The Lady Who Broke the Rules (17 page)

‘Which is quite beside the point. You cannot have it both ways, you know. Either I am ruined and it matters not what I do, or what I did with Anthony Featherstone did not ruin me and therefore does not matter.’

‘Sophistry, sister dear!’ Giles drummed his fingers on the high mantel, where he had taken up his accustomed position, standing with his back to the fire. ‘You are set on this?’

Kate nodded.

‘May I ask why?’

‘I am tired of allowing the opinions of others to decide my actions. Anthony is happily married and, as ever, the darling of society. I did nothing more than he did. Less, for I did not talk. Why should I continue to pay when he does not? It’s not fair.’

‘Kate, it’s how things are,’ Giles said with a sigh. ‘If you wish to return to society, why did you not discuss it with me? With my sponsorship—’

‘Had Papa and Aunt Wilhelmina
sponsored
me five years ago, you would not have to offer now.
’

‘You feel they let you down?’ Giles nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I can see that you do, and I admit you have cause. Had I been here—’

‘But you were not, and I doubt you’d have persuaded Papa to listen back then, in any case.’

‘You do see, Kate, that turning up without any female to lend you countenance, in the company of an unmarried man, and one who moreover is not even related to you—’

‘And an
American
into the bargain,’ Kate interjected sarcastically.

‘It has nothing to do with his heritage,’ Giles said. ‘Virgil Jackson is the kind of man who will be treated with respect wherever he goes. What do you think we’ve been doing while you’ve been setting the Dower House to rights? There’s barely a house in the county Virgil hasn’t visited with me, and in every single one he’s been well received, not to say downright toad-eaten. I’ll wager he’s plagued with invitations, though he’s chosen to accept none of them. You’d best make sure he marks your dance card before you go, or you’ll find yourself without a partner.’

‘He has said nothing of all this to me.’

‘Why would he, save to rub your nose in it? Most of these people won’t open their doors to you. Virgil’s not so insensitive.’

‘No.’ Kate finished her Madeira. ‘Does this mean you won’t object to my going to the ball, then?’

Giles gave a bark of laughter. ‘Was there ever any chance I could stop you?’

The drawing room door opened and Virgil entered. ‘What is the joke?’

‘You and my sister,’ Giles said. ‘Lord, I’m looking forward to seeing the old man’s face when you tell him you’re taking her to the Buxton assembly.’

‘Yes, I heard His Grace was joining us at dinner. Do you wish to change your mind about the dance, my lady?’ Virgil turned towards Kate as he spoke. She rose from the gilded settee, and had the satisfaction of seeing her appearance reflected in his expression. ‘That is a very beautiful ball gown,’ he said. ‘And you look quite breathtaking,’ he added softly, taking her hand between his.

She blushed. ‘You look very smart too,’ which was an understatement. In silk knee breeches and a tightly fitting black coat, with a white shirt, white waistcoat and white stockings, Virgil looked starkly magnificent. She could not quite believe that after tomorrow morning she would never see him again. Though she knew this for a fact, it was one thing, she was discovering, for her to know, and another for her to accept. She didn’t want him to go, though she knew there was no reason at all for him to stay, nor ever could be.

He really was magnificent. She watched him, standing beside Giles. The two men were of very similar build. Funny, she’d never thought her brother either attractive or handsome, but he was both. She wondered now if Lily felt, when she looked at Giles, as Kate felt when she looked at Virgil.

Not that the cases were the same, for Giles and Lily were in love, whereas she and Virgil were…in lust? No, it wasn’t that. Though her heart was beating quite erratically. And her corsets felt too tight. And she couldn’t help thinking of the skin and muscle under those tight-fitting breeches. The curve of his buttocks. The span of his chest. The seductive potency of his manhood.

‘Katherine?’

Kate jumped. ‘Aunt Wilhelmina.’

‘Why are you wearing a ball gown?’

‘His Grace, the Duke of Rothermere,’ Lumsden intoned, as if he were announcing war.

Giles rolled his eyes as the door was flung open. Phaedra stopped short, a comical look of dismay on her face. Kate smothered a smile. Obviously her sister had not benefited from any sort of warning.

