When a Lord Needs a Lady

by Jane Goodger

  “Oh?”

  “The marquess is a bit of a music connoisseur, and I have learned much over the years,” Gray said with a shrug.

  With unspoken consent, they walked arm-in-arm to the seaside. As they left the lights and noise of the street behind them, Katherine became more aware of how dark it was, how late. And yet, she felt curiously safe. She shouldn’t. How many of her friends would be doing what she was doing at this moment? Walking with a man she hardly knew, a valet, a member of the serving class. None of them. Not one. And if she told them, they would think she was making a joke. Her mother would be horrified, her father—incensed. She would most certainly be ruined. Then why was she taking such a horrid chance?

  “You are quiet,” he said.

  She bit her lip. “I’m not who you think I am,” she said in a rush, closing her eyes, willing herself to tell him the truth.

  “I know,” he said softly.

  She stopped and looked up at him, surprised. “You do?”

  “I know you are not the kind of girl to walk out by yourself with a virtual stranger. And I know you have never danced in a pub or drunk ale.”

  Katherine looked out to the blackness of the sea. What did it matter if he never learned who she was? She was leaving in two days—one now, for it was long past midnight. Why couldn’t she have this one memory of a man who desired her?

  “That is true. I have not. And I have never—” She stopped abruptly, willing herself to say what she truly wanted to say. When would she ever have this chance again, to feel this magic, this strange pull she felt for Gray? Gray the valet. Oh goodness. “—been kissed. Not really.”

  He grew still next to her, and she thought she heard a sharp intake of breath. “Not really? I’m not certain what that means.”

  Her cheeks flushed, not from her own boldness, but the memory she had of seeing the newly married Harringtons. She’d been just sixteen years old and visiting her grandparents in upstate New York and she’d come across the couple in a meadow having a picnic. Except, they hadn’t been eating, they’d been kissing. Passionately. As if the world had disappeared, as if they could gain sustenance from each other. It had been been . . . riveting. Watching them had made her feel strange, a feeling she now better recognized as arousal.

  “Of course I’ve been kissed.”

  “Of course.” There was a smile in his tone. He came to stand in front of her, blocking the view of the sea. “But not truly kissed. Not like this.”

  And then his lips were on hers, pressing softly, insistently, creating an instant warmth that was most startling. Katherine pulled back. “Oh,” she breathed. “Very nice.”

  “My God, Katy, that was not a kiss. Not a real one.”

  “It wasn’t?” she asked weakly.

  He shook his head, his eyes glittering from the gaslight on the boardwalk. “No. This is a kiss.”

  He drew her against him, pressing her full-length against him, so her breasts flattened against his solid chest. Then he took possession of her mouth in a way she could not have imagined. His hands enveloped her head and he moved his thumb on her chin, opening her mouth so he could gain access. His tongue was inside, touching hers, causing a rush of heat between her legs so unexpected, she moaned aloud. It was intoxicating, heady, and real. A real kiss. A kiss you would give your lover.

  She pressed herself closer, feeling for the first time the hard ridge of his arousal—and froze.

  “No,” he muttered against her lips. “Don’t pull away, my Katy. Don’t.”

  His hands drifted down, skimming her sides, and moving to her backside, molding her curves and pressing her to him. He moved against her, an erotic pressing that sent her blood singing through her veins. It was as if another woman took over her body at that moment. She let out a sound of relief just as her arms wrapped around his neck and she opened her mouth fully to him, meeting his thrusting tongue with hers. He grunted in approval, one hand moving up between them to cup her breast. No man had ever touched her in this way. No man had pressed himself against her, had let her feel his arousal, had touched her breast. No man had ever moved his thumb over her nipple, making it come erect, making her want more. And though every sensation was new, it felt right, as if finally, finally her body was doing what it was meant to do.

  Graham pulled his head away, his breathing harsh, and he rested his chin atop her head, fighting the fierce arousal she had evoked. Her hair smelled of lemon and was soft beneath his chin. He wanted her, wanted to lay her down in the sand and enter her. Taste her. Make her scream for him. It was pure insanity that he should even contemplate such things with her. Guilt pressed against this insanity, and he slowly pulled away from her.

