Chapter Ten
T hat night, as she tossed and turned and stared at the canopy above her bed, Kitty did her best not to think about that other night. The night that had changed everything. The night that had altered the course of her entire life. The night that she made William swear he would never speak of again. The night that she wanted to strike from her memory.
So, naturally, that was the night she thought about.
It was September. A year since Alessandra had died and William had left. The whispers and rumors had mostly dwindled away, but it had taken the whole year. No one knew the entire truth except for William. Not even Kitty. And as he hadn’t been present for the past twelve months to dispel the wilder speculation, various stories had twisted and grown like weeds overtaking a rose garden.
After Alessandra died, news of her secret engagement to William was made public knowledge, most likely spread by a servant, or perhaps even Mountbatten himself. Most people assumed—correctly—that the engagement had been arranged by their families, a means for appeasing the Duke of Cumberland after the death of his firstborn heir. Distasteful, perhaps, to marry off one’s grandson to the woman his son had been engaged to, and likely that was why it had been kept a secret. But it wasn’t unheard of. After that, the gossip became a bit more... farfetched.
Some said William had tossed over Alessandra for Kitty. Others swore it was the other way around. A few slyly implied he’d courted both at once.
But where it got truly interesting was with Alessandra’s death.
The papers reported that she had followed in her first fiancé’s footsteps and perished in a tragic accident. Any specific details were withheld out of respect for the family’s wishes, or so that was what the reporter was paid to write. Lord Radcliffe, heartbroken over her passing, had gone to America to mourn in private for an undetermined length of time. His brief courtship with Kitty was not even worthy of an afterthought. And that was that. A messy, sprawling, convoluted story wrapped up in five neat paragraphs and tied with a pretty bow.
Of Alessandra’s health, or Kilmister Park, or paper knives, there was no mention.
Anywhere.
But the whispers didn’t stop there. The bolder rumors wondered if Lord Radcliffe had anything to do with Alessandra’s... accident. By then, most had forgotten about the public sightings of him and Lady Katherine Holden together. But not all. And those who remembered spun tales of the lengths a man would go to in order to have the woman he really wanted, not the one his grandfather had told him to marry. But if William had gotten rid of Alessandra to wed Kitty, why had he disappeared to Boston? And why hadn’t Kitty gone with him?
Eventually, the whispers lessened. New scandals sprang up. And the messy triangle comprised of Kitty, William, and Alessandra was ignored by those who had bothered to dwell on it at all.
After spending Christmas with Mara at Southwick Castle, Kitty returned to London to prepare herself for a new Season and finding a new beau. Mara had asked—begged, almost—for her to remain, and while she was loath to live with their father, Kitty knew that if she ever wanted to permanently escape him, she would need to find a husband of her own. But no matter how many balls she attended or how many eligible bachelors she danced with, it soon became painfully obvious that none of them were William. Even if she closed her eyes, she was hard pressed to get him out of her head. And her heart... her heart was a torn, bloody mess.
Still, she persisted. She would find someone to replace William. She had to.
If not, she genuinely feared what might happen to her... and what her father might do. Most days—weeks, months even—Eriam was lost in his cups and his gambling dens, but on the nights he made it back home, stumbling and slamming doors, Kitty had lain awake, eyes wide, body tense, her door closed and the knife she’d taken from the disaster of a kitchen clutched in her clammy fist.
When summer came, and with it the unbearable stench of horse dung that hung over London in a pungent cloud, she went back to Southwick Castle and found temporary respite with Mara.
“Fine,” she said automatically when her sister questioned how their father was. “He’s doing fine. He’s better since you married. Much better. You needn’t worry about me.”
She could have told Mara the truth.
She should have.
But then Mara would have insisted that she remain at Southwick Castle, and how was Kitty meant to find a husband there? Nor could Mara accompany her to London, as Ambrose had forbidden her to leave.
Men.
Dung beetles, the lot of them.
Maybe she would have been better off not marrying. Maybe she would have been better off letting herself turn into a spinster and playing the part of doting aunt to any children Mara and Ambrose would one day have... if they ever got around to living together.
But she didn’t want to live in her sister’s shadow. She wanted her own light, her own household to manage, and her own family to look after. She wanted... well, she still wanted William, dammit. Even though he’d made it abundantly clear with his long absence that he didn’t want her, that he couldn’t care less about her, that the time they’d spent together and the kisses they’d shared meant nothing.
