Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1 - Louise Allen, Christine Merrill - Страница 47

‘Nick!’

‘Shh, the servants will hear.’ He was so obviously teasing her that Katherine gave a gasp of outrage before she found herself being set neatly on her feet just inside a room.

She stared round, instantly wary. It was a bedchamber, a dark, rich masculine room of simple lines and polished wood, heavy crimson hangings and comfortable, well-used furniture. A fire, almost down to the ashes, still fed a few flames in the hearth and one branch of candles stood on a dressing table, its light cast back by silver and cut glass.

‘Cosy?’ Nick asked, leaning back against the door panels.

‘Comfortable. Very masculine. I like it. Is this your bedchamber?’

‘It is.’

‘I cannot possibly stay here. You know I cannot sleep with you, Nick.’

‘You already have, once. If you mean that we cannot make love if you want an annulment, then that is quite correct. However, I have no intention of making love to you.’ He paused, those dark eyes resting on her like a caress. ‘Not tonight.’

Taken off balance, Katherine snapped, ‘And why not, pray?’ then blushed crimson.

‘Because I do not enjoy making love to very sleepy and thoroughly argumentative women.’ He was beginning to untie the sash of his dressing gown. Katherine was seized by a sudden terror that he was wearing nothing beneath it.

‘And you have such a wide experience,’ she commented bitterly. Thank heavens! He was wearing a perfectly respectable nightshirt.

‘Now, Kat, get into bed and stop trying to provoke me into ungentlemanly bragging,’ he said sanctimoniously. He began to snuff candles, leaving only the single light by the bed.

Reluctantly Katherine untied the knot of her wrapper and slipped out of it before scuttling into bed with more speed than dignity. She burrowed across to the furthest side and regarded Nick nervously over the edge of the sheet.

‘Is that the same nightgown?’ he enquired, lifting the bedclothes and getting in beside her.

‘That I wore in Newgate? Yes.’

He made no comment, but his low hum of appreciation was as real as a touch. Katherine closed her eyes. ‘Goodnight, Nicholas.’

‘Goodnight, Kat.’ He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice. She sensed by the sudden total darkness against her lids that the last candle was out and stiffened. Now he would touch her, hold her. The mattress shifted, the bedding over her moved, there were the sounds of someone making themselves comfortable, then only the faint sounds of the dying fire settling in the grate and Nick’s steady breathing.

Katherine lay there, stiff with what she realised, in a burst of honesty, was disappointment. She expected him to have held her, cradled her in his arms as he had done in that prison cell. But he had had no choice in that narrow bed, she reasoned with herself: in this great four-poster there was room and to spare. Comforted by the sound of his breathing and the warmth of his nearness she turned on her side, pulled the sheets around her ears and slept.

Nick waited until the regular breathing on the far side of the bed settled down and then cautiously stretched, allowing his own breathing to resume its normal waking rhythm. This was an indulgence his peace of mind could ill afford, he told himself severely, then smiled as Kat murmured in her sleep.

So sweet, and so trusting, despite his error of judgment last night. He had sensed that her feelings towards him had changed subtly and that his advances would not be unwelcome; it seemed he was wrong. Her instincts were quite correct—he would never force her, never seduce her against her will. But how could he move that will, make her see that the course she was set on was madness?

He turned over cautiously, trampling on the urge to reach out and pull her soft, warm body against his so they curved together as they had in that prison bed.

He had kissed her three times now; each time had been different and each time she had answered him with an innocent passion that shook him to his core. She obviously had no idea of her own power to move him and that was powerfully erotic. Nick shifted uncomfortably and reminded himself that this purgatory was self-inflicted.

Why had he done it? Kat would have slept tonight in that chilly white bed, consoled with the thought of a new bedchamber the next night. But she would not have been comfortable, and he wanted to do whatever he could to make up to her for the situation she found herself in. Cautiously he turned over, moved closer to her until his body curled around hers without touching. She would not be cold tonight.

Katherine blinked awake and lay watching the play of sunlight over the crimson bed hangings. She was warm, comfortable, rested—and in the wrong bed. The source of the warmth, the long male body curled around hers, one arm flung over her waist, appeared oblivious of her wakening. Somehow she had to get out of bed without rousing Nick and make her way back to her own chamber without being seen by any of the servants. Which was easier thought than done, she realised. The route by which they had arrived here last night was a complete mystery to her.

