Destined to Last (16 page)

He loosened his hold only to mold his hands to her hips and then drag them up over her waist, her torso, the sides of her breasts. Every inch he touched felt hot as his hands moved over her, and hungry for more when they’d passed.

Excitement built in a dizzying rush, until it grew into something else…into need. She needed to be closer. She needed more. She tasted the skin at his jaw, his ear, his neck. Her fingers pulled at his cravat, pushed at his waistcoat.

Suddenly, he broke away, leaving her reeling.

“Enough,” he whispered hoarsely. “Kate, that’s enough.”

It was? Her blood was racing, her breath coming in pants, and every nerve in her body was screaming in protest at the rude interruption of the kiss. “Enough?”

“Yes, you need to go.”

“Go?” She blinked at him slowly, willing her heart toward a normal rhythm. “Why?”

“Because it’s not enough.”

“I…” That incomprehensible bit of logic prompted her to concentrate a little harder on what he was saying and less on what she was feeling. Concentrating wasn’t enough. It still didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand.”

“I want more from you,” he said gruffly. “I want everything. And nothing you should give on a ballroom floor.”

“Oh.” That perfectly comprehensible statement had her biting her lip. “I see.”

“You should go now.”

“I should, yes.” She didn’t want to. As imprudent as it was, she wanted to stay and offer what he wanted. Offer him everything, and take it for herself. Her eyes darted to his mouth. “I should go.”

Oh, but she wanted to stay.

“
Now
, Kate.” He fairly growled the command.

She pulled her eyes away from his mouth and took a look at all of him. And then she took a step back. Perhaps it would be best to attempt the everything when he was a little less…agitated. The man was practically vibrating. “Right…” She swallowed hard and began a cautious backward retreat. “Right. I’ll just…I’ll just see you at dinner then, shall I?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at her, his jaw locked tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides…his dark hair mussed where she’d run her fingers through the thick locks. She did so love when his hair was a little mussed. Maybe…

“Go.”

“Right.” She took two more steps backward, then turned around and walked through the door, certain she could feel his burning gaze on her back.

Instinctively, she headed toward her room, then turned back again and walked toward a side door to the house. The change in direction put her in the rather awkward position of having to pass by the open door to the ballroom, where a quick glance told her Hunter was still vibrating, but that couldn’t be helped. She wanted a moment to herself before facing any other guests. She needed to right her appearance and settle her system. But most important, she needed time and space to reconcile what she’d suspected in her mind with what she now knew in her heart.

Somehow, somewhere, between the laughter, and the kisses, and the acceptance of her dreams, Mr. Andrew Hunter had turned into a prince.

Where had he gone wrong?

Hunter stalked across the ballroom to throw open a window. He needed air, and a drink, and possibly a hard punch to the head. What the
devil
had he been thinking?

He’d had it all planned. Everything,
everything
had been set to suit his purpose, and his purpose had been to remind himself, and Kate, of who was in control of this unconventional little courtship.

A small excursion to the ballroom, the judicial—albeit belated—application of charm, and the presentation of a carefully selected gift had all been delivered with the intention of wrapping Kate around his finger, and his arms around Kate.

The kiss had been carefully thought through as well. Absolute control on his part and the illusion of control on hers, just like in the music room. Things had gone swimmingly in the music room.

What the bloody hell had happened here?

She’d asked him about counting doors, that’s what had happened. She’d started the whole business off by charming
him.
And then she’d been so genuinely delighted by the watch that he couldn’t help but feel delight with her, instead of with himself for having thought to buy the thing.

And then she’d told him to go kick something.

And then he’d been kissing her.

And then she’d been kissing
him.
And that was where things had well and truly gone to hell.

He’d been a mere heartbeat away from dragging her to the floor. No, no that wasn’t the trouble. The trouble was that he’d been a mere heartbeat from letting Kate drag
him
to the floor. If it had been
his
idea—if
he’d
had the upper hand—he’d not have broken the kiss.

But it hadn’t been his idea—he hadn’t planned to introduce his future wife to the pleasures of the marriage bed on a ballroom floor—and he hadn’t had the upper hand, because he hadn’t
just
lost control—he’d handed it to her as neatly as he’d handed her the watch.

Here you are. You’ll find it useful, I think.

Giving Kate control had never been the plan.

He rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest in an effort to alleviate an uncomfortable tightness building there. A tightness he staunchly refused to acknowledge as worry.

