Mother was tenacious, and when she’d settled her mind upon something, she could not be deterred from her course.

  Mother would have her wed Bertrand Ekstrom.

  It spoke to how little faith her mother had in Katherine’s ability to make a match.

  “I will,” Katherine said softly.

  “Wed Mr. Ekstrom,” her mother finished for her.

  Katheri
ne shook her head, hard. “I’ve had but one Season.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from pointing out that Anne would also have her second Season. She could never resent Anne for the special place she held in their mother’s heart, even if it caused Katherine the greatest pain. “I’ll not wed him.”

  “You’re nineteen—”

  “Nearly twenty,” Katherine pointed out.

  “And not free to make decisions until you reach your twenty-fifth year.”

  Katherine’s jaw hardened. “He’s an odious man, Mother.” With a paunch waist, and cruel set to his mouth, Bertrand Ekstrom, her distant cousin, possessed a cruel glint in his beady eyes.

  Jasper slipped into her mind. Harsh and commanding, there was nothing soft about the young duke, and yet, she knew with a woman’s intuition that he’d never be capable of harming her. Her body tingled in remembrance of his hot, but gentle caress.

  “He is next in line behind Benedict. Surely you learned with your father’s unexpected death that life is tenuous for females. We have to do everything within our power to maintain our security. Your brother is only thirteen. He has a great many years before he can marry and what if he doesn’t have a male child?”

  Katherine bit her lip hard to keep from pointing out that it hardly mattered to her if Benedict someday produced one or none future heirs.

  “I’ll not wed him. These are not the feudal ages, Mother.”

  “Your sister was prepared to sacrifice her happiness for the family.”

  In the end, however, Aldora hadn’t. She’d found love with Mr. Michael Knightly, an obscenely wealthy gentleman and a second son. His funds had saved them from the dire financial straits they’d been in, and had smoothed over any disappointment Mother had harbored over Aldora’s marriage to a second son.

  Apparently Mother’s now, pressing concern was securing the familial line by wedding one of her marriageable daughters to the second cousin who stood to inherit if Benedict failed to do so.

  “Mother, can we please discuss this after the holiday.” If Katherine could not alter her Mother’s intended course, then perhaps she could manage to convince her to cease the discussion of it until after the Christmastide season.

  Her mother’s mouth screwed up. Katherine thought she might press her argument, but then Mother nodded. “Very well.” With a curt nod, she left Katherine with the misery of her own thoughts.

  Katherine breathed a relieved sigh, her eyes sliding closed. Mother would not be deterred in her efforts, that much was clear. Nothing could alter her intentions for Katherine, except…

  We shall simply have to find you a husband.

  Anne had the right of it.

  Only, where could Katherine find an unwed gentleman in such a short…

  Short…

  Her eyes flew open. No, her silent thoughts were utter madness.

  He’d been abundantly clear that he had no interest in wedding, Katherine or any other lady for that matter. He was cold. Cynical. Reserved.

  Katherine began to pace.

  With his title he was just a smidgeon shy of royalty and clearly unaccustomed to having his wishes thwarted. He was, if the reports were to be believed, as rich as Croesus.

  Jasper Waincourt, the 8th Duke of Bainbridge was also exceedingly logical, to the point of fault.

  Surely if Katherine put her argument to him, he’d recognize that a union between them could be, nay, would be advantageous to the both of them. It would be nothing more than a strict business arrangement between a gentleman and a lady.

  There would be no expectations of an emotional connection.

  There would be no affection.

  It would be a match based purely on a mutually beneficial contract.

  They could carry on their own lives.

  She’d provide him his necessary heirs, and she…her heart fluttered rapidly with fast-growing hope, well, she would be spared marriage to Bertrand Ekstrom and free of her mother’s heavy hand.

  Katherine could spend her days reading to her heart’s content, taking unchaperoned walks if she so desired, all without the stern disapproval reigned down by Mother.

  Filled with a sudden excitement, Katherine raced over to her small mahogany desk and pulled out a thick sheet of velum. She reached for a pen and dipped it into the crystal ink-well.

  Your Grace,

  It occurs to me that I failed to obtain your copy of Wordsworth’s latest volume. I would ask if when the winter storm abates, that you meet me in the same spot alongside the Serpentine River.

  Ever Yours,

  Katherine

  Katherine read and re-read the missive several times, and before she lost her nerve, folded it. She tapped her finger along the top of her desk. She did need to be certain he met with her, and if he’d mayhap decided to avoid meeting with her and instead keep his copy of Wordsworth’s latest work, well then she wouldn’t be able to propose her plan. She reached for another sheet of parchment.