Carefully she inched towards the side of the bed. Nick’s arm slid over the fine lawn of her nightgown easily enough. Just another wriggle and she could lower his hand on to the mattress and slip out of bed. She reached round, took his hand and found her own held very firmly.

‘Mmm?’ Nick enquired, pulling her back so that she arrived in a tangle of bedclothes nose to nose with him. His eyes were shut. ‘Mmm … You smell so good Kat.’

‘Please let me go, I must go to my room.’

Nick opened his eyes slowly, regarding her from under relaxed, half-closed lids. ‘Why?’ One brow quirked. ‘I thought you were a lie-abed, Kat—think of the trouble I had to get you awake and out of bed last time.’

‘That was different,’ she said slowly, trying to ignore the fact that when he spoke his breath tickled her nose, he was so close. ‘I did not want the morning to come; there was too much reality to face.’ There still was, but at least this reality was not life and death. She hesitated, then, ‘Nick, I know your father will have much he wants to discuss with you, and you will have many duties, but please, I must talk to you.’

‘We are talking,’ he pointed out, obviously intent on teasing.

‘A serious talk. Out of bed. Dressed.’ He smiled and she found herself staring at the flecks of gold she had never noticed before in his eyes. ‘This is very distracting,’ she complained.

‘Good.’ Nick leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘You think altogether too much. Stop managing, Kat, and relax.’

Kat jerked back as if he had bitten her. ‘You said you wouldn’t make love to me!’ She scrambled backwards and out of bed.

‘I said I wouldn’t last night. And that was simply a good morning kiss for my wife: perfectly chaste.’ He hauled himself up against the pillows and regarded her silently until she began to fidget with embarrassment.

‘What is it?’

‘I was thinking that for once I agree with my father. He remarked that you make a most unusual Marchioness—’

‘Well, of course I do!’ Katherine broke in before he could finish. ‘His Grace is quite amazingly forbearing not to add impossible, ineligible and utterly unsuitable to that description! If you would only stop teasing me for just one minute, you would realise what a totally impossible position I am in unless you agree to this annulment.

‘Why did you not tell me, Nick? Why did you let me come here without telling me that your father was a duke? How can I trust you?’

She threw on her wrapper, wrenched open the door and ran down the corridor before Nick could untangle himself from the bedclothes and get out of bed.

A door started to open as she rounded a corner; Katherine skittered past it and round another bend before whoever it was emerged, and subsided panting on a window seat to scan the view. No sign of the lake, so she was not even on the correct side of the house, although she did seem to be on the right floor.

Her wrapper was not fastened. Katherine drew it close, tied the cord and walked briskly down the corridor again. Surely if she kept going long enough she would eventually see the lake from the windows? She walked on, round another corner—still only endless parkland, no hint of water. With a little sob of frustration Katherine broke into a run again. The corridor narrowed and began to curve: she must be in one of the turrets. She was just racking her brains to recall how many there were and on which façade when a door opened and she collided hard with a tall figure in riding dress: gloves, whip and hat in one hand.

‘Your Grace!’ Katherine fought back the instinctive curtsy. It would look ridiculous to curtsy wearing night attire. ‘I am … I got … lost,’ she finished lamely.

‘Good morning, Katherine, you are a very early riser.’ Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he betray any surprise that his daughter-in-law should be running along the corridor en negligée. ‘I was just going for my morning ride before breakfast. Neither of my sons could ever be persuaded to join me at this hour, perhaps one morning you would care to. Ah, no, I forget, you do not ride yet, do you?’

‘No, your Grace. Your Grace …’

‘You want the way back to your room? Of course, this way.’ He offered her his arm and began to stroll back the way she had come, through a door she had missed in the white panelling and into the Long Gallery. Katherine was convinced that every portrait figure in the room swivelled in their frame to regard this hoyden with horrified condemnation.

‘I know the way from here, your Grace, please, do not let me keep you from your ride any longer.’ She freed her hand, shot him a tentative smile and hastened down the endless room, her knees knocking.

‘I will see you at breakfast, Katherine,’ he called after her, but when she turned he had gone.

She arrived at her bedchamber door at the same moment as Jenny, who was carrying a cup of chocolate. The maid’s eyes opened wide with surprise, then her face broke into a broad smile. ‘You spent the night with the master! Oh, Miss Katherine, that’s wonderful, I knew it would be all right.’

