Scandal's Child (9 page)

Their gazes locked and intertwined. “My answer is as your own, Kathryn,” he answered quietly, although his heart, again, pumped in that odd, unsteady beat.

At her nod, he helped her to rise. She thrust up her chin, her eyes remarkably blue and clear. “Then tomorrow is our wedding day, Monsieur le Comte.”

The wedding day dawned bright and clear. Kat saw the sun’s first rays touch the hilltops and slowly, brilliantly, expand to bathe the valley in a golden glow. She had lain awake all night, reading and rereading Mariah’s letter. Yet her attention had not been on the words so much as on the coming day. What would this marriage bring? Ideally she hoped that she and Jules would grow ever closer, sharing their thoughts and hopes.

At dinner Dominic had spoken so openly of his own marriage, his happiness was apparent to all. And when he had mentioned his baby son … Kat had looked across the table to find Jules watching her intently. The same thoughts whirled through her mind. Did Jules intend to make theirs a real marriage? Would he come to her tonight and consummate this union that had been thrust upon them? The thought did not frighten her as it would have a week ago. Jules was no longer a stranger to her. Yes, his thoughts and his emotions were still a mystery, and she did not know what secrets lurked behind his detached air. But, he did not seem a stranger to her heart. With soft, breathless excitement, Kat made up her mind. If there was any way to work her way into Jules’s heart she would find it. Hannah had said she was resourceful; now she was meeting the most important challenge of her life.

Kat napped the morning away. She didn’t wish to shut dear Hannah and Caroline out, but she needed this time alone, to prepare herself mentally.

After a light tea served in her chamber, Kat took a long leisurely bath in the copper hip tub, relaxing down into the bubbles as the maid washed her hair with scented soap. It was so thick it took hours to dry. Finally she remembered the trunks Dominic had brought. The maid was overwhelmed by gowns of satin, muslin, and crepe, and a new riding habit of sea green that very nearly, but not quite, matched her eyes.

Packed lovingly in one trunk was the most beautiful dress Kat had ever seen. Willy had said in her letter it had been her grandmother’s presentation gown. It fit Kat to perfection. Her own mother, Bettina, had been smaller like Mariah, but Willy’s letter had explained she remembered this dress from a portrait she’d seen and knew it would be perfect for Kat. And it was.

The dress was rose satin; the low, square neck and close fitting bodice were edged with fine lace. Its half sleeve was also banded in lace and finished in three tiers of ruffles. The full skirt worn over voluminous petticoats emphasized Kat’s tiny waist. It was an entirely different style than Kat was used to—the straight empire lines seemed much less revealing, but if her godmother had gone to so much trouble to send it she must wear it.

Twirling around before the mirror, the petticoats brushing her legs, Kat was happy Willy had sent it. The dress made her feel like a bride. What would Jules think of it? And of her in it?

What of his brother? Dominic had seemed most forbidding. A future duke for a new brother—it was all too much to take in. But the cleric and the special license couldn’t be denied. In all truth she did not wish to cry off. Tonight she would marry for love.

She had chosen for the ceremony to take place after supper, on the terrace of the château, with the beauty of the flower gardens around her. Madame Bernair had lit the garden with every available candelabrum and candlestick. It looked as if the night sky had reached down with its stars to the earth.

Jules stood in full court dress a little apart from the rest of the group. Jacko and Caroline whispered together on the stone bench. Dominic, Hannah, and the cleric were debating with the abbé which ceremony should come first—the English or the French.

Steeling her nerve she traversed the small salon and exited the château. All conversation ceased as the party saw her.

Instantly, Jules came forward, holding a velvet box. The smile that had first touched her heart softened his face. “My dear, you are even more beautiful tonight. Before we begin I would like a moment.” He lifted his eyebrow, but this time it did not seem haughty or detached to her. “Kathryn, I have no betrothal ring and very little of my heritage to present to you, but I hope you will wear these as a token of my regard.”

He clasped a breathtaking parure of rubies around her neck. The graduated stones were linked by pounded gold and a large, pigeon egg ruby hung in the hollow between her breasts.

She was astonished at their beauty. And at the tenderness she glimpsed in his eyes.

“This belonged to my great-grandmother. My mother took it to England when we fled the terror, but never wore it for she did not care for rubies. My step-grandmother, the Duchess of Culter, remembered and sent it for this occasion.”

