by Jenna Jaxon
Her mouth dropped open at this outrageous statement.
He tried to stifle a smile as they stopped on the next to the top step.
“But this wasteful extravagance is absurd, Lord Dalbury.” Kat stared at him in disbelief. “We lived much more simply in Virginia.”
“An unwritten rule of Polite Society I am afraid, my dear. So your current wardrobe will be sadly depleted in a matter of days.” He smiled kindly and urged her onto the landing. “We will visit Juliet’s mantua-maker and order clothing enough for this season. Then, before we retire to the country in July, we will order more for the fall and winter.”
Though appalled at the shameful waste of money and clothing, nevertheless, she could not argue with him. She understood little about the ways of ton society, therefore she would have to be guided by her husband on the matter. Besides, it was his money to fritter away. “Then I suppose, Lord Dalbury, we must indeed go shopping.”
They were at her bedroom door, when another thought occurred. “Will your sister accompany us, or will you choose my wardrobe yourself?”
He threw back his head, laughing so loudly she expected servants to appear to investigate the commotion. “My Lady Dalbury! I will be happy to assist you in any way with your purchases, but heaven forbid I choose your attire for an entire season.” His laughter subsided into chuckles. “By all means, we will take Juliet with us. Between the two of you, I feel sure you can create a wardrobe that will do you justice.” As he gazed at her, the mirth in his eyes warmed into something that sent a corresponding stab of heat into her stomach. “I will be pleased to show off my beautiful wife to the whole of the ton in whatever gowns you choose, my lady.”
Dalbury leaned toward her and she held her breath, closed her eyes in anticipation of the touch of his lips, warmed by the desire that had leapt into his eyes. His lips grazed not her mouth but her forehead. Her eyes popped open. He smiled tenderly down with a look that completely bewildered her.
“Goodnight, my lady. Sleep well.” He made a small bow, turned and entered his chamber, leaving her staring after him, feeling oddly bereft. Of course, she did not want him to pursue her, but... Shaking her head at her confusion, she entered her bedchamber. Just how long could he sustain the role of the perfect husband?
Tomorrow promised to prove extremely enlightening.
Chapter 21
A cold rain greeted Kat next morning, as did a note from her brother, canceling all plans for their ride. More depressing, his message stated he’d been called away to his country estate for several days. To make matters worse, Lord Dalbury informed her at breakfast that Juliet was confined to bed with a cold. And because she could not accompany them to the mantua-maker, that outing must be postponed as well. All of which left her alone in Dalbury’s company. Horrible prospect. What on earth was she to do all day with only him to talk to? Could she too, plead a cold and retire to her bed?
Across the breakfast table from her, he sipped coffee and buttered a last bite of toast. How well could she counterfeit a sneeze? He raised his face to her at that moment. A lazy smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “We two seem to have the day before us, my lady. Shall we put it to good use?”
She did not like the sound of that. What was he going to propose?
“I thought you might like to tour the house and stables. There is a connecting walkway so we will not get very wet.” There was a hopeful look in his eye that she did not really want to contemplate, but his benign suggestion reminded her she should be shown the rest of the house.
“That will suit me well enough this morning,” she replied, carefully keeping enthusiasm out of her voice. It was becoming harder and harder to remember to dislike the marquess in his current mood. He was handsome, with that small smile still turning up one corner of his full, sensual mouth.
She caught herself staring and dropped her gaze to her plate. He might have gotten his way as far as their marriage was concerned, but she would resist his seductive charms until she could better gauge his true nature. A resolve she already found difficult to maintain.
When Dalbury finished eating, he offered his arm and they set off to explore the wonders of the larder and kitchen, drawing room and receiving room, ballroom and stable. He proved an able guide, giving just enough information about each room without becoming tedious.
