One Tempting Proposal

by Christy Carlyle

  Kitty hadn’t noticed such closeness between Pippa and Ollie before, but perhaps it made sense. If Seb viewed the man as a brother, Oliver and Pippa would have formed a sort of sibling amity.

  And yet . . . there was something more. Pippa watched him a bit too long, especially when he was unaware of her examination, especially when Ollie ducked glances at Harriet, his expression seesawing between worry and hope. If a young woman looked at Sebastian like that, she’d be simmering with jealousy, if not boiling over.

  “Pippa, I’m surprised no young gentleman at the university has caught your eye.”

  Seb released her hand the minute the words were out of her mouth, and all conversation at the table died.

  Hattie turned to look at Pippa, as they all had.

  “I am not . . .” Pippa swallowed, flicked her gaze to Oliver’s face, and then reached for her lemonade. She tipped the crystal tumbler against her water goblet, nearly upending them both and Oliver reached out to assist her. When he inadvertently touched her hand, she pulled her arm back as if she’d been stung.

  “I do not attend university to catch a husband.” Pippa’s shaky voice contrasted with her strident tone. “I go to study mathematics.”

  “And very successfully.” Sebastian leaned an inch toward her as he praised Pippa, as if to emphasize his point.

  Kitty couldn’t look at him. She sensed tension in him now. Her sister sat stiff and miserable beside her, and he was no doubt displeased with her for challenging Pippa. Yet if she could get Harriet to see Pippa’s admiration for Oliver, perhaps jealousy might spark her into action. Give her the strength to defy their father and make a future of her own choosing.

  “I say no Cambridge man interests you because you’ve lost your heart closer to home.” Kitty heard herself speaking in the same caustic tone she’d used during years of sparring with Cynthia Osgood. The same pettiness welled up too, the callous pleasure of landing a blow with a few carefully chosen words. She flushed, heat rushing up her face just as Pippa’s face went crimson. “Have you told him of your feelings?” She shifted her gaze to glance momentarily at Ollie, and then looked back at Pippa. “Men can be so oblivious sometimes.”

  A piercing screech, the sound of Sebastian’s chair as he pushed it behind him to stand, tore at the haze of ugliness Kitty had wrapped herself in. A chill swept over her skin. A clammy trickle of perspiration slid down her nape. She shivered and turned to Hattie, who’d clasped a hand to her mouth.

  Sebastian moved around the table to stand behind Pippa, but she bolted from the table before he could touch or comfort her. Ollie rose next, his mouth pulled tight as he nodded once to Hattie and then turned to march determinedly along the path of Pippa’s retreat into the house.

  Hattie leaned toward her, whispering in her ear. “Kitty, we should take our leave.” But her sister’s small tremulous voice seemed far away.

  Only Sebastian drew her back. He was a tall black-­clad shape in the center of her vision, but she lifted her gaze slowly, knowing, fearing what she’d see in his eyes. She lingered on his strong square jaw, traced the shape of his beautiful mouth, and then finally met his gaze.

  Worse, far worse than she’d feared. He didn’t look at her with anger or even disgust, he stared at her with the same chilled look of disappointment she’d read in her father’s eyes a thousand times.

  The pain of displeasing her father had dulled long ago, but to see it now in Sebastian’s blue gray gaze made it fresh, a hot searing burn in the center of her chest. The sting of it took her air until each breath brought a twinge of pain.

  None of her intentions about spurring Hattie into action excused her. This scheme, like all her others, had come to nothing. Nothing but pain. Misery that multiplied the longer Sebastian stood watching her.

  “Please, Kitty.” Hattie tugged at her sleeve, her voice desperate and shrill. “I think we must take our leave now.”

  “Yes.” She was surprised she managed the word. All her energy went with the effort, but she knew she still required a bit of strength to stand. She reached out to brace her hands on the table, nearly upsetting her plate, and ignored the stitch of pain in her middle to breathe as deeply as she could. As she pushed herself up, she saw Sebastian move, a blur of black in her peripheral vision. His large hand gripped her arm as he lifted her, helping her to stand.

