She trusted him not to tell, to hold this breach of etiquette secret. That trust was like the most precious of jewels, something he could take out and examine during the lonely nights ahead. And there would be lonely nights.
This kiss wasn’t the first mistake he’d ever made in his life, but it was the one that would leave in its wake the deepest regret. It would have been better to have never known the taste of her—light as champagne, rich and sweet—and the swiftness with which she melted against him, fit so perfectly, as though their bodies had been designed with each other in mind.
He wished he could hold her in his embrace forever. But that honor would go to another man. And because it would, he could take no more liberties.
Sliding his mouth from hers, he trailed it along her throat, tucking it up just beneath her jaw where he could feel the erratic pulsing of her heart. Up a little higher to nibble on her lobe before outlining the delicate shell. “You’ll find happiness with him.”
Then Lord Griffith Stanwick, second son, who had never denied himself anything he wanted, strode away, denying himself the only thing he’d ever truly desired.
Chapter 9
The next morning found Kathryn lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, much as she’d been ever since she’d retired the night before. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had transpired in the garden.
As Griff had deepened the kiss, explored the confines previously untouched by any gentleman, he’d moaned, a low lament that reminded her of how she responded when she first bit into a delicious new chocolate confection. As though nothing before it had ever been as flavorful, as though nothing after it would ever usurp the exquisite satisfaction it wrought. All-encompassing, exhaustively intoxicating. More. She always wanted more, indulged her desires.
It seemed he had been of a like mind. While they’d once parried with words, last night they’d done so with their tongues in a much friendlier encounter. He advanced, withdrew. When she followed, he captured and suckled gently, provocatively. She’d never imagined a kiss would encompass so many different textures—rough, silky, smooth, grainy—or such a variety of moves—slow, fast, soft, forceful.
She’d never wanted it to end.
But it had. He’d simply walked away, leaving her alone in the darkened garden, wanting him back, calling after him, forever changed.
How was it that after delivering such a blistering kiss, he could carry on without even looking back? She’d been at once hurt and angry and confused. Emotions had rioted through her, and it had taken several minutes to reclaim her calm.
She’d returned to the ballroom where Kingsland had immediately greeted her and claimed another dance. As he’d swept her over the floor, her mind had been searching for some explanation regarding her swollen, still-tingling lips should he ask about their plumpness. She’d had a feeling her hair was not as tidy as it had been when she’d made her excuse of needing some fresh air, but the loose curls she could blame on the breeze. Her rapidly pounding, erratic heart on her rush to rejoin him. But he’d asked nothing of her, revealed none of his thoughts to her. Merely studied her with an astuteness that hinted he thought himself capable of deciphering her with his eyes alone. However, she’d kept her thoughts and feelings shuttered. Now she worried that she might do it for the remainder of her life. That he would never truly know her.
Her parents had been beside themselves with joy, had smiled brightly in the carriage on the journey home, and had reflected on how pleased her grandmother would have been to know that Kathryn had snagged herself a duke. She would be a duchess.
“I believe he has other tests I must pass,” she’d remarked distractedly, hoping to assuage any disappointment they might feel if things went sour. She could hardly stand their enthusiasm over something she hadn’t accomplished herself.
Why had Griff done it? Why had he written the duke? Why had he kissed her? She needed the answers, a better understanding of his motivations. What had been in it for him? Had he begun to care for her as she had for him? The kiss had certainly implied he was drawn to her, but if he wanted her, why give her to another? She’d never thought of him as being altruistic. While he’d claimed to know what it was to want, was that reason enough to place her into another’s keeping? She had to see him, had to know exactly what his feelings regarding her were. Otherwise, how could she possibly ask her heart to accept the duke?
After tossing back the covers, she yanked on the bellpull to summon her maid. Within the hour, she was headed down to breakfast.
Walking into the small dining room, she didn’t know if she’d ever grow accustomed to her parents tittering and giggling. Giggling like schoolchildren for goodness’ sake. Her mother now sat to her father’s right, rather than miles away from him, a place at the foot of the table she’d occupied for years.
“Hello, darling,” her mother said, glancing up and catching sight of her. She looked so remarkably happy. Kathryn was glad of that. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not really, to be honest. Too much excitement, I suppose.” A kiss that had left her wanting for more.
After filling a plate with a wide selection of meat, eggs, and cheeses from the sideboard, she joined her parents at the table, taking a seat opposite her mother.
“Kingsland is a jolly good sort,” her father said. “He mentioned that he’ll be calling on you this afternoon. Wants to take you on a carriage ride through the park, I believe.”
She should be thrilled by the prospect of being properly courted, should be overjoyed by the prospect of him. Instead, Griff occupied every thought, every corner of her mind.
“Don’t look so glum, dear,” her mother said. “You are the toast of the ton, on everyone’s tongue. I can’t tell you how many congratulations on your behalf I received last night.”
