Chapter Four
Katie had no idea why she was behaving like a common strumpet, not that she had ever met a strumpet, common or otherwise, but the urge to bring this disdainful, disagreeable man down a few pegs was impossible to resist.
But not as irresistible as the duke’s mouth.
As stern as it appeared, his lips were astonishingly soft and warm.
They were also unmoving. In fact, after he’d flinched, he’d gone utterly still.
Katie was reminded of Hy whenever Katie forgot herself and embraced her sister.
Hy, too, froze when confronted with human contact.
Well, except for her husband and children.
It was quite astonishing how physically affectionate Hy was with Chatham and her sons Elliot and Charles when she was so stiff and reserved with everyone else, even her siblings.
The longer the duke stood still and unresponsive, not even his chest moving, unease threaded through her.
You are assaulting the man.
Chilled by the thought, she began to pull away. But before she could detach completely, he abrupted reanimated, his arms lashed around her and he drew her body closer, tilted his head, and pressed his mouth against hers.
Katie was only half-aware when his hand slid from her lower back up to her shoulders and pulled her even tighter, his kisses deep and drugging.
Desire rippled through her as his far larger body molded itself to hers, hard sinew and muscle closing around her—engulfing her—and his stern lips softened and teased and caressed and enticed.
Katie had always liked kissing and engaged in it as often as possible. Or at least she had done until the past few years when every activity—illicit or otherwise—had become too dull to bother with.
Although she’d contrived this asinine kissing contest, never had she dreamed it would actually be pleasurable. But the cold, unsmiling Duke of Dulverton’s hot, eager mouth and deft, breath-stealing touches were all the more exciting when contrasted with his icy, disapproving mien.
Katie’s hands were still on his chest, trapped between their bodies, so she freed them and explored the fine, soft wool of his coat, which lovingly hugged his muscular back and shoulders. The more she touched him, the hungrier she became, until wave after wave of desire thundered through her body.
He gave an approving growl, his lips and tongue teasing and taunting her in ways that were far more erotic than any other man she had kissed. Even Mr. Morecombe—a confident, impassioned kisser who’d shattered her composure—could not hold a candle to Dulverton’s wits-scattering assault.
But unlike Morecombe, Katie had no desire to get away when the duke’s palm slid around the back of her head, tilting her so that he could consume her. Instead, Katie’s hands met at his nape, and she stroked the brutally cropped hair, which felt like bristly velvet beneath her fingertips.
His chest rumbled and his powerful hips flexed, the action branding her midriff with a long, hard ridge.
Shock and arousal swirled inside her at the feel of his erection, and Katie opened her eyes and looked straight into his.
Gone was the supercilious peer; in his place was a hot-eyed lover.
The rolling thrust of his hips was rough and raw, but his muscular arms held her with a tenderness that made her feel precious and protected, a combination that left her fairly swooning with desire.
One of his huge hands slid down her back, not stopping until his palm was on her buttocks.
He massaged her with a firm, erotic touch that soon had her grinding against him and not caring how shamelessly she was behaving.
Nor did she care when his fingers began the slow process of lifting the diaphanous material of her gown and equally fine petticoat, until cool night air caressed her calves.
He is going to mount you right here in the garden.
Good.
Katie met him thrust for thrust the next time he ground his iron-hard erection against her. Never in her life had she wanted—
“What the devil is going on here, Dulverton?” a furious male voice demanded.
Katie shrieked and staggered back. Her slipper caught on an uneven flagstone, and she would have fallen if Dulverton hadn’t clamped onto her upper arm to steady her.
The same man who’d been talking to the duke in the ballroom was about six feet away, his expression thunderous. A young woman and matron stood beside him. They weren’t the only spectators; Katie caught the glitter of at least two more sets of eyes peeping over a nearby rosebush.
The duke looked from Katie to the older man, his lips darker, full, and slick as they parted in surprise. The expression made him look far less daunting and more human. Not quite handsome—it was impossible to imagine what it would take to achieve that feat—but appealing in an austere, savage way.
Suddenly the man who’d just been passionately kissing her disappeared completely and in his place was the grim Duke of Dulverton, his eyes hooded and his mouth compressed in the same condemnatory frown that had so incited her just a short time ago.
The older man turned to Katie. “Who are you?”
Before Katie could answer, the young woman began speaking in the same language Dulverton had been using. Although she couldn’t understand the words, the woman’s tone was hostile and accusatory with an undertone of something else. Something that Katie couldn’t quite identify. Relief? Happiness?
The duke spoke over the woman in a quiet voice that somehow managed to resemble the crack of a whip. The woman shut her mouth, her pale cheeks flushing darkly.
The older man and woman began talking at once, their voices quickly rising to a shout to be heard over one another.
Something one of them said appeared to spur the younger woman and she joined in.
The two sets of eyes behind the rose hedge had become four. Elinor, Michelle, Julia and Caroline were no longer bothering to crouch and hide, but openly gawking.
Katie made a furious shooing gesture which they either ignored or did not notice. Who could blame them? This fracas would provide gossip for weeks—months!
“Genoeg!” the duke barked.
The other three instantly stopped talking and the duke began to speak, his voice even softer than before. Whatever he was saying caused his audience to gasp, flush, look enraged, or all three in the case of the older woman.
