The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  Still, she felt the stirrings of regret for Knowlton and what might have been. If only she had been able to reach his heart . . . even a few months in his arms would have been worth the lifetime of loneliness that followed. But he had made it abundantly clear that he felt no emotion for her beyond lust. Once again she wished she had listened to her head instead of her heart in her dealings with him.

  Castalia’s voice intruded into her thoughts.

  “Now, Katherine, I will take it upon myself to introduce you to a number of suitable dancing partners. Rumors of your presence have already been circulating among the ton, so you can be assured of a great deal of interest.”

  “How wonderful,” Katherine responded dryly. Just the thing to set her at ease.

  Castalia laughed. “I assure you, it is much more pleasant to be making your debut at twenty-eight than at seventeen.”

  “I still find the whole idea foolish,” Katherine said. “I would much rather cultivate the role of secluded widow.”

  “Nonsense,” Castalia replied, tapping her lightly on the arm with her fan. “You deserve to have what Winslow’s stubbornness and Robert’s untimely death deprived you of. You are the daughter-in-law of a marquess, remember, and that gives you enormous social consequence. And with my backing, you will go far.”

  “You will be a wicked marchioness,” Katherine said, a smile lighting her face.

  “I know,” Castalia responded with a self-satisfied smile.

  By midnight Katherine was laughing at all her earlier nervousness, swept up by the excitement of the evening, the attentions of her numerous partners, and the glittering company she found herself in. She had often wondered what her life would have been like if not for the estrangement between Robert and his father, if they had taken their rightful place in society. She was rapidly discovering that it might not be such a bad life after all.

  Fanning herself against the heat generated by too many people crowded into too small a space, Katherine scanned the crowd for a familiar face. She would be forced to navigate the crush herself to find the punch if she could not find a willing assistant. Resigned to the trek, she turned toward the door, then stopped, frozen in place.

  He was the last person she had ever dreamed of seeing this evening, and she instantly acknowledged her foolishness. She had assumed they would meet again, someday, but not so soon. He’d said he planned to winter peacefully on his estate—so why was he here now in London, in November? And why, oh why, was he at this house?

  Katherine edged her way back into the center of the room, her gaze darting about in frantic search of Castalia.

  But fatally, she looked in his direction one more time, and their gazes locked.

  She did not mistake the brief shock that registered in his eyes before his usual cool, mocking expression returned. Ignoring the image she presented, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd. Flight was the foremost thing on her mind.

  She found Castalia in the next room and grasped her arm in relief.

  “I am feeling unwell,” she gulped.

  “It is this heat,” the countess murmured sympathetically. “Let me find someone to get you a glass of punch.”

  “No, really, I think I would feel better if I—”

  “Ah, Lady Durham.” Knowlton crossed the room with impatient strides and took Castalia’s hand and raised it to his lips. “A dreadful crush, as usual. Your reputation as London’s premier hostess is in no danger tonight.”

  “Nor is yours as a flirt,” she responded, rapping his knuckles with her fan until he released her hand.

  He turned expectantly toward Katherine.

  “I do not think I have had the pleasure of meeting your exquisite companion,” Knowlton said with a mocking smile. “Please, do the honors.”

  “Certainly. But I warn you, Knowlton, do not try to set up one of your flirtations with her. She is a highly respectable lady, not your type at all. Do you remember Frederick’s younger brother, Robert? This is his widow. Lord Knowlton, may I present Lady Robert Mayfield.”

  “Enchanting,” he said, drawing her hand to his lips. “How could such a fair light have denied us her presence for so long?”

  “Now, Katherine,” Castalia warned, “do not take a word he says seriously. Knowlton is an incorrigible flirt, and terribly spoiled by the adulation of countless women who are less than ladies. In short, he is a rogue.”

  He brought his hand to his chest as if reeling from a blow. “You wound me, Lady Durham.”

  Katherine felt like a tongue-tied idiot, but she could not have uttered a word if her life depended on it. She prayed he would go away.

  “It is quite warm in here,” he said, taking in her pale face. “Let me escort you to the refreshments, Lady Robert.”

  “Thank you, but I shall be fine,” she whispered, preparing to flee.

  “No, I insist,” he said, grabbing her elbow in a firm grip and leading her none too gently across the room.

  In the relative emptiness of the corridor, Katherine tried to shrug his hand loose, but he only clasped her arm tighter.

  “Unless you want an embarrassing scene, you shall come with me,” he said between gritted teeth, dragging her down the hall. Pushing open the first door he came to, he gave a satisfied sigh as he shoved her inside the room and firmly shut the door.

  Katherine rubbed her arm. She would have bruises tomorrow.

  Knowlton turned his steady gaze upon her. God, she looked beautiful. That flowing emerald gown accentuated every luscious curve; the fashionably low decolletage did more than hint of the full breasts that lay below. It took no imagination at all to envision her naked form. Anger, hurt, longing, and lust warred within him as he confronted the woman who had so disturbed his life these last weeks.

  “I suppose you want an explanation,” she said lamely.

  “I? What right do I have to demand anything from you?” He glared at her fiercely. “I have no claim on you, Lady Robert.”

