An Unsuitable Duchess (17 page)

They stood in silence, each watching Miss Vandenberg.

‘It’s fascinating,’ Lizzy continued, ‘that when Lyonsdale chose to waltz it was with an American. That’s rather...humbling.’ Lizzy eyed Helena over her fan. ‘I’ve not witnessed you and Lyonsdale conversing tonight.’

An unwelcome flush crept up Helena’s neck and she forced herself to appear relaxed. Was it possible that he had ended their affair because of a provincial colonial? What did it say about her that he had replaced her with an American? She stole a glance at the men and women standing around them. Were they discussing it behind their fans and casting judgement?

‘Surely you haven’t been watching him all evening,’ she said to Lizzy, pushing her nails further into her gloved fist.

She needed to ensure no attachment was forming between Lyonsdale and the American woman before she found herself the subject of gossip in the papers for her smug brother to gloat over.

Chapter Fifteen

F
or a ball consisting of weak beverages and a poor choice in musicians, Katrina found there was quite a crush. Apparently the Whitfield name meant something to the
ton
. She excused herself from Sarah and Mrs Forrester to find a bit of a reprieve in the ladies’ retiring room. When she crossed the threshold, she was relieved to find the delicate gilded chairs were empty and the sole occupant was a maid, who remained by the door.

Walking towards a wall hung with mirrors, Katrina peered at her reflection. She had a rosy glow, which sadly was the result of heat and not from the joy of dancing with her various partners. They hadn’t exactly been horrible partners. They just weren’t Julian. If she had been dancing with him her glow might have been from an amusing conversation—or from the way her body seemed to catch fire whenever he was near.

She missed him. She assumed he was keeping his distance so as not to cause speculation. It was an honourable action, but she didn’t have to like it. How she wished he would ask her to dance. Then she could listen to that amusing deep voice that warmed her like a cup of chocolate.

Katrina was so absorbed in her thoughts that she almost didn’t notice a woman in a Pomona-green silk gown walk up beside her. She was stunning, with perfect delicate features and a thick head of dark hair. The woman studied her own reflection and adjusted the curls near her temples before shifting her grey eyes to Katrina.

‘Aren’t you that American woman?’

Would there be one ball, one fête she would attend where she wouldn’t have to face at least one ignorant comment about Americans?

Katrina held back a sigh, anticipating one of those conversations. ‘There are a few Americans in London. Which one do you believe me to be?’

‘The author’s daughter,’ the woman replied, raising her chin.

‘By author, do you mean Peter Vandenberg? If so, I am indeed his daughter.’

The woman eyed Katrina critically, from her slippers to her hair.
Did she not realise Katrina could see her?

‘And who might you be?’ Katrina asked.

‘Oh, I am Lady Wentworth. I am a very dear friend of the Duke of Lyonsdale. I understand you danced with him recently at Almack’s?’

That statement had not been uttered by chance. Katrina’s muscles tightened like a bowstring. ‘His Grace and I did share a dance.’

‘He is a handsome man, is he not?’

‘I suppose.’

If one liked men who had wavy dark hair, moss-green eyes, chiselled features, and cut a fine form.

Lady Wentworth let out a soft, disgustingly lovely laugh. ‘Surely you agree? It’s a pity you’re American, and therefore could never become his duchess. I can assure you whoever he does marry will be quite fortunate.’

Her lips rose in a sly smile. She leaned close to Katrina’s ear, and her hot breath scorched her neck.

‘He knows how to do delicious things to make a woman quiver with need.’

She stepped back, looked Katrina directly in the eye, and cocked an arrogant brow. Katrina’s stomach rolled and pitched. She would not give this horrid woman the satisfaction of knowing how her words had filled Katrina with a sense of betrayal. Could this be why Julian had not called on her?

After weeks of pretending that English aristocrats didn’t bore her to sleep, Katrina had become quite adept at hiding her emotions. She smiled sweetly back at the witch beside her. ‘One would imagine that since he is neither married nor publicly displaying a mistress he has yet to find a woman who makes him feel the same in return.’

