It didn’t take her long to gather her favourite bonnet and change into a celestial blue satin carriage dress. Grabbing her copy of Frankenstein, she dashed down the stairs and out through the door. An unmarked coach of shiny black lacquer was waiting with its curtains closed. Ignoring her uneasy feeling, she accepted help from the footman, stepped inside, and settled on the bench across from Julian.
His surprised expression was visible in the muted light. ‘You have changed.’
‘It seemed prudent.’
‘There was no need. You look lovely in either dress.’
Warmth spread through her at this compliment. Then the carriage jerked and she was rocked back and forth as the horses began their journey. She wished she could peer outside, to see in what direction they were headed.
‘Where are we off to?’
‘Nowhere in particular. I have instructed the driver to return us to your home in an hour. However, it may prove a challenge to read the book together if you are not seated next to me.’
The carriage, while spacious, was not overly wide. If she sat next to him their bodies would be sure to touch.
She vaulted across the carriage.
His muscular thigh pressed against hers as she nestled her arm next to his and opened the book.
* * *
When Julian had arrived at Katrina’s home and had been informed Madame de Lieven was already there he should have walked away. Hiding in the dining room with both the Russian Ambassador’s wife and Katrina’s father on the premises had been dangerous. However, sitting this close to her now, Julian was glad he had listened to the voice that had told him to stay.
Her warm, soft thigh was pressed against his, and that warmth was travelling over to him. It would not take much for him to harden. His body was begging to lay her down under him and explore every inch of her. Had she not been a virgin, that book she was holding would have been tossed somewhere on the floor by now.
He motioned towards the book. ‘Shall we begin?’
She nodded and opened the book to a page marked with a worn strip of deep pink silk. With her permission, he took it out and rubbed it lightly between the fingers of his ungloved hand.
‘This is true proof that you are a great reader.’
Her soft laugh made him smile. ‘It is a remnant from a gown that once belonged to my mother. My Great-Aunt Augusta gave it to me when I was a child. I’ve kept it ever since.’
‘That was very thoughtful of her.’
‘She was all that is kindness. The Dowager reminds me of her.’
Had her aunt smuggled gin into assemblies, faked a malady when she wanted her way, and entertained herself in her later years by inserting herself into situations that weren’t any of her business? He wasn’t inclined to believe so.
Handing the strip back to her, he looked down at the open book. In the low light he would need to squint to read the words. ‘Perhaps this isn’t the ideal location for reading.’
‘Now you decide this isn’t wise?’
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I still believe being alone with you in this carriage is the finest idea I’ve had today.’
‘You do realise that if this continues I will find myself finishing this book during my journey home to New York.’
The idea of her travelling home burned his gut. When she left England she would not be returning. Ever. A chasm opened in his chest, and he tried to rub it away.
‘You once told me you had no interest in marrying anyone in England, and yet Madame de Lieven appeared eager to inform Greely’s whelp that you will be at the Hipswitch garden party. Perhaps you’ve changed your mind?’
She sighed and shook her head. ‘I have not. However, Madame de Lieven can be most insistent in her opinions.’
‘Do you truly have no wish to live here?’
‘On the contrary—I adore London and the sense of the past that surrounds me. I feel as if I could spend years here and I would still find something new to see. It is the men here who hold no appeal.’
As a man residing in London, to him that was rather insulting—no, it was highly insulting. He raised his chin and pulled his shoulders back. ‘All men?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted without hesitation. ‘Rather, not all but most—you appeal to me.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
‘Somewhat,’ she amended with a mischievous smile. ‘However, I believe we were discussing my marrying an Englishman and not simply liking one.’
‘Are you this charming with American men as well? It is a wonder you are still unmarried.’
Instead of offending her, his comment made her laugh.
He eyed her sideways. ‘What is it that you find so distasteful about Englishmen?’
She was not destined to be his duchess. This was not a conversation he should be having with her. And yet a part of him wondered why she found him an unsuitable choice for a husband.
‘We have different views on fidelity,’ she blurted out rather abruptly.
Julian jerked his head back, not having expected that to be her reasoning. ‘I wasn’t aware we had had a discussion on such a subject. I must make a note to pay closer attention to what you say.’
‘Don’t be glib. I am well aware of what men of your station do, and I do not wish that for my marriage,’ she said with a casual lift of her shoulder.
He leaned closer. ‘Really? What is it we do?’
‘Men of the ton marry women for their impressive ancestry or significant fortunes. When they grow bored with their wives they go about with other women.’
Julian’s brows drew together. ‘Is this about your earlier notion that I have a mistress? I assure you I still haven’t taken one.’
‘No. It’s about you being an English nobleman,’ she stated firmly, looking him in the eye in the dim light.
‘And because of that you believe I would conduct myself in such a manner?’
‘I have no reason to assume otherwise. You once told me that you do not expect a happy marriage, and you found my ideas on love provincial.’
‘Opinions can change.’
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, sceptically. ‘So now you will tell me you plan to be a faithful husband?’
