Kitabı oku: «The Scandalous Love of a Duke», sayfa 2
John rose and pressed a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. “Perhaps I ought not disturb you.”
The Duke’s fingers lifted from the bed. “Stay,” he breathed.
John sat again.
“I… have… waited… for-you. You-must… speak-to… Harvey… about… business—”
“I am sure I shall manage, Grandfather.”
“I… know… you… shall.”
John smiled again. That was possibly the only compliment he’d ever heard from this man.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Richard said. The Duke’s gaze reached across John’s shoulder, then John heard the door open and shut.
As soon as it did, the Duke’s hand moved and touched John’s forearm, which rested on the bed. “But… you… must… promise-me… one… thing. You… will… not… wed… beneath… you. You… must… choose… a… wife… to… preserve… the… bloodline.”
John felt his face twist in disgust. Even now, even on his deathbed, the old man sought to cast orders and manipulate John’s life. Still, when the time came to set up a nursery, John would have plenty of choice from those in his own class. With a self-deprecating smile, he nodded. What did he care, it would not matter who he picked.
“You swear,” his grandfather pressed on a single breath.
“I swear,” John answered, his smile falling. He knew the old man’s game but chose to play.
“Now… talk … to… me… of… what… you… have… done. I… will… listen.”
John smiled again and leant back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest and stretching out his legs.
He spoke of Europe, of what he’d made of it, the things he’d seen and done, and he made his stories humorous and even caused the old man to express a muted laugh. It ended in another visibly painful coughing fit, at which point the old man’s valet stepped forward to plump the pillows and make the Duke more comfortable. John would have left, but his grandfather once more bid him stay.
John changed his subject to his true passion, to Egypt, and began talking about the place and people, about the amazing artefacts and architecture of that ancient world. He talked of the finds he was shipping home.
While John spoke, the old man smiled and shut his eyes, his chest rising and falling with each rasping breath.
It was strange watching him thus – this ogre who’d dominated John’s life – as a man and not a child. His grandfather was just a man too, with human frailty.
John felt a heavy sense of regret as he continued recounting a pointless search he’d set out upon once.
A sound of humour escaped the Duke’s lips.
If John had returned in better circumstances, he wondered if they’d had more time, man to man, whether the past could be put straight between them.
His grandsire’s physician stepped forward a while later, advising His Grace to rest.
John rose and laid a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. The old man opened his eyes.
“I… do-not… want… your… pity… Sayle.”
John laughed. “You’ll not have it, Grandfather. But you will have my admiration.” He bowed, slightly. “Your Grace, I’ll leave you to recoup.” He had never spoken so openly to the old man in his younger days.
John’s hands slid into his pockets as he walked back along the hall, his head was full of drifting thoughts. He wondered now if the perceptions he’d held as a child would have changed with an adult’s view. Possibly? Probably. But it was too late to know now.
“John!”
Looking forward, he saw a slender, strikingly beautiful young woman. She had ebony hair and pale-blue eyes, like his own. A beam of joy lit her face, and then she caught up her skirt and ran at him.
Good God, was this Mary-Rose, his sister, all grown up?
She hugged him fiercely, her arms about his neck, and he held her loosely. “John! Oh John! I am so glad you’re back.” His baby sister was not even a child anymore. She’d been about ten years old and not much taller than his midriff when he’d left. Now she was as tall as his shoulder.
He lifted her off her feet and twirled her once, smiling, before pressing a kiss against her temple. “Mary-Rose, my not-so-little-anymore sister.”
Her fingers gripped his coat sleeves and she leant back, grinning as she looked him over. “You are no different, other than a little older, and no one calls me Mary-Rose anymore, it is just Mary now. That is a childish name.”
“And more worldly,” another female voice reached along the hall.
John looked beyond Mary and saw his mother had stepped out from the drawing room. She was also still strikingly beautiful, their colouring was hers. But there were now two wings of grey in her hair at her temples. His smile softened. “Mama.”
“John.” She swept towards him as Mary moved aside, and she was in his arms in a moment and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “You have been away too long. I’ve missed you.” There were tears in her eyes.
“And I have missed you too, Mama.”
“Liar,” she whispered before she drew away, low enough so Mary could not hear. It was not a malicious word, just the truth, and they both knew she was right.
