A Kiss to Remember (33 page)

Lottie tugged impatiently at her hand. “You must show me your bed—the one that looks like a sultan’s tent. You described it so well in your letters that I can almost picture it. Can I sleep with you the whole time we’re here, Laura? Can I? Oh, please say I can!”

Every eye, except for the ever-discreet Addison’s, turned to the duke.

Sterling cleared his throat awkwardly, a most endearing flush creeping up his jaw. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve arranged for you and your brother to have your own suite with your own beds that look like sultans’ tents.”

Before Lottie could launch into a full-blown whine, Cookie drew a linen-wrapped package from her bag and offered it to Sterling. “I made a fresh batch of crumpets just for you, m’lord.”

“How very … thoughtful of you,” Sterling replied, a hint of his old twinkle in his eye.

“I’ve something for you, too!” Lottie began to fish around in her own basket.

“Please tell me it’s not a bride cake,” he murmured.

She shot him a reproachful look, then hefted her find triumphantly into the air.

It was the yellow kitten. The one who had tagged after his every step at Arden Manor.

As she held the squirming creature out to Sterling, his face went utterly still. “Thank you, Carlotta,” he
said stiffly, making no move to take the cat. “I’m sure Addison would be more than delighted to find appropriate accommodations for all of your pets.”

He turned on his heel and marched back into the house. After a moment, they heard the sound of a distant door slamming.

Her expression crestfallen, Lottie tucked the kitten back into the basket. “I don’t understand. I thought he’d be pleased.”

Laura gave her sister’s shoulders a squeeze, exchanging a troubled look with Diana. “It’s not you, Pumpkin. It’s just a bit more difficult to please him these days than it used to be.”

Laura didn’t tell her little sister that she was beginning to fear it might just be impossible.

After Addison had ushered their rambunctious party of guests into the foyer, Diana and Thane were left facing each other.

“It was a great kindness you did for my cousin,” she said. “You’ve always been more of a brother to him than a friend.”

“Just as you’ve always been more of a sister than a cousin.”

Diana laughed awkwardly. “I suppose that would make us siblings of a sort.”

The last thing Diana expected Thane to do was touch her hair. She had forgotten how ridiculous she must look, rushing out with it only half-dressed. But instead of tucking the loose strands behind her ear, he reached around and gently tugged at the pins on the other side, sending the silky dark tendrils tumbling around her face.

His voice was nearly as smoky as his green eyes.

“I’ve thought of you many ways in the past eleven years, my lady, but
never
as a sister.”

Then right there in front of the footmen, the carriage driver, and God Himself, he grazed her lips with a kiss no one could have mistaken for brotherly.

Diana stood there, utterly dazed, while he climbed back into his carriage. As the vehicle rolled into motion, he leaned out the window and tipped his hat to her, the wicked sparkle returning to his eyes. “Don’t mind me. I’m a shameless flirt.”

His mother was
calling him.

Sterling sat bolt upright in the bed, trembling all over. He threw back the blankets and slid to the floor. It felt like ice beneath his bare feet as he padded across the chamber and wrestled open the heavy door.

Darkness seemed to rush toward him, but he held his ground, clenching his jaw against a shudder of fear. As the sound came again—plaintive and sweet—hope soared in his heart. His mother wasn’t just calling him. She was calling him to come home.

He started down the long corridor at a trot, following the music of her voice. But as the corridor unfurled before him, he became aware of another sound, this one coming out of the shadows behind him. He froze, plastering himself to the wall.

At first he could hear nothing but the harsh rasp of his own breathing. But then it came again—a sound he’d heard a thousand times before, a sound that sent a chill skittering like a spider down his spine.

It was the rhythmic tap of his uncle’s walking stick.

Sterling shoved himself away from the wall, breaking into a sprint. But no matter how fast he ran, the relentless tap-tapping kept pace with him, swelling until it nearly drowned out the echo of his mother’s voice. If only his legs were longer, he might be able to reach her before his uncle caught him. If only the corridor would stop unraveling beneath his feet with each step he took. If only …

A bony hand shot out of the darkness behind him, closing around his throat.

Sterling sat bolt upright on the chaise, trembling all over.

During his decade in the army, he’d been mercifully free of the nightmares that had plagued him throughout his boyhood. But they’d been crouching in the shadowy corners of Devonbrooke Hall all along, just waiting for him to return.

He swung his legs to the floor and dropped his head into his hands. He still couldn’t bring himself to sleep in his uncle’s bed. It felt too much like a tomb. He was half-afraid that if he sank down into the feather mattress, he might not be able to claw his way back up.

He glanced at the mantel clock. He’d only meant to steal a brief nap before going to Laura’s chamber, but it was nearly one o’clock in the morning. He rose, jerking a knot in the sash of his dressing gown. If Laura was already asleep, he vowed to himself as he strode toward her chamber, he would simply slip into her bed, draw her solid warmth against him, and bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair until the bitter aftertaste of the nightmare had dissipated. He wouldn’t even kiss that sensitive spot behind her ear that made her press her
rump against him or cup the creamy softness of her breasts in his hands. He shook his head helplessly. The hell he wouldn’t.

Sterling eased open Laura’s door to find Caliban and Cerberus stretched out on the rug at the foot of her bed like a pair of snoring guardian angels.

“Traitors,” he muttered, leaning down to rub their heads.

The exhausted dogs had spent all afternoon chasing Lottie’s kittens around the hall until a fluffy gray spitfire had wheeled around and taken a swipe at Caliban’s nose. They’d spent the rest of the evening whining and cowering under the kitchen stairs.

Sterling’s pulse quickened with anticipation as he parted the bed hangings, only to slow to a dull thud when he saw the golden head nestled next to Laura’s dark one.