Until suddenly, without any warning, there he was. Standing across a crowded ballroom, just like the first time she saw him.
And it was the same—exactly the same—but somehow, completely different. Heart wrenchingly different.
Dangerously splendid in all black, he was a tad leaner than she recalled. His cheekbones were sharper. His jaw harder. But it was him. It was William. Her William. Except he wasn’t hers. And before he caught her staring, she’d fled out into the cool, crisp autumn night, the train of her gown sweeping out behind her in a wave of yellow.
Racing down a set of stone steps, she stopped at the bottom, pressing both hands to the base of her throat where her pulse pounded against her clasped fingers as she drew a ragged breath. Above her, the sky was an inky, endless expanse of glittering stars. Below her feet, the crushed gravel pathway was damp with midnight dew. And inside her chest... inside her chest, her traitorous heart beat wildly.
She was never supposed to fall for William.
She was never supposed to be in love with him.
She was never supposed to miss him.
He was, from the beginning, a means to escape her father and ensure financial security. He was an avenue to grand country houses and dresses that weren’t fraying at the seams. But somewhere along the way, he’d turned into more. And she hated it.
She hated that she loved him.
“Katherine.” His voice was velvet over steel as he approached her from behind, his stride steady and even. When he stopped, his shadow overlapped hers, broad shoulders and tapered waist caressing the rounded curves of her silhouette. “I had hoped to see you tonight.”
“Here I had hoped to never see you again.” The words were out before she could control them, whiplashes of her tongue bred from misery and resentment. “Go away, William.”
Please don’t go away.
“I was in Boston longer than I anticipated. I tried to find you.” His voice roughened. “Before I left, I tried to find you. But you were nowhere to be found.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
I’m excellent at hiding from the people who hurt me. I have everything to say to you.
“I thought of you. Every day that I was gone, I thought of you.” He reached for her hand and she flinched when their gloves touched before yanking her arm away. “I’m sorry, Kitty.”
“For what?” she snapped, glaring fiercely at the climbing roses winding up a tall wooden trellis. The white petals glinted silver in the moonlight. “For not telling me about Alessandra? For lying about your engagement? For leaving England? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, William. What is it, exactly, that you’re apologizing for?”
“All of it. I am apologizing for all of it, and I—Kitty, won’t you look at me? Just look.”
But she didn’t want to, because as soon as she turned around and let herself drink in the familiar lines of his countenance and the rich brown of his eyes, she’d be helpless to resist him. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head, and William released a short, barking laugh caught somewhere between amusement and frustration.
“Fine. Then I’ll say what you wouldn’t let me when Alessandra came to London.”
“You mean when the woman you forgot to tell me you were betrothed to tried to stab me .”
“I never wanted to marry her. It was not my choice, but my grandfather’s.”
“You could have said no.”
“To a duke? Or to the poor, sick girl who was being used as nothing more than a pawn? If I hadn’t agreed to the engagement, Alessandra’s grandfather would have merely shuffled her onto someone else. Someone that might not have been as considerate of her... illness.”
When he put it that way . . .
“Then you should have at least told me the truth,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Yes,” he agreed, much to her surprise. “I should have. But I kept it out of respect for Alessandra’s privacy. On the eve of what was meant to be our wedding, I came to the conclusion that she wasn’t well enough for marriage. That she wouldn’t ever be well enough. Thus, I made the decision to take her to Kilmister Park. Her grandfather, Mountbatten, was furious. As was my grandfather. But so long as I did not break the betrothal contract, there was nothing they could do. She remained my sole responsibility until...” His breath expelled on a harsh sigh. “Until her death.”
“She loved you,” Kitty said in a whisper. Now she did pivot to look at him. In the dark, William’s face was drawn. His jaw was clenched and his gaze somber. And even though she was angry at him—furious, even—how her heart ached at the same time. “She loved you, William.”
I loved you, William.
“For most of my visits, Alessandra didn’t even remember my name. After I ensured that she was properly cared for at Kilmister Park, and that it was the best place for her, I traveled abroad. My grandfather’s disapproval was... expansive.” His mouth twisted in a wry, humorless smile. “It took an ocean to escape it. When I finally came home, I had no intention of pursuing a courtship with anyone . I went to the Haversham Ball on a whim. An old friend was attending, and I hadn’t spoken to him since we were at boarding school and he went off to fight the French. After he was done regaling me with his battle stories, I turned around, ready to retire for the evening... but there you were.”
