Jasper didn’t know what he expected. Just then, a ray of sunlight slashed through the clear, glass windowpanes, and cast Lydia’s smile in a sea of shimmering light, a kind of benediction. An absolution of the guilt he carried. In that smile dwelled a woman who’d not have ever wanted him to punish himself for the loss of her life.
Then the sunlight faded, dimmed by a cloud.
Jasper blinked, and wiped his tear-dampened cheeks.
“Your Grace?”
He froze, his body going taut at the unexpected appearance of Wrinkleton.
“Yes, Wrinkleton,” he said with his back to the man, unwilling to turn and display his earlier expression of emotion for the servant.
Wrinkleton cleared his throat. “The Marquess of Guilford arrived a short while ago. I took the liberty of showing him to your office. He said he was here on a matter of import.”
Jasper frowned, turning quickly on his heel. He nodded and gave a murmured thanks.
Jasper couldn’t imagine what matter of import should take Guilford away from London during the height of the Season—with the exception of one person.
Heart racing, Jasper all but sprinted through the castle toward his office.
Knowing his panicked thoughts surely foolish, Jasper paused outside his office doors and smoothed his palms over the front of his jacket.
He entered the office.
Guilford stood over by the sideboard, pouring a glass of brandy. He glanced up, with a half-smile for Jasper. “So good to see you, Bainbridge,” he said over the rim of his glass. “I hope you don’t mind, I availed myself to your spirits.” Pause. “You look like hell.”
Jasper grinned, and Guilford choked on his brandy. “By God, did you just smile?”
Jasper’s smile widened, and he crossed over to his desk. He sat, hip propped on the edge, arms folded over his chest. “I did.”
Guilford shook his head and took another sip. He gestured to Jasper’s decanters. “A drink, friend?”
Jasper chuckled at his friend’s comfortable show as host in Jasper’s own home. He waved off the offer. My father was a wastrel. He spent his days and nights at the gaming tables, and indulging in spirits, and he squandered everything not entailed.
Even in the darkest days since Katherine had left when he’d craved the mindlessness of drink, he’d not indulged in spirits—not when he’d be forever tormented with thoughts of all she’d suffered because of her father’s drinking and gambling.
Jasper motioned for Guilford to sit. “What takes you away from London?” Do you have word of my wife?
Something in the hesitant way Guilford’s gaze slid from his made Jasper wish he’d not sworn off drink. Jasper straightened and claimed the seat behind his massive desk.
“I’ve seen your wife,” Guilford said after he’d taken his seat, volunteering information that saved Jasper from asking the question that would expose the depth of his feelings for Katherine.
Jasper steepled his hands in front of him, atop his chest to still their tremble. “Oh?” His heart raced with a desperate urgency to demand his friend spill every last word he had of Katherine.
Guilford lifted one shoulder in a far too-nonchalant shrug. “She’s become the toast of the ton.”
Jasper’s gut clenched. She’d always possessed a beauty that defied the mere physical type, the kind worn deep on the inside, and that emanated out like an ethereal glow that belonged to angels and the like.
Guilford fished into the front of his jacket and withdrew a neatly folded newspaper. He set it down on the mahogany desktop and took a seat.
Jasper’s eyes fell to the copy of The Times.
“They say she’s taken a lover.”
Jasper’s body jerked at the unexpectedness of Guilford’s statement. The air left him on a swift, noisy exhale. Oh, God, Guilford may as well have taken the medieval broadsword from the wall and hacked at Jasper’s heart. Jasper shook his head.
Lies. All lies. It couldn’t be true. Katherine was not the kind of creature capable of deceit and treachery. She’d not betray him. She loved him.
But then, you never reciprocated those feelings of love. She humbled herself before you, and you scoffed and jeered at every turn, until you drove her away.
Why should she have remained faithful?
“And what do you say?” His question emerged angry with all the same harsh bitterness he’d harbored deep inside since Lydia’s death. His breath froze as he waited with a kind of dreaded anticipation of Guilford’s response.
