“This is Bragg, my batman,” the captain told her. “If ever you need anything, set Bragg on it at once.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “but I think Mrs. Dennis will be able to do for me.” She felt an instinctive urge to keep Birdie closer than ever, realizing for the first time how alone she was with her new husband. Even if they each knew no one in town, she had no doubt he would soon have a wide circle of acquaintances, while she . . . She hoped she would feel more at ease in Bath society than she had in London society.
He gave her a curious look. “As you wish. See to a hot bath for my lady, Bragg.”
“The water’s already warming,” said the batman.
“Good man. Show me the upstairs. I really thought you’d find someplace bigger . . .” Without waiting for her, the captain headed toward the stairs, his man a half step behind. Katherine followed silently; there would be time to explore the rest of the house tomorrow.
The bedroom was large and warm, thanks to the fire already crackling in the grate. She walked to the window and pulled the drape aside to peek out at the square. The last rays of sunlight just brushed the top of the houses across from them, and the sky above the chimneys was a deep, velvety blue. A carriage rolled up the street across the square, its lamps winking brightly in the twilight. Bath was beautiful, she thought, and said a quick prayer it would be happy as well.
“Is it a fine view?” The captain had come up behind her. She started at his voice, so close to her shoulder, but managed not to flinch away.
“Yes.” She pulled back the drape so he could see.
Her husband leaned forward, over her shoulder. His face was right next to hers. She could see the dust of the road settled in the folds of his cravat and smell his shaving soap mixed with the odors of sweat and horse. “I hope you find the house satisfactory,” he said, still peering through the window.
“Very much so.” It was hard not to stare at his profile.
He tilted his head and glanced at her. “I trust you’ll be at home in Bath. It’s a fine place—or was, the last time I was here. Unfortunately business may keep me occupied a great deal.”
She longed to know what it was. He’d said he had to find someone here; who? Someone who could help disprove the scandalous rumors about his father? Someone else? But if he wanted her to know, he would tell her. “Of course,” she murmured. “I shall manage.”
“Good girl.” He gave her a quick smile, then turned away and strode across the room. “Bragg, where’s my dinner?” he called into the hallway, laughing a moment later at the muffled reply. “I’ll leave you to your toilette,” he said to Katherine, who still stood at the window. “I did promise you a nice, hot bath, did I not?”
“Yes. How kind of you to remember,” she said, but he had already left the room. Katherine sighed as Birdie bustled in.
It didn’t take Birdie long to unpack her few things. She thought of all her belongings in London. Now that they had arrived and the captain made clear he expected her to amuse herself in Bath, she felt a bit annoyed that he hadn’t allowed her time to pack more. Surely an extra day wouldn’t have made so very great a difference. She had left behind almost everything she valued, and now she was to be alone in a strange town.
After two long days of jolting about in the coach, the hot bath felt delicious. Birdie had kept the bottle of orange water, and put a few drops in the steaming tub. Katherine soaked for a scandalously long time, feeling at leisure to do so for the first time in months. She gathered from something Birdie muttered that her husband had left not just her room but the whole house, which meant she could do as she pleased. Hadn’t he told her to be at home here? She felt at home lolling in the water, and only got out when it cooled enough to make her shiver as Birdie poured buckets of water over her head.
She sent Birdie off to her own bath and bed soon after that, when the captain’s man, Bragg, brought a tray with dinner. Warm, clean, fed, and tired, Katherine curled up in a comfortable chair near the window. Would the captain be home soon? Would he expect her to be waiting for him? Howe never had, but Lucien made a habit of knocking at her door every night. At first she had thought it merely oversolicitous, but later decided it was more watchful.
She wished she knew more about her husband. He seemed nothing like Lucien—although it must be noted the captain now possessed what Lucien had wanted, her fortune. Perhaps Lucien, too, would have left her alone after he got the money. Katherine repressed a shudder; it still made her skin crawl to think of marrying Lucien, even now that she was safe from that fate.
