For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 2) (16 page)

“Oh, I’m certain the connection to any duke will not hurt our place amongst the haute
ton
, Mother,” Anne said. She released Katherine’s hand and tugged free the paper in their mother’s hands. She skimmed the sheet. Her eyes widened. “What?” Katherine reached for it, but Anne shifted it away from her grasp, and continued to read.

Mother ignored Anne. “Your uncle considered nothing more than the duke’s title. I’m certain of it.”

“I’d venture he also considered the very, very generous terms of the contract,” Anne muttered.

Katherine grabbed for the parchment, her heart thudding hard in her breast. This time, Anne turned it over.

Katherine began to read, and promptly choked.

He’d settled £
1200
upon her annually as pin money? By all the saints in heaven.

“That is a small fortune,” Anne murmured, eyes wide and unblinking.

She was to have a country cottage in Kent.

Anne scratched at her brow. “All money brought by your dowry is to revert over to you if anything should happen to him.” She shook her head. “I dare say this is very generous, Mother.”

Generous? Katherine’s throat worked reflexively. Generous? Through his magnanimous gesture, Jasper had ensured she’d never be dependent upon him as Mother had been dependent on their wastrel father.

“I do not care if the duke gave her the Queen’s Crown,” Mother cried. “The man killed his wife. Surely that matters to one of you?”

A knock sounded at the door.

Three pairs of eyes swiveled to the entrance of the room.

Katherine’s stomach lurched.
Oh, goodness.
Her toes curled inside her ivory satin slippers.

The butler cleared his throat, his small blue eyes wide in his pale face. “Er, the Duke of Bainbridge to see Lady Katherine.”

Jasper’s imposing figure filled the doorway. An enormous specimen of a man, the smallish butler seemed a mere flicker in his shadow.  Jasper glanced at her momentarily; his expression the hard, inscrutable one she’d come to expect.

Humiliation over her mother’s outburst melded with pain for the ugly insults Mother and all of Society leveled at this generous, if cold, gentleman. Society didn’t know him to be a man who’d risked death to rescue her from the frozen depths of the Thames. They didn’t know the man who appreciated the tortured words of Wordsworth. And they most certainly didn’t know he’d sacrificed himself to wed plain, bluestocking Katherine Adamson, saving her from Mr. Ekstrom.

His gaze slid away from Katherine, and then he pinned Mother to the spot with his flinty, emerald green eyes.

She paled and then scrambled to her feet. Her eyes darted nervously about the room. For the first time in Katherine’s lifetime she found her mother an unsettled, stammering, bundle of awkwardness. “Uh, w-welcome, Y-Your Grace. Tea?” she squeaked.

Jasper arched a midnight black brow.

“Uh, th-that is,” Mother crushed the fabric of her skirts in her hand. “That is t-to say…”

“I believe my mother is offering you tea, Your Grace,” Anne said. She dropped an elegant curtsy and smiled.  God love Anne; she epitomized ladylike elegance and grace.

Alas, it appeared this husband-to-be of hers was wholly unaffected by her sister’s gentle charm. Jasper peered down the length of his slightly crooked, Roman nose at her, and remained silent.

Nor did it fail to escape Katherine’s notice that he’d failed to bow.

Anne’s smile dipped.

Katherine’s gaze moved between Jasper, and her sister, as she considered for the first time how very important it was for Jasper and her sister Anne to like one another.

She hurried across the room. “Your Grace,” she said.

He froze her with a look…and the words died on her lips.

This was clearly not a man eager to make her his wife. This was the coldhearted beast who’d harshly reprimanded her after he’d pulled her from the Thames.

She staggered to a stop several feet from him, hating the unease that coursed through her. The Jasper she’d come to know did not elicit this uncertainty. He laughed; albeit rusty and harsh, but he laughed. And he spoke in gentle tones.

Mother seemed to compose herself. She tilted her chin up a notch, and cleared her throat. “Your Grace, may I offer you—?”

