Ryder remained silent and then he rolled onto his side.
The sudden loss of his body was sharply painful. Had she angered him? It wasn’t as if he had ever bared his soul to her. Kathryn stared up at the ceiling, trying not to read more into his actions than was there. But despite herself, she couldn’t help wanting the heat of him.
And then he reached backward and took her arm, pulling her to spoon against his back. He tucked her arm around his middle. Sighing with relief, Kate rested her face against his broad back. Though she didn’t truly understand it, she hated the idea of him closing himself off to her. And with this one little gesture, he reassured her all was well.
And it would be.
Chapter 23
If Kate ever had thoughts one might perish from too much happiness, she’d been proven wrong. Every day, new delights were arranged for her. And she had Imogen to urge her to new heights of decadence.
But her greatest corruptor was none other than her husband. Jewelers came to the house, plying her with gems and gold till she shone like a chandelier. She and Imogen sat about the salon, like sultans, being waited upon hand and foot as Madame Sophie brought forth her finest materials for them to select for new gowns.
It was a never ending parade of presents. Whenever she started to pull back, Ryder would somehow mysteriously appear with a fresh bottle of champagne, a host of servants behind him with trays of the most delicious foods and a coaxing smile, accompanied by the words that no one was going to call him a neglectful husband.
It was frightfully endearing the way he peppered her with gifts. Shoes and fans, gloves and hats, all arrived for her selection.
Kate and Imogen took it all in stride, clapping her hands and comparing green silk against pink silk. They put lace and silver braiding up to their faces trying to decide which suited best, and then choosing to take both.
But most overwhelming of all, Ryder wouldn’t let her pay a penny. She tried, lord knew she had, but at the mere mention of it, he lifted a black brow and silenced her on the subject.
He bought her books and furniture from France. The rarest orchids filled her room every day. And when she wasn’t attending a party with her husband or receiving his gifts, she was in bed with him. She barely ever slept. Life had become an endless whirl of pleasure. They chattered like two children who finally found friends. Each morning they dined together, discussed the paper together. He rode and insisted she ride in the carriage as they went out to the park.
It was as if both of them had been starved for human company and affection and finally they’d been admitted to the banquet of happiness.
Kate didn’t quite know what to make of it. All she knew was she was happier than she’d ever been. And her heart, traitorous little thing it was, was slowly softening. Every time Ryder came into a room, she couldn’t stop her gaze from turning to him, just as he looked to her.
When he was gone, she longed for him. When they were together she was completely content.
In short, it was terrifying.
She’d promised herself she would never let herself grow weak under a man’s attentions again. But he was positively relentless.
Each little action he took was designed to make her happier, more comfortable. If she preferred fish to meat, they had fish five out of seven days. If she liked strawberries, a dozen dishes were prepared with the fruit. If she voiced she liked Marlowe, every one of his works would arrive in a crate with her name on it.
Who was ever given such care?
With each day, Kate felt safer, more secure and firmly believed she’d been deemed the luckiest woman in the world. And any day he would tell her more about himself. He would discuss the things that hurt him, just as she told him about Percy.
But the days stretched by and the end of the season neared. Though they talked endlessly, he never mentioned his past or anything that might trouble him. And each day he relegated her to the edges of his life, she grew more and more determined to find a way to be closer to him.
Then as June began to close, the presents continued, but his presence began to fade. Every day, he spent a little less time with her. He smiled less, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The carefree happiness that had begun to brighten his dark face, disappeared. Instead, she saw the duke she first met. The one who roared at his butler through his door.
And Kate felt panic. For the first time in her life, she knew real and true panic.
Today was a perfect example. He sat across from her at the breakfast table, his fork perched in his hand, but no food was upon it. He stared at the porcelain plate as if he might bore a hole through it, and his food remained cold and untouched.
Kate couldn’t bring herself to eat. When she tried a bite of eggs, they turned to glue in her mouth, and she had to use all her effort to chew and swallow.
This Ryder sat silent in his black clothes and wore that blasted pale ribbon she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask about. She was a coward for not speaking of the little slip of fabric. But she was afraid that if she did, he might regress altogether. And he said nothing. This was not the man she had spent the last month with, and she had no idea what to say to him. Still, she had to try. She could not lose the friend who had come to be so dear to her. She could not. She could not go back to that loneliness.
“Shall we go for a ride today?” she ventured, hating herself for the slight brittle cheer in her voice.
He didn’t answer.
“Ryder?”
He looked up suddenly, his black eyes empty and flat. “Pardon?”
She swallowed, her stomach rolling. “A ride?”
He looked to the window for a moment, contemplating the sun and then he looked at the door as if it offered freedom. “No. No, thank you. You should go.” Pushing back his chair, he strode to her and absently pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Enjoy the day.”
As he silently left the room, Kate murmured to herself, “But where are you going?”
Sitting in silence, the tick of the clock upon the sideboard grated on her nerves. She gripped the edge of the table and ground her teeth down. She would not cry. Crying fixed nothing. Crying was for fools.