  She fumbled with the clasp of her fan. This was going to be as dreadfully awkward as she had feared.

  “I assume you really are Lady Robert? Or is it only another of your false identities?”

  “I never lied about who I was,” she retorted. “I am Robert’s widow.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Mayfield,” he said sarcastically. “The fact you are the daughter-in-law of a marquess is irrelevant.”

  “It was and is,” she said angrily, trying to brush past him.

  “You fool.” He grabbed her arm roughly. “What game were you playing, masquerading as an impoverished widow?”

  “It was no game,” she said. “The marquess did not approve of my marriage to Robert, and dealt with me accordingly.”

  “And left you totally without funds at your husband’s demise? Difficult to believe.”

  “It is true!” Damn his arrogant assumptions. “When

  Robert died, the marquess tried to take Robbie from me. I had to live in hiding, else he would have found me.”

  “Now suddenly you are cozy as an inkle-weaver with the whole family? It does not wash, Kate.”

  Her name on his lips sliced through her like a knife.

  “I did it for Robbie,” she said quietly, turning away to get hold of her emotions. “He has a right to know his family and his heritage.”

  “Of course, there is the added advantage to you of the sponsorship of the marquess’s family.” He coolly appraised her elegantly clad form. “I must say, Katherine, you have done well for yourself.”

  Anger boiled up inside her. “I did not do this for myself,” she said icily.

  He stepped back a pace and subjected her to a long, lingering perusal. “I suppose they forced that gown upon you.”

  Katherine’s cheeks flamed. How dare he accuse her of mercenary motives! “Had I wanted only elegant gowns, I recall you were only too eager to provide them.”

  She turned away again, running her fingertips along the edge of the rosewood table. Katherine did not want him to see
how, even now, his presence disturbed her composure.

  Knowlton realized with a sudden stab of pain that his improper proposal had driven her back into the family circle. His offer to pay for Robbie’s schooling no doubt reminded her of the advantages that would accrue to him as the grandson of a marquess. What had he forced her to do?

  “Kate,” he said with a new degree of warmth in his voice, “are they treating you well?”

  A twinge of irony touched her laugh. “In point of fact, they are. The marquess has virtually apologized for his actions six years ago and made me feel like the veriest fool for not getting in touch with him sooner.”

  Relief crossed his face. This forced reunion with her husband’s family was not hateful to her. She would be well- taken-care-of, and protected. Yet he felt a trace of sadness, knowing she had no need of his help now. The one thing he could offer her—an easy life—had been taken care of.

  “So now you can return to the life you left,” he said lightly. “There will be more fine dresses of silk and lace, parties and—”

  “I had never set foot in this house before last month,” she said, sighing with remembrance and regret. “Neither the marquess nor my own parents countenanced my marriage to Robert. We eloped, a true Gretna Green marriage. The scandal alone would have put us beyond the pale, but the marquess exacerbated the situation by publicly disowning Robert for ‘lowering’ the family’s standards by marrying a mere country vicar’s daughter.”

  “You are a vicar’s daughter?” Disbelief washed over his face.

  “A rather rebellious and willful one, I fear,” she acknowledged with a sad smile.

  Knowlton’s guilt over what he had proposed to her deepened. How could he have asked the daughter of a vicar to become his mistress? “What did your parents do? Certainly they must have been pleased to see you married so well.”

  “They sided with the marquess, about both the marriage and Robbie. They thought it a folly for me to try to raise him alone on the mere pittance Robert left me.” She shrugged. “I managed to reach a tolerable accommodation with my father before he died.”

  Pity and guilt washed over Knowlton. He had not known how deep an insult his offer had been. It had endangered not only her own respectability but also her son’s entire future. No wonder she had rejected him so vehemently.

  “Under the circumstances,” he began, “I find that my previous offer to you was highly inappropriate. I apologize if I offended you, Lady Robert. I had meant it as a compliment.”

  “I hardly took it as such.” Her gaze met his without flinching. Only she knew how much her studied dispassion caused her. He looked as calm and unperturbed as always. Her defection had not troubled his dreams, she was certain. She was the only one filled with regret and longing.

  “I regret we parted on such violent terms. You never did allow me to say good-bye properly, you know,” he chided in a voice suddenly grown husky. He had been living on dreams of her for weeks now; certainly, once he experienced the reality again, it would banish those foolish flights of fancy. The real Kate Mayfield could not come near to his maudlin imaginings. He could free himself from her spell once and for all.

  Katherine was unable to turn her gaze away from the grip of those piercing gray eyes, and when he took a step toward

  her, she did not fall back. He would never know of the storm that raged within her as she fought against her longing.

  “It is not necessary,” she said hastily. His nearness wreaked havoc with her senses. She must get away from him. But her feet would not move; she watched him, entranced, as he took another step toward her.

  “Oh, but I insist.” He laid his hands lightly on her shoulders, drawing her toward him while he lowered his head to kiss her.

