Blame It on Bath: The Truth About the Duke Page 8

  He was watching her, and when she laid down the pen, he pulled her a little apart from the others. Birdie started to follow, but he gave her such a look, she stopped in her tracks. Birdie glanced to Katherine in appeal, but she shook her head. He was her husband now, and he had the right to talk to her. And she had better get used to it just as much as Birdie.

  “We’ll go to Portman Square next,” he told her. “You need to pack your things and make arrangements for what cannot be taken with us. It will have to be sent along later. However, we don’t have much time. I had intended to be gone already.”

  She nodded. “I understand. It won’t take long to pack.”

  “Do you expect Lord Howe to cause a scene?”

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. He may. If my mother is there, you may depend on her causing one.” She glanced up at him. “I am sorry—”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, love. I have no objection to scenes—I’m perfectly capable of causing one myself. I just wanted to know what to expect. We’ll be all right, hmm?” Still smiling, he tipped up her chin and kissed her on the mouth. The kiss was soft and light, but bowled her over just as much as the one last night had done. When he lifted his head a moment later, she almost toppled right into him. He caught her against him very naturally, but Katherine wiggled away, flustered by her uncharacteristic lack of composure.

  “Your marriage lines, my lord, my lady,” said the vicar behind her. She turned and managed a smile for him. The man beamed back at her, as he had done all morning. The captain must have told him some nonsense about their marriage, or else the man was a grinning fool.

  Her husband reached out and took the two pieces of paper from the vicar, handing one to Katherine. “Should Lord Howe require proof,” he murmured as he stuffed his copy, unread, into his coat.

  Katherine scanned the marriage certificate. Katherine Howe, widow, aged 30 . . . Gerard de Lacey, bachelor, aged 28 . . . Oh heavens. Her face heated as she quickly folded the paper and slipped it into her cloak pocket. She was two years older than he!

  “Are you ready, Lady Gerard?” her husband asked. He extended his hand and winked at her.

  She was Lady Gerard de Lacey now, no longer Viscountess Howe. Her first husband never winked at her, and even though Katherine reminded herself this marriage was no more founded on love than her first had been, a hesitant smile crept over her face all the same. He looked just as boyish as she remembered him when he winked. She put her hand in his. “Yes, Captain.”

  He pulled her close again and leaned down. “Gerard,” he breathed in her ear. “Unless you plan to follow my every order, like a cavalryman.”

  “That’s really not necessary,” she whispered back.

  His fingers tightened on hers. “Today it is.”

  She took a deep breath. It seemed he was determined to continue this farce of intimacy. “Very well. Gerard.” Just his name tasted sweet and dangerous on her tongue, much like his kiss. She looked up into his laughing blue eyes and wondered if she hadn’t made a terrible mistake after all.

  Chapter 8

  Gerard thought his bride was tensed up so tightly she might snap under the strain as the carriage rolled toward Portman Square. Her fingers were knotted in her lap, her mouth was one thin line, and he didn’t think she’d moved except to breathe since they left the church. Her maid had assumed the air of a warrior girding for battle, which sat rather oddly on her plump, dowdy form. He wondered what sort of confrontation they were dreading, then decided he didn’t much care. Gerard’s pocket crinkled with the legal, binding proof of his marriage, and if Lord Howe had any dispute with it, he would be happy to unleash Edward’s expensive solicitors on the viscount.

  The thought of his brother made him pause. He really ought to take Katherine around to Durham House and introduce her to Edward, and possibly even let Charlie meet her. Aunt Margaret would be very irked at him for not bringing Katherine to tea with her, as the only female relation in his family. Of course, visiting family would consume the rest of the day at the very least, and probably more—he would surely face an inquisition from Edward about his sudden and unexpected choice of wife—so Gerard brushed the idea away. He had more pressing things to deal with and could always write to his brothers and let them know.

