For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 2) (6 page)

Katherine closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, she still felt no better and counted another ten. “Mother,” she began calmly. “There is Benedict.” Her brother, though young, would one day assume responsibility of the earldom. “He is the heir, there is no need to worry after the properties passing to the next in line.”

“Bah.” Her mother slashed the air with her hand. “Have you not learned how very easily ones circumstances can change? Think of the reassurance we might have if you were to wed Bertrand.”

Reassurance.

So that is what Mother would have her wed for; a secondary protection against the possibility of losing their family’s properties.

“Aldora and Michael would not let anything befall us.” Her sister Aldora had wed for love but had been also fortunate enough to marry a wealthy gentleman—quite wealthy.

“If something were to happen to Benedict, you’d have us rely upon your sister and her husband’s charity?”

Katherine flinched; her gaze fell to the floor. She’d rather not rely upon anyone’s charity, and yet, how easily her mother spoke of bartering her happiness on the possibility of what-ifs. She’d not sacrifice Anne’s future. No, with her beauty and talents Anne would strike an impressive match all on her own.

Unlike Katherine, who would rely upon the familial connection to her third cousin Bertrand, who stood just several inches taller than her five-foot frame, and possessed a paunch waist and padded chest.

“I can’t, Mother.” Perhaps if their circumstances were dire then Katherine would consider sacrificing her happiness and future to a distant cousin with a love for kippers and boiled eggs.

Her mother glared at her. “You would be selfish in this regard?”

Katherine met her mother’s glare directly. “I’d ask that we have this discussion after the holiday.” Because then there was the hope that even Mother would be overcome by the Christmastide spirit and mayhap find generosity in her heart not to ask this great thing of Katherine. For if she did, Katherine would ultimately be forced to refuse the request.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Katherine murmured. Before her mother could protest she fled out the door. She wound her way through the house with a lively step, determined to place distance between her and Mother. When the countess dug her talons into something, she very rarely relinquished her hold.

She reached the foyer, and the butler, Ollie greeted her with a twinkle in his glassy hazel-eyed stare. “I’ve taken the liberty of having the carriage readied for your shopping expedition, Lady Katherine.”

Katherine smiled up at the tall, lean servant. “Thank you, Ollie.”

He inclined his head, and held out her cloak.

Katherine fastened the garment at the collar, and reached for the green velvet trimmed bonnet.

With the exception of the housekeeper, Isabel, Ollie had been in their family’s employ longer than any other member of the staff. When they’d been forced to release the other members of the household, Ollie and Isabel had remained on.

They were as dear to Katherine as a member of the family.

“Might I be so bold as to suggest you take your leave immediately, Lady Katherine?”

She grinned. His meaning was clear, as well. The countess was surely close, and it would be wise to hurry off, if Katherine truly desired her trip to the book shop.

“You mustn’t’ tell her where I’ve gone off to,” she said quietly. It would have been one thing if Katherine had been planning an excursion to purchase ribbons or fabrics, but visiting an out of way bookshop on Old Bond Street was quite another.

“Why, I’m sure the countess will not mind in the slightest your trip to the modiste.”

“The…” He gave her a small wink and her eyes widened. “Oh, ah, yes, the modiste. Very well, then.”

Ollie pulled the door open and Katherine stepped outside into the swirl of snowflakes. She closed her eyes a moment and embraced the sweet silence that came from a winter snow; the rattle of carriage wheels muted by the blanket of flakes that covered the pavement.

Katherine opened her eyes and all but sprinted down the steps, into the waiting carriage. She gave a murmured thanks to the driver and settled back into the seat. The carriage lurched forward.

With the privacy of her own company, she considered her mother’s request, a request that was coming more and more frequent, and bore the strong traces of a stern command. She’d have Katherine wed Bertrand.

She folded her hands into the fabric of her taffeta skirts, wrinkling the fabric.

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.

The duke’s taunting words continued to dance along the edges of her musings.

With his thickly muscled, broad chest, and towering height, a man such as the duke would have no need for a padded chest, or a padded anything for that matter. Nor would he bear the stench of rotten fish and boiled eggs. Rather, he’d borne the faintest hint of mint and honey upon his breath. She stared out the window at the passing scenery. So very odd to think that one so hard and cruel should smell of anything so delicately sweet as honey.

The carriage rattled along the streets of London until it stopped in front of Fedgewick’s Bookshop. The driver pulled the door open, and helped hand Katherine down.

She waved off the footman who jumped from the top of the box. “I’ll just be a short while.”

He hesitated.

“Rest assured, there is no dangerously thin ice inside the bookshop,” she said dryly.

The young man’s lips twitched at the corners in what she suspected was amusement, and with a bow, he then climbed back into his seat.

Katherine glanced, first left down Old Bond Street, and then right. It would seem all of London had been scared away by a few snowflakes. She raised her gloved hand to the sky and caught a fat, fluffy flake between her fingers. As long as she could remember she’d loved the purity of the winter season, the hope represented at Christmastide.

Energized by the winter weather, Katherine moved with a bounce in her step up to the door of the shop. She pressed the handle and entered.

A tinny little bell jingled, to alert the shopkeeper of someone’s presence. The man hurried over, a wide smile on his face.

“Hello, my lady. I have some new selections for you.” The portly, middle-aged shopkeeper pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles back upon his nose.

“Do you?” Katherine said, with a smile. Her gaze caught upon someone at the opposite end of the small shop. “I…” The tall figure shifted. “I…” There could be no mistaking that bear of a man.

