Katherine wished it had not. Every moment spent in his company was a moment closer to disaster. He could disarm her with a word, and despite the fact she knew exactly what game he played, she was powerless to withdraw from it. Had it not been the nineteenth century, she would have accused him of witchcraft.
She drew herself up with a start. This was ridiculous. She was perfectly able to deal with Knowlton. Her reluctance stemmed only from her foolish desire to fill the void left in her life after the death of Robert. Six years was a long time to be alone, with only her son for company. But Knowlton was no answer to that problem. His presence in her life would be only temporary, and she had no wish for that.
“I believe this is my dance?”
Knowlton stood before her, his face as eager as any little boy’s. He had doffed his jacket at some point during the evening, his cravat had vanished from his neck, and only his elegantly embroidered waistcoat hinted at his aristocratic veneer. In the wavering lantern lights, he had a slightly raffish air.
“I am not certain . . Katherine began.
“You promised.” Even in the dim fight she could see the challenge in his eyes.
That put too fine a point on a simple agreement, but Katherine nodded her acquiescence. She had seen him earlier, joking with the squires and farmers as they hoisted mugs of foaming ale, and she suspected Knowlton had drunk his share. Pray he was not foxed enough to make a spectacle. Guests parted to allow him to lead her out into the middle of the dancing platform, and the musicians struck up another tune.
“A waltz,” she said as he pulled her into his arms. “I should have guessed.”
Knowlton grinned. “I like to waltz, Mrs. Mayfield. And it is very obvious that you are at least acquainted with the dance.”
She nodded, allowing the magic of the music to take hold as she twirled in his arms. There was something dreadfully disconcerting about waltzing with a man in shirtsleeves. Her fingers sought only the lightest contact with the soft linen of his shirt, but it was all too easy to feel the heat from the skin below. She wished she had worn her gloves—but Mrs. Ashe had said few ladies bothered for this party. With Knowlton half-undressed, they were rapidly becoming a necessity.
“Has it been an enjoyable day for you?” Knowlton asked as the pattern of the dance brought them together again.
“Yes,” she said. “I have never been to such an event and it is . . .”
“Marvelous?” He eagerly fished for the compliment.
“Fascinating,” she continued, smiling softly. “The entire neighborhood is here, and all the barriers are down for a day.”
“Are your barriers down, Mrs. Mayfield?”
She looked guiltily into those deceptively calm gray eyes. Sometimes it was as if he could read her mind. “I believe I have not forgotten that I am a lady.”
“Neither have I,” he replied, and subtly tightened his hold on her waist.
“I believe you are holding me too close, my lord,” she said in protest.
“I do not think such a thing is possible,” he replied, his eyes twinkling. “After all, this is a waltz, the most scandalous of dances, precisely because it allows one to hold one’s partner close.”
His slow, seductive smile mesmerized her. He was not completely sober, yet he was as lithe and agile on his feet as if he had abstained the entire evening. But there was a new gleam of appreciation in his eyes when he looked at her that made her uneasy. Before, he had teased her with words, which could easily be deflected. Now those eyes . . . Without leaving her face, she knew his gaze was raking her frame, mentally stripping her. She felt naked as he circled her around in the motions of the dance, the warmth from their bodies radiating whenever they drew together in the intimate movements. She was almost tempted to pull free and flee, before it was too late.
Katherine uttered up a grateful prayer when the music ended at last. Knowlton lightly held her arm and led her to the side of the platform. He stopped and said a word to a man here, teased a lady there, and before Katherine quite knew what had happened, they were very alone in the empty garden he had shown her earlier in the day. Discreetly placed lanterns lent just enough light to the scene.
“My lord,” she began in protest.
“Knowlton,” he corrected softly. “Or even Edward. I answer to both.”
“It is highly improper—”
“Not unless you wish it to be so,” he replied with a husky rasp to his voice.
Katherine moved to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist and drew her to him.
“Stay for a few moments,” he pleaded. “I would like to hear my name just once from those rosy Ups.”
“You are being ridiculous,” she snapped, but he drew her even closer until it was all she could do to keep their bodies from touching.
“It is not such a bad name,” he whispered. “It has been borne by kings and dukes.”
“And rakes who tempt women in the dark.”
“Tempt?” he laughed. “Do not say you can be tempted, Mrs. Mayfield? Or may I have leave to call you Katherine?”
“No.”
He nodded agreement. “You are right. Katherine does not quite suit. Kate is better. Although you are not the least bit shrewish.”
“My lord, you are foxed,” she said, her alarm growing. How could she have been so incautious as to have allowed herself to be alone with him?
“Edward.”
“Edward, you are foxed.” She tried to pull away from his grasp, but the hand on her wrist tightened.
“No, just a trifle elevated,” he insisted. “It is the nearness of you, not the ale, that flummoxes my senses and leaves my brain in such a state of disarray.” He lifted her imprisoned hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss on the palm before folding her fingers over it. He planted another kiss upon the bent digits before his Ups traced a searing path down her thumb to her wrist.