Tapping her beneath the chin, he made a face. “I am home now, anyway.”
“And I am glad. Come and meet everyone else.” She slipped her arm through his as she turned back towards the drawing room. Mary occupied his other arm, and both women questioned him eagerly as they walked.
He felt very strange and disorientated to be so besieged.
When they reached the drawing room, though, all hell broke loose. He was mobbed by his various aunts and elder female cousins.
Once they finally pulled away, hankies in their hands, John was then greeted by the men, his uncle’s by marriage first, and then his male cousins. His stepfather, Edward, held back.
When the pandemonium ceased, John looked at his stepfather. He stood across the room with a youth beside him. Robbie, John’s eldest brother, he looked so like his father it was unmistakable. Robbie was fifteen; the age when awkwardness set in. He seemed to deliberately not look at John. That must be why Edward stayed back, torn between welcoming his stepson and supporting his own son.
John smiled and approached them. He greeted his brother first. Robbie was already over shoulder height when compared with his father. “Robbie.”
The boy coloured up with palpable self-consciousness. John’s smile broadened. Robbie had idolised John as a child, but he’d only been eight when John had left. The gap between them was too wide for any real relationship.
“John.” Robbie took the hand John had offered and shook it limply. But John used the grip to draw his brother into a brief embrace and patted his shoulder.
“You’ve grown,” John stated the obvious as he let Robbie go. “Would you like me to take you to Tats with me when I look for a carriage and horses?”
“Yes.” The enthusiasm thrust into that one word was completely at odds to the demeanour of his welcome and the boy’s face lit up as Mary’s had done earlier. “God, John. Will you really take me?”
“If you’re good.” He lifted a closed fist to press to his brother’s jaw, in a masculine gesture of affection, but the lad ducked away laughing.
“I’m always good. You’ve just not been here to know it,” the cocky brat responded, and John laughed. Then his stepfather interrupted.
“Perhaps you ought to ask me if he’s been good. I think his masters at Eton may have some tales to tell if they were asked.”
John turned.
“John.” His name was spoken with warmth and layered with hidden emotion.
John smiled again. Edward’s hair was still a dark brown, untainted by age. He was younger than John’s mother and yet there were definitely more lines about his eyes, marking John’s absent years. “Father.”
A twinkle in his eye, Edward said, “Son,” and gripped John’s shoulders firmly. The man had always treated John as a real son, no different to Mary or Robbie or the rest. “I’m glad you are back.” Edward’s grip fell away.
Robbie then began urging his father for agreement on their outing to Tats.
~
John was woken by a sharp rap on his bedchamber door. He sat up and threw the sheet aside from where it had lain across his hips.
“My Lord,” a low voice called.
“Yes, what is it?” John was already swinging his legs from the bed and rising.
“His Grace, my Lord. The physician believes there is not much time. He sent me to fetch you.”
“I’ll be there in a moment,” John called back, instantly shifting to search for his clothes in the dark room.
It felt bizarre to be here. It had felt odd to see his grandfather ill, and now… It was like a dream, not a nightmare though. He only felt emptiness inside, not fear.
Finding his trousers, he slid them on now his eyes had adjusted to the dark.
The family had taken supper together before they’d left, sitting at the long dining table en masse in an impromptu, informal meal. It had felt like a celebration. The only quiet person was his grandmother, who’d sat at the far end of the table as John was encouraged to take his grandfather’s place.
Perhaps it was wrong to have held such a gathering while his grandfather lay on his deathbed, but John had appreciated the gesture and the jovial conversation, even though at times he kept feeling the axis within him shift as though he was poorly balanced.
He pulled his shirt over his head.
He’d said goodnight to his grandfather, as had the others before they’d left, one by one, and he’d wondered then, how long.
Hours.
He sat and pulled on his stockings.
God, this world felt strange to him – strange and a little surreal.
When John left his room, the hall was morbidly silent and the statues seemed like sombre mourners.
John gently knocked on the door of his grandfather’s chambers. “It is the Marquess of Sayle.”
The door opened and a footman bowed. “My Lord.”
