by Jane Goodger
“I rather like the old place. And the bats.”
Now Katherine knew he was being contrary. “Bats are one thing, of course, but bat guano quite another,” Katherine said, feeling the strangest need to protect Claudia.
Graham turned his gaze to her, his eyes bright with humor. “Of course. Shall we have the grand tour? After you, ladies.”
Katherine walked by him, again feeling that stare, and vowed to ignore him completely from now on.
Graham stared after them, his mind in turmoil. Here he was, showing his potential bride her new home, and he felt nothing but depressed at the thought that her money could bring it back to grandeur.
“Which girl is it you have your sights on?”
Graham started at the sound of the general’s voice in his ear.
“Leave off, General,” Graham said irritably. He’d known Hort-ence Lawton for years and normally liked the older man’s candor. He was in no mood for it at the moment. “And if I’m not mistaken, it’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black. I do believe Mrs. Wright is a married woman.”
If he thought the general would feel put in his place, he was sorely mistaken. The old codger simply threw back his head after he’d let Graham’s jibe settle in and had himself a good laugh. “Married women,” the general muttered. “Indeed, they are the most gratifying.”
“There is no gas?” Mrs. Von Haupt looked with horror at the candles gracing the walls of the entry. She might have been looking up and seeing blue sky and saying: There is no roof? “Surely you have a gas works nearby.”
Graham swallowed down his retort. “The house does have gas in the private quarters and kitchen,” he said. “At the time, that seemed sufficient.” And less costly, if he remembered the reason his father had forgone lighting the entire house.
“The ballroom? Surely that is laid.”
“No.”
Graham looked at the old house through their eyes. It was grand, certainly, but obviously neglected. His small staff of mostly elderly servants simply couldn’t maintain the house as it should be maintained. Directly above his head, he noticed a long string of dust wafting in the breeze coming in through the open door. And below his feet, the marble was decidedly gritty, as if it had been some time since the entrance had seen a broom.
Just then a woman, her mobcap askew, entered the hall and stopped in her tracks, her hand fluttering to her chest as if she were experiencing palpitations.
“Oh my lord,” she said, giving a quick curtsy, and Graham wasn’t certain whether she was greeting him or using the Lord’s name in vain. “We hadn’t realized you’d be visitin’ today with guests, my lord. I’m afraid there’s only meself and Jones here right now.”
A thirty-thousand-square-foot home and two servants in residence. Lovely.
“Pray tell, Mrs. Porter, where are the other members of the staff?” Graham asked. All five of them. He suppressed a sigh.
“Why, to the christening, of course. Mrs. Berkley’s granddaughter, sir. She had a boy not two weeks ago. I couldn’t go. My joints, you see, my lord.”
“I see. Please give Mrs. Berkley my congratulations. It is her first great-grandchild, is it not?”
“Oh yes, my lord.” Mrs. Porter beamed at him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Porter, that will be all,” he said, dismissing the elderly woman. She, if he wasn’t mistaken, was also a great-grandmother. The old lady limped off whence she came, and Graham made a mental note to buy the woman a cane.
“One of the younger members of my staff,” Graham said dryly. The two Von Haupts looked horrified, but behind him, he heard what sounded like a stifled laugh, and he knew immediately it was Katherine. “Would you like to begin your tour in the gallery or the ballroom?”
“The ballroom, I think,” Claudia said. No doubt she was imagining grand balls and entertainments. As ballrooms went, his was not very impressive, and he knew Claudia would be sorely disappointed.
“I’ve no idea of its condition as it hasn’t been used in nearly fifteen years.”
Claudia seemed shocked. “Fifteen years? Why that’s nearly as long as I’ve been alive.”
He walked them down a long, dusty corridor at the end of which was a set of French doors leading to Bryant Park’s ballroom. “Lift your skirts,” he heard Mrs. Von Haupt hiss. “You’ll ruin your hem.”
