For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 2) (12 page)

Guilford’s ginger brows shot to his hairline.

Jasper frowned. “What is it?”

His friend tossed his gloves upon the table, and wandered over to the sideboard. He proceeded to pile kippers and warm, flaky bread in a heaping pile upon his plate. He shook his head, and took a seat across from Jasper. “I can’t fathom this remarkable transformation in you.”

Jasper reached for his paper, and snapped it open to keep from encouraging Guilford’s deliberate baiting.

Alas, Guilford was not to be deterred.

“You haven’t greeted me with anything more than a growl, a go-to-hell, or a what-are-you-doing-here, in more than three years.”

From across the table, Jasper detected the rhythmic tapping as Guilford drummed his fingertip along the arm of his chair. Jasper gritted his teeth, his eyes scouring the page for some bit of information that might distract him from Guilford. He rattled the paper.

“May I venture it is because of a particular young lady?” Guilford tilted his head.

“You may not,” Jasper said, between clenched teeth.

He’d be damned if he’d mentioned the manner in which Katherine had slipped into his mind, or the feel of her lips, or the gentle curve of her hip, or…

“So it
is
about a particular lady.”

Jasper lowered the paper and glared at Guilford. “I did not say it was about Katherine.”

Guilford leaned back in the black Bergerè chair. He drummed his fingers on the arms of the seat. “Ahh, but I did not mention the
Lady
Katherine.”

Christ
.

Jasper raised the paper and scanned the page.

It would appear a Lord B and Lady M had been discovered in…

He tossed his copy of
The Times
aside.

He didn’t give a bloody damn about the
tons
gossip. “What business do you have here?”

Guilford reached for his fork and knife and delicately sliced a piece of cold roast beef. He popped a small piece into his mouth and chewed with meticulous care. “I’ve learned additional information about the intended match between Bertrand Ekstrom and your Lady Katherine.”

Jasper cursed. “She is not my…what did you learn?” he snapped. He told himself he inquired out of an apathetic interest in the woman he’d rescued. Except, as Guilford picked up his white napkin and dabbed carefully at his lips, he wanted to drag him across the blasted table and shake the words free from his mouth.

“It would seem,” Guilford continued. “Lady Katherine’s mother has spoken to the lady’s guardian about arranging the match with Ekstrom after the Christmastide season.”

Jasper wrinkled his brow and tossed aside his attempt at indifference. “Why would she not allow her to make a match during the Season?” Surely the young lady could do a deal better than Bertrand Ekstrom. He remembered the lush feel of her breast; the peak of that soft flesh puckered through the fabric, begging for his touch. His stomach tightened. She could do a good deal better. The muscles of his stomach convulsed.
Why did the idea of her with another ravage his insides?

Guilford’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I believe he’s next in line for the earldom, behind the lady’s brother, who’s a mere boy.”

So Katherine’s happiness would be forfeited on a whole series of what-ifs. His fingers curled over the arms of the chair, hard enough to leave indents in the solid wood.

Jasper picked up his fork, and speared a piece of bacon. Ultimately, it didn’t matter to him who the lady wed. “She is not my affair.”
She is not my affair. She is not my affair.
It was a litany he didn’t believe.

Guilford snorted. Neither apparently did Guilford. His friend opened his mouth to speak when a knock sounded at the door.

The footman approached with a silver tray bearing a letter atop it. Upon recognizing the familiar, elegant lines of the scrawl, Jasper’s heart thumped an odd rhythm.

He accepted the note, and Guilford forgotten, unfolded it.

Your Grace,

It occurs to me that I failed to obtain your copy of Wordsworth’s latest volume. I would ask if when the winter storm abates, that you meet me in the same spot alongside the Serpentine River.

Ever Yours,

Katherine

Disappointment stabbed at him. Her note was comprised of a mere two sentences. He frowned, and turned it over in his hands, and then studied the front of it yet again. Direct, and yet coolly polite, Katherine’s letter was this time devoid of the characteristic teasing he’d come to expect from the young lady. He didn’t know how to account for this…

Another servant entered, bearing another silver tray.