Despite her determination, Katarina found herself impressed with the townhouse: the structure, dating back to 1725, was among the earliest houses built on the fashionable square. It boasted seven bays and three stories of smooth gray brick. The appointments throughout were lavish but of impeccable taste, from the blue and gold relief work on the ceiling of the ballroom, to the rich Persian carpets strewn throughout the house, to the delicate peach and cream fabrics in the lady’s retiring room on the main floor.
There, Dalbury’s voice softened when he explained, “This was my mother’s favorite room. She wrote letters at that escritoire.” He motioned to the petite writing desk, its warm cherry tones glowing in the reflected light of the fire. “Or embroidered in front of the window. She would watch Juliet and me run to the park in summer.” A hint of sadness flickered across his face, drawing his brows and hollowing his cheeks momentarily. “But we must continue to the stables,” he continued, seamlessly changing the subject. “Our luncheon will be waiting for us.”
The stables provided a breath of fresh, if damp, air, and spacious accommodations for horses, carriages, grooms and coachmen.
“How many horses do you have, my lord?” These stables reminded her of life in Virginia, where she had grown up with horses. In spite of herself, she grew animated at Dalbury’s comments.
“There are two sets of matched carriage horses. And seven others for riding. This is my favorite,” he said, stroking the neck of a tall chestnut stallion, which stamped and swished his black tail. “I have had Saxon for five years now. The grooms said he missed me dreadfully when I was in Italy last year. But I’m going to make that up to him, aren’t I, old boy?”
As if he understood, Saxon whinnied and lipped Dalbury’s arm. The marquess fished about in a pocket and brought out a couple of lumps of sugar. “No, I didn’t forget.” He offered the treat and rubbed Saxon’s nose.
“He’s magnificent, my lord. Have you bred him yet?”
The question slipped out, quite naturally. She had grown up with horses, talked about them constantly with her brother and father. But she winced as she realized her question might lead her husband’s thoughts along a similar line.
Dalbury’s eyes widened, but he didn’t seem offended. “Yes, twice. Over in the two end stalls are his progeny. Balthazar and Romeo.”
“Romeo?”
Dalbury grinned. “Only to annoy Juliet.”
“And does she ride him?”
His eyes twinkled, and her heart started pounding. “It sounds rather risque but yes, Juliet rides Romeo every chance she gets.”
Kat dissolved into a fit of laughter and hung onto the stall for support. “You have a devilish sense of humor, Lord Dalbury. You quite put me in mind of my brother sometimes.” She sobered a bit and asked, “Am I to be allowed to ride as well?”
Mouth pursed, he stepped back. “Of course. I am well aware of your fondness for riding and would certainly not deny you that or any other pleasure I might provide for you.”
Though she’d feared a leer at that last remark, Dalbury must not be playing that game today, for his face showed only an almost boyish hurt.
“Which mount should I take then, my lord?”
He surprised her by clasping her hand and leading her down the stalls to a tall roan mare with a white star on her forehead. “This is Stella.”
Immediately enchanted with the graceful animal, Kat stroked the proud neck. Delighted, she turned to Dalbury. “She is beautiful. You have had her long?”
“But two days.” He gazed deeply into Kat’s eyes, kneaded her hand in his strong fingers and in a low-pitched voice said, “I bought her the day we were we
d. She is my wedding present to you.”
She formed an O with her mouth but no sound emerged. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest that she was sure Dalbury could hear. He simply continued to gaze at her, running his thumb lightly over her knuckles. As if bewitched, she drew closer to him, until only a hair’s breadth of space remained between them. Head tipped back, she stared into his warm, nutmeg-brown eyes. Breathing became little silent gasps, as she was afraid to draw a deep breath lest he notice her agitation. He raised a finger and smoothed a stray lock of her hair back into place then let his hand linger, cupping the back of her head. At his touch she began to tremble, in fear or something else, she did not know. Did not care.
