Chapter Fourteen
In the end, Kate decided to be sensible, as usual. It was pointless to fight against a will stronger than her own and toss away her only chance for a future not mired in toil and deprivation.
She had to consider the possibility that Uncle Jasper might never return, that Hargate might be lost and she forced to make a living out in the world—at best as a governess or companion, at worst as a servant, with no life to call her own.
Faced with such choices, marriage to Grayson seemed the lesser of evils, so she ceased her arguments.
She approached the arrangement logically, telling herself that she was entering a marriage of convenience, for that was surely how the marquess saw it.
He would expect nothing of the union, and she must not, either, for such were the ways of the ton, where legal ties meant little and fidelity even less.
If she was lucky, Grayson would be satisfied to tuck her away at Hargate, while he returned to London. Then the only difference between her old and new life would be a slight change in circumstances among the household and one small document that bound her to a man who did not care for her.
And if her heart was broken in the process, that could not be helped. It would mend someday, as had every other hurt in her life, making her stronger. She drew upon that strength to maintain her composure throughout the brief ceremony and the depressing celebration that followed.
Only later, when Grayson hinted at retirement and the little maid led her to her mother’s old room, did Kate balk. Her cheeks flamed at the thought of sharing a bed with a husband who had offered for her only after pressed by her old coachman.
She halted before the door, disinclined to enter, but Dora’s presence kept her from protesting.
Although the servants were undoubtedly privy to the reasons for the sudden nuptials, perhaps these new arrangements were meant to quiet their wagging tongues.
A useless effort, Kate was sure, yet she swallowed her arguments and stepped over the threshold.
She let Dora help her from her new gown, just as if she always slept here, but once the fancy dress was hung in the wardrobe, she dismissed the girl, whose bright blush and sly smiles were a painful reminder of what this night should have been.
Clad in her shift, Kate bent down to remove her slippers and stockings.
She was accustomed to doing for herself and needed no assistance donning her old nightgown, but when she pulled open the dresser drawers and peeked in the cupboard, it was not there.
Although some of her clothing had been moved, she could not find that serviceable garment.
Turning, Kate glanced around the room irritably until she spied something laid out upon the bed. When she moved closer, she drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the gossamer-and-lace confection waiting for her.
She picked it up, ignoring the delicious texture to gape at a material so sheer it would hide nothing. She had never thought to wear anything like it in her life, and she certainly was not going to do so now, when her wedding night was only a mockery of what it should be.
The longer she looked at the absurd attire, the more Kate wanted to wring Grayson’s neck with it.
All her rage at his arrogant machinations, and all the hurt she felt at this pretense she must endure surged up in her chest, clogging her throat.
He probably was amused at the prospect of her flaunting herself before him in this filmy fabric.
Gripping the excuse for a garment in one hand, Kate marched over to the door that linked the two rooms and yanked it open, stalking to the middle of the worn carpet.
Grayson was standing near an old settee that he had scavenged from another part of the house.
He turned in surprise, and despite her ill mood, Kate swallowed hard when she saw him.
He had removed most of his clothing and stood before her wearing only his trousers. She had forgotten just how beautiful his body was, from the mass of hard muscle and dark hair that was his chest to the clean bones of his feet. For a moment, she was speechless.
“Kate?” His voice, low and amused, brought her gaze back to his face, where one of his dark brows lifted in question.
“My belongings have been moved.”
That infernal brow only climbed higher as he gave her an arrogant nod. “It is customary for a husband and wife to have adjoining rooms, although I would be happy to share this one with you.”
He smiled—a small, erotic curving of the lips that left Kate short of breath. Dimly she was aware of his tendency to steal her wits, but not this time. She refused to be the object of his charity or the butt of his humor.
“No.”
“No?” He looked slightly bemused.
“No,” she said, more firmly. “And I am not going to wear this, either!” She tossed it at his chest, and it slid down his body in an arresting manner that nearly made her forget her anger.
Drawing in a deep breath, Kate recaptured it quickly. “So you can take that smirk off of your face. This marriage is a sham, and we both know it, so there is no need for you to pretend otherwise.”
