One Tempting Proposal (12 page)

Seb liked that she'd refused other suitors. Irrationally, pointlessly adored the fact.

Ponsonby would be among the six. And the others? He imagined men fumbling to impress her, to win her affection. His was no true victory, but whether ego or conceit, some part of him that refused to parse truth from fiction thrilled at the notion of being the only one who could rightfully call himself her betrothed. At least for a few weeks.

For a few weeks he would get to spend time with her, touch her, learn more about the woman, and then part from her. He was a fool to anticipate it at all.

“Kat . . . Katherine is a fascinating woman. It doesn't surprise me she's had six other suitors.”

Clayborne's fingers twitched, jerking into motion, and then the movement spread to his face, until the staid controlled man actually broke into a grin around the stub of his cigar.

“Six proposals, Wrexford. There have been three times as many suitors. You're the nineteenth.” He blew rings of smoke into the air to punctuate the revelation.

Seb coughed, less from the smoke of Clayborne's cigar than the unpalatable image of eighteen men crowding the Adderly drawing room bearing flowers and baubles to tempt Kat. He wondered if anyone ever thought to bring her a living flower or a seed? Perhaps some of the plants she tended in her conservatory represented failed suitors.

The nineteenth suitor and seventh proposal. At least they were special numbers, each an indivisible prime.

“Can you understand my curiosity now, Wrexford? You've pulled off quite a coup.” Clayborne reached over to tap his cigar against a crystal dish on the table between them. “At least tell me what drew you to my daughter. Most are distracted by her beauty and only realize too late that she lacks the soft, mild manner men desire in a woman.”

Seb had touched her, held her. Kat's skin was achingly soft. He slid his thumb across the fingers of his right hand, remembering the silken curve of her cheek.

And mild? Weather could be mild. Bland soup was mild. A tamed horse might be mild. Who wanted a woman to be mild?

“Speak, man. Was it her meekness?” The marquess's tone turned derisive as his mouth contorted in a sneer. “Or was it her lack of opinions? No, no. It must be her willingness to be led rather than grasping the crown and scepter for herself.”

Seb stared at Clayborne, studying him in the same cool manner the nobleman had raked Seb with his gaze. Is this what she endured? Did he mock Kat to her face or only to the men who asked to spend their lives loving and protecting her? Never mind that his own intentions were false.

No father had the right to belittle his daughter, simply because she knew her own mind. And no man in his right mind desired a silly, simpering wife.

Not that Kat would be his wife. Or that he was truly reconciled to having a wife. All of that changed nothing about Kat's cleverness or her appealing confidence. None of which her father seemed capable of appreciating.

“Quite the opposite. I look forward to hearing all of Lady Katherine's opinions.”

“And do you look forward to engaging in skirmishes with her over every choice you make?”

“She is headstrong.” Seb was quite content in the knowledge that there was no equation in which the addition of a women's confidence subtracted any of a man's. He'd spent his whole life surrounded by outspoken women.

“She is challenging.” The marquess worked over the final word as if it was a bit of tough meat and hard to chew.

“I do enjoy a challenge.”

Clayborne reached up to stroke his beard. “Then you've chosen well.”

It should have been the end of it. The words were, Seb suspected, as much of a blessing as he was likely to get from the man. But none of it settled well with him. The marquess had changed his manner since their first meeting, and Seb feared his acting skills hadn't convinced him. More than convincing the man, Seb wanted to tell Clayborne he'd wronged his daughter. If his own father had held such outdated views about women, what would have become of Pippa when she decided she wanted to study mathematics alongside mostly male classmates at Cambridge? What of his mother, who had begun writing letters to her member of parliament at the age of eighteen, asking the man to consider the suffrage for women?

He'd encountered Clayborne's sort before, and he suspected many such men were fathers of intelligent, headstrong women. The notion that Kat endured discouragement from her father made Seb respect her more.

And respecting her more, when he was already battling an attraction that distracted and disturbed him, did not bode well for the day when their false engagement came crashing to an end.

