by Bold, Diana
In a matter of hours, she and the earl would be returning to London. Once they arrived, she was determined to talk some sense into Daniel.
Her husband loved the London nightlife as much as she loved her roses and the fresh country air. Surely, if he knew what he stood to lose, he would swallow his distaste and try to produce the heir his father so desperately wanted.
She closed her eyes and pressed her flaming cheek against the cool glass, praying this wouldn’t be a repeat of the heartbreak of her wedding night.
What a naive fool she’d been…
Marrying Daniel Sinclair had been a dream come true. She’d expected her father to sell her off to some ancient, balding Marquis, so when he’d announced that handsome young Viscount Lansdowne had asked for her hand, she’d been thrilled.
Their courtship had been awkward and well chaperoned, but she’d soon fallen in love with her future husband’s gentle ways and mild sense of humor. Daniel was breathtakingly handsome with light brown hair and blue eyes, and he’d been so kind to her.
The wedding had been perfect, and he’d kissed her on the altar with infinite tenderness. For the first time in her life, she’d believed in fairytales.
After the ceremony, her father’s widowed sister had escorted her to the bedroom she would share with her husband. While helping her to don a revealing nightdress, her aunt had told her in whispered tones what to expect.
But when Daniel finally had come to her near dawn, he’d been well in his cups. He’d managed only a brief, brotherly kiss on her forehead before passing out dead drunk on the bed beside her.
In the morning, he’d begged her forgiveness and promised to make it up to her. Then he’d cut his own thumb, letting his blood darken the sheets so no one would be the wiser.
She’d waited for him the next night, and the one after that, but he’d never attempted to consummate their marriage. In fact, he’d avoided her ever since. When she’d tried to press the issue, he’d grown distant and angry, so in time she’d come to accept the situation.
Now she realized she shouldn’t have been so acquiescent. She should have fought for her marriage, done more to show him she was worthy, if not of his love, then at least of his respect.
If only her own mother hadn’t died so young… If only she had someone to confide in, someone to tell her how to win a man’s love… Stiffening her shoulders, she chased the self‐pitying thoughts away.
She couldn’t change the past, but she could change the future. She wouldn’t allow Sutcliffe to send them away like some distasteful, dirty little secret. Tonight, she would find a way to seduce her husband and begin the family she should have had long ago.
“Betsy, I need your help.” She turned from the window and crossed the room with purposeful strides to kneel beside the closest trunk. “Did you already pack my lingerie?”
Betsy nodded, her blue eyes widening in surprise. “Yes, ma’am.” She pointed to the nearest trunk. “They’re right here.”
Kathryn dug through the pile of negligees until she found the exquisite creation of lace, silk and satin she’d worn so briefly on her wedding night. She stood, holding it up to her shoulders. “Do you think it will still fit?”
“Of course. You haven’t gained a bit since your marriage.” Betsy frowned. “What are you thinking, milady? Does this have anything to do with that handsome young devil who arrived with the earl?”
“What handsome young devil?” she asked, searching for the translucent robe that completed the ensemble.
“You haven’t heard?”
When Kathryn shook her head, Betsy’s eyes lit up. She dearly loved to be the source of interesting gossip. “Well, the earl has decided to claim one of his by‐blows. One of the footmen told me this gent’s been living at the London house for more than a week. I caught a glimpse of him when the coach arrived. He’s dreadfully good‐looking, reminds me of the earl in his younger days, don’t you think?”
“Where is he now?” she asked, fighting her rising panic. Was this why Sutcliffe was sending them away? “I want to meet him.”
Betsy shook her head, making her blond curls bounce. “I don’t know, milady. Didn’t you meet him earlier? He was in the library while you were talking to the earl.”
Kathryn blinked, stunned. “Are you certain?” She hadn’t seen anyone else, but there were several reading nooks in the huge, dark room and she hadn’t been looking.
“He stormed out of there just a few minutes after you did, milady.
He looked mad enough to spit nails.”
Kathryn’s stomach clenched at the thought of a total stranger witnessing her humiliation. How dare he sit there and watch such a scene without calling attention to himself?
She tossed the lingerie on her bed. “Please make sure these get packed with the clothes I’ll be wearing in London. It seems I have a new brother‐in‐law to welcome.”
* * * * *
After a lengthy search, Kathryn found the stranger sitting on a marble bench in her rose garden. His hands were braced behind him, his eyes were closed, and his face was tilted toward the afternoon sky.
A pagan pose reminiscent of a medieval sun worshiper.
She paused for a long moment, staring, fighting to control the rapid beat of her heart. Daniel’s half‐brother was wickedly beautiful.
Her gaze lit upon his stark, finely hewn profile then slid to the lush mane of long black hair that brushed his broad shoulders. He had the look of someone who had been ill, as though every extra ounce of flesh had been winnowed from his body. But instead of detracting from his good looks, it somehow added to them.
He reminded her of a romantic hero from a book, a man who had gone through some terrible ordeal, but had emerged victorious.
