by Regan Walker
Avoiding his friend’s eyes, Martin stared into his glass of liquor. “But wanting her does not change anything.”
“While we are happy to have her stay with us, Martin, I suspect you will regret it if you allow her to remain free. Perhaps you failed to note the men at the Claremont ball who eyed her with such decided interest. Once this matter with Rutledge is cleared up, even without a dowry, there will be suitors vying for her hand. I went through that with Mary, and I would spare you the unpleasantness.”
Martin was adrift. He wanted Kit. He craved her like a starving man would a feast, and he did not like the idea of another man courting her, another man’s hands upon her. The notion was entirely unacceptable. Then a separate thought occurred: She might be carrying his child.
Damnation, she was his kitten. If he made her his wife, he would have the lovely vixen in his bed every night. Of course, he would have to take her with him to the Midlands. She could not be left in London for more adventures with Lady Ormond, nor could he risk the possibility Rutledge might find her unprotected. Which was another reason to wed her. Perhaps Ormond was right. He could protect her better this way.
He looked up from his drink. “All right.”
“All right what?”
“All right, I will do it. I will marry Lady Egerton.”
Ormond raised a brow. “May I count upon this sudden conversion as one that will not change on the morrow?”
“You may. I will marry the lady. That is, if she will have me. She was born above me. She may refuse my suit.”
“You are one of Prinny’s knights, Martin, a baronet. Your family’s pursuits keep the bank in business, whereas Lady Egerton may have a title but not one coin to rub against another. Given her circumstances, and your prior…acquaintance, I daresay she will have you.”
Chapter 11
“Marry you!” Kit challenged. “I do not even know you. And you don’t really know me. The very notion of a marriage between us is absurd.”
Martin smiled and stepped closer, taking her shoulders in his hands and reveling in the scent of roses that always surrounded her. Now that he’d made up his mind to have her as wife, he did not intend to lose this battle. Reminded of their prior argument he said, “You keep saying we do not know each other, Kitten, but we know each other quite well, do we not?”
They stood in the parlour facing each other, the rays of the fading sun suffusing the room with light. Her auburn hair shone like burnished copper, and Martin longed to lose himself in her softness has he had those many weeks before.
Kit blushed. “One night does not give either of us true knowledge of who the other is—and I find being reminded of our first meeting a very ungentlemanly act on your part, Mr. Powell.”
“That is not my intent.” He stroked her arms, and his eyes fell to her lips. He wanted so badly to kiss her. “I do it because you need reminding. And the name’s Martin to you.”
He drew her close, losing himself in her eyes. She tried to pull away, but he gently yet firmly held her steady and lowered his mouth to hers. She leaned into him ever so slightly, which he was happy to read as an involuntary welcome, and proceeded to deepen the kiss.
His embrace tightened. Her body relaxed, a signal that her resolve to break free was slipping away, and the kiss that followed said everything Martin’s words could not. It was a kiss of possession, a kiss of the full passion they shared but she tried to deny. She was his, and she would do well to remember it.
Swept away by the feel of her soft warm body, the press of her breasts against his chest and their dueling tongues, Martin was once again enthralled. His body was telling him in no uncertain terms that he wanted more than a kiss; he wanted to be deep inside her once again. And that inviting stretch of velvet cushions was just behind her.
Soon they would be lying upon it.
* * *
Slowly Kit let Martin back her toward the sofa, but at the last moment she wrenched her mouth away. “No,” she insisted, pushing against his chest. She would not be taken again so easily. Nor would she be taken against her better judgment even though she desired Martin Powell. There was little question of that.
She could see his determination and his desire. “Marry me, Kit. I will take care of you. I will protect you. I will never hurt you. The passion we share is unusual. Few marriages begin with as much.”
Kit turned away and went to stand at the window. Her body burned with desire, but that desire did not change her concerns. Yet, were her concerns greater than the benefits? Objectively considering his offer seemed only fair.
She cared little for meaningless titles that gave excuse for old men to claim young brides or the kind of abuse her sister had suffered, and living with the de Courtenay family had reminded her that the dream of a family—of having her own children—was not dead. Perhaps she should marry this man and shed the title dowager. Ten years older than she, Martin was experienced, virile and handsome. Mary had told her he was an honorable man, that he had served England with Ormond, though the marchioness had declined to provide specifics. Many members of the ton had served in the Royal Army and Navy, and Martin’s father and brothers were seafaring merchants. Perhaps he had served in the Navy. She could do worse. She had done worse.
She remembered their first night. Hadn’t he been the most gentle of lovers? She believed, too, that he was sincere in his commitment to her wellbeing. He had rescued her from Rutledge, sparing her what would have been a dreadful encounter at that ball. He might not have known her long enough to truly love her, but then she didn’t want to lose herself in a love match like her father. After her marriage to the baron, independence was her first goal, but she had no funds to secure that state. Martin wanted her and had said he would protect her. And he could give her the family she wanted. Perhaps that was enough.
He was also determined. She was certain he would be persistent. He had hunted for her all over London. Surely he must want her badly to do that. Surely he would treasure her all the more for it.
