Blame It on Bath: The Truth About the Duke Page 11

  But this . . . This was very nice to wake up to. She smelled delicious, faintly like the oranges that grew everywhere in Spain. He gathered her closer, inhaling the fragrance that clung to her hair. His hand fell very naturally around her breast. It was small but plump, with a pert nipple that rose under his fingers. Languidly he thumbed it, making an aroused growl deep in his throat as it swelled to erectness. His own erection grew taut and heavy, and he flexed his spine, pressing against her bottom. It had been too long since he made love to a woman in the first blush of day, and now he had a wife to make love to whenever he liked.

  Ah, yes. His wife. Soft and pliant when in his arms, stiff and formal when not. The challenge he’d been unable to resist.

  He pressed his lips to the back of her neck, inhaling deeply of tart citrus. “Good morning, my dear.”

  “Good morning,” she murmured. Now that he was more awake, Gerard could feel her heartbeat under his palm, pounding away as he toyed with her breast.

  “I hope you slept well.” Was this frightening her? She held so incredibly still, but she wasn’t stiff. Gerard decided he wanted her to become accustomed to this sort of thing, and besides, it felt damned good, so he kept on as he was without pushing matters forward.

  “Very well, thank you.”

  He laughed. For some reason this brought a fine tension to the muscles in her back. “So formal, Kate! We’re in bed together.”

  “Yes, Captain. Gerard,” she corrected herself quickly.

  “Much better,” he told her. “Someday you’ll say that name first, I hope.” He stretched, deliberately rubbing against her. He’d thought she was a bit thin, but right now her shape felt just right. Soon—though not soon enough—he would explore it at leisure. He was a married man now and needn’t live like a monk. Certainly not when all he had to do was tug up her nightdress to enjoy the pleasures, even rights, of marriage so close at hand . . .

  The neigh of a horse pierced the quiet of the morning. Gerard reluctantly remembered where they were and why. There would be plenty of time to make love to his new wife when they reached Bath, but until then there was a journey of almost sixty miles to make. He stretched again, reluctantly releasing her to roll over. “As delightful as it would be to stay here for the next hour, we must be on our way.”

  “Of course.” She didn’t move. Gerard propped himself up on one elbow and turned her onto her back so he could see her face. She gazed up at him, unsmiling, her dark eyes as serious as ever.

  “Someday,” he said, “I’m going to pierce that hauteur of yours.”

  Her expression froze. “I’m not haughty.”

  “No?” He twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers. In the glowing morning light it was deep gold, like polished brass. “And yet you look so distant, as if part of you is miles away, and the rest, the part here with me, is simply enduring.”

  All the color drained from her face. “I am sorry to appear so. I do not mean to.”

  He paused. She was honestly stricken. “Then smile,” he whispered, tracing a fingertip along her lower lip. “It lifts my spirits.” Slowly her mouth curved into a shy smile although her eyes remained wary. It did improve her looks tremendously. He wondered why she did it so rarely. Again he considered if Howe might have abused her in some way or merely quashed her spirit by virtue of being so much older. He didn’t think he’d ever met a woman as somber as Katherine. Or rather, Kate. His Kate.

  “Now I feel able to face the day,” he said with a grin, pressing a quick kiss on her nose. “Up with you, my lady!” He tossed back the covers and got out of bed. He pretended not to notice the blush that stained her cheeks as she leaped from the bed and scrambled for her dressing gown. It was cool, not cold, in the room, but Gerard made a point of stirring up the banked fire, giving her a few minutes of privacy. When he glanced over his shoulder, she had retreated behind the dressing screen in the corner.

  By the time he dressed and tended to an abbreviated toilette, there was a knock on the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Dennis,” he said as he opened it.