‘Your Grace.’ Mrs Landes-Fraser, more than usually draped and bedecked in shawls and turbans and feathers, abandoned her interrogation of her niece to drop into a curtsey so low Kate feared she may require help in recovering. It was an absurd gesture, in her opinion, but her father seemed to appreciate it, for he held out his hand and allowed it to be kissed, for all the world as if he were a prince.

He was looking much frailer than when she had last seen him. He had been a tall man, but he was stooped now, bent over like a question mark, his evening clothes loose on his wasted frame, the last remnants of his white hair wispy on his mottled pate. His once hawk-like features were blunted by saggy skin and watery eyes. Crispin Torquil Fitzmerrion Montague had the appearance of a man headed shortly for the grave.

‘Father.’ Giles made a curt bow. ‘May I present our guest, Mr Virgil Jackson.’

‘Your Grace.’

Kate was pleased to note that Virgil’s bow was neither deferential nor particularly low. His tone was not cold, but nor did it contain any warmth. He did not say it was an honour. Her father, too, noted all this. His brows snapped together. His expression, which had been benignly supercilious, now hardened, giving his audience a fleeting glimpse of the ruthless despot he had once been. ‘I believe my daughter invited you, Mr Jackson,’ he said. ‘Under the mistaken belief that she will warm me to this abolition nonsense, no doubt. Katherine’s propensity for supporting lost causes knows no bounds.’

‘Papa! How—’

‘Mr Jackson is as much my guest as Kate’s,’ Giles intervened hastily, ‘as you are perfectly well aware, Your Grace, for I have informed you myself. Mr Jackson is an extremely astute businessman and has, amongst other things, been so kind as to give me some very sound advice regarding your investments.’

‘Giles!’ Mrs Landes-Fraser exclaimed. ‘There are ladies present. I am shocked that you should raise such matters in mixed company. Girls, where are your manners? You have not yet greeted His Grace.’

‘Papa.’

‘Phaedra. You smell of horse.’

‘I am just back from the stables, Papa. There was no time to bathe. No one told me you were joining us,’ Phaedra muttered, glaring at her aunt.

‘And, Katherine.’

‘Papa.’ Kate made a very small curtsey.

‘I believe I have you to blame for oversetting my arrangements for my grandson. The boy is my heir. It is not at all fitting that he stay in the Dower House.’

Giles sighed heavily. ‘We have been over that, Father. We agreed—’

‘I did nothing of the sort. I may be sick in body, but I am quite in control of my own mind. I want that boy here, under my roof in the Castonbury nursery. This will all be his one day.’

‘
If
he proves to be Jamie’s child,’ Giles said.

‘Of course he is Jamie’s child,’ the duke snapped. ‘He must be.’

Giles, abandoning any pretence of keeping the peace, opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by the clash of the dinner gong and Lumsden’s stately announcement that His Grace was served. When Mrs Landes-Fraser would have taken the duke’s arm to support him in the short journey across the marble hall to the dining room, Smithins appeared like a ghost, leaving her to be escorted by a most reluctant Giles.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kate whispered as Virgil took her arm, motioning to Phaedra to take the other, ‘my father is unforgivably rude.’

Virgil shrugged, and squeezed her fingers. ‘You think I care about him looking down his patrician nose at me? What’s unforgivable is the way he treats you.’

‘Oh, that was nothing,’ Phaedra said chirpily. ‘Before Jamie and Ned died, Papa and Kate used to argue hammer and tongs. Why are you wearing a ball gown, Kate?’

‘Because she’s going to a ball,’ Virgil replied. ‘With me.’

‘Just you?’ Phaedra eyed Kate with respect as they entered the dining room. ‘Goodness, dinner is going to be interesting.’

Interesting, Kate thought grimly as course followed course, was one way of putting it. Tedious, fraught, embarrassing and interminable were others. His Grace had Virgil sit on his left-hand side in what should have been a position of honour. It was, however, patently obvious that the duke wished merely to have the convenience of alternately interrogating his guest and snubbing him without the inconvenience of having to turn his head too far or raise his voice. Several times Giles tried to intervene, but when it became obvious that Virgil was neither intimidated nor insulted, merely blandly indifferent, Giles grinned at Kate and devoted himself to his dinner.