He didn’t want to think about being married to Lady Mary—not when he was sitting with his body pressed against Katrina. He took a deep breath and held in her lemon scent. Deep down he knew he would think of her every time he took Mary to bed. It was not an honourable notion, nor something he would ever admit to anyone—especially the woman sitting beside him waiting for a response.
Why the hell had he started this conversation with her?
‘Well?’ She was not letting the matter rest.
He needed her to know what kind of man he was. He needed her to see that he was a man who honoured his vows. ‘I’ve already been married and, although the union was arranged by my father, I was faithful.’
It came out in a rush, and he turned his head away from her. He rarely spoke of Emma. It was difficult to take a steady breath.
Katrina fell back against the plush upholstery, her properly erect posture forgotten. ‘You were married?’ It came out as a whisper. ‘We spent all that time together and you never told me.’
‘I assumed you knew. Everyone in London is aware that I was married.’
‘Well, no one told me.’ She appeared to wait for him to continue.
He never intentionally discussed Emma. The subject of her death was too personal and much too painful. He tried to scrub the image of her lying dead out of his mind. It had haunted him most nights—at least until he’d met Katrina. That hadn’t occurred to him until now.
He looked into her expectant eyes. An unwelcome lump was forming in his throat. ‘My wife’s name was Emma. She was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Beaumont. Our fathers arranged our marriage while I was away at Cambridge. She died while giving birth to our stillborn son.’
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. I
t was easier to move away from Katrina than to continue to look into her eyes.
‘To this day I am sorry for her loss and the loss of my child.’ But his regret would never bring them back.
She brushed the hair by his temple in a comforting gesture. ‘I am sorry for your loss too.’
Not knowing what else to say, Julian gave a quick nod.
Katrina continued to stroke his temple. ‘My mother died shortly after giving birth to me. My father feels her loss even to this day.’
Julian squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed his hand across his face. There was comfort in the closed confines of the gently rocking carriage and muted light. It felt...safe.
‘I never held him.’ The statement left his lips before the thought had fully formed in his head.
The soft pressure of her hand on his back was an unexpected gesture. ‘Did anyone ask if you wanted to?’
He shook his head and bit his lip. The lump in his throat was making it difficult to swallow. ‘They only asked if I wanted to see him.’
‘Did you?’
He nodded as tears that had never been shed rimmed his eyes. The physician and Emma’s maid had been so focused on tending to her, they hadn’t had time to clean his son. He’d been so small—and so still.
‘I should have held him. No one held him.’
She rested her head lightly against his shoulder and a hot tear began to trickle down his face.
‘A father should hold his son,’ he choked out, ‘even if just once. I named him John, after Emma’s brother. They had been close, and it seemed only right. I had them buried together. My mother tried to insist John should have his own coffin in the family crypt, but I thought it best for them to be together. She said it was unseemly and that she was certain my father would have felt the same.’ He finally looked over at Katrina and saw the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. ‘What would you have done?’
She slid her fingers through his. ‘I think Emma would have wanted to be with John.’
He’d thought so too. The crushing weight of indecision that had plagued him since her burial eased for the first time. He had needed to know he had made the right decision in honouring their memories. He’d needed someone he respected to say it to him. It had eaten away at his conscience for too long. And he knew Katrina would always be honest with him.
She rested her head on his shoulder again. ‘I believe deep down we know what the right course of action is. We just need to listen to what our heart tells us. I’m sorry to have caused you to relive such painful memories. I should have realised.’
He kissed the top of her head and took a deep breath. The lump in his throat was dissolving. ‘Do not apologise. I needed to hear that you believe they were laid to rest in a proper fashion.’
A comforting silence stretched between them as the carriage rocked them gently through the streets of London. The distant sound of voices and the rolling of the carriage wheels on cobblestones felt oddly comforting.
‘I’m certain you’re grateful you accepted my invitation today,’ he said dryly after some time.
She lifted her head up and offered him a reassuring smile. ‘There is no place I would rather be.’ She tugged off a white kidskin glove and wiped the wetness from his cheek with the pad of her thumb.
His heart gave an odd flip.
‘It’s never easy to lose someone we love,’ she said, running her thumb along his forehead.
It took him a few moments before he realised she was referring to Emma. ‘I did not love her,’ he said. ‘I liked her enough, but I didn’t love her.’
Love was something he knew nothing of. He had not been born to fall in love. He wasn’t even certain he would know what love felt like. And yet... How would he define his feelings for the woman next to him? It wasn’t love, but what was it?
‘I believe I have taken you on a melancholy journey away from our original conversation.’
‘I’ve forgotten what we were discussing,’ she said, sitting up.
‘We were discussing fidelity. And I think for all your notions about people prejudging you because you are American you are no better.’
‘How so?’ she asked indignantly.
‘You’ve tarred and feathered the entire male population of the ton, accusing us all of infidelity. You believe my title leaves me incapable of devoting myself to one woman. I am informing you that you are wrong in your assessment of me.’