There—that felt better.

Katrina forced her lips into the brightest smile. ‘Do enjoy your evening, Lady Wentworth.’

As if she didn’t have a care in the world, Katrina turned and breezed out of the room. Unfortunately the reality was that her world had just become a colder place. She would only be in London for a few months. It shouldn’t matter to her that this woman was sharing Julian’s bed—but it did.

She needed time away from the ballroom and the sight of Lady Wentworth.

Earlier in the evening she had a pleasant conversation with the Duchess of Winterbourne, who had mentioned there were some lovely landscapes hung along this long, deserted hallway. Now was the perfect time to view them.

The sound of confident footfalls had Katrina praying that the pompous Mr Armstrong had not found her. Turning her head, she was startled when Julian took her arm and tugged her through one of the open doorways into an oak-panelled room.

The sight of three large stuffed birds glaring at her in the moonlight from the round table beside them made her jump, and it took her a moment before she shifted her attention to the man standing a few feet in front of her. Lady Wentworth’s comment echoed in her mind, and it occurred to her that all Julian had to do was look at her to make her insides quiver. She had to remind herself he was not the man for her.

‘Are you trying to ruin me?’ she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. ‘What possessed you to drag me in here?’

He stepped closer, creating a cushion of heat between them. No man deserved to look that good in unremarkable formal black evening clothes.

‘Of course I’m not trying to ruin you. My committee meetings have been consuming my days. I wanted you to know I have not forgotten about our promise.’

Once more she heard Lady Wentworth’s voice.

‘Please do not feel obligated to continue to read with me. You’re a very busy man, and I’m certain you’d prefer to read the remainder of the book at your leisure.’

He lowered his gaze towards his shiny black dress shoes. ‘On the contrary, I would rather read it with you.’ As he looked back up at her through his thick lashes a look of confusion crossed his face. ‘Do you no longer wish to read with me?’

He was not courting her. She had no claim on him. How could she tell him how she felt without sounding jealous?
Which she absolutely wasn’t.

‘Do you really think this is an appropriate place to have a conversation? We should not even be in here together.’

‘I had no choice—you would not so much as look at me.’

‘I was trying to avoid speculation about us.’

Julian narrowed his eyes and tipped his head back. ‘We have spoken before in public. I do not think it would shock people if we were to do so again.’

‘And how would you have informed me that you want us to continue reading together with people around us?’

The faint, distant strains of the quartet drifted into the room through the closed door as he flashed her a devilishly handsome smile. ‘That is why this is an ideal location for our discussion.’ Sliding his hand around her waist to the small of her back, he pulled her to him. ‘I cannot stop thinking about you and our kiss.’

Neither could she, and that was a problem. Before she fell asleep she thought about it, over and over. Even at odd moments in the day she would think about the feel of his lips and the taste of his tongue. She had wanted that kiss to go on for ever.

She placed her hands on his solid chest, intending to push him away. Her arms wouldn’t move. How she longed to press her body further into his.

A look of what might have been tenderness softened his features. ‘You are most unexpected.’

It would be so easy to lose herself in him, but according to Lady Wentworth he was one of many English aristocrats with philandering ways. She would not be one of his conquests.

He lowered his head to hers and his soft breath caressed her lips. This time she pushed against his chest, and he immediately let her go.

‘I will not kiss a man who shares his affection with another.’ It was said in such a rush she wasn’t certain she had been coherent.

He jerked his head back and crossed his arms, his biceps bulging under the sleeves of his coat. ‘Are you referring to me?’

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Yes—you were the one who looked as if you intended to kiss me.’

‘I did want to kiss you... I
do
want to kiss you. However, I’m not sharing my affection with anyone.’

Now it was Katrina’s turn to narrow her eyes. ‘Not even with your paramour?’

He let out a bark of laughter. ‘My what?’

‘Your paramour...or mistress. Or do you call her something else?’ Katrina huffed. ‘I would appreciate it if you would not find so much amusement in what I’m saying.’

‘Forgive me,’ Julian said, quietening down and trying unsuccessfully to stop smiling. ‘I can truly say I have never met any woman quite like you.’

