The Danger in Tempting an Earl (22 page)

“Yes, of course,” Louise said. She nodded thoughtfully. The wheels and cranks in her brain were clearly at work. “But the way he looked at you just now . . . Katherine, don’t you see that he is desperately in love with you?”

“He is not, or he would have proposed to me properly by now,” Katherine blurted. Snapping her mouth shut, she swung her gaze toward the empty plate that sat before her. Only crumbs remained.

“Why would you say that?” Louise asked, her voice a low whisper.

Resting her elbows on the edge of the table, Katherine dropped her face into her hands. In the heat of passion, Lucien had told her he loved her, but how could she believe that he really meant it when he’d failed to ask for her hand the following day? “You know why,” she murmured, too embarrassed by half to look her friend in the eye. She shouldn’t have said anything, but she’d spent two full days and an entire morning worrying about it.

“Oh!” Katherine heard Louise move from her chair, and a moment later, her arms came about Katherine. “My poor dear.”

“So you see, I have acted very foolishly, Louise. I have become a mistress after all, and lost a friend in the process. Heavens! Whatever must he think of me?”

“What must he think of you?” Louise asked with steel in her voice. “Dear Katherine, he is the one who has wronged
you
! You have nothing to be ashamed of. Now, the important thing is to convince him to do the right thing and marry you.”

Lowering her hands, Katherine raised her head and looked at her friend. “I don’t think he wants to anymore. In fact, he’s been very distant with me lately.”

“Anymore?” Louise studied her. “You mean to say he has indeed suggested it?”

“He mentioned it a couple of times, but that was before we . . .” She swallowed. “He hasn’t said a word about it since, not even in jest.”

“And how did you respond when he initially brought it up? Were you open to his suggestion?”

“Not really. When I became a widow, I decided never again to attach myself to any man—that I’d much rather be a companion to my aunt.”

“Well, I do hope you’ve changed your mind about that. Think of Sophia, Katherine, and think of yourself. It would be so much better for you to marry Roxberry.”

Katherine attempted a smile, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “I know that now, but I fear it is too late. He no longer wants me.”

Louise sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Lady Crossby, I do believe you’re being an idiot about this.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” Louise shook her head, her dark ringlets swinging against her cheeks. “To think that a woman like you, who has been married, would know so little about men or people in general. Honestly, you astound me.”

Katherine stared at her. “I love him,” she said.

Louise nodded. “I know.” Her smile was full of satisfaction.

“And I have discouraged his suit with my continuous resistance.” She sank back against her chair. “If he asks me now and I refuse him . . . the possibility that I might . . . oh, Louise, what a fool I’ve been.”

“I’m so glad to know that you’re finally seeing reason,” Louise said, her smile widening until she was practically beaming. “Why, I’m sure the poor man would love to ask for your hand but has quite lost the courage to do so again.”

“I think you’re probably right,” Katherine agreed, yet the doubt that had tugged at her heart for years refused to budge. “But what if you’re not? I dare not broach the issue for fear of being spurned.”

Louise looked at her with sympathy. “I sense that your marriage to Crossby was not a happy one, though you were always brave in putting on a good appearance for the benefit of others. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, or I would have tried to help.”

“There was nothing you could do. He was my husband. Thankfully, we did not see very much of each other.”

“Hmm.” Louise’s eyes met Katherine’s knowingly, but she said nothing further about it. “Still, Roxberry is different. You’ve known him your whole life, Katherine. Surely you can trust him not to hurt you. But if you do wish for him to make the first move, then we shall merely have to nudge him along a little, shan’t we?”

“Louise . . . ?”

Louise smiled. “I will arrive for dinner tomorrow evening with Huntley. We’ll have a splendid time of it, you’ll see.”

Katherine groaned. She didn’t like the idea of playing games, but she did want Lucien to be hers. If he still wished to marry her, all she wanted from him was a little sign—something that would give her courage.

Chapter 15

D
amn!
Lucien cursed himself as he entered the park. He had no idea where he was going, only that he needed to walk. Surely there wasn’t a man alive in England who was as big a blockhead as he.

A smartly dressed gentleman tipped his hat in his direction, and Lucien almost passed him by without returning the salutation. His mind was in a muddle, his body in constant agony because of her. Having Katherine beneath his roof was torture, especially now that he knew what it was like to have her, to kiss those supple lips, to run his hands over her lithe body as she sighed with pleasure. His touch enflamed her, he could see it in her eyes, and the very thought of it was most provocative.

Lucien’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. The air was cool today, sharp and crisp. He took a breath and focused on the way it felt as it rushed into his lungs. His sanity was returning, little by little, though he knew it would depart again the instant he returned home and laid eyes on her.

Why couldn’t he just ask her the one simple question that was forever churning in his mind? The answer was simple. He’d brought it up before, only to have her toss his offer back at him. After everything they’d recently shared, receiving another “no” from her would likely crush him. He could not risk being denied, not after all the years he’d spent loving her and hoping for her to be his. She’d given herself to him the other night, and while it had been wonderful—better than he ever could have dreamed—she’d done so without any promises being made.

Idiot.