His grandmother sat in the chair John had occupied earlier, her hand resting over his grandfather’s. She looked across her shoulder at John. “John.” Her voice was heavy with emotion, though he knew their marriage had never been a love match. For her it had been more like endurance.
John stood behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.
There were three footmen in the room, his grandfather’s valet and the physician.
“His Grace’s heartbeat is very weak,” the physician said quietly. “He is unconscious.”
John nodded acceptance and then his eyes fell to the bed – to the man who’d always been a significant figure in John’s life. Even during the years he’d hidden from that influence abroad, he’d still been the Duke’s heir. He’d never been able to escape that.
The old man was barely breathing, weak and wraith-like.
John took a deep breath, stepped about his grandmother, leant forwards and rested a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder, then pressed a kiss on his cold brow.
“Goodbye. I never thought I would miss you, but I shall,” John whispered, before rising.
The Duke had probably not been able to hear it, there was no sign that he did, yet John felt better for saying those words. They were true.
The old man passed away in moments, as John stood with his grandmother, watching.
The room fell completely silent when the Duke of Pembroke took his last breath.
John’s grandmother rose and leant to kiss the Duke’s cheek, tears slipping from her eyes.
John felt only emptiness, oddness, a lacking…
When she drew back, the physician walked past them both and lifted John’s grandfather’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Then he bent and listened for breath, before finally rising and drawing the sheet up and over the old man’s face.
John’s grandmother turned sharply and John opened his arms to her.
While he held her, the men about the room bowed and his grandfather’s valet said, “Your Grace.”
John felt the ground shift sideways beneath his feet. He’d known this day would come. But God, it was strange now it was here. I am the Duke of Pembroke. This house, everything in it, and several more like it, acres and acres of land and the tenants living and working upon that land were all his to manage and care for.
Chapter Two
Standing on the lea beside Westminster Abbey, Katherine watched as the procession neared.
The coffin was displayed in a black hearse pulled by six jet horses, with black dyed ostrich feathers bobbing on their heads as they trotted with high, precise, perfect steps. Their manes and tails were plaited and tied with black ribbon.
Gripping her reticule with both hands and holding it more tightly, Katherine took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding.
As the hearse drew to a halt, she lifted to her toes to see over the gathered crowd. She would swear half of London was in attendance to view the pomp and ceremony of the old Duke of Pembroke’s funeral. All she could see of John, as he climbed from his open carriage behind the hearse, was his head and shoulders.
Her heart ached.
She watched him move alongside his uncles to release and lift the coffin.
A rush of pain and longing spilled from her heart into her limbs. It was so long since she’d seen him but her reaction was the same as it had been more than half a dozen years before. The rhythm of her heart rang like a hammer against her ribs.
Her brother, Phillip, gripped her elbow, to stop her being knocked off balance by the crowd. He could have gone into the Abbey, but women were not to attend funerals and he’d promised to stay with her.
Katherine’s heart continued to thump hard as John and his uncle’s passed them.
The crowd swelled then as people moved in a crush to enter the Abbey and stand at the back.
Katherine waited outside with Phillip, her heart racing, so very aware of the chasm which stood between her and John. Yet she’d snatched at the chance to see him when Phillip had said he was going to come to the funeral. She’d read of the old Duke’s death and John’s return in the paper only days ago and she could hardly believe John had finally come back. She was still hopelessly in love with him, or rather with her dreams of him. She could hardly claim to know him now. She hadn’t seen him in years.
When his family filed back out of the Abbey, John was at the front and she could see his face as many of the crowd were still inside. He looked different. He’d matured. He’d travelled the world and seen things she would never see, experienced things she could never imagine. She was an inane, provincial nobody compared to him.
She felt as though she stood in a tragedy, and she mourned. But it was not for the loss of the former Duke, it was for the loss of any hope. Her feelings would never be reciprocated. She would never have John. It had just been a childish dream she couldn’t shake off. She had always known who he was – and what he was.
He walked past them. Though there were three or four people standing in front of her, she still had a clear view.
He looked unbearably, breathtakingly handsome, with his pitch-black hair and pale crystalline gaze, and there was strength in his sculpted features which drew the eye. Behind her, a dozen female whispers concurred with her view.
Katherine dropped her head and hid beneath the brim of her bonnet when John’s gaze passed across the crowd. Not that he would remember her, or even care that she was here.
