A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  In the end, she’d lost Jasper, but she had her dress.

  And that would have to be enough.

  Anne looped her arm through Katherine’s. “How very fortunate you are,” she said on a sigh. She gave Katherine’s arm a faint squeeze.

  A tightness settled in Katherine’s chest. She had a husband in love with a ghost. She would never have children of her own. Her heart would forever belong to Jasper, whether she wished it or not. Her lips twisted wryly. Fortunate, indeed.

  She reached up and fiddled with the heart pendant looped around her neck. The latch clicked and the chain slipped into her hand.

  “What are you—?”

  She held out the necklace. “Here, Anne,” she said softly. Katherine no longer needed the insignificant bauble that forever reminded her of the heart she’d never possess. But, her innocent, whimsical sister still believed, and for that, Anne should be the sole owner of the pendant.

  Anne stared down at it a moment. She wet her lips and then reached tentative fingers toward it. She pulled her hand back. “You still need your duke’s heart, Katherine. I can w—”

  “Take it,” she insisted. Anne could free her of at least the small reminder of all she’d never have.

  Her sister’s fingers closed around the precious memento. She looked down, silently at the bauble, a wishful smile playing upon her lips. She glanced up…and her smile promptly withered upon her lips to be replaced with a scowl.

  Katherine followed her disapproving stare over toward Harry, the Earl of Stanhope.

  Anne mumbled under her breath. “I do not know why you associate with that man. Mother is right, where he’s concerned.” She grimaced. “And you know I do detest admitting Mother is ever right about anything.”

  From a short distance away, Harry caught Katherine’s gaze, and gave a devilish wink.

  Katherine shook her head. What an insufferable rake he was.

  “Winking at you in the midst of a ball,” Anne muttered. “Why, you’re a married woman.”

  “He’s been a friend to me,” Katherine gently chided.

  “That man can have no intentions that are honorable, Kat,” she said in a hushed whisper. “He’s vile, and rude, and completely condescending, and boorish, and…”

  “Who is this paragon of a person you and your sister discuss, Your Grace?”

  Anne screeched and yanked her arm free of Katherine’s. High color flooded her cheeks as she glared at Harry. She gave a flounce of her curls, otherwise ignoring him. And, cunning, she mouthed back at Katherine as she took her leave with one last black look for Harry.

  “Lovely creature,” Harry said, a wry twist of humor to his words. He took Katherine’s hand and bowed over it.

  She discreetly pinched the soft flesh of his palm. “Do be kind, Harry. She’s my sister. And she loves me,” she said, pulling her hand back.

  Harry motioned to a passing servant and retrieved a glass of champagne. He took a long swallow and peered out at the dancers, who performed the lively steps of a country reel. “It would seem we’ve earned Society’s censure again, this evening.” His tone hardly sounded repentant.

  Katherine followed his gaze to the stern matrons who peered down their noses at her and Harry.

  “Should we wave and smile?” Harry proposed.

  She swatted at his arm. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  He sighed. “You are a spoiler of good fun, Kat.”

  She hardly cared for her name being dragged through the gossip columns as had happened since she’d made her entrance into Society as a married woman. The gossips had speculated as to her swift and secretive marriage to the Duke of Bainbridge. Then there had been the gossip as to her appearance in light of her husband’s absence. Then the rogues and their vile intentions had descended.

  Harry had kept ranks with them for a very brief moment, before becoming her confidante and ultimately, her protector from the lascivious gentlemen desiring a place in her bed.

  Katherine searched the crowd, beset by an odd disquiet.

  “Are you looking for someone in particular, sweet Kat?”

  “Do hush,” she scolded from the side of her mouth. “Don’t be gauche.”

  He staggered back a step, a hand to his breast. “You insult me, Your Grace. Next, you’ll be leveling the same harsh insults as your sister.”

  Her lips twitched with a distracted sense of mirth.

  The orchestra concluded the country reel to a smattering of polite applause from the dancers who’d just concluded the set. They began to pluck the strands of the forbidden waltz.

