Blame It on Bath: The Truth About the Duke

by Caroline Linden

  “Poor young lady,” said Margaret. “How terrible to be an heiress, then wed to a man old enough to be your father.”

  “Perhaps he was the only one who’d have her.”

  “Clarissa, you know very well she could have horns on her head and still be a sought-after girl, given a large enough dowry.”

  Lady Eccleston giggled like a girl. “Why, that is very true! And I do believe she must have had an enormous one, for Howe couldn’t keep two farthings if someone sewed them to his glove.”

  “Then she’s a respectable lady?” Gerard asked in one last desperate attempt to get anything useful from this. “I know she’s not a great beauty. I know she has a fortune. I want to know something of her character as well as her situation.”

  Lady Eccleston thought so hard, her face turned pink. Gerard could almost see the wheels frantically spinning inside her brain as she searched for any scrap of information about Katherine Howe. “I just don’t know,” she admitted at last. “She’s not out in society much, or if she is, she’s so quiet and withdrawn, no one speaks of her.”

  “But she’s in London now,” Gerard murmured, half to himself. “I wonder why . . . ?”

  “Is she?” Lady Eccleston perked up. “A wealthy widow, come to town? I must hear more of this!”

  “Clarissa, Gerard is considering marrying her,” Margaret reminded her friend. “And you promised not to say a word.”

  She pursed her lips in affront. “Of course, Margaret,” she exclaimed. “But whatever I hear, I would be sure to tell dear Gerard right away!”

  The solicitor. Of course, Gerard realized; she was in town because it was her money now. She must have wanted to see Mr. Tyrell herself, or needed to, in order to sign papers. Lucien Howe must be hoping to draw up marriage contracts as well. Tyrell mentioned Howe had been to see him.

  “I beg pardon, Lady Eccleston,” he said, interrupting the good-natured bickering between his aunt and her friend. “Do you happen to know where the Howes are lodging?”

  “Portman Square,” she said promptly. “Number ten.”

  He didn’t even want to know how she knew that. The catalog of information about other people contained inside her head must be simply astounding. Gerard got to his feet and bowed. “Ladies, it has been an absolute pleasure. I beg you will excuse me, though.”

  “Of course, dear.” Aunt Margaret rose and lifted her cheek for his kiss. “Do be sure to write now and then, Gerard, if you have no more patience for visiting. I shall be desperate to know how you decide.”

  He smiled. “So shall I, Aunt.” He bowed crisply to Lady Eccleston. “Thank you, ma’am, for all of your assistance.”

  “Of course! Anything for a handsome man in a scarlet coat!” she tittered.

  After he left the ladies, Gerard paused on the pavement outside Dowling House. That had been helpful, he supposed, even if it hadn’t taught him much about the woman herself. He would have preferred to know something about her, but if Lady Eccleston must be his source, perhaps he was better off not hearing anything. For a moment he considered returning home to Durham House in Berkeley Square, but discarded the idea. He’d already said farewell to his brothers. It was highly unlikely Edward would know anything about Lady Howe or her family since he was in London society even less than Gerard himself was. Charlie might know something about the Howes, but he wouldn’t give up the information without learning why Gerard wanted to know. And he had no intention of telling his brothers about Katherine Howe until—or if—he must.

  He turned his horse toward Portman Square. Riding past her house wouldn’t tell him anything, but he had to do something while he considered his next move. She said she couldn’t return to hear his answer for three days, and she didn’t want him to call on her, which would have been far easier. Of course it wasn’t generally acceptable for a lady to call on a man unrelated to her late at night, and although it was rare for a woman to approach a man about marriage, Gerard was sure stranger things had happened. But for her to have chosen him, whom she didn’t know at all . . . He sensed there was more to her decision than simple admiration for his father. He completely dismissed her mention of his military career; he was only a captain, hardly ever offered the chance to perform acts of daring and bravery. Perhaps she saw a chance to connect herself to one of the finest families in England by taking advantage of the scandal over his father’s first marriage. Gerard found that hard to believe as well. There were plenty of men from the finest families who would be glad to entertain her offer and her fortune. Besides, in his case, it might turn out to be a spectacularly bad gamble if things went badly for them in the courts, and he was declared illegitimate.

