Wedding Night With the Earl (13 page)

Lord Greyhawke? Was she considering him? Her chest tightened and her breathing grew shallow. Could she?

She wondered if what she’d heard about him saying he would never marry again was true. Was there any chance he would be interested in her, or would he, like Uncle Quillsbury, assume she was fast becoming a dried-up weed on a shelf and dismiss her outright?

Katherine didn’t know. That was why she had put aside the search, the hope for love, and begun her hunt to find a gentleman who would be a good father to the many children she planned to have. And if the earl’s kisses were anything to go by, she would very much enjoy getting started on that as soon as possible.

Yes, she wanted to marry and have children. Katherine loved her aunt and her uncles. They had been devoted to her from the moment she’d entered their house, but she didn’t want to live the rest of her life in this very quiet, very proper house that had been her shelter for twelve years. She wanted to live in the kind of house she’d grown up in during the first seven years of her life. A house that was unruly, lively, and filled with loved ones and laughter. She wouldn’t even mind arguing, crying, or yelling as long as there was noise and movement.

Katherine just didn’t know where that house would be or who would be living in it with her. She had narrowed her search to Viscount Rudyard, Mr. Bailey Maycott, and Mr. Steven Norbury. They were all pursuing her, and though it wasn’t a happy thought, she truly needed to settle on one of them by the end of the Season, marry, and begin her family.

She placed her cup in the saucer and leaned back against the pillows. Maybe it was her uncle reminding her of the dreaded task of deciding on a husband by the end of the Season. Perhaps it was the afterglow of her very first kiss by a handsome gentleman who made her feel very grown-up sensations, or maybe it was just that she’d stood near the dance floor with the handsome Lord Greyhawke insisting she dance with him when she knew she never would. But for some reason, she wanted to open the doors to her past and think about her family. She hadn’t wanted to do that in a long time because the pain was always so great.

But now, today, in the quiet of her room, she wanted to remember her two beautiful older sisters and brother. She wanted to remember their laughter, their whispers, and even their anger at her when she would follow them around the house and beg them to play with her, or how they’d scold her for asking too many questions. She wanted to remember her mother’s sweet smile, and her gentle hand brushing Katherine’s hair, and her father dropping to one knee, holding out his arms for her to run to him and be caught up in his strong embrace.

Since the age of seven, she’d lived with this unusual family of uncles, aunt, and more servants than she could count. Since arriving, Katherine couldn’t remember a time she wasn’t surrounded by people just waiting to do something for her. But she’d always felt lonely. There were many times over the years she’d found herself yearning for the sounds of laughter, or singing, or even the cries of a mischievous child who was cross because he didn’t get his way.

Yes, she’d wanted the love of a gentleman whose kisses stirred longings inside her that she didn’t yet fully understand. A man who challenged her the way Lord Greyhawke had rather than cosset her the way her aunt and uncles did. But she also wanted to live in a house that was busy, loud, and not always so proper about everything. A house that was filled with boisterous life. It was past time to decide on a husband so she could start the kind of life she wanted—filled with children to give her love to. And she would name them all after her brother and her sisters, because their lives had been cut short and they’d never had the opportunity to have children of their own.

Katherine rested against the pillows with a smile on her face. Yes, she would honor her siblings in such a way. Surely her husband would grant her this small request.

But for now, she was going to close her eyes and indulge in good and happy memories from the past. Rather than run from them, as she often did, she wanted to embrace them and enjoy the love she’d felt for the family she’d lost way too early in her life.

It wouldn’t be easy. There would be pain in doing so, but there would also be unspeakable joy to remember them.

Chapter 13

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended …

—Othello,
act 1, scene 3

Adam placed the quill on its rest stand, pushed his chair back and propped the heels of his booted feet on the edge of his massive mahogany desk, and grumbled a few swear words to himself. He’d tried to continue to pore over the pages in the ledgers after his solicitor left, but he hadn’t made much progress, and that made him irritated with himself. This work was important. He needed to understand how the Greyhawke estates worked, who worked them, and what they were worth before he made arrangements to visit them.

