The Lady Who Broke the Rules

Home > Other > The Lady Who Broke the Rules > Page 6
The Lady Who Broke the Rules Page 6

by Marguerite Kaye


  ‘Damn it! This is no time to go raking over that matter.’ Giles glowered at his aunt. ‘Lumsden will be ringing the bell for dinner before we know it. Just for once, can we discuss something in a civilised manner without squabbling like cats?’

  ‘Civilised, Giles? That will be a first for you,’ Kate said softly.

  Her brother had the grace to smile, but as he threw himself onto the sofa beside Phaedra, his expression darkened once more. ‘This is serious. Our father is—to be frank, I fear our father has become slightly deranged.’

  ‘Giles! His Grace—’

  ‘Aunt Wilhelmina, His Grace has more or less suggested that we separate his purported grandson from his mother by force if necessary,’ Giles interrupted in clipped tones. ‘He is willing to bring the full weight of the law to bear in order to do so, and if that fails, he talks of kidnap.’

  Mrs Landes-Fraser clutched at her meagre breast. ‘I feel sure you exaggerate.’

  ‘And I feel sure he does not,’ Kate said tersely. ‘Behind that feeble front he uses to his own advantage, our dear papa has a will of iron. This woman—what are we to call her, Giles?’

  ‘Until proved otherwise, I suppose she is the Dowager Marchioness of Hatherton,’ her brother responded with a shrug.

  ‘Lord, we can’t call her that,’ Phaedra piped in, ‘she’s no older than you, Kate. Her name is Alicia. Ross says she’s very pretty.’

  ‘I fail to see what that has to do with anything,’ Mrs Landes-Fraser said acerbically.

  ‘Knowing Jamie, it has everything to do with it,’ Kate retorted. ‘If she were fubsy-faced and plump, we could at least be certain that she was a fraud.’

  ‘True,’ Giles agreed, ‘but quite beside the point.’

  ‘No, the point is that our father seems to believe his title puts him above the law of the land,’ Kate agreed. ‘What is to be done, Giles?’

  ‘She’s agreed to visit, though of course I didn’t invite her on the terms our father suggested, which was that she deposit the child into the hands of a nanny and disappear.’

  ‘There is no nanny,’ Phaedra interjected.

  ‘Because I won’t be party to my father’s ridiculous conniving. He’s had the old nursery redecorated in preparation, can you believe it? Yet he won’t contemplate having a room prepared for the mother—though what he thinks we are to do with her, I don’t know. Suggest she sleep in the stable block, I suppose.’

  ‘There is no room there, unless she shares a bed with old Tom Anderson, and I don’t think he’d be best pleased by that,’ Phaedra exclaimed. ‘In fact, I don’t think it’s a good idea at all. I don’t want to upset him because that would upset the horses and—’

  ‘And of course there is nothing so important as keeping the horses happy,’ Kate said, laughing. ‘He was joking, Phaedra.’ She turned back to Giles with a frown remarkably like her brother’s. ‘It seems to me that we ought to do nothing precipitate until we can prove the claim—or disprove it. Assuming what this Alicia says is true…’

  ‘Which seems more likely than not,’ Giles interjected.

  ‘Then we must act accordingly and offer them a home. There can be no question of separating them.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Faced with three disapproving faces, Mrs Landes-Fraser twitched at the fringe of her shawl. ‘Provided she knows that her son is being cared for, what possible objection can the woman have?’

  ‘You don’t perhaps think that the child—who is a mere two years old—would prefer his mother to a complete stranger?’ Giles asked incredulously.

  ‘Aunt Wilhelmina, how can you say that to us?’ Phaedra said indignantly. ‘Do you think we would wish the poor little boy to be raised as we were?’

  ‘What can you mean?’ her aunt asked, bristling. ‘Your mother was no absent parent.’

  ‘She was to me. She died before I could even remember her.’

  ‘Well, I remember her,’ Kate said. ‘Mama may have been a presence at Castonbury, but she was not a presence in any of our childhoods. Were it not for the fact that we were no longer paraded in front of her in the drawing room once a week, I doubt very much that we’d even have noticed she was gone.’