“Enough!” she cried when the pleasure-pain became more than she could bear. “You know that I am not inclined toward a dalhance with you.”
He eyed her with amusement. “Why, my dear Kate, how interesting that you should hint of such a thing. The thought had not crossed my mind.”
“And pigs have wings,” she muttered.
“One kiss. ’Tis all I ask. Surely not an overly demanding request?”
She opened her mouth to protest, knowing already that he had won. Because she did not want to say no. She wanted to kiss him, to feel the Ups that had traced such fire across her hand. Would their touch be so potent when pressed against her own?
“One,” she said shakily. “And then you will escort me back to the front lawn.”
“Assuredly,” he agreed.
He made no move to take his boon, but merely looked into her face with his now-familiar amused grin. Then he
pulled her close, crushing her against his body as his strong arms wrapped around her. His mouth lowered to hers, softly touching, caressing, brushing her Ups with the faintest of pressure until her reluctance faded. His tongue teased against her mouth, begging, pleading for entry until she granted him that favor too.
Katherine nearly jumped from the shock of the gentle invasion, relishing the sensation, yet afraid of the intimacy she had allowed him. She felt herself relaxing in his embrace, her arms creeping up to wrap themselves around his neck, pulling his head farther down as she responded to his demanding mouth. She refused to listen to her doubts, her fears, instead giving herself up to the sheer exquisite pleasure of his nearness. Katherine nearly cried aloud when he finally tore his mouth away.
He held her clasped against him; she felt his thudding heart beneath her ear and heard his labored breathing mingled with her own.
“We should go back,” she whispered when she could take air to speak again,
“I fear it will be a short while before I can escort you back into polite company,” he said slowly. “Perhaps we can take another turn around the garden?”
Katherine’s gaze flew to his face and she saw the smolderin
g desire that lurked within his eyes, frightening in its intensity. It was that which returned her to her senses at last. She stepped away from his embrace.
“I shall see myself back,” she said hastily, turning toward the house.
Knowlton watched her go with a mixture of regret and hope. He had cast down the gauntlet this evening; the next days would tell whether she would pick it up or not. Drawing in a deep breath of cool night air, he smiled at the darkened garden. He would take it as an encouraging sign if she did not commence packing on the morrow.
On one matter he had been right: Katherine Mayfield was as passionate as her red hair indicated. It was going to be a delightful experience to unleash the full force of her desire.
Chapter Eight
Folly is an endless maze,
Tangled roots perplex her ways.
How many have fallen there!
—Blake, The Voice of the Ancient Bard
Sleep did not come easily to Katherine that night. After the kiss in the garden, she had wished to flee immediately from the party, only to recollect that she needed to wait for a ride home with the vicar and his wife. So she stayed close to Mrs. Ashe until it was time to depart. Katherine caught no further sight of Knowlton, for which she was grateful.
What must he think of her after her wanton response to his kiss? She should never have allowed him to kiss her so, should have drawn back at the first sign that it was to be more than an innocent brush of his bps. Instead, she had allowed him an intimacy that frightened her.
She dreaded their next encounter, fearing that the naked desire she had seen in his eyes that evening would be there always now, when he looked at her. She must make it very clear to him that her behavior had been an aberration, a foolishness born of the hour and the circumstances. He must not think he could ever dare such a thing again.
Her first impression of him had been correct: he was dangerous. He had pierced her armor as easily as if she were an innocent child, rather than an experienced widow who had grown adept at fending off improper advances from all manner of men. Yet Knowlton had the power to disarm her at a glance. No, Katherine could never allow him to get so close to her in the future.
If she had an ounce of sense, she would pack up her own and Robbie’s meager belongings and find another cottage, in another county, where she would never have to worry about seeing the earl. Yet she was reluctant to do so. She liked it here in Lincolnshire; she had made friendships in the short time she had lived here. And she hated the thought of wrenching Robbie away from another home.
Ironically, it was Robbie who made their departure difficult, precisely because of his fondness for the earl. Robbie idolized the man. Katherine should have anticipated that sooner and cut the connection earlier, when she had the chance. Now it was too late; Robbie would be hurt and resentful if she refused any further contact.
Still, it would not be a bad thing to try to ease Robbie away from the man. She suspected Knowlton’s interest in her son was more of a whim of the moment, one that would fade over time. They could not expect the earl to remain indefinitely in the neighborhood; he would be returning to the excitement of London ere long, and Robbie would be bereft. It would be best to prepare him now for the eventual disappointment.
As for the earl and herself . . . She would inform him quite succinctly that she was determined to keep him at arm’s length in the future. His attentions might be good for Robbie, but they were nothing but troublesome for her.
By Sunday, Katherine seethed with frustration. She had agonized over what she would say, how she would react when she saw the earl next. Yet there had been no opportunity for an encounter over the last four days. She had not been able to greet him in the coolly correct manner she planned, to indicate to him that whatever madness had seized her in the garden had faded upon reflection. Robbie finally divulged the news that the earl had left Warrenton for a brief trip to Nottingham. The truth left her strangely deflated.