“A moment alone with Lady Katherine,” he interrupted in a low, dark tone.

Mother paled, and managed a jerky nod. “V-very w-well. Come along, Anne,” she said, and snatched Anne by the forearm and steered her from the room as though she were an archangel saving her daughter from a dark demon.

The door closed behind them, and Katherine stood stock still in the middle of the room with that dark demon. She folded her hands in front of her. “Jasper,” she said quietly.

He said nothing.

Katherine caught her lower lip between her teeth and troubled the flesh. His eyes narrowed as he followed that distracted movement.

She stopped. “You know, there really is no reason for you to be so surly.”

His nostrils flared, but other than that he gave no outward reaction to her statement.

“Anne was perfectly polite—”

“And your mother?” he interjected, his voice as cold as the hard edge of a knife.

Katherine took another step toward him until they were a mere hand’s-breadth apart. “I’d not find fault with you for the crimes of your father or mother.”

His body went ramrod straight; his broad shoulders stiffened within the fabric of his black coat.

Some volatile emotion flared in his eyes, and Katherine took a hasty step backward. Of a sudden, her mother’s outrageous charge about Jasper surfaced. Katherine knew with certainty the words to be false; Jasper could never commit an act of violence, most especially against a woman…yet, his hardened eyes
and the rigid set to his square jaw would be enough to give the most courageous gentleman, pause.

It struck Katherine that she knew nothing of Jasper’s parents, and that she’d quite callously insulted them. “Is your mother—?”

“Dead,” he said flatly.

Her heart twisted with pain for him. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He flexed his jaw. “Don’t be.”

Just that. Two words. A chill ran along her spine. What manner of man was he that he could be so emotionless when speaking of his parents?

He brushed his fingertips along the edge of her cheek, and she flinched.

A wintry smile formed on his lips. “What, are you regretting your offer, my lady?”

Katherine hesitated. “Of course not.” However, even he seemed to detect the uncertainty in her reply.

He cupped his hand around the nape of her neck, and warmth fanned out from the point where his fingers touched her skin, and raced through her. Her heartbeat fluttered wildly in her breast with a heady awareness of him.

Jasper dipped his head, so close their lips nearly met. “Not even with your mother’s charges against me?”

Her heart paused a beat. Something in his question begged her to ask him more, and God help her for being a coward, even as she longed to know the details surrounding his wife’s death, she couldn’t bring herself to ask the words.

He touched his finger to the tip of her nose. “Come, Katherine. I’d imagine you’re very curious to know the details? What? Silence?” He made a tsking sound. “How very disappointing when I’ve come to expect boldness from you.”

Katherine took a step backwards, placing distance between them. She yearned for the gentleman who’d given her the last copy of Wordsworth’s volume. Not this…not this…coolly mocking stranger.

Ultimately, her desire to know the secrets of his past won out. She took a deep breath. “What happened to your wife?”

~15~

Ahh, so there was the bold-spirited, inquisitive woman he’d come to anticipate since their meeting at the Frost Fair.

Since he’d entered the parlor, she’d eyed him with that wariness he’d come to expect from members of Society. Not her. Not Katherine.

Jasper stalked over to the corner of the room and pulled back the curtains to peer down into the bustling London streets. Something about that hesitancy in her brown eyes, the shade of disapproval in her tone did something to him. He gripped the edge of the window sill. Goddamn him for caring.

“I must say, I’m still disappointed, Katherine.”

From the glass windowpane he detected the nervous manner in which she shifted upon her feet. “Your Grace?”

With her telltale reactions, Katherine conveyed her every unspoken word and emotion; she’d be wise to avoid any gaming table.

He turned around slowly to face her. “Surely you intend to ask the question?”

Her chest rose and fell in a rhythmic slowness. She met his gaze squarely. “And what question is that, Jasper?”

A mirthless laugh burst from his chest, bitter and angry to his own ears. “Come now, Katherine. Surely you’re curious enough to ask the question of the man you’ll wed. Do you wonder as to the truth of the rumors? Did the Mad Duke truly kill his wife?"

