I nod and am surprised when he takes my hand and heads out the door, leaving his mother and Jessa to follow. When we reach the car, he hands me in before saying something quietly to Murdock, who nods before closing the door behind Winston. Apparently, he and I will be riding alone. I see the murderous look on Jessa’s face as Murdoch relays the information before he climbs into the driver’s seat and we back out the long drive.
As we drive, Winston takes my hand, but doesn’t look at me. Kat from yesterday wants to yank my hand away and remind him he’ll only regret having touched me in half an hour, but Katherine from today remembers that I promised to be the Duchess, and today is my real debut. So I let him take comfort from me, or whatever it is he’s doing, when he continues to rub his thumb over the skin on my inner wrist absentmindedly.
"We will be seated at the front of the church," he begins. "Nothing will be required of us during the service except that we look appropriately severe, there will be photographers present, so bear that in mind and keep your expressions subdued accordingly.”
I nod, even though I have to wonder what he thinks I’d do—crack jokes and dance at his grandfather’s funeral? I do know the difference between a funeral and a party. I’m Irish Catholic, not an idiot.
But then he says something that stops my thoughts dead in their tracks.
"I want you to know that I am truly sorry for the way I’ve treated you, Katherine." He pauses, before finally looking me in the eye. "You are a better person than I, and I have done nothing to earn your help today. I can not thank you enough for what you’re doing."
I should snap back with "Damn straight, Your Doucheness" but really all I feel is sympathy. I can see that even though it might look like he’s had everything handed to him on a silver platter, that’s all smoke and mirrors. Winston’s life has been missing the one thing mine’s always had—a family that loves and supports him. His father was absentee, even when he was alive, his mother is a self-serving barracuda, his grandfather only wanted to control him, his cousins are only after his inheritance. And the woman he was in love with left him at the altar.
Winston Cauldwell is all alone in the world.
Except today he has me, and maybe that can count for something, after all.
"We need to talk," he continues. "After this is over, and the nonsense has settled down, we need to talk about what happened yesterday, and…other things."
"Ok," I tell him, holding his one hand between both of mine. "We’ll talk. But for now, tell me what happens after the church."
"After the church," he says, a bitter smile crawling across his face, "the real fun begins."
32
Winston
I watch as the hearse bearing my grandfather’s casket moves away from the front of the church toward the train station, where the body will be taken to the family estate for burial.
Kat stands at my side, the picture of demure mourning. I underestimated her. She seems to know just how to behave at a moment like this and I’m more than grateful.
"Winston," my mother murmurs from my side as we wait for the procession of mourners to exit the small square in front of the church. "I’m hearing rumblings that your cousin has something planned for the reception. Something that won’t look good for you and the inheritance."
I sigh, pulling Kat slightly closer and dropping my hand from her shoulder to her hip, my arm around her waist. She feels…comforting and arousing all at the same time. Before my thoughts can detour to the way her skin felt beneath my fingers yesterday, I answer my mother. "It doesn’t matter if he does or not, Mother. My marriage is legitimate, I’m the heir, he can’t do a thing about it."
“I certainly hope you’re right, darling.” My mother grimaces as she gives Kat the side-eye.
I grit my teeth and lead my bride to the Rolls for the drive to the reception.
* * *
When we arrive at the private club where my grandfather had lunch every Wednesday and Friday for fifty years, the place is sedate chaos. Cars are pulling in and out of the valet station in front of the three-story blonde brick building, and mourners in dark clothing are congregating in small clusters on the sidewalk, probably hoping to catch my arrival.
As we pull to a stop in front and Murdoch climbs from the driver’s seat to come around and open our door, I give Kat’s hand a final squeeze. “You ready?” I ask.
She smiles warmly. “Yes. And if you need a break, just use our secret word.”
I cock my head in puzzlement. “We have a secret word?”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Of course we do. All married people have a secret word. We have a secret look, too, but there’s no time to learn that. Just remember cyberstalker and when I hear you say it, I’ll know to drag you away from whatever stuffed shirt is about to send you over the edge.”
The door to the car opens and I climb out, bringing Kat after me. As we begin to walk toward the big double glass doors with the heavy brass handles, flashbulbs go off and I realize some of the supposed guests milling about on the sidewalk are actually paparazzi.
I lean down and whisper in Kat’s ear, “Exactly how am I supposed to work cyberstalker into a conversation at a funeral?”
She blinks at me as if I’m the lunatic and not her. “You know,” she instructs, exasperation lacing her words. “Thank you for your condolences, I’m so glad you’re not a cyberstalker. Or yes, Grandfather was a great philanthropist, and luckily, not a cyberstalker.”
I’m trying to decide whether to roar in laughter or lock her in the car for the duration of the reception when the doors are opened by two uniformed doormen, and we enter the reception, where it appears my cousin has been waiting.
33
Kat
Winston takes a sharp inhale as he walks into the plush, masculine lobby of the private club. The massive room has been cleared out in the center for people to gather in conversational groups. The dark paneled walls are hung with dozens of photos of Winston’s grandfather with famous politicians, members of the royal family, and movie stars. Around the edges of the space are overstuffed leather sofas, club chairs, and small end tables.