  So what had brought Lady Howe to his door? She must have been quite desperate to do it and probably had a great fear of the consequences if she were discovered. She preferred death to marrying her late husband’s nephew, she’d said, and somehow Gerard believed her. She was a widow, though, with no father or brothers. That was as free and independent as a woman could be. Moreover, she wasn’t poor, which certainly gave her liberty many other widows wouldn’t have. Why couldn’t she simply refuse to marry again and use her fortune to buy herself a house? She wasn’t spineless, as evidenced by her bold proposition to him.

  He thought back over Lady Eccleston’s remarks. A beautiful, vain mother, disappointed in her plain daughter who nonetheless managed to make a brilliant marriage, at least in status. If Lucien Howe persuaded the mother, perhaps Katherine Howe had no ally inside her own home except the servant who accompanied her. A zealot, Lady Eccleston called Lucien Howe. Zealots weren’t known for their tolerant, forgiving natures, even when financial ruin wasn’t nipping at their heels. If Lord Howe were truly set on marrying Katherine to save his estate, he would surely be furious at her for arranging a different marriage on her own. Gerard had a feeling he’d have to deal with Lord Howe more than once if he ended up marrying Katherine Howe.

  That really wasn’t what he wanted. His hope had been to marry an heiress to make his life easier, not harder. On the other hand, Lady Howe had far more money than he’d anticipated, even if Lucien Howe never repaid a farthing of what he owed her. Was a hundred thousand pounds worth dealing with an irate, possibly incensed, viscount? Or at worst, if the damned loan was forgiven, eighty thousand pounds?

  Gerard was pretty confident the answer would turn out to be, for better or for worse, yes.

  Chapter 6

  On the third day after Lady Howe had made her proposition, Gerard went down and told the landlord he needed the private parlor for the evening and was expecting guests. The man gave him a knowing look, as if Gerard would be entertaining a bevy of courtesans or similar creatures, and promised to make the arrangements. When he showed Gerard to the room after dinner, there was a bottle of wine waiting with a pair of glasses, a crackling fire, and the drapes drawn. Gerard thanked him, poured a glass of wine, and sat down to wait.

  Hour after hour crept by. The fire burned down, and the wine disappeared. By the time the faint sound of a church bell chiming ten filtered into the room, he had almost decided she wasn’t coming. Combined with the wine, this put Gerard in a grim temper. She had thrown down her gauntlet with its tempting prize at the end, begged him to consider it for three days, then not even sent word she wasn’t coming back. The landlord brought another bottle of wine, and Gerard filled his glass again. If she didn’t arrive by eleven, he was going to bed, and at first light he would be on his way, focused once more on the rather pressing business he’d put aside at her instigation.

  Of course, it might not be her fault. Perhaps she was being kept under lock and key, strictly watched, and had no chance to come to him. That was fairly melodramatic, even for a miserly, stiff-necked chap like Lucien Howe apparently was. Perhaps the solicitor reported back to her, unflatteringly, about Gerard and his prospects. Perhaps she changed her mind about her proposal to marry a man she didn’t know—or a man on the verge of scandal and disgrace. Or a man who v
isited her solicitor for an exact accounting of her fortune before deciding whether or not to take her as his wife. Reflection, aided by the wine, mellowed his mood somewhat. There were so many reasons why she shouldn’t return, Gerard was mildly startled when the door opened at last, and her frumpy servant peeked in. She scowled when she saw him but stepped back out of the doorway, so Lady Howe could come in.

  As before, she was hidden in a plain dark cloak, the hood enveloping her face. She stopped short when she saw him lounging in the armchair, one boot on the fender, his coat and waistcoat unbuttoned.

  “I was beginning to worry,” he drawled, when the silence grew taut and uncomfortable. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

  She pushed back the hood. “Why would you think that?”

