Wedding Night With the Earl (7 page)

Katherine was fairly certain the reason Uncle Willard had become so ornery over the past couple of years was that he’d begun to lose his hearing. It was almost impossible to carry on an extended conversation with him, which was also one of the reasons she always sat beside him at formal dinners. With her, he didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. He disliked trying to make conversation with anyone other than family in a room teeming with chatter, clinking glasses, and tinkling silverware.

Uncle Willard greeted her with a smile, no doubt because she was prompt, and she smiled, too, as she reached over and gave his clean-shaven cheek a kiss.

Waiting until he could see her lips move, she said, “Good evening, Uncle. Have you enjoyed the party so far?”

“Yes, my dear,” he expressed much too loudly. “It’s been quiet.” He paused and winked at her, then continued, “And somewhat pleasant. I’ve been able to avoid hearing anyone I didn’t want to talk to, but I haven’t heard a word of what was said to me from the ones I wanted to talk to. You’d think everyone would know by now that I can’t hear a bloody word they say and they’d speak up.”

Katherine knew everyone spoke very loudly to him, even though he didn’t know it. She was sad for him because his hearing loss continued to worsen and no doctor had been able to help him.

“I don’t think anyone realizes it, Uncle.”

“Well, they should. And how about you?” he asked. “How has your evening been?”

Without hesitation she answered, “Lovely as usual,” and caught sight of Madeline staring at her as she passed by to enter the dining room.

“I saw you talking to the new Earl of Greyhawke, my dear. What did you think of him?”

She supposed with a dinner party that had only thirty guests, everyone would see everything that happened. Still, for some reason she wished no one had witnessed her conversation with Lord Greyhawke. Everyone wanted to ask her about him, and though she didn’t really understand why, she was reluctant to share her conversation with the earl.

Guests were filing past them and entering the dining room. She would have to talk loudly for Uncle Willard, and she didn’t want anyone passing by to hear what she had to say, so she answered, “Perhaps we should talk about that tomorrow, Uncle. I think most everyone has been seated in the dining room.”

He looked around and nodded. “Very well.” He reached over and gently pinched her cheek affectionately. “That’s what we’ll do.”

His brief squeeze wasn’t her favorite show of fondness. She had always expected that one day he would understand that at twenty she was too old to have her cheek tweaked, but he was still doing it. She now had little hope he would ever stop. And she loved him too much to ever suggest it to him.

Uncle Willard extended his elbow. Katherine slipped her hand around the crook of his arm and he escorted her into the ornately decorated room. Tall, gilt-framed mirrors bracketed by brass candle sconces hung on each of the four walls. Two long, rectangular tables covered in fine white Irish linen had been set with the best crystal, china, and silver one could buy. The sides of both tables had fifteen small, armless chairs fitted tightly together. The duke always sat at the head of one table and Uncle Willard the other. Since both their wives had died, the places at the end of the tables were always left vacant.

Her uncle pulled out her chair and then turned to see Mrs. Isadora Henshawe waiting for him to help her be seated, too. Katherine heard him expel a low, exasperated sigh before greeting the lady. Mrs. Henshawe was a master at talking, and she seldom stopped for a breath. Uncle Willard would have to pretend he was having a lovely conversation with the lady by smiling, nodding, and occasionally shaking his head. Katherine doubted she would notice that he couldn’t hear.

Katherine picked up her napkin while guests continued to file into the room to find their seats. She’d been dining at the duke’s dinner parties for more than two years and long ago stopped wondering whom Aunt Leola would seat to her right. Katherine knew Uncle Willard wanted to be quiet and expected her to talk to whoever it was and not him.

Lady Leola handled all social events for the duke, including seating arrangements, and she wouldn’t accept suggestions from anyone. Auntie Lee also knew that Mrs. Henshawe would talk from the moment she sat down to the moment she left. It wouldn’t bother the widow at all that Uncle Willard wouldn’t be able to hear a word she said. She was quite happy to talk, if only to herself. He would be miserable, and she would be delighted.

