Kiss Me, Kate (3 page)

George patted the dark muzzle of one of his blacks. Matthew, a man second in line to becoming a marquess, sat atop the carriage, reins in hand, and gave a nod to indicate he was ready. It had been Matthew who suggested he have the carriage made for the occasion. With a nod to his other friend, Jason, they edged along the shadows and toward the duke’s house.

Dressed in black from head to toe—even down to the cravat—he stealthily approached the gate to the back garden. Jason had decided to enter though the servants’ door, having previously convinced one of the maids to leave it unlocked.

Kate would probably admonish him for his impatience in stealing her away from her family, but neither of them could wait another day for her father’s blessing. And though doing this would cause quite a stir in society once it was found out, he didn’t care.

In the end, Kate would agree with his actions. She was of age, twenty-one this past February, so her father would have little say once their marriage was finalized.

He quietly opened the garden door and headed toward Kate’s balcony just as he had the previous evening. After climbing the trellis, he pulled out his pocketknife and slid it between the frame and door to release the lock. It clicked over easily.

Kate’s room was pitch black.

A silent curse left his lips when he kicked a stool with a loud thud. He didn’t need to startle Kate or have her screaming, so he stretched his arms out, hoping to find the bedpost without any more missteps.

“How dare you steal into my room, thief.” Something heavy smacked into the side of his head before he could respond to her accusation.

He swore he saw stars winking across his vision for a moment. When his vision cleared, he could see Kate’s shadow ready to strike another blow.

“Kate, damn it. It’s me.” He wavered where he stood and had to lean against the bench to keep his footing. 

Pulling his hood back, he hoped Kate could see him marginally better in the diminished light.

“Oh, no.” The heavy object thudded to the floor as she rushed forward. The soft touch of her hands at his temples and scalp soothed away the pain momentarily. “I’ve put a goose egg on your head.”

He shook his head, dizzy with the motion. “I know. I can feel it.”

“Well, explain what you are doing in my room at this hour. I wouldn’t have hit you had I known you were coming.”

“It was a surprise.“

The warmth of her hands moved away and he could picture her placing her hands on her hips to lecture him properly. “What kind of surprise?”

Well, no sense in beating around the bush with this one. “I have a carriage waiting for us.”

There was a pause of silence from her. Had he misjudged the situation so badly? “To take us where?”

“Gretna Green.”

“I suppose it is too much to ask that we continue to persuade my father.”

“We both know he’ll never agree to a union between us.”

Kate stepped away. “You know my feelings on this, George. Just think how my running away in the middle of the night would devastate my father.”

“And if you don’t take a chance on us, then he’ll ensure you marry that lout, Westmoore.”

“I supposed you have a point. Still . . .”

George walked over to the wardrobe, opening the tall doors to reveal a row of neatly hung dresses. He tossed a few of those dresses toward the bench at the end of her bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting some clothes ready for you.” He stepped in her direction, finally making out the lines of her wispy frame.

A look of indecision etched her face. This would have been easier had she been asleep and a little less aware of what he was asking of her. In the end, he knew she would have no regrets; right now, it appeared regrets were his biggest obstacle in moving forward with his plan.

She walked over to the side of her bed and knelt on the rug to pull something out from beneath.

“Dearest?”

“A bag,” she answered. “I’ll need a bag for my clothes.”

“As the lady wishes.” He picked out the underclothes from the stack of clothes he’d pulled from her wardrobe and held them in front of him.

She snatched them out of his hand. “Must you be so immature?”

“Indeed, I must.” He waggled his eyebrows and swung the chemise around his finger. “I am, after all, only a man. Let us hurry, I don’t want your father stopping our great escape.”

Both their heads whipped around when something outside Kate’s bedroom door smashed to the ground.

“Damn it. We have just run out of time.” George found a cloak that would cover Kate’s underdressed form, grabbed up the clothes, and stuffed them in the bag she’d provided. He nudged her toward the exit as she drew the strings tight to seal the garment he tossed around her shoulders.

“Your father will have my head if we don’t hurry.”

“This was your grand scheme.”

With a pat to her gently rounded bottom, he ushered her through the bedchamber door and let her lead the way down the stairs. She halted suddenly, causing him to run right into her. She turned around, grabbed him by his cravat, and pushed him behind a heavily curtained window.

“What is it?”

“Someone is about.” She pressed her finger to his mouth to shush him. This was the perfect opportunity to give her a good and proper kiss. Funny how they were eloping when Kate had resoundingly refused on the grounds that her father would never speak to her again and challenge him for the honor of his daughter. Would she balk once they reached the door? He hoped not.

Kate was a prize even George couldn’t walk away from. Not that he’d ever tried walking away from her.

She was sure it was only her imagination that she heard someone wandering down the dark hallway. Though it could very well be a scullery maid, she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t simply her indecision that had her stalling George in the house awhile longer.

Despite the harsh words her father had spoken to her earlier this evening, guilt weighed her heart down in running away. She wasn’t even sure why she was considering the idea after years of refusing George this very thing. Maybe it had to do with her father blatantly telling her to steer clear of George and focus on the man of his choosing.

She could never forget the one man who held her heart, though, and she’d told her father so. She could no more deny her love for George than she could defy her father—except now that she’d been forced to act for the good of her future. She loved her father dearly, and he’d done everything he could to protect her from the gossip surrounding her mother’s indiscretion, but it was time for him to accept the fact that she was a grown woman and he couldn’t protect her from the world forever.

