Only Scandal Will Do (25 page)

Chapter 22

Duncan stared out the casement window to the precise, clipped figures of the topiary garden at the rear of the house, where Katarina and Juliet walked about, deep in conversation with Juliet’s dear friend Lady Honoria Claypool. He smiled at Juliet, who whirled her hands in circles, unmistakably telling of her recent conquests at various
ton
events. He could hear her squeals of merriment even at this distance as she relayed all the most exciting details of Mr. Randolph Sutton’s attentions to her. Well, he supposed it was Sutton; he was the most recent suitor, anyway.

He chuckled to himself. Sutton was son and heir to Viscount Brisbane, not a stellar match for Juliet, but eligible. And the gentleman certainly had seemed interested enough at Lady Bercy’s musicale last evening. Mr. Sutton had inveigled a seat next to Juliet and monopolized her for the first part of the entertainment before escorting her in to supper.

He should speak to Juliet soon, gauge her feelings on the matter. Sutton was quite close to a declaration, if the pining looks he’d given Juliet at supper were any indication. From her lively conversation below, Juliet seemed to return the young man’s interest, though they had only met the previous month.

During that month, lack of progress best described his attempts to woo Katarina. Memories of the early weeks of his marriage were anything but pleasant. Most of that time he’d feared he was no nearer to Katarina’s capitulation than he had been the day of their wedding. She’d appeared the perfect wife in public, the perfect icicle in private.

The gift of Stella had been by far his best inroad to Katarina’s affections. Whenever he wished, he could recall the moment he presented her with the mare, and the passionate
almost
kiss that followed in exact detail. He had only to close his eyes to relive the warmth of her hand, the silky, seductive feel of her hair, the delicate scent of jasmine that clung to her always. Duncan took a deep breath and the phantom fragrance wafted through his mind.

Exhaling, he turned away from the window and the delights of the bright garden. That
almost
kiss was as close to his wife as he had come during the month, despite his unfailing attempts at politeness and gallantry. He’d squired her to more
ton
events than he had ever attended before, and ended up watching her dance and socialize with other men. All offers to take her driving and had been politely refused. Hoping to engineer time alone with her, he’d even suggested they journey to Merrywell, his family’s estate in Gloucestershire, and had offered to show her some of the countryside. To no avail. Her response had been that they could not neglect Juliet’s season when there were so many young men interested in his sister. And in deference to her request, he’d let the matter drop.

The upshot was, during the four weeks since their wedding they had spent almost no time together alone. The frustration of having Katarina so near, yet so far removed, ate at him, eroding his good sense. More than three months had passed since he’d had a woman in his bed; his body could count the hours. And though he’d entertained ideas of going discreetly to another woman to ease the physical torment, the very thought of doing so wilted any desire his body summoned. Only Katarina aroused him now, the one woman he seemed unable to seduce. She remained maddeningly polite, distant and indifferent.

The week after the presentation of Stella had been interminable. The chill, rainy weather had kept them indoors. Juliet had languished with her cold for several days and he’d tried to amuse his wife as best he could, but could soon tell his presence grated on her patience. She’d kept him company at meals, obliged him by sitting in the library with him after dinner, and on the two occasions he’d sought her out for conversation after luncheon, they’d spoken about a variety of topics, though she had not lingered either time.

He had been unfailingly polite and attentive to her that whole time, while Katarina’s attitude toward him had steadily deteriorated from subdued politeness to outright hostility. Her tongue had become sharper, until almost every sentence dripped with sarcasm or carried a barb. The temper he knew well had flared in earnest at the end of the week, when he’d denied her outrageous suggestion she ride in the park in the rain. She’d refused to speak to him for three days.

The ban on outdoor activity had lifted on the first day of sunshine and Katarina had tripped happily down the stairs to meet Jack for their long promised ride. She’d passed him in the hall, flung a smile at him on the way out the door and called, “We will be back in time for breakfast, my lord.”