So now she would be forced to confront him at church, with all the neighborhood in attendance. She would not put it past him to make some sort of embarrassing scene, just to cause her discomfort. She simply did not trust him to behave anymore, whether in public or in private. Her stomach churned with apprehension as she and Robbie traced the lane toward the village.
Katherine spotted Knowlton the moment she entered the church, lounging in solitary splendor in the family box. His face bore a trace of resigned boredom, which changed when his eyes lit upon her. He smiled, inclining his head a fraction in greeting. Katherine nodded politely in turn and turned her attention to Robbie.
The service lasted for an excruciating passage of time, the vicar’s words no more than an endless drone in Katherine’s ears. Every time she tried to concentrate on the service, Knowlton’s presence distracted her. One could not look toward the vicar without seeing the earl. In desperation, she cast her gaze onto her hymnal, but before long her eyes were drawn toward the front once again.
She wanted to escape to the safety of the cottage the moment the service ended, her resolve draining away with each passing moment. But she had to talk with him, in order to put an end to this foolishness once and for all. Katherine forced her steps to slow as she took Robbie’s hand and led him down the aisle. The earl was behind her, she knew, taking his time as he stopped and greeted nearly every member of the congregation, as if he knew how it would only increase her agitation. Stepping into the warm sunshine, she had half a mind to dish out the same treatment, and strike out for home without confronting him, but Robbie had already vanished somewhere with Sam, and she needed to wait for his return.
She watched with growing apprehension as Knowlton finally appeared in the church door, deep in conversation with Mr. Ashe. If he put on this facade of piousness to impress her, he was failing miserably. Knowlton looked up for a moment and caught her gaze. A slow smile lit his face. He mumbled something to the vicar and slowly ambled toward her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mayfield.” He doffed his hat.
“Good morning, my lord,” she replied coolly.
“Young Robbie has abandoned you already?” He lifted one mocking brow.
She nodded. “He and Samuel Trent are up to some mischief, I am certain.”
“It is fortunate, for there is a matter I wished to speak with you, without Robbie present.”
“Yes?” she strove to remain cool. What would he dare now?
285
He smiled in his most disarming manner. “I have invited some friends for a small shooting party next week. I wished to ask you—beforehand this time—if you will permit Robbie to accompany us.”
She stared at him as if she had not heard. He wanted to speak about Robbie joining a shooting party? He was going to stand here and pretend that nothing had happened that night in his darkened garden?
“I thought he could help with the game bags or carry the shot,” Knowlton continued, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. “I assure you, he will not be allowed near any of the guns.”
Katherine quickly gathered her wits. It was a heavensent opportunity to put one part of her plan into effect.
“It is kind of you to ask,” she said slowly, “but I think it would be best if Robbie did not participate. He is about to resume his studies with the vicar, and a little extra preparation would not be amiss.”
“I see,” Knowlton said.
Katherine was certain she was mistaken. That could not be disappointment she saw in his eyes.
“Robbie has had a most enjoyable summer,” she rattled on, “but it is high time he settled down again. And truly, my lord, I do not think your guests will wish to be bothered with a ten-year-old pest.”
“Perhaps you are right, ma’am. I trust the lad will still be coming to Warrenton to ride?”
She hesitated. “Perhaps for the duration of your party, it would be best if he stayed away.”
He frowned. “Are you taking out your anger with me on your son? If so, it will not do.”
&nbs
p; “Anger?” she asked in some surprise.
“I believe I behaved with less than circumspection the last time we spoke.”
His eyes lit with a teasing laughter that belied his apologetic words. Katherine’s irritation rose.
“The only anger I felt over that incident was with myself, my lord, for allowing such an untoward situation to occur. Who could blame you for taking advantage of such a foolish soul?’
“Who, indeed?” he asked, and there was a hint of that wicked gleam in his eyes.
Katherine did not avert her gaze. “I am concerned more about Robbie,” she explained. “He adores your company, and I am most grateful for the attention you have lavished upon him. But I know that the situation cannot continue. You have your own interests, and we can hardly expect you to remain here in the country forever. This will allow Robbie to see that matters will change as the year wears on.”
“A good point,” he said, although he had yet thought little of leaving Warrenton. “But I hate to deprive the lad of his horse while the lesson is learned. I meant it sincerely when I said the animal was a gift to your son. If you do not wish Robbie at Warrenton, perhaps I can make some other arrangements for the stabling of the beast.”
“There is the small shed at the rear of the cottage garden ...”
“Of course. ’Twill be just the thing. Robbie is adept at caring for him now, and I can have Frank amble over from time to time to make certain he is carrying out his duties properly.”
“Then it is arranged.”
“I will take care of matters this week, then.” Knowlton took her gloved hand and bowed over it in departure. “Oh, there is one more thing, Mrs. Mayfield.”
The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow Page 31