She banished the thought, annoyed. This man was nobody’s hero. He could very well be a threat to everything she held dear. Still, she could understand why Betsy had assumed one look at him would be enough to send her searching for a seductive negligee.
“Good afternoon,” she murmured, striding forward.
The stranger flinched and opened his eyes. They were deep blue, the same color as his father’s, but bright like the morning sky, devoid of Sutcliffe’s ice. When he saw her, he smiled, a twitch of his wide, mobile mouth.
“Lady Kathryn, I presume?” His voice was deep and resonant with a slight accent. The low, intimate pitch sent shivers down her spine.
If she’d had any doubts that he’d been in the library, they vanished beneath his knowing gaze. “You seem to have an advantage, sir. I have no idea who you are.”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” He stood, his big body moving with fluid grace. At full height, he towered over her by almost a foot. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to her knuckles. The heat of his mouth sent a shiver of awareness through her entire body. “Talon Montgomery. At your service, of course.”
His words were almost too polite. Faintly mocking. As though he knew the rules of polite society, but had no patience with them.
Talon. An unusual name. She snatched her hand away, her skin still tingling from the warm pressure of his kiss. There was something overwhelming about him, a physical presence she’d never encountered in anyone other than her father‐in‐law.
“Are you related to my husband?” She feigned ignorance, determined not to let him know she’d searched him out after hearing the rumors.
“I’m Sutcliffe’s bastard.”
“Oh.” His candid confession caught her off guard. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? That I’m a bastard, or that I’m Sutcliffe’s bastard in particular?”
She frowned, feeling as though she’d made a terrible blunder. He couldn’t help being a bastard, after all. There was nothing she could say to make her words sound less like the insult they’d been, so she decided to change the subject.
“Your father didn’t tell me you were here, or I would have welcomed you when you arrived. How long will you be stayin
g?”
“I won’t be staying. I’ll be riding back to London with you and the earl this afternoon.” But he gazed at a flock of geese landing on the lake as though the idea of returning to the city was far from appealing.
Kathryn’s gaze caught and held on his strong profile. The length of his long, dark lashes gentled his otherwise austere features, giving him a hint of vulnerability.
She didn’t know whether she could handle being in such close proximity to this man for hours on end. The mere thought made her strangely breathless. “Then you’ll be staying at the London house?”
He nodded. “For the present. Then I’ll be going on to Charleston with you and Daniel.”
The slight drawl she’d heard in his voice suddenly slid into place. “You’re an American?”
“By choice,” he murmured. “Not by birth. I grew up in White Chapel.”
She shuddered. White Chapel was one of the seediest parts of London, populated, she believed, mainly by cutthroats and prostitutes. “You must by very glad your father decided to claim you.”
He made a sound of disgust. “Why? Do you truly think I’m a better person now than I was before Sutcliffe admitted something I’ve known most of my life?”
The intensity of his blue gaze made her flinch. “That was thoughtless of me. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said after a long moment of silence. “I’m far too defensive of my humble beginnings.”
His anger seemed to fade, but she sensed it took quite an effort to keep it under control. She’d struck a nerve, and she wondered if Sutcliffe realized how deeply his son’s resentment ran.
“I shouldn’t have bothered you.” This man made her nervous. She’d managed to put her foot in her mouth twice during their brief conversation, which was a record even for her. “I need to get back inside and supervise the packing.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed, the courtly gesture of a perfect gentleman. When he straightened, his blue gaze held hers for a long moment. She had the feeling he saw far more than she would like.
Being the subject of such intense regard was unsettling, to say the least. Involuntarily, she took a step backward.
He smiled as though pleased to have rattled her. Apparently, his resemblance to Sutcliffe was more than skin deep.
“Good afternoon, sir.” She turned away, trying to ignore the nettling feel of his gaze upon her back as she hurried to the house.
Chapter Four
Talon opened the coach window and took a deep, cleansing breath of fresh air, trying to force away the twinge of panic that clawed at his throat. Ever since his incarceration, he’d had an embarrassing fear of closed-in places.
“Close the window, please. I can’t abide the dust.”
Talon leveled a glare at Kathryn, willing her to perdition. There wasn’t any dust. Yesterday’s soft rain had left the ground almost too damp to travel. Sutcliffe had arranged for them to make the trip alone so they could get acquainted, but this was the first time she’d spoken to him all afternoon.
Raising one brow in challenge, he reached over and flung the other window open as well.
Her mouth rounded in an astonished “O” at this affront then closed with a snap. He wondered if anyone else had ever dared defy her in such a manner. God, he hoped not. He had an uncontrollable urge to get under her skin the way she’d gotten under his.
He’d been watching her surreptitiously for hours. Each soft sigh and shift of her legs made him mad with yearning. If he’d ever known a lovelier woman, he couldn’t remember. Kathryn’s dark hair looked almost black in the dim light, contrasting sharply with her creamy skin and emerald eyes. And those lips…
Very kissable.
If she’d talk to him, it might be easier to keep his lust at bay. He’d been alone in the dark with nothing but his own thoughts for far too long.