It was a most magnificent repast. Monsieur André, Castonbury’s haughty French chef, had obviously relished the challenge of putting a meal worthy of the duke on the table. It groaned under the weight of carp Chambord studded with truffles and braised in red wine; lobster Parisienne; cold scallops glazed in aspic and decorated with artichokes; veal Périgourdine, cooked in butter and stuffed with fois gras; noisettes of lamb; pigeons
bonne-femme
; a whole pickled tongue; soup julienne à la Russe; stuffed cucumbers; eggs Polonaise; and any number of vegetable dishes in aspic jelly moulded into extraordinary shapes.

The duke ate sparingly. ‘I believe you visited that school my daughter has established,’ he said, graciously allowing Lumsden to help him to a sliver of lobster.

‘I was impressed,’ Virgil replied. ‘Castonbury now has as fine a place to educate its young as any other in the country. I think even Robert Owen would be pleased.’

‘That man is a subversive!’ the duke exclaimed. ‘Servants and farmers and mill workers have no use for reading and writing.’

‘Perhaps not, if they are to remain mere servants and farmers and mill workers,’ Virgil said mildly. ‘But what if they wish something more?’

‘More?’ His Grace looked incredulous. ‘What more could they possibly want?’

‘Lady Kate wishes to offer the villagers the chance to attend classes at night.’

‘It is time that my daughter learned that her wishes are of absolutely no consequence. Her place is with her family. When my grandson arrives, Katherine will have no time for these misguided attempts at charity. Since she has signally failed to do her duty by marrying, the least she can do is devote herself to the service of her nephew. I fear my ill health has of late allowed her too much latitude.
That
,’
the duke said with an air of finality, ‘will come to an end now that I am a little recovered.’

For a moment, it looked as if Virgil would rise to the bait. Instead he pushed his chair back abruptly. ‘You will excuse us, Your Grace, but I am afraid we have a prior engagement.’

An expectant hush made Kate’s heart bump hard against her chest. She put her napkin on her plate of untouched food, acutely aware of the eyes of every one of her relatives, fixed fascinated, astounded and disbelieving, upon her. Not since she had jilted Anthony had she openly defied her father. This time, she was no frightened child but a grown woman. She smiled up at Virgil as he pulled her chair back, and then smiled benignly over at the duke. Their confrontations, as Phaedra had so inelegantly put it, had always been hammer and tongs. Tonight, watching him become increasingly querulous as his barbs failed to wound and his most pointed insults were greeted by Virgil with bland indifference, she saw that her tactics had been quite wrong. It had been a struggle not to rise to the baited remarks about her future, but she had gritted her teeth and held her peace, and it had paid off.

‘How dare you, sir!’ The duke, turning an alarming shade of puce, broke the silence. ‘Katherine! Where the devil do you think you’re going?’

Aunt Wilhelmina cast her a furious look. ‘Katherine! We have not finished dinner.’

‘
I
have. Mr Jackson and I, as he has already informed you, have a prior engagement. We are going to the Assembly Rooms at Buxton.’

The duke gasped. Phaedra muffled her nervous laugh with her napkin. Mrs Landes-Fraser looked as if she would swoon. ‘Katherine Mary Cecily Montague,’ she hissed, ‘you cannot be serious. Have you any idea what people will say?’

Kate laced her fingers tightly together behind her back. ‘How can I not, Aunt Wilhelmina, when you remind me on a daily basis.’

‘Sit down at once!’

‘Get her out of my sight,’ the duke cried, clutching his chest. ‘That any daughter of mine should— You will go to your room, Katherine, and you will remain there until you see the error of your ways.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, she’s not a child. This is turning into a farce.’ Giles pushed back his chair so violently it fell over. ‘Get out, Kate, go to Buxton before he has an apoplexy. Lumsden, call Smithins. Phaedra, stop smirking.’

As Polly, waiting in the marble hall, helped Kate into her evening cloak, and the dining room door burst open again, her sister came bounding out with Giles in her wake. ‘That was marvellous. I haven’t enjoyed dinner so much in an age. Have a lovely time,’ she said, surprising Kate with a hug before disappearing down the back stairs, obviously headed for the stables.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Giles said to Kate. With a curt nod at Virgil, he, too, disappeared.