  ‘Katherine! How dare you slander my sister in such a way? Your mother—’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Kate, leave it,’ Giles interjected. ‘Not but what she ain’t right,’ he added, looking pointedly at his aunt, ‘but we have once more strayed from the point and we are no further forward. I should have known better than to try to get some sort of consensus. Let us just forget it, I shall think of something. I always do.’

  Struck by the weariness in her brother’s tone, Kate felt a pang of guilt. With their father living in cloud cuckoo land half the time, the weight of managing the estate fell on Giles’s shoulders, a burden he was very far from welcoming despite what Papa and Aunt Wilhelmina might think. She cast her mind around desperately for something to help him out, and it came to her that she had actually pointed out the solution to Virgil that very afternoon. ‘I have it,’ she exclaimed, ‘the Dower House. It’s been empty since old Cousin Frederica died, save for the dratted cats she left behind.’

  Giles’s brow cleared. ‘Do you think it will suffice?’

  ‘It’s perfect. It will give the poor woman independence, and it will bring her into the bosom of the family without suffocating her. She may bring the child to visit Papa, but her living separately will ensure that he doesn’t become too attached, should matters prove—well, we shall have to wait and see how matters prove once Harry has done some digging.’

  ‘It will be a considerable amount of work to get the place fit for habitation. I am not sure how I am to find the time, with all my other duties.’

  ‘You may leave the detail of it up to me, Aunt Wilhelmina,’ Kate said. ‘I will look over the place tomorrow.’

  ‘And His Grace?’ Mrs Landes-Fraser demanded. ‘Am I to tell His Grace that his arrangements have been overset?’

  ‘You may leave our father up to me,’ Giles said brusquely.

  ‘And you may leave the ordering of a pony for the boy up to me,’ Phaedra said, bestowing one of her naughty smiles upon her aunt.

  ‘The child is but two years old,’ Mrs Landes-Fraser blustered.

  ‘If he is a Montague, that is long past the age of throwing him onto a saddle,’ Phaedra retorted.

  Her aunt’s opinion of this was lost, as the butler made his stately entrance. ‘Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes, my lord.’

  ‘Excellent timing as ever, Lumsden.’ Giles beamed. ‘Best fetch my sister’s guest now.’ He poured himself another Madeira, and turned to Kate. ‘An American businessman, eh? What on earth does he hope to find of interest here at Castonbury?’

  ‘You know what these New Worlders are like.’ Though Mrs Landes-Fraser had never, in fact, met anyone from the New World, American or otherwise, her complete ignorance did not prevent her from holding an opinion—it never did. ‘More than likely he wishes to boast to all his friends of his rubbing shoulders with a duke’s family. They have no aristocracy over there, you know. It is one of the many things which makes them an inferior country.’

  ‘Actually, Aunt, I believe that America is likely to prove a most superior country in the very near future,’ Giles said. ‘You only have to look at the way the cotton trade is going to see—’

  ‘Trade!’ Mrs Landes-Fraser wrinkled her nose. ‘Money cannot buy rank.’

  ‘Yes, well, if we don’t sort out our family finances soon, we will be living in genteel poverty, and frankly I’d rather be wealthy than well-born,’ Giles muttered.

  ‘Actually, Mr Jackson is more interested in our village school than our family tree,’ Kate chipped in brightly. Looking around the room at her relatives, she felt the first flicker of serious doubt. Lumsden had obviously said nothing. Perhaps she should have mentioned it, after all, but then that would have implied that it mattered to her and it did not, save that she liked the way Virgil looked. What
must he be feeling? Had she allowed her determination to shock to overrule her judgement? Jumping to her feet, she was at the door of the drawing room just as Lumsden threw it open. Virgil stood on the threshold, his tall, well-built figure immaculate in evening dress, quite dwarfing the butler.

  ‘Mr Jackson.’

  Lumsden’s tone was funereal. Thinking that Virgil must be feeling horribly like a gladiator cast into the lion’s den, Kate stepped towards him as if to shield him, but he shook his head, tilted his head back proudly and stepped into the drawing room.

  The effect of his entrance was almost comical.

  * * *

  ‘I thought you were magnificent. I confess, when you walked into the drawing room last night, I felt dreadfully guilty for putting you through the agony of a family dinner, but you were wonderful.’