Reaching a cluster of trees, Lucien stopped and scanned the scenery. Nobody else was around, and he plucked his hat from his head and raked his fingers through his hair. He loved her, by God, and because of that, he’d lost his senses and taken her to bed, fully knowing where she stood on the subject of marriage. He’d sworn he wouldn’t repeat the mistake—that if they were ever intimate again, it would be because she’d accepted his proposal. Consequently, he hadn’t kissed her since their night together either—he simply didn’t trust himself to leave it only at that. Not when she stirred such fire in him that all he could think of was how to take her the next time the opportunity to do so arose.

Bloody hell! He had to put the question to her soon, for the sake of his health as much as his peace of mind. He pondered his chance of success. Katherine had seemed a bit tense of late . . . apprehensive perhaps. This morning, she’d been upset, but just before Lady Huntley had arrived, she’d said the most curious thing:
“I suppose that’s what I get for wanting the moon, the stars and the sun
.
”
Lucien’s heart made a funny thump. If there was any chance at all that she was speaking of him, then he was bloody well going to find out. He hadn’t gotten himself this far only to give up now.

With renewed purpose, he put his hat back on his head and marched back the way he’d come. Katherine was his—she’d given herself to him, after all. It was time he stopped being such a dunce about it all and spoke the question that had been on his lips these last few days. The last time he’d asked, she’d been asleep, so that didn’t count for much, and before that she’d had her own fears to conquer.

Stopping by the florist on the way, he picked up a bouquet of yellow tulips held together by a lilac ribbon. But when he arrived home, his grand plan of proposing was brought to an immediate halt upon seeing Barrymore and Carlyle alighting from a carriage. He winced. This was not good. If they discovered that Katherine was living with him, the news would hit Mayfair by storm. By God, they’d betted on his success at winning her hand! This could prove disastrous. His grip on the tulips tightened. He hadn’t expected them to call on him, and he fleetingly considered backing away and turning the corner. If he could at least enter through the back, then he could get rid of the flowers and warn everyone inside.

Too late, Barrymore spotted him. “Ah! Roxberry, just the man we’re looking for.” His eyes went directly to the flowers. “I don’t suppose those are for Lady Crossby,” he said.

“No, they’re not,” Lucien said, approaching the pair with great reluctance.

Barrymore’s eyebrows drew together. “Is there another lady we ought to know about?”

“Just as long as it’s not my heiress,” Carlyle spoke. He tipped his hat at Lucien. “Roxberry.”

“I can assure you that I have no designs on her,” Lucien said, “whoever she may be.”

“But why are you returning with your flowers? Surely the lady who holds your interest wasn’t so cruel as to toss you out without accepting them?” Barrymore asked, his frown deeply serious.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Lucien said, not liking what such a confession would do to his pride, even if it wasn’t true. “I’m seeing the lady later and thought I’d pick up the flowers early, since I was out for a walk anyway—grab the loveliest bouquet before anyone else has a chance to do so.”

“Hmm,” Carlyle muttered. “I’ve always thought you were a sensible fellow, Roxberry. Apparently your practicality extends to every aspect of your life. Will you invite us in? I’d kill for a cup of tea right now.”

Pasting a smile on his face, Lucien climbed the steps to his front door and plucked the key from his pocket. He placed it in the lock, took a deep breath and turned it. The door swung open to reveal a very perplexed-looking Parker, his eyes dashing about as he looked from one man to the other. Lucien tried to calm his nerves. He had to protect Katherine from the promise of scandal that presently stood in his foyer. “Parker,” he said. “If you’ll please take these gentlemen’s hats and coats and lead them through to my study, I’ll just see if I can find a maid to put these flowers in water.” He needed an excuse to go upstairs and tell Katherine to remain in her room until it was safe.

“Surely your butler can do that for you when he’s done helping us,” Barrymore said. “Here, I’ll hold the bouquet for you if you like so you can take off your own coat.”

What could he do without raising suspicion? Lucien muttered a silent oath as he gave the flowers to Barrymore and took off his greatcoat. “Thank you,” he said. He handed the garment to Parker and addressed his butler. “Please see to the flowers first, and then arrange for some tea to be brought in. I understand Carlyle has a particular craving for it.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, perhaps we could have some sandwiches too? It’s close to luncheon, and I’m not sure I’ll make it back home before collapsing from hunger,” Barrymore said.

Lucien stared at him.
By all means, invite yourself
. He wanted to toss both men out, but that would be exceptionally bad form. Praying for patience and a heavy dose of divine intervention, Lucien pasted a smile on his face and nodded. “Excellent idea. Parker will see to it right away. This way, gentlemen!”

Standing aside, Lucien waited for his guests to enter his study before closing the door behind them. Suggesting that each man take a seat, Lucien strolled around to the opposite side of his desk and paused, his gaze dropping to the piece of paper lying on the surface before him. It was a letter—a dinner invitation, to be precise—addressed to his sister. The writing curled with elegant swirls, which he instantly recognized as Katherine’s. It looked unfinished—halted in midsentence. He frowned. Apparently she’d chosen to oppose his wishes and during his absence had ventured not only downstairs but into his study as well. Once Barrymore and Carlyle departed, he would have to remind her of the danger she faced and how lucky it was that she hadn’t been sitting at his desk just now when they’d all walked in.