Clearly, he needed a better plan. One that could handle the likes of Lady Kate Cole.

A competent strategist recognized when it was time to alter tactics. And any strategist who’d been a heartbeat away from letting a mere slip of a girl drag him to the floor would recognize that a little distance was in order. A day in town for himself, that’s what he needed. A solid day alone to gain perspective and think through his next move. Whit could watch Kate. Mr. Laury as well, from a discreet distance.

By tomorrow night, the discomfort in his chest would be nothing but a bad memory.

K
ate tapped her pen against the small writing desk in her room.

A full bar of rest and then…Could she change keys? Would that be too jarring? Perhaps she should bring the oboes in first. No, the cellos—rich and low and hollow. No. No, that was much too maudlin. She wanted pensive, not despairing. Didn’t she? Why couldn’t she hear it?

Maybe it should be the oboes…

“Kate, are you coming?”

Kate looked up to find Mirabelle standing in her door. “Coming? Er…”

“You promised to take tea with Lizzy and me this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry, Mirabelle, I lost track of time.”

Mirabelle motioned at the mountains of paper on the desk. “It must be going well, then.”

“It was. I thought it was.” She sighed and set her pen down. “And now it isn’t. It’s the symphony. It’s missing a section right in the middle of the third movement. I cannot seem to work it out.”

“If you’d rather forgo tea and have something brought here, I understand.”

Kate shook her head and stood to follow Mirabelle from the room. “No, I’d rather the tea than a headache. And a break might well do some good.”

As long as that break did not include thinking of Hunter. The day before, she’d done nothing
but
think about the man, and her strong attachment to him. The phrase “strong attachment” to describe what she felt for him was, to her dismay, all that those hours of thinking had netted her. She hadn’t the foggiest notion what to do about the strong attachment, or even if she should do anything at all—Well, yes, she was certain she should do something, but the what, how, and when—

“Hurry
up
, girl.” Miss Willory’s strident voice sounded from an open door at the end of the hall.

Mirabelle scowled. “Horrible woman. Abusing some poor maid, no doubt.”

“I’ve not got all day to wait about for you,” Miss Willory snapped.

“You’re not waiting,” a mumbled voice responded. “You’re walking.”

Kate and Mirabelle exchanged glances of alarm.
Surely
that couldn’t be Lizzy.

Miss Willory stepped into the hall and tossed an angry look over her shoulder. “What did you say, girl?”

Lizzy stepped out behind her, a large pile of books in her arms. “Nothing.”

“Nothing,
miss.
” Miss Willory snapped, her voice holding none of the honeyed tones she reserved for individuals of her own rank. “Impertinent little monster. I can’t fathom why Lady Kate keeps you about, stupid as you are.”

What sympathy Kate had felt for Miss Willory in her current troubles was instantly, and thoroughly, obliterated. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing rebuke, only to have Mirabelle beat her to it.

“Stop right there, Lizzy.” Mirabelle went storming past Kate to snatch the pile of books from Lizzy’s hands and shove them at Miss Willory. The latter had no choice but to grab hold or risk having them land on her feet.

“Miss Browning, what—?”

“It is Lady Thurston.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Miss Willory scrambled to keep a book from dropping. “I don’t know
why
I can’t seem to remember.”

“Because you are a selfish, spoiled, and monumentally spiteful individual, Mary Jane Willory,
that
is why.” She ignored Miss Willory’s gasp to continue on in a frigid tone. “And since you appear incapable of observing even the most basic forms of etiquette when in the company of myself and those in my husband’s employ, you will no longer be welcome at Haldon Hall for any reason. Do I make myself clear?”

Miss Willory’s eyes grew round. Banishment from Haldon meant exclusion from some of the most fashionable parties of the year. It wasn’t a completely fatal wound to Miss Willory’s social ambitions, but it was a grievous one.

“You can’t do that. You…you’re…you’re…”

“Lady Kate, Miss Willory still seems to be having difficulty remembering who I am. Would you be so kind as to remind her?”

“Oh, it would be my pleasure.” Kate gripped her hands behind her back and took a deep breath. “Mirabelle Cole, the Countess of Thurston and mistress of Haldon Hall, the Thurston town house, Holly Terrace, Hartright Castle, Fryerton—”

“You’ve a castle?” Mirabelle interrupted with a stunned look in Kate’s direction. “Really?”

“
You
have a castle,” Kate corrected.