“It is lovely,” she breathed, touching the large stone where it hung between her breasts. Already the ruby had gained warmth from her body.

Madame Bernair stepped discreetly onto the terrace and Jules asked her to have the staff, small as it was, be present to witness his marriage. In a matter of minutes the terrace was full of people.

At a nod from Dominic, Jules led her to where both the abbé and curate stood. The abbé began first, speaking so rapidly in French Kat could not make out all the words, but she followed Jules’s lead; bowing her head in prayer at the appropriate moment, making her response a firm “
oui
.”

Finally the abbé stepped back and the curate began the English wedding ceremony. She understood every word of this service, and when the curate reached the place in the ceremony that required them to recite their vows, Kat was afraid to raise her eyes to Jules for fear he would plainly see her feelings or that what she saw on his face would disappoint her.

At last the curate declared them man and wife and she lifted her head to meet Jules’s stare.

As they had done that day in the winery, their eyes locked, and Kat was powerless to look away. That flame leapt to life in Jules’s gaze and he embraced her shoulders in a powerful move, pulling her tightly to his chest. Her head fell back against his strong arms and he kissed her so deeply, so sweetly and passionately that her lips pulsed beneath his. Her arms gathered him even closer as her mouth answered his searching quest. This was what love felt like, this breathless hot excitement.

Ever so slowly he released her, stepping away, and she felt bereft. But she smiled brightly as their family rushed forward to shower them with well wishes.

Kat had just married the man she loved. His kiss had promised that all would be well between them. But she dared not reveal her heart in case she’d misread him. How uncomfortable it would be for both of them if she acknowledged her feelings and he did not share them. It would be better to live in a fantasy of her own making. Until tonight. Tonight she would discover the secret his kiss so sweetly promised.

Jules stared out the window at the full moon spreading its silvery light on his land. The château was finally quiet after the wedding party Madame Bernair had overseen. Wine from his own cellars—his father’s best vintage—had flowed freely, but he had sipped very little, as had Kathryn.

Tonight he had everything he’d ever dreamed of—a beautiful woman he cared for deeply, his father’s estate to leave as a heritage for the son he looked forward to producing, and an estate in England, Langley Manor, not far from Culter Towers. A smaller property of the duchess’s, she had deeded it as a wedding gift to him. Now he had a home in England where Kathryn might be happy.

He paced to the connecting door, nervously tugging on the tie of his robe. He knew she was there waiting for him. All day the staff had worked to get the master suite, with the sitting room and connecting bedrooms, ready for them.

If only he knew Kathryn’s feelings. But how could he? He didn’t even know his own. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand and opened the door between them.

She sat quietly before the fire, brushing her hair.

She rose, all atremble, the instant he entered. Jules had never seen anyone more beautiful. Her sun-kissed hair cascaded about her shoulders, and her heavily lashed aquamarine eyes were luminous in the soft light. He knew she could not be aware how the firelight outlined her full breasts, the curve of her waist, and the gentle slope of hip and thigh beneath the white lace negligee.

At last he had breath to speak. “Kathryn, we must talk.”

He was rewarded by a small smile. “Yes. It is … a trifle awkward, is it not?”

Moving quickly, before he could change his mind, he joined her before the dying embers of the fire. The fragrance of her hair drew his hand to play thoughtfully amid the curls.

“Kathryn, you know I would never do anything to harm you.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He longed to kiss her again as he had on the terrace, but felt he didn’t have the right. He had to be fair, give her time to get accustomed to their new relationship.

He studied her. Kathryn’s eyes remained half-closed as if she feared to meet his gaze, and her complexion changed from milky white to a rosy glow. Then she lifted her lids and Jules was suddenly drowning in the luminous beauty of her eyes. The last vestige of doubt fled and with an enormous force of will, Jules stepped away from her.

“Do you trust me, Kathryn?”

At her eager nod he smiled. “Then sleep now, my dear,” he said quietly. “It has been a long day for you. We must come to terms with our relationship. Tomorrow we will begin,” he promised, his voice growing in confidence with every word.

He heard a faint little sob but dared not look back when he reached the door.