She crossed her arms over those enticing breasts.
‘Do not look chastised.’ He sat back and rested his head on the cushion behind them. Their conversation today had been far too grim. ‘Have I told you how much I have come to appreciate the smell of lemons?’ he commented casually.
Even in the muted light of the carriage he could see her faint smile. ‘You might have mentioned it a time or two.’
The smile fell from his lips. ‘I fear one day I will miss that smell.’
Silence stretched between them, and his heart sank in his chest.
Chapter Nineteen
Katrina was in excellent spirits when Sarah and Mrs Forrester asked her to join them on their shopping excursion along Bond Street two days later. The sun was out and the temperature pleasant, making it an ideal day to meander through the shops. Turning a corner, they noticed a small crowd gathered around the large mullioned window of one particular building. Ever the curious one, Sarah tugged Katrina along to see what was so interesting.
‘Oh, it’s a print shop,’ Sarah said, eyeing the cartoons in each pane of the large window.
‘Perhaps we will see someone we know,’ Katrina mused as she studied a caricature of the Prince Regent attempting to squeeze his rather large body into a very small corset.
Next to her, an amused Sarah methodically studied each print one by one, letting out a giggle at a few in particular. Suddenly she gave a quick gasp and pulled Katrina out through the crowd. Dragging Katrina to the milliner next door, Sarah pulled Katrina to a stop next to where Mrs Forrester was waiting for them.
‘We have a problem,’ she announced rather breathlessly.
Mrs Forrester turned a questioning eye to her daughter. ‘The two of you have been away from me for only a few moments. What could possibly have happened in such a brief time?’
Katrina caught the look of pity in Sarah’s eyes.
Taking Katrina’s gloved hand in her own, Sarah leaned closer. ‘There is a caricature of you and Lyonsdale in a carriage,’ she whispered.
Ice crept up Katrina’s spine. Their secret was out. It felt as if all the people around them were whispering about her, even though their eyes were still on the prints in the window.
At Mrs Forrester’s suggestion they made their way directly to Katrina’s home with a stack of the scandalous prints. They had tried to acquire the printing plate, but had been told someone else had purchased it a few hours earlier.
It wasn’t until they had entered Katrina’s drawing room that she was finally able to study the image.
The illustration showed a carriage with the Lyonsdale crest emblazoned on the door and an American flag flying above, driving through London. Visible through the window was the head of a blonde woman wearing an Indian headdress. Her head was back and her eyes were closed. On top of her was a brown-haired man in his shirtsleeves with his hand on her bare leg, pushing up her skirt. The caption below read Minding the Savages.
For the first time in her life Katrina truly thought she might cast up her accounts in front of other people. She dropped down on the settee and let her head fall into her hands. ‘How can I show my face in Town after this?’
Crouching down beside her, Mrs Forrester stroked Katrina’s back. ‘Do not worry, my dear. Anyone who has encountered you thus far has seen you comport yourself as a lady. I am certain this will be forgotten when some new bit of gossip has the tongues wagging.’
The woman was trying to reassure her, but Katrina did not miss the concern in her voice.
‘Katrina, I do have to ask—did you go for a
carriage ride with a titled Englishman?’
She looked into the gentle eyes of the woman who had kindly offered to chaperon her. How could she say she had been secretly seeing Lyonsdale? The woman would never look at her the same way again.
Needing to put distance between them, Katrina jumped up and headed towards the window. It was time to confess everything.
‘Mother, it was all my fault,’ Sarah blurted out. She looked regretfully at Katrina. ‘Please forgive me. I never thought this would happen.’
What was Sarah saying?
Mrs Forrester stared at her daughter with trepidation. ‘What did you do?’
‘Do you recall when Katrina and I went on that picnic? Well, two gentlemen we are acquainted with happened upon us, and I asked them if they would care for refreshment. They sat with us for a time and then went on their way. It was all very innocent, but our footman or coachman must have told a tale.’
Mrs Forrester rubbed her eyes, as if she could wipe the image of the caricature from her mind. Katrina had already tried that. It didn’t work.
The woman took both of Sarah’s hands and looked her in the eye. ‘Who were the gentlemen?’
‘The Duke of Lyonsdale and the Earl of Hartwick.’
Mrs Forrester’s loud groan filled the room. ‘Sarah, you didn’t?’
Sarah’s hands fisted at her sides as she tried to defend her action. ‘The hour was very early. I was certain no one would see.’
But this image clearly showed an exaggerated version of what had occurred as Katrina drove through Mayfair with Julian. This was not a depiction of the picnic.
She began to tremble, and drops of cold sweat dusted her skin. ‘What will I tell my father?’
Mrs Forrester quickly took her by the arm and gently lowered her to the settee. ‘Have no fear. I will talk with him first. There might be a way we can avoid a scandal. I doubt the Duke of Lyonsdale has any desire to enter into one.’
Julian’s reputation meant everything to him. If his family name suffered because of the implications of the caricature he would hate her for ever.
An Unsuitable Duchess Page 17