But as my gaze follows Winston’s, I see what he’s focused on—his cousin, standing several yards ahead, greeting guests as they arrive, a giant slide show playing behind him on the wall of the room. I blink as the photos cycle through and I realize they’re the pages of the contract I signed with Winston.
“Is that…?”
Winston cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. “Yes. It. Is,” he snaps as his eyes blaze and his jaw turns rock hard. He seems to have forgotten that he has a hold of my hand as he strides toward David. I’m towed along, nearly tripping in my heels as I try to keep up.
When we reach David, Winston waits for him to finish greeting an older stuffy couple who glance rapidly between Win and David, obviously aware the next World War is about to break out. Win gives them a flash of a feral smile that warns them away and they make a quick exit. Everyone else seems to know that they should move along, as well, and a wave of people splits around us, giving a wide berth to David, who is now smirking like the gutless bastard he is, and Win, whose scowl would make small children cry.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Win snarls at David.
“Simply taking my rightful inheritance,” David whisper shouts. “Now that everyone sees the proof of your fraudulent marriage, I’ll inherit. No reason to pretend you have any legitimacy.”
I feel Win’s hand flex as he holds mine. His entire body is rock hard with anger and tension. David must see it, too, because his eyes widen a touch and he takes a step back, losing some of his bravado.
“You have two choices here,” Winston says in a voice that would crack ice. “Either shut down the afternoon’s entertainment or I will have you removed from the premises—very publicly and very physically.”
David’s mouth opens and shuts like a fish gaping for oxygen. “You wouldn’t,” he finally answers.<
br />
“Try me,” Winston replies. At this point, I’m thinking he might do it, even if David does turn off the little movie. I thought Win was pissed when he fired me that night at the arena, but it doesn’t hold a candle to this.
I sort of snort laugh. “I’d do what he says, dude,” I warn David as I give the side-eye to Winston. Then I lean forward and cup my hand around my mouth so Winston can’t see what I say. “He once killed a man,” I whisper shout, then wink. Poor dumb David. After all those years with my brothers, I always know who’ll win a throwdown. David doesn’t stand a chance.
I hear a low growl come from Winston’s chest and David throws me the dirtiest look on the planet.
“You haven’t won,” he warns before he marches off toward the back of the room, trembling with rage.
The slide show goes dark, and Winston takes one long breath, schooling his features before turning us both to face the front doors, where people are still streaming in. He finally lets go of my hand and takes a moment to look down at me, a tiny smile playing with his firm lips. “Well, that was fun,” he murmurs.
Then, he turns to the first person to walk toward us and extends his hand. “Thank you so much for coming, Grandfather would have been very honored.”
* * *
The remainder of the memorial reception is tense, whispers following us everywhere we turn. I want to ask Winston what will happen now that all those people saw the contract we signed, but he’s silent on the way home, and we both stumble into the house exhausted. My brain is mush.
The combination of being gossiped about by half of London, and having to be so proper for so long, is apparently something like running a marathon for me. I’ve never gone that long without saying something inappropriate in my life. Not even as a baby before I learned to speak. I guarantee, if you’d been able to decode my baby babble it would have been sprinkled with cuss words and insults to the other babies.
“May I bring you anything, ma’am?” Deena asks as she and Samuel take our coats at the door to the house.
I glance at Winston but he’s distracted by the buttons on his suit jacket.
“There was so much food at the reception they nearly had to roll me out of there. I think I’m just going to go upstairs for a bath and straight to bed,” I tell her with a smile.
She nods and I move past her to the staircase. Winston is talking to Samuel and doesn’t seem to need me for anything else, so I keep moving. Guess my duties for the day are done. I try not to take offense. He just buried his grandfather, fought off a usurper like in some medieval royal plot, and talked to about two hundred of the richest most important people in the UK, so it’s probably selfish of me to expect him to think about me right now. I give myself a mental pat on the back for not doing anything embarrassing today, and head to my room.
Upstairs, I strip out of my dress and heels and wander into the bathroom that connects to both the Duke’s and Duchess’s rooms. I fill the large soaking tub up with hot water and drop my bra and panties on the floor before climbing in and leaning back against the cool porcelain. I have my AirPods in, the phone sitting on the counter across the room. I close my eyes and let the beat of the music take me away, melting the day’s chaos. And since this is the first time I’ve had a second to think all day, it’s not surprising that the first thing that pops into my head is an image of Winston rising over me in the big bed I’ve been sleeping in.
I breathe deep as the memories flood me—his hands on my skin, his tongue in my mouth, his breath in my ear. I can almost feel the way he filled me, slid against me, hot, hard, and thick. My pulse picks up and I find my own hand drifting down over my breasts, cupping them, pinching the nipples, making an ache bloom in my core.
I sigh and let my fingers drift even lower. The hot water makes a sweat break out on my forehead, and I linger as my fingers find my clit, pressing against it lightly. Winston’s voice echoes in my ear, You’re so beautiful. I arch my neck as the music and the beat of my heart match rhythms, everything throbbing and becoming molten inside me.
But my own touch isn’t his, and I crave him like he’s a hit of something powerful and I’m an addict.