  “That certainly was a real kiss, wasn’t it?” she asked, her voice slightly shaking.

  “It was something even a bit more than that,” he said with a soft chuckle. He grabbed her hand and dragged her laughing behind him as he ran along the hard-packed sand away from the Grand Hotel.

  “Where are you going?” she said, laughing.

  “Nowhere,” he called back as she struggled to keep up. “Anywhere. To the moon.” This last was a joyful shout, and Katherine smiled as she struggled to keep up with his long strides.

  A shadow loomed in front of them, and Katherine realized it was one of the bathing machines. He let go of her hand and ran ahead, then jumped inside and turned to hold out his hand to her.

  She stopped, suddenly wary. Kissing a man on a beach was bad enough, but to go into this vehicle—this extremely private vehicle—would not be a very smart thing to do. And Katherine might be a bit reckless, but she wasn’t stupid.

  He tilted his head and shook his hand. “No kissing. Promise.”

  She gave him a skeptical look.

  “Promise.”

  “Isn’t it trespassing?” she asked, looking warily past him to the sparse interior. He sighed, then sat on the edge, his legs dangling near the sand, and patted the wagon next to him. She supposed sitting next to him wouldn’t get her into too much trouble. Goodness, she’d already snuck out at midnight to meet him, gone to a pub, danced, and drunk ale. Certainly sitting on the edge of a bathing machine couldn’t do her any more harm than she’d already done. She hopped up and looked out to the sea, molten and silver beneath the moon.

  “Tell me about your marquess,” she said, wanting to know more about his life. “Is he a very demanding employer?”

  “He is driven. Loyal.” There was a long pause. “And lonely, I think.”

  Katherine turned to look at him. “Why do you say that?”

  Graham shrugged, disliking where this conversation was going, but carrying on anyway. If he stopped talking, she might decide to end their evening, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. “He hasn’t a lot of friends. Not close friends, at any rate. He takes his title very seriously, and his responsibilities.”

  “His father must have died quite young to have left him the title,” Katy said, unknowingly causing a sharp pain in his breast.

  “He did. The marquess was only twenty-one.”

  “How did his father die?”

  Graham tensed, and then the strangest feeling of calm stole over him. No one knew how his father had died, except his personal physician and Mr. Chase. It had become such a heavy burden to carry. “He shot himself.”

  He heard her gasp and could feel her eyes on him. “Oh, how horrible. The poor man. And son. I cannot imagine.”

  “Only three people know the truth, and I am one of them.”

  “And you’ve told me. You needn’t worry it will go further. I promise. What a terrible burden for you—and him—to hold all these years.” She sat silently for a long moment and finally asked what he prayed she would not. “Who found him? Please tell me it was not his son.”

  Graham swallowed. “It was, as a matter of fact. He had just left to go back to school for his final semester. Cambridge. He was looking forward to completing the term and returning home. He was very close to his father, you se
e. But he forgot something. He got all the way to the train station and had to go back to get his pen. A fountain pen his father had given him. It was a new design. Very special. He went back for it. He opened the door and heard the shot.

  “I found him there. The son. He was holding his father’s head as if... as if he might fix him somehow. I can still see it. Them.” It had been Mr. Chase, of course, who had come upon Graham holding his father, rocking, back and forth. It had taken his old valet many long minutes to pry him away. He’d helped him to wash, taken his blood-soaked clothes and thrown them away. Burned them, as if he could burn away the pain of finding his own father that way.

  Katy’s only reaction was to grab his forearm and squeeze, as if somehow transmitting her strength to him. Finally, she said, “How awful for the poor marquess, to carry such a burden. If his father were alive, I’d slap him.”

  Graham looked over to her, surprised by her words. “I think he never would have done it if he thought for even a moment it would be his own son who found him. I believe that wholly.”

  “Yes, you are probably right. Did the marquess ever learn why his father took his life?”

  “No,” Graham lied. “He didn’t.”