“There I was,” she repeated softly.
And she remembered it.
She remembered it like it was yesterday.
“Lord William Colborne, Earl of Radcliffe, at your service, my lady.”
“Lady Katherine Holden.”
“A pleasure.”
“I can assure you the pleasure is mine. How is it we’ve not yet met, Lord Radcliffe? I’ve attended every ball this Season, and this is the first time I’ve seen you.”
“I was traveling abroad until recently. A business venture with a partner in Boston.”
“And what, pray tell, was the manner of your business?”
“Dance with me. Dance with me, and I’ll tell you.”
He’d been evading her questions, she realized with a heavy thud in the pit of her stomach, from the very beginning. Distracting her with half-truths and kisses. There were a dozen instances, including the Haversham Ball, where he could have told her about Alessandra. Where he could have told her the whole truth as it was. And maybe she would have understood. Likely, she would have wanted him anyway. Or maybe not. But at least it would have been her decision. She’d have had the opportunity of choice instead of blindly falling for a man who was still entangled with another woman.
A thought struck then, insidious and loathsome. This time, she didn’t want the answer.
But she had to know.
“Would you have ever married me?” The pit in her belly grew deeper as she forced herself to meet his gaze. “With Alessandra at Kilmister Park, and your engagement not officially ended, would you have asked for my hand, William?”
Brackets of tension framed his mouth. “It was a... delicate situation. I wouldn’t have endangered Alessandra’s safety. But I’d have found a way, Kitty. Our courtship was genuine.”
“Our courtship was nothing but lies!” Her shout frightened a pair of nesting thrushes from the shrubbery. They took to the air, their wings beating loudly. But the flutter of feathers paled in comparison to the dull roaring in her head. “You’ve been lying to me from the start. Hiding things. Giving me half-truths when it suited you. Complete omissions when it didn’t. How can I ever trust you again?”
Conveniently, Kitty left out her own lies.
What had happened to her mother.
The true state of her financial affairs.
The monster disguised as her father.
All cleverly spun lies to uphold the illusion of a perfect lady, a perfect life, a perfect potential wife .
A wife that William had never intended to make his own.
“If I kept things from you, it was not done out of maliciousness. I had to protect Alessandra.”
“Then you shouldn’t have kissed me!”
His eyes flashed in the darkness. It was her only warning before he snatched her into his arms, fingers diving into her carefully coiled coiffure whilst his other arm curved around the small of her back to pull her taut against his hard, familiar heat. “No, I shouldn’t have,” he agreed, his voice a grim, devilish whisper along the line of her jaw. “But I did. And I’m going to do it again.”
She tried to keep her lips pressed together.
Truly, she did.
Except being kissed by William wasn’t merely an assault on her mouth, it was an assault on her entire body, her heart, her very soul. Desire had never been their problem. It was what came after the desire that crumbled. But as her lips parted and his tongue thrust inside, she wasn’t thinking about after. She wasn’t even thinking about the next minute. Her thoughts, her mind, her every nerve was consumed by now , by William, the man she loathed to love.
Caught in a fever, she clutched the lapels of his coat, just like she had all those months ago on the terrace, and kissed him back.
Passionately.
Desperately.
Recklessly.
Anyone could have walked down the steps and seen them, giving new flame to old gossip. But the fire that swept through the rosebushes and streaked across their skin didn’t singe, it ignited . Every feeling Kitty had been suppressing was suddenly ablaze, every tendril of longing she had ignored, every dark wish she had wanted to come true.
Because as much as she’d told herself that she didn’t care if William returned, that he meant nothing to her, that he’d lied to her, each time she’d danced with another man, she had wished that it was William’s hands that were holding her. William’s eyes that were gazing at her. William’s mouth that was hovering a few inches above her own.
Now it was him. He was here in the flesh. And while he’d lied to her, she couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted him. She had always wanted him. She would always want him. The rest... the rest were merely details.
He skimmed his tongue along her bottom lip before drawing it between his teeth to suckle, the heady pressure eliciting a moan from the depths of her throat. “Katherine,” he growled, the source of her ardor jutting unapologetically against her belly. “ Katherine .”