  When they met, she would put her plan before him. Misgivings stirred in her belly, but she tamped them down. He was a man of logic. Katherine would be able to reason with him.

  The alternative was not to be countenanced.

  Chapter Eleven

  Seated at the breakfast table with a plate of bacon and eggs, Jasper sipped his coffee. He grimaced at the bitter taste of the vile brew, and reached for the morning copy of The Times.

  “I can’t imagine you drink that revolting stuff.”

  Jasper glanced to the door.

  Guilford stood framed in the doorway. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of showing myself in.” He yanked his gloves off and beat then against each other.

  Jasper glanced over the rim of his glass. He took another sip. “Guilford,” he greeted.

  Guilford’s ginger brows shot to his hairline.

  Jasper frowned. “What is it?”

  His friend tossed his gloves upon the table, and wandered over to the sideboard. He proceeded to pile kippers and warm, flaky bread in a heaping pile upon his plate. He shook his head, and took a seat across from Jasper. “I can’t fathom this remarkable transformation in you.”

  Jasper reached for his paper, and snapped it open to keep from encouraging Guilford’s deliberate baiting.

  Alas, Guilford was not to be deterred.

  “You haven’t greeted me with anything more than a growl, a go-to-hell, or a what-are-you-doing-here, in more than three years.”

  From across the table, Jasper detected the rhythmic tapping as Guilford drummed his fingertip along the arm of his chair. Jasper gritted his teeth, his eyes scouring the page for some bit of information that might distract him from Guilford. He rattled the paper.

  “May I venture it is because of a particular young lady?” Guilford tilted his head.

  “You may not,” Jasper said, between clenched teeth.

  He’d be damned if he’d mentioned the manner in which Katherine had slipped into his mind, or the feel of her lips, or the gentle curve of her hip, or…

  “So it is about a particular lady.”

  Jasper lowered the paper and glared at Guilford. “I did not say it was about Katherine.”

  Guilford leaned back in the black Bergerè chair. He drummed his fingers on the arms of the seat. “Ahh, but I did not mention the Lady Katherine.”

  Christ.

  Jasper raised the paper and scanned the page.

  It would appear a Lord B and Lady M had been discovered in…

  He tossed his copy of The Times aside.

  He didn’t give a bloody damn about the tons gossip. “What business do you have here?”

  Guilford reached for his fork and knife and delicately sliced a piece of cold roast beef. He popped a small piece into his mouth and chewed with meticulous care. “I’ve learned additional information about the intended match between Bertrand Ekstrom and your Lady Katherine.”

  Jasper cursed. “She is not my…what did you learn?” he snapped. He told himself he inquired out of an a
pathetic interest in the woman he’d rescued. Except, as Guilford picked up his white napkin and dabbed carefully at his lips, he wanted to drag him across the blasted table and shake the words free from his mouth.

  “It would seem,” Guilford continued. “Lady Katherine’s mother has spoken to the lady’s guardian about arranging the match with Ekstrom after the Christmastide season.”

  Jasper wrinkled his brow and tossed aside his attempt at indifference. “Why would she not allow her to make a match during the Season?” Surely the young lady could do a deal better than Bertrand Ekstrom. He remembered the lush feel of her breast; the peak of that soft flesh puckered through the fabric, begging for his touch. His stomach tightened. She could do a good deal better. The muscles of his stomach convulsed. Why did the idea of her with another ravage his insides?

  Guilford’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I believe he’s next in line for the earldom, behind the lady’s brother, who’s a mere boy.”

  So Katherine’s happiness would be forfeited on a whole series of what-ifs. His fingers curled over the arms of the chair, hard enough to leave indents in the solid wood.

  Jasper picked up his fork, and speared a piece of bacon. Ultimately, it didn’t matter to him who the lady wed. “She is not my affair.” She is not my affair. She is not my affair. It was a litany he didn’t believe.

  Guilford snorted. Neither apparently did Guilford. His friend opened his mouth to speak when a knock sounded at the door.

  The footman approached with a silver tray bearing a letter atop it. Upon recognizing the familiar, elegant lines of the scrawl, Jasper’s heart thumped an odd rhythm.

  He accepted the note, and Guilford forgotten, unfolded it.

  Your Grace,

  It occurs to me that I failed to obtain your copy of Wordsworth’s latest volume. I would ask if when the winter storm abates, that you meet me in the same spot alongside the Serpentine River.

  Ever Yours,

  Katherine

  Disappointment stabbed at him. Her note was comprised of a mere two sentences. He frowned, and turned it over in his hands, and then studied the front of it yet again. Direct, and yet coolly polite, Katherine’s letter was this time devoid of the characteristic teasing he’d come to expect from the young lady. He didn’t know how to account for this…