He must have seen something in her eyes for he reached across the carriage and cupped her cheek in his hand, angling her face toward his. “You thought me incapable of loving you because of Lydia, but…” He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, her heart twisted at the raw emotion there. “But the truth is, Katherine, you had my heart since the moment your water-drenched ringlets broke the surface of the Thames.” He leaned across the seat and rested his brow against hers. “I saved you that day, Katherine. But the truth,” he shook his head gently back and forth, “the truth is you saved me.” His words washed over her, and emotion clogged her throat. “You made me to feel and dream and love again.”
Tears filled her eyes, until his dear face blurred before her. She blinked back the blasted droplets.
Then his words registered.
Love.
Another knock sounded on the carriage door.
“For the love of God, I said not now, man,” Jasper barked. He looked back at Katherine. “With my unwillingness to let you into my life and love you as you deserve to be loved, I drove you away. I’m asking you to forget Stanhope. Forget the gowns of vibrant shades. Forget this. Forget all of this, and come back to me. Please. I love you, Katherine.”
The faint muscle at the corner of his eye twitched, the one indication of how very much that speech had cost Jasper.
Love for him coursed through her, potent and powerful.
“Katherine…”
She leaned across the carriage seat and kissed him. Her lips found his in an achingly sweet meeting of two lovers who’d at last found each other. Katherine pulled away. She placed a kiss at the corner of his eye, where that muscle throbbed.
“Without you, none of this means anything, Jasper. Not the gowns. The mindless amusements.”
“And Stanhope?” he asked, his voice gruff.
She shook her head. “Has always been and will only ever be, a friend, Jasper.” She touched two fingers to his mouth. “You are all I want. All I need. I will give up everything I have, all I am for you. I love you.”
His throat bobbed up and down. “And you’ll never again leave me.”
Katherine knew he spoke of more than the mere parting of the now. She ran her finger over his lip. “And I will never again leave you,” she pledged.
“Oh, Katherine,” he whispered and gently pulled her onto his lap, folding his arms about her.
And there, in the confines of the carriage, as Jasper took her in his arms, Katherine realized how very wrong her sister Aldora and her friends had been.
Katherine didn’t need the heart of a duke.
She only needed the heart of this duke.
Epilogue
Hertfordshire
9 months later
An endless scream ripped through the walls of the modest farmhouse.
Jasper sat perched at the edge of his seat, head buried in his hands. They should have remained in London. Instead, Katherine had insisted she see out the remainder of her confinement in Hertfordshire.
Jasper cursed, wishing he’d never purchased the country cottage her father had gambled away, because then they’d be in London where there were surely better midwives than…
“Ahh, God!”
He pressed the backs of his hands against his eye and fought the overwhelming urge to cast up the nonexistent accounts of his stomach.
A hand settled on his arm. “She’ll do fine, Bainbridge.”
Jasper’s bleary gaze shot up angrily at his brother-in-law, Lord Michael Knightly, and he prepared to tell the other man just what he thought of his empty words.
Knightly opened his mouth to speak when Katherine’s guttural moan reached through the door.
Jasper leapt to his feet and began to pace across the thin runner that ran along the hardwood floor.
For seven long hours, Katherine had labored to bring their child into this world. All the darkest nightmares that had haunted him, tortured him, tormented him, played out with her every moan, her every cry, her every groan, until he feared he’d go mad.
He should have never touched her. His seed was poison.
If she died, he could not carry on. It would destroy him.
Knightly reached over and placed a staying hand on his arm. “She is a strong woman. I promise you, she will be all right.”
Knightly spoke as a man whose wife had delivered first Lizzie, and more recently their second babe, a full-cheeked boy with thick black curls. He didn’t know the agony of holding one’s wife as she…
“For Christ’s sake,” Jasper hissed and strode to the chamber doors.
Another cry split the quiet of the cottage, just as he pressed the handle of the door.