  He shrugged. “You were the one who insisted I delay for three days. That’s plenty of time for a lady to change her mind. Of course, since I agreed to consider your proposition, it would be only polite to return, even if merely to tell me personally that your offer was no longer good.”

  She stared at him, her mouth flattened in a tense line. “Please, Captain, do not waste my time or yours. Have you an answer for me?”

  Gerard pushed off the fender and stood up. The bottle of wine humming through his veins magnified the urge to unsettle her, to exert some control over the situation. To let her know just what she was getting in him while she still had the right to slap his face and walk away. He glanced at the older woman, hovering in the shadows behind her mistress. “You may go.”

  The servant woman puffed up like an angry hen. Lady Howe blanched. “I would like Mrs. Dennis to stay.”

  “And I would like some privacy,” he said in a silky voice. “If she doesn’t go, I will.”

  Her eyes darted from side to side, but she nodded at her servant. “Wait outside, please, Birdie.”

  With one more black look at Gerard, the woman left, pulling the door to behind her. He ambled across the room and pushed it shut the rest of the way with a bang. He ignored the startled exclamation from outside the door and turned to his future bride. She raised her chin and held her ground. Anger sparkled in her eyes, but she said nothing. For several minutes they just took each other’s measure.

  “Please, take off your cloak,” he said.

  Her shoulders hunched, even though he’d spoken politely, without a drop of implicit threat. “I don’t see the need. We both know my person isn’t a factor in your decision.”

  “Do we both know that?” Gerard cocked his head.

  “It shouldn’t be,” she said stiffly.

  “Ah.” He walked back to the table where the wine sat with his glass and the unused one, her glass. He picked up the bottle and began pouring. “Of course we aren’t acquainted at all, so forgive me for presuming. But you might as well know right now I don’t view marriage as just a business transaction. I’m not for sale any more than I expect you to be. Before I can give you my answer, I have to know—for myself—if we suit at all.”

  “What do you mean, suit?” Her suspicion was almost palpable.

  “Marriage, my dear, is for life. Trust me on this. How much worse would both our predicaments be if we were to wed in intemperate haste, only to discover in a month or a year that we actively detest each other?”

  Two thin lines creased her brow. “You’re a romantic?”

  Gerard laughed. “Not even close! I never said love must figure into it.”

  “Then . . . You want children?”

  He smiled cynically at the shock in her tone. “Why yes, my dear. What a shame, to have so much money and no one to leave it to.”

  “I’m too old to bear a child,” she protested. “I’m already thirty!”

  “Not too old at all,” he countered at once. “My aunt was two-and-thirty when she bore my cousin.”

  Katherine Howe swallowed. “What if I am unable?”

  He shrugged. “Then my disappointment would lie with God, not with you. We cannot know unless we try.”

  “And you wish to try,” she repeated as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “With me.”

  “If you’re to be my wife . . .” He dipped his head in a slow nod. “Yes.”

  For a moment she was so still, only the shallow rise and fall of her bosom betrayed her vitality. Then she reached up and untied her cloak. With a sharp twist of her shoulders she shed the garment, dropping it into Gerard’s extended hand. He tossed it over the chair behind him, taking full advantage of the chance to study her. Her dress was a shade of light brown with lace all around the high neck, certainly not seductive or even very stylish. She was slim, almost thin; he could see her collarbones clearly. But he also could see the swells of her breasts, and she must have hips under that awful dress.

  “Do you like that gown?” he asked. She wasn’t a beauty, but surely there were more flattering dresses she could have chosen.

  She inhaled a shaky breath. “It is my best. We had guests for dinner tonight, and I had no time to change.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” He was standing very close to her, and it clearly unnerved her. Her eyelashes fluttered ceaselessly as her gaze moved about the room even though she never met his gaze.

  “No,” she said. “I’m not particularly fond of it, but everyone said it suits me.”

  Gerard knew enough about women to sense that being told an unappealing dress suited her wouldn’t make any female happy. “Your mother says so?” he hazarded a guess.