‘Oh, shh!’ Katherine bundled Jenny through the door and shut it with a thud behind them. ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’ She took the cup of chocolate and began to sip thirstily as she recounted the story.

‘The Duke? Oh, my goodness.’ Jenny stared, horrified. ‘What did he say?’

‘He behaved as though we had met in the middle of the morning and I was fully dressed. Goodness knows what he must think of me, not that it could be much worse than what he doubtless thinks already.’ She put down the cup and cupped her chin in her hand, gazing blankly across the room.

‘But he is so polite to you,’ Jenny pointed out.

‘It is part of his style to be imperturbable, I think. And very courteous. And I suppose he does not care to show me the door after learning that I had saved Nick from hanging.’ The two regarded each other miserably, then Katherine shook herself, got to her feet and announced, ‘Ring for hot water, Jenny. I am going to get dressed, be on my best behaviour—and do my utmost to make Nick see reason today.’

There was a peremptory knock on the door. ‘Please see who that is, Jenny.’

The voice made it quite clear. Jenny pushed the door to. ‘Lord Seaton, Miss Katherine.’

‘Please tell his lordship,’ she said, making sure her voice carried clearly, ‘that I will see him at breakfast.’

‘Yes, Miss Katherine. My lord …’

‘I heard, thank you.’ Nick sounded furious. Katherine suddenly found the humour in the situation. He must have imagined her lost goodness knows where in this great pile and had set out to rescue her. Unfortunately for him, she did not need rescuing.

Katherine made a leisurely toilette, paying particular attention to her hair and her choice of a gown. She felt she should spare the Duke any further shocks to his system that morning. She also felt, but would not admit to herself, that looking as elegant as possible would disconcert Nick.

His Grace was just entering the breakfast room as she approached the door and his two sons were already there, engaged in what sounded like a vigorous argument. ‘If you do not tell him, I will,’ Nick was saying.

‘Good morning. Ah, Katherine, good morning my dear. Will you not sit here, and perhaps be so good as to take charge of the coffee pot? And who, might I ask, is the person apparently being kept in the dark?’

Robert shot a darkling look at his brother and said, ‘I had something I wished to discuss with you, sir, but it can wait. Should wait.’

Nick sat back in his chair. ‘Robert desires to tell you, Father, that he wishes to read for the church, but he perceives that my own domestic … difficulties might create too much of a stir to raise the matter at present.’

‘Damn it, Nick! I am sorry, Katherine. Yes, Father, I would wish to enter the church, but this hardly seems the moment.’

‘I cannot say I am surprised.’ The Duke smiled at Katherine, who was handing him a cup of coffee. ‘What do you think, my dear?’

Startled to be asked her opinion, she said honestly, ‘I believe Lord Robert would go far in the church, your Grace.’

‘You had better speak to the Bishop, Robert.’ The look he sent his younger son held, to Katherine’s hopeful eye, a faint hint of approval. ‘We will talk about it later.’ He swivelled to look at Nick. ‘And what are your plans?’

‘For today? To speak to Wilkinson to establish exactly how my affairs stand and then to ride over to the Dower House with Katherine to discover if it meets with her approval.’

‘You are set on that as a residence, then?’

‘With your permission, sir.’

The duke gestured with an elegantly long-fingered hand. ‘It is at your disposal. As you know, it always reverts to the heir when it is not required by the dowager of the day.’

Katherine tried to catch Nick’s eye. Had he forgotten that she had told him she could not ride? She had no habit either.

‘Philpott.’

The footman went to Nick’s side, received a low-voiced instruction and went out. Katherine mused for a moment on the resources that could muster so many footmen, all over the desirable six foot in height, then decided that the thought of so much money made her dizzy.

She found her husband was looking at her and mouthed, ‘I cannot ride.’ He merely smiled and mouthed back, ‘Time you learned.’ Katherine picked thoughtfully at her ham, not at all certain she wanted to be any closer to a horse than the interior of a carriage. They were large and she suspected she would be quite unable to convince one to do anything she wanted. Then she realised she had no riding habit, there were no other ladies in the house to borrow one from, and so she was safe. A small smile curled her lips; his lordship had not considered that little detail.

