Jane Lark - The Scandalous Love of a Duke

He laughed when he read it. No indeed. God, the girl amused him. She had not said no to his kisses, and he was not inclined to accept it now. She had liked the bonnet. He wished her to have it. He wanted her to favour him over her vicar. Perhaps the cherries ought to be apples and her, Eve, because Katherine Spencer was temptation.

“Finch!” John called.

“Your Grace?” The door opened again.

“I am going out. Have my curricle made ready.”

Half an hour or so later, John drew his curricle to a halt before the Spencers’ small manor house and then looked back at the groom who’d accompanied him.

The man jumped down and ran about the curricle to hold the horses.

John climbed down and then lifted the hatbox from the seat.

His heels crunched on the gravel as he crossed the drive to the door.

He felt light-hearted, glad to be escaping his duty for a brief interlude.

The door opened immediately and Castle, their butler, greeted John with recognition. “Your Grace?” He bowed. “I am afraid Mr and Mrs Spencer are not at home.”

Excellent . John smiled. “I have come to call on Miss Katherine Spencer, Castle, is she home?”

The man’s eyebrows lifted and he glanced at the box John carried. Of course, he’d probably seen it before.

Well, let the man speculate, Katherine was Phillip’s sister, the gift could be explained away.

“Will you wait in the parlour, Your Grace?”

John walked along the hall, glancing up the stairs. If she was not in the parlour, she must be up there. He would much rather be going to her chamber to visit her. A sudden imagined vision of Katherine, hair tussled, half asleep and languid-eyed, came into his mind.

The butler left John in the small receiving room at the back of the house, with a look of disapproval as he went to fetch Katherine.

John set the hatbox down in an armchair, took off his hat and gloves, and then tossed them there too.

The room was decorated in light blue and cream, and was probably the size of Wareham’s office.

A large portrait hung on one wall: Phillip in his wig. John smiled, looking at the miniatures on another wall: Jennifer, Phillip and Katherine’s parents. There was a later miniature of Jennifer too, probably painted recently. There were no images of Katherine.

John walked across the room, his hands settling behind his back, and looked through the French door out into the garden.

A sharp breeze swept at the flower heads.

He felt uncharacteristically nervous.

After a few moments, he heard her footsteps on the stairs and then in the hall.

He turned.

She looked beautiful when she came in. Her cheeks were pink and her bright-blue eyes wide. Her blonde hair was loosely held in a topknot, with wisps of it falling to her shoulders and about her face; a mix of bright-yellow sunshine shades, and duller damp-wheat hues. She wore a faded blue short-sleeved summer dress, which moulded to her figure. His eyes were drawn to her arms. It was the first time he had seen her without a pelisse or a spencer and her bare, slender arms were exquisite pure pale, milk-white skin.

His English rose. His , not her vicar’s.

He crossed the room, took her hand and bore it to his lips.

Thank God those tired kid leather gloves were not on them. Her skin was beautifully cool and soft and he let his thumb run over her palm as he breathed in the scent of her soap.

Clearly uncomfortable and colouring up again, she pulled her hand free.

“I brought your bonnet back,” he whispered, without preamble. “I am afraid I was offended by its return.”

Blue fire flashed in her eyes instantly, as it had done on the road the other day. There was a hidden zeal tucked away within Katherine. He wondered how many others saw it or if it was just him she showed it to. She wanted more from her life, he could tell. He longed to give it to her. He knew she could give him what he wished – release, freedom, moments of escape.

Varying shades of blue warred in her eyes. “What do you think you are doing, John?” It was a harsh, accusing whisper . “You cannot buy me gifts. What if my mother saw it?”

“You are Phillip’s sister, why should I not buy you something you wish for. No one need think it odd!” He smiled. He wanted to laugh. Not because she was funny, but because the passion in her outburst struck him so intensely. She was not the shy quiet person she portrayed herself to be, not in the least.

“Did you wish me to send for tea, Miss Katherine?” Castle asked from the open door, having followed her.

Katherine turned bright pink, but John grasped the opportunity to stay longer. “That would be welcome, Castle, thank you.”

Katherine’s gaze bored into John when the butler turned away.

“You should not be here,” she whispered once the man had gone.

She was right. John only hoped Castle could be discreet, but John did not admit it. “If you are afraid of this being misconstrued, say I brought the gift from Phillip.”

“And when Mama writes to him and asks why he bought me it, and Jenny nothing, what then? Besides Phillip does not have money to waste on bonnets.”

Still disinclined to accept refusal, John picked the box up and held it out.

It was suddenly extremely important to him that she accept it. If she accepted it, she accepted him. She could save him from the darkness. “I shall not take it back, say what you wish. Hide it away, if you will. But I imagine you will look well in it, and if you wear it, I will know you have kept something from me, and you will know it too, but no one else need know a thing.”

Her gaze struck his and then fell to the box. She appeared tempted.

“Take it,” he said more gently.

“But what does it mean, John?” she whispered, her gaze lifting to his again. “What do you want from me?”

He could see there was no anger left in her now, only questions.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She deserved honesty from him if nothing else. She had been honest with him on the road and admitted she had wished to be kissed. “I am attracted to you, as you are to me, I can say no more than that. I wish to give you this, Katherine. I wish you to take it. That is all for now.”

“John?”

“You give me ease, Katherine. Let me give you this. Let me think of you wearing it and know you think of me. Perhaps one day I might see you in it.”

Her hands finally reached to accept it and her bare fingers touched his, they melted the feeling of cold ice in his stomach to water, the reaction disturbed him, and suddenly vulnerable, he turned away and crossed to the French door.

“What is going on, John?” she whispered behind him.

He turned back. “Nothing.”

“I don’t understand you.”

Nor do I understand myself . Perhaps that was half his problem! Who was he, his mother’s son or his grandfather’s dark, cold, unfeeling monster? Far more the latter lately. But he didn’t wish to be, and Katherine could make him feel warmth.

He walked back towards her, his gaze holding hers as physical and emotional desire burned inside him like an inferno. “You are beautiful, Katherine.”

“You are beautiful, John. I am not.”

“You are to me. I like your hair, and your eyes. I like you .” — And I want you.

He took the box from her hands then discarded it in the chair, before lifting her chin. She did not turn her head away, her gaze held his, bright with the knowledge that he intended kissing her. “Katherine.” He kissed her gently, unable to comprehend the level of feeling in his chest. How could she have come to mean so much to him in such a short time?

His kiss travelled to brush her cheek, her nose, her temple, as her face tilted towards him like a flower to the sun. “I like your skin too,” he whispered.