His wife had obviously been waiting for him. Her eyes were bright and unclouded by sleep. “Lottie had a bad dream,” she whispered, giving him an apologetic look. “I couldn’t very well send her away, could I?”

Sterling gazed down at the child nestled in her arms, at the half-dozen kittens drowsing among the bedclothes in cozy abandon, and felt a keen stab of envy.

“Of course not,” he murmured, reaching down to stroke Lottie’s hair. He stuffed his balled fists in the pockets of his dressing gown to keep from doing the same thing to Laura’s. “She’s in good hands. I trust you’ll be able to keep her monsters at bay for the rest of the night.”

As Sterling headed for the solarium, drawing a cheroot from his pocket, he only wished she could do the same for his.

∗ ∗ ∗

Devonbrooke Hall resounded with merriment.

If the dogs weren’t bounding through the house in a good-natured romp with one of the kittens, then Lottie was sailing down the banister, squealing at the top of her lungs while George slid across the floor of the foyer in his stocking feet. A beaming Addison proclaimed that both the marble and the mahogany had never been so well polished, and gave several of the maidservants an extra day off.

Cookie swept through the kitchens like a fresh Hertfordshire breeze, brandishing a rolling pin at the haughty French chef when he attempted to order her off his turf. When she fed one of his rich cream sauces to the cats, the tiny man quit in a huff, storming through the dining room and spewing Gallic curses with a flair that impressed even Dower. Cookie simply rescued the apron he had hurled at her head and set about making a fresh batch of gingerbread.

The only person who seemed to be immune to the cheerful chaos that had descended upon the house was its master. Sterling rarely emerged from the paneled gloom of the study, even choosing to take most of his meals there since Laura’s family had commandeered the dining room table for their card games and boisterous meals.

He was working at his desk late one evening by the light of a single lamp when his cousin came marching in.

“How remiss of me,” he said dryly. “I must not have heard you knock.”

As usual, Diana didn’t mince words. “You’ve been wed for nearly a month now, yet you’ve made no effort whatsoever to introduce your bride to society.”

Sterling made a vague gesture with his pen, then resumed scribbling a note to one of his stewards in Lancashire. “Most of the families are visiting the seaside or are away at their country houses right now. Perhaps when they return in September—”

“She thinks you’re ashamed of her.”

Sterling’s head flew up. “Ashamed of her? Where would she get such a ridiculous notion?”

“There have been certain
rumors
about the unusual circumstances of your marriage, which you’ve done nothing to quash.”

“Elizabeth …” he breathed, raking a hand through his hair. “Damn that woman and her venomous tongue.”

“Unfortunately, shortly after she arrived in London, Laura was privy to a rather malicious conversation detailing her various shortcomings.”

“Shortcomings?” Sterling surged to his feet. “She doesn’t have any bloody shortcomings! She’s lovely and generous and loyal and funny and far too clever for my good. Why, any man would be lucky to have her for a wife!”

Diana arched one sleek eyebrow.

Sterling sank back down in the chair, avoiding her eyes. He supposed Elizabeth wasn’t solely to blame for Laura’s misconception. After all, he was the one guilty of seeking out her bed in secret each night, treating her more like a mistress than a wife.

He tapped his pen against the leather blotter. “How much time do you need to plan a ball?”

“With Addison’s help, a week and a half,” Diana said firmly, as if she’d already anticipated his question.

“Then you’d best get started.” As she turned toward
the door, he added, “Oh, and do make sure that Lady Hewitt receives an invitation.”

Diana gave him a feline smile. “With pleasure.”

Sterling was reviewing Diana’s meticulously prepared guest list on the morning of the ball when Addison poked his head into the study, his nostrils pinched as if he’d been subjected to an unpleasant odor. “There’s a man to see you, sir. A Mr. Theophilus Watkins.”

The manservant had proven himself to be an impeccable judge of character over the years. It was one of the reasons Sterling had trusted him to look after Diana all the years he was away.

“Very well,” Sterling said warily. “Send him in.”

Addison ushered in a well-dressed man, but instead of leaving the two of them alone, as was his usual custom, he moved to stand at rigid attention behind Sterling’s right shoulder.

The stranger offered Sterling a dapper bow. “Theophilus Watkins, Your Grace, at your humble service.”

Despite his words, there was nothing humble about the man’s demeanor or his hungry smile. Sterling’s eyes were drawn to the marble-headed walking cane in the man’s gloved hands. He handled it more like a weapon than a fashion accessory.

“How may I be of service to you, Mr. Watkins?”

Watkins settled himself into a chair without being asked. “You may not be aware of it, Your Grace, but I’ve already been of service to you. It was my fine detective work that got you rescued from those greedy ruffians who abducted you. If not for me, you might still be in their clutches.”

Sterling stared at him for a long moment without blinking. If not for this man, he might be happily wed to a woman he adored. He might be living at Arden Manor in blissful ignorance of his own identity with no boring ledgers to keep and no properties to review. He might be happy.

Suddenly, Sterling was as enraged as he’d been since finding out Laura had deceived him. He wanted to slam this man against the wall, wanted to press his forearm to the wretch’s throat and watch his smug face turn purple.

He cleared his own throat and shuffled some papers from one pile to another. “My cousin left me with the impression that you’d already been compensated for your efforts.”

“Oh, I was. And quite fairly, I assure you. But I thought you might want to throw in a little something extra for my trouble.” He caressed the marble head of his cane. “Since it was
your
hide that I saved.”

Sterling tapped his lips thoughtfully. “You know—I believe I might have just the thing.”

He crooked a finger at Addison. Addison leaned down and Sterling whispered something in his ear that made the manservant’s eyes widen. As he dutifully marched from the room, Watkins settled back in the chair, propping his cane against its arm and grinning like a crocodile. He was obviously expecting Sterling to provide him with a nice fat purse.