The Deepest Well

by Juliette Cross

  “Are we talking about the weather now? Or society?”

  “Both.”

  Jude laughed again and shook his head. “I see why now.”

  “See why what?”

  He leaned toward her, a black lock of his hair falling across one eye. “Why our host prefers your company.”

  Katherine nearly dropped her spoon but steadied her hand and continued to finish off the consommé while glancing at the head of the table. Their host appeared to be riveted by the prattle of Penelope Greene, which she knew was impossible since Penelope never said anything of interest. But his gaze would dart in her direction each time Penelope dipped her head over her bowl.

  “He has spoken to you of such things?”

  She couldn’t believe her own boldness. The dinner guests were all preoccupied with their own conversations. Jane was deeply immersed in discussion with Mr. Langley, the son of one of her father’s friends who’d been on tour in Europe for the past year. So there was no danger, especially if they kept their tones low. And she couldn’t help herself. If George confided in his friend, she had to know what he would tell her.

  “Yes.”

  Jude paused while the servants removed the bowls and placed a plate of roasted lamb with herbed potatoes and carrots before each guest. As the servants stepped away from the tables and the guests dove into the next course, Jude leaned closer to her.

  “I’m afraid he speaks of little else but the fair Katherine.”

  Jude’s broad mouth cut into a sensuous smile. Katherine feared for the woman who ever fell into his sights. She wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “Really?” She cut into a potato but kept glancing at Jude. “You’re teasing me.”

  He forked a piece of lamb into his mouth. “A little.”

  She turned to her meal with a haughty, and exasperated, grunt.

  Jude laughed out loud, which made Jane glance over and smile. Jane loved to laugh. Funny that Mr. Langley wasn’t doing a fine job of it on their side of the table.

  “Don’t laugh at my expense, Mr. Delacroix.”

  “Don’t be angry with me, Lady Katherine. I am teasing you. The truth is, my friend shares little of his thoughts with anyone. He’s a man of few words in general. But lately, I find one name crossing his lips more often than others.” He sipped his wine before adding, “Yours.”

  Katherine froze and glared at her tormentor but found no humor in the lines of his face. Rather, she found a sadness there that made her heart trip faster.

  “You do not agree with Geor—Lord Thornton’s thoughts on his…preoccupation.”

  How could she word it any more delicately than that?

  “I fear for him.”

  “Fear for him?” She frowned openly at the man amiably shoveling lamb as if they were still discussing the weather.

  He then took a deep swallow of wine, then turned close to her again, his dark gaze capturing her. “Be careful, fair lady. For if you are trifling with him, you will wound him deeply. And that will make me an unhappy man.”

  First Jane, and now Jude. What no one seemed to notice, because she was such a fine actress, was that her own heart was at stake as well.

  “He is your good friend, isn’t he?”

  “The best. We’ve known each other longer than you can imagine. He saved my life. And for that, he will always have my devotion.”

  Katherine could hardly eat another bite after that confession, even as tempting trays of fruit tarts, jellies, creams and cakes were set on the table. Her mind spun with thoughts of how George had saved his life. She knew not to ask. Mr. Delacroix might look like a rake visiting from France, but there was far more to the man than what one saw on the surface. She knew he would not divulge how George had saved him. She glanced at the man himself, still being tortured by Penelope’s incessant chatter, her black curls bobbing with the annoying waggle of her chin. She wondered if he would tell her.

  As desserts were cleared and conversation dwindled, George stood at the head. “Shall we adjourn, gentlemen? Ladies?”

  Slowly, they made their way to separate rooms. There was no hostess to lead the way for the ladies, but Lady Mable took the opportunity to walk ahead of the rest as before, ranking the highest among them with her husband an earl. Katherine’s heart sank at the sight of George still escorting Penelope and leaving her with a kiss on the hand at the door. He did not even look in Katherine’s direction before he joined Jude’s side as they walked toward the billiard room.

  Almost as soon as the doors were shut, with the ladies flitting and gossiping, she longed to run from the room. But it was Penelope who drove her over the edge.

  “Where is Lady Helene?” asked Jane of Penelope’s mother.

  “Oh, I believe she’ll be in tomorrow,” replied Lady Mable. “Lord Weathersby was feeling ill, and she needed to be sure all was in order with the doctor and housekeeper before she left.”

  “I hope he is not very ill,” said Katherine, truly loving the Weathersbys. They had been the kindest to her above all, next to Jane.

  Jane said that Katherine had few female friends because she was too pretty. Katherine thought that ridiculous. But she remembered her younger days when she snubbed girlish society for stables and horses with her father. She did not mix well with other ladies, never had. And her beauty had drawn too many eyes the day she finally came out. She’d made enemies of many young ladies that first Season, as well as their mothers, who narrowed their eyes at her bevy of beaus always surrounding her.

  Lady Mable turned a snooty look in Katherine’s direction. “And where is your husband, Lady Katherine?”

  “Yes,” chimed in Penelope. “Where is he? I thought for sure he’d accompany his wife to a week-long house party.”

  “I’m afraid he’s occupied elsewhere,” said Katherine, waiting for the next blow.