  “T-­thank you.”

  He embraced her with one arm once she was upright, but she couldn’t look into his eyes again, couldn’t bear to see her failure reflected back at her.

  Hattie took her arm. “Thank you, Your Grace. I can see to my sister.”

  But that wasn’t the way of it. Hattie was the one who needed looking after. Hattie was the one whose heart was broken.

  Kitty steadied her breath. Her father taught her to be strong. Never display weakness. Never cry or lose oneself in sentiment. Never let them best you.

  “No, Hattie. Go inside. I shall be there directly.”

  Hattie obeyed reluctantly, glancing up at Sebastian and then at Kitty’s face before finally releasing her arm and slowly trailing the others’ steps back into Wrexford House.

  The afternoon sun bore down on them but Kitty’s skin pebbled with gooseflesh. That persistent bee buzzed past as she waited for Sebastian to speak, giving him the chance to rail at her, to chastise her as she deserved. Just as he had the first time she’d met him.

  Somehow he’d seen past her bad behavior then and come to love her, want her, and ask for her hand in marriage. But he wouldn’t overlook this blunder. This lapse hadn’t wounded a stranger in a ballroom. She’d hurt his sister. His beautiful clever sister, who’d probably never disappointed her father or anyone else in her life.

  “I’m sorry.” She felt so much more regret than those two words could convey. “Please tell Pippa I’m sorry.”

  When he made no reply, Kitty moved out of his embrace, away from the heat of his arm against her body. That magnet pull between them tugged at her as she strode away, and the burning in her chest turned frigid, chilling her to the bone.

  “Kat?”

  She didn’t look back when he called to her, didn’t know what more to say. She’d ruined everything. She hadn’t helped her sister, and now she’d injured his. If he’d done the same to Hattie, Kitty wasn’t sure she could forgive him. She wasn’t sure she could forgive herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I DON’T APPROVE of running away.” Pippa sat on one of the plush sitting room chairs, her legs tucked underneath a knitted throw, and a steaming teacup cradled in her hands. “But I can’t say I’ll miss London.”

  He wouldn’t miss London either. The memories of the past week—­had it truly only been a week?—­spun endlessly in his mind.

  For two days the staff had been busying themselves preparing to close up Wrexford House and pack the family’s essential belongs for their departure back to Roxbury. For the last forty-­five minutes Seb sat staring at a blank sheet of paper, unable to settle the whirlwind of his thoughts long enough to convey anything sensible in written words. He’d sent one short note to Kat the morning after the incident in the garden asking to call on her, letting her know of their plan to return to Cambridgeshire, but he’d received no reply. Despite her silence, he’d called at Clayborne House the next day and been turned away at the door. Their train was due to depart in two hours, and this second letter in the afternoon post would be his last chance to say good-­bye.

  “You could simply try calling on her again. Push in. Insist she see you. Surely you can convince a housemaid to let you in,” Pippa said, her tone matter-­of-­fact.

  “I have considered it. And reconsidered it, and changed my mind again.”

  Pippa had recovered as Seb knew she would, though she’d spoken to him more openly than he’d expected of her feelings for Ollie. She seemed to find them as confusing as Seb did disconcerting. Speaking in l
ighter tone than her usual low rich timbre, she’d made light of what she dismissed as a foolish infatuation. “I’m far too clever for Ollie,” she’d teased. Seb agreed entirely with her assessment.

  For Ollie’s part, the poor man seemed none the wiser about Pippa’s admiration, even after Kat’s pointed barbs. He knew Pippa had been embarrassed, but Ollie believed her feelings to be for a gentleman she’d met during their time in London. When Pippa begged him, Seb had been all too happy not to disabuse Ollie of the notion.

  Pippa put aside her teacup and stretched her arms in the air. “You know when you think too much, it only leads to inertia.”

  He laid down his pen and stared at his sister. “You might be too clever for any of us, Pippa.”

  “Nonsense. That would make for a lonely life.”

  He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want it for himself.