  It was not yet nine of the clock the following morning, but having decided, after the endurance test which had been last night’s repast, to spare Virgil—and, if she was honest, herself—the ordeal of breakfast en famille, Kate had used the need to investigate the Dower House as an excuse for an early start. It was a pleasant day, the air crisp with autumn, the grass mossy and soft underfoot as they made their way along the lower lakeside.

  ‘It was hardly an ordeal. Your sister doesn’t care who she talks to as long as it’s about horses, and your brother…’

  ‘Yes, what were you talking to Giles about? You sat forever over the port.’

  ‘Business.’

  ‘My father’s investments, you mean. Don’t worry, you are not breaking a confidence. I know his imprudence has left the family coffers sadly empty. Were you able to advise Giles?’

  ‘I need to understand more about the situation first. In my experience, there are always loopholes if you know where to look. If that doesn’t suffice, your brother has a number of other ideas for raising funds. The problem is,’ Virgil said with a grin, ‘that they are all too safe. Low risk is what Giles calls them, and I can understand why—it’s not his money. If it were down to me—anyway, I said I’d take a closer look and let him know what I think.’

  ‘That is very generous of you.’

  ‘Business of any sort interests me.’

  They stepped onto the rustic bridge whose three arches spanned the cascade between the two lakes, and which Kate claimed gave one of the best views back to the house. They stopped at the centre, leaning side by side on the lichen-covered parapet. A silver fish leapt dramatically in pursuit of a fly, landing with a loud splash which sent ripples eddying out over the greenish-brown water. Blades of grass stuck with the dew to Virgil’s top boots. The skirts of his coat brushed against Kate’s gown. She wore a dark green habit today, with another of those tight little jackets which clung to her slim form. Her hair was gathered into a heavy chignon at the base of her neck. She wore neither hat nor gloves.

  ‘Giles strikes me as most unhappy with his situation as heir apparent,’ Virgil said. ‘I got the impression that he would much rather be back in the army than here.’

  ‘He’s a dark horse, my brother. There are depths to him which I confess I did not realise until recently. Lily, his betrothed, is of Romany origin, you know—though Giles has been at pains to keep that fact from our father. Romany blood is no blood for a future duchess in our father’s eyes. And you’re right, he would much rather be back in the army. Giles never had any expectations of inheriting this place.’

  ‘It is quite a place.’ Virgil gazed back at the house across the parkland; it seemed to nestle in the line of trees to the south. The symmetry of the building was most pleasing from this angle. ‘It looks as if the landscape has been designed for it.’

  ‘It was,’ Kate said with a brief smile. ‘None of this perspective is natural—it was all designed by Robert Adam, the man who built the house. Even the lakes have been dammed to give a more pleasing prospect. Nothing here is as nature made it, though I’ll admit it has been very well done.’

  ‘Very well indeed,’ Virgil exclaimed, ‘it all looks as if it has been here forever.’

  ‘Yes, that is rather the intention, to make it seem perfectly natural. In order to reflect the perfectly natural right of centuries of Montagues to exploit Castonbury villagers,’ Kate replied caustically. ‘If my father had his way, none of it would change. Educating the serfs, you must know, is in his eyes nothing short of anarchy, for it will only give them aspirations beyond their proper place in life.’

  ‘It is a view I am unfortunately extremely familiar with,’ Virgil said.

  Kate turned to face him, leaning back against the stonework of the bridge. ‘You mean my father shares his outlook with the plantation owners. I shall make a point of telling him that.’

  ‘Do you enjoy being at outs with him?’

  Her smile faded into a small frown which spoiled the smooth arch of her brows. ‘It’s not that I do it deliberately, but we have so little in common. He doesn’t really know me. I don’t think he knows any of his children very well. We are not exactly a close family, nor have we been raised to expect affection from one another. I used to think it would have been different if Mama had lived, but actually I don’t think it would have been. I don’t recall her being in the least bit maternal. Of course, I care for my father in a dutiful way, but I don’t like him any more than he likes me.’

  There was hurt there, behind that fierce expression that made her eyes more slate-grey than blue. It was there, too, in the way she crossed her arms over her chest, in the defiant tilt of her chin. ‘Shall I meet him while I am here?’