  He looked at his new bride again and felt a hard, smooth pulse of satisfaction. He’d wanted a wealthy wife, and now he had one. It freed him entirely from worries about his private finances and allowed him to devote himself wholly to preserving his family’s place. Whatever else happened, he had secured his own career and home. He still meant to find the villain who had blackmailed his father and threatened him and his brothers, but Gerard was positively roaring with triumph inside his own head. Her family came from trade, but he didn’t give a damn since her fortune more than compensated for it. She wasn’t a beauty, but she was clever and quick, and no shrinking violet. Outwardly she appeared prim and somber, but there’d been a moment, when he kissed her last night, when Gerard thought to himself that it might be a pleasure to melt away her chilly shell. That there was passion and heat in her, deeply hidden and suppressed or perhaps merely left fallow. It didn’t sound as though Howe had been a devoted husband, years older and interested mainly in her money. Gerard had married her for the money as well, but he intended to find more in his marriage—if possible, his wife’s unplumbed sensuality.

  He was quite distracted by the thought of teaching her all manner of erotic skills—if she knew absolutely nothing about pleasing a man, he could teach her exactly what he liked best—when he realized the carriage was stopping. Neither of the women said anything. They both looked as grim and nervous as raw soldiers facing their first battle, and Gerard wondered what sort of monster they were facing in Lucien Howe.

  Or rather, what sort of monster he was facing. This was his part, after all, the reason why Katherine had come to him and made her blunt proposal. He was her knight, Sir Gawain to Lord Howe’s dragon. Accordingly he stepped down from the carriage and straightened his jacket, cocked his hat at the proper angle, and held out a hand for his bride. “Shall we, my dear?” he asked with a confident smile.

  Her hand felt cold and stiff in his. She tried to pull loose the second her feet were on the pavement, but Gerard maintained his grip. He lowered his head, and said softly, “Don’t show your apprehension. You were perfectly entitled to wed whomever you chose. He can’t do anything to you.”

  She flashed him a doubtful look but nodded and tucked her hand more securely around his arm. Together they went up the few steps to the house, from which Gerard could already hear the sounds of tumult.

  He had to knock three times before anyone came to the door. The flustered servant who finally yanked it open barely looked at them. “Yes, sir?” he said breathlessly. Then his eyes landed on Katherine, and he froze like a startled deer.

  “Is Lord Howe in, Hardy?” she asked. Gerard was silently impressed by how calm she sounded.

  His mouth sagged open. “Y-yes, my lady.” He collected himself and stepped back, so they could enter. Gerard handed over his hat and took the cloak from her shoulders, listening to the sounds of a house being searched.

  The servant didn’t seem to know what to do; he hesitated, looking at Katherine, then up the stairs. “We will wait in the drawing room,” she told him, and made a tiny motion with one hand. “Tell Lord Howe.”

  “Yes, madam,” said the footman in relief. He bounded away, and Gerard followed his wife into a simple but elegant drawing room. It paled next to Durham House, Gerard’s family’s town house, but he could see the expense that had gone into it. Howe had made good use of Katherine’s money.

  “He’s bound to be angry,” Katherine said, very softly.

  Gerard shrugged. “I thought we were past caring what he thought.”

  Some color came back into her cheeks, and she nodded. He could tell she was still uneasy, though. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her near. She came rel
uctantly, as if she were uncomfortable being held, but when he raised her chin to look at him, her eyes were all but pleading. He smiled. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “All will be well.”

  “I hope so.” None of the tension faded from her face, which irked him. She must have thought him up to this task. It was a little annoying that she couldn’t show her faith by at least breathing normally.

  The door was thrown open then, and a man strode into the room, only to stop short. “Katherine!”

  She tried to jump back, but Gerard tightened his arm around her. There was no reason Lucien Howe shouldn’t know from the beginning she belonged to him now.

  Howe’s expression of blank shock transformed in an instant into icy, furious comprehension. “Katherine,” he said again, his voice brittle. “How good of you to come home, after frightening us all out of our wits by going missing. Your mother has been frantic with worry.”

  “I must take the blame for that, sir,” said Gerard, before she could speak. “I refused to let her return home—I feared if I let her go, she might change her mind and never see me again.”