  Harry held his arm out. “A waltz, Kat?”

  An odd hum filled the already noisy crowd of guests. She glanced around disinterestedly at the nobles staring toward the center of the room. Katherine placed her fingers along Harry’s coat sleeve. The hum increased in volume like a million honeybees swarming upon the lavish ballroom.

  The crowd parted for her and Harry as he escorted her onto the rapidly filling dance floor. All the while, the lords and ladies looked at her, tittering behind their hands, and then off to the entrance of the room.

  A sense of disquiet filled her, and she glanced around, but with her height, remained unable to see that which had attracted the tons notice.

  Katherine positioned her hand upon Harry’s shoulder, even as he placed his upon her waist.

  Harry grinned down at her. “It seems we’ve attracted even more than usual interest from the…” His words died, his smile slipping to a single, indecipherable line.

  She wrinkled her brow. “What is it, Harry?”

  His hard, hazel stare remained frozen on the entrance of the room.

  “Harry?” Katherine shifted in his arms, as she attempted to see what had garnered his attention. “What do you…?” She blinked. Her hands fell uselessly to her side, as she took a staggering step away from Harry.

  Her heart threatened to beat a painful path right out of her chest.

  Jasper.

  She’d dreamed of him for so long. Conjured him at those loneliest nights in her dreams, only to wake and find her bed frigidly cold. And now, with all her most desperate yearnings, had imagined him here.

  The crowds hushed whispers faintly registered.

  Mad Duke.

  …His wife.

  Earl of Stanhope.

  Except, if the stoic, fierce-looking midnight devil with a day’s growth upon his strong cheeks were merely an object of her imagining, how did those around her also note his appearance?

  Katherine swayed. She would have knocked into a waltzing couple, but Harry reached out to steady her.

  Shocked gasps, delighting in his bold handling of her, filled the room.

  Katherine ignored them. She walked from the dance floor, Harry forgotten, and froze beside Lady Harrison’s enormous Doric column, attempting to steady her too-fast breaths. She folded her hands behind her back and borrowed support from the pillar.

  His harsh, angry emerald gaze searched the crowd, and then because for all that had come to pass between them, there would always be that inextricable pull that had drawn them together since the fateful day of the Frost Fair, he found her.

  Their eyes locked. The graying, plump hostess appeared at Jasper’s side. She opened her mouth to speak, and Jasper started forward, leaving the older woman gaping like a fish tossed ashore.

  Oh God, he is here.

  Why is he here?

  It could not be for her.

  A hand fluttered about her breast, as she tried to still her fast-beating heart.

  The crowd parted for Jasper. Lords and ladies melting away to clear his path across the marble ballroom floor, over to Katherine’s pillar. He cut an impressive figure. Several inches past six feet, and all great big muscles, his frame better suited a man who worked the land with his broad hands and not a duke just a smidgeon shy of royalty.

  At last he reached her.

  Katherine swallowed hard, and tipped her head back. Her eyes searched the hard, angu
lar planes of his face. Since Michael’s carriage had taken her away from Castle Blackwood, she’d tormented herself with a slip of a dream in which Jasper came for her. In all her grandest dreams, he would come, take her from London, and profess his love. In the cold light of day’s reality, however, she knew it unlikely she’d ever again see her husband—not with his love for Lydia.

  And because she’d never dared to believe he would come to London, she had no words for him, this man whose life meant more to her than even her own.

  Her throat moved up and down as his hard, fiery stare slipped over her face, down lower. He paused at her daring décolletage, and then returned his gaze to hers. “Katherine,” he said, in the same, harsh tones he’d used when rescuing her from the Thames.

  His words transported her back to that hellish day, a day that had brought him into her life, and for which she would have suffered that icy plunge again.

  “Jasper,” she whispered.

  Jasper’s neck burned from the bold stares directed upon him and Katherine. He ignored their whisperings of the Mad Duke. All the ton could go hang. They mattered not at all.

  None of them did.

  No one…

  But her.