When he turned to open the doors, Katherine sneezed into her handkerchief, then gave him a cheeky grin. She was enjoying his discomfort, he was certain of it.
“Why, this can’t be it,” Claudia said, gazing around the dark and rather dreary room. “It’s no bigger than my sitting room at home. This will never do. Surely, this cannot be your home’s only ballroom.”
“At the present, I’m afraid so. My father converted our former ballroom into a theater, you see.”
“A theater?” Mrs. Von Haupt said, clearly scandalized. “Why on earth would he do such a thing?”
“He enjoyed the theater,” Graham said, barely loosening up his jaw enough to sound civil. “He imported acts from France and Germany and invited his London friends. Once, we hosted the Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. I shudder to think what that cost.”
“I liked those French shows, myself,” the general said, waggling his brows at Katherine’s mother, who giggled shamelessly. Katherine frowned at her mother, and Graham wondered if she suspected what he did—that her mother was carrying on an affair.
“Certainly the theater could be converted back to a ballroom,” Mrs. Von Haupt said.
“I’m certain it could be, Mrs. Von Haupt, but it shall never happen. At least not while I’m the master of this home. I’m rather fond of the theater. It was my father’s passion and holds many happy memories.”
Mrs. Von Haupt pressed her mouth into a straight line, clearly unhappy with this. “We shall see,” she said, and it was all Graham could do not to usher her out of his home forever. It was only the thought of all the people who depended upon him for their livelihood that stopped him. No doubt she’d add a stipulation into the marriage contract about the blasted ballroom.
“May we see the theater?” Katherine asked, uttering her first words since entering his home.
“I’d rather not,” huffed Mrs. Von Haupt. “Surely you have a gallery that might be of interest.”
“Certainly I do,” Graham said. “Why don’t I escort you there before I take the others to the theater.”
“Excellent idea, Avonleigh. I have many fond memories of that theater. And your father. I’ve never known anyone before or since who could keep his guests so well entertained.”
“Yes, I’m certain while his estate was crumbling around him he had a very grand time,” Mrs. Von Haupt said, her gaze going to the moth-eaten curtains and stained wall coverings.
Katherine looked at Graham, fearing he actually might do violence to Mrs. Von Haupt. How could she be so completely oblivious to the needles she was thrusting into him? Katherine was well aware Mrs. Von Haupt enjoyed wielding her power over people, but surely it did not extend to her daughter’s future husband.
“If you’ll follow me, ladies and General, I’ll show you to the gallery. It’s on the second floor, as is the theater,” Graham said, and Katherine wanted to applaud his control.
They all walked up the stairs, one of the few places Katherine had seen that was actually clean—or at the very least where they hadn’t left footprints in their wake. At the top of the landing was a large door, which led to the gallery. It was well-lit and spotless, no doubt cared for by a servant who had great pride working for the Spencer family.
“I hope you ladies will be fine while I show the others the theater.”
“Yes, of course,” Claudia said. “Oh, there you are, my lord.”
Katherine, unable to stop herself, walked into the gallery to view Graham’s portrait—and burst out laughing.
She could feel Graham come up next to her. “You find it not a good likeness?” he asked.
She stared up at the man in t
he picture, the arrogant, angry man, and shook her head. “It looks like the artist just insulted you,” she said, trying to hide her mirth. “You look so very annoyed.”
“I think it looks just like him. Handsome and yet serious,” Claudia said, apparently defending him. Her eyes were on the empty space next to his portrait, no doubt imagining her own lovely likeness there.
“Oh, it does very much look like Lord Avonleigh,” Katherine said. “I suppose that’s what I find so amusing.”
She heard him huff out a breath behind her. “Those of you who would like to see the theater may follow me.”
Katherine had much more interest in the theater than the gallery, and knowing her mother and the general would be there, followed the small group down a maze of halls until they stopped at two of the largest doors she’d ever seen inside a home.