Tomorrow at the breakfast table, Auntie Lee would listen quietly to Uncle Willard’s politely spoken words about her seating arrangements and then do exactly what she wanted to do at the next party. Katherine had seen very little change in the duke’s household the twelve years she had lived in it.

Katherine propped the handle of her plain wooden cane against the table to her right, where it would be easy for her to grasp if she needed to excuse herself to the retiring room, and then began taking off her gloves. A shadow slowly fell across the table beside her, and her hands stilled. Her dinner partner for the evening had arrived.

Somehow before she looked up, before she thought about glancing over at the place card, she knew the gentleman who had been seated beside her for the evening was the intriguing Earl of Greyhawke.

A shivery feeling skittered up Katherine’s back, and her heart started its wild, erratic beating again.

Chapter 7

A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.

—Love’s Labour’s Lost,
act 5, scene 2

Slowly, Katherine turned to her right and looked up. The first thing she saw was a tapered waist and a wide chest that filled out a white shirt outlined by a beige quilted waistcoat. Her gaze continued upward, past straight, broad shoulders to a beautifully tied neckcloth and on to a slightly square chin. She paused briefly at the wide masculine lips before skimming past a narrow nose and high cheekbones that led her vision to those intriguing brandy-colored eyes that had held her spellbound earlier in the evening.

Katherine’s fast-beating heart felt as if it stumbled in her chest. A tingling sensation rippled across her breast and then floated slowly and deliciously all the way down to her toes. A teasing warmth settled low in her abdomen. There was no use trying to deny the potent power of his masculinity. She’d never been so intensely aware of a man and found she couldn’t look away from the eyes that seemed to have the capacity to see into the depths of her soul.

The Earl of Greyhawke was tall and powerfully built, but nothing about him looked like a beast. Nothing about him seemed scary, yet she sensed he was a danger to her sensibilities.

“Good evening, Miss Wright,” he said, pulling out his chair. “We meet again.”

The Earl of Greyhawke smiled down at her as he bent to fit his tall, muscular frame into the small chair. As he did, he accidentally knocked the table, sending her cane clattering to the floor. She immediately reached down to collect it, and while she was coming up, the back of her head bumped his chin as he was reaching down to pick up the cane.

“Ouch,” she whispered.

“Ugh,” he grunted.

And together they both whispered, “My apologies.”

She looked around to see if her uncle or anyone else might have seen or heard their mishap, but there was so much chatter and scraping of chairs as others seated themselves that no one seemed to have noticed her head bumping the earl.

Lord Greyhawke carefully seated himself and rubbed his chin. “Never let it be said you are soft in the head, Miss Wright.”

A tremor of a smile threatened Katherine’s lips. She couldn’t help wondering if their meetings were destined to be a series of debacles. “And never let it be said that you can’t take one on the chin.”

She once again placed the cane against the table between her and the earl. Something about it being there made her feel as if it were a shield to protect her from her growing attraction to him.

“You do know our conversation earlier this evening would have been more congenial for both of us if you had simply told me you had injured your leg and couldn’t dance.”

Katherine drew in a breath and settled her hands in her lap as she looked at the earl. The lines in his forehead and around the edges of his mouth and eyes had tightened a bit. Judging from his expression, she sensed he was a little piqued at her. For some wickedly good reason, it pleased her that she’d managed to get under his skin as he had hers. She had already surmised that he was not the kind of man anyone could easily get the best of, no matter the situation.

“I seldom do anything the easy way, my lord.”

“So I learned the hard way. I will keep that bit of information in the forefront of my mind for the rest of the evening,” he said, more under his breath than to her as he unfolded his napkin with a shake before laying it across his lap.

Katherine had no qualms about placing the blame for their miscommunication squarely on his shoulders, where it rightly belonged. In a lighthearted tone she said, “I do have to admit that I was rather stunned you couldn’t see the very obvious cane in my hand.”

He relaxed against the back of the too-small chair and folded his arms across his chest in a comfortable manner that was far too informal for a dinner party at a duke’s house. “How could I when I couldn’t take my eyes off your beautiful face?”