“Oh. Right.” She turned back to smile pleasantly at Miss Willory. “I have a castle.”

Miss Willory blinked once. “I—”

“Fryerton Abbey,” Kate cut in. “Dreibruken House—that’s in Germany, I’ve never been—Poplar Cottage, Wain—”

“Enough,” Miss Willory finally spat. Her fingers stood out white against the bindings of her books. “You’re hateful. Both of you. This girl is nothing more than a servant. I had every right—”

“The London town house is now closed to you as well,” Mirabelle informed her calmly. “Care to try for the castle?”

Kate bit the inside of her cheek. The castle was a moldering pile of ruins in Scotland.

“You’ll regret this,” Miss Willory hissed, and then wisely spun away to storm down the hall before she lost access to another Thurston holding.

Mirabelle watched her go. “Oh, I’ve wanted to do something like that for
years.
” She sighed happily. “I do so like being Lady Thurston.”

Lizzy worried her lip with her teeth, obviously caught between delight and worry. “I’m not certain you should have done that, my lady.”

“Why ever not? She deserved it.”

“She’ll make a fuss.”

“Yes, she will.” Mirabelle grinned at Kate. “She’ll make a fuss to your mother about being banned from Haldon and the town house.”

Kate grinned back. “And then she’ll appeal to Whit when mother refuses to gainsay you. Oh, I do wish I could hear those conversations.”

Mirabelle turned to Lizzy. “Would you be so kind as to see if tea is ready, Lizzy dear? Kate and I will be along shortly.”

“Eventually,” Kate corrected. A successful bout of eavesdropping took time.

“As you wish, Lady Thurston.” Laughing, Lizzy bobbed an exaggerated curtsy and headed for the back staircase.

Kate took Mirabelle’s arm and led her toward the front stairs. Her mother was taking tea in the parlor. Miss Willory would not be so foolish as to air her grievances there, but she would take the opportunity to ask for a private audience, and that could take place anywhere.

“Kate?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I
really
mistress of all those places?”

“Of course.” She frowned a little, remembering her list. “Well, not the abbey. That I made up.”

“I see.” Mirabelle swallowed hard. “Good heavens.”

Kate’s laughter died rather swiftly at the sight of Mr. Laury coming toward them down the hall. Mirabelle’s countenance, on the other hand, brightened considerably.

“Mr. Laury, how very nice to see you.”

Mr. Laury, whose gaze had been trained on the floor, snapped his head up. By the way his eyes widened and his face paled, Kate half expected him to turn about and flee. But to his credit, his step faltered only a little before he continued his walk toward them. “Good afternoon, Lady Thurston, er, Lady Kate.”

Kate returned the greeting and would have ended the encounter
at that, but Mirabelle reached out to subtly take her arm and bring her to a stop.

“We’re to have tea in a half hour’s time or so, Mr. Laury. Won’t you join us?”

Mr. Laury started, blushed and stammered. “Kind of you. Most kind, but—”

“Not at all,” Mirabelle assured him. “Your company would be welcome. Don’t you agree, Kate?”

She had no other choice but to smile and agree. “Yes. Certainly.”

“I-I…” Mr. Laury shifted his weight on his feet, clasped his hands behind his back, brought them forward again, and then went back to clasping. All the shifting and fidgeting put Kate to mind of a squirrel. Possibly an injured one. “Most kind of you. Most. I’ve another, I’m afraid. Engagement, that is. Another engagement. Do excuse.”

“Oh, but…” Mirabelle trailed off as Mr. Laury made a dash down the hall. “How very odd.”

“Odder that you should have invited him,” Kate commented. “Why ever did you do that?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s to be a ladies’ tea.”

“I was merely being polite.” Mirabelle threw her a glance. “Don’t you like Mr. Laury?”

“I hardly know him.”

“Which is why I invited him to tea—so that you might better come to know him. He is a very nice man.”

Kate watched as Mr. Laury threw a very uncomfortable glance over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner. “He is a very nervous man.”

Mirabelle frowned thoughtfully. “A bit reserved in your company, that’s all. I’m certain he would overcome his shyness upon better acquaintance.”

Kate wondered how anyone could possibly be certain of such a thing, but decided not to ask lest Mirabelle take it as
some sort of challenge. The last thing she wanted was both her mother
and
her sister-in-law seeking to regularly throw her into the company of Mr. Laury.

Hunter stood at the side of Pallton House and glowered at the door in front of him.