He had been wrong; there was a love match like Dominic and Juliana’s for him. He was in love with Kathryn—her bravery, her spirit, her warmth. She inflamed his senses and filled his heart. Now, somehow, he must make her feel the same. Only then, in mutual love, would he make her his. But first he would return with her to London to still any trace of gossip, as Dominic had recommended. There amid her family and friends, surely she would feel more at home and be more receptive to his wooing. And wooing his beautiful wife had suddenly become the most important thing in his life.

Rubbing her wet cheeks with her palms, Kat stood, pacing to the window. In the silvery moonlight the rolling lawns of the château melded into the vineyards and the hills beyond.

This was her wedding night.

She glanced down, carefully running her fingers over the fine lace ruffles of the negligee. Her body had burned with embarrassment when she had donned this and looked in the mirror. But the embarrassment had quickly faded to breathless anticipation.

A dry aching sob welled in her throat; she could no longer keep the truth at bay. Jules did not want her for his wife in that way. He had been forced into this marriage of convenience by her foolishness. He was so noble he was sacrificing his chance of a future love match to save her reputation.

The sweet, passionate kiss that had left her weak with new emotions and longings had meant nothing to him. It had just been a form, or perhaps a test—that she had failed.

Still a little flame of hope refused to be completely extinguished.

Kat thrust up her chin, taking a deep, ragged breath. She was not a weak-spirited young woman. She had always believed in action, and she would carry on by being an unexceptional wife to him. She now knew love found its way into one’s heart quite on its own. There was no way to see it coming so there was no way to stop it. But if there was a way she could help it make its journey into Jules’s heart she would discover it.

Gwynneth needed a glass of madeira, not the insipid tea Sybilla had just poured for her. But even Gwynneth didn’t have the nerve to ask for such a strong drink at this early hour.

Dominic had sent word when he arrived in Northampton that all the travelers would reach London in time for luncheon today. Mariah had insisted she be on hand for the newlyweds’ arrival. She and Gwynneth had descended upon the duchess and refused to be dislodged. Mariah’s eyes were dull with worry and she didn’t seem quite herself today. No doubt Gwynneth looked like a hag herself. Only Sybilla appeared beautifully serene and absolutely composed.

Exasperated past bearing, Gwynneth snorted. “Really, Sybilla, how can you be so unfeeling! What if we have done the wrong thing?” Gwynneth’s chest swelled in indignation.

Sybilla looked down her nose. “My dear Gwynneth, must I remind you again, that if
your
goddaughter had not been so foolish as to go to that inn unchaperoned none of this would have been necessary. My wonderful Jules is the noble victim of—”

“
Victim!”
Gwynneth roared. “He has won a priceless jewel in Kat. And, furthermore—”

“Will you two please stop bickering!” Mariah broke in, standing, her eyes flashing with anger. “The damage is done! Nothing will help now! They are married!” As if realizing she had just committed the unpardonable sin of bellowing at one of England’s premier duchesses, she slowly sank back into the chair.

“You are absolutely right, of course, Mariah,” Sybilla sniffed. Then lifting the dainty china tea pot, she gave Gwynneth a sweet smile, saying, “May I freshen your tea, dear Gwynneth?”

“Thank you, dear Sybilla. That would be
lovely
,” Gwynneth cooed in response. They were still being disgustingly polite to each other when noises from the hallway brought them all to their feet.

Kat, dressed in one of her new frocks, a canary yellow batiste with two ruffles about the hem and a matching poke bonnet, stood for an instant in the doorway, before launching herself into Mariah’s arms.

She looked the same; rich, thick, blond curls nearly tumbling from beneath the bonnet, wide Thistlewait eyes alert and twinkling, and her dimpled smile warming all, Gwynneth thought. Only when Kat turned back to the door where the rest of the party stood was she able to assess what was uppermost on her mind. Jules had eyes for no one but Kat, and when their gazes met, Gwynneth went limp with relief. It was there: that inexplicable tension, that silent connection which strong feeling gives to those so affected. It was the sign Gwynneth, secretly worried to death over the arranged marriage, had desperately hoped to see. She had been correct after all; Kat
had
fallen in love with the dashing comte.

At that moment the rest of the party surged through the door, Dominic going to Sybilla and Jacko engulfing Mariah in a huge brotherly hug. Only Hannah hung back, but curiously she was not alone. A tiny blond vision with enormous eyes surveyed the gathering with lively curiosity.

“Kathryn my dear, shouldn’t you introduce your friend?” Gwynneth encouraged, pinning her goddaughter with an indulgent eye.