Virgil took Kate’s arm. ‘Well, I think you’ve certainly made your point. Are you sure you want to go?’

She smiled up at him. Tomorrow she would face the consequences of her insubordination, but tonight she did not give a fig. ‘Just try and stop me,’ she said.

Chapter Nine

T
he Buxton Assembly Rooms were brightly lit, with a crowd of carriages jostling for position in the cobbled street outside. Flambeaux lit the way as Kate and Virgil mounted the shallow flight of steps to the main entranceway, where they discarded their outerwear before ascending to the ballroom on the second floor. Two rows of marble columns supported the high ceiling of the long room, which was lit by three glittering chandeliers. A card room and withdrawing room served those who wished to play and those who sought relief from heat and the crush of dancers.

As Kate entered on Virgil’s arm, a country dance was under way. She recognised the young woman at the head of the set in a gown of primrose jaconet as the daughter of a neighbour, and her partner as one of Giles’s boyhood friends. Around the rooms, seated on gilded chairs, were the cream of the county, almost every one an acquaintance of her father, her aunt and formerly of herself. With a sinking heart, she realised that the eyes and lorgnettes of most of them were turned upon her and Virgil. She stiffened.

‘Don’t show them you care,’ Virgil said softly. ‘You have no reason at all to be intimidated by them. I doubt very much if any of them could lay claim to the kind of spotless reputation they pretend to. Think of it as a game, Kate. Don’t be the first to back down.’

She tried to do as he bid her, meeting disapproving gazes with a bland smile, and holding her head high. To her surprise, several women nodded—not the friendliest of nods, but they did not shun her. Virgil led her determinedly from one group of people to another, and she recalled the reaction he had generated the first time they’d met, several weeks ago now, though it felt like months, at Maer Hall. All eyes turned towards him. Whispers turned into murmurs of appreciation. Ladies vied surreptitiously to greet him. Gentlemen edged closer, as if he exerted some sort of invisible attraction. It was just as Giles had predicted. Virgil was received with effusion and bombarded with suggestions that he partner this daughter, this niece, this granddaughter, in the next country dance or cotillion or quadrille.

He agreed to some, but only those for which Kate was also solicited, and he insisted that the first dance and the waltz—which the master of ceremonies had daringly introduced some months before—were saved for her. ‘You see,’ he said to her as they joined their cotillion set, ‘if you lead, they will follow.’

Kate laughed. ‘It’s true, only a very few people actually snubbed me, but I think it was rather the case that if
you
lead they will follow.’

‘Stop undermining yourself. You are the one who looked them all in the eye and held your nerve. And while we are on the subject, I must congratulate you for the way you handled that tyrannical old goat who is your father tonight. He couldn’t believe it when there was not a rise to be got from you.’

‘I took my lead from you.’

‘Well, now you know what to do, you can take the lead from yourself. You don’t need me, Kate. Have a little faith in your own ability.’

Their set was now formed, with six other couples. For the first time since they had arrived, Virgil looked doubtful. ‘I have not danced the cotillion very often.’

‘I have not danced one in years.’ Kate looked towards the orchestra, where the master of ceremonies was consulting a card. ‘It looks like he will call the changes, at least. I shan’t mention it if you stand on my toes provided you return the favour,’ she said with a teasing smile.

‘Kate.’

It was the way he said her name that made her heart flutter. No one ever said her name like that. And the way he looked at her, really looked at her, his tawny eyes focused only on her, that made the muscles in her belly clench. She forgot about the disastrous dinner and the strain of facing the world and even the six other couples in their cotillion set. She forgot all about the need to restrain her feelings, to keep a leash on her thoughts, and gave herself up to the raw strength of the attraction between them. It was still there, fiercer than ever. He felt it too. She saw it reflected in his eyes.

The orchestra struck up and the dance began. Each touch of their hands ran like a shock up her arm, making her skin tingle. When they separated, their eyes retained the contact. Glove on glove felt like skin on skin. Every glance was a caress. She was barely aware of the other dancers, barely aware of the changes, tuned in not to the orchestra, but to some internal rhythm known only to the two of them.