Phillip gripped her arm.
He thought she’d come because John had been a close friend for a number of years and she wished to support him. It was why Phillip was here.
She’d come only to put flesh back on the bones of her foolish dreams.
It had been ludicrous of Phillip to think John needed their support. John was surrounded by people of his own class.
We are fools, the pair of us, harping back to a relationship that no longer exists. This was not the boy, nor the young man, who’d treated her as an equal. This man was an entirely different beast, influential, dominant and superior. Way beyond her.
She glanced at Phillip. He was watching John’s progress with a slight smile on his face as if he thought John might acknowledge them and smile too.
Katherine had no expectation.
She looked at John again. He was climbing back up into his carriage, lithe and athletic.
Oh God, I love him, I cannot help it. I just do.
She’d hoped to end her silly infatuation by coming here. She’d hoped she would feel nothing when she saw him. But she did, she still did.
When he was seated, he glanced out at the crowd once more, and she sensed a moment of vulnerability in him.
She could not justify the feeling; it was just a sixth sense she could not explain. She longed to hold him and tell him all would be well.
How absurd; he would probably push her away if she attempted it. Why would he choose plain Katherine Spencer to confide in?
Phillip’s fingers squeezed her arm.
“We will go to John’s for a little while, before I run you home.”
She looked up. “Phillip? We cannot. We will not be welcome.”
“We can and we are. We may not be aristocracy but we are gentry. Come, we’ll be mingling with half of the House of Lords. I’m not missing a chance like this. Just think about the tales you’ll be able to tell at your little Sunday school.”
“Phillip, we will be turned away.”
“We will not. John would never throw us out. He’ll remember us and we’ll be welcome, you’ll see.” Phillip smiled.
“We’ll look ridiculous if you are wrong,” she said as she let him lead her on.
Half an hour later, Katherine rose onto her toes to whisper in her brother’s ear, “This is folly.” A second later they crossed the threshold of John’s opulent townhouse.
Her gaze swept the massive hall with its black and white chequered floor and gilded marble pilasters. It was intimidating, and it all belonged to John. It only underscored how many miles he was beyond her reach.
The butler bowed slightly, plainly waiting on their names. He was the gatekeeper and this was the moment of success or failure.
The hall was crowded. Katherine could barely breathe.
“Master Phillip Spencer and Miss Katherine Spencer,” Phillip stated.
The butler’s eyes widened. “Master Spencer?” The stately butler looked hard at Phillip.
Katherine let her breath out. She’d forgotten Phillip had stayed in town at John’s grandfather’s house. This man remembered Phillip.
Oh, she wished she’d paid more attention to John’s life when she was young. She would not have fallen in love if she’d truly realised how different they were. She’d been deceived. She had played with him in the grounds of his grandfather’s estate, as though it was nothing, forgetting all the areas she was excluded from, she had never even been in the house there, only Phillip had been welcome.
“Refreshment is being served in the library, sir.”
“Where is the Duke, Finch?”
“I cannot say for sure, sir. I believe His Grace is in the state drawing room, yet I may be wrong.”
Phillip nodded his thanks, and then his grip on Katherine’s arm steered her on again.
They were absorbed in the crowd of elite society.
“I told you so,” he bent sideways to whisper.
As Phillip looked for John, Katherine felt her hands trembling and her throat dry.
The drawing room was as ostentatious as the hall. The high ceiling had plaques of painted images, scenes of the Greek gods sprawled on clouds and semi-clad. She had never seen anything so beautiful and so opulent.
John should have been easy to spot, he was so tall, but she could not see him. “Where is he?” she asked Phillip, her heart racing at the prospect of actually speaking to John.
“He’s not in here, but the girls are. We’ll wait. He’ll come back this way. You can catch up with Margaret and Eleanor.”
Her heart was pounding a deafening rhythm as Phillip led her across the room towards John’s family.
John’s eldest sister, Mary-Rose, spotted them first. She was dressed in black, as they all were, but with her colouring the black only made her look more beautiful. All John’s family were beautiful. Katherine had never compared.
She pinned a smile on her face. She felt more certain of a welcome from the girls, but she did not wish to appear gauche.
