Untamed (25 page)

He caught her hand and carried it to his lips, his warm, moist, kissable lips. “Adorable, lovely, that mouth altogether sweeter than any confectioner’s treat.”

The wildness was returned to his eyes, only Kate didn’t think it was lunacy this time, but rather … passion. “Rourke!”

His giant step brought their bodies brushing. “Kiss me, Kate.”

She pulled back, gaze darting to the street beyond either of his broad shoulders. Several shoppers passed by, one girl goggle-eyed and giggling. She swung her gaze up to her husband’s. “But we’re in the middle of the street.”

He spanned her waist with his hands, and against all reason Kate felt herself melting into the warmth of those big, broad palms. “Aye, so we are, but we’re married now. Kiss me, anyway. Kiss me as a lover would, as though you mean it.”

Kate stood rooted in place. Her heart skipped, her breath hitched. And between her thighs, a slow, honeyed heat was making its presence known.

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me, then?” Despite the glint in his eye, she had the feeling that this once he posed a serious question.

She shook her head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? We’re no in London anymore. Any passersby will see a pair of newlyweds showing a bit of fondness for one another on the street.”

“A bit of fondness, is that what you call it? Twice now I’ve let you cajole me into kissing you in public, and only look what has come of it.”

“What, indeed.” He drew her to him and leaned down, his lips matching to hers.

“How now, what luck is this?”

They broke apart. Cursing beneath his breath, Rourke dropped his hands from Kate’s waist and turned about to the hansom cab drawn up at their side.

His London servant, Ralph somebody or other, leaned out from the open carriage window. Snapped back to sense, Kate said, “Did you just come from the train station? We are on our way there now to see about the missing luggage. Had we known you were coming, we might have met you.”

Struck by the number of
we’
s that short greeting included, she glanced over to Rourke, wondering if he’d noticed. Storm clouds rode her husband’s high brow, and his jaw seemed quite set.

“Yes, Mr. Sylvester, had you seen fit to share your plans, we might have met you, indeed.”

“There’s no need, milady. I have it right here.” He pointed to indicate the carriage boot.

“You have my trunk!” Clapping her hands, she said, “That is happy news. I suppose we can all ride home together, then?”

“Aye, so it would seem.”

Standing at his washstand later that day, Rourke picked up his freshly stropped razor, and made the first downward swipe through the shaving soap on his face. “You couldna have held off hailing me for one wee moment?”

Ralph handed him a towel—a freshly laundered towel—and shrugged. “It was a case of now or never. That hack was headed down High Street at full-steam speed. Besides, I thought you’d be happy to have your missing trunks back. Lady Kate, or rather
Mrs. O’Rourke,
certainly seemed so.” He winked, but Rourke refused to be teased out of his foul mood.

Scowling into the mirror, he tossed the towel over his shoulders and wiped the blade on the cloth.
“Bon vivant
as you fancy yourself, did it no occur to you that I might be in the middle of something important, so to speak?”

Ralph set the bottle of bay rum on the washstand next to the pitcher and basin. His hazel eyes found Rourke’s in the mirror. “She’s your wife. You can kiss her anytime … can’t you?”

Rourke didn’t have an answer for that, at least not yet. As Kate’s husband, he had the legal right to do far more than kiss her. But eager as he was to bed her, to make love to her in every way she would accept, he realized he wanted more from her than simple sex. Taming her willfulness was one thing, seducing her by force entirely another. Standing on High Street, his lips lowering to hers, he’d understood that a physical claiming would no longer suffice.

Along with sex, he wanted some small place in what he was coming to see as a truly beautiful soul.

Ralph drifted over to the trunk. From the vicinity of the bed, he called back, “By the by, your luggage isn’t all I picked up at the train station.”

Ever since opening Ralph’s “marital-advice manual,” Rourke was beginning to be wary of unasked-for gifts. “Open it for me, will you?” He turned back to the mirror and finished shaving.

He’d just washed the last of the lather from his cheeks when a crack of laugher sounded, followed by Ralph’s exclamation, “This is too rich.”

Red-faced, Ralph walked over to him, holding up a small leather-bound book. “You’ll never believe what your friends Daisy and Gavin sent you as a wedding gift.”

Rourke didn’t have to put on his spectacles to read the title on the weathered cover. Somehow he knew. He just did. “A copy of
The Taming of the Shrew,
perchance?”

Ralph nodded. “As the Bard wrote, mate, it seems the play’s the thing.”

One Week Later

he next week was a whirlwind of activity as Kate worked to put her new home in some semblance of order. Though the hoped-for housekeeper had yet to appear, she’d hired one or two additional helping hands from the village. The existing servants, the twin maids especially, seemed to have good hearts and a genuine eagerness to learn. By the end of the week, everyone seemed to have slipped into a reasonable routine. The appearance of the main chambers in both towers was markedly improved, the grates swept and blackened, the curtains and rugs beaten free of dust, the furnishings and silver polished. Thanks to the return of her trunk, she had Mrs. Beeton’s book in her possession once more. Along with Toby, who scarcely allowed her out of his sight, the well-worn tome was her constant companion as she made her daily rounds.