But it was of no use for the rest of the day. He couldn’t concentrate. The numbers blurred and ran together until all he could see was the beautiful and inviting Miss Wright.

Miss Wright
.

Who was so wrong for him.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way her supple body melted effortlessly against him, her soft sighs that were so pleasing to hear, or the sweet taste of her lips against his. And when he wasn’t thinking about how much he wanted to hold her and kiss her again, he was wondering what it must be like for her to live in a house where everyone seemed to dote on her as if she were a delicate flower that might lose its petals if the utmost care wasn’t taken.

Damnation, he couldn’t even stop wondering why she used the cane in the first place. Her “unusual gait” didn’t seem that bad to him. And why couldn’t she have just answered a simple question? Why couldn’t she have just told him what had happened to her leg? It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

Maybe that was why he couldn’t get her off his mind. There were too many unanswered questions about her. Too many things for him to wonder about.

Adam leaned back farther in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. It was maddening to be so consumed with her that he couldn’t adequately study what was right before his eyes. Why did his thoughts keep drifting back to Miss Wright?

Not yet two weeks back in London and already a young lady had caught his attention and bewitched him. Hell, it was the last thing he wanted or needed. Even before Annie, there were many young ladies who’d set out to entice him, bewitch him, or seduce him. He’d known how to avoid them all. He didn’t believe Miss Wright had set out to do any of those things to him, not even to captivate him, yet she had done all of them without even trying.

“She hadn’t even wanted to talk to me at first,” he whispered to himself. “I had to keep insisting.”

He shouldn’t have kissed her. Adam rubbed his eyes, thinking that must have been the one hundredth time he’d thought that.

But if he was going to, he should have kissed her tenderly, briefly, and let that be the end of it. He shouldn’t have been greedy and wanted more. He should have remembered that she was vulnerable, too. He should have respected the fact that it was her first kiss. But no, none of that mattered because of his eagerness to taste her. It had been so damned long since he’d met a lady he actually wanted to kiss that he hadn’t been able to control himself and give her a proper first kiss.

Not that she’d seemed to notice or mind. He smiled to himself. No, she hadn’t minded at all. He supposed he was lucky he hadn’t frightened her with his ardent passion and sent her running inside to tell her uncles how he’d treated her.

Sensing his master’s restlessness, Pharaoh looked up from where he lay in front of the low-burning fire and yawned. As if assuming Adam were talking to him, Pharaoh rose and ambled over to Adam’s chair. He sat proudly on his haunches and stared at Adam as if he were waiting for him to say more.

And Adam did. “You know I wish I’d never kissed her,” he murmured into the quiet of the room.

Pharaoh woofed low.

“I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t stop myself. All right, I didn’t try too hard. I didn’t want to. She was too tempting for me to resist anyway. I mean, she just had this way about her that drew me to her. And I might add, it didn’t help that she was more than ready and willing to receive her first kiss, which I admit I was more than happy to deliver, seeing as I was eager to taste her lips anyway. So now you understand why it’s all her fault I can’t get her out of my mind.”

Pharaoh made a quarreling sound in his throat and then licked his chops and woofed again.

“Yes,” Adam agreed with a smile. “She tasted very good, but I still shouldn’t have done it. She’s been nothing but a menace to my peace of mind—night and day. It’s damned frustrating,” he said, looking down at the dog. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just keep reliving the kiss as if I were still a schoolboy.”

A movement caught Adam’s and Pharaoh’s attention at the same time, and they turned and looked toward the door. Dixon was standing quietly in the doorway, looking at Adam with his big brown eyes. If the lad had heard him talking to Pharaoh, he probably thought Adam was crazy.

And maybe he was. Talking to a dog couldn’t be considered normal, but he’d often said things to Pharaoh when they’d lived at the cottage on the coast.

“I don’t like her,” Dixon said.

Adam looked hard at the boy and frowned. What was Dixon saying? He’d never even met Miss Wright.

“How can you say you don’t like her? You don’t know her.”

“She smells bad.”