Gerard de Lacey, though . . . Gerard did not make her skin crawl. He made her nerves jangle and her stomach tighten, but not in a bad way. Everything she thought about him might turn out to be wrong, but somewhere deep inside him, she was sure, he was still, in some small way, that kind and gallant young man who had helped her once.
Out in the night, a bell chimed the hour. It wasn’t very late, but Katherine felt as though she hadn’t really slept in weeks, ever since Lucien told her he expected them to marry. Even last night, removed from Lucien’s reach, she’d been too aware of the man sleeping beside her to get much rest. Tonight she felt truly exhausted, wrung out in mind and body, but also finally at some peace. When she startled herself awake for the second time, she decided to go to bed. She set the screen in front of the fire and was just moving to blow out the lamps when she felt a breath of cool air at her back. Slowly she turned, and lounging in the doorway was her husband, watching her.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said, his voice a silky rumble.
Katherine froze. Her stomach took a giant leap, then plummeted to her knees. He looked tousled and vital and utterly focused on her.
“I trust you’ve had your bath, and a good dinner,” he added.
Mutely she nodded.
“Very good.” He stepped into the room and closed the door. “Then let’s go to bed.”
Chapter 11
Gerard hadn’t been in Bath half a day, and already he was displeased with the place.
First there was the house. He had told Bragg to take a fashionable place across the river near Sydney Gardens, for the sake of his privacy and also for Kate’s. She had spent most of her time in the country, and he’d never heard her express any sadness at that. She was a quiet woman, and if she wanted to spend her time in solitary walks through the countryside, he wanted to make it easier for her to do so. Gerard remembered the gardens across the River Avon as lush and beautiful, almost idyllic. Instead of all that, however, Bragg had only managed to find a house in Queen Square, right in the fusty middle of Bath. No doubt their neighbors would be gossiping old ladies who would peck at Kate and him the entire time. Bragg threw up his hands and declared everything in Sydney Gardens was taken, and this was the best he could find. Gerard sighed and waved it off because Bragg was usually right; but he wasn’t happy to be installed so awkwardly and uncomfortably in the town.
He left Kate to her bathing, thinking she deserved some peace after the last two days, but the urge to get out and do something still roiled under his skin. There was very little he could do at that hour, but Gerard remembered where the taverns were, so he put on his coat again and went out, striding along the pavements that gradually narrowed as he left the better part of town. The stench of the river grew worse, rank with horses and offal and other smells he didn’t care to investigate. He stepped around a pair of whores loitering on the pavement and ducked into a tavern. It was smoky and loud, just the sort of carousing place he was used to in the army. He ordered a pint of ale and found a seat at a table by the door.
The simplest approach, and therefore probably the best, was the most direct. Gerard had one principal clue to the blackmailer’s identity: the letters themselves. With luck, the post office in Bath, where two of the letters had originated, would be able to shed some light on the sender. There were receiving houses all over town, but he planned to start with the main post office. Once he had a nam
e, or a description, the real hunt could begin.
He finished his ale and left the pub, walking until the night sky was a canopy of black speckled with stars. The exercise did much to settle his mind, and he finally returned to Queen Square, where Bragg had a cold dinner and a full report waiting for him. His man had a habit of reporting back to him as if they were still on campaign, and tonight was no different. Bragg was a keen observer, so Gerard ate and listened in silence as he divulged what he knew of the neighbors—not much as yet, although there were, as expected, several curious older ladies on the Square anxious to meet the new tenants—and the house and servants. The upstairs maid was inclined to sloth, but the cook was good, and the footman had been put on notice that the new master expected military precision.
“M’lady’s maid will probably frighten them more than you or I do, though,” Bragg added.
Gerard grinned. “Mrs. Dennis is more formidable than half the English Army.”
Bragg shuddered. “Right you are, Cap’n. Already she’s scolded me about the house, the bath for her ladyship, and then her own accommodations. How was I to know the lady’s maid would want the ironing in her room?”