‘Simply answer the question, please.’

‘What was the question? Oh, yes—well, I don’t call her anything because there is no one else.’

‘But I thought... That is to say, aren’t you...?’ Katrina chewed her lip, feeling foolish. She knew she hadn’t mistaken Lady Wentworth’s insinuation. But who was she to believe? A horrid woman she didn’t know or Julian— Julian who felt deeply about honour and duty?

‘Do you really think we should be discussing this?’ he asked, lowering his head and prompting Katrina with his eyes. ‘You know gently bred ladies should not even be aware of such things?’

‘Well, I am. I lived in Paris and I have witnessed open displays of indiscretion.’

She had even stumbled upon Comte Janvier and Madame Broussard in a garden once. The Comte’s trousers had been down around his knees and Madame Broussard’s skirt had been lifted so high Katrina knew exactly what occurred between men and women. However, it wasn’t necessary for Julian to know the extent of her knowledge gained from that tableau.

‘Are you are telling me there is no one you are sharing your affections with?’

‘I have had women in my life in the past with whom I have shared my affections, but no longer. Now I find the only woman I want to share my affections with is you.’

Katrina’s heart hammered against her ribs and the room grew unbearably warm. ‘Only me?’ she let out with a breath.

Slowly and seductively his lips rose into a smile. ‘Only you.’

* * *

Staring into her eyes, Julian felt overwhelmed by his feelings for her. He lowered his gaze and found his attention riveted to her smooth skin and that enticing birthmark on the upper swell of her left breast. He hardened at the thought of trailing his tongue from that birthmark down to the nipple he knew was hidden under the white organza of the bodice of her gown. He wanted to suck on that nipple until he heard her groan—or moan.

Bloody hell, what would she sound like?

‘I wish I knew what you were thinking,’ she said, biting her lip.

‘There are times when you make it very difficult to be a gentleman.’ He pulled her close and crushed his lips to hers. Her mouth was warm and sweet. Best of all, she was kissing him back with as much passion as he felt coursing through his own veins. He could kiss her all night... Until she moved her lower body against his and his trousers tightened even more. Then the image of sliding himself inside her would not leave his brain.

‘Say my name,’ he said, trailing kisses along her jaw and having the oddest desire to hear his name on her lips.

‘Julian...’ It came out more like a moan as he softly bit her neck.

As much as he knew he shouldn’t, he slid his hand up her waist over the soft fabric of her gown until he cupped her left breast. The weight of it fitted perfectly into his palm, as if she were made just for him. He gave it a gentle squeeze and felt her breath catch in his mouth. Her nipple hardened into a tight bud in his palm. With his eyes closed he broke the kiss, to trail soft nips down the long column of her neck. As he reached her collarbone he pulled on the neckline of her gown and kissed his way along the small swell of her breast, paying special attention to that beguiling birthmark.

Her fingers were digging into his shoulders, and it felt so good. When he swirled his tongue around her sweet, hard nipple she let out a throaty groan that nearly had him laying her down on the table that was next to them. He sucked on it and she softened in his arms. Every subtle response from her body increased his desire to drive deep inside her. The air was quickly leaving the room. It was torture that she was an unmarried woman he couldn’t have. This was an urgency of passion such as none he had ever felt before. He needed to know she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Even if he knew he could not take her.

He began to edge her skirt up and cursed his gloves, which would prevent him from feeling how wet she was. He let go of her gown and kissed her once more. Her eager response matched his. The pressure of her body moved against him, causing friction. He needed to stop before he disgraced himself.

It took a tremendous amount of discipline to pull his head away from her soft breast and step back. When he did, they were both panting hard.

She was a vision, with her lips still wet from his kiss and her left breast exposed. Much to his disappointment she adjusted her bodice and returned to looking like a very proper lady faster than he would have preferred. His body, however, was not showing any signs of softening. He closed his eyes and silently counted off the British monarchs in chronological order.

‘Is anything the matter?’ she asked. ‘You appear to be in pain.’