“What?” Adam brought his feet down onto the wooden floor with a loud thunk. He remembered the scent of freshly washed hair and lightly perfumed skin. “I can assure you she doesn’t.” He stared at Dixon with focused intensity. “What the devil are you—you aren’t talking about Miss Wright, are you?”

Dixon shook his head. Pharaoh walked over to Dixon and sniffed around his knees and his shoes. As usual, Dixon stood perfectly still and made no move to pet or speak to the Pyrenees.

“Mrs. Bernewelt,” his young cousin said.

The governess.

Now they were getting somewhere, but Adam couldn’t imagine that what Dixon was saying was true. The woman’s recommendation letters had been excellent. Most of them had not only praised her efficiency, politeness, and skills, but said she was extremely well liked by all the children she had been in charge of.

“I want to go home,” Dixon said defiantly as he held his arms stiffly by his side and clenched his hands into small, tight fists.

Adam let out an exasperated sigh. Why had fate forced a child upon him when he had no idea what to do with one? Adam had lived the life of a reckless youth, a daring rogue, a woefully unsuccessful husband, and a loner. None of those lives had prepared him to handle a child.

“This is your home,” Adam said, and closed the book he’d left open on his desk.

“It’s your home,” Dixon argued, remaining as stiff as the toy soldiers he played with.

“And yours now, too,” Adam insisted sternly. “You have no other home, so there will be no more of that kind of talk. I’ll admit this isn’t a situation that either of us wanted, but no one asked us, and it is what it is. We’re both making adjustments, and we’re going to make the best of it until you are off to Eton in a few years. This is your home,” Adam said again for good measure.

As if bored with the lack of interesting scents on Dixon’s person, Pharaoh wandered back to his favorite place to lie down and curl up in front of the low-burning fire.

Dixon remained quiet and made no move to leave the doorway.

“All right,” Adam said in a tone softer than his previous one. “Tell me, how does she smell?”

“It’s her hands.”

“That doesn’t tell me much. What specifically?”

The boy’s eyes widened and he looked around the room as if he were searching for someone or something that could magically aid his thoughts on the matter.

“Fish?” Adam asked, hoping to prompt Dixon into remembering the foul odor.

He shook his head.

“Onion?”

Dixon shook his head again and still refused to offer any help as to what the scent might be.

“Vinegar? Lavender? Wine? Urine? How the devil am I supposed to know what you smell if you can’t tell me?” Adam stopped and let out a long, exasperated sigh. “What am I saying?” he mumbled to himself. “I don’t even want to know what you are smelling.”

The lad’s eyes turned glassy and his bottom lip began to tremble. Oh, hell. Adam hadn’t meant to upset him. In different way, Dixon could be just as frustrating as Miss Wright.

“You’ve got to talk to me, Dixon. I can’t read your mind or know what you are thinking just by looking at you.”

Adam breathed in deeply again, rose from his chair, and strode over to the fireplace, and picked up the poker. He jabbed at the burning wood, moving it around and making it flame once more. His ill temper was Miss Wright’s fault, not Dixon’s. She had him as irritable as an old blacksmith who’d just flattened his thumb with a hammer.

“My mum rubbed it on my chest one time when I was coughing,” Dixon said into the quietness.

Adam turned back to him. “Some type of liniment? Camphor, maybe? That has a strong scent.”

Dixon shrugged as if it might be but he was still unsure. “It’s on her hands. I smell it when she buttons my coats or points to words in my books.”

The old woman probably had aches in her finger joints and used the ointment to help ease the pain. If that was the cause, he couldn’t fault her for trying to find some comfort.

He supposed he could speak to an apothecary about this and see if the man could give him something that would help Mrs. Bernewelt that didn’t have such a powerful odor. But how in the hell would he suggest to the woman she use it? He wouldn’t. He’d give it to Clark and have the butler handle it with Mrs. Bernewelt.

“It might take me a few days, but I’ll look into it and see what I can do. All right?”

Dixon nodded.

Adam replaced the poker in its stand and looked out the window. The sky was a striking blue. A rare sight for a cold April afternoon.