The Lady Who Broke the Rules (7 page)

‘It’s perfect. It will give the poor woman independence, and it will bring her into the bosom of the family without suffocating her. She may bring the child to visit Papa, but her living separately will ensure that he doesn’t become too attached, should matters prove—well, we shall have to wait and see how matters prove once Harry has done some digging.’

‘It will be a considerable amount of work to get the place fit for habitation. I am not sure how I am to find the time, with all my other duties.’

‘You may leave the detail of it up to me, Aunt Wilhelmina,’ Kate said. ‘I will look over the place tomorrow.’

‘And His Grace?’ Mrs Landes-Fraser demanded. ‘Am I to tell His Grace that his arrangements have been overset?’

‘You may leave our father up to me,’ Giles said brusquely.

‘And you may leave the ordering of a pony for the boy up to me,’ Phaedra said, bestowing one of her naughty smiles upon her aunt.

‘The child is but two years old,’ Mrs Landes-Fraser blustered.

‘If he is a Montague, that is long past the age of throwing him onto a saddle,’ Phaedra retorted.

Her aunt’s opinion of this was lost, as the butler made his stately entrance. ‘Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes, my lord.’

‘Excellent timing as ever, Lumsden.’ Giles beamed. ‘Best fetch my sister’s guest now.’ He poured himself another Madeira, and turned to Kate. ‘An American businessman, eh? What on earth does he hope to find of interest here at Castonbury?’

‘You know what these New Worlders are like.’ Though Mrs Landes-Fraser had never, in fact, met anyone from the New World, American or otherwise, her complete ignorance did not prevent her from holding an opinion—it never did. ‘More than likely he wishes to boast to all his friends of his rubbing shoulders with a duke’s family. They have no aristocracy over there, you know. It is one of the many things which makes them an inferior country.’

‘Actually, Aunt, I believe that America is likely to prove a most superior country in the very near future,’ Giles said. ‘You only have to look at the way the cotton trade is going to see—’

‘Trade!’ Mrs Landes-Fraser wrinkled her nose. ‘Money cannot buy rank.’

‘Yes, well, if we don’t sort out our family finances soon, we will be living in genteel poverty, and frankly I’d rather be wealthy than well-born,’ Giles muttered.

‘Actually, Mr Jackson is more interested in our village school than our family tree,’ Kate chipped in brightly. Looking around the room at her relatives, she felt the first flicker of serious doubt. Lumsden had obviously said nothing. Perhaps she should have mentioned it, after all, but then that would have implied that it mattered to her and it did not, save that she liked the way Virgil looked. What must he be feeling? Had she allowed her determination to shock to overrule her judgement? Jumping to her feet, she was at the door of the drawing room just as Lumsden threw it open. Virgil stood on the threshold, his tall, well-built figure immaculate in evening dress, quite dwarfing the butler.

‘Mr Jackson.’

Lumsden’s tone was funereal. Thinking that Virgil must be feeling horribly like a gladiator cast into the lion’s den, Kate stepped towards him as if to shield him, but he shook his head, tilted his head back proudly and stepped into the drawing room.

The effect of his entrance was almost comical.

* * *

‘I thought you were magnificent. I confess, when you walked into the drawing room last night, I felt dreadfully guilty for putting you through the agony of a family dinner, but you were wonderful.’

It was not yet nine of the clock the following morning, but having decided, after the endurance test which had been last night’s repast, to spare Virgil—and, if she was honest, herself—the ordeal of breakfast
en famille
, Kate had used the need to investigate the Dower House as an excuse for an early start. It was a pleasant day, the air crisp with autumn, the grass mossy and soft underfoot as they made their way along the lower lakeside.

‘It was hardly an ordeal. Your sister doesn’t care who she talks to as long as it’s about horses, and your brother…’

‘Yes, what were you talking to Giles about? You sat forever over the port.’

‘Business.’

‘My father’s investments, you mean. Don’t worry, you are not breaking a confidence. I know his imprudence has left the family coffers sadly empty. Were you able to advise Giles?’

‘I need to understand more about the situation first. In my experience, there are always loopholes if you know where to look. If that doesn’t suffice, your brother has a number of other ideas for raising funds. The problem is,’ Virgil said with a grin, ‘that they are all too safe. Low risk is what Giles calls them, and I can understand why—it’s not his money. If it were down to me—anyway, I said I’d take a closer look and let him know what I think.’