The thick, graying doctor stood alongside Katherine’s mother and Aldora. The trio stared slack-jawed with shock at his appearance.
It was the doctor who spoke. “Your Grace, you should not…”
Jasper glared the older man into silence. He would have to drag his dead, lifeless fingers from this room before he again left Katherine’s bedside. “Get out,” he ordered everyone present. They exchanged a look.
“It is fine,” a far too-weak voice called from the bed.
His gaze sought Katherine’s, and his heart plummeted to his stomach. He dimly registered the bloody sawbones and the countess taking their leave. Then the door closed.
Katherine’s hair hung in damp, strands about her waist and shoulders while her cheeks remained flushed red from her exertions.
“What are you doing here?” she said with far more stoic calm than he’d have imagined possible considering the pain he’d heard in her earlier screams.
Then her face contorted, and she sucked in a long, slow breath, letting it out slowly.
Jasper strode over to her bedside. He pointed a finger at her. “I forbid you to die, Katherine. Do you hear me? I absolutely forbid it. You promised to never leave me.”
She bit her lower lip as another shudder of agony wracked her frame. With a slow, steady breath, she regained her composure. “I’m not going to leave you, Jasper. I’m too stubborn to die.”
He thought of her flailing, fighting figure as he’d pulled her out of the Thames River over a year ago. No, there was no stronger woman than his Katherine.
Jasper sank down to his knees beside her bed and captured her hand. “Promise me, Katherine. I…I need you to promise me.”
She touched her free hand to his head. “I will not die,” she said with such conviction, he dared to believe her. Katherine closed her eyes, and her fingers tightened hard about his hand.
Jasper winced from the strength of her grip.
“Jasper?”
“Yes, Katherine?”
“Will you please send for my mother and Aldora? I believe the babe is coming.”
His gut clenched, and he surged to his feet so quickly he nearly toppled backwards. He steadied himself, and raced to the door, knocking into a rose-inlaid side table.
Jasper wrenched the door open.
The doctor rushed inside, having clearly, and accurately, anticipated he would be needed.
“It should not be much longer, Your Grace,” the doctor assured him, even as Katherine’s mother and Aldora secured their spots alongside the bed. “If you’ll wait—”
“No,” Jasper bit out. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And he didn’t. He remained for the next thirty minutes as Katherine labored to bring their child into the world. He remained when her voice turned hoarse from the strength of her cries.
And he remained when his son came squalling and angry into the world, as fat as a cherub with a shock of brown curls atop his head.
And later, when no one remained but Katherine, Jasper, and their babe, Jasper lay curled up at his wife’s side, and studied the glassy-eyed boy with big-cheeks, who clutched at his finger.
Katherine leaned into Jasper, and angled her head up, looking at him through tired but contented eyes.
“Are you happy?” she whispered.
> Jasper smiled. For the first time, in forever… “I am.”
The End
More Than a Duke
By
Christi Caldwell
Dedication
To My Readers
Thank you for your beautiful support and the laughter you bring into my life. And an extra special thank you for all the times you ‘kick me off’ social media so I can keep telling my stories! Hugs
Acknowledgements
To Jillian and Sarah
Thank you for your tireless efforts in turning my work into a finished product.
Chapter 1
London, England
1815
In a Society that placed such value upon honor, respectability and virtue, Lady Anne Arlette Adamson came to a very interesting revelation. A young lady would discard her self-worth and sense of decency…all for a glass of champagne.
Or more precisely, two glasses of champagne.
The full moon shone through the Marquess of Essex’s conservatory windows and splashed light on the two sparkling crystal flutes. Drawn to them, Anne wet her lips and did a quick survey of her host’s famed gardens, searching for any interlopers. Lured by the forbidden liquor, she wandered over to the table strewn with vibrant pink peonies and blush roses and picked up a flute. She angled her head. Eying the pale, bubbling liquid contained within, a sudden desire filled her, to taste the fine French brew.