  Kate chuckled. ‘I hope so, and if you do, I beg you do not let the fact that he is nominally your host constrain you. He is bound to be just as offensive as Aunt Wilhelmina, so you need have no qualms. She was quite crushed by the end of dinner last night. I could have kissed you.’

  Immediately the words were out, Kate wished them back. ‘I mean, I thought you put Aunt Wilhelmina down beautifully. I did not mean I actually wanted to kiss you. Not in the dining room.’

  She could feel the hot flush prickling up her back and prayed it would not reach her cheeks. Why had she mentioned kissing? She had been trying so hard not to think of kissing Virgil ever since he had kissed her and now… Much too late, Kate bit her tongue.

  ‘Not in the dining room,’ Virgil mused. The pulse was there again, just below her ear. He touched it. He could not resist touching it, feeling it flutter under his fingertip, fascinated by the soft warmth of her skin, by the contrast of his skin on hers. ‘If not in the dining room, then where? I wonder.’

  He hadn’t meant to touch her. He hadn’t meant to kiss her again, but he could not resist her. Eleven years, and he had never had any real trouble in repressing his desire, but there was something about Kate. He forgot to be on his guard with her. ‘What about here?’

  Virgil curled his fingers into the thick bundle of her hair and covered her body with his. She was pliable as a willow. Her thighs brushed his. His blood stirred and heated. His desire for her unfurled sleepily, slowly, but surely all the same. He knew he was playing with fire, but still he leaned closer to her. Her breath clouded the air between them. ‘Will you kiss me on the bridge, Kate?’

  ‘Virgil, I’m not very good at this sort of thing.’ Her heart was hammering in her breast. Her body was tingling where it met his, and aching where it did not. She wasn’t the type of woman who even wanted this sort of thing, whatever it was. Except that she did want it.

  Virgil pulled her towards him, bracing one hand on the parapet, the other sliding down from her hair to the small of her back. He smiled, a slow smile, as if that, too, was unfurling from a long hibernation, stretching sensuously, sinuously. ‘You’re not good at this sort of thing, and I’m out of practice, and yet we managed well enough yesterday.’ He nibbled at the lobe of her ear, then tasted the skin behind it, the fluttering pulse. Sweet and heady. His hand settled on the curve of her bottom. He had forgotten what curves could do to him.

  ‘Virgil.’ Kate touched his fa
ce. She ran her fingers over the springy crop of his hair. His head was beautifully shaped. His body was so solid. So very different from hers. So very different from…

  She closed her mind on that thought. The scent of him was so different too. She leaned in to him, nipping his ear in imitation of what he had done to her. He shuddered in response. She wanted more. She wanted to know more too. Why was he out of practice? How long had it been? Why her? She opened her mouth to ask him, but something stopped her. A warning in his eyes? His hold on her slackened. Unable to bear it, Kate stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  He was startled into stillness. His lips were cool with the morning air. He tasted of the coffee he’d had at breakfast. It was not so much his intriguing abstinence or her own far from satisfactory experience, but a simple desire to merge and to mingle with another, to be no longer alone, which made Kate move her lips more insistently against his. His body was so big compared to hers, so powerful, yet it was a potent contrast, exciting and reassuring rather than intimidating. She felt infinitely female against his blatant maleness, then he gave a little groan and his arms went round her like a cooper’s hoops around a barrel, yanking her almost off her feet, and she stopped thinking about anything at all.

  He was not gentle. His kiss was neither untutored nor timid. It was a harsh kiss, his mouth hungry, ravaging hers in a way completely unlike their kiss of yesterday. Heat flared between them. Kate felt as if she could not breathe and did not want to breathe, squeezed tight and breathless, lightheaded with it. His lips pressed against hers, his tongue licking its way inside her mouth in a shockingly intimate way, his teeth nipping and biting, the pressure too much and yet not nearly enough.

  Her back was pressed against the stone of the bridge. Her breasts were pressed against Virgil’s chest. Her nipples were tingling. The solid length of his manhood pressed between her thighs. She had forgotten. She had not quite forgotten, though she did not remember this…this urgent need, ache and throb. Her hands clutched at his head, his shoulders, his coat. A strange guttural sound came from deep in her throat.

 

‹ Prev