Mouth suddenly gone dry, she swallowed, and parted her lips to speak. He hovered above her mouth. His breath in her mouth was hot, moist, sweet. She breathed deeply, aware as never before of the rich, comforting aroma of the stables mingled intimately with his distinctive scent of citrus soap and male musk. The rasp of his breathing sounded low and steadier than hers. The strong clasp of his hand around hers, the heat pouring through her like a molten river where they touched, sent a surge of longing throughout her body. If she just raised her head, even slightly, his lips would be on hers and–
Stella snorted.
The explosion of sound made Kat and Dalbury leap back and away from each other. Shaken by the intimacy she’d found herself enjoying with her husband, she hung onto the stall. She hid her face, trying to calm herself. He had done it again, damn him! Even more exasperating, her attraction to him had not diminished a jot.
When she peeked at Dalbury, he stood turned away and his breathing came in jerky gasps. At least he wasn’t as self-assured as last time.
Glad to have a different focus for her attention, she steadied herself with several deep breaths and stroked the mare again. When she thought she could speak calmly, she said, “I thank you, my lord, for your gift to me. She is most beautiful and I will look forward to riding her soon.”
Dalbury turned toward her, his breathing once again even, eyes shining. “You are more than welcome. I am glad you take pleasure in the gift. I look forward to riding with you, if you will permit?”
Trapped, she could only nod.
“Shall we go in to luncheon, then?”
Again she nodded, took the arm he offered and felt the now familiar heat of him even through the fabric of his coat. The sensation unsettled her. His warmth seemed to seep into her very bones.
Returning to the house in awkward silence, Kat tried once more to mentally distance herself from her husband. She dredged up all the reasons why she could not trust him: his escapades, his women, his seductive words. But with his warm, comforting presence beside her, outrage faded. Despite her very real concerns, she was increasingly aware that if she were not careful, her resolve to deny her husband would crumble like a mud pie in a steady rain.
Chapter 22
Duncan stared out the casement window to the precise, clipped figures of the topiary garden at the rear of the house, where Katarina and Juliet walked about, deep in conversation with Juliet’s dear friend Lady Honoria Claypool. He smiled at Juliet, who whirled her hands in circles, unmistakably telling of her recent conquests at various ton events. He could hear her squeals of merriment even at this distance as she relayed all the most exciting details of Mr. Randolph Sutton’s attentions to her. Well, he supposed it was Sutton; he was the most recent suitor, anyway.
He chuckled to himself. Sutton was son and heir to Viscount Brisbane, not a stellar match for Juliet, but eligible. And the gentleman certainly had seemed interested enough at Lady Bercy’s musicale last evening. Mr. Sutton had inveigled a seat next to Juliet and monopolized her for the first part of the entertainment before escorting her in to supper.
He should speak to Juliet soon, gauge her feelings on the matter. Sutton was quite close to a declaration, if the pining looks he’d given Juliet at supper were any indication. From her lively conversation below, Juliet seemed to return the young man’s interest, though they had only met the previous month.
During that month, lack of progress best described his attempts to woo Katarina. Memories of the early weeks of his marriage were anything but pleasant. Most of that time he’d feared he was no nearer to Katarina’s capitulation than he had been the day of their wedding. She’d appeared the perfect wife in public, the perfect icicle in private.
The gift of Stella had been by far his best inroad to Katarina’s affections. Whenever he wished, he could recall the moment he presented her with the mare, and the passionate almost kiss that followed in exact detail. He had only to close his eyes to relive the warmth of her hand, the silky, seductive feel of her hair, the delicate scent of jasmine that clung to her always. Duncan took a deep breath and the phantom fragrance wafted through his mind.
Exhaling, he turned away from the window and the delights of the bright garden. That almost kiss was as close to his wife as he had come during the month, despite his unfailing attempts at politeness and gallantry. He’d squired her to more ton events than he had ever attended before, and ended up watching her dance and socialize with other men. All offers to take her driving and had been politely refused. Hoping to engineer time alone with her, he’d even suggested they journey to Merrywell, his family’s estate in Gloucestershire, and had offered to show her some of the countryside. To no avail. Her response had been that they could not neglect Juliet’s season when there were so many young men interested in his sister. And in deference to her request, he’d let the matter drop.
