He hesitated.
“Rest assured, there is no dangerously thin ice inside the bookshop,” she said dryly.
The young man’s lips twitched at the corners in what she suspected was amusement, and with a bow, he then climbed back into his seat.
Katherine glanced, first left down Old Bond Street, and then right. It would seem all of London had been scared away by a few snowflakes. She raised her gloved hand to the sky and caught a fat, fluffy flake between her fingers. As long as she could remember she’d loved the purity of the winter season, the hope represented at Christmastide.
Energized by the winter weather, Katherine moved with a bounce in her step up to the door of the shop. She pressed the handle and entered.
A tinny little bell jingled, to alert the shopkeeper of someone’s presence. The man hurried over, a wide smile on his face.
“Hello, my lady. I have some new selections for you.” The portly, middle-aged shopkeeper pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles back upon his nose.
“Do you?” Katherine said, with a smile. Her gaze caught upon someone at the opposite end of the small shop. “I…” The tall figure shifted. “I…” There could be no mistaking that bear of a man.
As though feeling her gaze upon him, his broad shoulders stiffened, the muscles straining the fabric of his midnight black jacket.
The Duke of Bainbridge turned. He raked his cold stare over her person from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Bloody hell.
Chapter 6
Bloody hell.
Of all the blasted, rotten luck. He should venture out amongst the living, only to see her, once again?!
Jasper glared over at Lady Katherine Adamson. Surely there was no coincidence in her arrival at the bookshop, and yet, how would she have discovered his whereabouts that morning? Perhaps a disloyal servant? He’d sack the lot of them.
“Lady Katherine Adamson,” he hissed.
He expected the underlining fury that threaded those three words would have sent her fleeing. Instead, her back went up, and she tipped her chin up a notch. She glared right back at him.
“Your Grace.” It didn’t escape his notice that she failed to curtsy. She stood there, eyes blazing, with a recalcitrant tilt to her head.
The bookkeeper looked back and forth between them, and cleared his throat. “Er, uh…if you’ll e-excuse m-me,” he stammered.
At least the small, round shopkeeper had the sense to flee.
Jasper returned his attention to the volume of Wordsworth’s latest work, in his hands. The hard wood of the floors cracked and groaned in protest, indicating that Lady Katherine had at last moved from her place over the front of the shop.
He stared absently at the title, all the while considering the diminutive vixen. He’d not allowed himself to think of her in two days, had not wanted to think about her, and certainly didn’t understand why she continued to traipse through his miserable thoughts. The only rational, coherent, plausible reason he came to was the fact that she, unlike everyone else, seemed wholly unfazed by his presence.
It defied logic and reason and….
“You read Wordsworth?”
Jasper’s body stiffened, and his fingers tightened around the volume. With a growl, he set it back upon the shelf.
He looked down at her. Her head was tilted at a funny little angle, her brown, unblinking eyes wide in her face.
“Do you not mind your own affairs, my lady?”
Lady Katherine ignored his question. She reached past him, and plucked the copy of Wordsworth’s poems from the shelf. Her brown eyes scanned the title. She opened it and fanned through several pages, pausing, and…
“What are you doing?” he bit out.
“Reading,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the page.
He blinked. The young ladies he’d remembered of the haute ton did not issue insolent, one-word utterances.
She snapped the leather volume closed with a decisive snap, and held it to her chest.
Jasper counted to ten. He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to feed the mischievous glimmer in her brown eyes. “What are you doing now?” But the damned words tumbled from his lips.
“I’m purchasing this book, Your Grace.”
Jasper’s eyes did a quick inventory of the shelf. The lone, solitary copy of The Excursion tightly gripped in the lady’s fingers. He gritted his teeth. “Madam, you’ve taken my copy.”
She held a finger up. “You, put the copy back upon the shelf and I am purchasing it.”
“Young ladies are supposed to read the drivel spouted off by Byron.”