  He nearly groaned at the moment of contact, knowing instantly that this had been an act of pure folly. He was still ensorcelled by this redheaded witch. Just the touch of those soft lips to his brought back a flood of memories of her passion. Heat diffused through his body; his hold on her shoulders tightened as he pressed her against him. Kate, Kate . . .

  He released her so suddenly she nearly lost her balance.

  “Our paths will undoubtedly cross here in town,” he said, covering his unsteady voice with a mocking smile. “But you need not fear I will touch you again. This is good-bye, Kate.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

  Katherine stood for she did not know how long, staring at the closed door through the mist of tears in her eyes. She had been fooling herself in thinking she could maintain her composure when she saw Knowlton again. No amount of time would ever make it easy. It had been pure, hellish agony. Every portion of her body screamed for his touch, his caress. She touched her shoulder, where the mark of his fingers still remained. She longed to be in his arms again.

  It had been sheer madness for her to think she could enter the elevated reaches of the ton. She did not belong here, for she did not have the skill to play the game. Like a foolish young chit, she had lost her heart to Knowlton, and neither shimmering dresses nor glittering jewels could ease the aching pain of knowing he would never be hers. A wiser woman would have been able to match Knowlton’s indifference with her own, conducted a discreet affair, and not have lost a night’s sleep when it was over. But she could not overcome the rigid upbringing of her childhood that easily. She had veered so very close, but she had wavered out of love—an emotion most of the ton held in disdain. No, she was not meant to live in this world. And knowing she would

  eventually encounter Knowlton again in town, she only wanted to flee to the farthest reaches of the island.

  Knowlton went directly from his talk with Kate to the door, ordering his carriage brought round immediately. He stood on the steps, the cool night air working like a bucket of cold water on his overheated soul.

  How could one simple kiss disconcert him so? He half- believed she was a witch. He had kissed her not above a dozen times, and the memories of those encounters were burned into his brain as if they had been lovers for years. What strange hold did Kate Mayfield have over him that no other woman had ever had?

  Scowling, he stepped into his carriage. He needed a woman. Badly. It was the only cure to this madness that held him in its grip. One night in the arms of a skilled practitioner of the art of love would wipe out all memories of his modest little widow. He leaned out and gave his coachman the address of a house in the north end of May- fair. He would find what he needed there. By morning hiis desire for Kate Mayfield would be only a dim memory.

  Chapter Seventeen

  One struggle more, and I am free

  From pangs that rend my heart in twain;

  One last long sigh to love and thee,

  Then back to busy life again.

  —Byron, One Struggle More, and I Am Free

  “Mama!, Mama!” Robbie bounced exuberantly into the front drawing room. “Atlas is here. In the mews.” A sharp shaft of pain shot through Katherine and she

  closed the book in her lap. One more reminder of Knowlton to add to her torment. And a reprimand to her as well. She should have sent for Atlas as soon as she and Robbie were ensconced at the Winslow house. But she had hesitated to make Knowlton aware of her present location. He must have sent word to Warrenton the morning after the ball. “How nice of Lord Knowlton to have arranged such a thing.”

  “May I ride in the park today?”

  “I do not think you are quite ready for riding yet, Robbie.” She ignored the pleading look in his face. There would be time and enough for riding after his leg had healed further.

  “Of course he is,” the marquess said, peering over the top of his newspaper. “You are coddling the lad.”

  Katherine’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Perhaps you are right.”

  “Of course I am right,” the marquess chortled. “Get Hodges to saddle up your pony and take you to the park, lad.”

  Robbie glanced nervously at his mother. “May I?”

  She nodded reluctantly. Robbie
gave her a swift hug and raced out of the room as quickly as he had arrived.

  “Must you contradict me at every turn?” she demanded icily of the marquess when Robbie was gone.

  “Only when I think you are doing the lad no favors,” the marquess retorted. “He’s been clinging behind your skirts long enough. If he’s to be off to school next year, he will need some toughening up.”

  “And you think that teaching him disrespect for his mother is going to help?” Katherine cringed at the shrill tone of her voice.

  “You saw how he looked to you for the final word,” the marquess said. “He still knows who is in command.”

  Katherine sighed. It did seem petty, arguing over these minor points. But every day they remained in this house, she felt her control over Robbie undermined at every turn. The longer they remained, the more she would be pushed into the background. She yearned for the freedom of her own establishment. Tomorrow, maybe, she would broach the subject with the marquess. They had availed themselves of his hospitality for far too long. She was eager to be out of the city—particularly now that she knew Knowlton was here.

  “You are sorely blue-deviled of late,” the marquess said, scowling. “Order the carriage and go shopping. Always used to put the marchioness in a better frame of mind.”

  “There is nothing I have a need for. You have provided me with so much already.” There was a hint of reproach in her voice. She could not help but feel she was living on the marquess’s charity.

  “Go visiting, then. Castalia will welcome you. You are I giving me the fidgets.”

  Katherine considered the idea. “Perhaps I will,” she said slowly, setting her book on the table. There was little else to occupy her time. She was rapidly discovering just how dull life as a “lady of leisure” could be. It was difficult to remain glum in the young countess’s presence. Castalia could charm anyone out of the crotchets.