  He reacquainted himself with each precious line of her heart-shaped face. He took in her rich brown hair, artfully arranged atop her head, with diamond teardrop-shaped combs holding back deliberately placed strands. Two loose tresses hung over her right shoulder, drawing his attention momentarily to the swell of her bosom. A vise-like pressure tightened about his heart as he mourned the loss of those tight brown ringlets. Gone was the young lady in ivory skirts with too many ruffles. In her place stood this boldly clad siren with her generously curved body and slim waist.

  Jasper’s skin tingled at the sudden awareness of eyes upon his person. He stiffened, and glanced at a point beyond Katherine’s shoulder. His gaze locked on a tall, unfamiliar gentleman. And Jasper knew.

  Knew with all the intuitiveness of a man hopelessly in love with his wife, that the golden-haired Michelangelo hovering nearby, with a flinty expression in his eyes was none other than Lord Stanhope.

  Jasper’s fists curled into tight balls at his side. With a growl, he grasped Katherine by the hand, and tugged her forward. His bold actions were met with horrified gasps and increased whispers.

  Katherine gasped and nearly stumbled. He righted her, and proceeded to guide her forward.

  “Jasper, what are you doing?” she whispered at his side.

  He gritted his teeth, unwilling to have this exchange. Not here. Not in front of the ton.

  Not in front of Stanhope.

  “Will you slow down,” she implored.

  Jasper cursed, earning another flurry of whispers and ever-widening stares. But he slowed his stride. They made their way up the long staircase, through the corridor, out to the foyer.

  When they remained free of Society’s impolite stares, Katherine dug her heels in. Her brows stitched into a single line. “Jasper, what are you about?”

  Jasper took a deep breath. “Come with me, Katherine.” He really was creating quite a scene and she really did require her cloak…but he needed to be free of this crowded hell. His throat closed up choking off breath and he feared he’d suffocate from the attention fixed on him.

  Her lips dipped in a frown. She folded her arms across her chest.

  He closed his eyes a moment, and then opened them to find her standing there, an insolent brow arched. Jasper tried again. “Katherine, will you please come with me?” Come away with me.

  She hesitated a moment. And for that seemingly infinitesimal moment, he suspected she intended to deny his request. His breath came faster. Then, she nodded slowly, and marched toward Lord and Lady Harrison’s front doors.

  This time, Jasper hurried to catch his wife. She started for his black lacquer carriage, and accepted the hand of a nearby servant, who reached out to hand her up.

  Jasper glared at the young man who dared touch her hand.

  The servant paled to the color of his white, powdered wig, and then scurried off.

  Jasper leapt into the carriage. His eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness of the space. When they did, they alighted upon Katherine seated in the far corner of his carriage. An unreadable expression on the face that had haunted his dreams.

  The carriage rocked forward. And still they sat there in silence.

  He’d thought of no one but her since she’d walked out of his life. After Guilford’s visit to Castle Blackwood, Jasper had ordered his horse saddled, and he’d ridden like the devil himself had been at his heels. He’d raced his poor mount, working him into a fine lather.

  In his mad race to London, he’d considered what words he would say to Katherine. He would profess his love, and beg her to return with him. He imagined he’d have pretty compliments and recite sweet verse to convince her that she desired a life with him.

  Instead, he’d arrived at his townhouse to find her gone. And the horror of imagining her with Stanhope had become all the more real for Jasper’s sudden arrival in London.

  A vitriolic, violent jealousy had filled him until he’d wanted to stalk through the London streets like an untamed beast and pull open doors until he found Stanhope and destroyed the fiend.

  Jasper gnashed his teeth. “Have you taken a lover, Katherine?” He winced. The steely, angry accusation would hardly convince Katherine to set aside her feelings for Stanhope and return to Castle Blackwood.

  Katherine’s brows dipped. She leaned across the carriage, and the honeysuckle scent, so boldly hers, wafted about them, and filled his senses. “I. Beg. Your. Pardon?” Cool rage underlined those clipped words.

  Jasper fished into the front of his jacket and withdrew a sheet he’d neatly torn from The Times. He handed it over to her.