“Katie?”
Katie squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of her sister Hy’s voice. Oh, wonderful. Just what this rapidly developing farce needed: more witnesses.
She turned to find Hy with Chatham beside her.
Blast and bugger!
Hy’s expressionless gaze was fixed on Katie while Chatham’s keen eyes darted around the assembled people before settling on Dulverton. “What is going on here?”
“This is a private matter and none of your concern, Chatham,” Dulverton snapped in the same curt, arrogant tone he’d used on Katie earlier.
So, it wasn’t just mere mortals that he treated rudely and dismissively, then.
Unaccustomed to being addressed like a feudal serf, Chatham bristled. “I beg to differ,” he said, his tone colder than Katie had ever heard it. “My sister-in-law is somehow involved in your private matter.”
“Sister-in-law?” Dulverton’s pale eyes slid from Chatham to Katie, and he frowned, as if he had momentarily forgotten her existence.
But he certainly remembered her now.
He pinioned her with the full force of his cold, assessing gaze, and Katie found it strangely difficult to breathe.
“We should discuss this matter—whatever it is—in a less public venue.” Hy’s quiet voice sliced through the taut silence, and Dulverton gave an abrupt nod before turning away.
Katie exhaled shakily, pitifully relieved to be out from under his gaze.
“Allow me to escort you to my library, Your Grace,” the Earl of Sutton said, suddenly appearing beside Hy and Chatham
“Not right now,” Dulverton barked at Sutton, making him flinch. “I will join you in the library once I have escorted Lady Mariska, Lady Palmer, and Lord van Renesse to their carriage.”
Just like everyone else who’d spoken with the duke, Sutton flushed at Dulverton’s curt tone.
The earl opened his mouth, probably to issue an equally curt response, but Dulverton was already striding away, leaving Lady Mariska, Lady Palmer, and Lord van Renesse to scurry after him.
Only when his broad back disappeared did Katie notice there weren’t just four pairs of eyes beyond the rose hedge, but at least a dozen.
***
“That is enough,” Gerrit snarled in Dutch at his uncle and Lady Palmer, both of whom had begun nattering at him the moment they left the crowded garden behind them.
The older couple cut him wounded, mulish glances but obeyed and the journey to the Earl of Sutton’s foyer took place in blessed silence.
Gerrit dispatched a footman to fetch the carriage while he and his uncle collected the ladies’ wraps before escorting them outside to await their conveyance.
Once he had installed the older couple in Lady Palmer’s ancient boat of a coach, he turned to his uncle.
“You will come to Dulverton House tomorrow morning, and we will discuss what is to be done. Now, wait here while I have a word with Lady Mariska.” He closed the coach door before the other man could open his mouth and gestured for Lady Mariska to accompany him to a spot a few feet away.
“I am so sorry, Your Grace,” she babbled in Dutch before they’d even stopped walking.
“What for?” he demanded, finding it difficult to believe this groveling wretch was the same woman who had shrilly—and justifiably—chastised Gerrit for embracing the beautiful stranger in the garden.
He felt a deep, powerful pulse of lust at the memory of the woman’s lush body and the way it had bucked and ground against him.
Not the thought you need right now.
No. It wasn’t. Gerrit dragged his thoughts away from the shapely siren in the garden and focused on the woman in front of him. “Your aunt said you were feeling overheated and that is why you were out in the garden. That is not the truth, is it?”
She hung her head. “No, Your Grace.”
“What is the truth?”
“I—I did not want to come.” Mariska darted an apprehensive look up at him.
“You did not wish to come to the ball?”
There was a long pause, and then, “I did not wish to come to England.”
Gerrit’s hands fisted. “You never wanted to marry me, did you?” He had to force the words through clenched teeth.
“It is not you, Your Grace, it is—” Her eyes skittered away from his and she chewed on her lower lip. She swallowed again and blurted, “I am in love with somebody else.”
So much for tucking her away in a convent. “How long?”
“F-four years.”
A full two years before van Renesse had brokered their betrothal.
“Were you pressured to agree to the betrothal?” he asked, even though he already could guess.
“Yes,” she whispered, her face wreathed in misery.
“Why did you not tell me so in your letter?”
She blinked up at him. “What letter?”
Gerrit expected to feel anger at the obvious deceit, but instead he felt only weariness.
“This man you wish to marry, is he suitable?”
“He is respectable, and my father and grandfather would not have objected if—”
“If not for the agreement between our families,” he finished grimly.
“Yes.”
“My uncle will escort—”
“I cannot go back home, Your Grace.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “If I tell them I do not wish to marry you, they will—”
“I will make certain you are not punished, my lady.”
“But…how?” she wailed.
“My methods are not your concern.”
Her eyes widened fearfully.
Gerrit sighed. “I will not seek vengeance from your father.” No matter how much I might want to throttle him. He removed his handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “You have my word.”
She took the square of snow-white linen and dabbed at her tears. “Are you sure, Your Grace?”
“I am sure.” He shook his head when she tried to give him the handkerchief. “Keep it.”
“I am sorry I did not speak sooner. I never meant for you to—”
“Come. I will escort you back to your chaperone’s carriage,” he said, uninterested in further conversation with her, his thoughts already on the unpleasantness that awaited him in the Earl of Sutton’s library.