  Penelope turned away with her friend, Marjorie Fleming, who was equally spiteful, and muttered, “Seems someone has already lost interest. We knew that would happen. His loss…”

  Katherine blocked out the rest of whatever lies Penelope was spewing. Penelope would never forgive Katherine for what she deemed as stealing her man. In fact, Clyde had only been mildly interested in Penelope because of her father’s hefty purse two Seasons ago when she had caught his eye. But when Katherine came on scene, he wanted a pretty face to go along with a healthy inheritance. If only Katherine could have seen through his game. Her own vanity had allowed her to believe he was deeply in love with her. Now she knew Clyde could never love anyone more than he loved himself.

  “Jane, I have a bit of a headache and wish to retire.”

  Jane was in conversation with Mrs. Langley, Mr. Langley’s mother, a petite woman with a kind smile. “Oh? Shall I join you?”

  “No, no. Please, you stay. I’m more worn out than I’d thought. I’ll be good as new in the morning,” she said, forcing yet another smile until she’d turned for the door.

  Once in the corridor, she felt a weight drop from her shoulders. Society never appealed to her, and the task of playing the game always came with a cost. The only place she longed to be was in one gentleman’s company. She passed another parlor, hearing the raucous laughter of the gentlemen on the other side of the door. As she walked past another room, the door partially open, someone grabbed her wrist and hauled her inside. She gasped and filled her lungs, ready to scream, but a hand came over her mouth. A gentle hand.

  In the dim light of his study, George had her back against a wall of books. He did not say a word, only gazed his fill, his expression that of a tortured man. He uncupped his hand from her parted lips, then stroked his fingers along her lips. She was panting from the fright and now from the divine closeness of him. He pressed his body even closer, further increasing her heart rate.

  “George.” She said his name as a plea…to stop…to keep going…to stop the longing
in her body and her heart.

  He threaded his fingers into her hair, pulling the pins down with the other. She wanted to protest, for she would have to walk the halls with her hair undone, a certain sign of impropriety.

  “George,” she whispered again.

  He threaded his fingers through her long hair, pulling it down along her shoulder. “My name on your lips drives me mad.”

  She expected his kiss, but she never expected the way she would feel when his lips brushed softly against hers. Gentle sweeps as he curled one hand into her hair, pulling her head back enough so that he could angle his mouth over hers and show her the meaning of passion. She didn’t know her body could yearn in such a way. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer. He groaned as he swept his tongue inside, his tempo less gentle, his intent more aggressive. There was no mistaking his feelings anymore. She couldn’t ignore the fire igniting between them. Nor did she want to.

  She tentatively brushed one of her hands along his jaw, feeling the muscles work as he kissed her senseless. She combed her hand into his hair, reveling at the silkiness beneath her fingers. She wanted to touch all of him, to know all of him.

  He broke the kiss and nipped down the tender column of her neck, pressing soft kisses that would not leave a mark, then trailed back up and grazed her earlobe with his teeth. She moaned, then his lips were on hers again, tasting with unquestionable possession and need.

  The sound of approaching footsteps snapped them back to reality. They’d been lost in blissful oblivion for several minutes. They froze. The footsteps were sharp and quick, drawing closer, passing the door, then echoing into the distance.

  “A servant,” said George, loosening his grip a fraction.

  Katherine trembled from the experience, completely shaken from the inside out. “My hair,” she said, knowing there was no way to put it back in place and make it up the stairs.

  “It’s all right. They are all still in the parlors. No one will see you.”

  “They might come out and see me, George.” Panic started to seize her.

  “No one will see you.” He took her hand in his and smiled. “Trust me.”

  Suddenly, she felt a warmth drape over her entire body, as if there was nothing in the world that could harm her with George at her side.

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “All right.”

  He opened the door and peered outside, then led her to the main stairwell, deserted with everyone engaged elsewhere. Guiding her to the second floor, he pulled her past an open doorway on the farthest end of the hallway.

  “This is my bedchamber, if you should ever need something.” He offered this not as a lover might offer the information, but in earnest if she should ever be in danger. It struck her as strange, considering what had just transpired. He also didn’t pull her into the room and finish the seduction as many men in his position would have at least attempted. They rounded a corner and walked the last stretch to her bedroom. He opened her door and ushered her inside. With one hand on the doorknob and the door half-closed, he reached over and cupped her cheek with the other. She expected a soft kiss good night, but he was beyond that. He held her fast and kissed her hard, pouring his desire into every stroke of his tongue against hers.

  Her hands came up and gripped his collar, wanting to pull him farther into the room and tumble him to the downy bed. She had tossed her virtue out the window the moment she’d accepted the invitation to this house party, and she knew it. No point in pretending she hadn’t wanted him from the start. Not as a friend, or only a friend, but as a lover. And perhaps even more.

  She moaned and tugged him closer. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. Now he was shaking between ragged breaths.

  “Damn, woman.” He kissed her again, gently this time, tasting sweetly, running his tongue along her lower lip, then nipping with his teeth for good measure.

  “George,” she pleaded. And there was no mistaking what she pleaded for.