But she had no doubt her mother would try.
“I daresay not as many as Lord Griffith Stanwick,” her father drawled with a bit of testiness.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she immediately perked up. “What has he accomplished to earn congratulations?”
“Made out like a highwayman on the wager he made at White’s and quite possibly at other clubs as well.”
A chill began forming along her spine, like frost at the edge of a window before it completely covered the pane. She licked her lips, swallowed. “What wager was that?”
“He predicted Kingsland would choose you over all others.”
As the carriage traveled through the streets, Kathryn’s fury was simmering into a boil. It hadn’t helped cool her temper when her father went on to explain that everyone had thought it a foolish wager, but then Wolfford’s spare was known for wagering foolishly. Therefore, many had taken him up on it, no one believing she would be the one selected. Only she had been. What else precisely had he put in the letter that Kingsland might have omitted as he’d shared some of what Griff had written?
Was it guilt that had driven him to the garden? Was the kiss the result of a man overcome with joy because he’d managed to gain so much by doing so little? Now she saw his parting words as more of an attempt to convince himself rather than her, perhaps to ease his guilt, to reassure himself he’d not done her a disservice.
The scapegrace. The unmitigated swindler. The scoundrel who’d taken advantage of her good fortune. It no longer mattered that he was responsible for it. She’d thought he’d done it because he cared for her. As always he cared for only himself. And he’d found an easy way to put coins in his coffers.
He’d answer to her now.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the Duke of Wolfford’s residence.
“You needn’t accompany me inside,” she said to the maid serving as her chaperone. “I shan’t be long.”
Her footman climbed down, opened the door, lowered the steps, and extended his hand. Her righteous indignation shimmered through her as she disembarked and then marched up the wide stone stairs. At the door, she gave one solid rap with her gloved knuckles, not using the knock
er because she needed that physical contact and was preparing her fist for its encounter with Griff’s nose.
The door opened, and the butler allowed her in. “Lady Kathryn, I’ll alert Lady Althea that you’re here.” His tone was that of someone in mourning.
“I’ve actually come to see Lord Griffith.”
“I’m afraid he’s not at home.”
Of course, he wasn’t. He was no doubt off spending his ill-gotten gains, the rotter.
“Then, yes, please, Lady Althea.” Her friend was going to be horrified by her brother’s actions.
Scarcely a couple of minutes passed before Althea was rushing toward her with red, swollen eyes, her hair untidy, her face pale and drawn. She was wringing a silk handkerchief between her hands, her brow deeply furrowed. “You’ve come. How did you know to come? Where did you hear of it? Is it all over London already?”
Kathryn shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m not certain what you’re talking about. I came to speak with Griff about the damned wager he made regarding whom Kingsland would select.”
“Then you haven’t heard.”
“Haven’t heard what, precisely?”
“My father and brothers have been arrested for treason.”
Chapter 10
April 20, 1874
His breathing harsh, heavy, and labored, his heart pounding, he was running, running, yet he didn’t seem to be going anywhere. It was all an inky blackness, but beyond it . . . surely there was something beyond it—if he could only reach it. She was beyond it, if only he could reach her.
Suddenly he was in a room, sitting in a hard chair, his hands tied behind him, surrounded by shadows. Light shone down on him, the brightness causing him to squint. Where was its origin? There were no lamps, no windows. Nothing. Only him, the chair, and the shadows.
“Give us the names.”
“Of whom?”
“Who else is involved?”
“Involved in what, precisely?”
“How many are there?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion what the devil you’re referring to.”
“You expect us to believe you knew nothing of the plot?”
“What plot?”
The blackness returned, and he was running again. With Althea. He had to protect her. She became his duty, his responsibility. Only she didn’t need him, had her own plans. Still, he reached for her—
But she faded away.
Marcus appeared. Secrets, deception, danger. The heir, no longer an heir, vanished.
Leaving him to face the consequences alone. Always alone. Always—
Griff jerked awake, shaking off the gossamer nightmare the way a dog did water after coming out of a stream. But the reality of it remained to haunt him as he scrubbed his hands up and down his face, struggling to bring himself back to the present and out of the past.
It had been ten months since he and Marcus had been hauled to the Tower because the authorities had believed them to be involved in a plot to assassinate Her Majesty, the Queen. A plot that, it turned out, the Duke of Wolfford had participated in. He hadn’t been going to see his mistress every night. He’d been meeting with his fellow conspirators. While their father hadn’t been acting alone, he’d been the only one caught. It had taken two weeks of daily interrogations before Griff and Marcus had managed to convince the Home Secretary of their innocence, their total ignorance regarding the treasonous undertaking that had consumed their father.