  Katherine hesitated a long while, and then accepted the paper. She skimmed it. Her gaze narrowed. And then she wrinkled the item into a ball and threw it at his chest. She touched her hands to her chest. “Do you believe this of me?”

  Jasper glanced down momentarily at the rumpled words that had turned him into the kind of Mad Duke who stormed, uninvited, into a ball and dragged his wife from the ballroom, amidst a sea of curious stares. “I…oomph,” he grunted as she stuck a finger in his chest.

  “I am not your mother, Jasper,” she said, her words, flat and emotionless.

  “Stanhope?” Jasper forced the bastard’s name past his suddenly dry mouth.

  Katherine must have seen something in his eyes, for her mouth softened, and she shook her head back and forth slowly, sadly. “Oh, Jasper,” she said. “Harry is a friend. Nothing more.”

  Harry.

  She referred to Stanhope by his Christian name.

  “Gentlemen do not become friends with young ladies, Katherine,” he bit out.

  “This one did,” she replied. “When I desperately needed one, Jasper.” She folded her arms to her chest, as though warming herself. “Is that why you’ve come? To determine if I’ve been unfaithful to you, Jasper? I have not.” Her gaze slid to the window, and she tugged back the velvet curtains to peer into the passing streets. “If that is why you’ve come, then be assured I’ve not taken a lover. Nor do I intend to. So you can return me to the townhouse and return to Castle Blackwood.”

  His stomach flipped into itself. “Is that what you want, Katherine? For me to leave?”

  If she said yes, it would shatter him.

  Katherine dropped the curtain and it fluttered back into place. She turned a sad smile back at him. “Do you know what is so very odd, Jasper?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, but continued. “Since the Frost Fair, since we first met, I came to know you, better than even myself, I sometimes believe. I know the manner in which you grit your teeth and square your jaw when you’re irate. I know you despise any showing of emotion.” She shook her head, unhappily. “Yet, you should know me so little. You read words in the gossip column and believe me no better than your parents.”

&n
bsp; “No,” the denial burst from him. Katherine couldn’t be further from the mark. He well knew she was nothing like his viperous mother and dastardly father.

  Katherine held her palms up, almost beseechingly, and it threatened to rend him in two, this his proud Katherine humbled herself before him. “Then, why did you come, Jasper?”

  “Because I’m a bloody fool.”

  Chapter 32

  Her heart cracked at Jasper’s words. Her husband considered himself a bloody fool for coming to her.

  The carriage rocked to a slow stop, and she started, realizing the carriage had arrived at her…his…their townhouse.

  A servant rapped on the door, and she reached for the handle.

  Jasper’s large, gloveless hand settled over hers.

  A thrill coursed through her in remembrance of his touch, and she closed her eyes as a wave of longing filled her.

  “Katherine,” he said hoarsely. He yanked his fingers back and her skin cooled from the loss of his skin upon hers. Jasper raked his hand through his hair. “I’m blundering this quite badly. Which can of course be explained by the fact that I’m a great big, bastard. I let you go,” he said arresting her gaze with his. “I let you go because I did not allow myself to accept the truth.”

  Katherine angled her head. Her heart slowed and then picked up a too-quick rhythm in her chest. “What is that, Jasper?” she whispered.

  The servant knocked. “Not now.” Jasper’s booming command bounced off the walls of the carriage. He returned his attention to Katherine. “You terrified me, Katherine. From the moment your hand touched mine as I pulled you from the Thames, our lives became inextricably intertwined in ways I fought.” Jasper sucked in a deep breath, as though he’d run a great distance. “I could not allow myself to believe I cared for you, because I could not bear the thought of losing you.”

  As he’d lost Lydia.

  And then Katherine had gone and left Jasper, too. Oh God, how had she left him? Even as it had been an attempt to protect herself, she’d wrought this great hurt upon him.

  “Jasper,” she said brokenly. “I should have never left you.” She should have stayed and fought for him, even if it had been a ghost she’d been left to battle for Jasper’s heart.