Duncan smiled ruefully into the empty drawing room that overlooked the garden. It was patently pathetic when a man was so desperate for attention from his wife that he remembered every word she spoke to him. But he did. He’d listened raptly every time Katarina opened her mouth, answered her with warmth and humor when called for, with gravity when she’d turned to serious subjects. Tried throughout the month to demonstrate kindness, warmth and his affection for her. What he had gotten in return was a cool demeanor and polite distance. She seemed to treat him like an annoying relative one could not quite dismiss from one’s house and therefore must tolerate until other arrangements could be made.

Nothing had given him hope that his situation might change...except for one day in the park.

He had chosen not to insist upon riding with his wife and her brother, had hoped instead to be asked along in the rush of freedom once the rain subsided. After a week had passed, he’d realized no such invitation would be forthcoming. So he’d presented himself in the stable one morning at dawn, the time he knew Katarina preferred to ride.

Mounted on Stella, she looked extremely fetching in a Prussian blue riding habit as she glanced about, calling for John, the groom who always accompanied her.

“Will I do as escort this morning, Lady Dalbury?” Duncan had asked, appearing beside her on Saxon.

Startled, she’d tapped Stella, and the mare had tried to turn in the small space. Katarina had controlled the horse with expert hands, soothed her down with murmured words. “I did not expect you this morning, my lord.” Head bent–to hide her displeasure?–she’d rubbed the horse’s neck.

“But you gave me leave to ride with you, did you not?”

She’d cut a glance at him, brows slanted sharply down over her nose. “I did. But you have not availed yourself of the invitation before now. So I did not expect you. I thought perhaps you forgot.”

“I have forgotten nothing about the day you agreed I might ride with you, Lady Dalbury.”

She’d blushed, and the bright color of her cheeks had fought that of her hair. “We had best be off, then, my lord,” she’d said, nodding toward the door that opened into the mews at the back of the townhouse’s stables. “We will miss the best part of the morning.” She led them out of the stable and they’d made their way side-by-side in silence until they were well into the park, jogging along the wide lane of Rotten Row. She’d watched everything around her avidly, drunk in the fresh sights and tranquil sounds of early morning.

“You enjoy the ride most this time of day, Lady Dalbury?”

She’d glanced at him with an almost-smile on her lips. “I do indeed, my lord. The air is clean, the birds are just beginning to trill, the park is all but deserted. If I close my eyes, I can almost believe I am riding the paths and meadows around Yorktown.”

“You miss Virginia very much.”

She’d pulled Stella to a halt and turned in her saddle to glare at him, a scornful gleam in her eyes. “I would almost
be
in Virginia now, Lord Dalbury, were it not for your interference.” She’d tapped Stella’s flank, and horse and rider shot away down the straight path.

With a muttered curse, he’d urged Saxon into pursuit and caught up to them only when Katarina slowed her mount for another party of riders to cross the path. She’d glared, daring him to censure her for her abrupt departure. He’d done no such thing, but fallen in again beside her. “I take that as an affirmation of my statement, Lady Dalbury,” he’d said as though a full ten minutes had not elapsed.

Her lips had twisted in a caricature of a smile. “Yes, I do miss Virginia, more than I can tell you. I feel exiled from the place that was home all my life.”

“Ah. I do know something of that feeling, my lady,” he said softly.

Her eyebrows rose. “Do you indeed?”

“I was all but exiled in Italy for most of last year. Self-exile to be sure, but I could not have returned home any sooner, though I longed for Dunham House and Juliet.”

Silent, she’d leaned over Stella, and made a show of adjusting the reins. Ignoring his words.

“I will take you to Virginia, my lady, if you so long to go there.” The unexpected offer surprised him as much as it must have startled her, for she jerked upright, and her eyes grew wide. He’d meant it as a peace offering, to show her the lengths to which he would go to gain her favor.