The music is loud, and I’m distracted by the images playing out behind my eyelids, which must explain why I don’t hear the door when it opens, but I sense that someone is there because suddenly my eyes fly open and I find myself staring into the dark, hot gaze of the Duke himself.
34
Winston
After we arrive home from the funeral events for Grandfather, I make a beeline to the private study in the Duke’s suite. I pour myself a healthy measure of scotch and collapse into the armchair near the fireplace. It was a hell of a day, and David’s little gift kept on giving. I tried to shield Kat from the worst of it, distracting her with requests for food and introducing her to people I knew would be polite no matter what they thought of the contract David displayed to everyone. But tomorrow the proverbial shit will hit the fan. Everyone will know and I’m sure the lawyers will be on the phone at sunup.
I stare at the empty fireplace and feel the scotch burn its way down my throat. I’m not honestly concerned about David’s challenge. Diego consulted with top lawyers in London before he advised me. The contract between Kat and I is really just a form of prenup. But I am livid that David got his hands on it, because that means someone in my Chicago offices can be bought, and that is absolutely unacceptable.
I know it wasn’t Diego, he’s as loyal as they come, and has no interest in being disbarred. But now we’ll have to spend valuable resources discovering who did sell me out. I console myself with the thought that, when I do find them, I’ll ruin them so thoroughly they’ll have to go all the way to Des Moines to get a job working at the landfill.
There’s also the fact that nothing in my grandfather’s will stipulated anything about the marriage except that it be legal. Hell, we’ve even consummated the damn thing if we’re being incredibly old fashioned about it. That thought leads me to memories of Kat’s silky skin, her lush curves and that breathy sigh she made when I slid into her. I take the last swallow of the scotch, and groan in frustration. I want her, but there are warning bells going off inside me. Big neon signs flashing that I’m going to get in over my head, that someone is going to get hurt. She’s a risk, and I don’t take risks, except when they’re well-calculated and in business.
I set the heavy tumbler on the side table and think back to that moment when David stood facing me in defiance, so smug in his belief that I’m going to screw this up like he thinks I’ve screwed up everything else. Then, I remember the look of mischief on Kat’s face as she leaned in and whispered to David. The way his eyes had widened in fear as she feigned concern for him. I never had a chance to ask her what she said, but it was obviously magnificent.
In fact, Kat was magnificent the entire day. She’s not British upper crust, but she has something more important than perfect deportment—kindness and an affinity for other human beings. The skills I most lack, she has in spades. She was the one shining light in an otherwise draining day. Even though she can be a cantankerous handful, she managed to smooth over all the rough edges today, even in the face of the whispers and stares. She showed true loyalty, sticking by my side, no matter what. Some deep, secret part of me whispers that, if I were to have a Duchess, she would be the perfect candidate for the job. But I shake that off, because this is temporary, she’s temporary.
I stand from the big overstuffed chair because I know if I don’t officially get into my bed, I’ll fall asleep here and wake with a very stiff neck. I ought to say that I have no idea Kat is in the en suite that adjoins our two bedrooms. But the truth is, I heard the bathwater running, so I know it’s possible. However, when I knock on the door, there’s no answer, so I choose to believe the bathroom is available. I need a shower like no one’s business after the day of glad-handing every aristocrat in London, as well as a good selection of government officials, a couple of minor royals sent to represent
the Queen, and at least half the staff of my new London offices.
But when I open the door, I’m greeted with an erotic scene worthy of a porn flick. Kat is stretched out in the oversized tub, her wild red curls pinned on top of her head, tendrils hanging down over her collarbone. Her eyes are closed, and her skin is flushed from the heat of the steamy room. I’m about to bow back out before she realizes I’m there, when she makes this sound deep in her throat, and my cock hardens like a rock in a mere instant. That’s when I realize her hands are roaming over her slick torso, one squeezing her nipple, while the other has drifted south under the water. My mouth goes dry as I watch her undulate slightly in the water, her breath coming in short gasps.
Fucking hell. I’m frozen. Knowing this is none of my business, but absolutely unable to unroot my feet and retreat as I ought to.
That’s why, when her eyes fly open as if she knew she was being watched, I’m standing there like the crazy, creepy stalker I’ve become in the last three minutes.
“Oh!” she shrieks.
I spin around, like I seem to be doing all the time with her, and mutter, “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
I hear some splashing and then she clears her throat. “I’m sorry, I had AirPods in, I couldn’t hear you.”
“I did knock,” I say, knowing it’s hardly a defense for standing there a good thirty seconds, staring at her.
“Well, it’s not like you haven’t seen it all already,” she mutters.
“I’ll just…um…” I gesture toward my room and move to shut the door behind myself.
“Should we talk about it?” she asks suddenly.
I turn automatically, and as I get a look at her, I’m dumbstruck again. She doesn’t tell me to get out or turn back around, so I lean against the doorjamb and drink her in, every silky inch that I can glimpse above the water and the edge of the tub. Her luscious hair, long smooth neck, a silky shoulder, a rounded knee, toes painted deep blood red.
The Duke: A Standalone Royal Billionaire Novel Page 11