Guilford frowned. “I say if you truly care, you’d get yourself to London.”
Jasper growled. “Who is he?” He punished himself with the abhorrent images of Katherine’s splendidly naked body stretched out for some nameless, faceless bastard’s worship.
His gut roiled, until he thought he might cast up the contents of his stomach.
Guilford shifted in his seat. “The Earl of Stanhope.” He took a sip of his brandy. “You’ve been away from Society for some time.” He waved his hand. “There’s a scandal in the man’s past. He’s something of a rogue. Frowned on by Society’s most polite hostesses, sought after by Society’s most notorious widows.”
And Stanhope had set his lascivious sights upon Katherine.
Jasper picked up the pen on his desk and to give his fingers something to do he passed it back and forth between hands. That, or mount his horse, ride to London and use these same hands to bloody the faceless bastard senseless.
No, you gave her up. You let her go, a jeering voice taunted from deep within.
She’d given him her love, trusted him with her heart, and he couldn’t have been brave enough to give her the words she deserved, the words that lived inside him.
“Do you believe she’s taken him as a lover?” He grimaced. Even as he said the words, he dismissed them. Katherine possessed an honor and integrity not found in most gentlemen. She would not be capable of the deceit demonstrated by his parents.
Guilford lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I believe Stanhope’s determined. And she’s lonely.”
How could his friend be so nonchalant when Jasper hung on the edge of true madness?
That response did little to ease the tumultuous storm raging through Jasper. He wanted to flip his desk, storm from the room, and hunt down the Earl of Stanhope for daring to encroach on that which was Jasper’s.
“Have you,” he paused. “seen them together?”
Guilford looked away a moment. “I have,” he said at last.
The pen in Jasper’s hand snapped in two.
“I came upon them at Hyde Park,” Guilford went on.
Hyde Park belonged to Jasper and Katherine. It had been the place they’d gone in the quiet of the snow to share the Wordsworth volume. It had been the place Katherine had asked him to marry her and spoke of them having babes together with a shocking candidness.
And now, it was the place she visited with the Earl of Stanhope.
Guilford leaned back in his chair and hooked one ankle over the other. “What do you intend to do?”
Jasper’s jaw hardened. “I’m going to London.”
Stanhope and Katherine should be prepared…
The Mad Duke intended to fight for his wife.
Chapter Thirty-One
London
Katherine stood with a glass of champagne between her fingers, enjoying one of the very small luxuries of being a married woman. She’d detested ratafia as much as she detested ivory and white satin.
“You do know you’ve scandalized Mother with your gown this evening,” a voice whispered close to her ear.
Katherine spun, to greet her sister Anne. A smile wreathed Anne’s cheeks; the faintest dimple indicated her pleasure. “Anne.”
Anne eyed her glass of champagne longingly. “I’d trade one of my hands to be rid of ratafia and free to indulge in champagne.”
Katherine snorted and deposited her champagne glass onto the tray of a servant. “Just be sure you don’t go a
nd trade the hand you use for holding glasses, or it would certainly dull your pleasure.”
Anne sighed and took a final sip of her drink. She deposited the empty glass upon the same servant’s tray. “You do know Mother has been eyeing you with that stern frown upon her lips?”
Yes, Katherine had detected the signature frown worn by her mother since she’d entered Lord and Lady Harrison’s ball a short while ago.
Anne glanced around and then leaned close. “I think you look splendid, Kat.”
Katherine smiled. “As my twin sister, you have to say that.”
Her sister pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Hardly. Haven’t you learned I don’t do anything I’m supposed to do?” Yes, the years had certainly taught Katherine that very fact about her headstrong, if whimsical sister.
Anne glanced down forlornly at her ivory satin skirts with a lace, ruffled trim. “I’m entirely too old to be as ruffled as I am.”