Katherine’s brows drew together in disbelief, and then she relaxed and laughed lightly. “And I see I will have to keep in mind that you have no borders when it comes to flattery.”

“I only rely on it when it’s deserved, Miss Wright.”

“For some reason, I find I’m disinclined to believe that, my lord.”

“It’s the truth.” One corner of his mouth lifted in an attractive half grin. “So rather than enlighten me as to your predicament, you decided to just limp away and leave me feeling about two feet tall rather than just tell me you
couldn’t
dance?”

Limp away?

No, he was more than piqued. He thought she’d duped him in some way, and he was downright annoyed. She decided to savor the moment. Clearly, he was accustomed to being in control of every situation and getting his own way. If he was uncomfortable, it served him right for missing what was before his disarming eyes. Besides, she was sure he was exaggerating; she couldn’t imagine a man of his size feeling just two feet tall, no matter the circumstance.

Feigning concern, she said, “Two feet tall? Did you, my lord?”

“I did and you know it,” he grumbled lightly, and picked up the glass of wine sitting in front of him. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

She smiled sweetly to let him know she wasn’t in the least bothered by him and also to let him know it didn’t upset her that he was frustrated with her. “Should I have held up my cane and said, ‘Look at this, my lord’?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “Or a simple ‘I’ve hurt my foot’ would have helped immensely.”

The temptation to needle him more was too great. She might as well keep the advantage while she had it. “I kept saying to myself, This man is obviously intelligent. He’s an earl. Surely he will soon figure out why I am declining his offer to dance.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a servant bent between them and ladled a vegetable broth into her soup bowl and then the earl’s.

After the servant moved on, she added, “And for your information, my lord, I don’t limp.”

He placed his glass back on the table. Amusement finally settled into his features. “Really?”

“Yes,” she insisted, though why she’d said such an outrageous and untrue thing, she had no idea. She used a cane! Of course she had a limp. But that didn’t mean she wanted to admit it to him. “I’m positive.”

“Hobble?” he asked cautiously.

It was too late to back down now. Katherine shook her head. “Nor do I shuffle, stagger, or stumble.”

“In that case, pardon me, Miss Wright. I should have said your ‘unusual gait.’ Is that better?”

“Much,” she said pleasantly, thinking maybe it was all right that she’d made such a ridiculous statement after all. This was the liveliest conversation she could remember ever having. “And I’ll thank you to remember that.”

“I’m not likely to forget anytime soon.”

Feeling pleased with herself for holding her own and successfully matching wits with the handsome earl, Katherine lifted her spoon and tasted the soup. It was hot and delicious, as usual.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Lord Greyhawke hadn’t picked up his spoon. He was probably trying to come up with a way to get even with her.
Let him try,
she thought.

She glanced over at him. “You really should taste your soup, my lord, or next you’ll be saying it’s my fault that it’s cold.”

He chuckled, picked up his spoon, and then turned his attention to the guest on his right. The beautiful but elderly Dowager Countess of Littlehaven had asked him a question.

Katherine quietly ate her soup while Mrs. Henshawe and Lady Littlehaven kept both her dinner partners busy. Katherine’s uncle Quillsbury was famous for his sumptuous five-course dinners, which included excellent wines and ports and didn’t take hours to be served. Having been a pampered duke for all his adult life, he had little patience for things that didn’t go his way. He wanted each course served as soon after the other as possible. Extra staff was always brought in to make sure everything went smoothly when he had a dinner party. He wanted the dining and fellowship of others, but he no longer wanted to sit around the dinner table for hours and listen to endless chatter. His guests also appreciated his attention to that detail.

The soup bowls were gathered, and shortly thereafter a small plate of pickled beets and sweetened figs was set before her. Mrs. Henshawe, who was seated directly in front of Katherine, had managed to garner the earl’s attention away from the countess. He was politely listening to a story she was telling about a time when she traveled to Scotland and was set upon by highwaymen. The earl would alternate between looking at the lady and eating his beets and figs.