“And here we have Philip’s Folly,” Graham said fondly. Above the door, it indeed said, “Philip’s Folly” in gold leaf, each side adorned by outlandish cupids bearing the requisite bow and arrow and lavish wings. She wondered how a man who could be so ridiculously whimsical could have ended his own life.
Graham opened the doors with a flourish, revealing a darkened interior. He hurried first down one side, then the other, slowly bringing the exquisite theater to light. She had but one thought: It must have cost a fortune to build. While it was a small theater, it was as richly appointed as anything she’d seen in London or New York. The gilding, the moldings, the thick carpeting beneath her feet, the well-appointed private boxes one level above the orchestra seats—all spoke of affluence that went beyond anything Katherine had seen in a private home. Folly, indeed.
“I say, I’m going to show Mrs. Wright the box I used when I was here last,” the general said, and before Katherine could utter a word, the two were gone.
When Graham returned from turning on the lights, he looked around, obviously curious to find Katherine standing there by herself.
“Where are your mother and the general?”
Katherine took a step back, even though he was still some distance from her. “He said something about exploring one of the boxes he was familiar with.”
“Ah.”
She looked almost frantically around, straining her ears to hear them. Where on earth had they gone, and had her mother gone quite mad to leave her alone with Graham?
“It’s a lovely theater. I’m glad you have happy memories of your father here.”
Graham looked around, a small smile on his lips. “The arts were his passion. His greatest wish was to discover some talent that hadn’t yet been discovered. The house was always filled with interesting people from nearly every country. It was a very lively place.”
Katherine turned to walk down the right aisle, and Graham, mirroring her actions, turned and walked down the left side. They were separated by a row of fourteen seats, and Katherine relaxed just slightly. Above her, she thought she heard her mother’s voice, but she didn’t see the other couple. “It’s very grand.”
“I know what you’re thinking, that Philip’s Folly is aptly named, that if my father hadn’t been so foolish with his money I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in today.”
Katherine felt herself blush guiltily, for that was very close to what she had been thinking. “It does seem a bit extravagant.”
“It made my father happy,” he said simply. “He was not a happy man, and yet when he was here, planning a concert, filling this house with friends, he was happy.”
“Then it was worth it, I suppose.” She turned the corner just as he did, and they walked to the front of the theater, where the orchestra pit lay empty of even chairs. It was so silent, it was difficult to imagine the room filled with people, the stage alight and crowded with performers.
A movement above her caught her eye, and she saw her mother on the opposite side of the theater sitting in a box next to the general. “Isn’t this fabulous?” her mother called down.
“It is,” Katherine said. Then to Graham, “It truly is the most wonderful place. You must never allow Claudia to change it into a ballroom.”
“I want to kiss you.”
She swallowed, ignoring the instant heat those low words sent spiraling through her body. “Don’t.”
“I won’t,” he said casually, but his eyes said something far, far different. “But I do want to.”
“Why must you say such things?” Katherine said, whispering harshly, her eyes darting to where her mother and the general sat, even though they were far too distant for them to hear. “When you know that I want you to.” She pressed her lips together as if the action would stop her from saying anything else so foolish. His nostrils flared at her words, and he took a small step toward her.
“I want to do more than kiss you. I want to hold you, touch you. I want to taste you. I want to feel your skin against mine.”
Katherine closed her eyes briefly. “You know that’s impossible.”
“The thought that I might never even kiss you again . . . it’s driving me a bit mad.”
Katherine’s breath was becoming shallow as she stared at him, every part of her being wanting exactly what he wanted. But it was wrong. They would never marry. And she would never give herself to a man who was not her husband. But a kiss? What harm could one kiss do? He wasn’t officially engaged; Claudia didn’t truly care for him. A kiss would hurt no one. It amazed Katherine, who’d lived her life in shades of black and white, that she could make kissing Graham seem perfectly fine, almost good and right.