Katherine studied her sister a moment. Whereas ivory and white fabrics had dulled Katherine’s drab brown locks, the colors only served to heighten Anne’s golden beauty. Anne epitomized the perfect English lady. “You’re beautiful,” she said with all sincerity and no trace of resentment. As twins, they shared a unique, unbreakable bond. She could not envy Anne her beauty. Never Anne.
Anne tugged at her skirts and feigned a short curtsy. “Perfect, proper, English miss, no?” She sighed. “I’d trade even the forbidden champagne for your sapphire skirts.”
She glanced down momentarily at the gown designed by Madame LeBlanc, the most sought after French modiste in London and smoothed her palms over the front of her sapphire blue satin gown with its crisp plaiting.
When she had taken her leave of Castle Blackwood, Katherine had arrived at a staggering, if saddening, realization. She would not have her children. And she would not have the husband to sit reading poetry with around the hearthside. But she would have her sapphire blue gown.
In the end, she’d lost Jasper, but she had her dress.
And that would have to be enough.
Anne looped her arm through Katherine’s. “How very fortunate you are,” she said on a sigh. She gave Katherine’s arm a faint squeeze.
A tightness settled in Katherine’s chest. She had a husband in love with a ghost. She would never have children of her own. Her heart would forever belong to Jasper, whether she wished it or not. Her lips twisted wryly. Fortunate, indeed.
She reached up and fiddled with the heart pendant looped around her neck. The latch clicked and the chain slipped into her hand.
“What are you—?”
She held out the necklace. “Here, Anne,” she said softly. Katherine no longer needed the insignificant bauble that forever reminded her of the heart she’d never possess. But, her innocent, whimsical sister still believed, and for that, Anne should be the sole owner of the pendant.
Anne stared down at it a moment. She wet her lips and then reached tentative fingers toward it. She pulled her hand back. “You still need your duke’s heart, Katherine. I can w—”
“Take it,” she insisted. Anne could free her of at least the small reminder of all she’d never have.
Her sister’s fingers closed around the precious memento. She looked down, silently at the bauble, a wishful smile playing upon her lips. She glanced up…and her smile promptly withered upon her lips to be replaced with a scowl.
Katherine followed her disapproving stare over toward Harry, the Earl of Stanhope.
Anne mumbled under her breath. “I do not know why you associate with that man. Mother is right, where he’s concerned.” She grimaced. “And you know I do detest admitting Mother is ever right about anything.”
From a short distance away, Harry caught Katherine’s gaze, and gave a devilish wink.
Katherine shook her head. What an insufferable rake he was.
“Winking at you in the midst of a ball,” Anne muttered. “Why, you’re a married woman.”
“He’s been a friend to me,” Katherine gently chided.
“That man can have no intentions that are honorable, Kat,” she said in a hushed whisper. “He’s vile, and rude, and completely condescending, and boorish, and…”
“Who is this paragon of a person you and your sister discuss, Your Grace?”
Anne screeched and yanked her arm free of Katherine’s. High color flooded her cheeks as she glared at Harry. She gave a flounce of her curls, otherwise ignoring him. And, cunning, she mouthed back at Katherine as she took her leave with one last black look for Harry.
“Lovely creature,” Harry said, a wry twist of humor to his words. He took Katherine’s hand and bowed over it.
She discreetly pinched the soft flesh of his palm. “Do be kind, Harry. She’s my sister. And she loves me,” she said, pulling her hand back.
Harry motioned to a passing servant and retrieved a glass of champagne. He took a long swallow and peered out at the dancers, who performed the lively steps of a country reel. “It would seem we’ve earned Society’s censure again, this evening.” His tone hardly sounded repentant.
Katherine followed his gaze to the stern matrons who peered down their noses at her and Harry.
“Should we wave and smile?” Harry proposed.
She swatted at his arm. “You’ll do no such thing.”
He sighed. “You are a spoiler of good fun, Kat.”
She hardly cared for her name being dragged through the gossip columns as had happened since she’d made her entrance into Society as a married woman. The gossips had speculated as to her swift and secretive marriage to the Duke of Bainbridge. Then there had been the gossip as to her appearance in light of her husband’s absence. Then the rogues and their vile intentions had descended.