  He pulled away, his hand lingering on her jaw. He swept his thumb across her lips. “I can’t stay, my lady. They’ll be missing me downstairs.”

  No one would suspect a short absence, but if the host didn’t return, they would wonder why. And perhaps ask too many questions. In the presence of someone like Penelope Greene, that could be fatal for her reputation.

  He clenched his jaw, obviously battling his will. She smiled and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—such sensuous lips for a man. “Thank you,” she said, and pulled away out of his grasp.

  “Good night, Katherine.”

  “Good night, George.”

  He was gone, moving silently back down the hall. She closed the door and waited several minutes to calm her nerves and give George time to return to the gentlemen below, then pulled the bell rope for Maggie to help her undress. She stood by the luxurious bed, gazing out at the loveliest night she had ever seen. Whether it was colored in silver because of the events of the night and her imagination rendered it beautiful beyond any other, she did not know or care. She kept repeating in her mind the sweet words he’d said to her, remembering his lips on her skin and dreaming of having him as her own.

  “My lady,” she whispered to herself, loving this endearment he had chosen for her. Loving every fine line of his jaw and brow, his large hands and long fingers, his broad smile and watchful eyes. But most of all, she loved the way he saw her. As his lady.

  Chapter Twelve

  Katherine was surprised to see that she and Jane were the first ones down for breakfast, though Mrs. Langley walked in right behind them.

  “Good morning, Jane. You did not introduce me to your friend.”

  “Oh heavens. I surely didn’t. Katherine went up with a headache directly after dinner.”

  “I hope it wasn’t a migraine, dear.”

  “No,” Katherine assured her. “Only a slight headache. It happens sometimes with travel.”

  The breakfast was set up on the sideboard with a footman waiting to attend them at the corner. Katherine skipped over the heavier meats and pies, settling for strawberries, figs and a sugar-dusted scone.

  “I have the same affliction. The very reason I refused to travel abroad to visit Henry in Italy.”

  Jane straightened her posture and focused on her plate of eggs at the mention of Mrs. Langley’s son. Katherine would certainly be interrogating her later about this subject.

  “How long was your son in Europe, Mrs. Langley?”

  “Too long,” she said with a smile. “I missed him terribly. He went over for his Grand Tour upon graduation from Oxford, but then he stayed. Fell in love.”

  “Oh? She must be a special woman to keep him from home and from his mother.”

  “It was Florence he fell in love with, dear.” She sipped her cup of tea the footman had poured for her.

  “I see,” said Katherine, noting Jane’s obvious silence.

  “He fancies himself an architect, which is a great disappointment to his father, who wants him home, running the estate. A step down, in his father’s estimation.”

  “I’m sure that must be very difficult for you all.”

  “What must be very difficult?” asked George, standing in the doorway.

  Now it was Katherine’s turn to become enraptured with her china plate.

  “Nothing of import, Lord Thornton,” said Mrs. Langley. “Just my son, who has it in his head to reside in Florence and become a world-famous architect rather than do his duty back home. His father says I indulged him too much as a child.”

  George took a seat on the opposite end from the night before, to sit closer to the ladies. The footman poured him a cup of tea.

  “It has always been my belief that a man must follow his heart first, no matter where in the world it takes him.”

  Katherine lifted her gaze from the plate and caught his direc
t glance before he refocused on Mrs. Langley.

  “Why, Lord Thornton. That is exactly what I told my husband. Perhaps you should come for a visit and talk some sense into him.”

  “Give him time. Men are stubborn creatures. And I would venture to say that he is mourning the loss of his son’s company more than his new choice in occupation.”

  “I hope no one is in mourning,” said Jude, stepping into the room with Henry Langley at his side. “I had hoped we might go for a ride today.”

  Katherine did not miss the quick exchange of glances between Jane and Henry.

  “Good morning, ladies. Thornton,” said Jude. Henry gave a swift bow as the two stepped over to the sideboard to fill their plates.

  “Good morning, everyone,” said Penelope, entering the room in the brightest yellow day dress Katherine had ever seen. To say it was garish would have been polite. “Good morning, Lord Thornton,” she crooned. Her friend, doused in pink from shoes to ribbons, curtsied with Penelope and tittered like a schoolgirl.

  Penelope approached the sideboard. “I must say that was the best night’s rest I believe I’ve ever had. Didn’t you sleep well, Mama?”

  “Yes, my darling,” agreed Lady Mable, taking up the rear. “And look at this wonderful array of fruits. I say, Lord Thornton, you must tell me your secret. We can’t acquire so much as one fresh fig these days in London.”

  “You must come to the country more often, Lady Mable,” he replied.

  Penelope practically gleamed from what she believed was an invitation to return. George turned to Jane.

  “I was hoping to give you ladies a proper tour of the gardens if you’d like.”

  “I would adore that. Wouldn’t you, Katherine?”

  “Of course.” Katherine smiled at Jane, then their host, before returning to her scone.

  Penelope leaned forward in a rather unladylike manner. “How delightful, Lord Thornton. You remember how much I said I love roses, didn’t you?”

  “I did. Though I’m afraid we’re short on roses. We have a manicured hedge, but I’ve left an abundance of wildflowers relatively untouched.”