Of course, young, unwed ladies did not drink champagne. At least that was what Mother was forever saying. A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Then, she’d never been lauded as the obedient, mild-mannered daughter. Anne raised the glass to her mouth…and froze. An honorable young lady however didn’t drink champagne belonging to two other people.
She sighed and set the glass down.
With a frown, she began to pace the stone floor. Where was he?
She’d heard rumors of his notorious assignations, knew he planned to meet…she wrinkled her nose, some widow or another, in the marquess’ conservatory.
Perhaps the rumors were just that, mere rumors. Perhaps…
The click of the door opening sounded off the glass walls of her floral haven. Anne jumped. Her heart pounded hard and she raised a hand to her chest to still the sudden increased rhythm.
For the first time since she’d orchestrated this madcap scheme involving Harry Falston, the 6th Earl of Stanhope, she questioned the wisdom of such a plan. Enlisting the aid of one of Society’s most scandalous rogues would hardly be considered one of her better ideas. The ladies adored him, the gentlemen wanted to be him, the leading hostesses frowned at him from one side of their fans and tittered behind the other.
He also happened to be the gentleman who’d tried—and failed—to seduce Anne’s twin sister, Katherine.
For all Anne’s twenty-years, she’d forever been considered the more spirited, imprudent twin sister. Of course, being the more sensible of the twins, Katherine had not fallen prey to his devilish charms. However, in a wholly insensible thing to do, her sister had befriended him, a rogue of the worst sort who didn’t even have the decency to respect Katherine’s marriage…or any marriage, for that matter.
The door closed. With breath suspended, she slipped behind one of her host’s towering hibiscus trees.
Good, respectable young ladies, marriageable young ladies at that, should have a care to avoid Society’s most notorious rogue.
Her nose twitched and she widened her eyes in attempt to hold in a sneeze. Then, she’d not paid too close attention to the tons rigid expectations for a young lady.
The tread of a gentleman’s footsteps echoed off the glass windows. “Hullo, sweet.”
Oh, by Joan of Arc and all her army. Hullo, sweet? That was the kind of claptrap this rogue was known for? His husky baritone however, well, that was better suited for the Gothic novels she’d taken pleasure in reading before her mother had gone and stolen her spectacles. But, “hullo, sweet?” She shook her head. It would take a good deal more than an unclever endearment to earn her favor.
The bootsteps paused. She peeked out from behind the tree.
Her breath caught. The moon bathed the lean, towering gentleman in soft light. The earl’s gold locks, loose and unaffected, gave him the carefree look of one who flouted Society’s rules. But then, isn’t that what the Earl of Stanhope had earned a reputation for? Which made him perfect. Perfect for what she intended, anyway.
The sweet fragrance of the hibiscus tickled her nose yet again. She scrubbed a hand over her face hard and drove back a sneeze.
The earl cocked his head, as if he knew she stood there secretly studying him, quietly admiring him. It really was impossible not to. His black-tailed evening coat clung to sculpted arms. Anne continued to scrutinize him with objective eyes. Gentlemen really shouldn’t have sculpted, well-muscled arms. Not like this. Why, they were better suited to a pugilist than a nobleman.
A grin tugged the corner of his lips up in a hopelessly seductive smile. She fanned herself. Well goodness…mayhap it wasn’t the champagne flutes after all but the pirate’s grin that made foolish young ladies toss their good name away.
She stopped mid-fan. Not that she would be swayed by such a smile. No, the gentleman she would wed was serious and respectable and obscenely wealthy and unfailingly polite and just enough handsome. Not too handsome. Not unhandsome. Just handsome enough.
The earl shrugged out of his coat. He flipped it over his shoulder in one smooth, graceful motion. The effortless gesture jerked her from her musings.
Anne swallowed hard. Yes, he was entirely more handsome than any one man had a right to be. She supposed she really should announce herself. Especially considering his…er…arrangements for the evening.