 

Chapter Twelve

K
ITTY PACED THE
drawing room. Too much time had passed. Her father wouldn't deny a duke who wanted his daughter's hand in marriage, and he certainly wouldn't refuse the one man she'd been all but instructed to wed. But he could make the conversation miserable. He could interrogate and scrutinize until a man—­or a daughter—­wished to crawl out of their own skin just to get away.

What would utter shock look like on Desmond Adderly's face? Papa was used to reading every situation so well that virtually nothing came as a surprise. He was an undefeated chess master who could predict his opponents' next three moves.

But he'd be well and truly stunned when he heard she'd finally accepted a suitor's proposal. And that might be the sticking point. He wouldn't expect her to accept Wrexford. Perhaps he'd given up hope that she would accept any man. She'd once declared her intention to live out her days alone. Old maid, spinster, whatever they wished to call her, it had seemed a more appealing future than being viewed as a man's possession, his property. Any fate of her choosing held more appeal than marriage to a man she could not bear.

At the sound of her father's study door opening and closing, she peeked around the drawing room doorway. Sebastian exited in one piece but sighed deeply before turning and striding toward her.

Kitty closed the door behind him, slipping the lock with a decided snick.

“Is it prudent to close the door?”

“I'm afraid most of our housemaids are terrible gossips, and I've already mentioned my sisters' inability to keep a confidence.”

He may have been thinking more of propriety than privacy, but Kat imagined Mama would allow her a moment alone in an overstaffed town house with the man she planned to marry. Privacy would be essential in order to plan their strategy and maintain their secret long enough to allow Oliver and Harriet to exchange vows.

She settled on the end of the settee and indicated the adjacent chair. He lowered himself into it but looked as uncomfortable as if she'd asked him to perch on a cushion of needles.

“It went well?”

He nodded sharply. “The best part is that it's over.”

“You make it sound like you've had a tooth pulled.”

Pursing his lips as if his jaw actually did hurt, he said, “I would have preferred that, I think.”

She wouldn't make excuses for her father. He'd laugh at the notion of any woman defending him. Perhaps Papa didn't think her worthy of a duke's attentions. Perhaps he found it difficult to believe she'd finally given up her
yes.
Perhaps he refused to believe any man could love her for the very qualities he'd spent years trying to chastise out of her character.

Would any man ever love her that way? This false engagement might be as close and she'd come, and it was all artifice.

Kitty shook her head. Practical matters were far preferable to ruminating over romantic nonsense. Lifting a small journal from her skirt pocket, she slipped a finger into the spot she'd marked with a piece of ribbon and smoothed open the pages on her lap.

“Hattie's agreed to a simple ceremony, which should save a good deal of time. We needn't plan for anything elaborate. Mama will protest, of course.” She reached up to tap her finger against her bottom lip.

“Hattie's happiness trumps a lavish display. Surely your mother will come around.”

Kitty had never met such a practical man. His direct and decisive manner put her father's prevaricating ways to shame. Sebastian seemed unflappable, with a sanguine confidence that everything must fall into place. In Kitty's experience, it was better to prepare for the worst and be pleasantly surprised by good fortune.

Somehow he managed to make none of his rosy perspective feel like false assurance. Indeed, Sebastian seemed unable to speak anything but the unvarnished truth. No ambiguity. No polishing his sentences to make them more appealing. No couching his meaning in similes or metaphors.

“You don't know my mother.” She glanced down at the list resting on her thighs. “The first obstacle is location. Many churches can't be scheduled on such short notice. There's Sunderly, our home in Suffolk, but Mama and Papa don't like to return to the country before the season's end.”

“What about Roxbury?”

“That
would
impress my mother.”

She'd heard of the estate, had even seen an etching of it in a book on English country houses. By all accounts, the structure had been built on a grand scale and situated on one of the most breathtaking pieces of land in Cambridgeshire. Not at all the house for a plain-­speaking mathematician. Hattie would find the notion of a country house wedding romantic.