A half stone wall designated the beginning of a walking path that invited visitors to explore deeper into the garden. Smooth river rock bit into her backside as William pushed her against it, angling his body so that she was shielded from view of the estate. If anyone happened to glance out the windows or step onto a balcony, they’d see a man they assumed was relieving himself of weak champagne. Or—more scandalously—pleasuring himself in the moonlight. What they wouldn’t see was Katherine.
They wouldn’t see her nails digging into William’s chest when his hand went under her skirts.
Or the little line that furrowed her brow at the first stroke along her damp seam.
Certainly not the way her head lolled onto her shoulder as his finger entered her.
And they definitely wouldn’t hear the mewling whimper she made when he slid in a second.
Three fluctuations of his wrist. Three, and she was already on the brink. Four, and she went soaring past it, her hot, velvet heat clenching around him as pleasure poured into her veins.
He held her upright while her knees trembled in the aftermath, pinning her between the wall and his chest. Limp, drained, dazed, she let her cheek fall over his heart. Listened to the steady thump, thump, thump while she slowly regained her footing. Watched the haze of clouds clear overhead, revealing a sky rich in twinkling stars. Smelled the roses, floral and sweet.
“Marry me, Kitty.”
Her senses abandoned her, fleeing into the shadows as shock drained her countenance of all expression. Since the Haversham Ball, she had envisioned William speaking those words a hundred different times. A thousand different times. With jewels dripping from his fingers. With flowers in his hands. With a quartet of violinists behind him. But when she glanced at his hand, there was no ring there. Just the slippery glint of her own wetness. The only flowers to be found were the climbing roses that someone else had planted. And the ballroom quartet must have taken a respite, because the only sounds were the low hum of voices from within the manor and the uneven rasp of her own breath.
“What?” she said stupidly.
He traced his thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. “Marry me.”
It was what wishes were made of, what her wishes were made of—marrying a wealthy, handsome, titled earl.
But she hadn’t wished for the earl to abandon her for a year, come back, put his fingers inside her, and then propose marriage without thought, foresight, or planning. He didn’t even have a ring. Or a sweeping soliloquy comparing her hair to a summer’s day.
It doesn’t matter , a familiar voice argued. This is what you want, what you’ve always wanted.
Yes, it was.
It was what she’d always wanted.
Yet somehow, it felt hollow. As if she’d bitten into a shiny red apple to find it empty in the middle. Not rotten. Not tart. Just... empty. And while she had wanted the apple, had craved the apple, had plotted to get the apple, how could she survive on its peel alone?
“You should leave.” She lifted her head. “Before someone sees you.”
Confusion flickered, then was quickly concealed. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I am not deaf, William. Nor am I a poor orphan child in need of your pity.” She ducked under his arm and shook out her skirts in one smooth motion. “Take your marriage proposal and give it to someone who wants it, because I—I do not.” The lie threatened to twist her tongue in a knot but she plowed determinedly ahead, refusing to give William the satisfaction of a stutter. Or to show just how much his unexpected return had affected her. “I’m glad you’ve returned safely to London. I’m sure you’ll make some simpering debutante very happy.”
His eyes narrowed. “Kitty—”
“No,” she cut in, fully aware of just how sharp a precipice her resolve was teetering on. A single touch or a searing glance and she’d tumble right off the edge into his arms. “My answer to your incredibly romantic proposal is no .”
Visibly frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair, shoving inky tendrils off a countenance comprised of conflicting emotions. Hurt. Anger. Bewilderment. Then a wall dropped, and she couldn’t read him at all. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”
No, what she wanted was for him to give her more than two words.
I love you, Kitty. Marry me.
There, six words in total. Was that so difficult?
Mara loved her because they were sisters. Her father’s love was twisted beyond recognition. Her mother couldn’t love her from the grave.
So she needed someone to love her because they chose to. She needed someone to love her because a lot of the time, she didn’t love herself. And on those dark, cloudy days, there had to be another person to carry the weight when it was too heavy a burden for her to carry alone.
A title, riches, grand houses... they would be nice. But they wouldn’t be enough. And after everything she had endured, she wanted—she had earned—enough.
But not more than. She wasn’t demanding a prince, or a king, or even a duke. Merely a wealthy earl capable of professing his love to her, and what was wrong with wanting that? What was wrong with refusing to settle for less than that ?
Nothing, she told herself.
There was nothing wrong with it.
And she kept telling herself that as she watched her earl walk away.