  The older lady looked him up and down. An upbraiding was on the tip of her tongue, he could see, but she merely nodded once and replied in kind. Then she hurried to the screen and disappeared behind it, whence began a furious rumble of whispers. He finished tying his cravat, watching the screen with some irritation, before shrugging it off. No doubt to a lady as reserved as Kate, he seemed very forward and impertinent, but Gerard refused to change who he was for her. If she’d wanted another sort of man, she should have thought of that before begging him to marry her. He still didn’t know why she’d picked him, but in time he’d find out; Gerard knew he could be a persistent devil, and when he wanted to know something, he rarely gave up without success. He pulled on his coat and tossed the last of his things back into the valise before heaving his saddlebags over his shoulder again.

  “I’m going down now,” he announced to the room. The whispers hushed. “We leave in an hour. I’ll make certain breakfast is sent up.”

  For a moment all was silence, then Kate stepped from behind the screen, still muffled in her dressing gown. “Thank you, sir. We will be ready to leave on time.”

  He finally figured out what bothered him about her way of speaking. It was lofty and cool, not with disdain so much as an air of forcing herself to do it, as if she’d rather not have to say anything at all. The only time she spoke naturally was when he shocked her, it seemed; he remembered how she had reacted to his announcements that they would marry the next day and that he wanted to have children. He filed the thought away for future contemplation, although it seemed very likely he would shock his bride frequently if those were the statements that unsettled her.

  For now he just nodded and let himself out of the room. They had over fifty miles to cover today, and he wanted to get a quick start. He ordered breakfast for himself and asked for a tray to be sent up to the room, then paid the bill. A message was waiting for him as well from Bragg, who had gone on ahead to secure a house. Initially Gerard had planned to set up at an inn, but the question of marriage changed all that. Once he decided to accept Katherine’s proposal, Bragg went on ahead to make arrangements. One couldn’t expect a newlywed bride to live at an inn for weeks, after all. Some men probably wouldn’t have asked her to come along at all, given the journey and the task that lay ahead of him.

  But he was confident taking Kate with him was the right choice. The alternative would be to leave her in London, either alone in a hastily rented house or at Durham House, foisted on his brother Edward’s hospitality. Edward would be very hospitable to her, of course, but he barely considered the idea. He didn’t want to return to London in a month or two to find his brother knew his wife better than he did, and he absolutely refused to leave her anywhere Lucien Howe could try to manipulate her and her money. Before they left London, Gerard drew a hundred pounds from her funds, just to prove he could, and to establish his control of them. No formal claim had been filed against his and his brothers’ legitimacy, so Edward still controlled the Durham accounts, and none of them lacked money, but Gerard wasn’t taking any chances. He thought he’d spend the hundred pounds on new clothes for Kate in Bath because he didn’t want to see that brown dress ever again.

  He hoped she would be able to amuse herself in Bath. He’d been in the town a few years ago when on liberty from the army and thought it a fine place. There was plenty of shopping, which ought to make any woman happy, and generally good society. Kate had proven herself resilient and accommodating up till now. He wouldn’t be able to squire her around much and trusted she would accept that as she accepted all his other decisions because he would not be persuaded out of it.

  The last blackmail letter had been postmarked in Bath. It reached Durham’s hand when the duke was dying, and Gerard could only imagine the alarm it must have caused his father. All of them could only imagine, because Durham, arrogant fool that he was, said nothing of the letters even to Edward, who
lived under the same roof and managed all the estate affairs. The only explanation they had was a summary from their father, delivered after his death by the apologetic solicitor, along with the duke’s materials related to the disaster: four short, devastating letters from the blackmailer, and reams of reports from the investigators hired to track him down.