She snorted. “Is that so, Your Grace? My, you are very well-versed in the proper behaviors of young ladies.”
His eyes narrowed. What manner of lady ventured out on a snowy day, once again unchaperoned, entered a bookshop, and proceeded to steal the single copy of Wordsworth’s latest works from a duke, no less?
He took a step toward her. She remained fixed to her spot. The book clutched to her chest hinted at her nervousness.
Which drew Jasper’s attention downward, to the ever so small gap in her emerald green cloak that revealed generously plump breasts. He froze, transfixed. Not even when he’d rescued Lady Katherine Adamson had he noted the feel of her against him. He’d been so bloody cold, and livid. Now, in the dimly lit bookshop, he fought to tear his gaze away.
“Your Grace?”
Jasper jerked his attention back to her face. She scratched her quizzical brow.
He gave his head a hard shake, and took another step toward her until they were a hairsbreadth apart, until she was forced to either step away or tilt her head back to meet his furious stare.
Jasper should have expected that a spirited woman like Lady Katherine would toss back her head, and meet his gaze squarely.
“I do not know what manner of games you play, madam. I do not appreciate your dogging my steps. I’ll not be trapped into marriage.”
Katherine’s eyes widened, as she met the pitiless Duke of Bainbridge’s flinty stare. The condescending pull of his lips, the hard glint in his pale green eyes perfectly suited a formidable duke used to having his every wish obeyed.
The absurdity of his charge, she expected, should have outraged her. She dug around in search of the proper indignation and yet…“You believe I would want to wed you?” she blurted. She giggled. “You believe I would want to trap you?” she repeated. His claim was all too preposterous. “Surely you jest?”
The firm, square line of his jaw hardened; the faint cleft at the center pulsed ever so slightly, as testament to his agitation.
It also confirmed how very serious he was.
Laughter burst from Katherine’s chest. The book tumbled from her fingers, and she pressed her fingers over her mouth to stifle her mirth. “I-I’m s-sorry. F-forgive me,” she managed between laughter. She desperately tried to rein in her outburst, but then she caught sight of the duke’s ever-narrowing gaze, and her laughter redoubled. Katherine dashed a hand across her eyes, to wipe away the traces of tears that had seeped from the corners of her eyes. “Your Grace,” she began. “I will forever be indebted to you for your rescue at the Frost Fair, however, I would not have you. Ever.”
She meant those words to reassure him that she had no designs upon his title. His deepening scowl, however, seemed to indicate that her words were having the opposite effect.
Katherine stooped down, and retrieved the copy of Wordsworth’s poems.
“You think my charge so very hard to believe,” he said, his voice harsh with some unknown emotion. “You’ve failed to make a match after your first Season,” he pointed out, as though Katherine needed a reminder from the Mad Duke.
Fury moved with a life-force through her veins. Oh, the insolence of the man. How could the gossips possibly be correct about his late wife? This coarse, hateful creature was not, nor could have ever been capable of love. “I do not care if I had one Season or ten Seasons, I would not forsake my own self-
worth for a gentleman who speaks ill of me, condescends me upon every turn, who…” She furrowed her brow. “How do you know I failed to make a match after a single Season?”
He blinked, and it occurred to her that the normally unflappable duke appeared startled by her question. Hmm, well this was very interesting, indeed. Not even her near drowning, his subsequent tenuous rescue, and the unchaperoned carriage ride had seemed to rattle him. And yet, this one question, should silence him.
The duke smoothed his palms along the front of his coat sleeves. “It was merely a supposition on my part.”
Katherine angled her head. “Yes, but you didn’t say two or three or four Seasons. You said one.” She smiled. “Never tell me you’ve been doing research on me, Your Grace?”
“Do not be preposterous,” he snapped. “I do not conduct research on people.” He raked a gaze over her person. “Particularly unwed young females.”
He intended the words as an insult, that much was clear in his tone, and yet, his gaze lingered longer than was proper upon her plump breasts.