Words welled in his throat, but he willed them away, reluctantly admitting the danger. He must flirt with her, even seduce her if all else failed. But he couldn’t afford to like her. It would make the task that lay ahead of him unbearable.
As the miles crept by, his resolve weakened. The need to say something grew and grew.
Their knees brushed again for what must have been the thousandth time, and he summoned a smile. “Bumpy road.”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice cool and clipped. “Intolerably so.”
“Beautiful day,” he said, trying again. “Don’t you agree?”
“It’s passing fair.”
“Well,” he murmured, at a loss. “That completely exhausts my repertoire of small talk.”
The hint of a smile graced Kathryn’s full lips and the stiff set of her shoulders relaxed. “Why bother with small talk, Mr. Montgomery? Don’t you have anything worthwhile to say?”
He searched his mind for something suitably profound, but brilliant banter escaped him. He shrugged. “I didn’t think people like you enjoyed talking about anything worthwhile.”
That got her attention. “People like me?” She gave him an intent stare. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
He returned her gaze, enjoying the hint of anger in her eyes. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about you. I’m attempting to remedy that, but you’re not cooperating. So, I’ll assume you’re like the other highborn women I’ve known. Women who only enjoy talking about the weather and the next party.”
“I don’t go to parties,” she told him with quiet dignity. “And I only worry about the weather when I’m caught in a downpour.”
There. It wasn’t much, but she’d given him an opening. He wasn’t about to let it pass by. “Are you caught out in the rain often?”
She smiled, her rigid posture relaxing altogether. “More often than you might imagine. I love being outdoors. Between exploring the estate and gardening, I’ve found myself drenched to the skin quite a few times.”
The image of this beautiful woman’s face and hair wet with rain was incredibly enticing. “Tell me about Rosewood Manor. I would have liked to spend a little more time there. The gardens are extraordinary.”
She nodded, her emerald eyes alight with passion for the subject. “Your great‐grandfather built the Manor for his mistress. I’ve heard they shared a grand passion. He spent every moment he could at her side.”
Your great‐grandfather. He was startled by her words. He’d never given much thought to his ancestors, hadn’t imagined a Sinclair human enough to care for a woman.
“I wonder if my mother ever lived there,” he mused. “She once told me my father kept her in a beautiful country house until he learned she was expecting, but that was long before she ever told me his name.”
“He cast her out when he learned she was going to have his baby?” She stared at him in disbelief.
He nodded. “No wonder she was so unhappy, so angry with me all the time. It must have been quite a shock, going from Kent to White Chapel.”
“I can’t imagine how difficult such a change in circumstance must have been for her. But it wasn’t your fault.”
He looked away, uncomfortable with the softness in her voice, the understanding in her eyes. “Do you mind if we change the subject?” This conversation had gotten far more intimate than he’d planned.
Awkward silence fell between them, but then she cleared her throat. “Will you tell me about America?” she asked, infusing false enthusiasm into her voice. “I’d like to know what to expect.”
“Certainly.” He risked a glance in her direction. “What would you like to know?”
She flushed and balled her hands in her lap. “I’ve heard it’s a wild, heathen place full of half‐naked savages who’d like nothing better than to separate your hair from your head.”
“Well, your hair would be a fine trophy.” Unable to help himself, he leaned forward and brushed an errant strand back behind the delicate curve of her ear. “But you needn’t worry. There hasn’t been any Indian trouble near Charleston
in decades.”
Her breath caught, and he removed his hand. The surge of desire provoked by such a casual gesture stunned him.
It had been far too long since he’d been with a woman.
He cleared his throat. “I think you’ll be surprised, Kathryn. Holyoke is a lovely place. Not as large as Rosewood Manor, but imposing nonetheless. You’ll want for nothing there.”
“I didn’t give you permission to address me so familiarly,” she snapped, obviously furious at his lack of manners.
“It doesn’t suit you anyway.” He grinned, unimpressed by her show of pique. “Kathryn is too stuffy. Sounds like someone’s maiden aunt.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Kate,” he decided. “I think I’ll call you Kate from now on.”
“I don’t need a nickname.” She glared at him, that fine mind of hers working. “What about your name? Talon. I’ve never heard such a strange name.”
Pain flared to life, chasing away his lingering good humor. “My mother named me Talon. I don’t know why.”
So much for changing the subject. He’d spoken of his mother more in the last five minutes than he had in the last decade.
She sat back, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s all right. She’s dead now, anyway.”
“How terrible for you, Talon.” Her green eyes were filled with sympathy. He didn’t miss the fact that she’d used his first name, even though she’d just chided him for doing the same. “How old were you when it happened?”
“Twelve.” He shook his head, looking away. “It was a long time ago.”
“My mother died when I was born,” she told him, trying to keep him from making light of his pain. “I never even knew her, but I still mourn her loss.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t mourn her. Good God, Kate. We should have kept to the small talk.
She laughed, a soft, airy sound that went a long way toward chasing away his demons. “Well, at least you aren’t boring. And you may call me Kate, if you wish. I rather like it.”