For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 2) (20 page)

She smoothed her palms over the front of the gown she’d worn during her wedding.

Lady Katherine, the Duchess of Bainbridge.

The title of duchess might mean a good deal to so many, but Katherine remained wholly unimpressed by her new title. She was no different than the woman she’d been prior to speaking those vows in the office of her home. Nay, her former home.

Only, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, perhaps she might feel differently when her husband returned and made their marriage official.

Katherine sank into the mattress, and the old bed creaked in protest.

Jasper had insisted they leave her maid behind, and now Katherine was left to wonder if her husband intended to see to her disrobing himself.

Oh, dear. Katherine fanned herself, as she was filled with a sudden nervous anticipation.

She sat. And waited for her husband to return.

Jasper had spent the better part of two hours drinking the fine ale, and eating the roasted beef at the Fire and Brimstone Inn.

The serving wench stopped beside his table. “Would you care for more, Your Grace?” she murmured in a husky whisper that promised lusty delights. She held up the tankard between the very generous mounds of her enormous breasts that spilled over the blousy white shirt she wore.

Jasper shook his head, and returned his stare to the tabletop.

He’d not had a woman since Lydia, and the overblown, fleshiness of the obvious servant did not inspire any grand desire as he expected it should.

Instead, his mind drifted to the lean, spirited vixen who now occupied a room abovestairs.

Jasper waved the serving girl back over, and motioned for her to refill his glass.

She leaned forward. “Is there anything else I can get you, Your Grace?” she whispered.

He considered her a moment. Most men, especially men who’d been without a woman for more than four years, would have been seduced by her plump form and breathy words.

But some matter of madness had taken him over, where all he wanted, all he desired was his new wife. Jasper shook his head and took a long swallow. She shuffled off.

What had Lady Katherine Adamson done to him? No, not Lady Katherine Adamson.  Her Grace, the Duchess of Bainbridge.

He tossed back the remainder of ale, and sat long after the last patron had stumbled out the front door or abovestairs to seek out their rooms. Until only the innkeeper’s heavy footsteps as he shuffled about the space wiping down the tables, filled the quiet.

Jasper pulled out his timepiece.

The two hands fixed pointedly upon the twelve. Midnight.

A new day. Another year. Four years, to be precise.

It had been four years since Lydia had left him. Each day that marked the passing of another year had been a dark one; darker than even the private bowels of hell he’d dwelt in since he’d buried her and his son beneath the cold winter ground.

As he sat there staring into his empty tankard, he tried with a desperate urgency to bring her visage to the forefront of his mind. Only, it was now as though he were staring at her beloved face down a long road, thick with fog. He could no longer close his eyes and inhale the scent that had been solely her own; the shade of her golden tresses pale to the now vibrant deep brown ringlets that haunted his thoughts.

And he felt the very worst kind of bastard for taking her life and not having the decency to at least hold her memory forever close.

Jasper shoved the glass aside. It scraped along the worn surface of the table. He buried his head in his hands.

Goddamn you Katherine, what have you done to me?

He stood, unsteady from too much drink, and made his way abovestairs to his rooms. As he walked, his booted feet carried him closer and closer to one specific door.

Jasper paused beside it. He reached for the handle and then froze. He let his arm fall back to his side.

With a silent curse he reached for it again. He pressed the handle, and then closed his eyes.

He could not.

His past selfishness had taken the life of his wife. As much as his body throbbed with an unholy desire to turn the handle, storm across the room, and strip Katherine free of the delicate cloth that clung to her slim, full-breasted figure—he could not break that silent pledge he’d taken.

His ducal responsibilities of producing an heir and carrying on the familial title could go hang.

Only, an image danced through his darkly desperate musings, of Katherine heavy with his child, a smile on her lips. He lowered his forehead to the thick wood panel and banged it back and forth. Jasper would not be seduced by the desire for that dream of a life.

He turned on his heel and continued on to the empty, lonely room next door. He opened the door, and entered his rooms, closing the door behind him.

His eyes quickly surveyed the drab place. Jasper sought out the stiffly uncomfortable mattress and in the same attire he’d worn for his wedding, lay down upon it. He stared blankly up at the paint that chipped away at the ceiling, acknowledging the truth—he cared for Katherine.

And it raised holy terror inside him.

~18~

Katherine mumbled under her breath as she sifted through the trunk brought up last evening. She tugged out a rumpled ivory gown and proceeded to dress. Her mouth settled into a firm line as she reached her arms behind her back in an attempt to button the silly ivory garment. Her muscles ached at the awkwardness of her body’s movement.

Buttons.

She’d be glad if she never saw another blasted, tiny, button again. Or any button, for that matter. After this she hated them all with like intensity.

It felt like a very little victory when she managed to slip the top buttons into their respective loop. Abandoning her efforts, Katherine began to pace.

He’d not come. She’d sat perched at the edge of the bed, staring expectantly at the door, waiting for the moment he would knock, enter, and…and…do whatever it was bridegrooms did with their new wives on their wedding night. When a sharp rap had sounded at the door, she’d leapt to her feet, and breathlessly pulled open the wood panel, only to admit that same voluptuous tavern wench who’d eyed Jasper as if she were thirsty and he was the last drop of water on earth.

As she’d filled the small, wooden tub, the woman had peered at Katherine with a mocking gleam in her cerulean blue eyes.

Only after she’d left, and Katherine had struggled out of her garments, popping free three, mayhap four pearl buttons, did the ugly, niggling suspicion wrap its tentacle-like fingers about her brain—an image of Jasper and that woman took hold and refused to let go.