Katherine had always despaired over the unseemly mounds of flesh; her mother had even forced her to wear bindings, until one night Katherine had fainted from the tightness of the cloth wrapped about her person. Something in the duke’s eyes; a hot, penetrating stare, however, made her feel, for the first time, the tiniest bit of female power. Which was outright laughable. The Duke of Bainbridge had been abundantly clear that he no more desired her than she desired him.
And yet, she reveled in his focus. It made her feel the same heady power that Eve had surely felt after tempting Adam with that sinful piece of fruit in the Garden of Eden.
“Do you require any assistance, my lady?”
Katherine jumped at the unexpected appearance of the shopkeeper. He alternated his gaze between Katherine and the duke; a slight frown of disapproval on his small lips.
She smiled. “No, I am finding everything rather easily. Why, I found the sole, remaining copy of The Excursion.”
The duke’s mouth flattened.
Katherine winked up at him as the shopkeeper returned to the front of the shop.
She made to step around the duke, but then, something gave her pause. It was the slightest something, reflected in the greens of his eyes, now deepened to the shade of emeralds, a glitter of emotion he likely didn’t think himself capable of.
Pain.
The Mad Duke.
Her smile faded as she imagined him as an altogether different man; one who smiled, and teased, and who loved. And who was also so very lonely at the Christmastide season. Katherine glanced down at the book, and then cleared her throat. “Here.” She held the book out to him.
He stood stock still, studying her with an inscrutable expression. Katherine pressed the volume into his hands. “I really wasn’t all that interested in reading it,” she lied. She’d been looking forward to reading Wordsworth’s latest poem for an inordinate deal of time. There would be others.
She detected the white-knuckled grip he had upon the leather spine. “I don’t need—”
“I’m sure you don’t need anything, Your Grace. But sometimes, it is nice to simply have things one wants.” Katherine dipped a curtsy, and continued on down the long row of shelving. All the while, she felt his gaze boring a hole into her back. She stole a sideways peek, and found him rooted to the same spot, studying her as if she were an oddity at the Egyptian Hall.
Katherine yanked her gaze back to the books in front of her. To give herself something to do, she tugged free the nearest book her fingers touched.
“I’d not accept pity from you,” a low voice said close to her ear.
Katherine jumped. The book tumbled to the floor and landed upon the tips of her slipper. A gasp escaped her, as she shifted the injured toes.
The duke cursed. “Are you injured?”
She grimaced, shifting to alleviate the throbbing ache in her toes. “I survived a plunge into the Thames, I imagine I should be handling an injured foot a good deal better.”
He grinned.
Katherine’s heart rhythm increased several quick beats. Goodness, when he smiled, it transformed him into a really, rather remarkable man. When she’d first made her Come Out, she’d visited the Royal Museum and observed the chiseled work of Michelangelo’s David. With his smile, the duke could rival that great statue for a place of beauty.
Perhaps madness was contagious.
He bent down and retrieved the forgotten book. He turned it over in his hands, studying the title, his familiar frown back in place. Only…his lips twitched at the corner.
Katherine glanced at the title, and heat flooded her cheeks. “Er…uh…I…” The Works of Leigh Hunt?! Egads, the poet who’d been sentenced to prison by the Prince Regent for libel. Well, Katherine would certainly have a good deal of explaining to do if polite Society believed she read such scandalous works.
She accepted the book from him, and promptly stuffed it back on the crowded bookshelf. “I don’t read Leigh Hunt’s work,” she said, detecting the defensive note in her words.
The duke inclined his head. “It would not matter if you did.”
“Oh, it certainly would,” she said. She could only imagine the furor if the ton believed the plain, bluestocking Adamson twin read the work of Leigh Hunt. “Not that I do. Because I don’t,” she said, hurriedly. Katherine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from rattling on. “Very well, then. I must be going.”