  “Perhaps we should call on her together. I can reassure her that I’m well and forgive her, and you can . . .” She eyed him, twisting her mouth as if, with a bit of concentration, she could divine his thoughts. “You can tell her whatever it is you wish to say.”

  “I asked her to marry me.” The words raked across his tongue, so painful he imagined he could taste blood on his tongue.

  Pippa stared at her hands folded tightly in her lap a moment before raising her head. “I don’t wish to be the reason you won’t marry her.”

  “You’re not.”

  Kat was the reason he was reconsidering their engagement, reconsidering the mad rush of hope and future happiness he’d let himself embrace.

  She’d stood in his study days before and insisted on how little they knew each other, yet even then he’d believed he could perceive the heart of who she was. He could trust that the beauty he saw every time he looked at her wasn’t just skin-­deep. That her cleverness, her loyalty, her wit, her innate goodness were bone deep. That she was practiced at artifice but did not possess the heart of a liar. She might have been taught by her father to be cruel, but he could never imagine Kat capable of Alecia’s craven malice.

  He didn’t believe even it now. Yet she’d hurt Pippa, purposely, ruthlessly. For what? If her motive was to help Hattie, how had humiliating Pippa brought her sister and Ollie any closer?

  Ollie had gone to Clayborne House after the incident and been turned away. As far as Seb knew, he and Harriet hadn’t communicated since.

  Kat’s ugliness hadn’t produced a bit of good, and it had pierced him far deeper than it had Pippa.

  Her apology had seemed sincere, and he’d seen the horror in her own eyes at the realization of what she’d done. Yet he had not found forgiveness as easy as Pippa, who’d urged him that same night to make amends with Kat.

  He’d always held grudges longer than she did. Forgiveness was an empty well inside of him. He still needed to find enough to forgive Alecia. And he knew forgiveness would free him. That had seemed possible with Kat in his life. But now nothing about his future was clear, except that the clock on the wall ticked on relentlessly, and their train departed for Roxbury in less than two hours.

  KITTY CONSIDERED IGNORING her father’s summons. They’d spoken more in the past few days than they had in months. And she didn’t have the energy or desire to speak to anyone. Window watching seemed her main preoccupation, staring through the panes and battling the yearning to see the Wrexford brougham pull up to their patch of pavement or glimpse Sebastian himself, as his long confident stride carried him to her front door.

  “Tell my father I shall be down directly.” The poor maid had waited in the doorway long enough for her answer, and she’d hidden up in her room like a sullen child for as long as any grown woman should be allowed.

  She stepped in front of the long mirror to take in her reflection. But for the crescents of shadowed skin under her eyes, she looked much as she always did—­hair neatly arranged, fashionable clothes hugging her figure just so. A flawless woman without spot or stain. But underneath, below the skin, in her heart, the flaws had always been there. Pettiness and cruelty that she knew how to wield like a weapon. That she’d used to hurt the sister of the man she loved.

  As she made her way down to her father’s study, she marveled at the notion he was more likely to be proud of how she’d struck out at Pippa—­he had taught her to use others’ weaknesses to her advantage—­than for anything she’d accomplished with benevolent intentions, like the charity work she’d helped organize with her Women’s Union and the way she’d brought the conservatory to life.

  “You know I have no tolerance for melodrama. I understand you would not take breakfast, and you did not come down for dinner last evening.”

  He’d never been concerned with whether or not she took her meals, but he disliked irregularity. He preferred discipline, order. He hadn’t missed her at breakfast, but perhaps her absence had meant there were too many pieces of toast left on the sideboard or too many plates laid at table.

  “Your sister says you’ve had a falling out with Wrexford.”

  So he’d called her down for an interrogation. She’d lost their family a duke and all the influence his wealth might bring.

  Kitty offered her father one sharp nod. She wouldn’t parse the details of the last time she’d seen Sebastian. The last time she might ever see him. She couldn’t tell that story without tears, and she refused to give her father that. Ever.