  They sat in silence for a long time. Katy had moved her hand down and he grabbed it, holding it there on the rough wood of the bathing machine. The night sky was still dark, now that the clouds had once again claimed the moon, but it was very late and Graham knew he would have to say good-bye. No doubt she would have to get up early to take care of her spoiled little heiress and would have little time to rest.

  “It is very late,” she said.

  “Yes. And you leave the day after next. Or rather tomorrow. I’d forgotten how late it is.”

  She nodded and squeezed his hand.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” he said, before better sense could stop him. Hell, even if she didn’t leave, he could never have her. He couldn’t marry her, and he’d be damned if he’d shame her by taking her innocence and leaving her open to the possibility of having a bastard to raise alone. It was for the best that she go. He knew it, but damn if his ridiculous heart wasn’t protesting.

  “I will always remember you. Gray the valet. When I am back home with all those awful American boys. I will remember my not-so-proper English beau.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek, lingering, closing his eyes. “Will I see you tomorrow before we say good-bye?”

  She did not hesitate. “Yes,” she said. “At midnight.” And then she pressed a bit of cloth—his own handkerchief—into his hand.

  Graham returned to his hotel room and sat down heavily on his bed and stared at his image in the mirror opposite. He almost laughed aloud at the man who stared back at him, that lovesick, rumple-haired commoner.

  “Good morning, my lord.” Mr. Chase entered the room, his white hair standing straight on end, wearing his nightshirt. It was rare, indeed, to see Chase not impeccably dressed, and the sight of him so unkempt tugged a bit at Graham’s heart.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Graham said.

  “I couldn’t sleep, sir.” Mr. Chase smoothed his rooster top down. Now, guilt tugged at Graham’s heart.

  “Pray tell me your insomnia wasn’t caused by me,” Graham said, pulling off his simple tie with a snap and crumpling it up in his palm. When he heard Chase let out a sharp breath, he tried, unsuccessfully, to iron out the wrinkles with his hand.

  The older man stood in silence, studying him, making Graham feel like a boy who’d been out and up to no good. “I don’t know what it is about her that fascinates me,” Graham said finally, angrily. “I’ve known prettier girls. More sophisticated, certainly.”

  “Perhaps it is because she is out of reach,” Chase offered.

  Graham shook his head. “No. I could have her, you see. I could have had her this very night.” Just thinking about how her body molded to his made him ache.

  “Perhaps, then, you should examine why you didn’t.”

  Graham raised his head and looked at his old friend. “I can’t fathom why.” He’d wanted to. God above knew he had. Never before had he felt that heavy ache and willingly withdrawn. Why? Why Katy? Because she’d been so unexpectedly willing even though he knew she was innocent? Because he had a deep suspicion that he had been the first to awaken her carnal yearnings?

  Because she made him laugh?

  Graham clenched one fist and pounded it against his thigh. He stood up and began pacing about the room, keenly aware of Mr. Chase’s eyes following his progress curiously. He didn’t like feeling out of sorts. He didn’t like feeling as if he’d lost a part of him when she’d walked into that hotel. She was a maid, for God’s sake, and an American maid at that. There wasn’t a proper English lady who would even think of hiring her. He felt like a young boy with spots lusting after the chambermaid. It was abominable. He was a marquess, and marquesses—at least those with any scruples at all—did not bed servants. Ever.

  “I’ll make an offer,” he said, thinking aloud. “I’ll need a mistress once I marry.” Yes, that was it. She could be his mistress. He could buy her a lovely home with a pretty garden. Filled with dahlias. She would have a small staff of servants and would want for nothing. He would be with her nearly always, returning to London and Avonleigh only when he must. He would have his heir and spare and then he would live out the rest of the days with Katy. She would balk at first, of course. Those American girls weren’t used to such things. But he could convince her, he knew he could. It was the only answer. The only way to be truly happy and also gain the necessary funds by marrying that Von Haupt girl. He felt himself recoil inwardly at the thought of bedding that blank-faced doll-of-a-girl. Her expression rarely varied—it was always the same stare, mouth slightly agape, that made it entirely clear there was nothing going on behind those soulless eyes of hers.