As though feeling her gaze upon him, his broad shoulders stiffened, the muscles straining the fabric of his midnight black jacket.

The Duke of Bainbridge turned. He raked his cold stare over her person from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Bloody hell.

~6~

Bloody hell.

Of all the blasted, rotten luck. He should venture out amongst the living, only to see
her
, once again?!

Jasper glared over at Lady Katherine Adamson. Surely there was no coincidence in her arrival at the bookshop, and yet, how would she have discovered his whereabouts that morning? Perhaps a disloyal servant? He’d sack the lot of them.

“Lady Katherine Adamson,” he hissed.

He expected the underlining fury that threaded those three words would have sent her fleeing. Instead, her back went up, and she tipped her chin up a notch. She glared right back at him.

“Your Grace.” It didn’t escape his notice that she failed to curtsy. She stood there, eyes blazing, with a recalcitrant tilt to her head.

The bookkeeper looked back and forth between them, and cleared his throat. “Er, uh…if you’ll e-excuse m-me,” he stammered.

At least the small, round shopkeeper had the sense to flee.

Jasper returned his attention to the volume of Wordsworth’s latest work, in his hands. The hard wood of the floors cracked and groaned in protest, indicating that Lady Katherine had at last moved from her place over the front of the shop.

He stared absently at the title, all the while considering the diminutive vixen. He’d not allowed himself to think of her in two days, had not wanted to think about her, and certainly didn’t understand why she continued to traipse through his miserable thoughts. The only rational, coherent, plausible reason he came to was the fact that she, unlike everyone else, seemed wholly unfazed by his presence.

It defied logic and reason and….

“You read Wordsworth?”

Jasper’s body stiffened, and his fingers tightened around the volume. With a growl, he set it back upon the shelf.

He looked down at her. Her head was tilted at a funny little angle, her brown, unblinking eyes wide in her face.

“Do you not mind your own affairs, my lady?”

Lady Katherine ignored his question. She reached past him, and plucked the copy of Wordsworth’s poems from the shelf. Her brown eyes scanned the title. She opened it and fanned through several pages, pausing, and…

“What are you doing?” he bit out.

“Reading,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the page.

He blinked. The young ladies he’d remembered of the haute ton did not issue insolent, one-word utterances.

She snapped the leather volume closed with a decisive snap, and held it to her chest.

Jasper counted to ten. He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to feed the mischievous glimmer in her brown eyes. “What are you doing now?” But the damned words tumbled from his lips.

“I’m purchasing this book, Your Grace.”

Jasper’s eyes did a quick inventory of the shelf. The lone, solitary copy of
The Excursion
tightly gripped in the lady’s fingers. He gritted his teeth. “Madam, you’ve taken my copy.”

She held a finger up. “
You
, put the copy back upon the shelf and
I
am purchasing it.”

“Young ladies are supposed to read the drivel spouted off by Byron.”

She snorted. “Is that so, Your Grace? My, you are very well-versed in the proper behaviors of young ladies.”

His eyes narrowed. What manner of lady ventured out on a snowy day, once again unchaperoned, entered a bookshop, and proceeded to steal the single copy of Wordsworth’s latest works from a duke, no less?

He took a step toward her. She remained fixed to her spot. The book clutched to her chest hinted at her nervousness.

Which drew Jasper’s attention downward, to the ever so small gap in her emerald green cloak that revealed generously plump breasts. He froze, transfixed. Not even when he’d rescued Lady Katherine Adamson had he noted the feel of her against him. He’d been so bloody cold, and livid. Now, in the dimly lit bookshop, he fought to tear his gaze away.

“Your Grace?”

Jasper jerked his attention back to her face. She scratched her quizzical brow.

He gave his head a hard shake, and took another step toward her until they were a hairsbreadth apart, until she was forced to either step away or tilt her head back to meet his furious stare.

Jasper should have expected that a spirited woman like Lady Katherine would toss back her head, and meet his gaze squarely.

“I do not know what manner of games you play, madam. I do not appreciate your dogging my steps. I’ll not be trapped into marriage.”

Katherine’s eyes widened, as she met the pitiless Duke of Bainbridge’s flinty stare. The condescending pull of his lips, the hard glint in his pale green eyes perfectly suited a formidable duke used to having his every wish obeyed.

The absurdity of his charge, she expected, should have outraged her. She dug around in search of the proper indignation and yet…“You believe I would want to wed you?” she blurted. She giggled. “You believe I would want to trap
you
?” she repeated. His claim was all too preposterous. “Surely you jest?”

The firm, square line of his jaw hardened; the faint cleft at the center pulsed ever so slightly, as testament to his agitation.

It also confirmed how very serious he was.

Laughter burst from Katherine’s chest. The book tumbled from her fingers, and she pressed her fingers over her mouth to stifle her mirth. “I-I’m s-sorry. F-forgive me,” she managed between laughter. She desperately tried to rein in her outburst, but then she caught sight of the duke’s ever-narrowing gaze, and her laughter redoubled. Katherine dashed a hand across her eyes, to wipe away the traces of tears that had seeped from the corners of her eyes. “Your Grace,” she began. “I will forever be indebted to you for your rescue at the Frost Fair, however, I would not have you. Ever.”

She meant those words to reassure him that she had no designs upon his title. His deepening scowl, however, seemed to indicate that her words were having the opposite effect.

Katherine stooped down, and retrieved the copy of Wordsworth’s poems.

“You think my charge so very hard to believe,” he said, his voice harsh with some unknown emotion. “You’ve failed to make a match after your first Season,” he pointed out, as though Katherine needed a reminder from the Mad Duke.