She poured more coffee, found she had an appetite for her breakfast after all and decided to slip away afterwards to a sunny window seat in the Long Gallery, which had the double advantage of being somewhere she could find her way to, and removing her from her husband’s disturbing proximity so she could try and think what to do when she had left Seaton Mandeville.

But when Nick rose, he stopped beside her chair. ‘Have you finished?’

‘Yes, thank you, but please do not trouble about me, I will be perfectly all right.’

‘But we must talk to Mr Wilkinson,’ Nick said, still waiting.

Kat bit her lip and regarded him cautiously. Why should he want her to meet Mr Wilkinson, who, if she remembered, was his grace’s Steward and man of business? She studied his face for signs of the anger she had heard in his voice earlier, but he appeared quite sanguine. One could not, of course, make a fuss with the Duke within earshot, calmly eating his toast.

She stood up, smiling at the two men who rose courteously, and allowed Nick to usher her out.

‘Why do I need to speak to Mr Wilkinson?’ she hissed as they made their way along yet another corridor, this one panelled in handsome oak wainscoting. There were too many servants about to allow for a proper, blazing, argument, which is what she was longing for.

‘Because he has information you will wish to hear.’ Nick paused before a door and opened it. ‘Wilkinson, good morning. My dear, may I introduce Mr Tobias Wilkinson, who has been our steward and much else here for many years. Wilkinson, the new marchioness of Seaton.’

The steward was tall, thin, slightly stooping and of indeterminate age. Sixty, Katherine guessed, liking the quiet humour in his eyes and the genuineness of his smile as he shook hands.

‘Many felicitations, my lord! And, Lady Seaton, may I wish you every happiness in your new estate.’

Katherine responded appropriately and sat where Nick showed her, prepared for a boring wait while he discussed business.

‘I have summarised how your affairs stand, my lord.’ Wilkinson passed over two sheets of foolscap and folded his hands together on the table while Nick read.

Katherine watched as Nick’s eyebrows rose and his lips pursed in a soundless whistle. ‘You have done well by me these past years, Tobias, I can only thank you for your care and diligence.’

The other man smiled modestly. ‘If I may say so, my lord, achieving a good return on investment is always easier if the principal is not in a position to spend the capital.’

Nick gave a snort of laughter. ‘Not spending it on gambling, women and racehorses, I assume you mean? No, do not answer that. We will talk over detail later. Meanwhile, have you been able to deal with that other matter?’

‘Yes, my lord, I have sent details of the loan to our London agent with instructions to pay both the principal and the interest in full.’

That was her debt paid; Katherine tried to catch Nick’s eye, but he was attending to the steward. How did she feel about it? Part of her was distressed and embarrassed that Nick had been put in a position where he felt he must pay it, part was relieved that the interest was no longer accumulating. Now all she had to do was to convince Nick that she should repay him. Not an easy task, she acknowledged ruefully, forcing herself to listen to Mr Wilkinson again.

‘And the other bills and dunning letters I sent as a summary to the agent, asking him to settle those as well, with all speed.’

Katherine was aware of Nick’s sudden movement, swiftly suppressed, and saw from the arrested expression on the steward’s face that this was an subject not intended to be discussed in her presence. For a moment she was puzzled, then light dawned. Nick had paid Philip’s debts as well. She had left them behind in London, knowing she could never hope to pay them and feeling that, finally, her brother must acknowledge his own responsibilities. Nick must have taken them, brought them with him to Northumberland.

Why? she puzzled, ignoring Mr Wilkinson’s rapid change of subject. Then, with a wave of shame, she realised. Philip was Nick’s brother-in-law now; he must have decided that no connection of the Lydgates must be in a position to be publicly exposed for his debts.

She could say nothing here, not in front of the steward. Feeling sick, she forced her attention back to the conversation between the men.

‘… the Settlements,’ Mr Wilkinson was saying. ‘I have drawn up something based on the usual provisions—widowhood, remarriage, children and so forth. If you would care to scrutinise it, my lord, and make any notes of changes you wish made, I will have it notarised as soon as possible.’

Katherine opened her mouth, realised this was another argument it was impossible to have before an audience and shut it with a snap. Children! The thought of Nick’s children made her feel slightly dizzy. There was nothing, other than hearing him tell her he loved her, that she wanted more, she realised. And all she had to do was to stop protesting, give in and allow the marriage to stand.