Married to the Marquess (21 page)

“Then I hope you are prepared to wait for a while,” David returned, his drawling tone back in place, though Derek could see the anger burning in him, “because what you call decency is a far cry from what I do, sir. Good day.” He spun on his heel, completely turning his back to their father, then came over to Derek, who rose instantly, and took his hand. “Sorry, mate,” he whispered.

“Just another day with the family, right?” Derek replied in a low voice that his father had not a hope of hearing.

They shared brief, tense smiles, and Derek clapped him on the back as David stormed out of the room. The smile faded instantly as his father looked at him.

“Well?” the duke asked in a rough voice, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate.

Derek moved to a closer chair and took a measured breath, hoping his father would do the same. “I think that he needs some time, sir.”

“We do not have time, Whitlock!” he cried as he threw his hands out. “Do you think that is a luxury our family can afford? People are already talking about the disappointment that he is to the rest of the family, and how he will never measure up to the rest of us.”

Derek had no doubt that the only people saying those things were the ones his father deemed worthy of his association, which was a rather short list of the most contemptible members of nobility that Derek had ever met, but that was a moot point here. The rest of Society, who adored David and thought he walked on golden soil, would be of little consequence to the duke.

“I did not even have this much trouble with your sister,” his father sighed as he sank into his chair, putting one hand to his brow, “and she was the most headstrong girl I had ever encountered.”

And she passed it all down to her younger brother. Derek found it ironic that his father was comparing his siblings, when he had not even flinched at Diana’s being called a brood mare by David only moments before. It was very, very telling.

Because it was true.

“You must convince him to change, Whitlock,” his father entreated, leaning across the desk. “You must preserve our family’s reputation. You are my only hope.”

Derek swallowed back the bitter taste forming in his mouth, and nodded slowly. There was no choice but to agree, else he would be on the receiving end of the wrath, same as his brother. And no one would be left to manage the pieces that would fall from their father’s ire.

What was he going to do? He had no idea. But one way or another, something had to be if he wanted his family to remain as one.

Or as close as they ever got to the category, at any rate.

Much later that night, after the painfully silent dinner they had shared, Kate found herself playing in the music room while her husband slept on the sofa near her.

She did not mind. It seemed to calm him, which was all she had intended. The lines on his face had worried her, and the disgruntled downturn of his lip had given her cause to think that his day had been a difficult one. With his family, it always seemed to be.

And to think that she had once thought him lazy.

She glanced over at him as she played. He was so still, with his arms folded across his chest, his head resting on a pillow, his lips ever so slightly parted as he breathed silently in his sleep. He finally looked at peace, the tension she had seen in him gone for the time being.

If only his father did not expect so much of him. If only David would attempt to be contrite about anything. If only Derek were not so devoted as to accept whatever responsibilities that were thrust upon him.

But he would not be Derek if he were otherwise.

She smiled softly as he shifted his long legs, stretched out as far as they could be, though still booted. He should have removed them, it would have been far more comfortable. But it seemed he did not care about that.

She was feeling rather keen towards him at the moment. How could she not? He was the chief instigator for the change in her. She was Kate now, in every respect. She was wearing her hair down, she was playing music all the time, she smiled more, she laughed, and she sang.

What had come over her?

What had he done to her?

As she finished the final notes of the song she was playing, she sighed just a touch, letting the notes fade away gently, until only the crackling of the fire could be heard.

“That was a particularly lovely piece, Kate.”

She turned on the bench to see Derek staring at her, eyes clear and lucid, a gentle smile on his face.  She blushed a bit and offered a smile of her own. “Thank you.”

“Was that something I should know or something new?”

Her heart started pounding, and she fought to keep from biting her lip. “It’s a new piece.”

He gave her an odd look. “How new?”

Her cheeks flamed even further, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Very.” When he continued to look at her in that manner, she confessed, in a small voice, “I wrote it.”

His brows shot up to his hairline. “You wrote that?”

She nodded just once.

He got up from his sofa and went to her side, his eyes wide. “Kate, that was spectacular! I had no idea you could compose!”

“Thank you,” she said softly, “but it is really just a hobby, and I’m not very good.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “You are very good, Kate, believe me.”