Jasper frowned, and reached for the missive.

Jasper,

If you would please deign to send round a note, this time regarding my request for a meeting along the Serpentine. I’m afraid I received quite the dressing down from my mother, at a time when I can ill-afford to anger her.

The unwritten mention of Ekstrom. He clenched the parchment so tightly, he wrinkled the page. Jasper forced himself to keep reading.

If you are a man of integrity, then you’ll honor your word and provide me with your copy of Wordsworth’s work.

Jasper’s frown deepened. The insolent bit of baggage. He’d been called mad, a coldhearted bastard, but no one had dared to question his honor.

I do not mean to impugn your honor. Though, I can certainly see how the above mentioned words might seem that way.

His lips twitched.

But it is with some urgency that I request to meet with you. And obtain that volume.

Ever Yours,

Katherine

Something in those final two sentences gave him pause. The last sentence seemed an afterthought hastily scratched upon the page.

It is with some urgency that I request to meet with you.

Those were not the words of a woman merely eager to obtain a book of poetry.

Guilford chuckled. “I would trade my countryseat in Sussex to know the contents of those missives.”

Jasper folded the two notes, and stuffed them inside the front of his jacket. “Go to hell,” he muttered, and picked up his coffee. He took a quick sip. The now cold brew slid down his throat, and he grimaced in distaste.

Guilford sighed, and tipped back on the legs of his chair. “Does your recent correspondence perhaps have to do with your Lady Katherine?”

“She is not my…” Jasper shook his head, and took another sip. He would not continue to be goaded by his friend.

Lady Katherine Adamson was not Guilford’s business.

Jasper started as he realized that she was in fact, however,
his
business. His rescue, then their subsequent meeting at the bookshop, followed by their discourse on Wordsworth, and their assignation at Hyde Park made her more than a stranger.

His cup of coffee rattled in his hands, and liquid sloshed over the rim. A liveried footman rushed over to clean the liquid from the table.

Jasper ignored him, unable to form a coherent thought, his mind raced.

Since Lydia’s death, he’d gone to great lengths to shut himself off from the world. He had not wanted the emotional entanglements, the pitying stares, nor his name so much as breathed upon the lips of strangers who found a macabre fascination with his wife’s death.

Yet, in the course of a week, Lady Katherine Adamson had slipped past his defenses so that he wondered after her well-being.  It could not be more than that. He’d not allow for it. She meant nothing to him.

Nothing…

He’d resolved to never care again.

“There could be far worse things than finding yourself wed to Lady Katherine Adamson,” Guilford interjected quietly.

Jasper started. His eyes narrowed. “Marriage?” he drawled. Perhaps it was Guilford who should earn the title of Mad Marquess. “I have no intentions of wedding again.” He could not subject another woman to the hell that had claimed Lydia’s life. His eyes closed and nausea churned in his stomach as he remembered the blood. There had been so much of it; a bright crimson puddle upon the stark white sheets. Only this time, in his remembrance, Lydia’s face shifted in and out of focus, alternating with a more recent visage; a minx with brown hair and brown eyes.

He clenched his eyes tighter, as bile burned its way up his throat and he forced himself to swallow, lest he cast the contents of his stomach in the midst of the breakfast table. He counted to ten, and then opened his eyes. No, he’d not subject another woman to that, not even to preserve the title.

The legs of Guilford’s chair rocked forward, and scraped along the wood floor. He propped his elbows upon the table and leaned over. “Surely you know you must honor your ducal responsibilities.”

Jasper’s jaw tightened. His ducal responsibilities could go hang. All they’d gotten him was a dead wife, and a dead babe.

“Is that why you’ve come by this morn, Guilford? To inquire as to my interest in Lady Katherine?”

“Well…”

“I helped pull the young lady from the river. Beyond that, I have little interest in Lady Katherine Adamson. My wife is dead. Dead.” Her body was nothing more than cold bones that served as fodder for the worms in his family’s cemetery.