Ferocious indignation had flashed across her face, made her terrible to behold. One would have thought he’d asked her to strip naked in public rather than offered to take her to her beloved Virginia. He’d almost cringed when she’d leaned toward him.

“How
dare
you try to buy my affections, Lord Dalbury!” Outrage had fairly shimmered through her. “Just because you have bought everything else, including your wife, does not give you the right to think you can bribe me into sharing your bed if you dangle the promise of returning me to my homeland before my eyes. It will be a cold day in hell before I do any such thing.”

Appalled at her words, he’d scowled at her, all tender sentiments dashed. “Have I spoken any word whatsoever, madam, about sharing my bed? I offered to ease your obvious longing for Virginia. I did not try to coerce you into my bedroom! Did I say a word about reciprocation?”

Anyone within half a mile could have undoubtedly heard him, but he’d paid no mind. “No! In fact,” he’d continued, more quietly and through gritted teeth, “I have asked nothing of you since the day we married. You alone have dictated our relationship while I have tried, God knows why, to make our marriage work. And you have thwarted me at every turn. Well, I say to hell with you!”

During his tirade, Katarina’s eyes had assumed the proportions of china saucers. All the bitter weeks of her callous disregard of him had burst forth in his mind. He’d leaned toward her and she’d shrunk back on Stella. “I may be married to you, Lady Dalbury, but if you persist in acting this way, I no longer choose to pursue
any
kind of association with you. Do not worry about any further amorous advances from me, my lady. In fact, I can easily arrange for you to see very little of me in the future. I am sure that is one thing I
can
do for you that will give you the greatest pleasure possible.”

He’d turned Saxon to head for home, his mind a seething turmoil of outrage, his breath pumping in and out of his lungs like a bellows.

She’d shot her slim hand out, gripping his wrist before he could put any distance between them. “Wait, my lord!”

He’d instinctively lifted the reins, which had caused Saxon to arch his neck sharply. He controlled the confused stallion, himself as bewildered and astonished as his mount. He’d raised his gaze to the blushing, anxious face of his wife. Openmouthed, she’d hesitated as though she did not quite know what to say.

“I am sorry, my lord, for my unkind words just now,” she’d blurted out. A moment, then she’d grinned at him. “That must be the most inadequate interpretation of the word ‘unkind’ in the history of the English language.”

He’d schooled his expression to be neutral, but held his breath.

Katarina had sighed, squeezed his wrist slightly, and released it. His heartbeat had pounded at the gesture and he’d hoped she could not hear it. She’d raised her eyes to him, true regret in her face. “I do apologize, for my malicious and unjust words. My brother will tell you I have a tendency to jump to conclusions and speak before I think. Two serious flaws that have gotten me into trouble before now.” Her face was a study in contrition and the next words came slowly, almost grudgingly. “I know you have tried very hard these past weeks to...make me feel welcome in your home.” She’d stared unflinching into his eyes. “You have been most considerate of me. I acknowledge that and thank you for your many kindnesses. To repay them with spite as I did just now is unworthy of me. I feel I must find a way to make amends.”

He’d taken her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. “You just did.”

Blushing to the roots of her hair, she’d withdrawn her hand from his loose clasp. But hadn’t snatched it away. “I rather thought you might insist on a hair shirt or daily beatings.”

“But my lady,” he’d returned, affecting his own teasing air, “hair shirts are simply
de trop
these days. I don’t know where I might buy a single one.” He’d grinned and his voice had taken on a good-humored tone. “As for your other suggestion, you may recall your brother and I have yet to agree on who has the right to beat you since we’ve married. Until we can agree on who holds that privilege, I believe we shall have to forgo that particular method of vengeance.” He’d winked at her. “I suppose I must leave you in suspense as to your doom for a while longer.”

She’d laughed at his nonsense and, chatting amiably enough, they’d walked their horses home side by side. He was struck by the timing of her apology. She had not offered to apologize until he’d mentioned absenting himself from her. Perhaps it meant nothing, perhaps everything.