  She blinked, finally darting a wary glance at him. “Do—do you know my mother, sir?”

  “No, but I’ve heard of her in the last three days. It seems there’s more to hear of her than of you.” He raised an eyebrow at her frozen expression. “Did you think I wouldn’t ask about you?”

  “No.” Her lips barely moved. “What is your answer, Captain?”

  She wasn’t ugly. A bit plain, perhaps, although she’d undoubtedly look better in a different gown. She could use more flesh on her bones, but that was a small matter. Her hair was styled more attractively than before, comparatively speaking; less like a governess’s and more like a spinster’s. Why did women think tight little ringlets above the ears were attractive? It made them look like spaniels. But the candlelight glinted brass-bright off her hair, deeper than blond though not brunette. He reached up and touched one spiral curl, and found it stiff with pomade. What would it look like taken down?

  She wasn’t stupid or meek. In fact, she had quite a bit of backbone to propose marriage to him, and with such clearheaded forethought. That boded well. Gerard didn’t like women who were led by impulse, swinging from whim to whim as their humors changed. At least a reasonable woman could be dealt with rationally. If anything, she’d seemed too cool and logical so far, almost bloodless in her approach; but he sensed there was temper and spirit inside her. He was probably a damned fool, but he found that hidden passion lurking beneath her drab, frosty exterior to be immensely tantalizing. If she’d been an empty-headed heiress, throwing herself at him with drama and tears, he doubted he would have been intrigued enough to entertain her proposal at all.

  Katherine Howe, however, was giving every impression of wishing herself miles away right now. He edged deliberately closer, noting how she tensed up at his approach.

  “Are you frightened of me?” he asked softly.

  The pulse throbbed frantically under her skin, but her voice was even. “Not at all.”

  One corner of Gerard’s mouth lifted. This woman had bottom. “Then look at me.”

  She inhaled deeply and lifted her eyes to meet his. They weren’t black, he realized, but deep, deep blue.

  “If you marry me,” he said quietly, “I expect you to be my wife in every way. I expect your loyalty to be unwavering—question my actions in private if you will, but never turn on me in public. You are already aware of the potential problem in my family, with my inheritance, and if it ends badly, I never want to hear a remonstrance about our lost social stan
ding or anything related to it. Do you agree to this?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She gave a barely perceptible jerk of her chin, yes.

  Gerard tilted his head in acknowledgment. “In return, I will regard you above other women and protect you with my life. I will expect to dine with you regularly, take you to the theater or other amusements when it pleases us, share your bed at least some nights. I will consider your thoughts and opinions on our shared life and be as decent and honorable a husband as I can be. I don’t expect us to share a deep love, but I would like affection, if possible, and most certainly respect.”

  “Will you keep a mistress?” she asked.

  “I don’t have one now, but if we find we don’t suit in bed, I certainly wouldn’t deny us both the freedom to find pleasure elsewhere.” He waited, but she said nothing, just stared at him with dark, shadowed eyes. She was so grave and somber, despite the flush in her cheeks and the pounding pulse at the base of her throat. Again the devil inside him itched to make her laugh, or lose her temper, or scream in passion. “Do you still agree?” he prompted her.

  For a moment she didn’t move or speak. “If that is your way of accepting my proposal,” she said, “then I agree.”

  He grinned in spite of himself. “Then I, Lady Howe, do gladly consent to become your husband.” He cupped one hand behind her neck and kissed her.

  Katherine’s knees went weak with relief when she realized he was going to agree, and it put her at a significant disadvantage when he unexpectedly laced his long fingers around the nape of her neck and pressed his mouth to hers. She swayed and almost fell, but his free arm went around her, pulling her up onto her toes and flush against him. She grappled for balance, closing her hands on his upper arms. His biceps flexed under her grip, he adjusted his hold on her, and somehow her body fit smoothly into place against his. She dimly registered the size and strength of him, but by far the greater portion of her thoughts was completely scattered away by his kiss.