“Caroline, I’m sorry! In the excitement I have forgotten my manners.” Kat laughed, leading the doll-like creature closer.

“Your Grace, I would like to introduce a dear friend of the family, Miss Caroline Strange of Northumberland.”

Sybilla threw Gwynneth a questioning look before doing the pretty with the girl.

Friend of the family, indeed! Gwynneth, herself, had never laid eyes on the chit before. What was Kat up to now? Strange … from Northumberland? Tapping her finger against her lip, Gwynneth tried to recall the family.

Of course! The father was a nabob! Girl must be worth fifty thousand pounds a year if she was worth a penny. Too bad Gwynneth didn’t have another godson.

“Willy and Mariah, you remember dear Caroline, do you not?” Kat asked, utterly guileless.

The child had turned into a shocking minx! But, of course, Gwynneth went right along with her, as did Mariah, giving Caroline a smile and brief kiss upon her rosy cheek.

When the little vision leaned over to kiss Gwynneth’s cheeks, she whispered pertly, “Thank you, Lady Tutwilliger. Kat will explain all!”

Then everyone began to speak at once, regaling the duchess with the rigors of travel, the beauty of Champagne, and how lovely the wedding by moonlight in the château garden had been.

With a sinking heart, Gwynneth noticed that Kat and Jules were oddly silent and that her goddaughter now studiously avoided looking at him. This was no shyness or the flush of new intimacy; there was something else going on here. It didn’t seem to fit with the earlier look they’d shared.

This was not right, and Gwynneth would let no stone unturned until she found out what the problem was; however, right now was not the time.

Sybilla rose regally from her chair and took both Kat and Jules by their hands. The company quieted. “Jules dear, you know how meddlesome I can be, but please indulge me. I’ve taken the liberty of having rooms prepared for you both here. Culter House is yours for the Season. And to celebrate your marriage I am giving a ball in your honor tomorrow.”

Jules quizzed his eyebrow and shrugged.

Pride swelled in Gwynneth’s breast as Kat leaned over and pressed a kiss upon Sybilla’s cheek before saying exactly the right thing. “We are honored, Your Grace. And I look forward to the time we shall spend together.”

“And the day after tomorrow you are to have
my
box at the opera,” Gwynneth piped in, not wanting to be outdone. “The sooner you two are seen together in public the sooner you will cease to be a nine-day wonder.”

“Thank you, Lady Tutwilliger, we shall be delighted to accept your kind invitation,” Jules drawled. “I relish the opportunity to further our acquaintance.”

“Ho! I won’t be going with you! Hate the opera! Thought I’d send Jacko,” Gwynneth finished, delighted to see the look of horror descend upon her godson’s stunning countenance. Really, the boy deserved it after what he’d put them through. If he hadn’t decided to hare off to the Continent, none of this would have happened!

Jacko opened his mouth in protest, but stopped seeing Caroline’s enraptured face.

“Oh, how wonderful! The opera…” she breathed, periwinkle blue eyes glowing with excitement.

“Like the opera, do you, Miss Strange?” Jacko asked, an odd little smile curving his mouth.

“Oh, yes, it is quite my favorite thing. But I have not had the opportunity to attend here in London,” she answered wistfully.

“Well, you shall attend tomorrow … with me!” he declared proudly, much to Gwynneth’s utter and complete shock.

Oh, stuff and nonsense! Her well-organized plans were collapsing around her! Gwynneth had everything set in her mind: Kat and Jules, Mariah and Christian, Jacko and Helen. Now, however, she could plainly see she must find someone else for Miss Helen Vanderworth!

Jules stared at the dark oak door connecting his rooms to Kathryn’s. It had remained firmly closed last night. Today had been completely taken up with his solicitor concerning Château Saville and Langley Manor, plus certain inquiries into the whereabouts of Sir Edmund Trigge. If the bounder was in London he would soon know Jules was looking for him. A few words in the right place and Sir Edmund would no longer be welcomed by anyone that mattered. He knew Kathryn had been busy all day getting Caroline settled at Lady Tutwilliger’s. By his design they had not met.

He dressed for the ball in his usual severe black-and-white garb, but, for tonight, did add a diamond stickpin, a gift from the duke, to his cravat. He stepped out into the hall just in time to see the duchess begin to descend the stairs.

