Dukes Are Forever Page 23

  “It does not. That is why we will proceed as if she is accepting suitors, whether she wants them or not. That is also why I have asked Thomas Matteson to spread the rumor that she is hunting a husband and that Strathmore is offering a generous dowry.”

  “Strathmore is, is he?” His lips twitched irritably.

  Her brow lifted, daring him to contradict her. “A very generous dowry.”

  He grimaced, knowing that bit of news would bring a flock of fortune hunters and curiosity seekers to his doorstep. “Thomas agreed to that?”

  “He and Nathaniel allowed you to get into that juvenile duel. I consider it only a pittance of what is owed.”

  He stared at his aunt. She’d always been protective of the family’s reputation, but giving Kate the debut season she planned went beyond any familial loyalty he’d ever seen in her before. Perhaps the recent loss of one duke and the near loss of another had shaken her more than he realized. “You’re planning a full assault for her season, then.”

  “Yes.” Her lips pressed together distastefully. “I have even secured vouchers for Almack’s.”

  At that, he burst out laughing, then immediately winced at the sharp pain. If the countess was willing to venture into Almack’s, a place she despised almost as much as he did, then he wasn’t the only one suffering because of Katherine Benton.

  “There is one more point to settle,” she added. “Miss Benton claims she is innocent of whatever deceit you have accused her.”

  “She’s lying.” After all, he’d read the truth with his own eyes.

  Augusta looked at him with quiet affection. “Then why did she come here to nurse you?”

  “To convince me to give up the guardianship.”

  “In that case,” she pointed out gently, “she would have been wise to let you die.”

  He stared at her grimly, not having an answer for that. He’d been wondering the same thing himself. Just as he couldn’t fathom why she would seduce him into voiding the guardianship when he’d already agreed to give her whatever help she needed with Brambly. There was no gain in that for her. And unlike the letter, which couldn’t be denied, she’d protested her innocence in seducing him. Quite strongly. Even now his cheek throbbed at the memory.

  But he hadn’t been willing to believe her then. He’d been too angry to listen because he’d felt like a fool for wanting yet another woman who deceived him. And sweet Lucifer how much he’d wanted her. Even now, his gut still clenched at the thought of being inside her, how tight and warm her body was around his, how sweet to hear his name on her lips when she came beneath him…His little angel had given him the best night of his life, only to betray him in the morning.

  Had he been wrong? Was she innocent in that? She’d worn boy’s breeches, for God’s sake. What kind of temptress would set out to seduce a man while wearing breeches?

  A beautiful one, he thought with chagrin.

  But was she also an innocent one?

  “Think about what I have said.” Augusta leaned over him and placed a motherly kiss on his forehead, although he suspected she was also checking for fever. “And rest now.”

  He watched her leave the room, then gladly closed his eyes.

  Bloody hell. Kate was here, staying in his home, sleeping in a bed just a few rooms down the hall. Pandora didn’t just open the box. Apparently, she rode a stolen horse right through it.

  As far as he was concerned, though, nothing had changed. She’d deceived him by writing to her father, and for that, he couldn’t forgive her.

  If she had been any other woman, he wouldn’t have given her a second thought. He would have let himself enjoy taking his pleasure in her and ridden back to London without a backward glance, content to leave her forgotten in the countryside where she belonged.

  But not her. Katherine Benton was proving to be the woman who’d gotten under his skin unlike any other, the one he couldn’t get out of his head, even banished all the way to the moors.

  And Lord help him, the one he still wanted.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next afternoon, Augusta hurried Kate into the barouche and insisted the driver spend an hour taking them around Hyde Park…around and around…until Kate felt like a ribbon on a Maypole. Augusta forced her to smile and wave at all the well-dressed lords and ladies of the ton but ordered the driver not to stop.

  “Why not?” Kate asked, since several of the couples warmly returned their waves.

  “You are meant to be seen, nothing more,” she informed her with conspiratorial glee. She waved to a couple in a stylish phaeton. “Today, we dangle the carrot.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  Augusta smiled wickedly. “We have rabbit stew!”

  They repeated the drive every afternoon for the following week, and soon, it seemed that all the ton appeared for the promenade, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the young woman riding with the Countess of Tourney. Every time Kate saw people speaking beneath parasols or behind fans, she wondered if they were gossiping about her.

  “Of course, they are!” Augusta assured her happily, which did not put Kate at ease.

  Then, the rides through the park stopped, replaced by a week of mornings spent calling on the countess’s acquaintances just early enough that they would not be received. Augusta even purchased calling cards embossed with Kate’s name so she could purposefully leave one behind as proof that Strathmore’s ward existed and was fine enough to engage with the quality, even if no one was awake to receive her.

  This week, however, there were no more rides nor craftily failed attempts to call on acquaintances. Instead, they simply stayed home.

  “Now,” Augusta told her confidently, “they will come to us.”

  And the women of the ton did exactly that. The front bell started ringing just after two o’clock each afternoon and continued late into the day. Various women of all ranks and fortunes appeared at the door, eager to call on Augusta and welcome Kate warmly to London, only to leave their cards in disappointment when Kingsley informed them that the countess and Miss Benton were not receiving visitors.