“Give her whatever she wants, at least for the first few days. I carried Her Ladyship out of London without more than a few hours’ notice, and Mrs. Dennis got her feathers thoroughly ruffled.”
“Aye, sir.” Bragg cleared away the dishes from dinner and brought out a bottle of port. “Her Ladyship seems the very model of a lady.”
He paused in the act of pouring the wine. “She is. That’s all you need to say about her, Bragg.”
“Aye, sir.” Bragg knew an order when he heard one. He carried out the tray.
Gerard brooded over his port. He didn’t want to worry about how his wife would get on in Bath. He was a fairly self-sufficient sort of fellow and had little patience for people who needed to be amused or coddled. In Sydney Gardens, they would have had privacy and space. She’d have to make the best of Queen Square. He swallowed the last of the wine and got to his feet. Perhaps he’d better go see how Kate was settling in.
And then he could take her to bed. Gerard’s pulse jumped as that thought crossed his mind. Yes, that sounded damned good right now. A good tupping would dissipate the last of the tension that had dogged him all day. He could still feel the shape of her in his arms, warm and soft, and he was suddenly exceedingly keen to fulfill his marital duties.
He opened the bedroom door and paused. Kate was sitting in the chair by the fireplace, her feet tucked up under her. Her face was turned away from him, but there was something very sweet and relaxed about her pose. As he watched, she started, rubbing one hand over her face before she rose from the chair and stretched rather sensuously. The firelight illuminated her figure through the night rail she wore. Gerard’s eyes slid over nicely rounded hips and a trim waist. His skin prickled in anticipation.
Kate adjusted the fire screen and turned to blow out the lamp before she realized he was there. He could tell the exact moment she became aware of his presence. Her back stiffened, her head came up, and her shoulders hunched forward, all before she even glanced his way. When she faced him, her expression was blank, her eyes watchful. She looked nervous—not that Gerard could think of any reason he might have given for it. Someday soon he was going to find out what set her on edge because he hated to think his wife was uneasy around him. Hopefully it was merely the awkwardness of unfamiliarity, which he was confident could be remedied by time . . . time, and some persistent seduction.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said. “I trust you’ve had your bath and a good dinner.” He could see she had; her hair gleamed like polished brass in the muted lamplight, the ends still curling damply. She gave a tiny nod. He pushed away from the doorway and closed the door. He could see the curve of her breasts through the nightgown. He very much hoped he and Kate were compatible in bed, for he was finding her more intriguing by the hour. “Very good. Then let’s go to bed.”
She didn’t move. Her color faded, and Gerard knew she took his meaning. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it on a chair. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not a virgin.”
He grinned. “You’re fond of lovemaking, then?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“I thought so.” He shed his waistcoat and began unknotting his cravat. “I beg you will remember I am not Lord Howe.”
“I would never confuse you with him,” she said, her voice a little strained.
Gerard unwound the cravat and let the linen fall to the floor. He crossed the room and laid his hands gently on her shoulders. He felt the small shiver that went through her. “You should enjoy it. I mean for you to enjoy it, with me.”
Her pulse beat like a hummingbird’s wing. “I’m sure it will be quite pleasant.”
His mouth curled. Somehow, whether she intended it or not, Kate knew just how to provoke him and taunt him and push him to make good on his words—better, even. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”
She swallowed.
His blood humming now, Gerard took off his boots, then his stockings. Kate watched without a word, her hands clutching fistfuls of her nightdress. When he began pulling off his shirt, she inhaled deeply. “I’ll put out the lamps,” she blurted, and rushed to blow out the nearest one. He said nothing. She was nervous, and if darkness reassured her, so be it.
He stepped out of his trousers and drawers as she put out the last lamp. The room was plunged into darkness, the fire having died down to coals. Her white nightdress stood out as his eyes adjusted, and Gerard caught her when she would have hurried past him to the bed. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. He slipped one arm around her waist and threaded the fingers of his free hand into her hair. “Trust me.” And he kissed her.