“But Lady Katherine is very much alive,” Guilford said quietly. He shoved his chair back, and waved off a servant who rushed forward to help. “I do not care if you court Lady Katherine or a courtesan or some other nameless creature. You need to accept that you lived, Jasper,” his friend said, using his Christian name. “And no matter what self-imposed misery you create for yourself, it will never bring Lydia back.”

Jasper stared down, unblinking at his plate in front of him, as he confronted the truth of Guilford’s words. Nothing would ever bring Lydia back, and until he’d met Katherine, he’d thought his soul dead, as well.

He didn’t think himself capable of lust or passion or desire again. Then he’d taken Katherine in his arms, and been awakened to the reality that he was still very much a living, breathing man. He waited for the sting of guilt to slap him.

Only, it didn’t come.

Guilford stood, and adjusted the lapels of his blue jacket. “Do you know what I think more than an odd coincidence?”

Jasper just stared at him.

“You haven’t left that bloody castle in nearly four years. Aside from my fortunate self, you haven’t spoken a word to nearly anyone. What is the likelihood you’d attend a public event such as the Frost Fair—?”

“You made me—”

“You are the Duke of Bainbridge. No one
makes
you do anything. You were supposed to meet Lady Katherine. I’m certain of it. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve an appointment with Gentleman Jackson.” With a short bow, Guilford exited the breakfast room.

Once alone, Jasper withdrew the two notes sent round by Katherine. The gentle scent of lavender that clung to her, wafted from the thick sheets of velum; heady like a potent aphrodisiac.

The lady posed a danger to the thick walls he’d constructed around his heart. He’d be wise to burn her letters, ignore her request, and take himself back to Castle Blackwood, forgetting there had ever been a spirited, winsome lady named Katherine.

Since he’d met Lady Katherine Adamson, however, Jasper had been anything but wise.

~12~

Nausea churned in Katherine’s belly, as she stared out over the frozen expanse of the Serpentine River.

Jasper had agreed to meet her.

He’d promised to meet her at precisely five minutes past six in the morning, when the park was silent, and the night sky still clung to the horizon. Oh, his words had been anything but poetic.

My Lady,

You can expect my presence at the place we’d last met at precisely five past six. I value punctuality. The volume will be yours.

Bainbridge

Bainbridge. Not Jasper. Not the man who’d taken her in his arms, whose touch had melted her like the hot sun upon a blanket of snow. She didn’t know what she’d expected of his missive. Mayhap, something…something…

Less
precise
.

She didn’t know why she expected him to be different than the calculated, unbending man he’d shown himself to be.

Katherine touched the tip of her glove-encased finger to her lips.

It had been, The Kiss, as she’d come to think of it, that accounted for this madcap scheme she was about to propose to him. That is, if he still intended to honor the words in his note.

“My lady.”

Katherine gasped, and spun on her heel. Snow crunched under the heels of her boots.

Her gaze met Jasper’s, and she swallowed hard. “You.”

“Yes, me,” he murmured, his emotionless tone gave little indication as to the nature of his thoughts.

“You came.” Her cheeks blazed. “That is…” Her eyes fell to the book in his hands. “Oh, you have the book.”

He handed it over, and Katherine accepted the volume. She studied the leather tome etched in gold lettering.

“I am a gentleman who honors my word, my lady.”

Katherine glanced up at him, ever-serious, always frowning, and yet, somehow, his stoic reserve inspired a sense of confidence. This was not a man who’d squander his family’s wealth, leaving them destitute at the mercy of the creditors and loathsome lords who’d called in their vowels.

It was also why he would make her an ideal match.

He sketched a bow, and spun on his heel.

Panic bubbled up her throat. “You are leaving?” Her voice emerged as a high squeak.

He turned back to face her, his black cloak gaped open to reveal his long, powerful legs. Her mouth went dry. Ladies were not supposed to notice things such as the breadth of a gentleman’s thighs or the ripple of muscle in his forearms, or…she gulped.

“My lady?”

She swallowed back her improper musings.