Chapter Twelve
Silently, Kate let Mrs. Leeds help her into the first of her new gowns to reach completion.
Although she was tempted to refuse it, Kate could hardly insult the young widow, who was justifiably proud of her work.
The garment fit her to perfection, the silk flowing over her body seamlessly.
Smooth and light as a cloud, it was finer than anything Kate had ever owned, and she touched it with something akin to awe.
At Mrs. Leeds’s urging, she stood before the mirror in Lucy’s room, amazed by the reflection that met her eyes.
The girl who stared back at her looked nothing like the drudge she had become, but resembled a younger, more carefree version of herself, slender and pretty, her curls gathered in new ribbons.
“It’s lovely, Mrs. Leeds,” Kate said softly, fingering the soft material.
The color was beautiful and seemed oddly familiar, like a field of violets spread before her, fresh and…
Kate stiffened and jerked her hands away as she remembered Grayson laying her down upon this very fabric, draped over the worn oak table in the kitchen like some hedonistic carpet.
“His lordship chose the bolt himself, to match your eyes, he said, and he was right,” Mrs. Leeds said, smiling happily. “You look fair as a summer morn, my lady.”
Kate turned away from the mirror, her brief pleasure in the garment destroyed by the mention of Grayson.
She had spent the better part of the night lying awake, wondering how she could have been so wanton with him, how in just a few moments he had transformed her anger into desire.
And then, after giving her the most intense experience of her life, he had left her lying with her clothes undone on the floor of the stall.
She had watched Grayson stalk away from her, his fists clenched at his sides, and she had felt as if they were closing around her heart. She had tried to goad him into feeling something, but it was she who had ended up shaken to the core.
If he had meant to teach her a lesson, he had succeeded. She would never again try to pierce his cool exterior, for fear of cutting herself. He had felt something alright, but what? Lust, longing, disgust?
Kate shivered, suddenly cold, and rubbed her arms.
“Here, my lady, you’re not used to baring so much, are you?” Mrs. Leeds asked with a chuckle. That was true enough, for instead of a man’s shirt, her arms were covered only with tiny puffed sleeves, and an alarming expanse of her chest seemed to be displayed.
“I’m sure we brought along just the thing.
Here,” Mrs. Leeds said, turning to hand Kate a spangled shawl that matched the elaborate trim of her gown.
It sparkled like spun gold, and although she told herself she had no business wearing such finery, it slid over her shoulders in a sensuous glide that reminded her of Grayson’s touch.
Could she think of nothing except the man?
“Are you all right, my lady? You’ve turned a bit pale, but here now,” Mrs. Leeds said, reaching up to pinch Kate’s cheeks. “That’s better. Now, I’ve orders from my mum to let her see you first off, so we must make a stop in the kitchen, if you don’t mind.”
Mumbling her assent, Kate dutifully followed the seamstress down the servants’ stair and let Meg exclaim over her daughter’s handiwork.
Then she was shooed off to the dining hall, where Lucy waited for her gentleman, who seemed to spend nearly all his time at Hargate.
Kate swallowed a sigh, for she still was assailed by the same combination of joy and sadness that accompanied any thoughts of her sister’s wedding.
As she walked along the gallery, Kate tried to put on a brave face, but she was not looking forward to the celebratory meal that Meg had planned for tonight. Dinner the evening before had been a stilted affair that left her feeling dismayed by the changes in her little household.
Tom no longer ate with them, but joined Meg and her daughter, Badcock, and Dora in the kitchen.
Kate could hardly blame him, for the atmosphere there had to be more convivial than above stairs, where Lucy preened for Rutledge and he petted her in return.
Neither one of them had eyes for anyone else, which left Kate to entertain the other guest, Grayson.
She refused to do it. The haughty marquess presided over them all as if he owned the place, so she left him to his own devices and concentrated on eating what little food she could manage.
But Grayson spoke little, so silence reigned for most of the meal. Kate often caught him glaring at her, as if she were to blame for something, while at other times he studied her as if she were a sort of oddity, which, of course, she was.
Kate did not appreciate the reminder.