He wasn’t in the habit of glowering at inanimate objects, but he felt the need to glower at something just then, and the damn door was there.

He’d missed Kate while he was in town.

Less than twenty-four hours away from the lady and he missed her.

He was appalled at himself. He didn’t miss people. He’d had mistresses of great beauty, considerable wit, and
exceptional
dexterity in the bedchamber. Business had routinely taken him away for weeks at a time, but had he ever missed any of those women? No, he had not.

He’d damn well made sure of it, because missing implied one was significantly attached, and from significant attachment sprang inadvisable emotions like affection and need, and even love. All of which he’d spent his adult life avoiding like the plague.

A mild attachment was acceptable. The sort that had allowed for easy friendships and casual affairs. The sort one could lose, or have snatched away, without feeling as if one’s beating heart had been ripped from one’s chest.

That last was a trifle melodramatic, perhaps, but damned if it wasn’t accurate. He could still feel the echoes of that pain when he remembered. He made a point not to remember.

He made a point not to become significantly attached.

And yet one hour after leaving the house, all he’d been able to think of was returning to Kate. He wanted to see her soft blue eyes, wanted to hear her airy laugh, wanted to see the way candlelight colored streaks of gold into her pale blonde hair.

He’d thought of her when he’d spent the day with Lord Martin as well, but only as a means of distracting himself from visions of ripping out Martin’s incessantly flapping tongue. He’d pictured pulling the pins out of Kate’s hair to watch the locks settle on her shoulders. He’d pictured running his fingers through the tresses. And he’d imagined taking a handful to pull her in for a kiss. It had been an idle fantasy, mildly erotic in nature, and one over which he’d had complete control.

Unlike today’s embarrassingly tame daydreams of laughter, and candlelight and…heaven help him, he’d even thought of her nose.
Her nose.
No man daydreamed about a woman’s nose. It wasn’t natural.

It was just that Kate’s nose had the smallest, most adorable dimple at the very tip. Just the faintest line one didn’t notice until one was an inch away and, and being an inch away from Kate…

“Oh, bloody hell.”

It
had
to stop. He would
make
it stop. And there were only two ways of seeing it done. The first, and most expedient, was to simply walk away. Surely, with adequate time and distance he would be able to regain perspective. Probably. He would never know for certain, because he had no intention of leaving. In part because there was still the mission to consider, but mostly because walking away was a retreat, and a retreat, even a strategic one, went against every instinct he had. He wanted to win the game, not give it up. He’d not dragged himself up from the gutters by crying defeat at every obstacle thrown in his path. He’d acquired his place in the world by removing, destroying, or simply ignoring those obstacles.

Which left him with the second, far more appealing, option. He could indulge himself a bit. In all likelihood, his preoccupation with Kate was due in large part to his not having done so. It had been a very long time since he’d denied himself something he wanted. A very long time since he’d had to.
And he’d been craving Kate as if she were a forbidden treat for what seemed like an eternity. So he’d indulge himself. Better yet, he’d
over
indulge. One satisfied an inconvenient craving by tasting. One eliminated it by gorging. He’d take all he wanted of laughter, candlelight, heady kisses, and damn it, even the dimple at the end of her nose. When he’d had his fill, he’d get back to the business of wrapping Kate around his finger.

Looking forward to both endeavors, and feeling considerably more cheerful than he had for most of the day, he pushed through the door and headed toward his room. He was going to wash off the dust of the road. Perhaps he’d have a drink. He didn’t need to seek the woman out the very second he returned. He wasn’t quite that preoccupied with her.

“Oh, Hunter. You’ve returned.”

As if to prove him a liar and a fool, every nerve ending in his body sprang to attention at the sound of Kate’s voice.

Bloody hell, he wasn’t just preoccupied. He was obsessed.

Kate had the irrational and nearly irresistible urge to step right up to Hunter and throw her arms about his neck.

She’d missed him terribly.

While working on her music, she’d been able to push thoughts of him, if not completely away, at least far enough to the side that she was able to concentrate on the music. But without the distraction of her composition, she’d gone right back to thinking about him and her strong attachment to him and whether that attachment might be on its way to something more.

Even as she and Mirabelle had gone on their eavesdropping expedition, she’d been thinking of Hunter’s dark eyes, and how they were so often guarded. And she’d thought of his deep laugh when she’d asked him what his Christian name was. And she’d thought of the strength in his arms when he’d wrapped them tightly around her in the ballroom.