“You do know, sweet, if you’re content to stand and watch me remove my garments, I’d be glad to provide you such a show. I would, however, vastly prefer you allow me to slip the gown from your frame and…”
She pressed herself tight against the tree. Her arm knocked the branch of the hibiscus and wafted the cloying, floral scent about the air. “Achoo!” Blast and bloody blast.
The earl’s grin widened as he yanked a stark white kerchief from his jacket and wandered closer. He extended the cloth. “Here, sweet—”
Anne stepped out from behind the tree. The earl froze, the stark white linen dangled between them. His hazel eyes widened. She plucked the kerchief from his fingers and blew her nose noisily. “Thank you,” she said around the fabric.
“Bloody hell, Lady Anne,” he hissed. “What in hell are you doing here?” He shrugged into his jacket with the speed surely borne of a man who’d clearly had to make too many hasty flights from disapproving husbands.
She frowned. “You really needn’t sound so…so…” Disappointed. “Angry, my lord.”
He took her gently by the forearm. “What are you thinking?”
She tugged her arm free. “I require a favor—”
“No.” He proceeded to pull her toward the front of the conservatory.
She frowned up at him. “You didn’t allow me to ask—”
“No.” He shook his head. “Mad,” he muttered to himself. “You’re completely and utterly mad. And maddening.”
“I am not mad,” she bit out. She really wished she was as clever as her eldest sister, Aldora. Aldora would have a far more clever rebuttal than ‘I am not mad’ for the scoundrel.
His mouth tightened. And she swore he muttered something along the lines of her being the less intelligent of her sisters.
Anne dug her heels in until he either had to drag her or stop. She glowered up at him, this rogue who’d tried to earn a spot in Katherine’s bed. Alas, Katherine loved her husband, the Duke of Bainbridge, with such desperation the earl hadn’t had a hope or prayer.
He folded his arms across his chest. “What do you want then, hellion?”
She gritted her teeth, detesting his familiarity that painted her as the bothersome sister. Still, she required somethin
g of him and as Mother used to say, one can catch more bees with honey than…she wrinkled her nose. That didn’t quite make sense. Why would anyone want to catch a bee? Unless—.
The earl took her, this time by the wrist, and began tugging her to the door.
“I need help,” she said and pulled back.
To no avail. He held firm. The man was as powerful as an ox. “No.”
Most gentlemen would have inquired if for no other reason than it was the polite, gentlemanly thing to do.
Anne at last managed to wrest free of his grip. “Please, hear me out, my lord.”
He took a step toward her. “By God, I’ll carry you from the room this time.” The determined glint in his eyes leant credence to his threat.
She danced backward. “Oh, I imagine that would be a good deal worse.” He narrowed his eyes. “Your carrying me,” she clarified. “Imagine the scandal if—”
Lord Stanhope cursed and advanced. “You risk ruin in being here, my lady,” he said, his voice a satiny whisper that sent warmth spiraling through her body.
She shook her head. People might believe her an empty-headed ninnyhammer, but she was not so foolish to be swayed by a crooked grin and a mellifluous whisper. She took another step away from him. Her back thumped against their host’s table. It rattled and one of the champagne flutes tipped over. She gasped as the pale liquid spilled across the wood table and threatened her skirts.
Lord Stanhope yanked her away from the dripping champagne and tugged her close. “Tsk, tsk, my lady.” He lowered his lips to her ear. “However would you explain returning to the ballroom with your skirts drenched in champagne?”
Anne glanced up. And wished she hadn’t. Really wished she hadn’t.
The earl’s impossibly long, thick golden lashes were enough to tempt a saint, and after more than twenty years of troublesome scrapes, Anne had earned a reputation amidst her family as anything but a saint.
A lock toppled free from the collection of ringlets artfully arranged by her maid. She brushed the strand back. It fell promptly back over her brow.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 39