Chapter Seventeen #2
Grayson cursed again. He never would be guilty of the fawning devotion that characterized the Wycliffe union. Nor would Kate ever behave in such a nauseating fashion, thankfully.
And yet, Wycliffe’s knowing smile had touched a nerve, that fear of his own weakness.
Tugging at his neckcloth, he walked into Kate’s adjoining room, scaring her mouse of a maid into flight She was seated at her mirrored table, calmly removing her jewelry, but, for once, Grayson barely noticed the way the candlelight gleamed on her satiny hair and her bare shoulders.
“Did you see that pompous ass Wycliffe?” he growled, throwing the white linen to the floor in a heap.
“Yes, I met him,” Kate answered softly. “His wife is lovely.”
“Charlotte? Who knows what she sees in him? The man is an idiot.”
Kate stiffened, but Grayson ignored it, too intent upon that upstart Wycliffe to do anything except stalk the length of the room in outrage. “You should have heard him prattling on about true love like some romantic schoolgirl. It’s enough to make a grown man vomit.”
“They do seem to be very much in love.”
“Love? What an absurd label for something as simple as shared interests and intellects. They have companionship, nothing more,” Grayson said, denying his suspicions that the Wycliffes possessed some secret he had yearned for himself.
“Perhaps you are simply piqued because Charlotte chose another man.”
It took a moment for Kate’s words to penetrate his rage. “What?” Grayson whirled toward her.
She turned to face him, her beautiful eyes clear and direct, as always. “Rumor has it that you were enamored of her.”
“Charlotte?” Grayson asked, contemptuously. “I found her witty and refreshing, but I would hardly call that being enamored.”
It was difficult to believe that he had thought the vicar’s daughter would make a suitable wife and that he had searched for a bride with whom he could share a similar friendship.
For once in his life, Grayson’s finely laid plans had gone awry, for he felt none of those things for the woman he had wed.
He stared at Kate in shock as the realization hit him. She was intelligent, yes, and beautiful and elegant and honest and all the things he had wanted. But in no way did his vision of a companionable relationship resemble the mindless, driving need he felt for her.
He must have stood there gaping while the full force of his miscalculation hit home, for she pursed her lips in a parody of his famous disdain.
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t believe in love.
But do you know something, Grayson? Just because you don’t give something your lordly approval, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Theirs obviously is a love match, and I must say I think it better to marry for affection than simply to acquire a broodmare. ”
Grayson’s mouth twitched. What the devil was she talking about? “A broodmare?”
“Oh, please,” she said, waving a small hand as if annoyed with him. “I’ve heard that’s what you were looking for in a wife, a simple country girl to provide you an heir and little else.”
“What?” In his outrage, Grayson forgot that the desire to set up a nursery had started him thinking about marriage. It was so far removed from the situation in which he now found himself that he could only view her accusation as ludicrous.
“Isn’t that why you come to me every night after scowling at me all day, to get me with child?”
Although there had been a time when Grayson would not have blinked at such a motive, Kate’s cold-blooded description of what passed between them made him turn stone-still.
He came to her because he had to, because he could not deny himself, because this slender young woman had reduced his powerful will to nothing.
“Is that what you think?”
She met his fierce gaze unflinchingly. “I don’t know what to think, Grayson. Tell me.”
No. He refused to be a witless lapdog like Wycliffe.
He was a man in control of himself, his life, his emotions, and he would not lay himself bare for anyone.
Not even Kate. Without another word, Grayson turned on his heel and walked away from her, and he kept on walking until he was in his room. Alone.
Then Grayson closed the door firmly on his tempting wife and weakening, insubstantial nonsense like love.
Although she wasn’t hungry, Kate hurried toward the dining hall, in the hope that she might find Grayson lingering over breakfast. She had tossed and turned in the wee hours, only to fall asleep sometime after dawn.
Now it was afternoon, and despite some genuine rest, Kate was tired and heavy at heart.