Harry had kept ranks with them for a very brief moment, before becoming her confidante and ultimately, her protector from the lascivious gentlemen desiring a place in her bed.
Katherine searched the crowd, beset by an odd disquiet.
“Are you looking for someone in particular, sweet Kat?”
“Do hush,” she scolded from the side of her mouth. “Don’t be gauche.”
He staggered back a step, a hand to his breast. “You insult me, Your Grace. Next, you’ll be leveling the same harsh insults as your sister.”
Her lips twitched with a distracted sense of mirth.
The orchestra concluded the country reel to a smattering of polite applause from the dancers who’d just concluded the set. They began to pluck the strands of the forbidden waltz.
Harry held his arm out. “A waltz, Kat?”
An odd hum filled the already noisy crowd of guests. She glanced around disinterestedly at the nobles staring toward the center of the room. Katherine placed her fingers along Harry’s coat sleeve. The hum increased in volume like a million honeybees swarming upon the lavish ballroom.
The crowd parted for her and Harry as he escorted her onto the rapidly filling dance floor. All the while, the lords and ladies looked at her, tittering behind their hands, and then off to the entrance of the room.
A sense of disquiet filled her, and she glanced around, but with her height, remained unable to see that which had attracted the tons notice.
Katherine positioned her hand upon Harry’s shoulder, even as he placed his upon her waist.
Harry grinned down at her. “It seems we’ve attracted even more than usual interest from the…” His words died, his smile slipping to a single, indecipherable line.
She wrinkled her brow. “What is it, Harry?”
His hard, hazel stare remained frozen on the entrance of the room.
“Harry?” Katherine shifted in his arms, as she attempted to see what had garnered his attention. “What do you…?” She blinked. Her hands fell uselessly to her side, as she took a staggering step away from Harry.
Her heart threatened to beat a painful path right out of her chest.
Jasper.
She’d dreamed of him for so long. Conjured him at those loneliest nig
hts in her dreams, only to wake and find her bed frigidly cold. And now, with all her most desperate yearnings, had imagined him here.
The crowds hushed whispers faintly registered.
Mad Duke.
…His wife.
Earl of Stanhope.
Except, if the stoic, fierce-looking midnight devil with a day’s growth upon his strong cheeks were merely an object of her imagining, how did those around her also note his appearance?
Katherine swayed. She would have knocked into a waltzing couple, but Harry reached out to steady her.
Shocked gasps, delighting in his bold handling of her, filled the room.
Katherine ignored them. She walked from the dance floor, Harry forgotten, and froze beside Lady Harrison’s enormous Doric column, attempting to steady her too-fast breaths. She folded her hands behind her back and borrowed support from the pillar.
His harsh, angry emerald gaze searched the crowd, and then because for all that had come to pass between them, there would always be that inextricable pull that had drawn them together since the fateful day of the Frost Fair, he found her.
Their eyes locked. The graying, plump hostess appeared at Jasper’s side. She opened her mouth to speak, and Jasper started forward, leaving the older woman gaping like a fish tossed ashore.
Oh God, he is here.
Why is he here?
It could not be for her.
A hand fluttered about her breast, as she tried to still her fast-beating heart.
The crowd parted for Jasper. Lords and ladies melting away to clear his path across the marble ballroom floor, over to Katherine’s pillar. He cut an impressive figure. Several inches past six feet, and all great big muscles, his frame better suited a man who worked the land with his broad hands and not a duke just a smidgeon shy of royalty.
At last he reached her.
Katherine swallowed hard, and tipped her head back. Her eyes searched the hard, angular planes of his face. Since Michael’s carriage had taken her away from Castle Blackwood, she’d tormented herself with a slip of a dream in which Jasper came for her. In all her grandest dreams, he would come, take her from London, and profess his love. In the cold light of day’s reality, however, she knew it unlikely she’d ever again see her husband—not with his love for Lydia.
It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels Page 60