“Then it's settled.”

The ease with which he made the gracious offer took Kitty by surprise, especially considering his initial resistance to the scheme.

He finally eased back into the chair he occupied, though he still sat with his feet planted firmly on the ground and a hand on each arm of the chair, a bit like a monarch perched on his throne. Pleased with himself, that's what he looked, and Kat allowed him a moment of satisfaction before moving onto the next item on her list.

“You'll need to . . .” The words stuck in her mouth like toffee. She'd convinced the duke to go along with her plan, but dictating his actions seemed a good deal more daunting. “You'll have to court me. And as publicly as possible.”

She prepared herself for resistance. He'd said she risked her reputation, but he would have to risk his too. More so, since he would be the jilted suitor when all was said and done. The more publicly they conducted their engagement, the more public the judgment when it crashed. Yet it would be the only way to convince her father and their circle of friends.

Instead of anger, Sebastian seemed amused. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs and clasping his hands in front of him. She was grateful for his clasped hands, having promised herself to insist on less touching.

“Then you'll have to help me, Kat. Tell me how you like to be wooed.”

“I'll play my part, I assure you.” He didn't like that, whether it was the reminder of the falseness of their connection or the flippant tone in her voice, his brow creased and he leaned back in his chair, moving away from her.

“Shall we get started?”

“Now?” He looked as miserable as when he'd left her father's study.

“Mmm. I thought we'd start with a ride in Hyde Park.” The park where she'd first suggested their engagement seemed a fitting spot for their first outing as a betrothed ­couple.

“A carriage ride? Why not a walk?” he suggested.

The paths would be crowded with riders at this time of day. The duke had to be aware of the tradition of a morning ride through Hyde Park.

“I prefer a horseback ride. You can borrow Harriet's horse, unless you prefer to return with your own.” She stood, not giving him time to protest. “I'll go and change. Perhaps you can peruse my list while you wait.” She handed him her little leather journal, keeper of her many lists.

“You have a list?” From his frown, it seemed he wasn't looking forward to any of it.

“We've only just begun, Sebastian. There's much more to come.”

“Y
OU'RE
STARING A
T
my hat.” At first she assumed the duke couldn't take his eyes off of her, that he was as enthralled as he'd seemed at his aunt's ball. But every time she glanced over, his gaze was locked on her head.

“I'm not the only one.” He turned to take in the groom and others assisting in the Clayborne mews. “I do believe everyone is looking at your hat.”

“Nonsense.” Kitty looked around to make sure he was, in fact, teasing. “It's the latest fashion.”

He lifted both brows before glancing again at her feathers.

She stiffened her spine and lifted her chin in defiance as he studied her. The feathers were rather long, and perhaps a bit too numerous, but their excess would make her stand out among the crowd. So what if she had to tilt her head a bit to the right to balance the weight? The milliner's creation made her feel tall and regal. And no one could deny the iridescent lime, tan, and turquoise shades of the peacock feathers looked fetching with the dark green velvet of the hat.

Kitty loved her new hat. Absolutely adored it.

“Is it comfortable?”

“No, but it's beautiful.”

If comfort were the criteria for fashion's value, she'd happily burn her bustle and divest herself of every corset in her closet. None of them were anywhere near as pretty as her new hat.

He grunted and smirked at the same time. “Hmm . . . the color suits you.”

“Quite the concession.” Kitty grabbed Majesty's reins and allowed a groom to boost her up. The horse dipped its head for a scratch and she reached out to brush her fingers through its mane.

When Junia, Harriet's horse, scraped a hoof against the path, the duke sidestepped away from the animal's side.

“You don't like horses.” The realization stunned her. She'd never met a gentleman who didn't take his horseflesh seriously.

“I have little experience of horses. Most I've known spent their time drawing a carriage.”

“But you have ridden before?”

He opened his mouth and stood staring at the animals a moment, but no explanation came.

“Sebastian?”