‘That is very generous of you.’

‘Business of any sort interests me.’

They stepped onto the rustic bridge whose three arches spanned the cascade between the two lakes, and which Kate claimed gave one of the best views back to the house. They stopped at the centre, leaning side by side on the lichen-covered parapet. A silver fish leapt dramatically in pursuit of a fly, landing with a loud splash which sent ripples eddying out over the greenish-brown water. Blades of grass stuck with the dew to Virgil’s top boots. The skirts of his coat brushed against Kate’s gown. She wore a dark green habit today, with another of those tight little jackets which clung to her slim form. Her hair was gathered into a heavy chignon at the base of her neck. She wore neither hat nor gloves.

‘Giles strikes me as most unhappy with his situation as heir apparent,’ Virgil said. ‘I got the impression that he would much rather be back in the army than here.’

‘He’s a dark horse, my brother. There are depths to him which I confess I did not realise until recently. Lily, his betrothed, is of Romany origin, you know—though Giles has been at pains to keep
that
fact from our father. Romany blood is no blood for a future duchess in our father’s eyes. And you’re right, he would much rather be back in the army. Giles never had any expectations of inheriting this place.’

‘It is quite a place.’ Virgil gazed back at the house across the parkland; it seemed to nestle in the line of trees to the south. The symmetry of the building was most pleasing from this angle. ‘It looks as if the landscape has been designed for it.’

‘It was,’ Kate said with a brief smile. ‘None of this perspective is natural—it was all designed by Robert Adam, the man who built the house. Even the lakes have been dammed to give a more pleasing prospect. Nothing here is as nature made it, though I’ll admit it has been very well done.’

‘Very well indeed,’ Virgil exclaimed, ‘it all looks as if it has been here forever.’

‘Yes, that is rather the intention, to make it seem perfectly natural. In order to reflect the perfectly natural right of centuries of Montagues to exploit Castonbury villagers,’ Kate replied caustically. ‘If my father had his way, none of it would change. Educating the serfs, you must know, is in his eyes nothing short of anarchy, for it will only give them aspirations beyond their proper place in life.’

‘It is a view I am unfortunately extremely familiar with,’ Virgil said.

Kate turned to face him, leaning back against the stonework of the bridge. ‘You mean my father shares his outlook with the plantation owners. I shall make a point of telling him that.’

‘Do you enjoy being at outs with him?’

Her smile faded into a small frown which spoiled the smooth arch of her brows. ‘It’s not that I do it deliberately, but we have so little in common. He doesn’t really know me. I don’t think he knows any of his children very well. We are not exactly a close family, nor have we been raised to expect affection from one another. I used to think it would have been different if Mama had lived, but actually I don’t think it would have been. I don’t recall her being in the least bit maternal. Of course, I care for my father in a dutiful way, but I don’t like him any more than he likes me.’

There was hurt there, behind that fierce expression that made her eyes more slate-grey than blue. It was there, too, in the way she crossed her arms over her chest, in the defiant tilt of her chin. ‘Shall I meet him while I am here?’

Kate chuckled. ‘I hope so, and if you do, I beg you do not let the fact that he is nominally your host constrain you. He is bound to be just as offensive as Aunt Wilhelmina, so you need have no qualms. She was quite crushed by the end of dinner last night. I could have kissed you.’

Immediately the words were out, Kate wished them back. ‘I mean, I thought you put Aunt Wilhelmina down beautifully. I did not mean I actually wanted to kiss you. Not in the dining room.’

She could feel the hot flush prickling up her back and prayed it would not reach her cheeks. Why had she mentioned kissing? She had been trying so hard not to think of kissing Virgil ever since he had kissed her and now… Much too late, Kate bit her tongue.

‘Not in the dining room,’ Virgil mused. The pulse was there again, just below her ear. He touched it. He could not resist touching it, feeling it flutter under his fingertip, fascinated by the soft warmth of her skin, by the contrast of his skin on hers. ‘If not in the dining room, then where? I wonder.’

He hadn’t meant to touch her. He hadn’t meant to kiss her again, but he could not resist her. Eleven years, and he had never had any real trouble in repressing his desire, but there was something about Kate. He forgot to be on his guard with her. ‘What about here?’