Even so, her throat began to tighten. She forced herself to take a shuddering breath. She didn’t even need to ask where he’d gone. She already knew. Like every day, he went up to his room and shut the door.
And let no one, absolutely no one, inside.
It was like a metaphor for his life.
Well, she wasn’t going to have it. She wasn’t about to let her dearest friend descend into such darkness. But first she had to find out why he changed with such suddenness.
Kate shoved back from the chair and strode out into the halls. Determination marked her every step as she went in search of their butler. She could have just rang, but frustration was humming through her to the point she thought she might scream.
And screaming, like crying, wouldn’t solve a blasted thing. She already let Ryder’s actions pass too long without seeking answers.
She went through hall after hall, her slippered shoes padding along the parquet and carpeted floors. At last she came to the downstairs and wound her way through the plain servant halls.
“Grieves!” she called.
A few of the maids stopped like frightened rabbits as they spotted her. Belatedly, they dropped into curtsies.
“Have you seen Grieves?” she demanded.
The girls pointed down the hall. Kate nodded and charged off. There were several doors with tall windows, and she squinted through each, trying to spot the butler.
Why in the devil did she have to live in such large house?
At last, she came to a door with an especially polished brass knob and spotted the white haired old man bent over a ledger through the sparklingly clear window. Without knocking, she pushed the door open.
The old man’s head snapped up and his mouth opened and closed like a flopping fish upon the bank. “Your—Your Grace.” He started to stand,
the movement slow and laborious for his aging joints.
“No, Grieves, please don’t rise.” She folded her hands together, unsure of how to start. She glanced at the plain, straight backed chair before his desk. “May I sit?”
Grieves’ shaggy brows drew together in consternation. He eyed the chair then her, then the chair again. Clearly, a duchess had never asked to sit on the other side of a desk in his presence. “Of course, Your Grace.”
She hurried into his office and plunked herself down without ado, her skirts rustling. “You’ve known the duke for some time.” It was a statement and not a question.
Grieves closed the large, leather bound ledger and stroked the cover slowly. “I have indeed.”
Lord, she wished she could just come out with it, but even she had to admit a degree of tact was needed. “Then you have recognized his recent behavior?”
Immediately, Grieves’ face shuttered. He placed the ledger aside and clasped his hands before him on the desk. “I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure, Your Grace.”
Kate blew out a breath and inched her chair forward. “I don’t have time for this, Grieves. It pains me greatly to see your master in this condition.” How could she convince the old man of her intentions, and even worse, could she discuss the state of the duke? “Please, I wish to help him.”
Grieves’ old face smoothed a bit and sympathy filled his eyes. Quickly, he looked to the windows as if fearing Ryder might march down and catch him. “Oh madam, I wish you could help him, and I thought you had. He’s been so happy these many weeks.” The butler inclined his white head. “All due to you.”
“Thank you,” Kate said quickly, wishing to get straight to the matter. “But now?”
Grieves let out a great sigh, rather like a bellow’s pump as he leaned back. “He’s been like this for years now, Your Grace. Ever since. . .” The butler caught himself and glanced at the door.
“Yes?” she urged. It was so odd, feeling like a conspirator in her husband’s house. But that was exactly what she was. A conspirator for his happiness. And yet, it felt a little wrong sitting here, asking for his most personal information.
Grieves stood and quickly closed the door. He turned back towards her, his face creased with age and sadness. “Ever since his first duchess, Lady Jane, passed away.”
Kate’s mouth dried. He’d been married. She’d known it. Mrs. Barton had even intimated his devoted nature to the lady’s memory. But he never once let her believe he’d been passionately in love with the lady. In fact, he never once said her name. “He’s been shutting himself away for that long?”
Grieves nodded. “Sometimes for a day, sometimes a month at a time.”
Kate looked down at her hands and whispered, “Good Lord.” Her dark knight was dark indeed. But he had such life in him to waste it in this manner.
“I shouldn’t speak of it,” the butler said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Kate turned pleading eyes up to him. “Please, I know so little.” It hurt so to confess it, but she needed to help Ryder. “He tells me nothing.”
After a moment, Grieves nodded, his mouth pursing around no doubt painful words. “I’ve known him all his life. ’Tis why he trusts me.” Shaking his head, Grieves gave her his back. “Oh, madam, I shouldn’t.”
“If you care about His Grace, you should. I cannot bear to see him thus.”
“You shall have to. For it is always worse this time of year.”
At last, Kate couldn’t bear to sit any longer. The energy which had driven her to seek this man out drove her to stand. “But why?”
Grieves shrugged and crossed back to his desk. “’Tis the end of the Season.”
“What does that have anything to do with—”
“Pardon, Your Grace, but Lady Jane, poor sweet soul, died in July. Of smallpox. She’d caught it nursing His Grace’s tenants.”
“Oh.” The sound escaped Kate’s lips, her chest squeezing with a ridiculous jealousy and sorrow at Ryder’s pain.
“The duke, well, he’d been on his own, both his parents dying when he was young.” Grieves’ hands twisted together, a sign of his unease at their discussion. “And the former duchess, she was so kind to him, helping him recover grieving for them.”