“I cannot believe it!” Mary exclaimed as they neared. “Phillip! Katherine!” Her exclamation drew the attention of the others.
Mary had been a young girl when Katherine had seen her last; she was grown up now.
“I have not seen you for an age,” Mary hugged Katherine.
They had never been friends, Mary had been too young, and yet the younger girl had admired her brother’s playmate and had a desire to join in. Katherine knew Mary had challenged John as a child over why Kate was allowed to play the boys’ games, when Mary was not. But the young woman’s exuberance was open and honest as Mary gripped Phillip’s offered hand.
Of course, again, Katherine had forgotten how much better Phillip had known John. She had been welcomed into their circle for an hour here or there in the grounds of Pembroke Place. Phillip had lived with John in the way of a brother, both at school and during the holidays.
Phillip gallantly kissed the back of Mary’s fingers.
“John will be beside himself to know you have come. I’m sure he never expected to see you. I shall find him.” Lifting to her toes, she looked across the room. “Oh I cannot see him, I’ll go and look.”
“No,” Katherine stated firmly, as she felt a sudden panic. “Please, do not disturb him. I’m sure he has more important people to speak with than us.”
Mary’s pale-blue eyes, the image of John’s, met Katherine’s. “Well, if he has time later I’m sure he will come over and speak.”
Katherine gave Mary a grateful smile and then looked at Eleanor and Margaret, who stepped forward. “You are both married. I saw the announcements. Are you happy?” It was probably an impertinent question but she could think of nothing else to say.
They looked at one another and then their eyes looked beyond Katherine.
“They are together, across the room, there,” Eleanor said, pointing, suddenly a smile in her eyes.
Katherine turned.
“Harry is the blonde-haired gentleman, my dashing heir to an Earl,” Eleanor stated. “Is he not handsome? And Margaret’s husband, George, is the brown-haired man. He is a little older than Harry—”
“But distinguished, don’t you think?” Margaret interjected. “It is lovely to see you.”
When Katherine turned to face Margaret, she was hugged again, but this time with restraint.
Then Eleanor hugged Katherine too, but that was not superficial. “It is wonderful to see you. What do you think of them?” Her fingers gripped Katherine’s arm as Katherine looked back at their husbands.
“They are both exceedingly handsome.”
“We know.” Eleanor laughed. “We’ll introduce you later. Oh I cannot believe you are here. Now tell us what you have been up to?”
“Nothing exciting.”
“She is being modest,” Phillip cut in. “She will not sing her own praises. Kate has set up a Sunday School at home, for the local children who can neither read nor write.”
It was hardly comparable. They would not be interested. These were glamorous women who fitted in here. Katherine did not.
“I always said she was too virtuous. You are a saint, Kate,” Eleanor stated.
Katherine felt her colour rise. “Hardly.” She felt both false and fragile, and tried to hide it.
“Phillip is right,” Margaret smiled. “You should not feel embarrassed to admit good deeds.”
Katherine felt ashamed. She was not what they were portraying her as. “Well, I have good reason to give something back, do I not?” They all, possibly bar Mary, knew of her birth, but perhaps she had raised it a little too bluntly. The conversation dried.
Phillip’s hand rested on Katherine’s waist and the grip gently pulled her closer for a moment, then he let go. Even he did not usually broach the subject.
“I do it because I enjoy it,” she said to clear the air.
“That is true,” Phillip stated. “They adore her, every last one of them.”
The conversation then slipped into questions and answers as they all explored the years of each other’s lives that had been missed.
~
When John entered the state drawing room he felt exhausted. The days since his grandfather’s death had slipped past in a whirl of activity. First there had been the wider family to inform and the state acknowledgements to manage, then the funeral to prepare, and, on top of it, getting to grips with all his grandfather’s business affairs. The mantle of a duke was lying heavy on his shoulders.
He sighed.
Richard had said several times that it would feel normal after a while. John could not imagine it. Even though the house was straining at the seams with people today, he felt as isolated as he had been in Egypt, and incapable of relaxing. That was not due to the responsibility, though. It was just who he was – a buzzard among peacocks.
John doubted any of them had really cared for the old man. He had returned to a world of farce.