Moving between his chair and the desk, Lucien sat down across from his guests and smiled. “So tell me, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Well . . . ,” Barrymore began, “rumor has it that Lady Crossby is no longer in residence at Cresthaven. People are wondering where she might be. Apparently she’s vanished into thin air.”

“Surely you must be mistaken,” Lucien told him. He leaned back and stretched out his legs but was met with resistance. Soft resistance. Looking down, he spied the obstacle and had to fight for immediate composure. By God if the little minx wasn’t staring right back at him from underneath his desk. Had she no consideration for her own safety? Removing his attention from her strained expression, he straightened himself a bit and leaned forward so his elbows rested on the table.

“Whatever the case,” Carlyle said, “it’s presented the opportunity for a new bet in White’s betting book—one with stakes so high that many are likely to fall into debt.”

“Are you able to share the specifics?” Lucien asked. He was trying desperately hard not to look down at Katherine for fear that Barrymore and Carlyle might think something amiss.

“Of course,” Carlyle murmured. He shifted a bit in his seat, his large frame looking marginally uncomfortable in the much smaller chair. “The bet is in regard to her whereabouts. Everyone wants to know where she is and especially
whom
she’s there with. As you already know, most people have you in mind, although there are some who’ve recently mentioned Starkly. Apparently she was also seen talking to him at the ball, and since both of you are in Town, then surely she must be here too if she’s carrying on an affair with either one of you. However, there are those who believe she’s left the country, while others think she might still be at Cresthaven after all. You know her better than anyone, Roxberry. If you have any idea as to where she might be and the gentleman whose company she’s keeping, then perhaps you’d be kind enough to advise us.”

“That doesn’t sound very fair,” Lucien muttered. “Nevertheless, I will tell you that she did indeed come to Town.” He heard a muttered oath from beneath the desk, which he hastily covered with a cough. “However, she quickly left again—alone, I might add. It was my understanding that she would be journeying back to Cresthaven, but if you say she’s not in residence, then my guess in regard to her whereabouts is as good as yours, gentlemen.”

“Then she has left the country,” Barrymore said. “Everyone knows her parents are in Scotland. It’s possible she followed them there.”

“In this day and age, anything is possible,” Lucien said. “Though I personally would not bet on it.”

“Then what would you bet on?” Carlyle asked, his eyes widening with expectation.

“Nothing,” Lucien replied. “I don’t gamble, you see. Especially not when I’m likely to lose.”

“Then perhaps you can tell us if there’s been some development in the other matter. We’ve told everyone who mentioned Starkly that they were being absurd and that if she were to attach herself to any gentleman, it would be to you. Be honest with us, Roxberry. Will you be saying your vows soon?” Barrymore asked.

“I don’t see how I can,” Lucien said. Although he didn’t look at her, he could sense Katherine’s desire to leap out from under the desk and give them all a piece of her mind. “I mean, if Lady Crossby is not to be found in Society, then surely she must be
out
of Society, in which case there’s little chance of a forthcoming marriage between the two of us, when I am here in Town.”

“Well, dash it all,” Barrymore exclaimed just as the tea and sandwiches arrived. “We were both betting that you would marry her within the next two weeks by special license. Indeed, we stand to lose a great deal if you do not.”

“All I can tell you is that no plans have been made.” Reaching for a sandwich, Lucien sank his teeth into the soft bread. Barrymore and Carlyle both followed suit. “But I will say this. Each time I’ve mentioned marriage to the lady, she has denied any wish to venture down that path again.”

“You will not ask her again, then?” Carlyle asked, his cheeks filled with food.

With his focus on the bet, the young earl had apparently forgotten his manners—not that Lucien cared. He shrugged, reached for his teacup and took a sip. It was blessedly hot. “I don’t know. I believe it will depend on whether or not she can accept that I am by far the better chess player.”

Something hard came down over his toes. Her fist, no doubt. Lucien grimaced, and unfortunately the expression did not go unnoticed. “Something the matter?” Barrymore asked.

“The tea was hotter than I expected,” Lucien lied. “I believe I’ve burned myself.”

“Well, we shan’t take up any more of your time. I think we’ve learned as much as we’re likely to, however little that may be.” Barrymore rose, as did Carlyle. “Thank you, Roxberry.”

“My pleasure,” Lucien said, rising as well. He came around the desk and crossed to the door. “I’ll see you out.”

As soon as they’d left, Lucien expelled a deep breath. Disaster had been averted—for now. Turning around, he prepared to return to his study, but he spotted Katherine instead, her slim figure hurrying toward the stairs. “And where, pray tell, do you think you’re going?” he asked.

She froze and turned toward him, her eyes refusing to meet his. “To my room.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you first.” He swept his arm toward the door of his study and waited for her to go toward it. She did not. Lowering his arm, he took a slow breath and fought for patience. “I suspect that you and I are about to have an argument, Kate, and if that is the case, then I’d rather keep it to ourselves than share it with the servants. Now, if you please.”