He must have seen her decision in her eyes, for he immediately walked beneath the boxes where her mother sat with the general. She followed, smiling brilliantly up at her mother and waving, trying desperately not to run directly into his arms. In the end, it was hopeless. As soon as she reached the overhang, he pulled on her wrist and she fell into his arms. They were silent, though God above knew that was perhaps the most difficult thing to manage. For the minute Graham’s lips touched hers, she wanted to scream out from the joy of it, from the exquisite relief of finally having him kiss her. He turned her so that her back was to the wall and leaned into her so she could feel his arousal. She wasn’t surprised this time and felt no fear. Instead, she welcomed his maleness, moving against him, relishing the feeling of him against her center. He was familiar to her and even that thought was thrilling.
His mouth found her neck, and she tilted her head, loving the way his hot tongue felt against her sensitive skin. One hand cupped her breast, and then his thumb moved against her nipple, shooting lightning through her. She had never been so aroused in her life, never felt such a heavy fullness, never wanted to strip herself of her clothing and press her body against another’s flesh. What was wrong with her? What was he doing to her? What sort of madness had taken over her that had her pressing against him to find some relief from the beautiful torture happening between her legs?
Katherine couldn’t believe she was able to feel all these things and remain silent. He moved his hand from her breast, trailing downward along her side, then slowly placing it between her legs. She should be mortified, but she wasn’t. Instead she pulled his head away, put her lips near his ear, and said, “Yes.” Yes. He let out a breath that sounded like, “Oh God.” He moved his hand on her, pressing, and she could feel the wetness between her legs.
“Katherine?” Her mother.
Graham pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and removed his hand from between her legs, stepping back slightly with a pained expression on his handsome face. “Answer her,” he whispered.
“Yes, Mother. We’re heading back to the gallery now. Are you coming?” She moved from beneath the overhang to look up at her mother.
“There you are. Yes, we’ll meet you at the theater entrance.” Her mother disappeared from view, and Katherine slumped in relief.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I don’t know what comes over me when you are near me. I’m not myself. I’m never myself when you’re around. I don’t understand
it. I am not a woman who does these things.”
“You are, Katherine,” Graham said, his gray eyes still blazing. “And I’m damned glad for it.”
She shook her head miserably, but still managed to let out a chuckle. “Let’s go meet my mother and the general. I would like to see your gallery and gaze upon all your dour ancestors.”
By the time they all returned to Briarbrook, the hunting party was back and had, for the most part, retired to their rooms until supper. Lady Haversly greeted their small group, pulling Graham aside.
“Mr. Norris is here,” she said, shifting her eyes toward the others. “I understand he is a particular friend of yours?”
Indeed, Charles Norris, the second son of Viscount Melbourne, could be considered a friend, Graham supposed. At least they had been chums during school, though Charles was a bit younger. Graham had seen little of Charles of late, something about his going to India—or was it Africa—after his failed courtship of Melissa Stanhope, now the Countess of Willington. It would be good to see him, he realized. “Yes, I’ve known Charles since Cambridge,” Graham said.
Lady Haversly seemed markedly glad to hear of it, which struck Graham as a bit odd. He’d always thought of Charles as a cheerful, if not bland fellow. “He’s just come back from Africa,” she said, as if that explained her behavior. “I’ve put him two doors down from you, on the left.”
Graham turned to his party and excused himself, making an effort not to allow his gaze to linger too long on Katherine, then headed to his room to change out of his dusty clothes. He was about to open his room when he heard a man bellow, “Goddamn and bloody hell, are you trying to kill me?”
A low murmur was the response, and then another word that Graham hadn’t heard in polite company in quite some time. Grinning, he stopped two doors down from his own and knocked politely on the door. More cursing, this time in a much more subdued voice, and the door was opened by an Indian fellow, dressed in gold, a yellow turban on his head.
“How can I help you, sir?” he asked, his brown eyes challenging, as if he were protecting Charles, not simply making an inquiry.