“
Grandmère
, may I escort you,” he called, hurrying to tuck her hand into the curve of his arm. “I tried to see you earlier but your maid said you were napping.”

“My dear boy, you look positively dashing tonight.” She smiled, winking at him. “Between you and Dominic, you do me proud.”

“I’m sorry Dominic couldn’t be here tonight, but I understand his eagerness to return to Juliana.”

The duchess shot him a shrewd look and no wonder, he had even been able to hear the wistful tone in his voice.

“I have done the right thing for you, haven’t I, my boy?”

Reaching the foyer where they would greet their guests, Jules lifted her fragile fingers to his lips. “Your kindness to me has always known no bounds. But to gift me with Langley Manor is beyond words. I told Dominic I could not accept it, but he would have no part of that.”

“As well he shouldn’t! Austin would be here himself to reassure you if he had not remained with Juliana. It was always our plan to give it to you. There is more than enough property for all our family.”

Kissing her cheek, Jules smiled. “It means I shall always have a home near those I love.”

As if satisfied with his words, she nodded. “It is what Austin, Dominic, and I wished. For you to have the happiness that will, at last, put all the dark memories to rest. Can Kathryn give you that peace, my dear?”

Jules did not answer for a slight rustle at the top of the stairs caused them both to turn and look up. Then words were not necessary.

Kathryn paused on the top step. She wore a deep rose crepe gown cut low across her breasts, exposing more of that creamy flesh than Jules had ever seen, except on their wedding night when he had forced himself to leave her quickly while he had still been able to do so.

Slowly, she descended the stairs. Jules went to take her hand to lead her forward. Only then did he see that she wore the Devereaux rubies.

Seeing his pleasure, she touched the rich, red stones. “They are perfect with this gown, and I enjoy wearing them, for you.” Her eyes begged for reassurance.

That timidity was not Kat’s usual style. What could she be worried about, looking so delectable? It must be concern for their first appearance in public since the wedding. He wished to banish all uncertainty from her beautiful eyes and replace it with something else indeed. Lifting both her hands, he turned them up and pressed a kiss into each palm. Slowly, carefully, he fully intended to seduce his beautiful wife.

Tonight was the beginning.

Peering up into her suddenly flushed face, he smiled. “The jewels only enhance your perfection, Kathryn,” he murmured, but was struck speechless by his own internal response to the widening of her aquamarine eyes and the gasp that escaped from her soft lips.

“Now, children, stop flirting, our guests are arriving,” the duchess teased, warning them just a moment before the butler opened the door.

Hours later, the last guest finally greeted, Jules led the duchess and Kathryn into the crowded ballroom. The
t
on
was sipping champagne as they wandered through the upstairs and out onto the terrace. Steps led back down into the gardens, which due to the duchess’s passion for horticulture, rivaled those at Culter Towers. Tonight, lanterns were strung through the garden, and there was no doubt in Jules’s mind that anyone intent on dalliance would make his way out there.

A sudden thought made him glance down at Kathryn. She was smiling up at him, the dimples deep in her soft cheeks.

“It is lovely, isn’t it? You may not have noticed but the duchess wishes us to begin the dance.”

It was the first time he had held Kathryn in his arms like this and he found it utterly delightful; they fit together perfectly, their steps matching as they glided to the strains of the waltz. He had the most absurd desire to tug lose the wreath of flowers that held her curls up and let her hair tumble about her shoulders as it had on their wedding night.

Not even newlyweds could be excused such behavior; he resisted the impulse to bury his fingers in her rich curls and tip back her head so he could press kisses down her smooth, white throat.

Other couples joined them on the floor, and Jules was glad for the diversion. His body was betraying his thoughts, and he must in no way frighten his young wife. Early on he had recognized her daring spirit and her sense of adventure, but these waters, he instinctively knew, were new to her.

Having lost Kathryn to several smitten young noblemen who filled her dance card, he leaned against the wall, content to watch her cut a graceful figure in the dance. He surveyed the party. As usual, the duchess had drawn all the best of Society and was entertaining them handsomely. She and a turbaned Lady Tutwilliger held court with the dowagers at the far end of the ballroom. Mariah, breathtakingly lovely in a silk gown of deepest blue, glided by in the arms of a tall, distinguished man Jules did not recognize. He did, however, know the couple arguing, not too quietly, near a potted plant off to his left.