After all this time, Griff still found it difficult to believe their father had been capable of such machinations and had sought to place someone else on the throne. But apparently there had been a dark and dangerous aspect to their father that none of them had known anything about. After being found guilty of treason, the Duke of Wolfford had stood upon a scaffold while the noose had been placed around his neck. Thank God, the law no longer allowed for public hangings. It was ironic that in 1870 his father had voted against the bill that did away with drawing and quartering traitors. Its passage had spared him a more gruesome death. Shortly after his execution, the Crown had confiscated the duke’s titles and properties and left Griff and his family with naught but the clothes on their backs and the few belongings they’d managed to gather before they were evicted from the residence. The truth of the duke had broken their mother’s heart, and she’d passed away in ruin and despair. Family and friends had abandoned them, and they’d been left to their own devices. Even Chadbourne had turned his back on Althea and broken the engagement, which had resulted in Society shunning her completely.
Working in the shadows, Marcus was determined to regain the family honor by discovering who else had been involved in the plot to do away with Queen Victoria. For a few months Griff had joined in the quest but had recently lost patience with it and decided his efforts would be better spent striving to ensure he could provide funds when needed. Little money was to be earned in clandestine endeavors.
Rolling out of the bed, the only piece of furniture presently in this room, he snatched up his trousers and pulled them on. His investments had finally come to fruition, providing him with enough money to purchase the building he’d wanted, but more was needed to turn it into what he’d envisioned. And he knew just where to get the blunt.
His clubs had cancelled his memberships, refused him entry. But a well-placed sovereign in the palm of an otherwise-trusted employee had gotten him what he needed.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he removed the slip of paper on which was listed the name of every damned lord who had wagered against his prediction that the Duke of Kingsland would select Lady Kathryn Lambert as the woman he would court with the intention of marrying. While paying a debt from a wager was a matter of honor, it seemed gentlemen were not compelled to honor those debts when they were owed to the son of a traitor. The money would have come in handy when he and his siblings had found themselves with nothing.
Now those very same lords and gentlemen who’d turned their backs on him, who had refused to make good on their wagers, were going to learn that eventually the devil always got his due—with interest.
The following night
Kathryn had always loved the theater, and since last June, she’d become a regular fixture in Kingsland’s box. Attending plays was one of the few things they did with any regularity, although sitting beside him now, with her maid serving as chaperone and settled in a chair behind her, she wondered if he brought her here because it removed the need for much conversation. She always became so absorbed in the performances that she easily maintained the quietness he claimed to prefer. On the rare occasion when she did glance over at him, it was to see a man who appeared distant, distracted, as though he was busily engaged in running sums through his mind.
They’d attended a few dinners together, and he’d carried on conversation with ease, but she suspected that after they married and it was only the two of them at the table, he would be occupied with ruminations on his business affairs rather than discourse revolving around her interests or how she might have spent her day. Not that she needed to be the center of his world or the focus of his attention. She had accepted that theirs wouldn’t be a love match, but then love was not required among the aristocracy for a well-suited marriage.
“Is something amiss? You seem distracted.”
With a start, she glanced over at the man she was to marry—if he ever got around to asking. If she ever insisted that he did. Since he’d called out her name, they’d had relatively little time together. He’d been in France, Belgium, and even America for a while and had only just returned from Scotland the day before. It seemed his business ventures took him all over the world. Although, whenever he was away, she received small tokens indicating he was thinking of her: flowers, chocolates, an invitation to use his box when a new play began. He sent nothing that would be inappropriate for her to accept. Still, she would have preferred a letter sharing the details of his travels. But having received none, it seemed they should have had a great deal to discus
s each time he returned, and yet she was growing weary of having to ask how his journey had gone, especially when his answer was always “Simply filled with boring business.”
Sometimes it made her wonder if he considered her boring business.
She was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t so much that he wanted a quiet wife but rather an absent one. All he really required of her was an heir. She might have taken offense, but wasn’t a hypocrite. She was using him as well to gain what she wanted. Certainly no mad passion would rise up between them. She would have to find passion elsewhere, with other endeavors. To that end, she’d become involved with several charitable activities, taking particular interest in bettering the lives of underprivileged women.
“I’m simply in a reflective mood this evening. You seem equally preoccupied.”
“I apologize. I have the opportunity to purchase a coal mine in Yorkshire. I’m afraid I’ve been running the advantages and disadvantages through my mind.”
“Which one is winning?”
He flashed a grin. “At the moment, they’re equal, although I shall probably need to take a trip to Yorkshire in the near future to ensure I have all the information at hand to make my decision.”
“When you have a wife, will you welcome her traveling with you?”
“I certainly wouldn’t prevent you from going with me, although you might find it a lonely experience as much of my time would be taken up with the pressing matters that prompted the journey.”
Her stomach clutched at his inferring she would be his wife. He often did that, implied that she would become his duchess, but they had no formal agreement. He’d not spoken with her father. “You don’t really view a wife as part of your life, do you?”
“I will not view you as my life, but you most certainly will be part of it. That day in the park, you did not strike me as a woman who needs to be coddled.”
Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Page 9