“Once before.”

She couldn't help staring. She consciously locked her lips so her mouth wouldn't stand agape. One horseback ride. One waltz. The man seemed to like his experiences in the singular.

“It didn't go well?”

Glancing down at his upper arm, he twisted his mouth. “The horse bit me.”

“Why did you let him bite you?”

“I don't recall giving my consent,” he said, throwing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest slightly. “He nudged my arm. I thought he was being friendly.”

She couldn't quite imagine how his brawny arm ended up in a horse's mouth. She stared, wondering if a scar still marked the spot.

He bristled. “I was a child. No one told me a horse who nudges you is considering whether to take a bite.”

She chuckled under her breath, then put a finger to her mouth to stay the laughter. “I suspect horses are like ­people. Some are more apt to bite than others.”

Casting a wary gaze over Harriet's horse, he asked. “And this one?”

“Junia's never bitten anyone. Though it might be difficult, I'm sure she can resist having a bite of you.”

“Very reassuring.”

He tilted his head to catch the horse's eye, and then lifted a hand to grasp near the saddle's pommel. Sunlight glinted off his polished boot when he slipped it into the stirrup iron, and Kitty couldn't manage to avert her gaze from the firm muscled line of his thigh as he flexed to lift himself into the saddle.

Junia flicked her head and took a single step forward, nearly pulling him off his standing leg. Releasing his grip on the saddle and untangling his foot, Sebastian hopped back, crossed his arms, and offered Kitty an endearingly peeved frown.

“She's rejected me.”

“Nonsense. She's testing you.” Nodding her head at him encouragingly, Kitty added, “Don't be so indulgent at the start. Take the reins firmly in hand when you mount.”

He turned his head slowly and gazed up at her, his mouth tipped in a beguiling grin. Voice low and seductive, he assured, “I shall certainly keep that in mind.”

She caught her breath as the sunlight caressed the arch of his high cheekbones and the faint stubble at the edge of his jaw.

His words felt like a stroke down her back, a hot breathy whisper at the base of her neck. Kitty shivered.

When he approached Junia again, Kitty gripped her reins so tightly her own horse neighed and tipped her head in protest.

“Grasp a bit of her mane rather than the pommel.”

He nodded and swung himself into the saddle. For a man who'd only ridden once before, he sat a horse well and controlled the reins masterfully. He was more insistent than Harriet, and the mare responded as if she appreciated a rider who knew how to take the lead.

As they trotted toward Hyde Park, she reflected how the duke had been the same when he waltzed with her. Other gentlemen stared at her too long and lost their footing, and some were so abysmal at ballroom conversation that she forced the lead from them in protest. But the Duke of Wrexford had been unexpectedly sure-­footed, and she'd been as supple in his arms as that silly horse. Letting him guide her, trusting him to lead.

They'd ridden for only a brief time and were just approaching the banks of the Serpentine. A breeze kicked up and swept the lake's surface into a dancing bed of diamonds, rippling waves sparkling in the sunlight. They drew near a tree and the wind funneled around them, lifting tufts of the duke's bronze hair.

The duke turned to her, his expression grim. “How long must we do this?”

“You're not enjoying it.” She didn't need to be as discerning as her father to recognize his dissatisfaction.

He flexed his fists around the reins and tried for an expression more pleasured than pained.

They might not look like London's most besotted ­couple, but their outing hadn't gone unnoticed. Kitty looked around them and noticed a young woman she'd met during her first season. The lady looked on from horseback and whispered to her companion, the Earl of Chessick.

Craning her neck, she noted other glances. They weren't quite making a scene, but perhaps they were making an impression that would set a few tongues wagging. If others remembered them at all, they'd probably recall her unique hat. She'd count that a victory, whatever Sebastian thought of her fashion sense.

A strand of loose hair caught at her neck, tugging a few pins free. Before she could fix it back in place, a breeze kicked up and snatched the hat off her head, sending it dancing like a whirling dervish above her head.