  Despite the failure of his father’s agents in finding the blackmailer, Gerard was sure he could do it. First, he had a driving personal interest in the affair that went beyond any dedication or loyalty to an employer. His name and his place in life hung in the balance—although thanks to Kate, his fortune no longer did. Secondly, it was his mother who would suffer the insult of being named a bigamous wife, and Gerard, who had lost everything else of her, was determined not to let that happen to her memory. And lastly, he had a few advantages his father’s hired men had not had; everyone already knew of the scandal, probably even in Bath, so there was no need to operate in perfect stealth. As one of the sons caught in the so-called Durham Dilemma, everyone would be keen to talk to him about it and share his thoughts and opinions on the matter. And, without flattering himself too much, he knew he had a knack for getting people to talk to him. Everyone but his wife, anyway.

  Gerard ate quickly and went out to see that the carriage was ready, with a new impatience to be off. Once he solved the mystery of the blackmail, he could get on to unlocking the mystery of his bride.

  Birdie was sure Katherine was lying when she said she was fine. She fussed and worried until Katherine finally said the captain hadn’t made love to her, nor been anything but polite and decent.

  “No?” Birdie’s face sagged in relief. “Thank God. I know he’s your husband, madam, and that you chose this, but—goodness, he’s such a big fellow! And you a widow these many months!”

  “None of that is your concern,” Katherine said as she splashed water on her face. Perhaps she had been wrong to confide in Birdie that she expected this to be a marriage of convenience. Perhaps she had been wrong to think it would be. The captain was certainly ready and able to consummate it that morning.

  “I can’t help but worry.” Birdie shook out her traveling dress and held it up as Katherine dried off. “Soldiers, madam, are often rough sorts, and he’s a young man, apt to be driven by his baser passions. He might overwhelm you, and no one could stop him.”

  He did overwhelm her, but not quite as Birdie thought. Katherine half wished he would be overwhelmed by passion for her; but the prospect was so foreign, so unnerving, she was generally glad he wasn’t. Passions faded, after all. It would be much better to build a mutual respect between them and have a relationship based on that instead of some wild, ungovernable lust—as if she could inspire wild, ungovernable lust in the first place. And the longer she could delay any lovemaking between them, the more time she had to learn what to do when the moment arrived. Her hope was to become friends before he felt obliged to take her to bed. That would hopefully temper any disappointment or disgust he might feel about her wifely performance.

  “He’s a gentleman,” was all she told Birdie. “And he has behaved as one. You mind your tongue, even when he’s not around,” she added, seeing Birdie draw breath and guessing at her response. “Just because we spoke frankly of Lord Howe doesn’t mean we shall be harsh on the captain.”

  “Hmph.” Birdie closed her mouth, but her expression said it all as she pulled Katherine’s traveling dress into place.

  “Birdie, I want to be happy,” she said softly. “I hope to be. You must stop thinking of yourself as my protector, at least against him. In truth, he’s been everything I asked him to be.”

  Her abigail didn’t look convinced but said no more about it. She packed while Katherine ate breakfast and rang for a servant to fetch the luggage when they were ready to go.

  Downstairs the innkeeper met them with a smile and assured them their carriage was almost ready, gesturing through the open door. Just there, in the courtyard, was His Lordship, checking the last of the preparations. Katherine peeped out and watched him tending to his horse.

  Today he wore regular clothing, no longer his sharp military uniform, but it made him no less imposing. Or perhaps that was due to the memory, branded on her skin, of his big body pressed so intimately against hers, his hand cupped about her breast, his male organ rigid and hot against her backside. She had thought, as he lay so relaxed, touching her so leisurely and familiarly, that he would put her on her back and have her, daylight or not. But he didn’t. He kissed her, very lightly, then threw back the blankets and got out of bed as if the thought had never entered his mind.

  Perhaps it hadn’t. Perhaps he dreamed of another woman and lost interest as soon as he realized whom he held in reality.

  In the yard, he finished tightening the girth of his saddle and started toward the door where they waited. Katherine nodded her thanks to the innkeeper and pushed open the door. It was still early, with the chill of morning in the air, and she wrapped her cloak snugly around herself as she crossed the courtyard. Her husband met her with a keen look.

  “My humble apologies in advance, my dear, for another hard day of travel.”