Katherine shook her head quickly. “I don’t listen to gossip, Jasper.” She folded her hands in front of her. “I know you aren’t capable of hurting anyone.”

He’d killed Lydia as if he’d plunged a dagger through her heart.

Bitter pain dug at his heart like a thousand rusty, jagged knives being applied to the deadened organ. Katherine’s tone and the directness of her gaze spoke to her conviction. Oh, how misguided she was in her faith. Guilford’s words trickled into his consciousness.
A young lady would not brave your stern, miserable countenance if there were not feelings on her part.

The sooner he disabused his wife-to-be of any grand illusions of him, the better off they’d be.

“I fear you are wrong on that score, my lady.”

Katherine’s small, lithe frame stilled. Then, her arms fell to her side and hung there, awkwardly. “I don’t…” He took a step toward her. She wet her lips and went on. “I don’t…”

“You don’t what?” he said on a silken whisper. “Believe it?”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the closed door, and Jasper suspected she considered her escape. Good, Katherine, that is wise.
You should turn on your heel and run as far and fast as your slippers will carry you from my miserable self. You’d have been fortunate to have any other gentleman rescue you that day at the Frost Fair
.

Katherine looked back at him. “No, Jasper,” she said at last, with that same misplaced faith in him. “I don’t believe you killed your wife.”

“Oh, you would be wrong, my lady.” He reached a hand up, and captured one of those tight brown ringlets between his thumb and forefinger.

Katherine winced, as if his nearness caused her physical distress.

“Should I tell you of the blood and the screams?” he hissed.

Katherine swatted his hand away. “Stop it,” she commanded. She clamped her hands over her ears. “I do not believe you. If you do not want to wed me, then you should say as much. You shouldn’t tell these…these…great, horrific lies.” Her voice shook under the weight of her fear. It lit her eyes, and caused her lean limbs to tremble.

He circled her wrists with his hands and gently removed them from her ears. “They aren’t lies,” Jasper went on. If she wanted to wed him, then she should know what kind of monster she’d take for a husband.

Katherine’s breath came fast and heavy, as though she’d just run a good a distance. If she were wise, she would run a good distance away from this room, away from him.

She yanked her hands back, and for a brief moment he thought she might flee. He should have known better of his bold-spirited, indomitable Katherine.

She folded her arms across her chest, and tapped her foot in a fast, staccato rhythm upon the wood floor. “Well, then. Tell me the details, Jasper. I want to know. I deserve to know.”

Yes, she did. All of it.

“I loved my wife,” he said without preamble.

Katherine’s lips parted ever so slightly, and then she seemed to remember herself, and snapped them closed.

“Would you care to hear the details, Katherine?” he taunted.

Katherine’s heart froze. She reminded herself to breathe.

I loved my wife.

Of course he had. Jasper’s retreat from Society, and the private manner in which he lived his life alluded to a love for the woman who’d been his wife. But there had been no details, nothing more than suppositions—until now. The knowing somehow made the agony of his indifference all the more painful.

Did she care for the details? Why she’d rather have the lashes upon her lids plucked one at a time than hear of his love for the paragon of a woman who’d been his wife. It was selfish and wrong…but she could no more stop the ugly sentiments than she could stop from breathing.

Instead she said, “Yes, Jasper. Tell me the details.”
Because I’m a glutton for pain and suffering
.

“Her name was Lydia and she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen; her hair was the color of spun gold, and her eyes like the deepest, clearest blue seas.” He wandered back to the window, his carriage proudly erect and unmoving.

As he stared down into the streets below, silent and unspeaking, her heart spasmed.  The image he so poetically painted of his wife, nay,
Lydia
—was one of a woman who’d inspired romantic words from this now cold, unfeeling Jasper. Lydia, the grand beauty, and surely a diamond of the first water. Not like Katherine with her silly brown ringlets and dull brown eyes, who would never inspire any grand sentiments in a gentleman.