This would be a marriage of convenience, but it was also a matter of necessity. She was a member of the ton, yes, but impoverished and dependent upon friends. Kit hated being powerless, having no control over her future. At least this was one decision she could make. And with few options remaining, perhaps this was a good one.
“Yes, I will marry you, Martin.”
“Wonderful.”
She heard his steps behind her, coming close. She turned to face him, holding her hand out to slow his pace. He was more than handsome, his body slim and well-muscled body, a body she craved to touch. But if she was to marry him, before they made love again, before they consummated their marriage, she wanted to know this man, to start again their relationship. If she could only slow things down a bit. “But I’ve a condition.”
“Condition?” he repeated, stopping suddenly. Crossing his arms, he wrinkled his brow. “What condition?”
“I want some…time, time for us to get to know each other without having to comply with my marital duty.”
* * *
“My lord, there is a man to see you.”
Rutledge glanced up from his desk. His butler seemed to hesitate.
“Yes?” he prompted, impatient and annoyed that his work was, once again, being interrupted. To calm himself he reached for the Spanish cat perched on the edge of his desk, his constant companion when he was in his study. The only female he had ever trusted, even she had claws.
“He is rather shabbily dressed. A rough character.” The butler pursed his lips and looked down as if he’d just noticed something disgusting on his shoe. “He declined to give a name.”
“Show him in, Thomas,” Rutledge said, stroking the tortoiseshell feline now purring in his lap. “He is probably one of my new runners.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The man in plain brown clothes who entered shortly thereafter looked dusty and uncomfortable, and he pulled his rumpled hat from his head to worry it in his hands. “Milord…?”
Rutledge recognized the runner but offered no greeting. He rarely bothered with niceties when dealing with servants, and this man was little more than that. “Did she return to the house today?”
“No, milord. Only some merchant callers, and the usual messenger and servant traffic. The lady of the house and her daughters went out for a time, shopping I expect. They returned with packages. The man, Mr. de Courtenay, arrived just before dinner, as is his custom. The runner watching the house observed nothing unusual. Do you still want me and Frank to keep an eye on the house now that the bird seems to have flown?”
Rutledge clenched his teeth and pounded his fist on his desk. “Damn chit! One woman should not be so difficult to find.” His cat, freed from his grasp, leapt away and hissed.
The runner backed up, alarmed, and Rutledge considered his words. The man was probably right; Katherine had likely fled to a new hiding place. But this time she would not get away. If he had to send runners to every alley in London he would find her. She should have been his, and he never let go of what was his. Soon he would have her. Oh, yes. One day soon he would have the redhead in his bed.
“Continue to watch the house. As long as it takes. She will have to return if only for her clothes and personal items.” Reaching out, Rutledge stroked the cat now perched contentedly on the top of his desk licking its paw. “And have the nearby hotels checked for any woman matching Lady Egerton’s description. She has to be somewhere in Town. I will be traveling, but should there be any developments, any word from other runners, contact me in all haste. Should you gain any information, send a fast rider to me here.”
“Yes, milord,” the runner said, accepting the note as Rutledge leaned over his cat to hand him a piece of paper with the name of a hotel in Derbyshire. The runner stuffed it in his pocket and returned to rolling his hat in his hands, looking nervously down at his feet.
Rutledge could feel himself frown. The runner’s timidity was getting on his nerves. He hated weakness. “My butler will see you out,” he said with the flick of his hand.
By the time he retired that evening, Rutledge was in a truly foul mood. The day had not gone well. Not well at all. None of his other runners had anything of substance to report, and his patience, what little there was to begin with, had grown as thin as the threadbare knees on the last runner’s breeches. His meeting with Castlereagh had been delayed due to some task or other the viscount had set upon, and the long wait in a dismal office had truly soured his disposition. Worse, upon his return, another visitor was waiting to see him, one who left him quite disturbed.
The man—John Highmore, according to his card—was a solicitor. He had come to call upon “Lady Egerton.” And the gray-haired man refused to tell Rutledge the nature of his business, insisting it was a private matter.
“Is Lady Egerton at home and receiving callers, my lord?”
“No. She is not here just now.”
“When might she return, if I may ask?”
“I have no idea.”
Trying another tack, the gray-haired solicitor politely inquired, “Do you know where I might find her?”
“I do not. What business have you with my sister-in-law?” Rutledge demanded. The very idea that some solicitor would have a meeting with Katherine was absurd, and he fingered the scar at his temple, an ever-present reminder of the mark left by the weapon she’d wielded against him. “I will give her the message when I see her.”
“I am sorry, my lord, but the nature of my business is personal. I am not at liberty to share it with anyone except the lady herself. Please ask her to contact me when…if she returns.”
Yes, the man had gone away leaving Rutledge unsettled and angry. What business did a solicitor have with Katherine? And what made the man suspect she might not return?
* * *
For Kit, time was suddenly moving very fast. Martin had accepted her condition to their marriage, though he had done so reluctantly and with a smirk, as if he didn’t believe she was serious. She assured him she was.
“Very well,” said Martin, disappointment clear on his face as his voice grew quiet. “We won’t make love until you agree, but know I intend to do everything I can to make certain I have your agreement soon.”