  Birdie let out an almost soundless sigh. Katherine didn’t relish getting back in the carriage, either, but that didn’t matter. “There’s no need to apologize,” she said. “At least it is to be the last, for a little while, I trust?”

  He grinned. “Indeed. And Bragg should have the house all set to rights by the time we arrive, down to a hot bath waiting.”

  She smiled back at him, hesitantly. “That will be most welcome.”

  His eyes lit up, and his grin grew wider. “I would be a very poor husband to drag you across England this way and not have a luxurious bath waiting at the end.”

  Katherine’s heart leaped that she pleased him. She kept smiling but unfortunately couldn’t think what to say. Disagree, and protest that he had been an ideal husband thus far? Agree, and seem to reprove him for his demands? She had made him smile and didn’t want to stop; but how to do that? Of course, the longer she stood there smiling like a fool, he probably thought her more stupid than anything else. He gave her a quizzical look, his grin still lingering, then put out his hand to help her into the carriage. Once she and Birdie settled inside, he closed the door himself.

  “Captain,” she said on impulse. He paused, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her, and she almost forgot how to speak under the intensity of his attention. “Thank you,” she said lamely.

  He leaned his shoulder against the carriage door, setting his face very near hers. “Someday,” he murmured, “I shall do something truly worthy of thanks, and will collect your gratitude then. For now, I count myself lucky you aren’t cursing my name.”

  “I would never do such a thing.”

  He chuckled. “If you can say the same tonight, I may believe you.” He slapped the side of the carriage and called out to the driver, who set them in motion at once. A moment later he trotted past on his horse, tipping his hat to her as he did.

  She craned her neck and watched him ride up in front of the horses. If she had thought his attractiveness was due to his officer’s clothing, she was proven wrong. Gerard de Lacey was just as handsome, if not more so, in a plain blue coat and buckskin breeches. It made her heart hurt to look at him and dream of the future that might be. If only she had any sort of feminine wiles to practice on him. If only she weren’t such a dunce when he spoke to her. She did so want him to like her.

  That day, although they traveled farther than the day before, felt shorter, no doubt because there was no rushed wedding and confrontation with Lucien. Katherine rested her head against the window frame and watched the countryside undulate past them. The only breaks in the monotony of it were tollgates and the quick stops to change horses. A large hamper of food was already in the carriage when they left that morning, so they barely stopped to eat. The sun was setting when they crested the last hill and could see Bath gleaming in the dying light b
elow them.

  Katherine looked out the window with interest as they drove through the town. Lord Howe had traveled only to London, and most times he’d left her at home in Sussex; it would have been too taxing for her to go with him, he always told her. She thought it would have merely been too taxing on his patience for her to join him during the elegant, sparkling Season, where plain, quiet women had no place. Her new husband hadn’t even suggested she remain behind. Either he thought her sturdier than Howe did, or he wanted her by him. She hoped it was both, really.

  They stopped on a square in front of a tall town house, not unlike Portman Square except for the complete uniformity between the house and its neighbors. Katherine stepped down from the carriage and looked around. The green at the heart of the square was surrounded by a wrought-iron railing, and in the center was an obelisk. The street was wide and well kept. An auspicious beginning, she told herself.

  Inside, the house was equally agreeable. The rooms were wide and gracious although the furnishings were heavy and old-fashioned. The tall windows at the front of the house would let in plenty of light. Katherine took off her cloak and tried to examine the rooms without any uncouth curiosity as the footman flitted in and out of the hall, carrying in the luggage.

  The captain, however, seemed less pleased. His expression was distinctly unimpressed as he, too, looked around their new abode. “It will do, I suppose,” he muttered. “Bragg!”

  A wiry, bowlegged man who had the captain’s valise in one hand hurried over. “Welcome to Bath, sir,” he said in a gravelly voice. “And my lady.” He bowed, displaying a round bald spot at his crown amid the cropped red waves of hair.