  Howe looked between the two of them. He clearly understood what was happening. “Indeed.”

  Katherine stirred in his arm, and this time Gerard let her step away. “I’m sorry to have caused worry here, Lucien,” she said. “But I have some news.” She hesitated, glancing at Gerard from the corner of her eye. “Very happy news. May I present to you Captain Lord Gerard de Lacey . . . my husband.”

  A muscle twitched in Howe’s jaw as he glared at her. He was a handsome fellow, with wavy blond hair brushed back from his high forehead and piercing blue eyes. His clothing was austere in style though very high in quality. But there was nothing of joviality about him, and he looked as kind and warm as a fireplace poker. For once Lady Eccleston had been unerring in her assessment. Howe was exactly the sort of starched, pompous arse Gerard hated, and instinctively he warmed to the battle.

  “You are married?” It sounded as though Howe was biting off each word.

  Gerard smiled broadly. “This very morning! Naturally we should have taken a bit more time, had a bit more of a celebration, but I insisted until Kate finally agreed with me.” He caught her hand halfway through this declaration, so felt her start at the nickname. He winked at her and pressed her knuckles to his lips. “I’m rather impatient where she’s concerned.”

  “Gerard,” she said in the same quiet, placid voice as before, “do let me introduce you. This is Lord Lucien Howe, my late husband’s nephew.”

  “A pleasure, sir.” Gerard bowed. Howe barely returned it.

  “I’ve come to pack my things,” Katherine went on. “My husband has business out of town, and we must be on our way soon. I’m sorry to be so abrupt.”

  “Yes,” said Howe tightly. “I imagine you are.”

  “I would like to see Mama before we go,” she said. “Is she here?”

  Howe jerked his head in a nod. Katherine released Gerard’s hand; he wondered if she realized that she’d been clinging to him more than he’d been clinging to her. But her regal manner hadn’t betrayed any sign of it. “Let me fetch her,” she said to him. “I would like to introduce you to her.”

  “Of course, my dear. I cannot wait to meet your mother.”

  She nodded and left. Howe silently stepped out of her way and closed the door when she was gone. He walked back across the room toward Gerard, arms folded over his chest. “I should sue you for damages.”

  “Damages?” Gerard affected surprise. “For what?”

  “A hasty marriage, without word to the bride’s family . . . How dare you swindle us this way?”

  “She’s not your daughter. I wonder what claim you could lay to her at all, as a widow of legal age and no blood relation to you. And what, pray, are your losses?”

  Howe’s gaze narrowed. “De Lacey . . . Yes . . . I’ve heard of you: the Durham Dilemma.”

  Gerard cursed inside his head but kept the careful smile fixed on his face. He flicked one hand. “I see you read the gossip rags. Very amusing, isn’t it, what people come up with?”

  “Everyone’s speaking of it.” Howe came slowly nearer, studying Gerard with shrewd eyes. “So that’s why you married her,” he murmured. “Very clever, de Lacey.”

  “You’ve no idea why I married her, nor would you understand if I told you,” Gerard replied. He found himself wanting to punch Howe, right in his perfectly shaped nose. He propped a fist on his hip. “But I do assure you, it’s done. What God hath joined together, and all that.”

  “You’re just as badly in want of money as I am.” Howe smirked, but it was bitter and vicious. “Everyone knows you’ll be declared a bastard by the end of the Season.”

  Gerard bared his teeth smiling back. “Care to make a wager to that effect?”

  Howe just looked superior—smug. Infuriatingly so.

  “That does remind me,” Gerard went on. He hadn’t planned to twist the knife in Howe, but he had no qualm about doing it. “Naturally I’m reviewing my wife’s property, and her solicitor mentioned there is a promissory note against your estate. I gather you’ve not read the terms of that note?” The viscount’s glare turned murderous. “No? Well, there’s plenty of time. Tyrell implied no payments had been made thus far, which I’m sure you’ll rectify at once. I believe the security is a fair piece of your property, which will become mine in default.” He smiled again. “I should hate to wreck such an old and respectable estate.”