A glass of red wine balanced in one hand, the stem dangling between his fingers, he joined another group of guests, fulfilling his duty. He trusted no one here.
God, this was his life now: duty and falsehood. He missed Egypt, he missed adventure and peace and simplicity. He was already bored by people’s endless supplication. Everyone seemed to want something from him. They sought to attach themselves to either his wealth or his power.
His grandfather had warned of this.
John had had enough. He was seeking his family to escape it for a little while, and he was looking for Mary particularly. He knew his vibrant sister would bring him back from the cold darkness crowding in on him.
He’d passed his mother and Edward in the hall, they’d been speaking with Richard and Penny and they’d directed him in here.
His gaze swept about the room then stopped.
There was a young woman standing amidst his family, like a blonde beacon of light amongst his dark-haired black-clad cousins. She was an angel in her pale-mauve dress.
Lust gripped hard and firm in his stomach, an intense physical attraction. He’d never experienced anything so instant before. But it was a long time since he’d bedded a woman – far too long.
Her figure was a sublime balance of curves and narrow waist. Her spine had a beautiful arch as it curved into the point where her dress opened onto a full skirt.
Wheat-blonde hair escaped a dull dove-grey bonnet, caressing her neck and drawing his eyes to a place he’d like to kiss.
She was speaking with animation, her hands moving.
He moved closer, and as if she sensed his gaze, the stranger turned and looked at him. In answer, a lightening need struck his groin; a sharp sudden pain. She was an English rose among orchids, the sort of woman he had seen nothing of abroad. Her skin was pale, with roses blooming in her cheeks, and her eyes were a vivid beautiful blue, like the bluebells which bloomed in spring, in the woods at Pembroke Place.
She was what he had longed for abroad and not even known he’d been lacking.
His attention wholly captured, he felt desire slip into his blood as his groin grew heavy with hunger.
This was what came from abstinence he supposed. He’d never had a fancy for fair, fey women before. He did now.
She did not look the sort for a fling though, certainly not the she-wolf type who stalked the foreign fields. His mind began rattling through his guest list, but no name fit her, and her dull grey bonnet and shawl did not speak of affluence. Who was she?
He smiled as he grew nearer, then realised he was staring and shifted his gaze to the others in the group. It was then he noticed Phillip as they turned to towards him. “My God.”
“Your Grace.”
“Phillip.” Lord, John hoped Phillip had not come here with a motive. John did not wish to hear oily grovelling from an old friend. His heart thumped in cold anger, not gladness. Then he looked at the blonde and his breath caught as recognition whispered in his head. Kate.
Her gaze soaked him up, wide and bright, and then her eyelids fell and red roses coloured her cheeks.
Katherine Spencer, Phillip’s shy little sister, full grown. Good God, she had blossomed. John felt his heartbeat stutter into warm longing again. Wanting Phillip’s little sister was not a good thing.
John gritted his teeth, forced a smile and lifted his hand to shake Phillip’s. He was not looking at Katherine but he was thinking of her, trying to remember how old she would be now. She must be married. Shame.
Or perhaps it was better she was, maybe she had tired of her husband already and she’d be tempted by a little dalliance after all. Better to play with a woman who had no need to be grasping, there would be no ties. “I did not expect to see you here,” John said to Phillip.
“Our condolences, Your Grace.”
John shrugged. Phillip knew the true nature of John’s volatile relationship with his grandfather; there was hardly any point in pretending to be sad. But the word “our” gave John the opportunity to turn to Katherine.
A sharp pain pierced his chest like a stitch when he saw those blue eyes up close. Her turquoise gaze was framed by pale-brown lashes. Her beauty was delicate – subtle. He was unused to that, compared to his family.
He had an urge to touch her face. He did not, but he did take her hand and lift it to his lips as she dropped a low curtsy.
Her kid-leather gloves were warm from the heat of her skin beneath.
He brushed a finger across her wrist accidentally and felt her shiver. She smelt of rosewater.
She was blushing deeply when she straightened.
When had he last known a woman who could blush?
“Your Grace.”
“Katherine.” He’d more often called her Kate when they’d been young but Katherine seemed to suit her so much more now. “You look well.” Her husband, whoever he was, was a lucky man. John doubted she was the sort to stray. A pity.
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.