She took her leave as soon as manners permitted, and Grayson did not seek her out to apologize, explain, or otherwise converse with her. Despite Tom’s claims, the marquess had not offered for her, either, and instead of feeling relieved, Kate knew a strange, painful disappointment.
Her face flamed when she wondered, as she had so often during her sleepless night, whether the proposal was a hoax, a jest to satisfy Tom while Grayson amused himself.
Embarrassment and anger surged through her once more. Surely Grayson was not so cruel, and yet, what did she really know of him? He was a man, and, as such, a mystery to her. He was dangerous and powerful and arrogant and was ordering her very existence, though she knew not why.
She knew only that she couldn’t go on like this, unsure of her place in her own household and embarrassed by the passions that Grayson seemed to stir in her so effortlessly. Kate swallowed hard.
Although she appreciated what the marquess had done for Lucy, she saw no reason for him to linger here.
Each day he stayed made it easier for them all to lean upon him and the inevitable parting more difficult.
For the others. Personally, she would be glad to be rid of the haughty, heartless lord, for then she would resume her life.
Without him.
Drawing in a deep breath, Kate resolved to have it out with him today. Although she would rather conduct such a conversation in private, she knew better than to meet with Grayson alone. She would speak to him after dinner, with Lucy and Rutledge present to lend their dubious support.
Her determination was shaken when she spied him ahead of her in the gallery.
Although she halted, Grayson must have heard her, for he turned and stood, awaiting her approach.
Kate had no choice but to walk toward him as he watched her, seeming to strip her of every bit of clothing, including the underthings hidden beneath her gown.
Against her better judgment, Kate’s gaze strayed from the top of his wide shoulders, down his broad chest, to his muscled thighs, encased in tight doeskin.
She shivered, determined to set her mind on a more appropriate path.
If only he wasn’t so intelligent, so handsome, so confident, so supremely male, Kate thought.
If only he didn’t threaten her peace of mind…
If only she didn’t threaten his mastery over himself, Grayson thought as Kate walked toward him.
Clad in the violet silk, she looked more beautiful than ever, and he struggled against the desire that raged through him.
Desire? His lust for Kate had gone beyond that, as his performance in the stable had proved. It was a wild, primitive need to mate.
Nearly uncontrollable.
And so far, nothing in Grayson’s life had ever defied his dominion. But when he saw the filmy material flow over her curves, dipping low beneath a milky-white expanse of breast, he was not certain he had a choice.
He held out his arm. She gave him a cool smile that belied the passion he knew he could ignite, and with a curt nod, he led her in to dinner. But Meg’s dishes held no interest for him.
It was Kate who drew his attention. Her every movement seemed unerringly erotic: the lift of her lashes, the dip of her head, the brush of her curls against a nape that drew him like a magnet.
Shifting in his seat, Grayson deliberately eyed the other members of the party, just to prove that he could. But Rutledge’s fawning admiration for Lucy reminded him of his own obsession with Kate.
A low breath escaped him like a hiss. He would be glad when the two lovebirds were ensconced in one of his more remote properties, never to be seen again.
After the meal, Grayson led Kate into the drawing room and grew annoyed at himself when the light touch of her hand on his arm sparked an overheated response.
He had never wasted so much time contemplating a woman’s charms. It was ridiculous, he thought, even as he caught himself staring at her mouth and craving the taste of her.
If Kate noticed his discomfort, it was not apparent, for she found a seat and turned toward him, her expression somber. “I assume, now that your work is done, that you will be leaving us,” she said.
The words made Grayson stiffen, though he disguised it, raising a brow in question. “Are you so eager to be rid of me, Kate?”
She blushed and shot a glance at the other two people in the room, but they sat together on a sofa and were staring into each other’s eyes.
“I simply would like to know how long you plan to stay,” she said. Was he imagining it, or did her voice falter?
“I feel responsible for you now and would right this situation with your uncle,” Grayson answered, deliberately keeping to practical matters and not his own thwarted desires.
“Oh, thank heaven!” Lucy piped up, tearing her attention away from her lover. “Perhaps you can get me a dowry.”
Grayson tilted his head toward Lucy in acknowledgment, but his eyes were on her sister. Although accustomed to reading people, he found nothing in Kate’s chilly expression that hinted at her desires.