When it was over, the polite applause startled them both. They blinked as if waking from a reverie. For the next two hours they danced with other partners, but the connection between them grew as they exchanged glances across the throng, as Virgil’s hand sought hers under cover of the folds of her gown when he stood beside her talking at tea, as his arm brushed against hers, or hers against his thigh. By the time the last dance, their first and only waltz, was called, Kate felt strung tight as a bow.

‘I see you are not so unaccustomed to the waltz as the cotillion,’ she said, striving to retain a little control of herself as they made their first circuit of the floor. Having his hand on her waist was conjuring up all sorts of memories. Of his skin against hers. Of his lips on hers. Of the way he felt against her, hard and muscled and yet velvet-smooth. Her voice sounded breathless. He would think it was the dance.

‘I’ve danced it several times back home. If a man is to be a success, he cannot be completely antisocial.’

‘So you charm the ladies of Boston with your dancing and your polite conversation so that they will persuade their husbands to do business with you?’

Virgil’s smile faded. ‘I succeed on my own terms, Kate. I don’t need anyone to oil the wheels for me, and I never cross the line of what is proper. I mean that I’m part of that society, so I can’t live outside it.’

‘I know what you meant, I was only teasing.’

His hand tightened on her waist. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’ve had enough of socialising for tonight. I was beginning to think it would never end. No, don’t look like that. I didn’t mean I was bored. I meant—damn it, I just meant I wanted to dance with
you
.’

‘Oh.’

‘Just “oh”? You’re supposed to say that you only wanted to dance with me.’

‘I would, if I could be certain you wouldn’t remind me of how impossible it is.’

‘Do I have to?’

‘No,’ she said sadly. ‘You’re leaving tomorrow and I shan’t see you again. I know that.’

Virgil pulled her closer as they turned. ‘Let’s not talk about tomorrow,’ he said harshly. ‘Let’s just enjoy what is left of tonight.’

She was happy to do so. As the dance progressed, she began to see why it was deemed so shocking. Above the waist they held themselves rigid, but below, their legs, thighs, knees brushed and touched, a constant teasing, tantalising contact. They did not talk, but their eyes spoke. Yearning and loss. A flare of passion quickly repressed. Desire flickered, was tamped down, then flickered back to life. By the time the waltz ended it had taken hold. They did not wait to bid anyone goodnight, but made their way quickly down the central staircase, among the first to collect their coats.

John Coachman was waiting with the landau. The hood was up. They sat together, facing forward in the dim of the interior as the coach rumbled over the cobblestones of Buxton.

‘Kate.’ Even in the dark, he could find the pulse below her ear. He had taken off his gloves as soon as they had left the ballroom. His lips were warm on her skin. His fingers stroked the nape of her neck. His thigh was solid against hers. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispered.

‘In the way that a greyhound is,’ she said, remembering that first night.

‘In the way only you can be. You are Kate. Perfectly Kate. Don’t let them change you. Don’t ever change.’

She swallowed hard. She would not have his last memories of her be marred by tears. ‘I shall try not to.’

‘What he said, your father, about the future. You will not allow him to force you into the role of an old aunt?’

Had he any idea what he was asking of her, to live at Castonbury and to defy its lord and master? To be herself, as he asked, would mean she could never please. ‘I shall try,’ Kate said hesitantly, for she would not lie to him.

Virgil sighed. ‘There is no alternative, but to remain there?’

‘If I made an effort to become truly eccentric, I suppose there is a chance they would exile me to the Dower House. Always assuming that Jamie’s wife chooses not to live there. Always assuming that she
is
Jamie’s wife.’

‘Your father seems to have decided.’

‘The lawyers will require more concrete proof than a ring and a child,’ Kate said.

‘Giles cannot accept that his brother would have married without informing him, I know.’

‘Giles has confided in you?’

Virgil shook his head. ‘He had no need. It’s obvious.’

‘To you, perhaps. You are very perceptive.’

The crump of the landau’s wheels on the gravel of Castonbury’s driveway took them both by surprise. The journey had been too short. As they proceeded towards the house, Kate began to panic. She was not ready to say goodbye.

‘Virgil, I…’

‘Come for a walk with me. It’s cold, but it’s a clear night. Let’s go look at the stars by the lake,’ he said, handing her out.