He wouldn’t betray her. He might have married her on a matter of convenience but he’d not carry on with another woman; especially not on their wedding night.

Then she’d thought of his memory of his own parents, and Katherine had been struck by the ugly truth—he’d never spoken to her on the matter of being faithful.

She shook her head, and her pacing increased in rhythm. Her slippers tapped a steady, drum beat as she marched back and forth across the cramped chambers.

Surely there was some explanation as to why he’d not come. Why he’d forced her to await him with a virginal trepidation, until her eyes had grown heavy.

A firm, single rap sounded at the door.

She ignored it.

Another knock.

Katherine froze mid-stride and glared at the door.

The handle turned and Jasper entered. His massive frame filled the small doorway, giving him the look of a giant in a fey creature’s house. “I knocked,” he said, his tone surly and unforgiving.

Her eyes narrowed and she counted to ten to keep from hurling every last unladylike word in her vocabulary at his head.

She propped her hands upon her hips. “I know.”

He entered, and his stern ducal stare surveyed the room. With the heel of his boot, Jasper kicked the door closed behind him. “Is there something you wish to say to me, wife?”

Katherine planted her hands upon her hips, and before she lost her resolve, said, “Is that what I am?”

His nostrils flared. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your wife. Is that what I am? I imagined, considering last evening I’m still merely just a bride.” Her whole body warmed with embarrassment.

Jasper took a step toward her.

She remained rooted to the spot. If he thought to intimidate her, he could go to the devil. In just two strides, his long, muscular legs ate up the distance between them. She forced her chin back and glared at him.

He took her by the forearm and she gasped. “What are you…?”

Jasper methodically buttoned the back of her gown. She suspected she should feel some degree of appreciation, and yet, his intimate knowledge of a lady’s apparel only further infuriated her.

“We should arrive by mid-afternoon,” he said.

Jasper strode to the door. Katherine gathered her cloak and hurried after him; filled with an irrational fear he intended to leave her at the inn.

Suddenly, he stopped at the door. Katherine collided with his back; the effect the same as if she’d walked into a mountain. All the air left her, and she stumbled.

Jasper turned with a surprising alacrity for one so broad, and righted her. His face remained that unreadable mask she’d come to expect from this man who was now her husband. She swallowed, hating the manner in which her skin burned from the feel of his fingers touch on her forearm, not when he should appear so callously indifferent to her own presence.

A brown lock tumbled over her eye. She blew it back. “Thank you.”

He nodded curtly, and then pulled the door open. He stepped aside and allowed two waiting servants entrance. The young men scurried in and saw to the trunks.

And through this, Jasper waited for Katherine. He held his arm out. The newly wedded couple moved with a stilted awkwardness through the quiet inn. At this early hour, most of the guests were surely abed.

Not Katherine. She’d been up counting the minutes tick by as she awaited her husband to make his appearance.

They reached the taproom. The plump, tavern wench who’d so covetously eyed Jasper swept up the floor. She glanced up, and her eyes locked on Jasper with a heated intensity.

Katherine’s fingers tightened reflexively about her husband’s coat sleeves as she was filled with ugly, all-consuming jealousy. She released Jasper’s arm. Not for the first time since she’d been counting those minutes ticking by, she wondered if her husband had sought out the model of lush femininity. She stole a sideways glance at Jasper, but his gaze searched the taproom, not so much as pausing to note the woman’s presence.

Relief flooded Katherine.

The innkeeper rushed over. “Thank you, Your Grace. I hope everything met with your approval?”

Jasper reached into his coat and withdrew a small sack of coins. He tossed it to the proprietor.

The man’s eyes widened like he’d been handed the King’s Crown. “Th-thank you, Your Grace!”

Jasper turned to Katherine, “We must not tarry. Come along.”

He didn’t wait to see if she followed, but strode toward the door. The innkeeper raced over to the entrance of the establishment. He pulled open the door.

Katherine’s back straightened as she became aware of a pair of eyes trained upon her. She looked to the woman who’d eyed Jasper with interest. An almost gloating expression lit the servant’s eyes, as though she’d clearly identified Jasper’s total lack of interest in Katherine.

With hurt pride, Katherine pulled her cloak close and marched outside through the snow, with her head held high, toward the waiting carriage.

Jasper stood conversing with the driver. Jasper paused as Katherine reached the side of the coach, and then wordlessly handed her up into the carriage.

A startled squeak escaped her, and she scrambled over to the corner of the wide, black lacquer conveyance. She strained to hear the muffled discourse between Jasper and the driver, but the quiet words were lost.

With a sigh, she sat back in her seat, and pulled the curtain back. Thick frost covered the windowpane flecked with frozen snowflakes. She ran a finger over one star-shaped flake.

The carriage dipped ever so slightly as her husband’s broad, thickly-muscled frame filled the inside of the conveyance.

He claimed the seat across from her, and then the door closed behind them.

A few moments later, the carriage lurched forward and they were off to the cold, dark, expansive castle her husband had dwelt for the better part of his life.

A blanket of quiet enveloped them in an uncomfortable fold. She bit the inside of her cheek. In the frosted windowpane she detected the immovable lines of Jasper’s face.

She’d never seen him express any grand emotion. Oh, she knew he surely had—at one time. For his Lydia. Her heart twisted, and it was like a vise was squeezing the blasted organ. Jasper had surely not abandoned his first wife on their wedding night. And he’d certainly allowed the woman a maid to help with her daily and nightly ablutions.

Yes, Katherine would venture that his first wedding had been met with great celebration and laughter and a wondrous feast.