  As Kate surreptitiously watched from the first-floor sitting room window, finely dressed ladies with dainty parasols and grand hats arrived in a stream, only to be turned away. A reverse parade. Instead of moving past them as she had done in the barouche, this time they paraded past her.

  “I don’t understand,” she puzzled as another visitor departed. “Why did we visit everyone last week if we don’t want to receive them now?”

  “Anticipation.” Augusta smiled with satisfaction, like a cat at the cream. “It makes everything sweeter.”

  Kate thought again about Edward and the inevitable confrontation they would have as soon as he was well enough to leave his room. Anticipating that was definitely not sweet. “What happens next?”

  “The invitations arrive, then the suitors will follow.”

  She bit back the urge to remind Augusta—again and repeatedly—that she had no intention of marrying. But gifts from overly confident gentlemen and fortune hunters wanting to make an alliance with the Duke of Strathmore had already started to arrive, and the countess refused to let her send them back.

  “Mark my words, Katherine—in two weeks, you will be sought out as this season’s incomparable.”

  A sinking hollow formed in her stomach. She didn’t want to be this season’s anything. It was all overwhelming, and she wanted none of it. But she also wanted to return to Brambly, and the only way to get there was through the London season.

  Augusta smiled warmly at her. “And I hope that you are enjoying your debut.”

  “I am.” A lie, but she didn’t want to upset Augusta with the truth.

  And not when she beamed at her like a proud mother presenting her own daughter. “You have become a diamond, my dear.”

  She sighed, “Just like Cinderella.”

  Augusta looked utterly aghast at the notion. “You will not turn into a scullery maid at midnight!”

/>   Kate’s hand flew to her lips to cover her surprised laugh, but she couldn’t stop the flush coloring her cheeks. In the short time she’d known the countess, she’d come to adore the woman, especially at moments like this.

  “My mother would have loved that I had this opportunity for a real London season,” she told Augusta affectionately. “And I think she’d be happy to know you’re here with me.”

  She leaned over and kissed the countess on the cheek. Augusta blushed scarlet, too flummoxed by the display of affection to formulate a response.

  Kate turned back toward the window under the pretense of watching for more visitors, but she really needed a moment to blink back the tears that threatened at her lashes. When the season was over and she was back at Brambly, she was going to miss Aunt Augusta very much.

  “Do not fret. An introduction comes in waves, my dear, like a military campaign.” Augusta rose elegantly, misreading Kate’s distress. “And this afternoon, we prepare for battle.”

  Fresh dread swept over her. “How?”

  “Shopping on Bond Street!” With a determined air, she glided from the room. “We leave in an hour.”

  Kate watched her go, then faced the window again just in time to see another carriage pull into the drive, bringing yet another visitor with hat and parasol who would be refused entry.

  She shook her head. Military campaigns and battles…when had her life turned into a war?

  “The moment you met a tall, handsome army colonel,” she mumbled with a defeated roll of her shoulders.

  If Augusta was right, and her introduction to society was truly like a military campaign, then Kate was in serious trouble. She was a healer, not a soldier, and she knew nothing about fighting battles or waging wars, certainly not of the social kind, and she seriously doubted she’d be able to tell friend from foe among the ranks of the ton.

  “If this is to be a military campaign,” she sighed with a grimace, “then I might as well wave a white glove of surrender.”

  “Perhaps you need an experienced soldier to aid you.”

  She spun around, her lips parting in surprise—

  Edward.

  He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his dark eyes staring at her coolly. Dressed only in black trousers over bare feet and a jacket draped over his shoulders, with his bare chest and the white bandage clearly visible beneath, he looked disheveled and fatigued, still weak. A growth of beard darkened his face, his thick hair bed-ruffled.

  And he’d never looked more breathtaking.

  His gaze deliberately moved up and down the length of her. Despite her anger at him, she felt her insides warm at the inviting look his eyes sent her, the familiar tingle rising from her toes all the way up into her blushing cheeks.

  She swallowed and forced herself to look away from his bare chest, the same chest she’d covered with kisses the night of the storm. “You should be in bed. I don’t think Dr. Brandon wants—”

  “Haven’t you heard? I’m all better.”

  With a great physical effort, he pushed himself away from the doorway and stepped into the room, but he swayed unsteadily. She resisted the urge to reach for him, knowing he would refuse. Even wounded and weak, the blasted man was too proud to ask for help.

  “So,” he drawled, “Augusta is determined to see your introduction through.”

  “Yes,” she replied cautiously. The coldness still existed inside him, she saw it in the way he gazed at her, in the hardness of his face. But his anger seemed to have eased. For the moment. “Your aunt can be quite focused.”

  “Stubborn, you mean.”

  Kate sighed her agreement, “Regimented.”

  At that, a small smile pulled at his lips, and her heart tugged. She remembered how wonderful it felt to have the full force of one of Edward’s grins on her, and she desperately wanted that again, despite the biting resentment she still carried toward him for sending her away.

  “When it comes to Augusta, I’ve learned it’s best to surrender and do what she wants.”