Kate looked towards the door, where Lumsden stood waiting. ‘I can’t. My aunt—’

‘Wait here.’

She had no idea what he said to the butler, but as John Coachman headed for the stables, the front door closed and Virgil rejoined her. ‘He won’t wait up, and he won’t tell.’

They walked in silence towards the lake. Above them the stars glittered in the midnight blue of an unusually clear night. It was cold. Winter was not long away. At the head of the north lake they stood looking out at the island. The water lapped gently on the pebbles and Virgil pulled her into his arms, crushing her to his chest so tightly she could hardly breathe. ‘I won’t forget you, Kate.’

She swallowed hard. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms in an effort to control the sudden spasm of tears which threatened to overwhelm her. She hadn’t thought about this moment, she wasn’t ready for it, but she would not spoil it. ‘I won’t forget you either.’

He tilted her chin up. His face was set, fierce, but she knew him better now. He was not angry. ‘Will you kiss me goodbye?’

He did not wait for her answer. His lips were gentle, but she was having none of that. Kate pressed herself against him, twining her arms around his neck, and kissed him hard, pouring all her regrets and all the passion they could not share into that one moment. When he would have pulled away, she pulled him back.

With a groan which seemed to come from the depths of his being, Virgil surrendered to the kiss and the moment. This wasn’t what he’d planned, but then since he’d met Kate nothing had gone as he’d planned. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t want her. It didn’t change a damn thing, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Not tonight.

He kissed her. Then he told himself to stop, and kissed her again. When he kissed her again, he was still sure it was not too late. But then he kissed her again, and she made that little growling noise deep in her throat, and he knew that it was. ‘Kate,’ he said, meaning
stop
,
but it came out sounding the opposite. How could he not want her, with her breath on his cheek, the scent of her perfume and her skin and her Kate-ness going straight to his head and his groin, her body pressed, melting, pliant into his?

He wanted her. He couldn’t imagine a time when he would not want her, though he knew this would be the only time he could ever have her. ‘Kate, we can’t.’

‘Don’t you want to?’

‘You know I do.’

‘Then show me,’ she whispered, ‘but not here.’

* * *

She led him to the Dower House, retrieving the key from its hiding place in the portico, lighting the lamp which sat on the marble hall table. Of one accord they climbed the stairs to the room with the fantastically carved mythological bed. Kate placed the lamp on the chest of drawers and turned to him, suddenly nervous.

‘Are you sure?’ Virgil asked her.

‘Are you?’

‘Right now, I am.’

Kate smiled. ‘That’s all that matters.’

They both knew differently. In the morning he would be gone. In the morning they would face their different futures alone. But right now, at this moment, his imminent departure was an urge to completion.

Virgil’s kiss was deeply sensual. It seemed to reach right down inside her and extract the sweetest, most delicious ache. Kate twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back fervently, spilling all the pent-up emotion of the night into him. She felt drugged, heavy, weighted, weightless, by what he was doing to her. His tongue stroked and licked, his mouth shaped hers and heated hers. His lips were like velvet.

He dropped his greatcoat onto the floor, then undid the clasp of her cloak. The velvet pooled at her feet. The tiny buttons on her gloves were next. He undid them slowly, licking the exposed skin of her wrist before pulling them down over her arms, trailing kisses in the wake of the soft French kid, on the crook of her elbow, her forearm, her wrist again, each one of her fingers. And then the other hand. She shivered violently.

He shrugged out of his coat. Her fingers plucked at his clothing but he slowed her, muttering her name like an incantation, smoothing his hands over her, taking his time, as if they had all the time in the world.

He ran his fingers through her hair, casting pearl-tipped pins onto the floor. His hands were like magic. Could hair feel? It was tingling at the roots. He kissed her mouth, her eyes, her throat.

His hands traced the shape of her body through her evening gown, skimming over her breasts, her belly, her hips. Heating her from the inside. His mouth drove her wild. His kisses grew more focused. He turned her around and kissed her neck. His fingers on the laces and hooks of her robe were less certain, but still he wouldn’t hurry, slipping it down, kissing the crook of her elbow as he freed her from each sleeve, cupping the flesh of her bottom, her thighs, as he helped her step out of it.