For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 2) (3 page)

With the serious set to her face, she was vastly different than the young ladies he remembered from three years ago. Something slipped from her fingers and slid along the ice. Tired of studying the nameless creature, Jasper glanced over to the tent Guilford had disappeared into.

A blood curdling scream rent the still winter air. The ungodly cry sent the kestrels noisily into flight; and gooseflesh dotted Jasper’s skin. With an intuitiveness born of a man who’d witnessed and experienced horrific things in life, Jasper immediately sought the nameless ice princess.

Time stood still for an infinitesimal moment that seemed to stretch to eternity, and then with a curse, Jasper sprinted down the river toward the gaping hole in the ice. He cursed the slippery surface that slowed his pace, and then tossing aside his cloak, skidded toward the desperate arms flailing through the surface.

Jasper slid forward upon his stomach, arms extended. “Take my hand,” he barked, as the woman’s head broke through the water.

She sucked in deep, panicky, gasped breaths. Unholy terror lit her eyes; the kind of eyes that had stared into the face of death and knew death would inevitably prevail.

Jasper cursed. “Listen to me,” he snapped.

Her brown eyes locked on his. Her bonnet hung sopping down the side of her tangled mat of brown curls. “Help,” she rasped, and then her skirts tugged her downward.

Jasper’s stomach lurched, and with another curse he inched ever closer. The thin ice cracked under his weight. He made one desperate grab and connected with her hand, tugging her up to the surface.

“Listen to me,” he ordered, his tone harsh and hard. “Do not fight me. Allow me to pull you up.”

Something in either his words or tone penetrated her fear, calming her, for the panic dimmed in her eyes, and she nodded.

Jasper pulled her soaking wet form, tugging her up, up, up, and then her slim frame broke the surface of the shattered ice.

Short of breath from his exertions, Jasper registered the ice’s protest to their efforts, and he found a last surge of energy to edge back, back, ever farther with the young lady and her heavy skirts held close to his chest.

Jasper edged them over to the hard, solid land, and collapsed with the young woman’s lifeless body draped over his. He dimly registered the steady crack, and then splash as the wide ice surface fell beneath the Thames River. He sucked in great big, heaving gasps for air and registered the lady’s absolute stillness.

His chest tightened as he turned her over; his eyes quickly scanned the pale white of her cheeks, and he searched for breath.

With a curse he thumped her on the back.

By God he’d not been dragged to this infernal affair to pull a woman from the water.

Another thump.

Only to watch her die amidst the mindless amusements.

A harder thump.

Not another woman.

Even harder.

Not again.

Water surged from her lips, gurgling and bubbling and he turned her onto her side as she choked and gasped for the sweet taste of breath.

Jasper collapsed hard against the earth, and lay back, staring up at the fat, white snowflakes as they fell from the sky. He closed his eyes a moment, and then rolled to his side to study the quiet stranger.

She lay with her knees pulled close to her trim waist, her arms folded across her chest. Tremors wracked her lithe body. Jasper cursed.

Christ, at this rate the young lady would have survived her plunge under the water’s surface only to die of a chill.

He searched around for his cloak, and found it on the opposite side of the gaping hole left from the missing slab of ice. Then in a great show of irony, at that very moment, his black cloak slid into the surface of the water. With a sigh, he shrugged out of his somewhat damp coat and tossed it atop the lady. “Here,” he said.

His jacket, too large for her diminutive frame, hung upon her, making her appear even smaller. She burrowed deep into the folds.

“Th-thank y-you,” she said, between teeth that chattered.

He waved his hand.

“I-I c-can’t ever re-pay you.”

He raked a gaze over her. “Madam, you have nothing I want, nor anything I need.”

She appeared to flinch and Jasper wasn’t certain if it was his bluntly spoken words or the cold ravaging her frame.

Something stirred inside him, something he’d thought dead—emotion. Guilt dug at him. Jasper cursed. He didn’t want to feel guilt for his treatment of the lady. He didn’t want to feel anything where she was concerned. Hell, he didn’t want to feel anything where
anyone
was concerned.