  “May I speak candidly, sir?”

  Graham snapped his head. “Can I stop you from doing so?” “Probably not,” Chase said grimly. “I don’t think it wise to arrange for a mistress during your betrothal negotiations. If word got out, it could end badly.”

  “Word would not get out,” he said quickly. Ah, but it would. It always did. He would have to purchase clothes and jewelry for a mistress, and if those same items were not later seen on his new fiancée, there would be whispers. One could not let a house or purchase furniture without someone speaking of it. And unless they never left their home or he put Katy up in some remote Scottish manor house, he would eventually be seen with her by someone he knew.

  Graham sat down heavily on his bed and leaned his head upon his hands. “It’s just that I’m so damned lonely, Chase, and I don’t see how marriage to Miss Von Haupt is going to change that.” He looked up. “She’s leaving tomorrow. I need to settle things with her. I can’t let her leave.”

  Mr. Chase gently took the crumpled tie from his hand, and the older man studied him as if he’d gone quite mad. “If she agrees, then I would make the arrangements for you,” he said finally.

  “Thank you, Mr. Chase.” It was not the best solution, but it was the only one in which he could know she would be his forever.

  Chapter 5

  “The Wrights are gone? What do you mean, they’ve left?” Graham demanded. He knew what he looked like, his hair windblown, his cheeks ruddy, his eyes no doubt flashing with anger. Graham was frightening the poor clerk, who was still young enough to have spots on his face but who was trying mightily to retain his dignity in the face of some commoner demanding to know where one of his wealthiest clients had gone.

  “I do not need to explain what I mean. Not to you,” the clerk said, his cheeks flushing.

  In his most proper and clipped tones, Graham said, “I am Lord Avonleigh, and the Wrights are particular friends of mine. I was to meet with Mrs. Wright and her daughter this very evening for a late dinner, and when they did not arrive, I became alarmed. Now, if this hotel has done something to offend the Wrights, then I’m afraid I
will have to—”

  “No, no, my lord,” the clerk stuttered. “I do apologize.” He gave Graham’s clothes a curious look.

  “I’m on holiday,” Graham ground out, as if that explained his middle-class garb.

  The clerk brought out a heavy register and flipped through some pages, his eyes scanning the pages. “Yes, here we are,” he muttered. “They were originally planning to check out tomorrow, yes indeed, but left unexpectedly this morning.” The clerk looked up as if pleased with this announcement.

  “And where did they go?” Graham asked with forced pleasantness.

  The clerk’s hand fluttered over the open register. “Oh. I really cannot say.” At Graham’s dark look, the clerk clarified quickly. “That is, they did not inform us of their plans. One moment.” He disappeared through a door and returned a few moments later. “No, my lord. I do apologize, but they did not leave a forwarding address for us.”

  Graham stood there dumbly for a few moments, disbelieving that she was gone, that he would never see her again. Even if he found the Wrights, it would be nearly impossible to reach Katy to even have a conversation, never mind take the time to convince her to be his mistress. “Thank you, sir, for your help,” Graham said, before turning slowly away from the counter. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the handkerchief she had returned to him the previous night. He brought it to his nose, praying it would still retain some of her scent, but not even a hint of her remained. She had disappeared.

  “For goodness’ sake, Katherine, stop moping,” Elizabeth said, exasperated and entirely too cheerful.

  “I’m not moping, Mother,” Katherine said on a sigh. But she was. And it was more than mere moping. She wanted to cry, great sobbing gulps that she’d never be able to explain. What would she tell her mother? That she missed the sea so much she was distraught?

  She loved her mother dearly, but she hated being subject to her whims. She never had a say in anything they did, and her mother would brook no argument. What could she have said? Please, Mother, we cannot go because I think I’m falling in love with a valet? She could hardly say that! Clara gave her a look of commiseration, but even she didn’t know how purely devastated she was—and how foolish she felt to feel so purely devastated. She’d hardly known him. She’d shared but one kiss. Oh, certainly it was a magnificent kiss. The kiss she would no doubt measure all kisses in the future against. And he was so very handsome and lively and fun and . . . wonderful.