She blushed yet again under the power of his gaze and tried to take her hand away, but he held tight. “Derek, you are still affected from sleep, it really was not...”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he interrupted.

She stopped and looked up at him in confusion. “But I thought…”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “I could never sleep while you are playing, Kate. Never.”

She wasn’t sure whether she ought to smile and accept the extraordinary compliment or protest and be demure again. When he looked at her like that, she could barely think at all.

Derek must have sensed her turmoil, for he only laughed softly and tugged on her hand. “Come on, it is long past bed for both of us. Allow me to escort you to your room.”

Relieved that he spoke first so she would not have to, she nodded and stood up. But Derek must not have backed up far enough, and suddenly Kate was so close to him that all of the breath was swept from her lungs in one swift second.

He still held her hand in his, and therein seemed to be the source of the heat now coursing through her. It was the only thing she could feel at the moment.

Derek could feel the change in Kate’s breathing, and the shallow puffs of air touched his skin as gently as a breeze. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and luminous in the candlelight, and he saw in them the same confusion that radiated through him. Slowly, he brought his other hand up and touched a ringlet dangling near her ear. Then his fingers brushed her cheek, that beautiful, fragile porcelain that was her skin, and he could not stop himself from stroking it.

She did not breathe, and neither did he. For his part, he could not. His fingers faintly traced a line from her cheek to her chin, just below her lips. “Have I ever kissed you, Kate?” he whispered, unable to find any strength for his voice.

She finally took in a shaky breath, and he felt it down to his toes. “Yes.”

“When?” he asked, still stroking her cheek, his thumb tantalizingly close to her bottom lip.

“On… on our wedding day.”

“But never since,” he murmured, his eyes now following his fingers.

“No,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering a bit at his touch.

“I should have kissed you more,” he said, finally touching her bottom lip with his thumb. “I should have kissed you every day.”

She trembled and shuddered a gasp. “Why… why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted in the barest hint of a whisper. Then, before his brain could catch up with him, he closed the distance between them and softly pressed his lips to hers.

In an instant, Kate’s trembling stopped, and so did Derek’s heart. So did all other sensation he had ever previously known. All he could feel was the gentle pressure of her lips on his, his on hers, the two of them together. Where he stopped and she started, he did not know and nor did he care. He had never imagined she would be so sweet, that he had ever gone without kissing her after having done so once. He could not have kissed her at their wedding; he would never have been able to stop. He did not know how he would now.

Once, twice, three times he kissed her, though it all blurred together as one long, gentle, searching exploration of his wife’s lips. They molded to his so perfectly it was like something out of a dream, only his dreams could not compare. His hand gently touched the skin of her delicate throat, then he ran his fingers back to the luscious mane of thick, black hair that she blessedly wore down, brought the tips of his fingers back to graze the firm line of her jaw, and finally took the tip of her chin back in hand. He broke off at last, not even able to find the shame he ought for the gasp that escaped him.

But she matched him with one of her own, and for a number of heartbeats, they hovered there, lips only a breath apart. The moment lingered, a faint memory that could be relived with the slightest movement on either side.

Yet neither moved. One breath passed his lips, then two, and then, just as he neared a third, Kate moved.

She took a shaky step away, her eyes wider and more entrancing than before. He wanted her to stay, he wanted her to go, he wanted…

He hadn’t the faintest idea what he wanted.

Again, she moved backwards, slowly, almost hesitantly, until only their hands were touching.

“I think…” she started, her voice scarcely above a breath, her lips barely moving. “I think I will see myself to my room tonight.”

All he could manage was a nod, his eyes switching between hers and their barely touching hands.

Then, suddenly, the last connection was severed as she stepped back further and turned, unsteadily making her way out of the room. She glanced back at him as she did so, and repeatedly, as if she were afraid he would vanish.

He would not.

He could not.

Only when she had fully left, when he was entirely alone, did he take a deep breath and allow himself to move. He sank onto the sofa he had only just vacated and put his head into his hands as his heart and his head frantically raced in tandem within him.

He moved his hands down to press together in front of his face and stared into the fire before him, now faint and smoldering, but with no less heat than it had before, when it blazed bright and furious.

He could relate.

C
hapter
T
welve