“A sham? I assure you it is not. It is entirely legal and binding.” He looked so cool, so composed, standing there half-naked, that Kate wanted to punch him. Instead, she sought desperately to match his detachment.
“Do you think me a fool? I realize that you only wed me because you had to, because of what people would think if you did not.”
Did surprise flicker in his eyes, or had she imagined it? One side of his mouth quirked upward.
“Kate, I assure you that I have never worried in the slightest about the thoughts of others. Do you really believe that the inane prattle of creatures like Pimperington would concern me enough to make such a sacrifice?”
Although he seemed as arrogant as always, Kate noticed a sharpness around his mouth that spoke of some strain. “But you said—”
He cut off her protest with an impatient sound. “The arguments I used to convince you to accept my proposal had nothing to do with my offering it,” he said. “My position and wealth are such that I would be unaffected by any scandal, short of murder.”
“Perhaps so,” Kate admitted, as she tried to harness her wayward thoughts. What was he saying? She felt oddly edgy, and the tension in the room was palpable, as though the great Wroth himself was similarly afflicted.
“But you have a sense of honor, a code that required you to marry me because you stayed here without a proper chaperone. That’s what Tom said.
He told me that he made you… do the right thing.
” There. It was out, the worst, most humiliating aspect of the whole business.
Now, let him deny it, Kate thought, lifting her chin.
To her surprise, Grayson gave a low growl of laughter that seemed to skim along her exposed skin, teasing her senses. Abruptly she realized that she wore nothing except her shift.
“You insult me, Kate. Do you really think that I would order my life on the whim of that feeble-witted coachman?” Grayson asked. His brow traveled upward in a manner that made her feel foolish for listening to Tom. But, if neither Tom nor gossip had forced Grayson to wed, then why…?
Grayson took a step closer, and Kate knew a sudden warmth, though he still stood away from her. His gaze captured her own, and she saw no amusement, only sober truth.
“I’ll admit that my decision was hastened by the untimely arrival of Raleigh and his friends,” he said. “But I assure you, poppet, that I married you for the simple reason that I wanted to do so.”
“But why?” The words came out in a whisper, as shaky and uncertain as Kate herself.
“A variety of motivations, not the least of which has to do with that lovely gown I bought for you,” Grayson said. He glanced down at the pool of sheer material on the floor, and then up at her face, his mouth taut, as if he were acknowledging a weakness.
Grayson? The man had no frailties, no flaws such as those suffered by lesser mortals. He was all hard competence, all simmering power and intellect. Wasn’t he? Kate shook her head, bewildered by what he was saying.
“I want you, Kate.”
Well, that was clear enough, if she could only accept it. “But I thought you were teasing me before,” Kate protested. “Amusing yourself.”
Grayson did not look amused. “No. Never,” he said. He took another step toward her, and fixed her with his gaze, steady and confident once more. “I want you, Kate.”
“I don’t believe it,” she muttered, half to herself.
“Then I shall endeavor to prove it to you… all night long.”
Kate shook her head, moving backward once more.
“I have wanted you ever since that first night, when I discovered you were no boy. I wanted to feel you beneath me even then.”
“No,” Kate whispered, disbelieving, her flight halted by the edge of the bed pressing behind her knees.
“Yes,” Grayson said, grinning seductively. “I feel feverish again, Kate. Will you soothe me?” His hands moved to undo the buttons of his fall.
Kate shook her head in confusion.
“I was half out of my head, but I wanted you then,” he said. Pushing the trousers past his hips, he stepped out of them. “I could feel your hands on me, and I wanted to touch you, to taste you, to take you.”
Kate knew her face must be crimson. Her breathing was low and ragged, her pulse thudding loudly through blood that seemed to thicken and slow as he stood before her, gloriously naked and far different than when she had bathed him.
He stepped forward, and she fell back upon the bed with a cry, only to find him leaning over her.
“And I have wanted you every moment since. In my bath. In my bed. In my life.” Dazed, Kate stared up at him, trying to absorb his words as his hands moved to the hem of her shift. He raised it deliberately, his fingers brushing along her leg, her waist, her ribs, until he lifted it over her head.