  “Perhaps it’s for the best.” Her father’s tone was neutral, giving nothing away. Yet she couldn’t imagine he approved of her break with Sebastian, unless he meant to foist her off on Ponsonby. At least it would free Harriet from that fate.

  She’d turned her head down to study the carpet, anything to avoid meeting his cool gaze, but his declaration shocked her, as his words often did. “You’re pleased to hear the news?”

  “I am no longer surprised by your rejection of any suitor.”

  Snapping her gaze to his, Kitty sensed none of the anger she’d anticipated. Just resignation.

  Her father rose from his desk chair. “Would you join me in the drawing room, Katherine?”

  Body stiffening at the request, she shook her head. “Why can’t we continue to speak here, Papa?”

  “We have a guest in the drawing room. I would like you to join us.”

  There was only one person she wished to see and her body fizzed with anticipation. Could Sebastian be here? Just down the hall?

  Her father had already approached the threshold of his study and held out his hand to urge her forward. “Come, Katherine. Let’s not leave our guest waiting.”

  She stood to follow him. Sebastian would have asked to see her, and any of the maids would have brought him up, or at least let her know he was in the house. If her father had somehow kept them apart, why this elaborate dance of inviting her to his study and then into the drawing room? Did he simply want to watch the breaking of their engagement firsthand? She knew full well why she’d lost the chance at a future with Sebastian, but she couldn’t fathom her father’s reasons for no longer favoring their match in the first place.

  “Lady Naughton.”

  Before she even stepped over the threshold, Kitty spied Alecia Naughton standing in front of the settee, her hands crossed daintily in front of her.

  “Please, ladies,” Father said, directing them. “Let us sit.”

  The lady perched as warily on the edge of the settee as Kitty balanced near the front of her chair. Seeing the woman took Kitty back to the night Alecia found her in Lady Stamford’s garden with Sebastian. She was the first person Kitty told about their engagement, and now she understood the emotion on Lady Naughton’s face that night.

  She’d loved Sebastian once and lost him, and Kitty knew that agony now too.

  “Lady Naughton has come to impart some rather sensitive and shocking information regarding her connection with the Duke of Wrexford.”

  Alecia d
ucked her head before blinking up at Kitty innocently.

  “She says that her son is—­”

  “No.” Kitty cut off her father’s words and fire sparked in Lady Naughton’s cool gaze.

  “Katherine!”

  She ignored her father’s shout and Lady Naughton’s glare and turned to face her father.

  “The lady is lying, Papa. Prior to our break, Sebas—­Wrexford informed me that he’d learned the allegation was false. Lady Naughton’s son is too young to be his child.”

  Kitty had never been so grateful to her father as when he paused and considered her words, and then cast Lady Naughton a dubious stare.

  “How old is your son, Lady Naughton? When was he born?”

  Alecia cleared her throat and spoke with a soft breathy timbre. “Archie is ten years old, my lord, and takes after the duke in so many ways.”

  “I met the boy in Hyde Park, Papa. He’s far too small to be ten years old, and he bears no resemblance to the duke whatsoever.”

  Her father tapped his foot against the Aubusson rug and then reached up to stroke his beard, all the while studying Lady Naughton’s face, no doubt seeking the truth beyond her façade of feigned innocence.

  “What do you say to that, Lady Naughton?”

  “Might I speak to your daughter alone, my lord?”

  As she asked the question, Lady Naughton ignored Kitty completely and oozed sweetness in her father’s direction. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Kitty couldn’t gauge his reaction. Had the lady’s lies convinced him too?

  “No, I think not, Lady Naughton.” Apparently not. “I find this all rather irregular.”

  Undaunted, Alecia turned directly to Kitty, reaching out a hand as if she might touch her, though she sat too far away to do so.

  “Please, Lady Katherine. Might I just have a moment of your time?”

  Her father didn’t allow Kitty a chance to reply before rising to his feet, a clear sign of dismissal. “The answer remains the same, Lady Naughton. Good day to you.” He didn’t even offer the lady a nod before turning to Kitty. “Katherine, come with me.”