To Love A Lord of London (Wardington Park; Raptures of Royalty) (11 page)

1
810

“
A
ndrew
, stop rocking the boat!”

T
he young marquess
turned and stared at his companion. Thin, tall, and resting with her eyes closed, Catherine sat back like a princess on the other side of the boat. They floated in the middle of the pond, which divided their lands. She was ten. Bossy. And Andrew’s best friend.

But at the mature age of thirteen, Andrew was older and knew what he was about. “I lost the oar.” Well, he knew some of what he was about.

Catherine shot up then, her bright brown eyes wide. Brown curls wrapped around her face, highlighted with a red that glowed in the sun. “You lost the oar?” she asked, accusingly.

H
e sighed
and looked out to where it lay, floating in the water, ten feet away. Much too far for him to reach. He started to take off his boots. “I’ll swim to get it.”

She gasped, “And leave me here alone?”

He turned and smiled at her, “Scared?”

“No!”

L
iar
.

He had just taken off his other boot when her hand stilled him. Her eyes filled with water. “Don’t go, Drew.”

He smiled and then sat down, staring at her. His bare feet rested on the dry bottom of the boat. He’d do anything for her.

L
ondon
,

1824

“
K
eep staring at her
, and someone is bound to mistake your glare for interest.”

A
ndrew turned
his eyes away from their target and looked at his father. Martin Dawnton, the Duke of Wardington, stood at his side. Both the same height and of similar build, the men struck quite a pair. Wide-shouldered, strong-featured, and dressed in their fine black suits, the men were known to cause quite a stir amongst the female population, but no one had more scandal connected to their name than the duke.

After the duchess’s death nine years ago, Wardington had mourned the passing of his wife for a year before he stepped back out into society, when he became the rogue of the century. Many thought it unspeakable that a duke in his late forties would act in such a way, but those who said it were either women who wanted the duke for themselves or men who wished to be him. At the moment, Andrew simply wanted his father away. “Parties are for socialization. Perhaps you’d do well to bother someone who doesn’t live on your property.”

Wardington grinned. A look that could stop midday London traffic. “Speaking of property, we’re having a meeting with some of the other Bedfordshire landowners while in London. I hope you will be there.”

“
I
’ll be there
.”

“And I hope you know what you’re about.” A sly change of topic.

Andrew lifted a brow, wondering if his father could read his mind. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“You love her, Andrew.”

I do
. “I think I know my own heart.”

Wardington scoffed, “Yes, but it’s your head that I worry about. You know, you’re more like your brother than anyone gives you credit for.”

Andrew looked at the man who had raised three strong sons all alone after losing his wife. He respected his father dearly, but, “I’m nothing like Nathaniel.” Nathaniel, who’d been dubbed the London Lover by the society papers, had been known to have dalliances with women all over the city with whispers of some affairs stretching as far as the countryside. However, since Nathaniel’s marriage to Ms. Amy Ott, now Lady Amy Dawnton, Nathaniel only had eyes for her. Even now as they danced, which was something that people shamed—a happily married couple waltzing together—it was obvious that they were truly in
amore
. Neither Nathaniel’s past or present matched Andrew’s. Not his anger. Not his pain. And definitely not his current mood. “I’m nothing like Nathaniel,” he said a second time for emphasis.

“
N
ot Nathaniel
. Mark.”

“Mark?” No one was like Mark. Andrew recalled a column, which had been printed in a gossip paper a few years back, that described the Dawnton men as body parts. The duke was the legs, running through the women of London faster than anyone could keep up with. Nathaniel was the heart—o passionate in all his ways that it made it hard for anyone to resist him. Andrew was the hand. Like the Hand of a King, he commanded order from everyone around him. And then there was Mark. The head. No. The brain. All equations and scientific theories. There really wasn’t much else to him. Andrew was nowhere near as smart as Mark—not many people were. He looked to the other side of the room where Mark spoke to the only other men in the room who would follow his thoughts: the Viscount of Windorland, who didn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be proven by experiment, and Mr. Nelson James, a round, young gentry man who could never quite find a suit that fit him.

A
ndrew chuckled
, “I am definitely not like Mark.”

Wardington sighed, “Perhaps you’re right. For even in this, Mark would not overthink something that made this much sense. You and Catherine have been dancing around one another for years.” His father stared at him, dark green eyes that pierced into his soul. “What happened?”

A flash of the night when Andrew’s entire world changed came to him then. Catherine had tears in her eyes, her mouth flowing with apologies. He couldn’t forgive her. He would never forgive her.

“You’re passing up a fine woman.”

A lying woman more likely
, Andrew thought. “A handsome girl with a handsome dowry. She’ll marry.”

W
ardington frowned
, “And is that what you want? You want her simply to settle for a man who is interested in her money?”

Andrew’s chest tightened, and more than ever he wanted to run a hand over it. No. He didn’t want Catherine stuck with a fortune hunter, but neither did he wish to marry her himself. “If she could learn to curb her tongue…” Now he was thinking of her tongue—the last time they’d kissed. He cleared his throat, “She’d have had no problem at any of the previous sessions. Her doom is only her fault.”

Wardington made a thoughtful sound, and then seemed to start thinking to himself. Finally, he smiled and said, “I agree.”

Andrew tipped his head, glad his father finally agreed with something.

Then both father and son turned to watch the stunning Dowager Cartridge and Ms. Catherine Croftman as they drew the men around them into heated debate. The topic, Andrew didn’t know, but he’d always been one to enjoy debates, and men of parliament seemed to enjoy hearing the Dowager’s and Catherine’s points of view. While some disagreed with them and used the ladies as the reason why women would never be allowed to vote, many of the men agreed wholeheartedly with their views, Andrew included. The only thing they couldn’t seem to agree on was their emotions.