She would need all her resolve to resist him, but she was committed to doing just that.
A few days later, he obtained a special license. Then, at Mary’s request, Mrs. Singleton had her leading seamstress sewing for two days to prepare the pale golden gown that would grace Kit’s slender frame as she now dressed for her wedding.
Kit’s auburn tresses were done up in curls with a few left loose to dangle at her nape. Around her neck was an elegant necklace of gold, pearls and amber, a most unusual gift from her betrothed. There were pearl earbobs to match. She had given Martin a pocket watch that Mary helped her select, with their initials and the date of their marriage carved inside. She’d paid for the gift with her wages as a governess and part of the proceeds from the sale of her jewelry she’d carried with her when she fled Rutledge’s home. It seemed a good trade for a gift that symbolized the start of a new life.
After the maid left, Mary came to wish her good luck, placing a bouquet of white roses in her hand. “You look like a queen, Kit. Martin will be left quite speechless, I’m certain.”
Never had she been so elegantly attired, and standing alone a few moments later in front of the long oval mirror Kit felt like a queen. A very nervous one. Her bright blue eyes burned with the anticipation coursing through her every vein, even though her other emotions were mixed. That she couldn’t share this moment with her sister saddened her. The ache from having lost Anne never subsided, another reminder of the long list of goodbyes she had been forced to say. She was excited but wary about the man she was to wed, for she was marrying a man she did not really know. Mary had told her Martin was married before but that his young wife had died many years ago. Kit wondered if he still loved her. Their relationship felt too new for her to ask.
The wedding was to be small and held in the large stone courtyard around which the Ormond townhouse was built, which Kit had only viewed from the rows of tall windows in the upper floors. Boxwood plants shaped into cones and set into urns lined the perimeter, and a stone archway with the Albany crest carved into the lintel led into the courtyard from the ground floor. As she walked down the few stairs to join the waiting party, Kit noticed the overcast sky above. Pale gray clouds gave a brooding but romantic feeling to the early afternoon.
Martin was standing with the vicar under an arbor of ivy and white roses. Pen de Courtenay waved to Kit from where the twins stood with the other guests. Pris and Pen had been allowed to attend by their mother, but since the de Courtenay house was still being watched Martin fetched them from a carriage in Hyde Park where they agreed to rendezvous. In another wonderful surprise, he had arranged for Abby to attend, who was smiling broadly as Kit approached. Having her there was almost like having a mother present. Since Kit had no family and Martin’s family was at sea, the only others attending were Hugh and Mary Ormond and Martin’s assistant, John Spencer, to whom she’d been introduced the night before.
Memories of her first wedding came flooding back to Kit, when a scared, sad young woman married a kind old man who seemed more a grandfather than a bridegroom, when all her girlish dreams lay like shards of broken glass around her feet. Was that only a few years ago? This second wedding was quite different. The man waiting for her was devilishly handsome and charming, a man in his prime who wanted to be her protector—and her lover. The mere thought made her shiver with anticipation. If only Anne had lived to see this day. Would she have approved?
The guests in place, Kit joined Martin in front of the vicar. He gave her an appreciative smile and took her hand. She felt Mary’s presence beside her. Ormond stood on the other side of Martin acting as best man. Kit handed her flowers to Mary and, as one, Kit and Martin turned to the clergyman who would marry them.
She peered out of the
corner of her eye at her bridegroom. He was dressed in formal black attire, a white shirt, elegantly folded cravat and sapphire blue waistcoat nearly the color of his eyes. He must have felt her gaze, for he turned his head and winked at her, giving her hand a squeeze. He was enjoying himself!
The vicar began to drone on about the significance of their vows, about love and respect. Kit’s mind was elsewhere. It didn’t really bother her that there was no love involved. She did not expect, nor was she certain she wanted, a true heart-mate. That lesson she’d learned from her father was still a painful one. The consequences could be dire if such a love were lost. The important thing was that this had been her choice. The man who awakened her body when he merely held her hand would soon be her husband.
The vows were said quickly. Martin placed a ring on her finger. Kit looked down to see a red cabochon ruby set in a wide band of gold between two sparkling diamonds, but before she had time to admire it properly he was kissing her.
Soft, warm lips gently touched hers. How she loved his lips. He lifted his head and she thought he was finished, but then he looked into her eyes and whispered, “Oh, hell,” and kissed her again, this time taking her fully into his arms. Only when the guests began to cough and chuckle did he pull back, and without letting her go he smiled.
“You are mine now, Kitten. Lady Katherine Powell.”
Kit felt the heat of her blush at his words and returned his smile. She knew little of him, but she would learn. Their life together would bring that knowledge. Mary had told her it would be an adventure. This marriage was rash, she knew. Foolish, perhaps. But she wanted him, and she knew he wanted her. When they finally did consummate their marriage, at least their nights would not be cold.
She was suddenly pulled from his arms and embraced by Mary and kissed on the cheek by Ormond. The marchioness handed back her bouquet and whispered in her ear, “That second kiss tells me all will be well, Kit.”
“Oh, you are such a beautiful bride,” gushed Pen from nearby.