The sadness of it sucked the energy out of her, and she found herself holding onto the high back of the chair. Was he still in love with her? Mrs. Barton claimed his heart still belonged to her.
Kate pressed her lips together. She’d always known she could not give her love to him. And this was exactly why. In all possibility, he would never love her. Ryder had known so much pain. “But why does he do this to himself?”
The butler looked at her for a moment, then began coughing. His skin turned red, and he lowered himself into his chair. Sucking in a breath, his gnarled fingers curled into fists. “God, the memory of it, Your Grace. I still remember the day of her death. The duke came storming out of Lady Jane’s room. He didn’t say a word, not one. But not a picture nor a book was left undamaged in his study such was his grief.”
“What?” Kate demanded. He never mentioned his wife’s death or really any of his life before they’d met. But like so many things she’d blithely ignored in marrying Ryder, she was becoming fully aware.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I’m betraying confidences. I cannot tell you more.”
“I understand.” Though she longed to ask more questions regarding his father’s death, they should be questions for her husband. Questions he most likely did not wish her to ask. “Is there no way to bring him out of this?”
“Not that I’ve seen. It used to be right brutal the first two years after her death. Now, we just wait and see. But I’m sure it won’t be so bad, what with you here. He cares about your happiness. He comes out of his room in the mornings.”
And she was supposed to find that heartening? “How long will it last?”
“Oh, at this time of year?” Grieves smiled, attempting cheer. “The worst of it is over by the fall.”
“The fall?” Her voice grew tight, and she could barely get the words out. Almost three months. Three months of Ryder in pain. No, she wouldn’t allow it. There had to be something to be done.
And she would find it. Life was too short for him to waste it in such self-recrimination. The Ryder she knew would never harm anyone. No, he would lay down his heart, his soul, his body to help them.
She wouldn’t let them go on in silent pain like this. No, it was time for him to share his past. With her.
Chapter 24
Kathryn, as so many invariably did, was staring at him as if he’d gone mad. Totally insane, in fact. Oh, she was trying to hide it as she glanced at him through half closed eyes in the mirror, brushing her beautiful hair in long even strokes.
The evening and the golden candlelight turned her pale face luminous. The folds of her dark blue dressing gown spilled about her legs and the lace at her neck parted to reveal the curve of her breasts. Like this, no one was more beautiful than his Kathryn.
Swirling the cognac in his crystal glass, he shifted positions on his cushioned, chocolate leather chair before the fire. It might be better if she didn’t notice he had observed her concerned glances.
But what the hell could he do? Oh, he knew she was distressed. He’d have to be a moron not to notice the tension in her shoulders, and the way she pursed her lips before speaking to him as if he might suddenly turn into a raging mad man. And he should try harder to assure her, to pull himself out of his growing hell. But. . .
Ryder snapped his gaze to the fire, letting the brightness of it burn his eyes, burn them until they stung.
He’d done the unthinkable.
He let Jane’s birthday pass without notice.
Even now the thought made him want to vomit.
Discreetly, he fingered the worn ribbon circling his wrist. How could he have done such a thing? How could he have let that day slip by when year after year he lit candles and donated funds to her favorit
e charities? He usually spent the day in quiet solitude, reading John Donne, her favorite poet. Death thou shalt die. . .
But death had not died, not before it had stolen Jane.
Ryder bit down on the inside of his cheek trying to fight back his self revulsion. This year he and Kathryn had gone to a ball on Jane’s birthday. On the anniversary of her birthday, he had drank and caroused with his friends, and then he had taken Kate home and made passionate love to her.
It hadn’t even occurred to him till a week later what he’d done.
At the outset of his new marriage he promised himself he could make Kathryn happy and still devote himself to Jane’s memory. And he’d failed her. He was failing them both.
The pain and guilt of knowing that rolled in darker than any thunderstorm, and since, nothing could make him forget what a deplorable bastard he was.
Even so, he snuck a glance at Kathryn as she rubbed scented lotion over her slender hands. She was worried about him, but that would pass. She would grow accustomed to his ways and lord knew he struggled to keep the real darkness at bay for her sake.
Before he would have locked himself in. Kept to himself until he could meet people again without wanting to kill them all for having the kind of happiness that had been torn from him.
He took a long fast swallow, trying to convince himself his world was not about to implode.
Kathryn turned in her chair, the silk of her gown caressing her long legs. “What are you thinking, good sir?”
“Hmm?” Ryder rubbed the back of his hand over his lips, trying to hide the list of self recriminations from his face.
“You look like Atlas.” She stood, the folds of her gown whooshing into place. A smile tilted her lips as she gracefully closed the distance between them. “Has the weight of the world been placed upon your shoulders?” There was a false note of cheer to her usually rich voice.
He forced himself to laugh and took her hand. If they could just manage to ignore his pain, all would turn out. She’d be cared for, if not entirely loved, and he. . . He’d find a way to never forget Jane again. “Come.”
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 177