Before the duke could utter another word, she spun on her heel and quickly exited the shop. A blanket of white covered the pavement, the snow that rained down from the sky, large, fluffy flakes. A sweet, uncharacteristic quiet filled the London air. Katherine searched around for her carriage.
From over her shoulder she detected the faint jingle of the bell from inside the bookshop, then the steady crunch of boots turning up the fresh snow.
Katherine’s back straightened, and she resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. She didn’t need to look. She knew he was there, watching, walking over to her…and still, his commanding presence didn’t fail to unnerve her.
Katherine gasped, as the duke stopped alongside her. She slapped a hand to her breast and spun to face him. “Must you always—”
“Here,” he said, gruffly.
She blinked at the wrapped package in his hands.
“Take it,” he ordered.
Katherine looked around, aware of the impropriety of accepting a gift from a gentleman, in a very public place, no less. Except, the streets remained eerily empty, devoid of people passing by. She took the wrapped package from him, and proceeded to open it.
The Excursion.
Her heart did a quick pause, and then resumed its steady tempo. “No, you mustn’t…”
She spun around in search of the duke, but his long legged stride had put considerable distance between them; his black cloak stirred about his powerful legs, in a stark contrast to the white snow.
Her gaze fell to the book he’d given her. He was a perfectly odious bounder, and yet, twice now he’d shocked her with his generosity; one in risking his life to save her, and two in allowing her the sole copy of The Excursion. He struck her as a self-centered, unfeeling nobleman, and yet, with unexpected gestures, continued to defy the image of boorish lout.
And Katherine hated that she did not know what to make of the gentleman. She preferred a world where black was black and white was white, and there were no colors in between. Her father’s betrayal taught her that gentlemen were ultimately selfish creatures who put their own comforts and desires before all else.
In her clear world, with his harsh treatment and callous words, he was a reprehensible fiend.
But in a suddenly unclear world, the same duke who’d purchased the expensive volume for himself, had now given it to her.
She dusted her gloved finger along the trace of snow that coated the leather cover. When she’d first learned of her family’s financial situation, she’d lain awake in the m
iddle of the night, a crushing fear upon her chest. In those scariest of times, she’d found solace in Wordsworth’s poems. The sonnets had reminded her that for as tenuous as her circumstances were, and for all the fear she carried, there was always some far greater sadness.
Thinking of the Duke of Bainbridge, and all he’d lost, she rather believed he’d known that greater sadness. When she’d plucked the volume from the shelf, she’d hoped to aggravate the flinty-eyed duke. Now, staring down at it, considering what he’d done, and more importantly, what he’d known, Katherine knew very well it would be wrong for her to keep the book.
Just then, the footman rushed over to help relieve her of her package. She held a hand up. “Stephens, I need to return to the bookshop. I need to pen a note, and when I’ve finished, I’ll require you to deliver this package to someone.” Katherine handed it over to him, and turned back to the bookshop.
In that moment, Katherine realized the duke was not all he seemed.
And she didn’t know why that thought should terrify her as it did.
Chapter 7
Jasper stomped his way through the snow, down the long stretch of pavement, onward toward his Mayfair Street townhouse, his hands empty from his visit at the bookshop.
He gritted his teeth so hard, pain shot from his jawline, and radiated up to his temple.
He’d recognized that look in her eyes; her eyes that put him of mind of warmed Belgian chocolate. The winter air swallowed the growl that climbed up his throat.
What in the name of St. Stanislaus was the matter with him?
He was the bloody Duke of Bainbridge. The Mad Duke, as Society referred to him. He did not wax poetic about the color of ladies’ eyes. He had, once upon a lifetime ago, when he’d courted Lydia. But not any longer. He drew on her name, and closed his eyes momentarily. He froze.
Wind whipped around him, harsh and punishing, and he embraced the sting of the winter storm.
Jasper clenched his eyes tight, willing her precious face back into focus. Her eyes. They’d been blue. But the exact shade, he could no longer envision with his imagining.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 16