  “This is intolerable,” Howe seethed, his face as dark as a thundercloud. “You know very well what you’ve done to me!”

  There were times Gerard particularly enjoyed being taller than average. He folded his arms and looked down at the other man. “Of all the people you might blame for your situation, I should be low on the list, and Katherine even lower. One hates to speak ill of the dead, but your uncle really did you no favors.”

  “Katherine had a duty,” spat out Howe, “one she has clearly chosen to ignore.”

  “What duty did she have to you?” Gerard lost his smile. “Now her duty is to me, and mine to her. I trust everyone will keep that in mind.”

  Whatever Howe would have said was lost. Katherine opened the door and came in, followed closely by a very beautiful woman. Even with Lady Eccleston’s advance warning, Gerard was taken aback by the delicacy of her features. He barely restrained himself from looking at her daughter, his wife, in disbelief. They looked absolutely nothing alike—and yet were mother and daughter.

  “Mama, may I present to you my husband, Captain Lord Gerard de Lacey,” Katherine murmured. “Sir, this is my mother, Mrs. Hollenbrook.”

  Gerard bowed deeply to his mother-in-law. Up close one could see the lines at Mrs. Hollenbrook’s mouth and the corners of her eyes, but that was the only sign she was old enough to have a grown daughter. Her hair was pure gold, arranged in glossy ringlets after the latest fashion. Her skin was as unblemished and pale as new porcelain. Her eyes were crystal-clear blue, thickly lashed; it was perhaps the only feature her daughter shared, Gerard thought, although Kate’s eyes were darker. Mrs. Hollenbrook’s figure was superb, and she had all the grasp of flattering fashion her daughter lacked.

  Mrs. Hollenbrook’s eyes widened even more as she took him in. “Oh, my,” she said in a light, silvery voice. “What a surprise—and a pleasure—to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  “And I yours, madam.”

  “It would have been proper to have this introduction sooner,” she said with a reproving glance at her daughter. “I understand you are already married.”

  “Happily so, Mrs. Hollenbrook, despite our lack of propriety.” He flashed a warm look at Katherine, who regarded him steadily without a trace of smile. She looked so somber and grave, one would think she wasn’t happy with the marriage even though she had initiated it and pursued it. “Come, Kate, don’t be so severe on me,” he added, trying for a penitent expression when he really wanted to t
hrow up his hands in exasperation. Couldn’t she at least pretend? “I’ve taken all the blame for the importunate speed of our union. Can you not forgive me, dearest?”

  Her mother turned to her in surprise. “Good heavens, Katherine. He wanted to marry you?”

  “Of course he did,” said Howe coldly. “He’s one of the Durham sons, ma’am.”

  “Ah!” Her face lit with delight. “The Duke of Durham’s sons! Three of the most eligible bachelors in England!”

  “Not any longer,” muttered Lucien Howe.

  “And one wanted my Katherine!” Mrs. Hollenbrook beamed at Gerard, ignoring Howe’s remark. “Well, I might have hoped for the eldest, but you’re quite a handsome fellow.”

  Gerard ignored the shaded compliment to himself, caught up in watching Kate. He already liked that nickname very much; she should try being Kate instead of Katherine. She stood in silence as her mother expressed amazement that anyone wanted her, let alone one of the Durham family. There was an air of remoteness about her, as if she was accustomed to this and had managed to distance herself from it. He frowned slightly. Surely a mother would think more of her child.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hollenbrook, but as long as my wife prefers me to my brothers, I shall be content,” he said. “I am the tallest, you know.”

  She laughed. “And devilishly charming, I see. Well! This is all quite a shock, but you are very welcome to our family. We all thought Katherine would marry dear Lucien, so you must forgive some upset on his part.”

  Gerard smiled. “Of course. In his place I should feel devastated to have lost her. Rest assured I shall appreciate my good fortune all the rest of my days.”

  “Mama, I must pack,” said Katherine quietly. “The captain has business out of town, and we are leaving today.”