  She nodded at the bandage beneath the jacket. “Well, I’m certain she wants you to follow Dr. Brandon’s orders and return to bed.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Worried about me, Kate?”

  “Of course,” she answered honestly. But of course, she was still hurt and angry, too.

  “You shouldn’t be.” He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand that set him swaying again. “What concern am I of yours?”

  Because I still care about you, you infuriating man! She drew a deep breath to calm herself and bit her lip before answering, “None, I suppose, except that you’re still my guardian. My care and protection are still in your hands.”

  He gave a curt laugh of disbelief. “Is that why you’re here in London—hoping I’ll release you from that agreement?”

  Her chest squeezed around her heart, but she held her face carefully blank, not wanting him to see the heartrending torment he was capable of inflicting. Her mother had worn her emotions on her face, and her father only despised her more for it. “I’m not naïve enough to think that being in your home when you want nothing to do with me will convince you to tear up that agreement, not when you sent me halfway across the country.” She lowered her voice. “For making love to you.”

  “For deceiving me,” he corrected.

  His words pierced her. He was hurt and angry, but so was she, yet she knew that arguing back would get her nowhere. “We struck a truce once, do you remember?” she offered. “That first night at dinner.”

  “I remember,” he murmured. His eyes gleamed at the memory.

  Her heartbeat skipped. For a moment, she had a glimpse in him of the man she knew before, the kind and charming Edward she’d known, not the cold stranger he’d become. “Then, perhaps we could negotiate another one.” When he didn’t decline the idea, she drew a deep breath and tried again, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” But he swayed, this time reaching for the back of a chair to steady himself.

  Oh, he wasn’t fine. He was still weak and fatigued, and if he wasn’t careful, he could tear open his wound again, especially since his sutures had been removed early against her protests. A hollow pang of homesickness knotted her belly. She missed Brambly, where no one questioned her medical expertise, or lack of it.

  “Dr. Brandon said your shoulder was mending quickly.” She cleared her throat and gestured toward the bandage. “May I?”

  He hesitated, as if deciding whether he could trust her even this little bit. Then he shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. “If you’d like.”

  Tentatively, she approached him and prayed he couldn’t see the trembling in her hands as she reached up to push back the jacket and let it fall to the floor at his feet, to bare his shoulder to her worried eyes. Raising her hand carefully toward the white bandage rolled in thick layers like a mummy’s wrap around his shoulder, she hesitated. She wouldn’t unwrap it, but she had to touch it, had to touch him.

  When her fingertips brushed against the bandage, he inhaled sharply though clenched teeth, and she flinched. But she couldn’t have hurt him—she’d barely touched him at all.

  Her eyes darted up, and she saw a hundred different emotions flash across his face. But not one of them was hatred. Her heart thudded with hope, desperately wanting to believe that Augusta was right. That he did not hate her after all.

  He murmured, “Why are you here, Katherine?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She knew what he was asking, and it had nothing to do with society introductions and guardianships. “Because you were hurt,” she admitted cautiously, “and I couldn’t let you go through that alone, not again.”

  He frowned, struggling with whether he could believe her. “Augusta was here.”

  Gently, she shook her head. “That’s not the same.” She traced a fingertip cautiously across his shoulder to feel his warm, bare skin.

  He shuddered.

  She hesitated. “Am I hurting you?”

>   “Yes,” he rasped, but her fingers were nowhere near his wound.

  “I never meant to,” she whispered. “Please believe me.”

  His eyes closed briefly, then opened to stare at her with raw honesty. “I don’t know what to believe about you.”

  His words ripped away her breath, and she shuddered as fresh anguish gripped her. She’d confessed everything except loving him, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to forgive her. “You can believe that.”

  He shifted, leaning almost imperceptibly closer, but she felt the movement and the responding heat shivering through her. “Kate…”

  “Yes?” Unable to resist, her fingertips traced down his chest to the hard ripples of his abdomen.

  His breath hitched at her touch. “You deceived me by writing to your father.”

  “Yes.” She drew closer to him, urged on by the heat of his body and the memory of being in his arms. His muscles twitched thrillingly beneath her fingertips. “I regret it. It was a mistake, and I wish I had never done it. But the other,” she whispered, drawing soft circles across his stomach and through the sprinkling of dark hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers, “I could never do something like that.” And never with you.

  His hand covered hers and stilled her fingers against him. His eyes narrowed as they searched her face. “Then why did you give yourself to me?”

  Holding her breath, she dared to whisper, “Because I wanted you.”

  His fingertips caressed along her wrist and found her racing pulse. Proof of her desire for him. “You still do,” he murmured heatedly, his eyes flickering.

  As if to prove him right, a low ache panged between her thighs. “Edward—”

  He swayed unsteadily, and her throat constricted with concern. He was too weak yet to be out of bed, and she didn’t want him to hurt himself. Or have to explain to Augusta how a half-naked Edward ended up collapsed at her feet in the drawing room.

  “Please,” she offered gently, taking his arm, “let me help you to your room.”

  “I don’t need help,” he grumbled but didn’t pull away, and she leaned into him to bring part of his weight against her as she led him from the room.