Jasper shoved himself to his feet. “Here, now,” he said gruffly, and held a hand out to her. She eyed it a moment, and then placed her fingers in his.

A charge like the kind one received when walking in stockinged feet across a carpet, surged through him. He dropped her hand as if burned.

“Where is your chaperone?”

She shook her head. “I-I’ve not b-brought one.”

With another curse, he scanned the area.

“D-do y-you a-always c-curse in fr-front of l-ladies?” she shot at him.

Ah, the ice princess was back. He found he preferred the snapping, spitting catlike vixen to the nearly drowned, destitute creature he’d pulled from the river. “Ladies do not run around London without a chaperone.”

Her brown brows knitted into a single line. Her eyes slid away from his.

Jasper followed her glance to a point beyond his shoulder. “Bloody h—“ He snapped his lips closed, remembering her earlier charge. A crowd of observers stood at the central portion of the river eyeing the cracked ice, and Jasper, and…and…

The Ice Princess.

He stood, and staring down at her was struck by how frail and helpless she appeared under that icy veneer. Something shifted inside him again. Jasper shook his head, dispelling all hint of emotion. He was now a man who operated under stiff logic and reason.

Fact. The woman had nearly drowned.

Fact. He might be a heartless bastard but he couldn’t have
let
her drown.

Fact. She was a shivering mass of slim, graceful limbs.

Fact. He needed to return her home immediately or she’d perish from cold.

His jaw tightened. And he’d not caused a great scene, and risked his own miserable life to save her from the frigid waters only to die of a chill.

Jasper scooped her up.

“Wh-what a-are y-you d-doing?” she squeaked. It didn’t fail to escape his notice the manner in which she buried herself close against him, like a kitten seeking warmth from its master.

He stiffened at the feel of her nubile body pressed to his. In spite of the cold, her skin against his, heated him.

Jasper tamped down the irrational yearnings. He’d been without a woman for more than three years. His body’s reaction was a physical one, nothing more than that.

“I am returning you home,” he forced out between tight lips.

The sooner he could be rid of the creature the better off he’d be.

~3~

Katherine’s body ached as though jagged icicles had pierced every portion of her skin. A chill filled her inside and out until she wondered if she’d freeze from the cold. Her disjointed thoughts still murky from her near drowning dulled logical thinking.

He’d saved her. This great, hulking, frowning bear of a man. The same stranger who’d nearly bowled her over and raked his gaze condescendingly over her person, had risked his life to pluck her from the frozen river.

His flinty glare, the dark expression on the harsh planes of his face, suggested he regretted the decision.

“I am returning you home,” he said again. His voice emerged a kind of growl that would give most small children night terrors.

Katherine burrowed deeper into the damp folds of his too-large, black jacket.

For a moment she wondered at what life had done to turn him into such a miserable, odious creature. Because certainly no person could be so deliberately callous…so deliberately unfeeling, without reason.

“Has the ice dulled your wits,” he snapped.

She gave her head a clearing shake. “I-I c-can’t l-leave.”

There was the matter of her sister, Anne. Katherine’s eyes slid closed as she imagined their mother’s fury. They would be fortunate to live to see the eve of Christmas. But then, considering her fall into the Thames, she was fortunate to have lived even the day.

He gathered her close against his oaken-hard chest. For a moment the events of the day melted away; her and Anne’s clandestine efforts to find a silly pendant, the chilling terror of the ice cracking, her submersion under the frozen water…the certainty of death. This stranger’s arms filled her with a soothing sense of calm she’d never before known from another person. He strode toward the pavement, handling her as easily as if she were a porcelain doll. Katherine closed her eyes a moment and selfishly stole of that warmth provided by his body.

They passed a throng of on-lookers and Katherine blinked, remembering…

“My sister!” she blurted. She could not leave Anne to find her own way home.

“How old is your sister,” he rumbled.

“Nineteen.”

“Then she can certainly find her way,” he said, not breaking his stride.