“
S
he truly is a beautiful woman
.”

Andrew snapped around to glare at his father. It wouldn’t be the first time the duke had set a young woman as a target, though he usually stayed away from women in society. Blood coursed through Andrew’s veins in anger and for fear that his father would do something that might ruin a father and son’s relationship. “If you touch her…”

Wardington looked at his son in pure shock and then laughed, drawing the eyes of those around him. When he calmed, there was a twinkle in his green eyes as Andrew took a step toward his father, causing the duke to raise a brow and chuckle. “My, aren’t we protective of a woman we do not want.”

But, he did want her. They simply could never be. Yet, he’d burn London to the ground before he gave Catherine up to his father. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

Wardington opened his mouth, ready to say more, and then thought better of his words and turned back toward the party, toward Catherine.

“I mean it,” Andrew warned.

The duke sucked his teeth, “Fear not, my boy. I wasn’t even referring to your sweet Catherine. Though, the girl is lovely.”

A
ndrew calmed
and turned back toward the debate, his eyes fixed on the curve of Catherine’s lips as she laughed along with the group. She was more than lovely. Her dark brown hair was put up, showing off her lean neck. She was taller than most women and even some of the very men around her, yet she still managed to look graceful. She was definitely more than lovely, but somehow he managed to pull his eyes away from Catherine long enough to look at the dowager. One would only know she was in her late forties if one was told because nothing about the late Earl of Cartridge’s wife spoke to her age. She was, in fact, ageless, as many called her. Porcelain skin, a deep color of blond hair, stunning dark blue eyes. Andrew turned to his father then and lifted a brow. “The dowager?”

W
ardington shook his head
, “Don’t you start. I was simply giving the woman a compliment.”

Andrew smiled. He loved his relationship with his father. They’d always gotten along well, unlike many fathers and sons. Andrew had always understood his responsibilities and had enjoyed the instruction he’d received under this father’s hand along with his time at Oxford. He was ready to take on the role of the next Duke of Wardington—not that he wished his father ill will. He simply felt prepared and was glad that it was Martin Dawnton who had raised him.

Deciding to leave his father’s affairs alone, Andrew asked, “Do you plan to go to the dowager’s party next week?”

“Who would miss it?”

No one, was the answer. Lady Cartridge’s parties were the jewel of the season, and everyone thanked her son, Earl Cartridge, for allowing it. From dancing bears to experiences from exotic far off lands, one never knew what to expect,. Invites to her parties were always craved, and you knew you were someone if you received one.

Wardington spoke again, “Just answer me one question.”

Andrew sighed and simply looked at his father, schooling his features as not to give the panic he felt away.

“Are you ready to spend the rest of your life watching her on some other man’s arm?”

No. Not at all. But would he? “Yes.” He then left his father’s side to go stand by the woman who’d been on his mind since their meeting in the woods months ago.

T
he discussion was
on the Vagrancy Act, which had just been passed a week ago. Andrew had voted against it.

Catherine was speaking. She looked powerful and beautiful as she spoke—her shoulders back, her head held high, daring any man to defy her. “Can you men not see that this law does not help the underlining issue of the homeless? How can we put a ban on begging and not do what we must to give these displaced soldiers shelters?”

A group around her side of the circle murmured in agreement. The dowager nodded as well.

Since the end of the war against Napoleon, the homeless issue had been a problem for nine years. Soldiers who were no longer needed for the fight were let go without another form of income.

Duke Hensman spoke then, “These people are a menace to society. You don’t help those who steal and kill. With these laws, they’ll all eventually leave London and search for work in places that are more likely to suit them.”

Andrew countered, “You mean, places more likely to suit you, your Grace.”

All eyes turned to Andrew then, but only Catherine’s mattered.

He continued, “If I may quote John Heywood, ‘Out of sight. Out of mind.’ This law does nothing but clear your guilty conscience for not lending a shilling to those in need.”

P
eople gasped
, some in agreement, some not. From his peripheral vision, he saw a small smile touch Catherine’s lips before it slid away. Before their run in in the woods, the smile would have stayed.

Hensman asked, “My Lord,” speaking to Andrew, “one must wonder if your words reflect your own views or if there are… other influences.” His eyes shifted to Catherine ever so slightly before returning, yet even then, everyone understood what the man meant. It seemed everyone in the world was still under the assumption that he was going to marry Catherine. He’d been fifteen when he made that promise. It was time everyone let it go.

“What Ms. Catherine believes is no business of mine.”

T
here was
a stillness in the group, and everyone turned to look at him and then Catherine. His words had been harsh, not for the words themselves, but because of the relationship everyone knew they’d had at one time. They’d grown up together. Been inseparable. Now, it all had come to this.

Catherine blinked a few times and then relaxed her shoulders, turned to Andrew and said, “Well, I must agree. For, I’ve met mules with higher cooperation skills.”

A group laughed. Andrew lifted a brow. Catherine would never back down to him. She would never wave a white flag or let him run over her. He loved her.

S
he turned
her eyes away from Andrew, curtseyed and said, “If you would excuse me, gentlemen.” There were a few calls for her to return, but Catherine didn’t stop.

She didn’t stop when she passed the ladies’ room. She didn’t stop at any of the open balconies. She stopped when she felt a hand tighten on her arm and felt herself being dragged into another room. Turning, she knew who would be there. “What do you want?”

“A mule?” Andrew asked.

Catherine shrugged, “You deserved much more than that.”

Andrew crossed his arms, becoming more handsome by the minute. His all-consuming stare made it difficult for her to breathe. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

The words were like a knife. She knew the words were true. “If we are done here...” She turned to the door.

“We are not.” His hand moved to keep the door closed.