George’s hand was pressed low on her back, nearly brushing the top of her buttocks through the silky light material of her nightclothes. Her cloak would more than suffice as a shield to her modesty. Not that she felt the need for modesty when George was around.

She took a moment to savor his touch and feel his smooth-shaven cheek pressed to her forehead. When he’d come to her tonight, she knew she needed to act for once without thinking about the consequences.

Almost absently, George tilted her head back and brushed his thumb over her cheek. The moonlight that pierced through the window illuminated his lopsided grin.

She touched her lips to his, and stared into eyes. “You shouldn’t look so smug,” she said, and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Can’t seem to help myself.” He leaned in closer and nibbled at her earlobe.

Her neck arched and her body pressed against his front. She wanted to be touched more intimately, but she could not allow her yearnings to overrule her better judgment. “I love when you do that.”

“I’ll do it all the way to Scotland.” He took a step away from her, grabbed up her hand, and pulled the curtain away. “We must go.”

“I heard someone.”

“Probably only Jason. He’s to keep a path clear through the kitchen.”

“Jason is more likely to distract the maids than misdirect my father.” George had introduced her to his oldest friends three years ago on her debut into society. Whenever George traveled to the Caribbean, they were close at hand, keeping her amused at all the balls and soirees. Jason, though, was a rogue and a charmer. Kate had watched women of all ages fall at his feet.

“Matthew is waiting at the carriage.”

He’d persuaded the ever-steady Matthew, a man who avoided scandal like the plague, to aid him in her escape? She pulled George to a stop and threw her arms around his shoulders. Their mouths met roughly, their bodies crushed together. She felt on fire and wanted George to thrust her up against the wall and make good on all his promises of taking their intimacies a step further.

He returned the kiss with a fervor that made her forget her dangerous surroundings, and then he suddenly broke away. “Soon, dearest. Your father will have my head if he catches us.”

“His bark is far worse than his bite.”

“Easy for you to say when he dotes upon you. Me, he would have no hesitation to maim should he be given the opportunity.”

They tiptoed down the long hall that led to the kitchens without another word between them.

Kate’s father stepped out from the doorway, pointing a rapier in George’s direction. A nightcap covered his silver hair, and a burgundy robe hid the telltale signs of a fit, sturdy man even though he was past his prime. Her father was a formidable opponent to any man, young or old.

“What is the meaning of this, Katherine?”

George stepped in front of her when she tried to sidle past him to look her father in the eye. She would not cower beneath her father. Despite his constant attempts to protect her from the world at large, he’d raised her to be a strong woman.

Standing behind George, she had difficulty finding words to defend her actions.

“You’re acting just like your mother.”

Those words stung worse than a colony of bees. Her resolve was made in that moment, and she knew she had to trust in George’s plan. “Papa, did you expect anything less after your harsh words this afternoon?”

“Oh, you are far worse than your mother.”

The gibe stung just as much the second time, and she could not refute it, other than to say, “Lest you’ve forgotten, I’m not married to another. I love George, and I want to marry only him. You’ve refused his suit more times than either of us cares to remember.”

“No daughter of mine will be made a laughingstock and whispered about in drawing rooms.” Her father took another step forward and pressed the point of his blade against George’s shoulder. George didn’t move despite the sharp press of the blade.

“I’ve offered for her hand,” George said. “I’ve even argued for a long engagement. You’ve refused me at every turn.”

“My daughter will never marry a man of your ilk. And when she does marry, it’ll be with someone of a nobler title than yours.”

Kate stepped out from behind George. She would no longer hide behind anyone while facing her father. “Papa, I’m twenty-one and old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Go back up to your room, child. I’ve an issue to settle with this turncoat.”

For probably the first time in her whole life, Kate did not indulge her father. She threaded her fingers through those of the man she loved. They would stand defiant . . . together. “I wish you would see reason. What Mama did was wrong. And I would never hurt you the way she did, but you have to understand that I’m a grown woman and quite capable of making my own decisions.”

“You’re but a child. You can’t know what you want.”

“You well know Westmoore and I would never suit. I don’t think you even care for him much; you just like the fact that he has no desire for adventure. Do you think that by pairing me with such a bland personality, my need for adventure—which you’ve told me is very much like Mother’s—will simply desist?”

“There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t regret listening to my father when he spoke out against marrying your mother.”

She sighed. This wasn’t a battle she would win. She would worry about the consequences when she returned to London.

Jason came up behind her father. He wore a dark frock coat that allowed him to blend into the shadowed hallway. He held his finger to his lips, indicating that both she and George should remain silent.

She hoped her father didn’t hurt himself. She trusted George to have instructions only to detain her father should he stand in their way of elopement.

“I’m sorry, Papa.” Tears blurred her vision.

Jason wrapped his arms tight around her father, immobilizing him. Her father was forced to release the rapier, which clanked and rang as it hit the stone floor.

“What is the bloody meaning of this?” he yelled.

“Now is our chance,” George whispered in her ear. “Let’s leave before we cause your father a fit of apoplexy.”

Kate gave her father a sad look—one filled with regret as she reached out and pressed her palm against his cheek. “I wish you would see reason, Papa. I hope you’ll forgive me in time. I love you.”

With that, she turned away from her father and left the house she’d grown up in. She leaned on George and let him lead her out to an unmarked carriage. Leaving was so much harder than she’d imagined. Once situated inside the carriage, she looked up at the dark house of her childhood. A tear slid from the corner of her left eye. She would miss her home. But more than that, she’d miss her father with all her heart.