Katherine gasped at his ungentlemanly reaction. “Y-you a-are a m-monster,” she stammered.

Since she’d first stumbled into the gentleman, the unyielding expression gave way to a smile; it was a dark, hard, rendering devoid of all merriment and it chilled her like the frozen River Thames. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

He stopped beside a black lacquer carriage with a golden crest emblazoned upon the door. A lion reared upon its legs, a blade clenched between its vicious teeth.

The sight of it gave her pause, and she shoved against him. He
was
a monster.

A servant attired in crimson red livery with gold epaulets pulled the door open.

The monster tossed her unceremoniously inside the carriage. Katherine landed amidst the thick, upholstered red velvet seats. She crawled into the corner of the conveyance, and huddled into the folds of his jacket.

“R-release m-me. I-I need t-to f-find m-my sister.”

He climbed inside, and the enormous space shrunk, filled instead with his overwhelming presence.

The door closed behind him and he settled into the seat as though he were King George himself. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the point above her forehead. “Where is your residence?”

She glanced at the back of the carriage, until she realized he was in fact directing his question her way. He refused to meet her eyes, as though she were some kind of Medusa…her lips flattened into a hard line. Well, with his unbending countenance and hard coldness, he’d been turned to stone long before her. “I demand…”

He leveled her with a hard glare, and her breath caught.

Perhaps he possessed the potent stare of Medusa.

She wet her lips.

Katherine provided the address of her residence.

He barked the directions of her Mayfair townhouse, and then the carriage lurched forward.

Katherine gulped as the carriage wheels rolled along. They picked up in speed, and her heart’s rhythm increased until her pulse pounded loudly in her ears. Her sister was alone….and yet, she trusted Anne would take the very same hackney that had been paid to wait for them back, without difficulty. After all, Anne was the mastermind of all the great schemes and scrapes they found themselves in.

The budding panic blended with the terror that had consumed her that day, only exacerbated by the foul stranger’s presence, and she reached for the carriage handle.

He settled his large, hand over hers.

Katherine jumped.

“I suggest unless you merely want to trade death by drowning for death by the wheels of a carriage, that you release the handle, madam.”

His flat, emotionless tone conveyed boredom. Why, he might as well have been commenting on the weather or offering her tea.

Katherine snatched her hand back, feeling burned by his touch. “You are a m-monster,” she repeated.

He tugged free his wet gloves and beat them against one another. Drops of water sprayed the carriage walls. “Your charge grows unoriginal and tedious, madam.”

And in that moment it occurred to Katherine just how ungrateful she must seem. The towering stranger might be a foul-tempered fiend, but he’d saved her. Her lips twisted. Whether he’d wanted to or not.

“Forgive me, I’ve not yet thanked you.” She took a breath. “So thank you. For saving me. From drowning,” she finished lamely.

His shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “I’d hardly ruin the amusements of the day by watching you drown beneath the surface of the Thames.”

She expected she should feel outraged, shocked, appalled by those callously delivered words…and yet, something in his tone gave her pause. It was as though he sought to elicit an outraged response from her. Instead of outrage, Katherine was filled with her first stirrings of intrigue, wondering what had happened to turn his black heart so vile.

Katherine did not rise to his clear attempt at bating her. “My name is Lady Katherine Adamson.” Pause. “I imagine I should know the name of my rescuer.”

He said nothing for a while, and Katherine suspected he had no intention of answering her. She sighed and reached for the curtained window.

“Jasper Waincourt, 8
^th
Duke of Bainbridge.”

Her eyes widened. “You are a duke,” she blurted.

He arched a single, frosty black brow at her. “You’d be wise not to make designs upon my title, madam. I’d not wed you if you were the last creature in the kingdom.”

She blinked. Oh, the dastard. Katherine jabbed a finger at him. “And you, well I wouldn’t wed you if you were the last creature in the world, and the King decreed it to spare my life.”

His lips twitched. But then the firm line was back in place, so that she suspected she’d imagined the slight expression of mirth. “It is good we are of like opinions, then, madam. We are here,” he said.