For the first time since their wedding, Grayson had not come to her bed, and she felt the lack sorely. Not only had she missed the soaring pleasure he gave her and the brief, exquisite closeness they shared, but she had been unable to close her eyes without his warmth cradling her afterward.
Worst of all, this change in Grayson’s routine chilled her.
Perhaps she should not have forced the issue last night, but he was the one who had begun the argument by denigrating the most tender of feelings.
It was as if he had taken her love and thrown it back in her face out of some unreasonable spite.
And yet… when she had accused him of treating her as a broodmare, Kate could have sworn that denial flickered in his face.
In fact, for a moment, she had thought she glimpsed something so profound that it took her breath away, but then it had been gone, replaced by his usual cool disdain.
And then he had been gone, as if to prove that he had no use for her whatsoever.
Kate drew in a shaky breath, trying to gather her resources as she stepped into the dining hall, but it was unnecessary.
A swift glance told her that the long table was empty.
Grayson was not there. She told herself it was late, and he might be waiting for her in the drawing room, so when a maid came in with some tea for her, Kate forced a smile.
“Thank you. Can you tell me where his lordship is this morning?”
“Yes, my lady. He said to tell you that he’s gone to his club. Left nearly an hour ago, he did.”
Swallowing the disappointment that stabbed through her, Kate nodded.
Then she walked to the sideboard and began to fill her plate from the various dishes spread before her.
Not until she heard the girl’s footsteps disappear through the rooms did she slump down in a chair, alone, staring down the length of perfect white linen.
Kate sat there a long time, contemplating her failed marriage and ignoring the food she once would have feasted upon. Lost in her maudlin thoughts, she did not stir until the sound of a voice jarred her from them.
“My lady.”
Kate straightened immediately at the words, surprised to find one of the footmen at her elbow. He held out a small silver platter with a folded piece of foolscap on it. “This just came for you.”
A letter? From Lucy? Kate snatched up the treasure and thanked the man, dismissing him with a nod. When he discreetly left her alone, she eagerly opened the missive, for Kate never would have expected her flighty sister to take the time to write.
She hadn’t. Kate stilled, her breath catching in her throat when she realized that the note was not from her sister.
It was not signed at all, and the contents made the reason for that lack very clear.
Still, Kate forced herself to read the message through completely before letting it drop from her cold fingers.
It was blackmail, plain and simple.
The author was threatening to ruin her by revealing certain information about her and her sister, including the details of Lucy’s hasty engagement. And the cost of silence was to be two hundred pounds.
To Kate, who had been scrimping by on next to nothing for years, the sum was a fortune.
For one panicked moment, she felt like laughing at such an amount, but she had only to look around her at the luxuriously appointed town house to know where the villain expected her to get his blood money. To Grayson it would be little.
A hysterical giggle rose again to her lips, bitten off only by a ruthless struggle.
Obviously, the blackmailer did not know everything about her, or he would have discovered that her marriage was a mockery.
What would further gossip matter? Grayson was more likely to weather it than to give her two hundred pounds without question.
Nor would Kate ask him for it. He had wed her out of a sense of honor, and she had brought him nothing but trouble.
The laugh that had threatened to escape transformed into a sob.
Her mission to make him love her had failed abysmally, and now he would be forced to suffer even more indignities because of her, Kate thought, staring at the hated missive.
Who could do such a thing? Kate shied at the question, and yet she knew that London was full of bad people, some of them passing themselves off as gentlemen.
Her breath caught again. Perhaps even Uncle Jasper was responsible.
Having gone through her fortune, he might now hope to bleed her husband dry, as well.
Kate’s mouth tightened. He would not succeed.
It was time to cut her losses and go home.
Perhaps Grayson could obtain a divorce. He was wealthy and powerful enough to manage such a rarity.
The thought sent a bright shaft of pain darting through her, but Kate knew it was better to make a clean break than to prolong the misery that engulfed them both.
No longer should he pay for the folly of their union. Already he seemed to harbor a resentment that would only lead to more bitterness. And Kate could not continue her struggle against his indifference, or eventually he would ground her heart into dust.