The upshot was, during the four weeks since their wedding they had spent almost no time together alone. The frustration of having Katarina so near, yet so far removed, ate at him, eroding his good sense. More than three months had passed since he’d had a woman in his bed; his body could count the hours. And though he’d entertained ideas of going discreetly to another woman to ease the physical torment, the very thought of doing so wilted any desire his body summoned. Only Katarina aroused him now, the one woman he seemed unable to seduce. She remained maddeningly polite, distant and indifferent.
The week after the presentation of Stella had been interminable. The chill, rainy weather had kept them indoors. Juliet had languished with her cold for several days and he’d tried to amuse his wife as best he could, but could soon tell his presence grated on her patience. She’d kept him company at meals, obliged him by sitting in the library with him after dinner, and on the two occasions he’d sought her out for conversation after luncheon, they’d spoken about a variety of topics, though she had not lingered either time.
He had been unfailingly polite and attentive to her that whole time, while Katarina’s attitude toward him had steadily deteriorated from subdued politeness to outright hostility. Her tongue had become sharper, until almost every sentence dripped with sarcasm or carried a barb. The temper he knew well had flared in earnest at the end of the week, when he’d denied her outrageous suggestion she ride in the park in the rain. She’d refused to speak to him for three days.
The ban on outdoor activity had lifted on the first day of sunshine and Katarina had tripped happily down the stairs to meet Jack for their long promised ride. She’d passed him in the hall, flung a smile at him on the way out the door and called, “We will be back in time for breakfast, my lord.”
Duncan smiled ruefully into the empty drawing room that overlooked the garden. It was patently pathetic when a man was so desperate for attention from his wife that he remembered every word she spoke to him. But he did. He’d listened raptly every time Katarina opened her mouth, answered her with warmth and humor when called for, with gravity when she’d turned to serious subjects. Tried throughout the month to demonstrate kindness, warmth and his affection for her. What he had gotten in return was a cool demeanor and polite distance. She seemed to treat him like an annoying relative one could not quite dismiss from one’s house and therefore must tolerate until other arrangements could be made.
Nothing had g
iven him hope that his situation might change...except for one day in the park.
He had chosen not to insist upon riding with his wife and her brother, had hoped instead to be asked along in the rush of freedom once the rain subsided. After a week had passed, he’d realized no such invitation would be forthcoming. So he’d presented himself in the stable one morning at dawn, the time he knew Katarina preferred to ride.
Mounted on Stella, she looked extremely fetching in a Prussian blue riding habit as she glanced about, calling for John, the groom who always accompanied her.
“Will I do as escort this morning, Lady Dalbury?” Duncan had asked, appearing beside her on Saxon.
Startled, she’d tapped Stella, and the mare had tried to turn in the small space. Katarina had controlled the horse with expert hands, soothed her down with murmured words. “I did not expect you this morning, my lord.” Head bent–to hide her displeasure?–she’d rubbed the horse’s neck.
“But you gave me leave to ride with you, did you not?”
She’d cut a glance at him, brows slanted sharply down over her nose. “I did. But you have not availed yourself of the invitation before now. So I did not expect you. I thought perhaps you forgot.”
“I have forgotten nothing about the day you agreed I might ride with you, Lady Dalbury.”
She’d blushed, and the bright color of her cheeks had fought that of her hair. “We had best be off, then, my lord,” she’d said, nodding toward the door that opened into the mews at the back of the townhouse’s stables. “We will miss the best part of the morning.” She led them out of the stable and they’d made their way side-by-side in silence until they were well into the park, jogging along the wide lane of Rotten Row. She’d watched everything around her avidly, drunk in the fresh sights and tranquil sounds of early morning.