Her other “companion,” her husband, was a great deal more complicated to sort out. She tried keeping up her end of their verbal sparring, but coming up with fresh insults was beginning to feel like a great deal of bother. She almost fancied they were becoming friends. Over the course of early-morning breakfasts and late-night suppers, the confidences had trickled out. When she’d admitted that she hadn’t ridden regularly in years because her father had lost her childhood pony at cards, he’d dried the tear trickling down her cheek with his own hand. Likewise, he’d told her a bit about his being orphaned and running afoul of the law and finally being sent to an orphanage in Kent, Roxbury House. There he’d met his three best friends, Harry, Daisy, and Gavin. The Roxbury House Orphans’ Club, they’d called themselves. The name had made Kate smile while plucking at her heartstrings. From the stories he’d so far shared of their secret attic meetings and sundry adventures, they sounded to have been a merry little band, more family than friends. That her husband had risen from such destitution to his current wealth humbled and amazed her.

She was growing fond of her big, bluff Scottish husband. Whereas she first saw him as a madcap ruffian, a social climber, a bully, the charming, hard-working man she was coming to know and like didn’t fit any of those preconceptions. Whether watching him deliver a foal with his big, gentle hands or pondering investment reports with his wire-framed spectacles slipping down his broken nose, the very last thing she wanted to do with him was scold.

She wanted them to make love.

Since that first night, there had been no more midnight “serenades;” indeed, no nocturnal visitations of any sort. Their mad marriage was a puzzle to Kate. She knew Rourke had married her for her blue blood and breeding ability, not unlike the prize Arabian he’d recently acquired for his stables, but sleeping apart scarcely seemed the way to go about bringing forth the future generation. Tired of waiting to be asked, she’d had her things moved from her cubbyhole room to the larger bedchamber adjoining his. She couldn’t know if he was pleased or annoyed. For all she knew, he hadn’t noticed at all. The adjoining dressing-room door remained closed if unlocked, on her end at least.

In the midst of it all, a surprise visitor arrived from London. Kate was in the front parlor trying to decide whether she should replace the velvet draperies at once or wait until spring when they would come down anyway and be replaced with a lighter fabric, when a throat clearing drew her attention to the doorway.

“You have a visitor, milady.” The maid Jenny bobbed a curtsey and stepped back to await her answer.

Kate ran an approving eye over the girl, feeling an inner satisfaction. Hair combed, nails clean, and eyes bright as buttons, like the castle, she was showing marked signs of improvement. Though the smart new uniforms she’d ordered from Mrs. MacBride had yet to arrive, the servants seemed to go about their duties with a new dignity.

When Jenny told her the identity of her mystery guest, Kate felt a smile break over her face. “Bring her up at once, please.”

Another few moments passed, and then Kate’s friend and former maid, Hattie, materialized at the door. The older woman looked very smartly turned out in a plumed hat and wool carriage dress, but then it was Hattie who’d taught Kate to sew.

“Hattie!” Kate rushed across the room and enfolded her friend in a hug.

Hattie hugged her in return. After a moment, she stepped back. Holding her former mistress at arms’ length, she ran her gaze over Kate’s face. “Miss Kathy … I mean, milady … I mean, Mrs. O’Rourke … Oh, I can’t say as I know what I mean exactly, but Lud, it’s good to see my girl again.”

“It’s good to see you, too. Won’t you sit?”

Hattie hesitated and then took a seat on the edge of a heavy velvet-covered sofa. They spent the next few minutes with Hattie catching Kate up on the latest news from home.

Interrupting her, Kate asked, “How go the preparations for Bea’s come-out?”

The maid pulled a face. “Your Aunt Lavinia’s brought on some fancy Frenchie to serve as ladies’ maid, and sure the chit knows more of hair dressing and fashions than I ever will.” Her gaze dropped to her gloved hands clenched in her lap. “I thought I might come and see if you needed help setting up housekeeping, but of course, you would have servants of your own now.” Gaze downcast, her smile slipped, and she shook her head. “Like as not I should have telegraphed ahead, but … Truth be told, milady, I needed to get out of London for a while.”

Rather than pry, Kate said, “Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you like.” A thought dawned, and sudden though it was, she realized it made perfect sense. “How would you fancy taking the position of housekeeper?”

Hattie’s head snapped up. Jaw dropping, she said, “From maid-of-all-work to housekeeper, well, that would be quite a step up.”

Kate agreed it would. “Still, you must admit it makes sense. Having performed the duties of all the other positions yourself, you’ll be ideally suited to supervise. And you’d be doing me a service.” As much as she enjoyed the work—housekeeping was equal parts art and science—she was looking forward to getting back to her writing.

“All right, then, I’ll do it.”

In the days that followed, they quickly fell into a routine, commencing with an early-morning cup of tea taken in Hattie’s own room. Close as they were, after the first morning Kate could tell that something was awry. Whatever had convinced Hattie to leave London must be more than the desire for a change of scene. On the third day, when Kate knocked at her customary time, Hattie was slow to answer. When she finally did, her thin face wore a mask of pale green.

“Oh, Hattie, you’re ill. I’ll come another time. Can I get you anything?”

Hattie shook her head and beckoned Kate inside. “No worries, milady. What I have isn’t catching.” She let out a crack of laughter. The dull look in her friend’s eyes worried Kate a great deal more than her sallow face.

“You really aren’t well, Hattie. Shall I call into town for a physician? We have a telephone in my husband’s study, you know.”

“I’m preggers, milady.”

It took Kate a full minute to absorb the shock of that news. Hattie, despite her youthful appearance, must be forty or near to it.