Virgil curled his fingers into the thick bundle of her hair and covered her body with his. She was pliable as a willow. Her thighs brushed his. His blood stirred and heated. His desire for her unfurled sleepily, slowly, but surely all the same. He knew he was playing with fire, but still he leaned closer to her. Her breath clouded the air between them. ‘Will you kiss me on the bridge, Kate?’

‘Virgil, I’m not very good at this sort of thing.’ Her heart was hammering in her breast. Her body was tingling where it met his, and aching where it did not. She wasn’t the type of woman who even wanted this sort of thing, whatever it was. Except that she did want it.

Virgil pulled her towards him, bracing one hand on the parapet, the other sliding down from her hair to the small of her back. He smiled, a slow smile, as if that, too, was unfurling from a long hibernation, stretching sensuously, sinuously. ‘You’re not good at this sort of thing, and I’m out of practice, and yet we managed well enough yesterday.’ He nibbled at the lobe of her ear, then tasted the skin behind it, the fluttering pulse. Sweet and heady. His hand settled on the curve of her bottom. He had forgotten what curves could do to him.

‘Virgil.’ Kate touched his face. She ran her fingers over the springy crop of his hair. His head was beautifully shaped. His body was so solid. So very different from hers. So very different from…

She closed her mind on that thought. The scent of him was so different too. She leaned in to him, nipping his ear in imitation of what he had done to her. He shuddered in response. She wanted more. She wanted to know more too. Why was he out of practice? How long had it been? Why her? She opened her mouth to ask him, but something stopped her. A warning in his eyes? His hold on her slackened. Unable to bear it, Kate stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

He was startled into stillness. His lips were cool with the morning air. He tasted of the coffee he’d had at breakfast. It was not so much his intriguing abstinence or her own far from satisfactory experience, but a simple desire to merge and to mingle with another, to be no longer alone, which made Kate move her lips more insistently against his. His body was so big compared to hers, so powerful, yet it was a potent contrast, exciting and reassuring rather than intimidating. She felt infinitely female against his blatant maleness, then he gave a little groan and his arms went round her like a cooper’s hoops around a barrel, yanking her almost off her feet, and she stopped thinking about anything at all.

He was not gentle. His kiss was neither untutored nor timid. It was a harsh kiss, his mouth hungry, ravaging hers in a way completely unlike their kiss of yesterday. Heat flared between them. Kate felt as if she could not breathe and did not want to breathe, squeezed tight and breathless, lightheaded with it. His lips pressed against hers, his tongue licking its way inside her mouth in a shockingly intimate way, his teeth nipping and biting, the pressure too much and yet not nearly enough.

Her back was pressed against the stone of the bridge. Her breasts were pressed against Virgil’s chest. Her nipples were tingling. The solid length of his manhood pressed between her thighs. She had forgotten. She had not quite forgotten, though she did not remember this…this urgent need, ache and throb. Her hands clutched at his head, his shoulders, his coat. A strange guttural sound came from deep in her throat.

And then she was free, panting, staring up at Virgil, who was staring out across the bridge towards the house, his eyes narrowed. ‘What…?’

‘I don’t know. A gardener. A groom, perhaps,’ Virgil said, moving away from her.

Kate peered across the lake. The figure was some distance away. She could just about make out that it was male. ‘Do you think he saw?’

Virgil shook his head. ‘I doubt it.’ He blinked and looked down at Kate. She was flushed. Her lips looked like crushed berries. He was uncomfortably aware of his erection, and was relieved that he was wearing buckskins and not those ridiculously tight-knitted pantaloons. Though Kate must be perfectly aware—he swore under his breath.

‘You must have very keen hearing. Or eyesight.’ Kate’s own eyes had been closed. Hadn’t Virgil, then, been as carried away as she? ‘Which was it?’ she asked, striving and completely failing to sound light, as if kissing a man on Robert Adam’s bridge was an everyday occurrence for her.

‘Both. Neither. I don’t know.’ Virgil realised he was rubbing his forearm, caught himself and self-consciously tugged the starched cuff of his shirt. ‘Instinct, I suppose,’ he said. ‘It was a stupid thing to do.’ Here, he meant. Or anywhere, he should have meant, though he was too coiled, tense, wound up with the soaring heat of that kiss, to wish it had not happened, quite yet.