Katherine’s heart nearly burst. He was naked—naked!—and holding her against him as he kissed her. She felt light-headed, shaky on her feet, but there was nothing to steady herself on except Gerard, and he was naked—completely, shockingly, utterly naked. Her hand brushed against his bare thigh, and she quickly raised her hands to his arms. That seemed safer, until he made a rough noise of satisfaction in his throat and gathered her even closer. His skin was hot, so much warmer than hers. She could feel the heat of him through her nightdress, especially his male organ, which pressed against her belly, growing harder by the minute. It gave her a thrill of both panic and delight. He was aroused—by her. She still desperately feared being a disappointment, but for now, perhaps, there was hope.
Gradually she relaxed into his kiss. It was just as lovely as the others had been. When he nipped at her lower lip, she let him in, his tongue sweeping sensuously over hers. Hesitantly she tried to reply in kind, and he growled again. The muscles of his arms grew taut under her palms, and without breaking the kiss, he somehow managed to lift her in his arms and carry her to the bed. He set her down on her feet, and Katherine swayed and almost fell. If he kept kissing her like that all night, he could do anything he liked to her.
“Shh,” her husband murmured in his low, rumbling voice. Somehow he undid all the buttons down the front of her nightdress in the blink of an eye and tugged it down. Katherine clapped her hands to her bosom in alarm as the fabric slid over her shoulders, but he calmly brushed them away, slipping the garment down until it dropped into a puddle at her feet.
For a moment he just stood there, his head bent as he looked at her—or so she thought. The fire had almost burned to ash, and she could barely make out his form in front of her. Without physical contact, both her head and her skin cooled rapidly. Her hands balled into fists as a chill rippled over her. What was wrong? Had he changed his mind?
She jumped when his fingertips brushed her hipbone. He stepped closer, making that quiet shushing sound under his breath as both his hands wandered over her. He stroked the curve of her waist. He drew his hands up her ribs to cup the slight swells of her breasts. Like the touch of a
hot iron, it recalled the easy way he had fondled her that morning, and her nipples tightened at the memory. He seemed to like it; he circled his thumbs over the hard buds, his breathing gone deep and harsh. She was trembling. He was making her stomach flutter, and she shifted her feet, squeezing her legs together as something seemed to melt there.
“Touch me,” he breathed, abandoning her breasts to run his fingertips up her spine. Katherine’s back arched involuntarily. She could almost hear him smiling his slow, wicked grin as he did it again, then again, until she made a gasping squeak of pleasure. “Touch me,” he whispered. “I want to feel your hands, Kate . . .”
She grabbed his arms, and his hands flattened on her lower back, urging her against him. Katherine collided with a wall of solid male flesh that seemed to sizzle where it touched hers. It was shocking and wonderful at the same time. She rested her cheek against his chest, marveling at the muffled thump of his heart and the tickle of hair against her temple. He was still just running his hands up and down her back, as if he were as content to hold her as she was to be held. This wasn’t frightening or demanding. It was wonderful, really, and she let her fingers wander over the solid bulge of his biceps.
His hold tightened, and he lifted her onto the bed, bearing her down onto her back without breaking contact between them. She took a deep breath, thinking of what was to come, and he cupped her cheek to kiss her. By the time she realized what he was doing, he had settled his weight between her legs, and she could feel the head of his organ brushing against her. “Shh,” he crooned again. “Don’t worry—let me make it better . . .”
Katherine nodded, although whether he could see in the darkness, she didn’t know. She hoped he would kiss her again, for she forgot everything but the drowning pleasure of that when he did, but instead his lips whispered over her brow before moving down the side of her neck. The slight scrape of stubble against that sensitive skin made her shiver. He murmured wordlessly, his lips traced over her collarbone and shoulder. His other hand began stroking in long, sure sweeps up her arm, then down, then raising her arm above her head and draping it over the pillow. His knee nudged her thigh, and she obediently shifted her leg out of the way. He hummed a deep note of approval and slid down until his head was level with her breasts.
Blame It on Bath: The Truth About the Duke Page 12